Harold, though in a much better mood than at the Confirmation time, was not as much concerned to miss it as perhaps he ought to have been.  Thought had not come to him yet, and his head was full of the dinner with the servants at the Grange.  It was sad that he and Ellen should alone be able to go to it; but it would be famous for all that!  Ay, and so were the young postman’s Christmas-boxes!

So Paul and Alfred were left together, and held their tongues for full five minutes, because both felt so odd.  Then Alfred said something about reading the Service, and Paul offered to read it to him.

Paul had not only been very well taught, but had a certain gift, such as not many people have, for reading aloud well.  Alfred listened to those Psalms and Lessons as if they had quite a new meaning in them, for the right sound and stress on the right words made them sound quite like another thing; and so Alfred said when he left off.

‘I’m sure they do to me,’ said Paul.  ’I didn’t know much about “good-will to men” last Christmas.’

‘You’ve not had overmuch good-will from them, neither,’ said Alfred, ‘since you came out.’

‘What! not since I’ve been at Friarswood?’ exclaimed Paul.  ’Why, I used to think all that was only something in a book.’

‘All what?’ asked Alfred.

’All about—­why, loving one’s neighbour—­and the Good Samaritan, and so on.  I never saw any one do it, you know, but it was comfortable like to read about it; and when I watched to your mother and all of you, I saw how it was about one’s neighbour; and then, what with that and Mr. Cope’s teaching, I got to feel how it was—­about God!’ and Paul’s face looked very grave and peaceful.

‘Well,’ said Alfred, ’I don’t know as I ever cared about it much—­not since I was a little boy.  It was the fun last Christmas.’

And Paul looking curious, Alfred told all about the going out for holly, and the dining at the Grange, and the snap-dragon over the pudding, till he grew so eager and animated that he lost breath, and his painful cough came on, so that he could just whisper, ’What did you do?’

’Oh!  I don’t know.  We had prayers, and there was roast beef for dinner, but they gave it to me where it was raw, and I couldn’t eat it.  Those that had friends went out; but ’twasn’t much unlike other days.’

‘Poor Paul!’ sighed Alfred.

‘It won’t be like that again, though,’ said Paul, ’even if I was in a Union.  I know—­what I know now.’

‘And, Paul,’ said Alfred, after a pause, ’there’s one thing I should like if I was you.  You know our Blessed Saviour had no house over Him, but was left out of the inn, and nobody cared for Him.’

Paul did not make any answer; and Alfred blushed all over.

Presently Alfred said, ’Harold will run in soon.  I say, Paul, would you mind reading me what they will say after the Holy Sacrament—­what the Angels sang is the beginning.’