Every chair and stool on the run was mustered; two tables were placed end to end beneath that clustering, mistletoe and covered with clean white tablecloths—­remembering the story of the rags and hobble rings we refrained from serviettes—­the hop-beer was set in canvas water bags to keep it cool; and Cheon pointing out that the approach from the kitchens was not all that could be desired, an enormous tent-fly was stretched away from the roof of the verandah, extending it half-way to the kitchen, and further greenery was used, decorating it within and without to make it a fitting passage-way for the transport of Cheon’s triumphs.  Then Cheon’s kitchen decorations were renewed and added to; and after that further suggestions suggested and attended to.  Everything that could be done was done, and by eight o’clock all was ready for Cheon’s triumphs, all but our appetites and time of day.

By nine o’clock Mac and Tam had arrived, and after everything had been sufficiently admired, we trooped in a body to the kitchen, obedient to a call from Cheon.

Triumph after triumph was displayed, and after listening gravely and graciously to our assurances that already everything was “more better’n Pine Creek last year,” Cheon allowed us a glimpse of the pudding through a cloud of steam, the company standing reverently around the fire trench in a circle, as it bent over the bubbling boiler; then scuttling away before us like an old hen with a following of chickens, he led the way to the waterbags, and asked our opinion on the hop-beer:  “You think him jump-up longa dinner time?  Eh, boss ?” he said anxiously, as the Maluka, holding a bottle between us and the light, examined it critically.  “Me make him three o’clock longa night-time.”

It looked remarkably still and tranquil, but we hoped for the best, and half an hour later were back at the waterbags, called thither to decide whether certain little globules were sediment or air-bubbles.  Being sanguine, we decided in favour of bubbles, and in another half-hour were called back again to the bags to see that the bubbles were bubbles indeed, having dropped in at the kitchens on our way to give an opinion on veal stuffing and bread sauce; and within another half-hour were peering into the oven to inspect further triumphs of cooking.

Altogether the morning passed quickly and merrily, any time Cheon left us being spent in making our personal appearance worthy of the feast.

Scissors and hand-glasses were borrowed, and hair cut, and chins shaved, until we feared our Christmas guests would look like convicts.  Then the Dandy producing blacking brushes, boots that had never seen blacking before, shone like ebony.  After that a mighty washing of hands took place, to remove the blacking stain; and then the Quarters settled down to a general “titivation,” Tam “cleaning his nails for Christmas,” amid great applause.