Holmes, of whom she stood a little in dread, enjoyed it all with
such zest, and was so attentive to them all, but Margret. They
hardly spoke to each other all day; it quite fretted the old
lady; indeed, she gave the girl a good scolding about it out in
the pantry, until she was ready to cry. She had looked that way
all day, however.
Knowles was hurt deep enough when he saw Holmes, and suspected
the worst, under all his good-humour. It was a bitter
disappointment to give up the girl; for, beside the great work,
he loved her in an uncouth fashion, and hated Holmes. He met her
alone in the morning; but when he saw how pale she grew,
expecting his outbreak, and how she glanced timidly in at the
room where Stephen was, he relented. Something in the wet brown
eye perhaps recalled a forgotten dream of his boyhood; for he
sighed sharply, and did not swear as he meant to. All he said
was, that "women will be women, and that she had a worse job on
her hands than the House of Refuge,"--which she put down to the
account of his ill-temper, and only laughed, and made him shake
hands.
Lois and her father came out in the old cart in high state across
the bleak, snowy hills, quite aglow with all they had seen at the
farm-houses on the road. Margret had arranged a settle for the
sick girl by the kitchen-fire, but they all came out to speak to
her.
As for the dinner, it was the essence of all Christmas dinners:
Dickens himself, the priest of the genial day, would have been
contented.
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