page 251

Chapter XII. "Ring Out the Old—Ring in the New."

Miss Mabel Grey had, as we have seen, a will of her own. (N.B.—I wish it to be distinctly understood that no equivoque is here intended.) And it was her will that her lover should not be banished from the usual Christmas festivities. So that he had scarcely resumed the routine of station life, ere he was summoned back to Melbourne.

John Grey, like most old colonists, held in reverence the usages of his youth and mother country. Therefore, on Christmas Day he and his family trooped in procession to church; and joined, heart and soul, in anthems of rejoicing, such as bright-robed angels sang to the 'ravished shepherds' in the plains of Bethlehem;—anthems commemorative of that tremendous event, compared with which the grandest episodes of history must for ever 'pale their ineffectual fires.' And thereafter they ate of the traditional goose and apple-sauce, and of the plum-pudding—blazing in brandy, and decorated with sprigs of holly—notwithstanding that the thermometer was 92° in the shade; but compensating themselves for this sacrifice to national customs by the page 252imbibition of iced champagne, and cool light wines from Albury and the Barrabool Hills.

And then—having loyally done honour to Her Majesty—John Grey called upon his lads and lasses to fill their glasses once more, to drink, this time, to the health of their mother, 'with three cheers, and one more, as you love her! Hip! hip! hip! hurrah!'—After which he affectionately kissed the lips of the good wife, who had been his true and faithful friend through early manhood and mature age; and their children—one and all—followed suit, not omitting 'Cousin Will,' who, indeed, had found in her a second mother. And she—dear woman—responded with joyful tears to the embraces of her loved ones, who, fulfilling the wise man's saying, 'arose up, and called her blessed,'—finding therein sweet recompense for many a past hour of suffering and anxiety, of sleeplessness and suspense.

And then began the revels, wherein the parents recalled their own young days, and in their children lived them o'er again. And neighboring friends came in, and the dining hall was cleared for the dance, and beneath a spray of native mistletoe—suspended in orthodox fashion from the centre of the ceiling—many a merry kiss was given and returned.

"Now, Will, I'll not dance with you any more," cried Mabel.

"No? And wherefore?" queried Will.

"Because I do not chose too, Sir. That is quite a sufficient reason from a lady to a gentleman."

"Oh, very well; then I can dance with some one else."

page 253

"You had better not, Sir. I forbid it, positively, and without recourse, as Philip would say. You are not sufficiently recovered from your illness yet, and may over-exert yourself. Besides, it is awfully hot, and I am very tired, and I want to talk to you, and—there—don't say that women can't give reasons for anything they do. I am sure I have given enough to convince the Grand Turk."

"Then 'come into the garden,' May."

"Ah, now you talk sensibly, like a dear cousin Will, as you are."

"Humph!—I wish you would not call me 'cousin' quite so much. I hope to have a dearer title soon."

"Well, I don't suppose anything that can possibly happen will alter the fact of our being cousins. And, Will, tell me—can't you get rid of those nasty marks in your arm? I shall never quite love you, while you go about like a sheep, with that woman's brand upon you."

And the red lips pouted so invitingly, that notwithstanding the protest, Will bent down and pressed them lovingly.

"I wear a prettier brand now," he said. "Look!"

They were standing near one of the windows, and he bared his arm to the light. The true-love knot was there, so also was the 'F. M.;" but other letters had been added, and now the legend ran thus: For Mable.

"Stole away!—stole away! Oh, here they are." And the lovers were encompassed by a cloud of youngsters, 'in whose sunny veins the blood was running bright.' And so they were compelled to seek refuge within, and take part in the joyous festivities of the evening.