al of sickness
and distress, and want of work. Yes, a very great deal. The winter
began early, and we have had some severe weather. James Parsons is in
prison again for rabbit-snaring. I'm really afraid James is
incorrigible. Mrs. Roper's eldest son, Tom--I daresay you remember Tom,
an idle little ruffian, who was always birdnesting--has managed to get
himself run over by a pair of Lord Ellangowan's waggon-horses, and now
Lady Ellangowan is keeping the whole family. An aunt came from
Salisbury to sit up with the boy, and was quite angry because Lady
Ellangowan did not pay her for nursing him."

"That's the worst of the poor," said Mrs. Tempest languidly, the
firelight playing upon her diamond rings, as she took her fan from the
velvet table and slowly unfolded it, to protect her cheek from the
glare, "they are never satisfied."

"Isn't it odd they are not," cried Vixen, coming suddenly out of a deep
reverie, "when they have everything that can make life delightful?"

"I don't know about everything, Violet; but really, when they have such
nice cottages as your dear papa built for them, so well-drained and
ventilated, they ought to be more contented."

"What a comfort good drainage and ventilation must be, when there is no
bread in the larder!" said Violet.

"My dear, it is ridiculous to talk in that way; just in the style of
horrid Radical newspapers. I am sure the poor have an immense deal done
for them. Look at Mr. Scobel, is he not always trying to help them."

"I do what I can," said the clergyman modestly; "but I only wish it
were more. An income of sixteen shillings a week for a family of seven
requires a good deal of ekeing out. If it were not for the assistance I
get here, and in one or two other directions, things would be very bad
in Beechdale."

Beechdale was the name of the village nearest the Abbey House, the
village to which belonged Mr. Scobel's toy-church.

"Of course, we must have the usual distribution of blanket and wearing
apparel on Christmas Eve," said Mrs. Tempest. "It will seem very sad
without my dear husband. But we came home before Christmas on purpose."

"How good of you! It was very sad last year when the poor people came
up to the Hall to receive your gifts, and there were no familiar faces,
except the servants. There were a good many tears shed over last year's
blankets, I assure you."

"Poor dear things!" sighed Mrs. Tempest, not making it too clear
whether she meant the blanke