Thackeray, and thirsted for a complete set of his
works, but at present only _Vanity Fair_ and _The Newcomes_ were on his
modest bookshelves. Neither the husband nor wife thought it right to
spend even those few shillings on the purchase of books, when they
could make use of the Free Library.

The new copy of _Esmond_ looked decidedly inviting, with its clean,
uncut pages, and then there was really a handsome work-bag for Aunt
Madge, fashioned by Olivia's skilful fingers out of a yard of cretonne.
Olivia had already received her Christmas presents, and had nothing to
expect. Her new outfit, and Dot's pelisse, and Martha's wages were all
birthday and Christmas gifts. Nevertheless when Marcus came on
Christmas Eve to hang up their scanty store of holly, he was met by his
wife's excited face.

"Oh, Marcus!" she exclaimed, "I thought you would never come home;
there is such a hamper from Galvaston House, and I am waiting for you
to open it. And oh! do you know, dear, Aunt Madge has sent us some of
her delicious mince pies, and a Christmas cake!"

"She is a good old soul," returned Marcus, fervently. "By-the-bye,
Olive, could not we have supper earlier? for this sharp air--and it is
freezing hard, let me tell you--has made me as hungry as a hunter."
And as Olivia conceded this point graciously, he was induced to follow
her to the small kitchen, where Martha, all smiles and excitement,
awaited them.

Martha had her best dress on, for she was going round to her mother's
presently, with her little store of Christmas gifts: a red knitted
shawl for her mother and half a pound of tea, a comforter for her
father, and some warm cuffs for the boys, and gingerbread-nuts and some
oranges for the children, to which Olivia had added a bag of mixed
sweets.

Martha's round eyes widened with amazement when the hamper was opened,
and a plump turkey, and a fine York ham came to view; there were also
half a dozen bottles of old port-wine for Dr. Luttrell, with Mr.
Gaythorne's compliments, and a box of candied fruit and a jar of
preserved ginger for his wife.

"Oh, Marcus! is not this kind?" Olivia's voice was almost awe-struck;
her acquaintance with turkeys had hitherto been strictly limited to a
partial view of their limp bodies as they dangled above her in the
poulterers' shops; now her little larder would be filled to overflowing.

"Shall I step across and thank him, while you put those things away?"
suggested Marcus. And a