hopes that reposed even upon
Christ's coming, with its tidings of great joy, must be solemn. And the
anniversary of a glorious birth, which, by traditionary impulse, made
half the world glad, was to such believers like any other day in the
calendar. Even the good Doctor pointed his Christmas prayer with no
special unction. What, indeed, were anniversaries, or a yearly
proclamation of peace and good-will to men, with those who, on every
Sabbath morning, saw the heavens open above the sacred desk, and heard
the golden promises expounded, and the thunders of coming retribution
echo under the ceiling of the Tabernacle?

The Christmas came and went with a great lighting-up of the Elderkin
house; and there were green garlands which Rose and Adele have plaited
over the mantel, and over the stiff family portraits; and good Phil--in
the character of Santa Claus--has stuffed the stockings of all the
grandchildren, and--in the character of the bashful lover--has played
like a moth about the blazing eyes of Adele.

Yet the current of the village gossip has it, that they are to marry.
Miss Eliza, indeed, shakes her head wisely, and keeps her own counsel.
But Dame Tourtelot reports to old Mistress Tew,--"Phil Elderkin is goin'
to marry the French girl."

"Haoew?" says Mrs. Tew, adjusting her tin trumpet.

"Philip Elderkin--is--a-goin' to marry the French girl," screams the
Dame.

"Du tell! Goin' to settle in Ashfield?"

"I don't know."

"No! Where, then?" says Mistress Tew.

I don't KNOW," shrieks the Dame.

"Oh!" chimes Mrs. Tew; and after reflecting awhile and smoothing out her
cap-strings, she says,--"I've heerd the French gurl keeps a cross in her
chamber."

"_She_ DOOZ," explodes the Dame.

"I want to know! I wonder the Squire don't put a stop to 't."

"Doan't believe _he would if he_ COULD," says the Dame, snappishly.

"Waal, waal! it's a wicked world we're a-livin' in, Miss Tourtelot." And
she elevates her trumpet, as if she were eager to get a confirmation of
that fact.

LI.

In those days to which our narrative has now reached, the Doctor was far
more feeble than when we first met him. His pace has slackened, and
there is an occasional totter in his step. There are those among his
parishioners who say that his memory is failing. On one or two Sabbaths
of the winter he has preached sermons scarce two years old. There are
acute listeners who are sure of it. And the spinster has been horrified
on learning