verything she asked
for. Lost in the contemplation of that halcyon time, Jack forgot the
present, and was only awoke to it by the old man's exclamation of wonder
as Mr Bayfield laid the gifts of which he spoke on the table.

'Lor', to be sure, what a pretty necklace! Shells do you say, sir? I
never saw such shells in my born days--green and white; and what a grand
silver comb--that will please Biddy and no mistake--and a brooch for my
daughter--well, to be sure! But I favour the shells most,' and the old
man fingered the necklace made of the pearly shells, shot with green,
which are to be found on the shores of the South Pacific ocean. 'And
both of 'em for Biddy--and Bet a brooch like aunt's and a pin for her
cap. Well,' said the old man, in whose veins the punch was circulating,
and giving a comfortable sense of warmth and contentment, 'you are
turning out a good friend, sir, after all, Mr Bayfield, sir. I thought
you must have something of your good father in you, though at first you
seemed a bit rough--you'll excuse me for saying so.'

Meanwhile, there lay the gifts on the table. Dorothy took up her brooch,
and making a bob-curtsy, said,--

'I'm greatly obleeged to you, sir, I am sure.'

Betty, uncertain whether to speak before Bryda did, looked questioningly
at her sister.

Bryda stood motionless, feeling the Squire's eyes were on her.

Presently he took up the necklace and said,--

'Permit me to clasp it on a neck which is fair as--'

But Bryda put up her hand to prevent it, and started back. Suddenly the
necklace became like a fetter which would bind her to the man who gave
it. But Mr Bayfield was not to be baffled. As Bryda retreated he
advanced, the necklace in his hand, till Bryda stood under the mistletoe
bough.

Then he caught her hand, and saying, 'I take my privilege here,' he put
his arm round her and kissed her on the lips as he clasped the necklace
round her slender throat.

Like a lion from his lair Jack Henderson sprang on the Squire, and
shouted,--

'You villain! how dare you?'

Instead of an angry retort the Squire only laughed ironically,--

'My good fellow, you may have your turn now. All is fair under the
mistletoe bough at Christmas.'

Then, with a bow and a 'Good-night to you all,' the Squire departed,
whistled to his groom, who had been holding his horse under cover in one
of the farm sheds, and was gone.

Bryda, with burning cheeks, unfastened the hateful necklace, flung it