u need not regard me with horror,--at least not with any special
horror on this occasion."

"But what you say is very horrid."

"That, I flatter myself, seems so only because I have not yet said
it. That part of our Christmas-day which is made to be in any degree
sacred is by no means a mistake."

"I am glad you think that."

"Or rather, it is not a mistake in as far as it is in any degree made
sacred. But the peculiar conviviality of the day is so ponderous! Its
roast-beefiness oppresses one so thoroughly from the first moment
of one's waking, to the last ineffectual effort at a bit of fried
pudding for supper!"

"But you need not eat fried pudding for supper. Indeed, here, I am
afraid, you will not have any supper offered you at all."

"No; not to me individually, under that name. I might also manage
to guard my own self under any such offers. But there is always the
flavour of the sweetmeat, in the air,--of all the sweetmeats edible
and non-edible."

"You begrudge the children their snap-dragon. That's what it all
means, Mr. Graham."

"No; I deny it; unpremeditated snap-dragon is dear to my soul; and I
could expend myself in blindman's buff."

"You shall then, after dinner; for of course you know that we all
dine early."

"But blindman's buff at three, with snap-dragon at a quarter to
four--charades at five, with wine and sweet cake at half-past six,
is ponderous. And that's our mistake. The big turkey would be very
good;--capital fun to see a turkey twice as big as it ought to
be! But the big turkey, and the mountain of beef, and the pudding
weighing a hundredweight, oppress one's spirits by their combined
gravity. And then they impart a memory of indigestion, a halo as it
were of apoplexy, even to the church services."

"I do not agree with you the least in the world."

"I ask you to answer me fairly. Is not additional eating an ordinary
Englishman's ordinary idea of Christmas-day?"

"I am only an ordinary Englishwoman and therefore cannot say. It is
not my idea."

"I believe that the ceremony, as kept by us, is perpetuated by the
butchers and beersellers, with a helping hand from the grocers. It is
essentially a material festival; and I would not object to it even on
that account if it were not so grievously overdone. How the sun is
moistening the frost on the ground. As we come back the road will be
quite wet."

"We shall be going home then and it will not signify. Remember, Mr.
Graham, I sh