had evidently never relished anything more, to the infinite delight of
old Mrs. Aubrey; who observing, soon afterwards, irrepressible symptoms
of fatigue and drowsiness, ordered them all off to bed--Kate sleeping in
the same chamber in which she was sitting when the reader was permitted
to catch a moonlight glimpse of her.

They did not make their appearance the next morning till after nine
o'clock, Mrs. Aubrey having read prayers before the assembled servants,
as usual, nearly an hour before--a duty her son always performed when at
the Hall; but on this occasion he had overslept himself. He found his
mother in the breakfast-room, where she was soon joined by her daughter
and daughter-in-law, all of them being in high health and spirits. Just
as they were finishing breakfast, little Aubrey burst into the room in a
perfect ecstasy--for old Jones had taken him round to the stables, and
shown him the little pony which had been recently presented to him. He
had heard it neigh--had seen its long tail--had patted its neck--had
seen it eat--and now his vehement prayer was, that his papa, and mamma,
and Kate would immediately go and see it, and take his little sister
also.

Breakfast over, they separated. Old Mrs. Aubrey went to her own room to
be attended by her housekeeper; the other two ladies retired to their
rooms--Kate principally engaged in arranging her presents for her little
scholars: and Mr. Aubrey repaired to his library--as delightful an old
snuggery as the most studious recluse could desire--where he was
presently attended by his bailiff. He found that everything was going on
as he could have wished. With one or two exceptions, his rents were
paid most punctually; the farms and lands kept in capital condition. To
be sure an incorrigible old poacher had been giving a little trouble, as
usual, and stood committed for trial at the ensuing Spring Assizes; and
a few trivial trespasses had been committed in search of firewood, and
other small matters; which, after having been detailed with great
minuteness by his zealous and vigilant bailiff, were despatched by Mr.
Aubrey with a "pooh, pooh!"--Then there was Gregory, who held the
smallest farm on the estate, at its southern extremity--he was three
quarters' rent in arrear--but he had a sick wife and seven children--so
he was at once forgiven all that was due, and also what would become
due, on the ensuing quarter-day.--"In fact," said Mr. Aubrey, "don't ask
him for an