as the delinquent.

"And what is your favourite style of poetry, Miss Clyde?" asked the
curate, taking advantage of the introduction of Herrick to change the
subject.

And then there followed a chorus of discussion: Miss Spight declared she
adored Wordsworth: Mr Mawley tried to show off his superiority, and I
attempted to put him down; I believe I was jealous lest Min should agree
with him.

"Now, Frank," exclaimed Miss Pimpernell, "I will not have any more
sparring between you and Mr Mawley, for I'm sure you've argued enough.
It is `the merry Christmas-time,' you know; and we ought all to be at
peace, and gay and happy, too! What do you say, girls?"

"But what shall we do to be merry?" asked Bessie Dasher.

"Ah! my dear," groaned her mother; "it is not right to be foolishly
`merry,' as you call it. This season of the year is a very sad one, and
we ought to be thinking, as my poor dear papa used to say, of what our
Saviour did for us and the other world! We have now arrived at the end
of another year, and it is very sad, very sad!"

"What!" exclaimed Min, "wrong to be merry at Christmas? The vicar said
in his sermon last Sunday, that our hearts ought to expand with joy at
this time; and that we should try, not only to be glad and happy in
ourselves, but also to make others glad and happy, too. It appears to
me," and her face flushed with excitement as she spoke, "a very
erroneous idea of religion that would only associate it with gloom and
sadness. The same Creator endowed us with the faculty to laugh as well
as cry; and we must take poor comfort in him if we cannot be glad in his
company, to which the Christmas season always brings us nearer and into
more intimate connection, as it were."

"Bravo, my little champion!" said the vicar, who had again stolen in
unperceived by us all. "That is the spirit of true Christianity. You
have preached a more practical sermon than I, my dear." Then, seeing
her confusion at being thus singled out and her embarrassment at having,
as she thought, been too forward in speaking out impulsively on the spur
of the moment, the vicar created a diversion. "And now, young ladies,"
he said, "as we are going to be merry, what shall we play at?"

"Oh, puss in the corner!" cried Seraphine Dasher. "That will be
delightful!"

"With all my heart; puss in the corner be it," said the vicar, who could
be a boy again on fitting occasions, and play with the best of us.
"Come, Mawley,"