Perhaps Arthur's flock wondered most when, before the General Thanksgiving, the curate desired them to join him in thanking God for a special mercy vouchsafed to himself on that Christmas morning. Then, when all was over, and Arthur walked home to Cray Holm with the Spencers, Anna looked at him in wonder, and even quiet Aunt Adelaide thought that Mr. Glyn seemed almost like a new man, he was so bright, and seemed so happy. Quite contrary to expectation, there was another guest at Cray Holm that day—an old friend of Mr. Spencer's who had been called to the neighbourhood by urgent business, and who, finding that he could not well reach home for Christmas, had thrown himself upon the squire's hospitality. He had reached Cray Holm the night before, and was at church with the little party that morning. He spoke in warm terms of the curate's sermon, and, on the homeward way, asked his host many questions about Arthur Glyn's antecedents, the answers to which need not be repeated. As to Arthur, he thought no Christmas Day had opened so brightly for him since he had enjoyed the happy season as a child, and in ignorance of the trials and responsibilities of riper years. The guest, Mr. Mervyn, gave his arm with old-world courtesy to Aunt Adelaide, at the same time keeping pace with the squire, and chatting gaily about their mutual past. Surely, under the circumstances, the younger pair acted discreetly in keeping at a little distance behind, so that the elders might talk without restraint! The sun shone out and spread a broad, if wintry smile over all the country round; the earth was crisp under foot, and the air keen enough to make people recall their former verdict, and say that "things looked a bit Christmas-like, after all." Mr. Ulyett had waylaid the squire on his threshold before service, and made him promise that the little party from Cray Holm should look in at his large one at Fairhill. As Mr. Mervyn openly avowed his wish to go; Mr. Spencer would not disappoint his guest; dinner was fixed for an earlier hour; and it was settled unanimously that they would all go—even Aunt Adelaide. Well might Arthur think that day just what Christmas should be, as he went into the dining-room with Anna, and took his place by her side for the meal. Nobody could tell quite how it happened, but as the three gentlemen sat for a little while after dinner, the talk turned upon matrimony and the part that money ought to play in uniting or severing loving hearts. Mr. Mervyn seemed rather to deem it a drawback for a poor or even a rich man to marry "a lass wi' a tocher;" saying that he had always resolved never to wed a wife with money. He had been true to his determination, and had been rewarded by finding the richest of dowries in the dear wife herself.