Peter caught the chain that was dangling from its collar, and called it back, as a dusky figure dashed past him. He did not see the man's face, but he knew the form. In a few minutes Jake the rat-catcher came up. "I saw Joel Hart just now," he said; "he seemed to be in a mighty hurry. Feared o' Ben, I should think. Ben doesn't like him. What in the world is he doing here still? I thought he'd gone away." Peter, too, wondered, but he said nothing. He gave the bear back into Jake's charge and went on, much perplexed and troubled. He was glad that Lucy and he were going away so soon, for he could not help being suspicious that Joel had lain in wait for him with no good purpose in his mind, and, save for the arrival of Big Ben, would have made an attempt to carry it out. But he said nothing of this to anyone. The next morning Jake told him that Joel Hart had ridden away at dawn. The remaining days passed quickly. Barbara was in a gentle mood. The sternness of her face relaxed, the fire in her large blue eyes was subdued to a steady glow, which fell upon her sister and Peter with the softness of serene skies. No shadow should darken these final scenes of Lucy's life in the dales. Peter and she should depart, unsaddened by that which they were leaving behind them. Sorrow at bidding good-bye to the old woman there must be, for they were not likely to see her again, but such tears would soon be dried. Her own sorrow, her own loneliness, must be hidden. On Christmas Eve they all gathered in the kitchen to welcome in the Christmas morning. Fresh bedding had been shaken down in the cow-house, after the good old custom of those days, so that the cattle might have clean straw to kneel on when midnight struck. Barbara had put a wisp, with an apple, a jug of water, and a platter of oat-cake in an empty stall, and, coming out, had bolted the door, for no eye might see that scene, when the Christ-child came to bless the beasts, that had shared with Him their shelter and their bed. The beck was now frozen over and nothing could be heard outside, till from far down the dale came the voices of the waits, singing: "As I sat under a green-wood tree On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day I saw three ships come sailing in On Christmas Day in the morning." Their voices drew nearer, and Barbara went out to the garden-gate, followed by Peter. "I've got a shepherd's privilege," she exclaimed, with a light laugh. "I can see angels on Thundergay." "I fear they don't bring you much good tidings, Barbara," he said, letting some of the bitterness which he felt creep into his voice. "Hush," she replied, "listen." They could hear the words clearly. "She washed his face in a silver bowl On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, She combed his hair with an ivory comb On Christmas Day in the morning.