"Sakes alive, aw nivvir thowt on it," cried my mother all of a sudden. "Ben, whip outside this minnit--doesn't ta see George's hair is awmost red an' it's black for luck--whatever could'st ta be thinking' on, George?" And so nothing must do but I must step outside and enter with due Christmas greetings, to cross the luck, and the waits from Powle Moor arriving at the very nick of time, we all went in together; and Mary and George and myself were soon busy enough handing round the cheese and cake and ale. George and I slept together that night, and next morning, we all, save my mother and Martha, who must stop at home to cook the dinner, went to church, for we wouldn't for anything have missed hearing the Christmas hymn; and near all Slaithwaite was there, Methodie and Baptists and all; and even folk that went nowhere, Owenwites they called them, made a point of going to church that one morning of the year. They said it was to give them an appetite for the beef and plum pudding; but I think it was more by way of keeping up a sort of nodding acquaintance with what they felt they might have to fall back on after all, for you may ever notice that the parson treads very close on the heels of the doctor. Now after dinner my father must needs have a glass of hot spirits and water, and presently was fast asleep in his chair, and I would have been glad to have done likewise, for I was not used to sitting up half the night, and had dozed off more than once in church, only to be roused with a start by a nudge from Mary. But George was all for a walk over Stanedge to stretch his legs and get a mouthful of home-fed air after the foul smells of the town. I thought Mary pouted a bit, and asked her to go with us, but she said two were company and three were none, and George maybe was too fine to walk out with a country lass. I expected George to disclaim any such slanderous thoughts, but he only laughed and said something about the wind being too nipping for the roses on Mary's cheeks. So off we two set towards Marsden at a good swinging pace. When we had dropped down into the village, and were thinking of calling at the Red Lion to get a glass of ale and a snack, whom should we come on but Mr. Horsfall, of Marsden. "What, Ben, lad!" he said to me heartily and shaking my hand most warmly--"A right good Christmas to you, and my compliments to my good friends at Holme." A pleasant man was Mr. Horsfall when he liked, but one you must not lightly sour or cross. He had an iron hand, folk said, but he kept it gloved. "And who's your friend, Ben?" I made George known to him, and Mr. Horsfall could tell him of knowing his mother, my aunt, when she was a blithe young girl courting with my uncle Mellor that was dead. But what surprised me was that George, generally so cheery and ready to meet civility more than half-way, seemed to freeze up and would scarce give his hand in greeting to Mr. Horsfall.