He and his daughter left the hall to see after their poor man of wit, who was carried into the air, and was reviving from the blow he had received. There was a wonderful elasticity of character about Reuben Styles. He was not a privileged mischief-maker, and, though full of fun, he very seldom said anything to wound the feelings of any one. Yet he was attached to Lord De Freston and Ellen, and he felt that Abdil's surliness, sullenness, and downcast manner at such a time, must result from ill-humor of mind or body. He looked at him therefore earnestly, to see if some bodily ailment might not afflict him; but, discovering no symptom for the skill of the leech, he easily concluded the man must have some ill-will rancoring in his heart, which prevented his enjoying the Christmas Day as others did. When Lord De Freston inquired good-humoredly after him, saying: 'Reuben, Reuben! you have had a hard hit to-day.' The man replied, 'And so will you, good lord, before night.' 'How so, Reuben?' 'Because when a man strikes master's fool, I'm sure it is not anything but hatred of his master which makes him hit so hard.' 'He can have no cause to hate me, Reuben; I never injured him.' 'So much the worse fellow he. He did not hate me. A few days ago I could say anything to him; but I suspect I spoke truth to him, good master, and the devil hates truth; he hath therefore a devil within him which knocked me down, and I wish that may be the worst mischief in him to-day. I feel better, good master, ready to return. I must join the sports within the hall.' So the poor fellow came in again; but was observed to be very much shaken, and not so lively as he had been. 'Yet there rejoiced he many eyes,-- To see the fool still looking wise; And well it was that he could see With such a stunn'd capacity; And yet he saw, with open eyes,-- Enough to give them all surprise.' CHAPTER L. CHRISTMAS DAY. In the midst of the festivities of Christmas, when the various out-door rustic frolics, such as breaking the stoutest stick, sliding the farthest on a piece of ice, snowballing, tracking the hider, and building up the snow man to be shot at, had passed away, and the song and the dance within the mansion were beginning to soften all hearts, a beggar was announced by the porter, as desirous of partaking of the crumbs of the lord's table. 'Make way for the traveller!' was the immediate order of De Freston; 'let the weary-footed man walk in. Go, several of you, and assist him hither. We shall enjoy ourselves the more, the more free the hospitality we offer.' An old man, with grey, straight, silken locks, came in, supported by others, almost perished from cold; and with shivering limbs and weeping eyes, he was placed near the crackling fire. He sat down, or was rather assisted to be seated, when, opening his eyes, the first thing he fixed them upon was the now animated face of De Freston's bloodhound.