Jessy Page was a picture to look at. The two elder ladies had on tight dark cloth dresses, like a riding-habit cut short, at the ankles: Jessy was in a bright blue mantle edged with swans-down, and a blue bonnet on her pretty head. She came in a little late, and Miss Susan blew her up sharply, for putting on that "best Sunday cape" to dress a church in: but Jessy only laughed good-naturedly, and answered that she would take care not to harm it. Susan Page, trimming the branches, had seen John Drench's eyes fixed on the girl: and her knife worked away like mad in her vexation. "Look here," said Jessy: "we have never had any Christmas over the pulpit; I think old Bumford was afraid to get up to do it; let us put some. It would hide that ugly nail in the wall." "There are no holes up in the wall," snapped Miss Susan. "I meant a large bunch; a bunch of holly and ivy mixed, Susan. John Drench could tie it to the nail: it would look well." "I'll do it, too," said John. "I've some string in my pocket. The parson won't know himself. It will be as good as a canopy over him." Miss Page turned round: she and Charley had their arms full of the branches we had been cutting. "Put a bunch there, if you like, but let us finish the pews first," she said. "If we go from one thing to another we shall not finish while it's daylight." It was good sense: she rarely spoke anything else. Once let darkness overtake us, and the dressing would be done for. The church knew nothing about evening service, and had never felt the want of means to light itself up. "I shall pick out the best sprays in readiness," whispered Jessy to me, as we sat together on the bench by the big christening bowl, she choosing branches, I trimming them. "Look at this one! you could not count the berries on it." "Did you enjoy your visit to Aberystwith, Jessy?" I wondered what there was in my simple question to move her. The branch of holly went anywhere; her hands met in a silent clasp; the expression of her face changed to one of curious happiness. In answering, her voice fell to a whisper. "Yes, I enjoyed it." "What a long time you stayed away! An age, Mrs. Todhetley says." "It was nearly eleven weeks." "Eleven weeks! How tedious!" Her face was glowing, her eyes had a soft light in them. She caught up some holly, and began scattering its berries. "What did you do with yourself, Jessy?" "I used to sit by the sea--and to walk about. It was very fine. They don't often have it like that in November, Mrs. Allen said." "Did Mrs. Allen sit and walk with you?" "No. She had enough to do with the house and her lodgers. We only saw her at meal times." "The Miss Allens, perhaps?" "There are no Miss Allens. Only one little boy." "Why, then, you had no one but Charley!" "Charley? Oh, he used to be always about with little Tom Allen--in a boat, or something of that sort. Mrs. Allen thought the sea breezes must be so good for him." "Well, you must have been very dull!"