The sanded bar-parlour of the “Packhorse,” gaily decorated with holly and one huge bunch of mistletoe, was full, and business brisk. The landlord was kept on the run, but managed to find time to contribute an occasional scrap to the conversation of his guests, which was under no restraint. Prominent amongst the crowd because of his position near the fire, where he occupied an arm-chair and faced old Ambrose, was Maniwel Drake, whose custom it had always been to make the evening of Boxing Day the occasion of one of his rare visits to the inn; and it was plain to see that his presence had affected the drift of the elders’ talk. “It’s nowt but what you could expect,” piped old Ambrose. “There wor a sayin’ o’ my mother’s when I wor a young lad ’at’s trew as Holy Gospil to this day, ’at there’s no gettin’ white meal out of a coal sack; and by that figger o’ speech I do Baldwin no wrong, neebours; not even this blessed Kersmas-time when we’re meant to be i’ love an’ charity, same as it says i’ t’ Prayer Book.” “That’s a trew word, Ambrose,” said Swithin “Kersmas or Midsummer-day, a coal sack’s a coal sack and t’ description fits Baldwin same as a dinner o’ broth. But by his-sen Baldwin’s no match for Maniwel, being a bit over slow i’ t’ uptake; and what bothers me is ’at this young fellow should ha’ turned up just i’ t’ nick o’ time, as you may put it, to fill Jagger’s place and scheme for his maister, for there’s no getting over it ’at he has a gift God never gave him and the devil’s own headpiece for mischief-making.” “Well, well,” said Maniwel cheerily; “we’re partly as we’re made, Swithin, and partly as we make ourselves, and there’s few of us ’at don’t carry both coal-sacks and meal-sacks about wi’ us; and it’s as much as we can do to see ’at we don’t use one for t’other ourselves without peeping into our neighbour’s storeholes. Baldwin isn’t all bad, as I can bear witness ’at worked alongside of him thirty year and more.” “Maybe not,” conceded Swithin in a doubtful voice. “There’s worse, I dare say, if bad ’uns could all be put through t’ sieve. This here Inman now——” “Aye,” interrupted old Ambrose with as much energy as his feeble frame was capable of; “but they’re both plannin’ an’ schemin’ for one end which is nayther more nor less nor to put a spoke i’ Maniwel’s wheel; an’ t’owd saying is reyt, ’at a man mud as weel eat the divel his-sen as t’ broth he’s boiled in. Baldwin swallows all this young fellow puts on his plate; and if one’s worse nor t’other it’s both on ’em. You can trust Maniwel to see what isn’t there; but I say they’re a pair o’ ill ’uns, an’ nowt but mischief is like to come when sich a pair o’ black crows get their ’eads together.” “My word, but Ambrose has getten steam up,” said the landlord admiringly, as he leaned for a moment against the mantelpiece and held one hand towards the flame. “Since Inman came he’s had to bottle his-self a bit; but wi’ him being away for t’ holidays he’s blowing off i’ t’ old style.”