"Beg pardon, sir," stammered Watson, sheepishly. "I'm ashamed of myself, sir. It shan't 'appen again, not so long as I'm in your service." The coachman shuffled his left foot uneasily and appeared to find something of great interest in the rug on which he was standing. At any rate, he scrutinised it very intently. Mr. Bingle smiled as he turned away. Miss Fairweather suddenly leaned over and whispered into the ear of young Wilberforce. He paid no attention to her, so she shook him gently by the arm. A moment later, obeying an unspoken command, he sheepishly removed two large wads of cotton from his ears. "Don't you want to hear about Old Scrooge and Tiny Tim?" she whispered. "I wish I'd thought of doing that," lamented Mr. Force audibly. He had witnessed the little incident. "I'd sooner hear about Melissa's pirates and sea-cooks," whispered Wilberforce shrilly. "Order, please!" commanded Mr. Bingle, taking his place at the reading-table. "Please be seated, Mr. Force. Hi! Look out! Not on top of Rosemary." "Good heavens! I might have squashed her--or him. What are you? A boy or a girl?" "I'm a woming," piped up Rosemary from the depths of the biggest chair in the room. Mr. Bingle cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles. Then he benignly surveyed the audience. The row of servants bobbed their heads and shifted from one foot to the other. "Friends all," began the master, "I give you greeting. On this glad evening no line is drawn between master and man, no--What is it, Delia?" The cook had stepped forward. "Excuse me for interruptin', sor, but for sivin years I've stud through the Christmas Carol, from ind to ind, and I'm sivin years older than whin I began. I'm no longer young and hearty. I'm--" "Well, why do you hesitate? Go on. Do you mean to say you don't want to hear it again?" "God knows, sor, I'm willing to give up wan evenin' to society. We all are, for that matter. But it takes an hour an' a half to read the blissed story. If we could only sit down during the recital, sor, it--it wouldn't be so bad. But as it is, sor, we have to stand and only our legs and feet can go to sleep. If--" "I see!" cried Mr. Bingle. "You put me to shame, Delia. I never thought of it in that light. You must have chairs. We will delay the reading while you go to the dining-room and--" "It's all right, sor. We've got the dining-room chairs in the hall. It was me as thought of thim, sor. Go wan wid yez now, lads, and rush thim in."