“Theer, owd lass,” he said, straightening himself at last, “thou shall have a bit o’ green at head o’ thy bed same as ever—eh, I could wish I were a-layin’ theer aside o’ thee—Can’st thou see the berries, little wench, wheer thou art, up yon?—Well—I mun be off a-whoam now. Eh, but the grave looks gradely.” Somewhat comforted by this reflection he turned about, and set off homewards. There were few loiterers in the village street; every one was indoors, either preparing for, or already partaking of, the Christmas dinner. When Lancashire folks make merry they like, as they say, to have plenty “to mak’ merry wi’.” For weeks, nay, months past, thrifty housewives had been looking forward to this day, and not a little self-denial had been practised in order to ensure the keeping of it with becoming lavishness. From every house that Joe passed issued sounds of cheerful bustle, jests and laughter; he could see the firelight glancing on the window-panes, and catch glimpses of wonderful decorations in the way of cut paper and greenery. Here and there a little head would be pressed against the shining pane to watch for some belated guest; now and again he would hear a greeting exchanged between one and another; “Merry Christmas, owd lad!” “The same to you, man!” And then the chairs would draw up and there would be a clatter of plates, and a very babel of acclamations would declare the goose or the bit o’ beef to be the finest that ever was seen. Joe was going to have a goose for his Christmas dinner; he had always subscribed to a goose club in his missus’s time, and he had not yet learned to get into new ways; but the thought of that goose of which he was to partake in absolute solitude served only to increase his melancholy. Poor Mary! how she would have enjoyed it—and she lay yonder in the cold ground. When he arrived at his cottage he took the door-key from its usual hiding-place behind the loose brick under the ivy, and let himself in. Widow Prescott, who “did for him” now, had made everything ready before she had taken her departure for her own home. A savoury smell came from the oven where the goose and the pudding (sent as usual from the Hall) were keeping hot; the cloth was laid, the hearth swept up; the good woman had even garnished the place with a sprig of green, here and there; but the table was laid for one, and the missus’s chair stood against the wall. Joe stood still and looked at it, slowly shaking his head. “Eh, theer it stands,” he said, speaking aloud, according to his custom, “theer it stands. Eh dear, an’ her and me have sat opposite to each for such a many years! And theer’s the cheer empty, and here am I all by mysel’, and it’s Christmas Day!” He wiped his eyes and shook his head again; then he slowly divested himself of his hat and coat, which he hung up behind the door, set the goose and potatoes on the table, and sat down.