"It's like he might ha' just stepped out yesternight, he drops into ways so quick," said Cleena. "But he's not the same lad. He'll give somebody trouble before long. You do wrong, woman, to harbor him. He's vindictive and dangerous." The trustful Cleena laughed the teamster to scorn. "Faith, give a dog a bad name an' he'll earn it. Let the lad be. In old Ireland we call such the 'touched of God.' We judge not, an' that's the size of a man--how he betreats the helpless ones. Put that in your pipe an' smoke it." Surely, John thought, there was a deal of good sense and heart kindness in this stalwart daughter of Erin. He was Yankee himself, to the backbone; yet, as he pushed back from the table, satisfied and at ease, he pulled from his pocket a small paper parcel. It was his Christmas gift for his hostess, and intended to suggest many things. She was bright enough to comprehend his meaning, if she chose. Would she? She gave no sign, if she did, as she unrolled the package and placed its contents--a small flag of Ireland and its mate, in size, of the United States--behind the kitchen clock, where the blended colors made a bit of gayety upon the whitewashed wall. "Long may they wave!" cried the donor. "Troth, I'm not seein' no wavin'. They're best as they be, with the timepiece betwixt. Each in its place, as the Lord wills, an' mine's here. So here I bides till I'm no longer wanted." "It's a biggish house," quoth the undismayed suitor. "There's room in it for me, too, I cal'late." But if Cleena heard this remark she ignored it, passing swiftly into the dining room to remove the dishes of the first course, and substituting the luxury of a basket of fruit which she had accumulated somehow, as only herself could have explained. Maybe there is no trivial thing that so greatly helps to bridge over a trying situation as good breeding. The breeding which is really good, out of the inner life: kindness and the reluctance to inflict pain. It was such breeding that enabled the oddly assorted company at that Christmas dinner table to pass the hours of their intercourse not only in peace, but with absolute enjoyment. Finally, when the elders pushed back their chairs, Mr. Kaye proposed that Amy should sing some of the old-time ballads familiar to the childhood of both himself and his kinsman. So Hallam took out his mother's guitar and tuned it, and his sister placed herself beside him. "Ah, how well I remember that little instrument," cried Mr. Wingate, "and the commotion it caused among the Friends. Music used to be the most 'worldly' and undesirable thing, but they are more tolerant now. Give us 'Lang Syne,' youngsters. It's the song for the day and--this hour."