It was a very fine night. The snow was well trodden on the drive, so
that it did not wet their feet, but on the trees and shrubs it hung soft
and white.
"It's much jollier being out at night than in the daytime," said Robin.
"Much," responded Nicholas, with intense feeling.
"We'll go a wassailing next week," said Robin. "I know all about it; and
perhaps we shall get a good lot of money, and then we'll buy tin swords
with scabbards for next year. I don't like these sticks. Oh, dear, I
wish it wasn't so long between one Christmas and another."
"Where shall we go first?" asked Nicholas, as they turned into the
high-road. But before Robin could reply, Dora clung to Nicholas, crying,
"Oh, look at those men!"
The boys looked up the road, down which three men were coming in a very
unsteady fashion, and shouting as they rolled from side to side.
"They're drunk," said Nicholas; "and they're shouting at us."
"Oh, run, run!" cried Dora; and down the road they ran, the men shouting
and following them. They had not run far, when Hector caught his foot in
the Captain's great-coat which he was wearing, and came down headlong in
the road. They were close by a gate, and when Nicholas had set Hector on
his legs, St. George hastily opened it.
"This is the first house," he said. "We'll act here;" and all, even the
Valiant Slasher, pressed in as quickly as possible. Once safe within the
grounds, they shouldered their sticks and resumed their composure.
"You're going to the front door," said Nicholas. "Mummers ought to go to
the back."
"We don't know where it is," said Robin, and he rang the front-door
bell. There was a pause. Then lights shone, steps were heard, and at
last a sound of much unbarring, unbolting, and unlocking. It might have
been a prison. Then the door was opened by an elderly, timid-looking
woman, who held a tallow candle above her head.
"Who's there," she said, "at this time of night?"
"We're Christmas mummers," said Robin, stoutly; "we didn't know the way
to the back door, but----"
"And don't you know better than to come here?" said the woman. "Be off
with you, as fast as you can!"
"You're only the servant," said Robin. "Go and ask your master and
mistress if they wouldn't like to see us act. We do it very well."
"You impudent boy, be off with you!" repeated the woman. "Master'd no
more let you nor any other such rubbish set foot in this house----"
"Woman!" shouted a voice close behind her, which made her start as if
she had been shot, "who authorizes you to say what your master will or
will not do, before you ask him? The boy is right. You are the servant,
and it is not your business to choose for me whom I shall or shall not
see."
"I meant no harm, sir, I'm sure," said the house-keeper; "but I thought
you'd never----"
"My good woman," said her master, "if I had wanted somebody to think for
me, you're the last person I should have employed. I hire you to obey
orders, not to think."
"I'm sure, sir," said the house-keeper, whose only form of argument was
reiteration, "I never thought you would have seen them----"
"Then you were wrong," shouted her master. "I will see them. Bring them
in."
He was a tall, gaunt old man, and Robin stared at him for some minutes,
wondering where he could have seen somebody very like him. At last he
remembered. It was the old gentleman of the blue cloak.
The children threw off their wraps, the house-keeper helping them, and
chatting ceaselessly, from sheer nervousness.
"Well, to be sure," said she, "their dresses are pretty, too, and they
seem quite a better sort of children; they talk quite genteel. I might
ha' knowed they weren't like common mummers, but I was so flustered
hearing the bell go so late, and----"
"Are they ready?" said the old man, who had stood like a ghost in the
dim light of the flaring tallow candle, grimly watching the proceedings.
"Yes, sir. Shall I take them to the kitchen sir----"
"For you and the other idle hussies to gape and grin at? No. Bring them
to the library," he snapped, and then he stalked off, leading the way.
The house-keeper accordingly led them to the library and then withdrew,
nearly falling on her face as she left the room by stumbling over
Darkie, who clipped in last like a black shadow.
The old man was seated in a carved oak chair by the fire.
"I never said the dogs were to come in," he said.
"But we can't do without them, please," said Robin, boldly. "You see,
there are eight people in 'The Peace Egg,' and there are only five of
us; and so Darkie has to be the Black Prince, and Pax has to be the
Fool, and so we have to have them."
"Five and two make seven," said the old man, with a grim smile; "what do
you do for the eighth?"
"Oh, that's the little one at the end," said Robin, confidentially.
"Mamma said we weren't to mention him, but I think that's because we're
children. You're grown up, you know, so I'll show you the book, and you
can see for yourself," he went on, drawing "The Peace Egg" from his
pocket. "There, that's the picture of him on the last page; black, with
horns and a tail."
The old man's stern face relaxed into a broad smile as he examined the
grotesque wood-cut; but, when he turned to the first page, the smile
vanished in a deep frown, and his eyes shone like hot coals, with
anger. He had seen Robin's name.
"Who sent you here?" he asked, in a hoarse voice. "Speak, and speak the
truth! Did your mother send you here?"
Robin thought the old man was angry with them for playing truant. He
said slowly, "N--no. She didn't exactly send us; but I don't think
she'll mind our having come if we get back in time for supper. Mamma
never forbid our going mumming, you know."
"I don't suppose she ever thought of it," Nicholas said, candidly,
wagging his curly head from side to side.
"She knows we're mummers," said Robin, "for she helped us. When we were
abroad, you know, she used to tell us about the mummers acting at
Christmas when she was a little girl. And so we acted to papa and mamma,
and so we thought we'd act to the maids, but they were cleaning the
passages, and so we thought we'd really go mumming; and we've got
several other houses to go to before supper-time. We'd better begin, I
think," said Robin, and without more ado he began to march round and
round, raising his sword and shouting,--
"I am St. George, who from Old England sprung,
My famous name throughout the world hath rung."
And the performance went off quite as creditably as before.
As the children acted, the old man's anger wore off. He watched them
with an interest he could not repress. When Nicholas took some hard
thwacks from St. George without flinching, the old man clapped his
hands; and, after the encounter between St. George and the Black Prince,
he said he would not have the dogs excluded on any consideration. It was
just at the end, when they were all marching round and round, holding on
by each other's swords "over the shoulder," and singing "A mumming we
will go, etc.," that Nicholas suddenly brought the circle to a
stand-still by stopping dead short and staring up at the wall before
him.
"What are you stopping for?" said St. George, turning indignantly round.
"Look there!" cried Nicholas, pointing to a little painting which hung
above the old man's head.