CHRISTMAS IN THE OLD HALL
"Lo, now is come the Christmas feast
Let every man be jolly,
Each room with yvie leaves is dress'd
And every post with holly;
Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke
And Christmas blocks are burning,
Their ovens, they with baked meats choke,
And all their spits are turning;
Without the door let sorrow lie,
And if for cold it hap to die,
We'll bury un in a Christmas pie,
And evermore be merry."
--_Withers_.
"Ah, this is like Christmas," said the old Major as he wended his way
with his wife and Ande to Trembath Manor on Christmas eve. The Manor was
to be reopened that night and the strange owner, through his secretary,
had sent out invitations to the country around, and among those
receiving invitations were the Major and his wife and son.
They passed through the gates, the old Major pausing a moment to scan
the Trembath arms and remarking, "I am glad the new owner has not seen
fit to remove our coat-of-arms from the gates."
"The drive-way is in better shape than it was in the days of Squire
Vivian," said Ande, as the gravel crunched under their advancing steps.
"A careful and neat owner; it will do me good to meet him," said the
Major.
Forth through the trees ahead gleamed the twinkling lights of many
windows, only obstructed by the passing of forms within and the figures
of many great holly wreaths. The great lantern in front of the double
doors was gleaming brilliantly through its festoons of evergreen, and
from the hall could be heard the sound of ringing festivity and
jollification. The door was opened widely at the sound of the great
knocker, and the butler footman, bowing low, ushered them into the great
hall. Groups of elderly people were engaged at their favourite game,
whist, at different tables, and down the long room were others engaged
in sundry amusements. The panelled walls had been rewaxed and were
glistening with holly and mistletoe. The large picture of Squire
Vivian's father still smiled friendly at the picture of King George II
on the other wall, and in the great open fireplace roared, cracked,
leaped, danced and shouted with all the ecstacy of Christmas jollity the
flames of the great yule log.
"Where's the new squire?" whispered the old Major to his son. He had
hardly asked the question, before he started back in amazement at a
sight he saw over the great, panelled fireplace. Two great
oil-paintings, heavy in their rich framings, riveted his attention. He
stared at them and then at the crowd of Christmas revellers, who, though
now thoroughly quieted, yet had gleams of suppressed merriment on their
countenances. What could it mean? Those pictures? Where had they
obtained them? Was his mind affected? He knew that he was growing old,
and as he dazedly thought of this, he hurriedly passed his hand through
his whitened hair, a gnarled, brown bough in the midst of a snowdrift.
The folding doors, separating the servants' hall from the apartment they
were in, were thrown open, revealing the merry faces of group after
group of servants. It was a tableau of suppressed excitement, broken at
length by the voice of Parson Trant.
"My friends, we have gathered here not only for Christmas festivity, but
to do honour to the dead and to the living." Pointing to the picture on
the right, he continued: "Behold the picture of Captain Andrew Trembath.
You are all aware of the terrible injustice done his memory. He was the
most patriotic and loyal of Cornish gentlemen. His long war record amply
testifies the fact. He was wounded at Prestonpans, and at Culloden, and
did worthy service under Braddock in America. After that deplorable
battle, he was captured by the Indians, escaped from them, slew a French
officer, garbed himself in his uniform and for greater security in the
enemy's country inserted his name in the dead officer's commission
papers. He was accidentally shot by the troops of General Armstrong, the
thought of treason penetrated the public mind and the estate of Trembath
was confiscated. Yet, after all these years truth prevails. An old
snuff-box, found in the wilds of America, reveals the secret, and though
dead, Captain Andrew Trembath is once more honoured by the people as a
faithful soldier and loyal subject of the King." Then, turning to the
other picture, he continued:
"Behold the picture of Major Thomas Trembath, who served the King nobly
in the Peninsular campaign, in the War of the American Colonies and in
the Canadian War. He disappeared, due to an impression conveyed to him
that his family was dead, and for many long years was an exile in the
wilds of America. Then as a hunter he lived by the pursuit of game. To
the place of his abode came his son, Andrew Trembath, and after a time
became known to him, and through the finding of the records of the
snuff-box, already mentioned, he is restored to his former
honours,--friends and country. His life formerly was sad, now we trust
his declining years will be full of sunshine, and I greet and welcome
him as Squire Trembath, the rightful master of Trembath Manor."
"Welcome to your own, again, comrade," said old Captain Tom Lanyan, as
he heartily shook the squire's hand.
Others crowded around the old squire, among them Dick Thomas, Tom Glaze,
and numerous of the parish gentry.
The old squire and his wife were so dazed that they could not speak, and
so they were escorted to the great armchairs in readiness for them near
the great yule log, and one by one the Christmas guests came near and
gave their greetings. When it was all finished, the new squire found his
voice.
"I am glad, my friends, to be with you here in the hall of my fathers,
but all this seems too wonderful to me to be true; yet I cannot help but
believe what has been told me--but how has all this come about? Has the
government----"
"There has not been anything wonderful about it but the kindness of
Providence," said Ande Trembath, arising to speak. "Years ago, when a
lad, I resolved to remove the stain of treason from our name. My life
here and at school is familiar to you all. By a strange series of
adventures my classmate, Dick Thomas, and myself found ourselves adrift
on a bit of wreckage in the English channel. We were picked up by a
Brazilian ship and after a weary journey were landed at Rio de Janeiro.
For some time we laboured in the fields of planters, and then betook our
way inland to the ridges of Sierro Do Frio. It was here that we laboured
under a brazen sun for the space of three years. I cannot tell of all
the various vicissitudes that overtook us there. At one time I was down
with fever and, but for the help of Dick, would have succumbed to its
ravages. At another time I repaid the debt by nursing Dick through a
serious illness. Gentlemen, you have all seen him wrestle with Tom
Glaze, but he was not the hardest opponent he met. He had the hardihood
to win championship honours in a struggle with an immense Brazilian
puma, or mountain lion. I do not remember whether Dick sprang at the
lion or the lion at him. All I remember was seeing man and beast in a
hideous mix-up, worse than any wrestling match I had ever seen. I ran
to our cabin for a gun, but it was unnecessary, for when I returned,
there were Dick and the lion stretched beside each other. He had choked
it to death, but was so lacerated himself that it was months before he
became well. In the midst of our work we were successful, both in
diamonds and gold, and quitted the regions wealthy men. I deposited my
wealth in the banks of New Orleans, and the charm of the hunting life
still being on me, and being anxious to visit the place of my
grandfather's death, we journeyed to the Kittanning region. The result
of that Kittanning trip is now known to all England. I heard that the
Manor was for sale, and secretly, through agents, purchased it. And now,
father and mother, I hand over to you the title deeds of Trembath Manor
and the Wheal Whimble tin mine as a Christmas present. I wish also to
add this check on the Bank of England for the sum of fifty thousand
pounds. A merry Christmas, and may you have many, happy years in the
home of our people."
"Merry Christmas! 'Tis the merriest Christmas I have had in years," said
the old squire with emotion, as he wiped the tears away, that would
persist in gathering in his eyes.
Mrs. Elizabeth Trembath said nothing, but her bright shining eyes
revealed her happiness as she gently pulled her son's head down and
kissed him.
Here the thrumming of a harp was heard and a curtain was drawn from an
alcove near by, revealing Uncle Billy, the droll, with an orchestra at
his back. In the meantime Ande withdrew. The droll and his orchestra
paused not a moment, but plunged, with voices and instruments combined,
into the Hymn of the Lark.
The song was sung to its very end, and the old squire, as he nodded,
said, "Yes, yes, it's true; evil fails at last and right prevails."
He had hardly finished speaking when the orchestra burst into strains of
Mendelssohn, and down the great, hall stairway came a procession such as
it had never witnessed before. First came a troop of little girls
bearing flowers and scattering them profusely in the way. Then followed
ladies. "Ah, the bridesmaids," whispered some one, and then followed by
their respective attendants, in regular procession, came Ande Trembath
and his affianced bride, Mistress Alice Vivian. Slowly they proceeded up
the hall and took their respective positions before old Parson Trant.
The orchestra gave one clashing peal of music and then was silent, and
then arose the mellow voice of the rector in the marriage ceremony of
the Church of England. At the words, "Can any man say aught why these
two should not be joined together in holy wedlock," the voice of the
squire was heard.
"There have been so many things happening on this Christmas eve, that I
hesitate to interrupt the service, but have the laws of England changed
in my absence. I mean that law that states that no marriages are lawful
except those performed in a parish church?"
"The laws of England are the same," said Parson Trant, "but we have a
special dispensation from the archbishop, dispensing with the banns, and
allowing, in consideration of the return of Squire Trembath and the
happiness of this occasion, the ceremony to be performed in the Manor of
Trembath."
"Ah, that is different; my blessing and heartiest well wishes," said the
squire, as he sank back in his armchair.
After the ceremony all adjourned to the dining hall, where an elaborate
wedding dinner awaited them. During the wedding feast the old squire
told of his many adventures, to which Dick and Ande added some of their
own.
"It tells like a story-book," said Tom Glaze, in admiration.
"Or rather like a drama," said bluff Captain Tom Lanyan. "Wouldn't I
have liked to have been in the Shawnee fight," and the tough, old,
Wellington veteran rubbed his hands in delight.
"I have a bit of news," said Ande, as he drew a letter from his pocket.
"Here is a letter from Hugh Lark in America, just received." He scanned
it rapidly and replaced it, and then turned with a smile to his father
and the company. "He says that he has given up the idea of the silver
mine, that Professor Bill Banks has been elected to Congress, and that
old Burke still thinks Bill is high larndt."
The voices of carol singers were heard without, and the wedding dinner
being ended, they again returned to the main hall to enjoy the singing.
The "curl" singers were followed by the old play of St. George and the
Turk, performed by village lads. Then, in the closing scenes of the
evening's festivities, Parson Trant proposed his favourite hymn, and
out on the evening air, echoing even far beyond the walls of Trembath
Manor, the mellow voices of the trained singers, the piping of childish
voices, the worn voices of the older parties, and the music of the
droll's orchestra mingling all together, pealed the strains of Cowper's
hymn:
"God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform,
He plants his footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm."
THE END
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Transcriber's note:
Some printing errors in punctuation have been corrected.