the days flew by until christmas, and the weather kept clear and bright, without a bit of rain or gloom, which was quite delightful and wonderful in that northern country. the older guests hunted or drove or went walking. there were excursions of every sort for those who liked them, and sometimes the young people joined in what was going on, and sometimes betty and edith and warford made fine plans of their own. it proved that edith had spent much time with the family of her uncle, who was an army officer; and at the western army posts she had learned to ride with her cousins, who were excellent riders and insisted upon her joining them. so edith could share many pleasures of this sort at danesly, and she was so pretty and gay that people liked her a good deal; and presently some of the house party had gone, and some new guests came, and the two girls and warford were unexpected helpers in their entertainment. sometimes they dined downstairs now, when no one was asked from outside; and every day it seemed pleasanter and more homelike to stay at danesly. there were one or two other great houses in the neighborhood where there were also house parties in the gay holiday season, and so betty and edith saw a great deal of the world in one way and another; and lady mary remembered that girls were sometimes lonely, as they grew up, and was very good to them, teaching them, in quiet ways, many a thing belonging to manners and getting on with other people, that they would be glad to know all their life long.
"don't talk about yourself," she said once, "and you won't half so often think of yourself, and then you are sure to be happy." and again: "my old friend, mrs. procter, used to say, 'never explain, my dear. people don't care a bit.'"
warford was more at home in the hunting field than in the house; but the young people saw much of each other. he took a great deal of trouble, considering his usual fashion, to be nice to the two girls; and so one day, when betty went to find him, he looked up eagerly to see what she wanted. warford was busy in the gun room, with the parts of a gun which he had taken to pieces. there was nobody else there at that moment, and the winter sun was shining in along the floor.
"warford," betty began, with an air of great confidence, "what can we do for a bit of fun at christmas?"
warford looked up at her over his shoulder, a little bewildered. he was just this side of sixteen, like betty herself; sometimes he seemed manly, and sometimes very boyish, as happened that day. "i'm in for anything you like," he said, after a moment's reflection. "what's on?"
"if we give up dining with the rest, i can think of a great plan," said betty, shining with enthusiasm. "there's the old gallery, you know. couldn't we have some music there, as they used in old times?"
"my aunt would like it awfully," exclaimed warford, letting his gunstock drop with a thump. "i'd rather do anything than sit all through the dinner. somebody'd be sure to make a row about me, and i should feel like getting into a burrow. i'll play the fiddle: what did you mean?—singing, or what? if we had it christmas eve, we might have the christmas waits, you know."
"fancy!" said betty, in true english fashion; and then they both laughed.
"the waits are pretty silly," said warford. "they were better than usual last year, though. mr. macalister, the schoolmaster, is a good musician, and he trained them well. he plays the flute and the cornet. why not see what we can do ourselves first, and perhaps let them sing last? they'd be disappointed not to come at midnight under the windows, you know," said warford considerately. "we'll go down and ask the schoolmaster after hours, and we'll think what we can do ourselves. one of the grooms has a lovely tenor voice. i heard him singing 'the bonny ivy tree' like a flute only yesterday, so he must know more of those other old things that aunt mary likes."
"we needn't have much music," said betty. "the people at dinner will not listen long,—they'll want to talk. but if we sing a christmas song all together, and have the flute and fiddle, you know, warford, it would be very pretty—like an old-fashioned choir, such as there used to be in tideshead. we'll sing things that everybody knows, because everybody likes old songs best. i wish mary beck was here; but edith sings—she told me so; and don't you know how we sang some nice things together, the other day upon the moor, when we were coming home from the hermit's-cell ruins?"
warford nodded, and picked up his gunstock.
"i'm your man," he said soberly. "let's dress up whoever sings, with wigs and ruffles and things. and then there are queer trumpets and viols in that collection of musical instruments in the music-room. some of us can make believe play them."
"a procession! a procession!" exclaimed betty. "what do you say to a company with masks to come right into the great hall, and walk round the table three times, singing and playing? lady dimdale knows everything about music; i mean to ask her. i'll go and find her now."
"i'll come, too," said warford, with delightful sympathy. "i saw her a while ago writing in the little book-room off the library."
《the country of the pointed firs尖枞之乡》
《a country doctor乡村医生》
