nzie, with a toss of
her head: and when she retreated Clive whispered that she would not want
me; for she looked to the roasting of the beef and the making of the
pudding and the mince-pie.

"I thought she might have a finger in it," I said; and we set forth to
meet the dear old father, who presently came, walking very slowly, along
the line by which we expected him. His stick trembled as it fell on the
pavement: so did his voice, as he called out Clive's name: so did his
hand, as he stretched it to me. His body was bent, and feeble. Twenty
years had not weakened him so much as the last score of months. I walked
by the side of my two friends as they went onwards, linked lovingly
together. How I longed for the morrow, and hoped they might be united
once more! Thomas Newcome's voice, once so grave, went up to a treble,
and became almost childish, as he asked after Boy. His white hair hung
over his collar. I could see it by the gas under which we walked--and
Clive's great back and arm, as his father leaned on it, and his brave
face turned towards the old man. Oh, Barnes Newcome, Barnes Newcome! Be
an honest man for once, and help your kinsfolk! thought I.

The Christmas meal went off in a friendly manner enough. The
Campaigner's eyes were everywhere: it was evident that the little maid
who served the dinner, and had cooked a portion of it under their keen
supervision, cowered under them, as well as other folks. Mrs. Mack
did not make more than ten allusions to former splendours during the
entertainment, or half as many apologies to me for sitting down to a
table very different from that to which I was accustomed. Good, faithful
F. Bayham was the only other guest. He complimented the mince-pies,
so that Mrs. Mackenzie owned she had made them. The Colonel was very
silent, but he tried to feed Boy, and was only once or twice sternly
corrected by the Campaigner. Boy, in the best little words he could
muster, asked why grandpapa wore a black cloak? Clive nudged my foot
under the table. The secret of the Poor Brothership was very nearly
out. The Colonel blushed, and with great presence of mind said he wore a
cloak to keep him warm in winter.

Rosey did not say much. She had grown lean and languid: the light of her
eyes had gone out: all her pretty freshness had faded. She ate scarce
anything, though her mother pressed her eagerly, and whispered loudly
that a woman in her situation ought to strengthen herself. Poor Rosey
was a