o, who would conduct the service? It was the
week of Christmas and a few more were already in the village, members
of families from afar and two or three visitors.

The feast of Noel is full of importance to all of the Romish faith, and
Poussette knew of great things in preparation for the stone church on
the hill of St. Jean Baptiste in the way of candles, extra music and a
kind of Passion-play in miniature representing the manger, with cows
and horses, wagons and lanterns, the Mother and Child, all complete.
Should Ringfield not return----even as he spoke the wooden clock in the
kitchen pointed to ten; the last train had passed through Bois Clair
and Poussette abandoned all hope, while in order to prove his intense
and abject depression of mind, he broke his promise to the minister and
helped himself to some whisky.

Thus, the absence of his mentor worked this unfortunate relapse, and
should Crabbe find out, there looked to be an old-time celebration at
Poussette's with Pauline and Pauline's rights entirely forgotten. As
it was, Miss Cordova caught the culprit before he was quite lost, and
mounting guard over the bar, entered upon those duties which, once
shouldered, remained hers for a considerable length of time.

"Division of labour," she said smartly, and Poussette gave a foolish
smile. "You take the kitchen and I'll take the bar. Then when Maisie
and Jack arrive I can look after 'em. As like as not, Maisie'll be
hanging round for a drop of lager--what she could get, that is, out of
the glasses--I've seen her! And don't you fuss about Sunday, Mr.
Poussette! We'll get on just as well as if we had a church to go to
and a sermon to listen to. Guess you won't be wanting to see yourself
taking around the plate to-morrow, anyway."

Poussette, lying crumpled up in a reclining chair, watched his new
friend with dawning reason and admiration.

"Fonny things happens," said he, wagging his head, "I'll go to sleep
now and wake up--just in time--you'll see--to go to church, help Mr.
Ringfield take roun' the money--oh--I'll show you, I'll show you, Miss
Cordova."

"You'll show me, will you?" said the barkeeper, absently. "What'll you
do if he don't come at all? He can't come now, and you know it."

"I tell you--fonny things happens! I'll preach myself, read from the
Bible, sure."

CHAPTER XXVI

THE GLISSADE

"The calm oblivious tendencies of nature."

Probably the most beautiful spectacle ever