"They're most of them tipsy, I think," whispered Doreen to her mother,
who said, "Sh-sh!" in shocked remonstrance, but secretly agreed with her
daughter's verdict.

"Throw them some coppers, papa," suggested the sage and practical
Queenie.

Mr. Wedmore turned out his pockets, taking care to disperse his largesse
as widely as possible. The girls helped him, hunting high and low for
coins, among which, urged by the crowd in no subdued voice to "come down
handsome," sixpences and shillings presently made their welcome
appearance.

"Oh, the hollies!" whispered Doreen to her sister.

"Thank goodness, the look of the garden to-morrow morning will be an
object-lesson to papa!"

For the invaders, well aware of the value of such wares at Christmas
time, filled out the pauses by slashing at the berry-bearing trees with
their pocket-knives, secure in the safety of numbers.

By the time the shower of money ceased the crowd had begun to thin;
those members of it who had been lucky enough to secure silver coins had
made off in the direction of the nearest public-house, and those who had
cut down the holly had taken themselves off with their booty.

There remained in front of the door, when this clearance had been
effected, the Yule log itself, the laborers who had drawn it along and a
group of manageable size.