dismay, when Doreen told him the news. "Good heavens! Hasn't he had a
lesson in yesterday's tomfoolery and what came of it? How do the
servants like the idea?"

"Of course they hate it," answered Doreen, "and mamma has been all day
trying to coax the cook to indulge him, and not to walk off and leave us
to cook the Christmas dinner. And, of course, this assurance that the
notion was distasteful to everybody had made papa more obstinate than
ever. Oh, we shall have a merry time."

Now, down in the depths of his heart Mr. Wedmore had begun to feel some
misgivings about his plans for keeping Christmas in the good old
fashion. But the first failure, the colossal mistake of the Yule Log,
had made him obstinate instead of yielding, and he had set his teeth and
made up his mind that they should all be merry in the way he chose, or
they should not be merry at all.

The fact was that this prosaic middle-aged gentleman, who had passed the
greater part of his life immersed in day-books and ledgers and the
details of a busy city man's life, found time hang heavy on his hands in
these prosperous days of his retirement, and in this condition he had
had his mind inflamed by pictures of the life that was led in The
Beeches by his forerunners, easy-going, hard-riding, hard-drinking
country gentlemen, with whom, if the truth were known, he had nothing in
common.

Fired by the desire to live the life they led, to enjoy it in the
pleasant old fashion, it had seemed to him an especially happy custom to
give a dance at which masters and servants should join hands and make
merry together. He had never assisted at one of these balls, and he