* * * * *

The guests had all assembled, and the tranter's party had reached that
degree of development which accords with ten o'clock P.M. in rural
assemblies. At that hour the sound of a fiddle in process of tuning was
heard from the inner pantry.

"That's Dick," said the tranter. "That lad's crazy for a jig."

"Dick! Now I cannot--really, I cannot have any dancing at all till
Christmas-day is out," said old William emphatically. "When the clock
ha' done striking twelve, dance as much as ye like."

"Well, I must say there's reason in that, William," said Mrs. Penny. "If
you do have a party on Christmas-night, 'tis only fair and honourable to
the sky-folk to have it a sit-still party. Jigging parties be all very
well on the Devil's holidays; but a jigging party looks suspicious now. O
yes; stop till the clock strikes, young folk--so say I."

It happened that some warm mead accidentally got into Mr. Spinks's head
about this time.

"Dancing," he said, "is a most strengthening, livening, and courting
movement, 'specially with a little beverage added! And dancing is good.
But why disturb what is ordained, Richard and Reuben, and the company
zhinerally? Why, I ask, as far as that do go?"

"Then nothing till after twelve," said William.