Rough Scan
~XX~ CHRISTMAS DÀY at Brighton was a reglar Feastable what between the Church, and the roast-beef of old England, and the plum-pudding, and crackers for the bairns, and a Christmas tree in the drawing-room efter dinner. There was a present for every one in the house on it, and mines was a dress kep-white lace, with a bunch of velvet pansies at the side - very genteel. They all said it set me fine: it was a sootable endin' to a real happy day. When I was young there was a habit of giving what they ca'ed "sentiments" at supper-pairties, and a favourite one was, "May the evening's diversions bear the morning's reflections." I dinna think bairns are liable to refieck much on what they've been efter yesterday, like, but mebbe the three wee Lindesays had eaten ower many sweet things on Christmas Day, for the next day they were neither to haud nor to bind. It was a pourin' wet day, and they didna get out, or mebbe their tempers would have held up better. Miss Cielle was the first to give way: she's gey fiery, like her poor grandpapaw, the Colonel. Master Johneen was buildin' a grand bridge on the carpet with a new toy his grannie had given him, and Miss Cielle came flyin' into the room - she's aye in a hurry. So she caught her foot in the arch and nearly fell on her nose. Then she flew into a passion and kicked the whole edifice down. Master Jobneen is the sweetest-tempered bairn you ever saw, but he's serious-minded too, and he lookit up at his sister (he was kneelin' on the floor), and advised her to say, "Get thee behind me, Satan." And with that she bawled, "Get thee behind me, Satan!" and gave Master Johneen such a thump in the middle that he tumbled right over on his back! He was astonished-like for a meenit, and lay still, and then he began to laugh so sweet and cheery that Miss Cielle couldna help but laugh too; and then she hauled him up, and gave him a kiss, and went away gey an' hum'elt-lookin'. There was peace till tea-time, Miss Jean bein' in her bed, and the ither two with their mamaw. But, when they came to their teas, nothing would serve them but they would toast bread, and I would butter it to them. So they all stood round the fire, as close as they could get, with cheeks like red roses. And queer-like toast they made; but I buttered the best of it. At last Miss Jean held up a slice that had just a wee bit of brown at one end, and all the rest was white with black strokes on it where it had come against the bars. I said I wouldna waste butter on it, and then the question arose which of them was to get it to eat dry? Miss Jean got the first chance, and I asked her whether she would eat it herself or give it to Master Johneen? She swithered a wee, and then she gave it to her brother. But the meenit she heard him crumshin' it her heart failed her, and she burst into such a roar that Lady Lindesay came fleein' up the stair in terror. She couldna understan' what it was all about; and then Master Johneen, with his mouth cram-full, says, "Oh, baby, baby! say 'God loveth a cheerful giver,'" and, with that, the pour wee tot said it, with the tears pourin' down her cheeks, and a mouth like the De'il pu'in' heather. Lady Lindesay couldna keep from laughin' at the bairn's face, but she told Master Johneen that he had the maist aggravatin' selection of texts that ever she heard, and she would thank him not to be so free with them. I was gled when they were a' safe in their beds, so I was. It seems that it was the bairns' grandmamaw, auld Lady Lindesay, that taught them to say, "God loveth a cheerful giver," and they're grand at it when they're pairtin' with things they're no' carin' aboot. But there's mair nor them like that. Miss Celandine says she feels fine and cheerful when she puts the least she can afford in the alms-bag; and the folk that sets out for the kirk on the Sabbath Day, with one penny each in their pocket, dinna look downcast. I heard of a young leddy once that said she couldna go to the kirk because she had naething less than a threepenny in the house! And the folk that lived in the big house on Carldoddie Brae aye sent to the grocer every Setterday night for a shilling's worth of small change. It's no' respeckable. You'll never keep a minister on that, and them celebrate for lairge faimlies too!