A loud, cheerful voice shouted:
"Hamlyn, you are welcome to Baroona!" and close to me I saw the Major,
carrying his son and heir in his arms, advancing to meet me from the
house-door.
"You are welcome to Baroona!" echoed the boy; "and a merry Christmas
and a happy New-year to you!"
I went into the house and was delighted to find what a change a few
weeks of busy, quiet, and HOME had made in the somewhat draggle-tailed
and disconsolate troop that I had parted with on their road. Miss
Thornton, with her black mittens, white apron, and spectacles, had
found herself a cool corner by the empty fire-place, and was stitching
away happily at baby linen. Mrs. Buckley, in the character of a
duchess, was picking raisins, and Mary was helping her; and, as I
entered, laughing loudly, they greeted me kindly with all the old
sacred good wishes of the season.
"I very much pity you, Mr. Hamlyn," said Mrs. Buckley, "at having
outlived the novelty of being scorched to death on Christmas-day. My
dear husband, please refresh me with reading the thermometer!"
"One hundred and nine in the shade," replied the Major, with a chuckle.
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