But, my dear Harding, how are you?
You are come to eat your Christmas dinner with us, I hope ?" "That same thing, Major," answered the new comer.

"Troubridge and Stockbridge, how are you?
This, I presume, is your partner, Hamlyn ?" We went back to the house.

Harding, I found, was half-owner of a station to the north-east, an Oxford man, a great hand at skylarking, and an inveterate writer of songs.

He was good-looking too, and gentlemanlike, in fact, a very pleasant companion in every way.
Dinner was to be at six o'clock, in imitation of home hours; but we did not find the day hang heavy on our hands, there was so much to be spoken of by all of us.

And when that important meal was over we gathered in the open air in front of the house, bent upon making Christmas cheer.
"What is your last new song, eh, Harding ?" said the Major; "now is the time to ventilate it." "I've been too busy shearing for song-writing, Major." Soon after this we went in, and there we sat till nearly ten o'clock, laughing, joking, singing, and drinking punch.