cared about!  What's a name for?  To know a person by.  If Mrs. 
William is known by something better than her name - I allude to 
Mrs. William's qualities and disposition - never mind her name, 
though it IS Swidger, by rights.  Let 'em call her Swidge, Widge, 
Bridge - Lord!  London Bridge, Blackfriars, Chelsea, Putney, 
Waterloo, or Hammersmith Suspension - if they like."

The close of this triumphant oration brought him and the plate to 
the table, upon which he half laid and half dropped it, with a 
lively sense of its being thoroughly heated, just as the subject of 
his praises entered the room, bearing another tray and a lantern, 
and followed by a venerable old man with long grey hair.

Mrs. William, like Mr. William, was a simple, innocent-looking 
person, in whose smooth cheeks the cheerful red of her husband's 
official waistcoat was very pleasantly repeated.  But whereas Mr. 
William's light hair stood on end all over his head, and seemed to 
draw his eyes up with it in an excess of bustling readiness for 
anything, the dark brown hair of Mrs. William was carefully 
smoothed down, and waved away under a trim tidy cap, in the most 
exact and quiet manner imaginable.  Whereas Mr. William's very 
trousers hitched themselves up at the ankles, as if it were not in 
their iron-grey nature to rest without looking about them, Mrs. 
William's neatly-flowered skirts - red and white, like her own 
pretty face - were as composed and orderly, as if the very wind 
that blew so hard out of doors could not disturb one of their 
folds.  Whereas his coat had something of a fly-away and half-off 
appearance about the collar and breast, her little bodice was so 
placid and neat, that there should have been protection for her, in 
it, had she needed any, with the roughest people.  Who could have 
had the heart to make so calm a bosom swell with grief, or throb 
with fear, or flutter with a thought of shame!  To whom would its 
repose and peace have not appealed against disturbance, like the 
innocent slumber of a child!

"Punctual, of course, Milly," said her husband, relieving her of 
the tray, "or it wouldn't be you.  Here's Mrs. William, sir! - He 
looks lonelier than ever to-night," whispering to his wife, as he 
was taking the tray, "and ghostlier altogether."

Without any show of hurry or noise, or any show of herself even, 
she was so calm and quiet, Milly set the dishes she had brought 
upon the table, - Mr. William, after much clattering and running 
about, having only gained possession of a butter-boat of gravy, 
which he stood ready to serve.

"What is that the old man has in his arms?" asked Mr. Redlaw, as he 
sat down to his solitary meal.

"Holly, sir," replied the quiet voice of Milly.

"That's what I say myself, sir," interposed Mr. William, striking 
in with the butter-boat.  "Berries is so seasonable to the time of 
year! - Brown gravy!"

"Another Christmas come, another year gone!" murmured the Chemist, 
with a gloomy sigh.  "More figures in the lengthening sum of 
recollection that we work and work at to our torment, till Death 
idly jumbles all together, and rubs all out.  So, Philip!" breaking 
off, and raising his voice as he addressed the old man, standing 
apart, with his glistening burden in his arms, from which the quiet 
Mrs. William took small branches, which she noiselessly trimmed 
with her scissors, and decorated the room with, while her aged 
father-in-law looked on much interested in the ceremony.

"My duty to you, sir," returned the old man.  "Should have spoke 
before, sir, but know your ways, Mr. Redlaw - proud to say - and 
wait till spoke to!  Merry Christmas, sir, and Happy New Year, and 
many of 'em.  Have had a pretty many of 'em myself - ha, ha! - and 
may take the liberty of wishing 'em.  I'm eighty-seven!"

"Have you had so many that were merry and happy?" asked the other.

"Ay, sir, ever so many," returned the old man.

"Is his memory impaired with age?  It is to be expected now," said 
Mr. Redlaw, turning to the son, and speaking lower.

"Not a morsel of it, sir," replied Mr. William.  "That's exactly 
what I say myself, sir.  There never was such a memory as my 
father's.  He's the most wonderful man in the world.  He don't know 
what forgetting means.  It's the very observation I'm always making 
to Mrs. William, sir, if you'll believe me!"

Mr. Swidger, in his polite desire to seem to acquiesce at all 
events, delivered this as if there were no iota of contradiction in 
it, and it were all said in unbounded and unqualified assent.

The Chemist pushed his plate away, and, rising from the table, 
walked across the room to where the old man stood looking at a 
little sprig of holly in his hand.

"It recalls the time when many of those years were old and new, 
then?" he said, observing him attentively, and touching him on the 
shoulder.  "Does it?"

"Oh many, many!" said Philip, half awaking from his reverie.  "I'm 
eighty-seven!"

"Merry and happy, was it?" asked the Chemist in a low voice.