By eleven o’clock the Dandy was immaculate, the guests satisfied that they “weren’t too dusty,” while the Maluka, in spotless white relieved with a silk cummerbund and tie, bid fair to outdo the Dandy.  Even the Quiet Stockman had succeeded in making a soft white shirt “look as though it had been ironed once.”  And then every lubra being radiant with soap, new dresses, and ribbons, the missus, determined not be to outdone in the matter of Christmas finery, burrowed into trunks and boxes, and appeared in cream washing silk, lace fichu, ribbons, rings, and frivolities—­finery, by the way, packed down south for that “commodious station home.”

Cheon was enraptured with the appearance of his company, and worked, and slaved, and chuckled in the kitchen as only Cheon could, until at last the critical moment had arrived.  Dinner was ready, but an unforeseen difficulty had presented itself.  How was it to be announced, Cheon queried, having called the missus to the kitchen for a hasty consultation, for was it wise to puff up the Quarters with a chanted summons?

A compromise being decided on as the only possible course, after the booming teamster’s bell had summoned the Quarters, Cheon, all in white himself, bustled across to the verandah to call the gentry to the dinner by word of mouth:—­“Dinner!  Boss!  Missus!” he sang—­careful to specify his gentry, for not even reflected glory was to be shed over the Quarters.  Then, moving in and out among the greenery as he put finishing touches to the table here and there, he glided into the wonders of his Christmas menu:  “Soo-oup!  Chuckie!  Ha-am!  Roooast Veal-er!” he chanted.  “Cauli-flower!  Pee-es!  Bee-ens!  Toe-ma-toes!” (with a regretful “tinned” in parenthesis)—­“Shweet Poo-tay-toes!  Bread Sau-ce!” On and on through mince pies, sweets, cakes, and fruits, went the monotonous chant, the Maluka and the missus standing gravely at attention, until a triumphant paeon of “Plum-m-m Poo-dinn!” soared upwards as Cheon waddled off through the decorated verandah extension for his soup tureen.

But a sudden, unaccountable shyness had come over the Quarters, and as Cheon trundled away, a hurried argument reached our ears of “Go on!  You go first!” “No, you.  Here! none of that”; and then, after a short subdued scuffle, the Dandy, looking slightly dishevelled, came through the doorway with just the suspicion of assistance from within; and the ice being thus broken the rest of the company came forward in a body and slipped into whichever seat came handiest.

As all of us, with the exception of the Dandy, were Scotch, four of us being Macs, the Maluka chose our Christmas grace from Bobby Burns; and quietly and reverently our Scotch hearts listened to those homely words: 

“Some ha’e meat, and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it; But we ha’e meat, and we can eat, And so the Lord be thankit.”

Then came Cheon’s turn, and gradually and cleverly his triumphs were displayed.