"You're home, oh, you're home!" Hugh cried, all but tackling his papa. "Home for Christmas, huzzah!"

With Sewallis, ever a much more staid lad, now fourteen, came a second setter, sniffing arseholes with the first and circling about the reunion in a quandary whether to defend the house or go into paroxysms of delight. The fluff-ball, the Pomeranian, had no doubts about the matter; he would continue to yap, growl, and go for the boots of the intruder… once he'd worked up the nerve.

"Sewallis, give us a kiss, lad," Lewrie bade, arms outstretched to give his eldest a warm hug. "Best Christmas ever, ain't it? All of us home, for once? Damme, but ye've grown! You, too, Hugh. Two fine young gentlemen, ye've turned out t'be."

"What did you bring us for Christmas, father?" Hugh asked with an impish look.

"Me… peace… and a waggon-load o' presents," Lewrie assured him. "Where's Charlotte? Where's my little Charlotte, hey? And, can someone shut this wee hair-ball up?" he added as the Pomeranian at last worked up enough nerve to nip at his left boot, and get shoved by a swift leg thrust.

Just in time for his daughter to appear on the landing and let out an outraged squeal of alarm to see her beloved lap-yapper be assailed. She came dashing downstairs to scoop the little dog up in her arms, quickly step back a few paces, and glare accusingly.

"Charlotte, there ye are, darlin'," Lewrie said. "Won't ya come and give your papa a welcomin' kiss?"

"You hurt my dog!" she cried, cradling it like a baby; a madly barking, squirming, bloodthirsty little baby yearning for his throat.

"I never, dearest, he was…," Lewrie objected, then quieted as his wife descended the stairs, seemingly in no great hurry to welcome her husband back from the wars, and the sea. "Caroline," he said in a much soberer taking. "I'm home for Christmas."