Chi was up at five o'clock, building roaring fires, for it was ten degrees below zero.
With the first glint of the sun on the frosted panes the household was astir. At precisely seven the order was given to take down the thirteen stockings. But bless you! You 're not to think the stockings could hold all the gifts. In front of each wide jamb were piled the bundles and packages, three feet high!
Rose hesitated a moment when the children sat down on the rug with their stockings, as was their custom every Christmas morn; then she plumped down among them, saying, laughingly:
"I don't care if I am growing up, Martie–it's Christmas."
Upon which Jack, hugging his striped Balbriggan, sat down beside her.
Such "Ohs" and "Ahs"! Such thankings and squeezings! Such somersaults as were turned by March and Budd at the kitchen end of the long-room! Such rapturous gurgles from May! Such hand-shakes and kisses! Such silent bliss on the part of Chi, who, though suffering as if in a Turkish bath, had donned his new, blue woollen sweater, drawn on his gauntleted beaver gloves, and proceeded to investigate his stocking with the air of a man who has nothing more to wish for. And through all the chaotic happiness a sentence could be distinguished now and then.
"Chi, these corn-cob pipes are just what I shall want after Christmas when I give my Junior Smoker."
"Oh, Martie, it can't be for me!" as the lovely white serge dress, ready made and trimmed with lace, was held up to Rose's admiring eyes.
Budd was caressing with approving fingers a regular "base-ball-nine" bat and admiring the white leather balls.
"I say, it's a stunner, Mr. Sherrill; but how did you know I wanted it?"
Mr. Clyde, who was touched to his very heart's core by Hazel's gift of a dollar pair of suspenders which she had earned by her own labor, felt a small hand slipped into his, and found Cherry Bounce looking up at him with wide, adoring, brown eyes, which, for the first time, she had taken from her beautiful Émilie Angélique, whom she held pressed to her heart:–
"I want to whisper to you," she said, shyly. Mr. Clyde bent down to her;–"After I said my prayers to Martie, I asked God to give me Émilie Angélique–every night," she nodded–"but I only told Budd, so how did you know?"
March was lost to the world in his volume of foreign photographs, in his boxes of paints and brushes, and a whole set of drawing materials. He had not as yet thanked Hazel for them.
Everybody was happy and satisfied. Everybody said he or she had received just exactly the thing. Tell alone could not express his gratification in words. He had been given his woollen stocking, and nosed about till he had brought forth three fat dog-biscuit, a deliciously juicy-greasy beef bone, wrapped in white waxed paper and tied at one end with a blue ribbon, a fine nickelplated dog collar with a bell attached, and last, from the brown woollen toe, three lumps of sugar.
One by one he took the gifts and laid them down at Mrs. Blossom's feet; putting one huge paw firmly on the waxed-paper package, he waved the other wildly until she took it and spoke a loving word to him. Then, taking up his beloved bone, he retired with it to the farthest end of the long-room, under the kitchen sink, and licked it in peace and joy.
Jack and Chi in the joyful confusion had slipped from the room.
Soon there was a commotion in the woodshed, and the two made their appearance dragging after them a brand-new double-runner and a real Canadian toboggan, which Jack had ordered from Montreal for March.
Breakfast proved to be a short meal, for the whole family was wild to try the new toboggan with Jack to engineer it. Then it was up and down–down and up the steep mountain road; Jack and Doctor Heath, Mr. Clyde, Mr. Blossom and Chi, all on together–clinging for dear life, laughing, whooping, panting, hurrahing like boys let out from school, while March and Budd and Rose and Hazel and Cherry flew after them on the double-runner, the keen air biting rose-red cheeks, and bringing the stinging water to the eyes.
But what sport it was!
"Now, this is something like," panted Jack, drawing up the hill with Chi, his handsome face aglow with life and joy.
"By George Washin'ton! it's the nearest thing to shootin' Niagary that I ever come," puffed Chi.
"Didn't we take that water-bar neatly?" laughed Jack.
"'N inch higher, 'n' we 'd all been goners;–I had n't a minute to think of it, goin' to the rate of a mile a minute; but if I had–I 'd have dusted! Guess I 'll make it level before I try it with the children,–'n' I want you to know there 's no coward about me, but I 'm just speakin' six for myself this time."
So the morning sped. Even Mrs. Blossom and May were taken down once, and the Doctor stopped only because he wanted to make a morning call on his patient, Ruth Ford; for it was by his advice the family had come to live for three years in this mountain region.
The horn for the mid-day meal sounded down the Mountain before they had thought of finishing the exciting sport, and one and all brought such keen appetites to the Christmas dinner, that Mrs. Blossom declared laughingly that she would give them no supper, for they had eaten the pantry shelves bare.
Such roast goose and barberry jam! Such a noble plum-pudding set in the midst of Maria-Ann's best wreath, for she and Aunt Tryphosa had sent over their simple gifts by an early teamster. Such red Northern Spies and winter russet pears! And such mirth and shouts and jests and quips to accompany each course!
It was genuine New England Christmas cheer, and the healths were drunk in the wine of the apple amid great applause, especially Doctor Heath's:
"Health, peace, and long life to the Lost Nation–May its tribe increase!"
And how they laughed at Chi, when he proposed the health of the Prize Chicken (which, by the way, he had kept for the next season's mascot,) and recounted the episode in the barn.
What shouts greeted Budd, who, rising with great gravity, his mouth puckered into real, not mock, seriousness–and that was the comical part of it all–said earnestly:
"To my first wife!" and sat down rather red, but gratified not only by the prolonged applause, but by the enthusiasm with which they drank to this unexpected toast from his unsentimental self.
Directly after dinner Mr. Clyde declared that a seven-mile walk was an actual necessity for him in his present condition, and invited all who would to accompany him to call in state on Mrs. Tryphosa Little and Miss Maria-Ann Simmons. Only Doctor Heath and Jack went with him, for Mr. Blossom and Chi had matters to attend to at home, and Rose and Cherry and Hazel were needed to help Mrs. Blossom. Even March and Budd turned to and wiped dishes.
"I 'll set the table now, Martie," said Rose, "then there will be no confusion to-night–there are so many of us."
"No need for that to-night, children," replied Mrs. Blossom, with a merry smile. "'The last is the best of all the rest,' for we were all invited a week ago to take tea and spend Christmas evening at Hunger-ford."
"Oh, Martie!" A joyful shout went up from the six, that was followed by jigs and double-shuffles, pas-seuls and fancy steps, in which dish-towels were waved wildly, and tin pans were pounded instead of wiped.
When the din had somewhat subsided there were numberless questions asked; by the time they were all answered, and Rose and Hazel had donned their white serge dresses, the gentlemen had returned from their walk, and it was time to go.
"That's why Mrs. Ford had us learn all those songs," said Rose to Hazel. "Don't forget to take your violin."
A merrier Christmas party never set forth on a straw-ride. Mr. and Mrs. Blossom and May went over in the sleigh, but the rest piled into the apple-green pung, and when they came in sight of the seven-gabled-house, a rousing three times three, mingling with the sound of the sleigh-bells, greeted the pretty sight.
Every window was illumined, and adorned with a Christmas wreath. In the light of the rising moon, then at the full, the snow that covered the roof sparkled like frosted silver. The house, with its background of sharply sloping hill wooded with spruce and pine, its twinkling lights and the surrounding white expanse, looked like an illuminated Christmas card.
Within, the hall was festooned with ground hemlock and holly; a roaring fire of hickory logs furnished light and to spare. In the living-room and dining-room, Mr. Clyde and Jack Sherrill found, to their amazement, all the elegance and refinement of a city home combined with country simplicity. The tea-table shone with the service of silver and sparkled with the many-faceted crystal of glass and carafe. For decoration, the rich red of the holly berries gleamed among the dark green gloss of their leaves.
At first, the younger members of the Blossom family felt constrained and a little awed in such surroundings; for although they had been several times in the house, they had never taken tea there. But the Fords and the other city people soon put them at their ease, and, as Cherry declared afterwards, "It was like eating in a fairy story." There was a real pigeon pie at one end and a Virginia ham at the other, as well as cold, roast duck with gooseberry jam. There were sparkling jellies, and the whole family of tea-cakes–orange, cocoanut, sponge, and chocolate; and, oh, bliss!–strawberry ice-cream in a nest of spun cinnamon candy, followed by Malaga grapes and hot chocolate topped with a whip of cream.
After tea there was the surprise of a beautiful Christmas Tree in the library. Ruth Ford had occupied many a weary hour in making the decorations–roses and lilies fashioned from tissue paper to closely copy nature; gilded walnuts; painted paper butterflies; pink sugar hearts, and cornucopias of gilt and silver paper, in each of which was a bunch of real flowers–roses, violets, carnations, and daisies, ordered by Jack Sherrill from New York. On the topmost branch, there was a waxen Christ-child. The tree was lighted by dozens of tiny colored candles. When the door was opened from the living-room, and the children caught sight of the wonderful tree, they held their breath and whispered to one another.
But more lovely than the tree in the eyes of the older people were the radiant faces of the young people and the children. Rose, with clasped hands, stood gazing up at the Christ-child that crowned the glowing, glittering mass of dark green. She was wholly unconscious of the many pairs of eyes that rested upon her in love and admiration. There was nothing so beautiful in the whole room as the young girl standing there with earnest blue eyes, raised reverently to the little waxen figure. Her lips were parted in a half smile; a flush of excitement was on her cheeks; the white dress set off the exquisite fairness of her skin; the shining crown of golden-brown hair, that hung in a heavy braid to within a foot of the hem of her gown, caught the soft lights above her and formed almost a halo about the face.
Suddenly there was a burst of admiration from the children, and, under cover of it, Doctor Heath turned to Mr. Clyde, who was standing beside him:–
"By heavens, John! That girl is too beautiful; she will make some hearts ache before she is many years older, as well as your own Hazel–look at her now!"
The father's eyes rested lovingly, but thoughtfully, on the graceful little figure that was busy distributing the cornucopias with their fragrant contents. Yes, she, too, was beautiful, giving promise of still greater beauty. He turned to the Doctor and held out his hand:–
"Richard, I have to thank you for this transformation."
"No–not me," said the Doctor, earnestly, "but," pointing to Mrs. Blossom, "that woman there, John. Hazel needed the mother-love, just as much as Jack does at this moment."
Jack had turned away when the Doctor began to speak of Rose, and, joining her, said, "Won't you wear one of my roses just to-night, Miss Blossom?"
"Your roses! Why, did you give us all those lovely flowers?"
"Yes, I wanted to contribute my share, and flowers seemed the most appropriate offering just for to-night."
"They 're lovely," said Rose, caressing the exquisite petals of a La France beauty. "Of course I 'll wear one–" she tucked one into her belt; "but why–why!–has n't anyone else roses?" She looked about inquiringly.
"No,–the roses were for their namesake," said Jack, quietly.
Rose laughed merrily,–a pleased, girlish laugh. "Then won't the giver of the roses call their namesake, 'Rose'?–for the sake of the roses?" she added mischievously.
Now Jack Sherrill had seen many girls–silly girls, flirty girls, sensible girls, charming girls, smart girls, nice girls, and horrid girls, and flattered himself he knew every species of the genus, but just this once he was puzzled. If Rose Blossom had been an arrant flirt, she could not have answered him more effectively; yet Jack had decided that she had too earnest a nature to descend to flirting. Somehow, that word could never be applied to Rose Blossom–"My Rose," he said to himself, and knew with a kind of a shock when he said it, that he was very far gone. But in the next breath, he had to confess to himself that he had "been very far gone" many a time in his twenty-one years, so perhaps it did not signify.
Indeed, in the next minute, he was sure it did not signify, for, before he could gather his wits sufficiently to reply to her, Rose had slipped away to the other side of the room, where she was busying herself in fastening one of Jack's roses into the buttonhole of Alan Ford's Tuxedo. In consequence of which, Jack turned his batteries upon Ruth Ford with such effect, that she declared afterwards to her mother he was one of the most fascinating young men–for Ruth was twenty-one!–she had ever met.
Mrs. Ford and Hazel and Mr. Ford had done their best to persuade Chi to remain with them for the tree. Even Rose urged–but in vain. True, the girls had insisted upon his taking one look, then he had begged off, saying, as he patted Hazel's hand that lay on his arm:
"Not to-night, Lady-bird. I don't feel to home in there. I 'll sit out here and hear the music, then I can beat time with my foot if I want to." He remained in the hall, just outside the living-room door, enjoying all he heard.
First there was a lovely piano duet, an Hungarian waltz by Brahms, Mrs. Ford and the grave, quiet son playing with such a perfect understanding of each other, as well as of the music, that it proved a delight to all present. Then there was a carol by all the children, Rose leading, and Mrs. Ford playing the accompaniment:
"'Cheery old Winter! merry old Winter!
Laugh, while with yule-wreath thy temples are bound;
Drain the spiced bowl now, cheer thy old soul now,
"Christmas waes hael!" pledge the holy toast round.
Broach butt and barrel, with dance and with carol
Crown we old Winter of revels the king;
And when he is weary of living so merry,
He 'll lie down and die on the green lap of Spring.
Cheery old Winter! merry old Winter!
He 'll lie down and die on the green lap of Spring!'"
This won great applause, and a loud thumping could be heard in the hall. Jack went out to try his powers of persuasion with Chi, and found him sitting close to the door with one knee over the other and a La France rose (!) in his buttonhole.
"Come in, Chi, do."
"Ruther 'd sit here."
"Oh, come on."
"Nope."
Jack laughed at the decided tone. "Where did you get this?" he asked, touching the boutonniere.
"Rose-pose," answered Chi, laconically, but with a happy smile.
"Out of her bunch?"
"Nope–took it out of her belt," said Chi, with a curious twist of his mouth.
Jack went back crestfallen, and Chi smiled.
"I 'm afraid I cut him out, just for once; kind of rough on him, but 't won't hurt him any to have a change. He 's had his own way a little too much," said Chi to himself.
Again there was music, a Schubert serenade, with the two violins, and after that, the children begged Hazel to dance the Highland Fling as she did once in the barn. Hazel, nothing loath, borrowed a blue Liberty-silk scarf from Ruth Ford; the rugs being removed and Alan Ford tuning his violin, she made her curtsy, and, entering heart and body into the spirit of the thing, danced like thistle-down shod with joyousness.
It was a pretty sight! and Chi edged into the room, while the company made believe ignore him in order to induce him to remain there; but when the singing began, he slipped out again. Such singing! Everybody joined in it. They sang everything;–"Oh, where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone?";–"Star-spangled Banner";–"Marching Along";–"John Anderson, my Jo";–"Ye banks and braes o' Bonnie Doon";–"Twinkle, twinkle, little star";–"Annie Laurie";–"A grasshopper sat on a sweet-potato vine";–"Ben Bolt";–"Fair Harvard" and, finally, "Old Hundred."
It had been arranged that Mr. Blossom should take his wife and the younger children home in the pung; the rest were to walk. Chi, meanwhile, had driven home in the single sleigh.
On the walk home Jack tried what he had been apt to term–of course, to himself–his "confidential scheme" with Rose. He had tried it before with many another, and it had never failed to work. The thought of one of his roses in Alan Ford's buttonhole still rankled, and the best side of Jack's manhood was not on the surface when he entered upon the homeward walk.
"Miss Blossom,"–somehow Jack had not quite the courage to say "Rose," although he had been so frankly invited to–"I want to tell you why I came up here; it must have seemed almost an intrusion."
"Oh, no, indeed," said Rose, earnestly, "and I know why you came; Hazel told me."
"Oh, she did," said Jack, rather inanely, and a little uncertain as to his footing, figuratively speaking; for he had given her the chance to ask "Why?"–and she had n't taken it; in which she proved herself different from all those other girls of his acquaintance. To himself he thought, "Well, for all the cordial indifference, commend me to this girl."
"Yes, I 'm sure it would have seemed like anything but Christmas to you in New York with your father in Europe; you must miss him so."
Jack felt himself blush in the moonlight at the remembrance that he had seen his father but little in the last three years, and did not know what it was in reality to miss him. He never remembered to have missed anything or anybody but his mother, and that indefinite something in his life which he had not yet put himself earnestly to seek.
"I suppose you 'll be shocked, Miss Blossom, but I don't really miss my father. I 'm only awfully glad to see him when I get the chance–which is n't often. He 's such a busy man with railroads and syndicates and real estate interests. I wonder often how he can find time to write me even twice a month, which he has done regularly ever since–" he stopped abruptly.
"Since what?" asked Rose, innocently.
"Since my mother died," said Jack, in a hard, dry voice that served to cover his feeling.
"Yes," Rose nodded sympathetically, "Hazel told me." Then–for Rose's love for her own mother was something bordering on adoration–she said softly, under her breath, but with her whole heart in her voice; "Oh, I don't see how you could bear it–how you can live without her!"
"I don't," Jack replied with a break in his voice, "not really live, you know. I've always felt it, but never realized it until last night, when I stood out on the veranda and looked in at the window at you–all. Then I knew I 'd been hungry for that sort of thing for the last seven years–"
Now Rose's heart was swelling with pity for the loneliness of the tall, young fellow swinging along beside her, and at once her inner eyes were opened to see a, to her, startling fact. She turned suddenly towards him.
"Is that why you kissed Martie last night, and came up here to us?" she demanded rather breathlessly.
"Yes;" Jack had forgotten his scheme, and was in dead earnest now.
"Then," cried Rose, impulsively–but at the same time thinking, "I don't care if he is engaged to that Miss Seaton"–"I hope you 'll come to us whenever you feel like it; for," she added earnestly, "I 'm beginning to understand what Chi means when he talks about Hazel's being poor and our being rich, and–and I 'd love to share mine with you."
"You 're awfully good," said Jack, rather awkwardly for him; for, suddenly, in the presence of this young girl, as yet unspoiled by the world, he realized that Life was dependent upon something other than polo and club theatricals, railroad syndicates and Newport casinos, stocks and bonds and marketable real estate.
Jack was young, and the moonlight was transfiguring the face that, framed in a white, knitted hood, was turned towards him full of a frank, loving sympathy for him in his "poverty."–And, seeing it, Jack suddenly braced himself as if to meet some shock, thinking, as he strode along in silence, "Oh, I 'm gone!–for good and all this time."
Rose, a little surprised at the prolonged silence, welcomed the sound of sleigh-bells behind them.
"Why, that's Chi!" she exclaimed. "I thought he was at home long before this. I 'm sure he left long before we did. Where have you been, Chi?" she called so soon as the sleigh was within hailing distance.
"I 've been Chris'musin'," said Chi. "It ain't often you get just such a night on the Mountain as this, and I 've made the most of it. Can I give you a lift?"
"No, thank you, Chi, we 're almost home," said Rose.
"Well, then I 'd better be gettin' along–it's pretty near midnight–chk, Bob–" And Chi drove away down the Mountain, chuckling to himself:
"Ain't a-goin' to give myself away before no city chap that has cut me out as he has. George Washin'ton! When I peeked into the window 'n' saw Marier-Ann sittin' there in front of that kitchen table with all those presents on it, 'n' the little spruce set up so perky in the middle of 'em, 'n' she a-wearin' a great handful of those red, spice pinks in her bosom, 'n' her cheeks to match 'em, 'n' her eyes a-shinin'–I knew he 'd come it over me; he 'd made the first call, 'n' given her the first posies. Guess I won't crow over him after this." Chi undid his greatcoat, and bent his face until his nose rested upon Jack's rose:–
"It ain't touched yet, but it's a stinger; must be twenty below, now." Suddenly Chi gave a loud exclamation: "I must be a fool!–I 've broken one of the N.B.B.O.O. rules not to be afraid of anything, and did n't dare to give my posy to Marier-Ann!–Anyhow, she don't know I was goin' to give it to her, so I need n't feel so cheap about it–Go-long, Bob!"