Mary Hartwell Catherwood

“ Christmas is woven into our very substance,” said the Gray Stockings. “The old [13] skeins and the ravellings tell the story to the new wool, the story of the Christmas time. The very sheep in the fields know it. For my part,” he added proudly, “I should blush to lie in the same ash-heap even with an odd stocking who had died under the disgrace of never being hung up for Christmas, and I will never believe that my lifelong dream is to be disappointed!” ”

“ There is a keen north-easter blowing, but Appleton lies to the west, so that for the present it only comes on the back of his neck, and Bertie turns up his collar to keep out the flakes which seem scattered about here and there in the air, and trots bravely along, whistling and talking by turns to his pony, and to a wiry little terrier, which is really Cousin Mildred’s property, but in common with most other animals, is deeply devoted to Bertie. ”

“ I say, what little dog are you, out alone in the snow in this lonely part of the road? Lost your master, have you, poor little beggar? Never mind—you had better follow me home to Edenhurst for to-night—they wouldn’t refuse a welcome even to a stray dog on Christmas Eve. I say, you are very pressing in your attentions my friend—I’m afraid you are on a wrong tack, sniffing and prancing around me—I’m not your master nor have I the honor of that gentleman’s acquaintance, unless—by Jove, if it isn’t little Nettle—the dog I gave Mildred when I went to India. What can she be doing out here alone? ”

“ Looking up, he dreamily beheld, shadowed forth dimly in the gloom, the form of San Nicolas, long belated by [75] the drifts. But how that Spanish Christmas saint looked, or what he said to remind the half-breed of that hallowed time when all should be peace on earth and good will towards men, must ever remain a secret between him and his lawless host.
The patroncito awoke, and through the open doorway saw the snow sparkling in the sun of Christmas morning. Over the fire Cherokee Sam was frying venison, and on either side hung the long silk stockings, filled. ”

“ Even the bells are mute—the villagers cannot bear to ring them when their dear lady is in such trouble. She is trying hard to force herself to believe that nothing can be so very wrong—it is foolish to be so over-anxious.
No one has any heart to carry on the joyous preparations for Christmas in which Bertie usually bears an active part, but Mrs. Chetwynd will not let the poor people suffer, and their gifts of warm clothing and tea and sugar are all looked over and carefully ticketed by Mildred and Alice. ”

“ At aunt Ibby and uncle Moze’s the children fight like cats. And they always act poor at Christmas, and make fun of hanging your stocking or setting your plate; for you’d only get ashes or corn-cobs. Aunt Ibby keeps her sleeves rolled up so she can slap real handy, and uncle Moze has yellow streaks in his eyes, and he shivers over the stove, and keeps everybody else back. At cousin Andy Sanders’ they have no children, and don’t want them. You durse hardly come in out of the snow, and all the best things on the table will make you sick. ”

“ I never heard anything so absurd in my life. Persons, and things that are not persons,” said the White Pair, “what do you mean?”
“Yes; what do you mean? What is the use of beating about the bush in this way?” remonstrated the Big Gray Pair. “Who did eat the sweetmeat? Say plainly.”
“Half of it was eaten by a policeman, and the other half by a rook,” replied the Little Blues, in a meek voice.
“Ho, ho!” roared the Gray Stockings, while the White Pair joined in with a shrill giggle. “That beats all! Half by a policeman, and half [35] by a rook! A fine way to dispose of a Christmas sweetmeat! ”

“ A prayer is in her heart—on her lips—and even in that moment, as if in answer, there burst forth the most joyous of all sounds to Alice’s ear—their own village bells ringing a Merry Christmas peal! It had been understood that this was to be the signal of Bertie’s being found and safe. Louder and louder it comes, and eager congratulations are exchanged by the anxious watchers. Mrs. Chetwynd wants to fly to meet her boy, but is gently restrained by Mildred, who reminds her that his [118] father must be with him. Nor is it long before a happy group are seen approaching. ”

“ So the night went, and now it was the dawn of Christmas. With the first light the door opened softly and a little boy crept into the room. This was Jan. When he saw the three pairs of stockings hanging by the stove, he clapped his hands together, but softly, lest the noise should wake the others. Then he crossed the room on tiptoe and looked hard at the stockings. ”

“ You see Coachman is away for a holiday, and Sam is as busy as he can be—and there is no one else who can be trusted with a horse—and one cannot ask anybody to trudge five miles and back through the snow, though it is not at all deep. ”

“ What is to be done? Almost anything else might have been managed in some way, but a Christmas Tree in semi-darkness—can anything more dismal be imagined?” And Alice Chetwynd’s usually bright face looks nearly as gloomy as the picture she has called up.
“What’s the row?” cries schoolboy Bertie, planting two good-natured, if somewhat grubby hands on his sister’s shoulders. “Alice in the dumps? That is something quite new. Can’t you cut some big candles in two and stick them about? Here’s Cousin Mildred—ask her. She’ll be sure to hit upon something.” ”

“ The half-breed humbly complied. But scarcely had they emerged from the granite gateway of the Shut-in when they were met by a party from the plaza, headed by the patron himself, searching, in great trouble, for the wanderer. They had been abroad all night. Happily, Cherokee Sam remembered the admonitions of San Nicolas over night.
“Patron,” he said, haughtily, as he led the patroncito forward, “I bring you a Christmas gift.” ”

“ Besides there is likely to be a heavy fall of snow before night: even if a horse and trap could get to Edenhurst there would be no possibility of getting back before night-fall—mine host is very sorry to disoblige the gentleman, but it is quite out of the question.”
The young man, who is evidently not accustomed [102] to stolid opposition, begins to chafe, and his dark eyes give an angry flash. However he forces himself to speak quietly and persuasively, and even descends to bribery, in his anxiety to spend his Christmas at Edenhurst. ”

“ It is a good thing to belong to respectable people who take prizes. Only one thing was painful to me, she wriggled her toes so with pleasure that I feel as if I were coming to an end in one of my points. ”

“ If there is some roughness in the tone, there is none in the manner and gesture with which dropping on one knee in the snow, the traveller proceeds to chafe the cold nerveless hand, which, in answer to this appeal, the boy slowly tries to lift. ”

“ I don’t know nothing about no patron,” said Cherokee Sam shortly, as he arose and stood towering in giant height above the dwarfish rider of the burro.
Bien, then he was sorry to have to tell him, said [63] the Spanish stranger in suave reply. He was the mayordomo, and this was the patron’s land, and the coyote (half-breed) that killed all the deer must seek some other spot. Far he must go, too, for the patron’s land was far-reaching, and he pointed with his willow wand to the Sierra rising above, and the plain rolling far away below. ”

“ The snow was knee-deep in the yard, and drifted even on the porch, but tracks showed where aunt Ibby walked when she got out a load of provisions and bedclothes. She had the front door key, and took even the blue-and-white coverlid with birds wove in, that I heard mother say was to be Mrar’s, and the canned fruit for fear it would freeze, when our [45] cellar is warmer than their stove. She said to uncle Moze, when I was by unbeknown, that Mrar and me would have ten times as much property as her children, anyhow, and she ought to be paid more for keeping us. ”

“ What did your girl do with her sweetmeat?”
“Ate it up directly, of course. What else should one do with a sweetmeat?” snapped the White Pair crossly. “Oh, dear! my toe feels dreadfully ever since you said that; quite neuralgic!”
“My boy was not so foolish as to eat his sweetmeat,” said the Big Gray stockings. “Only girls act in that way, without regard to anything but their greedy appetites. He traded his with another boy, and he got a pocket-knife for it, three screws, and a harmonica. There!” ”

“ Alice, when you can be spared from the tree, Mother wants all the help she can get for the Church-dressing.”
“Is she down at the Church now? All right darling—I’ll come in two minutes. Isn’t it a plague about these candles? The shops are sure to be shut in Appleton the day after Christmas, and the poor children will be so disappointed if we have to put off the tree.”
“The poor, dear school-children! Oh, that is a pity. But candles—oh, dear! I don’t know how we can do without them. Is it quite impossible to send to Appleton to-day?” ”

“ If it had been uncle Moze in the chair I wouldn’t felt willing. When a stick broke on the dog-irons we piled on more wood, and the clock ticked and struck nine, and I wished we’s never going away from there again. Mrar and I played and jumped, and he was blind man, and we had solid fun till we’s tired out. I showed him my books, for I never took one to uncle [53] Moze’s. The boys there make you give up everything, and they lick their dirty thumbs to turn leaves. ”

“ The coffee smelt like Thanksgiving. Sam waited on us, and I eat till I’s ashamed. We never expected to have such a dinner in mother’s house any more.
When Mrar and I got down and begun to toss our oranges, the Whizzer told Sam to clear the things away and have his supper in the kitchen, and then to fix the beds as comfortable as he could. I’d made up my mind even if the Whizzer did travel ahead that Mrar and m’d stay there all night. Aunt Ibby’s would think we were at cousin Andy Sanders’s, and cousin Andy Sanders’s would think we were at aunt Ibby’s. ”

“ And we’ll hang up our Christmas stockings every Sunday,” says she, “and aunt Ibby’s boys won’t durse to take away my lead pencil mother give me, and if you see them coming here, you’ll set Bounce on them.”
“Mrar,” says I, “we will go in and make a fire [46] and act like mother’s just gone out to a neighbor’s.”
Then she begun to laugh, and one of her tears stuck to an in-spot that comes and goes in her face like it was dented with your finger.
“But now you mind,” I says, “if aunt Ibby or uncle Moze goes to whip us for this, you tell them I put you up to it and made you go along with me.” ”

“ I say, Alice, I’ll have another try for that letter of hers, and get your candles too. Grey Plover has been roughed, and he’s as sure-footed [92] as a goat—the snow is nothing to hurt now, and I’ll trot over to Appleton and be back in no time at all.”
“Oh, Bertie, don’t! Cousin Mildred said there was a snow-storm coming, and you might get lost like the people in the Swiss mountains”—
“Or the babes in the wood, eh? You little silly, don’t you think I’m man enough to take care of myself?” ”

“ The next morning there was so much excitement that Elsie never thought of the poor children on the next square, nor of Millie, nor of Maude, until the Christmas dinner was nearly over and the cherry-pie came on.
“Oh!” she cried, “you don’t know, grandma, [85] how nice everybody thinks it is that we can have cherry-pie.” ”

“ Wendte shook her head.
“No,” she said. “I do not care for sugar. That is for little folks like thee. Eat it thyself, Jan.”
It was her saying this, perhaps, which prevented Wilhelm and Greta from making the same offer—at least, I hope so. Certain it is that neither of them made it. Greta ate hers up on the spot, with the frank greediness of a girl of twelve who does not often get candy. Wilhelm buttoned his up in his trousers pocket. All three made haste to put on the new stockings. ”

“ Mrs. Chetwynd answers with a sigh—“Jerry and Nell are out shooting with Herbert, and the new dog is no use. Oh Milly, my bright bonny boy, where can he be? See how dreadfully dark it has grown and the cold—think if he should be lying helpless in the snow!”
[101]
About the same time on this December afternoon a young man is getting out of the one-horse omnibus which the George Hotel (a small third rate inn, albeit the best in Appleton) usually sends down to meet the afternoon train from London. ”