AND SO—.
AND so, after all, the next morning found them ready to carry out their
plan of going to the woods for Christmas greens.
"We will deck every place," announced Jack, "in honor of our
doubly-welcome guests. There shall be mistletoe and holly, crowfoot
and ground pine, white pine and laurel; it shall be an evergreen time,
indeed. We will take the big wagon," he continued, "and all pile into
it. I'll put a lot of straw in, and when we come back, we will have the
boughs to sit on."
"This beats going up the hill all hollow," said Mr. Egerton, as they
went bumping over the rough road. "I haven't laughed so much since we
were in Paris, Val. What are you doing, Mr. Nelson?"
"Don't call him that," objected Val. "Just say Archie, and Jack, and
Theo; and, please, everybody say Fred."
"Fred!" shouted Archie and Jack in so stentorian a manner as nearly to
make Mr. Egerton roll out of the wagon.
"Geese!" exclaimed Val. "You know what I meant. But what are you doing,
Archie?"
"What am I doing?" replied Archie. "I am building a nest where I
can flock by myself. You are all paired off in such an exceedingly
exasperating way, I wish I had gone over for Cousin Dolly this morning
early."
"Oh, you shall not flock by yourself," said Theo. "There is always room
with Jack and me. Come over to our nest, Arch. There, sit under the
mistletoe, and Jack and I will kiss you."
This made a scramble, for Jack insisted upon following out Theo's
suggestion, Archie declaring he would as soon kiss a horse as Jack, and
there was a tussle and a scrimmage, resulting in Archie's getting the
worst of it, being so weak from laughing, after Jack had him down, that
he had to submit without further protest to Jack's caresses, given in
the most bear-like manner.
"Did you ever know such nonsense?" said Val to her companion. "That is
the way they 'cut up' and 'carry on' all the time. You never knew such
an idiotic crowd in your life."
They jolted along comfortably after this; and presently Theo, who was
leaning back against a pile of boughs, looking up into the sky, said,
"I think the winter woods are as beautiful as the summer ones. See how
exquisite those branches are in their delicate tracery, and look off
yonder how under purple fades into upper purple; and look at those
little wayside weeds, beautiful in their winter brownness. It is such a
lovely world!"
"Theo is always discovering new Americas," remarked Archie. "She need
never cross the seas."
Theo smiled. "I do discover a new world every time I go out upon
voyaging intent. One's eyes can travel far, and can bring home new
treasures very often."
Mr. Egerton looked at her thoughtfully. "You are a discovery in
yourself," he said.
Theo looked up. "I? Why? Oh, you mean I am one of the natives, perhaps."
"He doesn't at all," interposed Val. "He means—I know what he
means—that it is novel and refreshing to find one who has so much
within herself; that every twig upon the trees, every little dried-up
weed, can paint her a picture or sing her a song. He has been among a
very conventional set, I fancy. I saw one of them once. Fred was with
her. They were coming from the Salon, and as they passed me, she turned
her head over her shoulder so, and drawled out, 'Isn't it tiresome?'"
They all laughed at Val's imitation, and Mr. Egerton admitted that
Val was right, his friend on that occasion being what Nan called a
"Philistine dyed in the wool."
"We shall never get world-weary," he said, "while we have these people
to come to, Val."
"Here we are," exclaimed Jack. "Come, good folks, lend a hand, and let
us get this stuff in-doors. That's right, Manchild, come along and
carry in some of this. We'll earn our dinners to-day, my friends."
"B'ugh, how sticky some of this is, and that holly pricks me
dreadfully!" said Val. "I wish I had a pair of your sheepskin mittens,
Theo."
[Illustration: And the work proceeded with great briskness.]
"Tatty will get you a pair," returned Theo, intent upon arranging a
bunch of holly in the hall. "Here, some of you tall people, give that
a poke. That's it, Jack. Now, who wants to do what? Archie, just tell
Tatty to bring a pair of shears and a ball of twine. We want to make a
long, long garland. Auntie will like to work at that."
"Suppose you set the tasks," proposed Fred, "and we'll do your bidding."
All agreed, and Theo proceeded to direct. "Auntie, you, Val, and Fred
can work on the garland. Fred can cut off the proper bits and hand them
to you and Val, while you twine and twist. Archie, you and Jack can
help me attack the high places; and, Colonel—let me see, what shall you
do? Oh, if you will just sort out the different kinds and put each sort
together, we shall not have to pull them all over to find what we want.
We'll have to have the step-ladder, Jack."
And the work proceeded with great briskness on the part of the
assistants.
"Isn't it fine?" exclaimed Val, when their labors were ended. "It
has the nicest, spiciest, piniest smell, and it is a perfect bower.
This old hall is perfectly delightful. We ought to have a dance here
to-night. Oh, no, I forgot. Fred must see the cake-walk; but we can see
that first, and then we'll have the dance after. You'll bring Dolly
over, won't you, Archie? Then we can just make up a set."
"You don't expect me to dance!" ejaculated the Colonel.
"Indeed, we do; you and auntie, too. One would suppose you were a
Methuselah, Colonel, when you're getting younger every day. You are to
dance, sir; do you hear? Miss Valentine Le Moyne shall be your partner.
You and I will lead off;" and Val asserted herself so decidedly that
the Colonel succumbed at once.
And so they went to the cake-walk, where Jack and Archie were appointed
judges. And Archie distinguished himself in a speech which was so
utterly absurd that his friends nearly disgraced themselves by laughing
more immoderately than the occasion required. But the rest of the
assemblage were mightily pleased, and were quite overpowered by the big
words and flowery references.
This was preliminary. And when the cake-walk was about to begin, Archie
insisted upon Manchild's taking part; and the way his little duck legs
were thrust out in a strut not to be imitated convulsed them all.
Aunt Prissy was consumed with pride and amusement, and she said to
Mammy, who was among the lookers-on, "Mars Arch sot Manchild up so he
cyarnt see nothin' 'cep' dat cake. I lay Mars Arch gwine ter 'muse he
se'f. Look yonder, Jane. Ain't he a sight?"
And Mammy bent double at the spectacle of Manchild and his "lady"
bringing up the rear of the procession.
"Mars Arch giv' Manchild de cake. Yuh see," said she, "dat little
yaller he walkin' with, walkin' fur all she wo'th."
And Mammy was right; for Archie declared that, though among such
grace and dignity, it was hard to decide upon a fit recipient of the
delectable comestible before them; that after due consultation with
his distinguished associate in judicial arbitration, it was determined
to bestow upon Miss Belladonna Truefit and her diminutive though
valiant cavalier, Master Manchild Jackson, the aforesaid sacchariferous
delicacy, in consideration of the superhuman efforts which they had
exerted in their ambulation. They would therefore further exert their
pedal extremities in locomotion, and "come take de cake."
None of which speech the couple understood except the last clause,
when, amid much applause, they advanced, received the cake, having to
endure another speech delivered in utterly obscure language, and filled
with references to Antony and Cleopatra, lotus flowers and Ramesses
the Great, delivered with much rhetorical flourish; and then the two
retired, covered with glory and confusion.
"What yuh feed 'em on up dar at Preston?" asked a chagrined friend of
Aunt Prissy's. "Dictionaries?"
"No," responded Aunt Prissy. "We's been a feedin' 'em on fus'-class
tongue, but now we's gwine ter give 'em cake."
And the questioner retired disconcerted.
Such a ruddy glow came from the roaring fire that crackled in the old
fireplace, warming up the big hall and extracting the pungent odor from
the Christmas greens which draped doorway and arch; the brass andirons
caught and held the light from the up-dancing flames; little flitting
sparks shot through the wide chimney towards the peaceful stars,
shining in the Christmas heavens; the polished floor showed the result
of the lately applied energy to its waxed surface by reflecting sparkle
and glow.
The portraits of sire and dame looked down from the walls upon the
group standing in the centre of the floor. In the corner, the tall old
clock droned out a deliberate "tick-tock," and presently, with the same
deliberation, marked ten resonant strokes. At the same moment, an old
darkey, Uncle Joe by name, struck up a merry tune upon his old violin,
and the dancers stepped out. Such fun as they made of it. Uncle Joe,
considering it a part of his duty, called out the figures vigorously:
"Swing yo' pardners!" "Rewerse corners!" "Gemmen to de right, ladies to
de lef'!"
Sawing away, and keeping time with one long, flat, strangely shod foot,
till, breathless, auntie and the Colonel begged for a respite. Then the
younger ones floated off into a dreamy waltz, which Uncle Joe played
with head thrown back and eyes shut.
But auntie and the Colonel were not long left in peace.
"No wall-flowers here," sang out Val, dragging them from their places.
"It is Christmas Eve. Come, come, we want another set."
And again Miss Janet and Mr. Smith took their places.
With what vigor Val turned the Colonel, and how sedately he chasséed,
while Archie and Jack nearly spun auntie off her feet in their
rollicking humor. "More wood! Build up the fire!" was called once in a
while, and then at it again.
At last, auntie protested that she could stand no more, and Archie
executed a wonderful break-down. Then Val tried a fancy dance, all of
her own designing, till, tired out, she stood, her blue eyes dancing,
her dainty figure poised.
"Now, what next? A song! A song! Come, Jack! Come, Theo—"
But hark! From the corner sounds the striking of the old clock. Twelve
is solemnly numbered;—midnight and Christmas morning.
And then the thought came to them all of that first Christmas of the
earth's long ago, and Jack's voice broke in upon the stillness with the
old hymn,—
"While shepherds watched their flocks by night."
First one, then another, joined in, till all were singing from their
hearts.
And in the heavens, the same stars were shining as looked down upon the
earth those centuries ago when upon Judea's plain the angels' song was
heard,—
"Peace and good will! Peace and good will!"
The stars in their steadfast sereneness shone on over the old house.
Peace and good will enclosed the hearts of its inmates, filling them
with a blessed content as, with the touch of a solemn and beautiful
thought upon them, they said, "Good-night."
THE END.