naturally seemed interminable, and indeed, lasted much longer than
usual, because Bobby was unable to give his whole mind to the task. At
last they were over. Under Mrs. Orde's supervision Bobby donned (a)
heavy knit, woollen leggings that drew on over his shoes and pinned to
his trousers above the knee; (b) fleece-lined arctic overshoes; (c) a
short, thick, cloth jacket; (d) a long knit tippet that went twice
around his neck, crossed on his chest, again at the small of his back,
passed around his waist, and tied in front; (e) a pair of red knit
mittens; (f) a tasselled knit cap that pulled down over his ears. Thus
equipped, snow- and cold-proof, he passed through the refrigerator-like
storm porch, and stood on the front steps.
The sun was up and before him the facets of the snow sparkled like
millions and millions of tiny diamonds. Across it the shadows of the
trees lay blue. In Bobby's nostrils the crisp air nipped delightfully
just short of pain.
What did Bobby do first? Waded, to be sure. He found the deepest drift,
augmented somewhat by Martin's shovel, and wallowed laboriously and
happily through it. Twice he was unable to extricate his foot in time to
prevent a glorious tumble from which he arose covered from crown to toe
with the powdery crystals. The temperature was so low that they did not
melt, although just inside the tops of the arctics thin bands of snow
packed tight. These Bobby occasionally removed with his forefinger.
Bobby waded happily. On either side the broad walk were tall mounds of
the snow that Martin had shovelled aside. Bobby found these waist-deep.
The lawn itself was only knee-deep, but it offered a beautiful smooth
surface. Duke appeared about this time and frisked back and forth madly,
his forefeet extended, his chest to the earth, his face illuminated
with a joyous doggy grin. He would run directly at Bobby, as though to
collide with him, swerve at the last moment and go tearing away in
circles, his hind-legs tucked well under him. The smooth white surface
of the lawn became sadly marred. Bobby was vexed at this and uttered
fierce commands to which Duke paid not the slightest attention. The
little boy made patterns in which he stepped conscientiously, pretending
he could not "get off the track." Of course he tried to make snowballs,
but tossed from him in disgust the feather-light result.
"No packing," said he.
About this time Martin reappeared, after his own breakfast, to finish
cleaning the walks. Bobby begged the fire shovel and assisted.
When lunch time came Bobby entered the storm-porch and stood patiently
while he was brushed off. The entrance to the warm air inside promptly
turned the crystals still adhering to the interstices of the knit
garments into glittering drops of water. Bobby made tiny little puddles
where he disrobed--to his delight and Amanda's disgust. The damp clothes
were hung to dry behind the kitchen stove, and Bobby sat down to a
tremendous lunch.
After lunch Bobby went out-doors again, but the novelty had worn off and
his main thought was one of impatience for three o'clock to release his
friends from school. The snow was not yet packed well enough to make the
sleighing very good, but everybody in town was out. Cutters, their
thills to one side so the driver could see past the horse; two-seated
higher sleighs; the gorgeous plumed and luxurious conveyances of the
élite--all these streamed by, packing the street every moment into a
better and better surface.
And then, before Bobby had realized it could be so late, a first, faint,
long-drawn and peculiar shout began far away; grew steadily in volume.
Bobby ran out to the middle of the road.
This street began at the top of a low, long hill eight blocks above the
Orde place and ended three blocks below. Coming toward him rapidly Bobby
saw a long dark object from which the sound issued. In a moment, slowing
every foot because of the level ground and the still heavy snow surface
of the road-bed, it passed him. He saw a ten-foot pair of bobs laden
with children seated astraddle the board. Each child held up the legs of
the one behind. In front, the steersman, his feet braced against the
cross-pieces, guided by means of ropes leading to the points of the
leading sled. At the rear the "pusher off" half reclined, graceful and
nonchalant. With the exception of the steersman, who was too busy, each
had his mouth wide open and was expirating in one long-drawn continuous
vowel-sound. This vowel-sound was originally the first part of the word
"out." It had long since become conventionalized, but still served its
purpose as a warning.
Slower and slower crept the bobs. The passengers ceased yelling and
began to move their bodies back and forth in jerks, as does the coxwain
of a racing shell. Even after the bobs had come to a complete
standstill, they sat a moment on the off-chance of another inch of gain.
Then all at once the compact missile disintegrated. The steersman made a
mark in the snow at the side to show how far they had gone. Three seized
the ropes and began to drag the bobs back toward the hill. The rest fell
in, trudging behind.
But already from the group at the top, confused by distance, other swift
black objects at spaced intervals had detached and came hurtling down.
Some of them were bob-sleds; others hand-sleds carrying but a single
passenger. Bobby stood by the gate post watching them. Each pair of bobs
made its best on distance, trying for the record of the "farthest down."
Although the temptation must have been great, nobody cheated by so much
as the smallest push.
Bobby owned a sled on which he used to coast. It reposed now in the
barn. He wanted very much to slide down hill, but he left the sled in
its resting place. Why? Because already Bobby had grown into big boy's
estate. He knew his sled would arouse derision and contempt. It had flat
runners! And it curved far up in front! And it was built on a skeleton
framework! What Bobby wanted, if he were to join the coasting world at
all, was a long, low, solid, rakish-built affair with round "spring
runners." Even "three-quarters" would not do for his present ideas.
By now the hill was alive. A steady succession of arrow-like flights was
balanced by the slow upward crawlings, on either side, of dozens
returning afoot. The mark set by the first bobs had been passed and
passed again. New records became a matter of inches.
At last Bobby saw bearing down on him a magnificent bobs that had not
before appeared. It was gliding evenly where others usually began to
slow up. Its board was twelve feet long. Foot-rails obviated the
necessity of holding legs. Its sleds were long and substantial and
evidently built solely as bob-sleds and not, as most, to be detached and
used for hand sleds as well. The eight occupants began to "jounce" when
opposite the Orde place, and Bobby saw with admiration that this was a
"spring bobs." That is to say: the board connecting the sleds was not of
rigid pine, like the others, but of hickory which bent like a
buck-board. When the occupants "jounced," the spring of this board
naturally helped the bobs to keep going for some distance after it would
ordinarily have come to a stand-still.
This scientific bobs easily excelled all previous records. Its steersman
made a triumphant mark, a full half-block beyond the farthest. So lost
in admiration of the vehicle had Bobby been that he had failed even to
glance at its occupants. Now as they returned, dragging the bobs after
them, he recognized in the steersman Carter Irvine, and in the others
the rest of his intimate friends. At the same instant they recognized
him and greeted him with a shout.
"Come on slide!" they called.
Bobby joyously laid hand on the steer-rope and began to help up the
hill.
The centre of the street was entirely given over to the coasters darting
down. On either side those ascending toiled, helped occasionally by the
good-natured driver of a cutter or delivery sleigh. Then the steer-ropes
were passed around a runner support of the cutter and held by the
steersman who perched on the front of the bobs. Thus if the bobs upset,
or the horse went too fast, he could detach the bobs from the cutter by
the simple expedient of letting go the rope. All the others immediately
piled on to get the benefit of the ride. Some preferred to stand atop
the cutter's runners. It lent a pleasant sensation of a sort of
supernatural gliding, this standing, upright and motionless, but
nevertheless moving forward at a good rate of speed. Certain drivers
refused, however, to allow these liberties, but scowled blackly when
addressed by the usual cheerful "Give us a ride, Mister?" To catch
surreptitious rides with them was considered a desirable feat. Certain
daring youngsters stole up behind and crouched low against the runners.
Occasionally they escaped detection, but generally tasted the sting of
the whip-lash as it curled viciously backward. Then arose from the whole
hill the derisive cry of "whip behind!"
At the top Bobby found a large crowd awaiting its turn. Some he knew,
others were strangers to him. All classes were represented, rich and
poor, rough and gentle. To one side the girls and smallest boys were
sliding decorously a hundred feet or so down the deeper snow of the
gutter. They sat facing forward on high framework sleds with flat
runners, one foot on either side. Whenever the sled showed indications
of speed, the feet were used as brakes. The little girls were dressed
very warmly in leggings, arctics, flannel petticoats and heavy dresses,
and wore tied close about their heads knit or fuzzy gray hoods that
framed their red cheeks bewitchingly. Bobby had always coasted in this
manner, but now he looked on them with a sort of pitying contempt.
The main group stood waiting. New-comers fell in behind so that some
rough semblance of rotation was maintained. The bobs' crews settled
themselves with the deftness of long practice. Then bending to his task
the pusher at the rear dug his toes in, while the others hunched. With a
creak the runners gave way their hold on the frozen snow; the bobs
began slowly to move. As momentum and the downward curve of the hill
exerted their influence, the pusher found his task easier and easier.
His then the nice decision as to just how long to continue to push. To
jump on too soon was a disgrace; to delay too long was a certainty of
rolling over and over in the snow while your bobs went on without you.
The artistic pusher came aboard gracefully, with a flying, forward leap,
at the precise moment when the equilibrium of forces permitted him to
alight as softly as a thistledown. The bobs shot away in a whirl of
snow-dust.
Immediately stepped forth a tall, gawky youth clad in dull brown, faded
garments, without mittens, without overshoes, his hands purple, but with
a long, low, narrow sled as tall as himself. His left hand clasped the
front, his right hand the back. The sled slanted across his body. A
dozen swift steps he ran forward flung the sled headlong with a smack
against the road and followed lightly to the little deck. There he
crouched, reclining on his left forearm, his left thigh doubled under
him, his head thrust forward, his right leg extended. A magnificent
start! So perfect was his balance that the merest touch of his right
toe to one side or the other sufficed for steering. In an instant he
shot close to the bobs ahead.
"Out! out! out! out!" he cried in a sharp stacatto--very different from
the general long-drawn out warning.
The bobs swerved and he darted by with lofty and oblivious superiority.
In the meantime another boy had stepped forward carrying his sled
directly in front of him, a hand on either side. He, too, ran forward,
but cast himself and sled with a mighty crash into the road. He
disappeared lying flat on his stomach, his hands grasping each a
projecting runner, his legs spread wide apart.
"Belly flop!" remarked the steersman of the next bobs, waiting. No great
speed was possible by this antiquated method, so it was necessary to
give the despised belly-flopper a good start.
Among those whose turns did not come soon was great rivalry in the
matter of sled-runners. Flat bands were negligible and assigned to
girls, quarter-rounds and half-rounds were somewhat but not much better,
although several orthodox-shaped sleds were fitted with them. As between
three-quarters and full-round spring runners, however, was room for
argument, and endless and partisan discussion obtained. This was a
matter of opinion. A question of comparison was the relative wear and
brightness of the metals. This must be caused by use only. The
employment of sandpaper would be to your small boy what--well, what
dynamiting trout would be to your fly-fisherman.
The twilight and the frost were already descending. Soon the
lamp-lighter with his torch and his little ladder came nimbly down the
street. On the down trip Bobby found his mother waiting by the gate, a
heavy shawl thrown over her head and shoulders. In the darkness, and
after the cold, pale moon had climbed the heavens, the hill continued
thronged. About eight o'clock many of the younger grown-ups arrived. But
Bobby had to go to bed, and he fell asleep with snatches of
conversation, the shriek of runners and the weird ululation of warning
ringing in his ears.
XVIII
CHRISTMAS
Within a week of Christmas Bobby suddenly awoke to the fact that he must
go shopping. He found that in ready money he possessed just one dollar
and sixty-two cents; the rest he banked at interest with his father.
With this amount he would have to purchase gifts for the four of his
immediate household, Celia and Mr. Kincaid, of course. Besides them he
would have liked to get something for Auntie Kate, and possibly Johnnie
and Carter.
Down town, whither he was allowed to trudge one morning after lessons,
he found bright and gay with the holiday spirit. Every shop window had
its holly and red ribbon; and most proper glittering window displays
appropriate to the season. In front of the grocery stores, stacked up
against the edges of the sidewalks, were rows and rows of Christmas
trees, their branches tied up primly, awaiting purchasers. The sidewalks
were crowded with people, hurrying in and out of the shops, their lips
smiling but their eyes preoccupied. Cutters, sleighs, delivery wagons on
runners, dashed up and down the street to a continued merry jingling of
bells. Slower farmers on sturdy sled runners crept back and forth. A
jolly sun peeked down between the tall buildings. The air was crisp as
frost-ice.
Bobby wandered down one side the street and back the other, enjoying
hugely the varied scene, stopping to look with a child's sense of
fascination into even the hat-store windows. He made his purchases
circumspectly, and not all on the same day. Only after much hunting of
five- and ten-cent departments, much investigation of relative merits,
did he come to his decision. Then, his mind at rest, he retired to his
own room where he did up extraordinarily clumsy packages with white
string, and laid them away in the bottom of his bureau drawer.
Three days before Christmas the tree was delivered. Martin and Mr. Orde
installed it in the parlour. First they brought in a wash-tub, then from
its resting place since last year, they hunted out its wooden cover with
the hole in the top. Through the hole the butt of the tree was thrust;
and there it was solid as a church! It was a very nice tree, and its
topmost finger just brushed the ceiling.
Now Bobby had new occupation which kept him so busy that he had no more
time for coasting. Grandma Orde gave him a spool of stout linen thread,
a thimble, and a long needle with a big eye. Bobby, a pan of cranberries
between his knees, threaded the pretty red spheres in long strings. He
liked to pierce their flesh with the needle, and then to draw them down
the long thread, like beads. The juice of them dyed the thread crimson,
as indeed it also stained Bobby's finger and anything they happened
subsequently to touch. As each long string was completed, Bobby went
into the chilly parlour and reverently festooned it from branch to
branch of the tree. It was astonishing what a festive air the red
imparted to the sombre green. When finally the pan was emptied of
cranberries, it was replenished with popcorn. Bobby unhooked the
long-handled wire popper from its nail in the back entry and set to work
over the open fire. It was great fun to hear the corn explode; and great
fun to keep it shaking and turning until the wire cage was filled to its
capacity with this indoor snow. Once Bobby neglected to fasten the top
securely, and the first miniature explosion blew it open so that the
popcorn deluged into the fire. When the last little cannon--for so Bobby
always imagined them--had uttered its belated voice, Bobby knocked loose
the fastening and poured the white, beautiful corn into the pan. Always
were some kernels which had refused to expand. "Old Maids," Bobby called
them.
This popcorn, too, was to be strung by needle and thread. It was a
difficult task. The corn was apt to split, or to prove impervious to the
needle. However, the strings were wonderful, like giant snowdrops
shackled together to do honour to the spirit of Christmas. Bobby hung
them also on the branches of the tree. His part of the celebration was
finished.
Mrs. Orde believed that Christmas excitement should have a full day in
which to expend itself; so Christmas eve offered nothing except a
throbbing anticipation. One old custom, however, was observed as usual.
After supper Mr. Orde seated himself in front of the fire.
"Get the book, Bobby," said he.
Bobby had the book all ready. It was a very thin wide book, printed
entirely on linen, in bright colours, and was somewhat cracked and
ragged, as though it had seen much service. Bobby presented this to his
father and climbed on his knee. Mr. Orde opened the book and began to
read that one verse of all verses replete to childhood with the very
essence of this children's season:
"_'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings all hung by the chimney with care
In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there._"
As the reading progressed, Bobby thrilled more and more at the
cumulation of the interest. St. Nick's cry to his steeds:
"_----Now Dolly, now Vixen!
Now Feather! Now, Snowball! Now Dunder and Blitzen!_"
brought his heart to his mouth with excitement that culminated in that
final surge:
"_To the top of the house, to the top of the wall,
Now dash away! dash away! dash away, all!_"
When the reading was finished he sank back with a happy sigh.
"Now story," said he, and became once more for this evening the little
child of a year back.
He listened with satisfaction to his father's unvarying Christmas story
of the Good Little Boy who went to bed and slept soundly and awoke to
varied gorgeousness of gifts; and the Bad Little Boy who slipped out and
"hooked" a ride on Santa Claus's very sleigh, and next morning, on
seeing his stocking full congratulated himself that he had been
unobserved; but on opening the stocking beheld a magic ruler that
followed him everywhere he went and spanked him vigorously and
continuously: "Even into the conservatory?" Bobby in his believing
infancy used to ask. "Even into the conservatory," his father would
solemnly reply.
After the story Bobby had to go to bed.
"And look out you don't open your eyes if you hear Santa Claus in the
room," warned his mother. "Because if you do, he won't leave you any
presents!"
Bobby kissed them all and trudged upstairs. He was too old to believe in
Santa Claus. His attitude during the rest of the year was frank
scepticism. Yet when Christmas eve came around, he found that he had
retained just enough faith to be doubtful. It was manifestly impossible
that such a person could exist; and yet there remained the faint chance.
Nobody believes that horseshoes bring luck; and yet we all pick them up.
Bobby resolved, as usual, to stay awake. Once in former years he had
awakened in the dark hours. He had become conscious of a bright and
unusual light in the street, and had hidden his head, fairly convinced
that Santa was passing. Nobody told Bobby that the light was the lantern
on a wagon making late deliveries. To-night he hung his stocking at the
foot of his bed, resolved to see who filled it. The Tree was not to be
unveiled until ten o'clock; and it was ridiculous to expect a small boy
to wait until then without _anything_. Hence the stocking.
Bobby must have stayed awake an hour. The room gradually became cold. A
dozen times his thoughts began to swell into queer ideas, and as many
times he brought himself back to complete consciousness. Then quite
distinctly he heard the sound of sleighbells, faint and far and
continuous. Bobby's sleepy thoughts resolved about the old question.
This might be Santa. Dared he look? As his faculties cleared, his
common-sense resumed sway. He turned over in bed. Then he found that the
faint far sound was not of sleighbells at all, but of the first steam
singing to itself from the radiator; and that the window was gray; and
in the dim light he could see a dark irregular, humpy stocking depending
from the foot of his bed. He had slept. It was Christmas morning.
Bobby, broad awake with the shock of the discovery, crept hastily down,
untied the bulging stocking and crawled back to his warm nest. It was
yet too dark to see; but he cuddled it to him, and felt of it all over,
and enjoyed the warmth of his bed in contrast to that momentary
emergence into the outer cold.
Shortly the light strengthened, however, and the room turned warmer.
Bobby reached for his dressing gown.
From the top of the stocking projected two fat, red and white striped
candy canes with curved ends. These, of course, Bobby drew out carefully
and laid aside. He knew by former experiences that one was flavoured
with wintergreen, the other with peppermint. They were not to be sampled
"between meals." Next came something hard and very cold. Bobby dragged
forth a pair of skates. They were shining and beautiful, and when Bobby,
with the knowledge of the expert, went hastily into details, he found
them all heart could wish for. No effeminate straps about these! but
toe-clamps to tighten with a key and a projecting heel lock to insert in
a metal socket in the boot's heel. This was the _pièce de résistance_ of
the stocking. Bobby felt perfunctorily along the outside to assure
himself that the usual two oranges and the dollar in the toe were in
place; then returned to gloat over his skates. He wanted to use them
that very day; but realized the heel plates must be fitted to his boots
first. After a few moments he stuffed the skates back into the stocking,
put on his bedroom knit slippers, and stole shivering down the steep,
creaking stairs. The door to his parents' room stood slightly ajar. He
pushed it open cautiously and peered in. The blinds were drawn, and the
room was very dim, so Bobby could make out only the dark shape of the
great four-poster bed, and could not tell whether or not his father and
mother still slept. For a long time he hesitated, shifting uneasily from
one foot to the other. Then he ventured, only just above a whisper.
"Merry Christmas!" said he, a little breathlessly.
But instantly he was reassured. There came a stir of bed-clothes from
the four-poster.
"Merry Christmas, dear!" answered Mrs. Orde.
"Merry Christmas! Caught us, you little rascal, didn't you?" came in his
father's voice.
With a gurgle of delight, Bobby, clasping his stocking, ran and leaped
at one bound into the soft coverlet. There he perched happily and told
of his skates.
"Suppose you open the blinds and show them," suggested Mr. Orde.
Bobby did so. Mr. Orde examined the skates with the eye of a
connoisseur.
"Seems to me Santa Claus has been pretty good to you," said he finally.
"Yes, sir," said Bobby. For the time being, under the glamour of the
day, he wanted to believe in Santa Claus. Doubts had cold comfort, for
they were shut entirely outside the doors of his mind.
But before long it was time to get up. Bobby pattered across the room
and down the hall to the head of the stairs. Outside Grandma Orde's room
he paused.
"Merry Christmas, grandma!" he called.
"Merry Christmas, Bobby!" replied Grandma Orde promptly.
"Merry Christmas, grandpa!" repeated Bobby.
"Grandpa isn't here," replied Grandma.