CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS
THE Christmas holidays brought a much-needed rest.
"No parties these holidays," said Aunt Nell firmly, as she ushered
Judith into a pretty sunshiny room; "bed at nine o'clock, breakfast at
nine o'clock, and any amount of skating and tobogganing in between. I
promised your mother that you should have a very quiet time."
But a very quiet time was not just the holiday that Judith had planned
to have, and after a long night's sleep and a peaceful day devoted to
letter-writing she was lively as a cricket and ready for anything.
Christmas shopping absorbed the first two days: Aunt Nell found it
tiring, but to Judith the shops all glittering with Yuletide gaiety were
wholly fascinating. There were toys to be bought for six-year-old Doris
and little Bobbie and Baby Hugh, and something very nice for Nancy.
Nothing seemed good enough for Nancy, but at last she found a little
string of white coral faintly touched with rose which she was certain
would look "just perfectly lovely" with Nancy's roseleaf complexion,
and, after much anxious calculating as to what money would be left for
pocket money during the holidays, the corals were finally bought and
sent off to Quebec.
Up to the day before Christmas the weather had been very uncertain, and
Judith, who had bought Bobbie a new sled was afraid that she would have
to pull him on bare sidewalks, and that the stories of Santa Claus and
his reindeer would fall rather flat if there were no snow on the ground
to add a touch of reality to the tale.
But on Christmas Eve to every one's joy the snow fell softly but
steadily all day, and next morning the sky was so blue, the sun so
bright, and the ground so dazzling white in its snowy covering, that
Judith running out to the verandah fairly danced with joy.
"Do come out and see!" she cried to Aunt Nell; "it's exactly like a
Christmas-card Christmas if only a little English robin would hop into
the picture."
Stockings had already been emptied and their contents exclaimed over,
and no wonder Judith was happy. Perhaps Santa Claus had an especially
soft corner in his heart for schoolgirls whose mothers were far away at
Christmas-time. Judith had never had such enchanting presents--a string
of beautiful amber beads from Daddy; the daintiest of shell-pink crêpe
kimonos with satin slippers and cap to match from mother; a pretty
camisole from Nancy; a woolen skating-set of palest primrose from Uncle
Tom; and--joy of joys! a new white and silver evening frock from Aunt
Nell.
Judith promised to take Bobbie for a sleigh-ride, but ran upstairs to
have another peep at the new frock first, and Aunt Nell found her
gloating over it.
"I know," she said, smiling at Judith's raptures; "I've been there
myself. I'm sure your mother thought two frocks ample for a
sixteen-year-old, and I expect you have worn them so often already that
you never want to see them again. Hannah shall help you freshen them up
with a new flower or a bit of gauze, and I hope you will have jolly
times in the new one."
Judith folded away the delicious bit of finery in its tissue wrappings,
and then, standing at her dressing-table and looking dreamily and
happily into the mirror, she made a picture of herself dancing in her
silver frock with Catherine, admired by Nancy and Josephine, and envied
by all the girls of South House, and she privately resolved at once to
save enough out of her allowance for silver shoes.
"Hurry, hurry!" shouted Uncle Tom, and hastily donning her new skating
outfit Judith joined the group in the hall.
They had glorious fun in the snow. Doris and Bobbie, rolled up in furs
so that they looked like little 'possums, had turns riding in the new
sled to the park, and then the whole family were packed into the big
toboggan and Uncle Tom had more fun even than Bobbie. Oh, it was good to
be alive!
Next morning brought a welcome letter from Sally May who was spending
the holidays with Nancy in Quebec. Judith had just been thinking about
them and wishing she could compare notes about Christmas presents, and
have a really good gossip.
"Quebec is the most enchanting place," wrote Sally May; "you know how
I've hated learning Canadian and British history--well, here the history
is _real_--Nancy's father is awfully keen about the monuments and
things and I'm getting to be keen myself. Jack has a couple of R. M. C.
boys here for the holidays, and then there's His Lordship Brother
Tim--Mrs. Nairn is a dear and is giving us an awfully good time. If only
you were here, Judy, it would be perfect."
If only she were! Judith sighed and wished _she_ had two big
brothers--or at least that Nancy had included her in the invitation. She
was right in her surmise that Sally May had been chosen because she was
so far from home, but she couldn't help wishing--
Judith had heard Aunt Nell talking to a gentleman in the drawing-room
across the hall, and now, to her surprise, Aunt Nell left him and came
into the library looking somewhat puzzled.
"Mr. Nairn, Nancy's father, is here, Judith. I find that Mrs. Nairn and
I are old friends. I hadn't guessed that your Nancy's mother was the
Elizabeth Dalton I knew years ago. She has sent a very kind invitation
for you to spend the New Year's week-end with them. Mr. Nairn is going
to Quebec by to-night's train, and could take you with him and bring you
back on Tuesday. I don't know whether I ought"--but at the sight of the
ecstatic joy on Judith's face she did not finish her sentence. "Run
along, dear, and pack the new frock. I don't need to ask you if you want
to go. You have been a good child and I think you have had enough rest.
Come first and be introduced to Mr. Nairn. It _is_ kind of him to take
you."
A radiant Judith packed a club bag and suitcase. Could Uncle Tom and
Mother have guessed that such a fairy-tale was going to happen when they
planned their gifts?--But, of course not. Where were her skates and
plenty of handkerchiefs? Silver shoes she must have sometime, but here
were the old white ones in the meantime.
Nancy and Sally May were in the limousine waiting for the travellers at
the station next day, and as Judith caught sight of them she realized
with a joyous leap of her heart how homesick she had been for the sound
of Sally May's pretty voice and the sight of Nancy's dear, merry face.
Ever so many things had happened, and better still were going to happen.
Sally May had had her hair bobbed, and very _chic_ it looked curling
under the rim of her little fur hat. Nancy had a thrilling tale of
Christmas presents to tell, and they had not reached the end of the
Christmas happenings when the car drew up before a comfortable-looking,
rather old-fashioned house surrounded by what was evidently a big garden
under a thick mantle of snow.
Mrs. Nairn's welcome made Judith feel at home at once, and she gave her
aunt's messages to her hostess so prettily and so modestly that Mrs.
Nairn was quite charmed with Nancy's new friend.
At dinner the sons of the house appeared, and with them Tom Southam,
Jack's roommate at college. Jack had the same merry blue eyes and sunny
smile as his sister, and Judith forgot to be shy with him. Thomas was a
cheery youth, whose chief interest at the dinner-table was the food, and
Judith gave him scant attention. But Tim, the elder brother, who had
been in the Flying Corps and had several enemy machines to his credit,
who still limped from injuries received during an air-fight, and whose
grey eyes had the keen, piercing, and yet dreamy look of the genuine
bird-man, was sufficiently a hero to prove undeniably attractive. Tim
was courteous and kind, but from the height of his five-and-twenty
years a trifle condescending, and indeed he was wishing within himself
that "Mum wouldn't fill the house with such kids."
The boys had planned to go skiing next day and after some private
suggestions from Mrs. Nairn, they asked the girls to come and watch the
fun. Neither Sally May nor Judith had ever been on skis, but here was a
splendid chance to try.
"Drive us over to the Ramparts, Tim, please," said Nancy as they started
off. "I don't want Judith to be in Quebec another hour without seeing
our view."
"Right you are," answered Tim, "we'd better go while it's clear--though,
of course, the only way to see Quebec is from the river."
"I always get thrills," said Nancy, "when I come down the river and see
the big rock and the town. Think of being Jacques Cartier--the first to
see it. For a while, you know, I used to put at the top of my letters,
'Quebec--the Rock Fortress of New France.'"
"Cheek, that's what," said Jack; "I hope you apologize to Wolfe when you
do it--there, by the way, is the Wolfe-Montcalm Monument--see, shining
over the tops of the trees--I bet you can't recite the inscription,
Nan, for Judith, who ought to improve her mind."
"Lost your bet," returned Nancy promptly--"a pound box, if you
please--no, half a pound will do, for I can't say it in Latin, but I
certainly can in English.
"'Valour Gave Them a Common Death,
History a Common Fame,
And Posterity a Common Monument.'"
"Bravo--I'll make it a pound--but of course you looked it up to show off
to Sally May."
"Well, I did look it up," confessed Nancy, "but Father promised to take
us to see the sights as soon as Judy came and he would have disowned me
if I didn't know that much."
They had reached the Ramparts and Judith caught her breath in amazement
at the wonderful scene. Away below them flowed the majestic St.
Lawrence, its snow-clad banks pierced here and there by tiny villages
each with its heavenward-pointing spire; to the north were the
Laurentian Hills, now glistening in a dazzling white mantle; at their
feet was the town, quaint and picturesque, its spires and monuments
reminders of its romantic past.
"There's the Ursuline convent, Judy," said Sally May, eagerly pointing
out the group of buildings. "Mr. Nairn told me the most interesting
thing about it--there's a lamp there that was lighted over two hundred
years ago by a girl, Marie de Repentigny--just imagine all the things
that have happened since that flame was lit."
"En avant--forward march," said Jack; "this is not Mr. Nairn's
personally conducted tour--we, I might observe parenthetically, intend
to ski this afternoon."
They bundled into the motor once more and were soon on the slopes a
little lower down where several flying figures could already be seen. It
was an ideal place for the thrilling sport--for there were a number of
high places where experts could take high jumps, and lower slopes in
plenty for the learners and the more timid, and great snowy fields
beyond where the whiteness was broken by the gay-coloured caps and
scarves of tobogganers and skaters.
Tom took Nancy down to one of the ponds to skate, while Tim and Jack
gave Judith and Sally May their first lesson.
Tim proved a splendid teacher and Judith made such progress in the
management of the long clumsy skis that at the end of an hour the boys
left Nancy in charge of their pupils, and went off to try some of the
higher jumps.
Judith found that she couldn't do as well without Tim's precept and
example, and neither she nor Sally May was sorry when Nancy declared
they could have just one more jump--they had no idea how stiff they
would be to-morrow.
Judith stood for a moment enjoying the scene. The sky was still blue,
but there were bands of colour in the west and the shadows of the pine
trees had lengthened considerably. She drew a deep breath of unconscious
enjoyment drinking in the wonderful air that tasted like clear spring
water, and then, making sure that both skis were quite straight, she
pushed off.
For a moment like a bird she felt herself flying through the air. How
glorious! Then quite suddenly came a sense of suffocation and thick
darkness. In some way the long curved wings on her feet had tripped her
and she had pitched head foremost into a deep snow-bank. Nancy, who saw
her disappear, halloed to the boys as she sped to the place where Judith
was buried, and they appeared with magical swiftness.
They pulled Judith out--not without difficulty--and wiped the snow off
her face.
"Are you hurt?" said Jack anxiously.
Judith struggled to get her breath.
"It's--too--beautiful," she said, without opening her eyes, her mind
evidently still on the river view,--"perfectly glorious!"
Jack burst into relieved laughter.
"Judith's a game little thing," he said to his mother later on; "I
suppose we shouldn't have left them so soon, but she seemed to get the
hang of it very quickly--she slid into that bank as neatly as an
arrow--I'm mighty glad she isn't hurt."
* * * * *
Judith could hardly keep her eyes open at the dinner-table, and she was
glad enough to accept Mrs. Nairn's suggestion that she go to bed early.
Nancy and Sally May perched on the foot of the bed ready to talk over
the day's happenings, but found to their astonishment that Judy seemed
asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. They tiptoed
gently away, but they need not have been afraid of wakening her.
"Doesn't she look sweet?" whispered loyal Nancy to Sally May as she
turned off the bedside lamp. Judith was smiling happily, for in her
dreams she was flying, flying through sunlit skies, and Tim, of the grey
eyes and the half friendly, half quizzical smile, was flying beside
her.