ALTHOUGH L stands equally for Libby and Lion, and W for William and
Whale, it is not to be inferred that the two small travelers thus
labeled felt in any degree the courage of the king of beasts or the
importance of the king of fishes. With every turn of the car wheels
after they left the Junction, Will'm seemed to grow smaller and more
bewildered, and Libby more frightened and forlorn. In Will'm's picture
of this ride they had borne only their initials. Now they were faring
forth tagged with their full names and their father's address. Miss
Sally had done that "in case anything should happen."
If Miss Sally had not suggested that something might happen, Libby might
not have had her fears aroused, and if they had been allowed to travel
all the way in the toilet-room which Miss Sally and Grandma Neal showed
them while the train waited its usual ten minutes at the Junction, they
could have kept themselves too busy to think about the perils of
pilgrimage. Never before had they seen water spurt from shining faucets
into big white basins with chained-up holes at the bottom. It suggested
magic to Libby, and she thought of several games they could have made,
if they had not been hurried back to their seats in the car, and told
that they must wait until time to eat, before washing their hands.
"I thought best to tell them that," said Miss Sally, as she and Mrs.
Neal went slowly back to the shop. "Or Libby might have had most of the
skin scrubbed off her and Will'm before night. And I know he'd drink the
water cooler dry just for the pleasure of turning it into his new
drinking cup you gave him, if he hadn't been told not to. Well, they're
off, and so interested in everything that I don't believe they realized
they were starting. There wasn't time for them to think that they were
really leaving you."
"There'll be time enough before they get there," was the grim answer. "I
shouldn't wonder if they both get to crying."
Then for fear that she should start to doing that same thing herself,
she left Miss Sally to attend to the shop, and went briskly to work,
putting the kitchen to rights. She had left the breakfast dishes until
after the children's departure, for she had much to do for them, besides
putting up two lunches. They left at ten o'clock, and could not reach
their journey's end before half past eight that night. So both dinner
and supper were packed in the big pasteboard box which had been stowed
away under the seat with their suitcase.
Miss Sally was right about one thing. Neither child realized at first
that the parting was final, until the little shop was left far behind.
The novelty of their surroundings and their satisfaction at being really
on board one of the wonderful cars which they had watched daily from
the sitting-room window, made them feel that their best "S'posen" game
had come true at last. But they hadn't gone five miles until the
landscape began to look unfamiliar. They had never been in this
direction before, toward the hill country. Their drives behind Uncle
Neal's old gray mare had always been the other way. Five miles more and
they were strangers in a strange land. Fifteen miles, and they were
experiencing the bitterness of "exiles from home" whom "splendor dazzles
in vain." There was no charm left in the luxurious Pullman with its
gorgeous red plush seats and shining mirrors. All the people they could
see over the backs of those seats or reflected in those mirrors were
strangers.
It made them even more lonely and aloof because the people did not seem
to be strangers to each other. All up and down the car they talked and
joked as people in this free and happy land always do when it's the day
before Christmas and they are going home, whether they know each other
or not. To make matters worse some of these strangers acted as if they
knew Will'm and Libby, and asked them questions or snapped their fingers
at them in passing in a friendly way. It frightened Libby, who had been
instructed in the ways of travel, and she only drew closer to Will'm and
said nothing when these strange faces smiled on her.
Presently Will'm gave a little muffled sob and Libby put her arm around
his neck. It gave him a sense of protection, but it also started the
tears which he had been fighting back for several minutes, and drawing
himself up into a bunch of misery close beside her, he cried softly, his
face hidden against her shoulder. If it had been a big capable shoulder,
such as he was used to going to for comfort, the shower would have been
over soon. But he felt its limitations. It was little and thin, only
three years older and wiser than his own; as a support through unknown
dangers not much to depend upon, still it was all he had to cling to,
and he clung broken-heartedly and with scalding tears.
As for Libby she was realizing its limitations far more than he. His
sobs shook her every time they shook him, and she could feel his tears,
hot and wet on her arm through her sleeve. She started to cry herself,
but fearing that if she did he might begin to roar so that they would be
disgraced before everybody in the car, she bravely winked back her own
tears and took an effective way to dry his.
Miss Sally had told them not to wash before it was time to eat, but of
course Miss Sally had not known that Will'm was going to cry and smudge
his face all over till it was a sight. If she couldn't stop him somehow
he'd keep on till he was sick, and she'd been told to take care of him.
The little shoulder humped itself in a way that showed some motherly
instinct was teaching it how to adjust itself to its new burden of
responsibility, and she said in a comforting way,
"Come on, brother, let's go and try what it's like to wash in that big
white basin with the chained-up hole in the bottom of it."
[Illustration: He pushed aside the red plush curtain and looked in]
There was a bowl apiece, and for the first five minutes their hands were
white ducks swimming in a pond. Then the faucets were shining silver
dragons, spouting out streams of water from their mouths to drown four
little mermaids, who were not real mermaids, but children whom a wicked
witch had changed to such and thrown into a pool. Then they blew
soap-bubbles through their hands, till Will'm's squeal of delight over
one especially fine bubble, which rested on the carpet a moment, instead
of bursting, brought the porter to the door to see what was the matter.
They were not used to colored people. He pushed aside the red plush
curtain and looked in, but the bubble had vanished, and all he saw was a
slim little girl of seven snatching up a towel to polish the red cheeks
of a chubby boy of four. When they went back to their seats their finger
tips were curiously wrinkled from long immersion in the hot
soap-suds, but the ache was gone out of their throats, and Libby thought
it might be well for them to eat their dinner while their hands were so
very clean. It was only quarter past eleven, but it seemed to them that
they had been traveling nearly a whole day.
A chill of disappointment came to Will'm when his food was handed to him
out of a pasteboard box. He had not thought to eat it in this primitive
fashion. He had expected to sit at one of the little tables, but Libby
didn't know what one had to do to gain the privilege of using them. The
trip was not turning out to be all he had fondly imagined. Still the
lunch in the pasteboard box was not to be despised. Even disappointment
could not destroy the taste of Grandma Neal's chicken sandwiches and
blackberry jam.
By the time they had eaten all they wanted, and tied up the box and
washed their hands again (no bubbles and games this time for fear of
the porter) it had begun to snow, and they found entertainment in
watching the flakes that swirled against the panes in all sorts of
beautiful patterns. They knelt on opposite seats, each against a window.
Sometimes the snow seemed to come in sheets, shutting out all view of
the little hamlets and farm houses past which they whizzed, with deep
warning whistles, and sometimes it lifted to give them glimpses of
windows with holly wreaths hanging from scarlet bows, and eager little
faces peering out at the passing train--the way theirs used to peer,
years ago, it seemed, before they started on this endless journey.
It makes one sleepy to watch the snow fall for a long time. After awhile
Will'm climbed down from the window and cuddled up beside Libby again,
with his soft bobbed hair tickling her ear, as he rested against her. He
went to sleep so, and she put her arm around his neck again to keep him
from slipping. The card with which Miss Sally had tagged him, slid along
its cord and stuck up above his collar, prodding his chin. Libby pushed
it back out of sight and felt under her dress for her own. They must be
kept safely, "in case something should happen." She wondered what Miss
Sally meant by that. What could happen? Their own Mr. Smiley was on the
engine, and the conductor had been asked to keep an eye on them.
Then her suddenly awakened fear began to suggest answers. Maybe
something might keep her father from coming to meet them. She and Will'm
wouldn't know what to do or where to go. They'd be lost in a great city
like the little Match Girl was on Christmas eve, and they'd freeze to
death on some stranger's doorstep. There was a picture of the Match Girl
thus frozen, in the Hans Andersen book which Susie Peters kept in her
desk at school. There was a cruel stepmother picture in the same book,
Libby remembered, and recollections of that turned her thoughts into
still deeper channels of foreboding. What would _she_ be like? What was
going to happen to her and Will'm at the end of this journey if it ever
came to an end? If only they could be back at the Junction, safe and
sound--
The tears began to drip slowly. She wiped them away with the back of the
hand that was farthest away from Will'm. She was miserable enough to
die, but she didn't want him to wake up and find it out. A lady who had
been watching her for some time, came and sat down in the opposite seat
and asked her what was the matter, and if she was crying because she was
homesick, and what was her name and how far they were going. But Libby
never answered a single question. The tears just kept dripping and her
mouth working in a piteous attempt to swallow her sobs, and finally the
lady saw that she was frightening her, and only making matters worse by
trying to comfort her, so she went back to her seat.
When Will'm wakened after a while and sat up, leaving Libby's arm all
stiff and prickly from being bent in one position so long, the train
had been running for miles through a lonely country where nobody seemed
to live. Just as he rubbed his eyes wide awake they came to a forest of
Christmas trees. At least, they looked as if all they needed to make
them that, was for some one to fasten candles on their snow-laden
boughs. Then the whistle blew the signal that meant that the train was
about to stop, and Will'm scrambled up on his knees again, and they both
looked out expectantly.
There was no station at this place of stopping. Only by special order
from some high official did this train come to a halt here, so somebody
of importance must be coming aboard. All they saw at first was a snowy
road opening through the grove of Christmas trees, but standing in this
road, a few rods from the train, was a sleigh drawn by two big black
horses. They had bells on their bridles which went ting-a-ling whenever
they shook their heads or pawed the snow. The children could not see a
trunk being put into the baggage car farther up the track, but they saw
what happened in the delay.
[Illustration: And ran after the boy as hard as she could go]
A half-grown boy, a suitcase in one hand and a pile of packages in his
arms, dashed towards the car, leaving a furry old gentleman in the
sleigh to hold the horses. The old gentleman's coat was fur, and his cap
was fur, and so was the great rug which covered him. Under the fur cap
was thick white hair, and all over the bottom of his face was a bushy
white beard. And his cheeks were red and his eyes were laughing, and if
he wasn't Santa Claus's own self he certainly looked enough like the
nicest pictures of him to be his own brother.
On the seat beside him was a young girl, who, waiting only long enough
to plant a kiss on one of those rosy cheeks above the snowy beard,
sprang out of the sleigh and ran after the boy as hard as she could go.
She was not more than sixteen, but she looked like a full-grown young
lady to Libby, for her hair was tucked up under her little fur cap
with its scarlet quill, and the long, fur-bordered red coat she wore,
reached her ankles. One hand was thrust through a row of holly wreaths,
and she was carrying all the bundles both arms could hold.
By the time the boy had deposited his load in the section opposite the
children's, and dashed back down the aisle, there was a call of "All
aboard!" They met at the door, he and the pretty girl, she laughing and
nodding her thanks over her pile of bundles. He raised his hat and
bolted past, but stopped an instant, just before jumping off the train,
to run back and thrust his head in the door and call out laughingly,
"Good-by, Miss Santa Claus!"
Everybody in the car looked up and smiled, and turned and looked again
as she went up the aisle, for a lovelier Christmas picture could not be
imagined than the one she made in her long red coat, her arms full of
packages and wreaths of holly. The little fur cap with its scarlet
feather was powdered with snow, and the frosty wind had brought such a
glow to her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes that she looked the living
embodiment of Christmas cheer. Her entrance seemed to bring with it the
sense of all holiday joy, just as the cardinal's first note holds in it
the sweetness of a whole spring.
Will'm edged along the seat until he was close beside Libby, and the two
sat and stared at her with wide-eyed interest.
_That boy had called her Miss Santa Claus!_
If the sleigh which brought her had been drawn by reindeer, and she had
carried her pack on her back instead of in her arms, they could not have
been more spellbound. They scarcely breathed for a few moments. The
radiant, glowing creature took off the long red coat and gave it to the
porter to hang up, then she sat down and began sorting her packages into
three piles. It took some time to do this, as she had to refer
constantly to a list of names on a long strip of paper, and compare them
with the names on the bundles. While she was doing this the conductor
came for her ticket and she asked several questions.
Yes, he assured her, they were due at Eastbrook in fifteen minutes and
would stop there long enough to take water.
"Then I'll have plenty of time to step off with these things," she said.
"And I'm to leave some at Centreville and some at Ridgely."
When the conductor said something about helping Santa Claus, she
answered laughingly, "Yes, Uncle thought it would be better for me to
bring these breakable things instead of trusting them to the chimney
route." Then in answer to a question which Libby did not hear, "Oh, that
will be all right. Uncle telephoned all down the line and arranged to
have some one meet me at each place."
When the train stopped at Eastbrook, both the porter and conductor came
to help her gather up her first pile of parcels, and people in the car
stood up and craned their necks to see what she did with them. Libby
and Will'm could see. They were on the side next to the station. She
gave them to several people who seemed to be waiting for her. Almost
immediately she was surrounded by a crowd of young men and girls, all
shaking hands with her and talking at once. From the remarks which
floated in through the open vestibule, it seemed that they all must have
been at some party with her the night before. A chorus of good-byes and
Merry Christmases followed her into the car when she had to leave them
and hurry aboard. This time she came in empty handed, and this time
people looked up and smiled openly into her face, and she smiled back as
if they were all friends, sharing their good times together.
At Centreville she darted out with the second lot. Farther down a number
of people were leaving the day coaches, but no one was getting off the
Pullman. She did not leave the steps, but leaned over and called to an
old colored-man who stood with a market basket on his arm. "This way,
Mose. Quick!"
Then Will'm and Libby heard her say: "Tell 'Old Miss' that Uncle Norse
sent this holly. He wanted her to have it because it grew on his own
place and is the finest in the country. Don't knock the berries off, and
do be careful of this biggest bundle. I wouldn't have it broken for
anything. And--oh, yes, Mose" (this in a lower tone), "this is for you."
What it was that passed from the little white hand into the worn brown
one of the old servitor was not discovered by the interested audience
inside the car, but they heard a chuckle so full of pleasure that some
of them echoed it unconsciously.
"Lawd bless you, li'l' Miss, you sho' is the flowah of the Santa Claus
fambly!"
When she came in this time, a motherly old lady near the door stopped
her, and smiling up at her through friendly spectacles, asked if she
were going home for Christmas.
"Yes!" was the enthusiastic answer. "And you know what that means to a
Freshman--her first homecoming after her first term away at school. I
should have been there four days ago. Our vacation began last Friday,
but I stopped over for a house-party at my cousin's. I was wild to get
home, but I couldn't miss this visit, for she's my dearest chum as well
as my cousin, and last night was her birthday. Maybe you noticed all
those people who met me at Eastbrook. They were at the party."
"That was nice," answered the little old lady, bobbing her head. "Very
nice, my dear. And now you'll be getting home at the most beautiful time
in all the year."
"Yes, _I_ think so," was the happy answer. "Christmas eve to me always
means going around with father to take presents, and I wouldn't miss it
for anything in the world. I'm glad there's enough snow this year for us
to use the sleigh. We had to take the auto last year, and it wasn't half
as much fun."
Libby and Will'm scarcely moved after that, all the way to Ridgely. Nor
did they take their eyes off her. Mile after mile they rode, barely
batting an eyelash, staring at her with unabated interest. At Ridgely
she handed off all the rest of the packages and all of the holly wreaths
but two. These she hung up out of the way over her windows, then taking
out a magazine, settled herself comfortably in the end of the seat to
read.
On her last trip up the aisle she had noticed the wistful, unsmiling
faces of her little neighbors across the way, and she wondered why it
was that the only children in the coach should be the only ones who
seemed to have no share in the general joyousness. Something was wrong,
she felt sure, and while she was cutting the leaves of the magazine, she
stole several glances in their direction. The little girl had an anxious
pucker of the brows sadly out of place in a face that had not yet
outgrown its baby innocence of expression. She looked so little and lorn
and troubled about something, that Miss Santa Claus made up her mind to
comfort her as soon as she had an opportunity. She knew better than to
ask for her confidence as the well-meaning lady had done earlier in the
day.
When she began to read, Will'm drew a long breath and stretched himself.
There was no use watching now when it was evident that she wasn't going
to do anything for awhile, and sitting still so long had made him
fidgety. He squirmed off the seat, and up into the next one,
unintentionally wiping his feet on Libby's dress as he did so. It
brought a sharp reproof from the overwrought Libby, and he answered back
in the same spirit.
Neither was conscious that their voices could be heard across the aisle
above the noise of the train. The little fur cap with the scarlet
feather bent over the magazine without the slightest change in posture,
but there was no more turning of pages. The piping, childish voices were
revealing a far more interesting story than the printed one the girl was
scanning. She heard her own name mentioned. They were disputing about
her.
Too restless to sit still, and with no way in which to give vent to his
all-consuming energy, Will'm was ripe for a squabble. It came very soon,
and out of many allusions to past and present, and dire threats as to
what might happen to him at the end of the journey if he didn't mend his
ways, the interested listener gathered the principal facts in their
history. The fuss ended in a shower of tears on Will'm's part, and the
consequent smudging of his face with his grimy little hands which wiped
them away, so that he had to be escorted once more behind the curtain to
the shining faucets and the basin with the chained-up hole at the
bottom.
When they came back Miss Santa Claus had put away her magazine and taken
out some fancy work. All she seemed to be doing was winding some red
yarn over a pencil, around and around and around. But presently she
stopped and tied two ends with a jerk, and went snip, snip with her
scissors, and there in her fingers was a soft fuzzy ball. When she had
snipped some more, and trimmed it all over, smooth and even, it looked
like a little red cherry. In almost no time she had two wool cherries
lying in her lap. She was just beginning the third when the big ball of
yarn slipped out of her fingers, and rolled across the aisle right under
Libby's feet. She sprang to pick it up and take it back.
"Thank you, dear," was all that Miss Santa Claus said, but such a smile
went with it, that Libby, smoothing her skirts over her knees as she
primly took her seat again, felt happier than she had since leaving the
Junction. It wasn't two minutes till the ball slipped and rolled away
again. This time Will'm picked it up, and she thanked him in the same
way. But very soon when both scissors and ball spilled out of her lap
and Libby politely brought her one and Will'm the other, she did not
take them.
"I wonder," she said, "if you children couldn't climb up here on the
seat with me and hold this old Jack and Jill of a ball and scissors.
Every time one falls down and almost breaks its crown, the other goes
tumbling after. I'm in such a hurry to get through. Couldn't you stay
and help me a few minutes?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Libby, primly and timidly, sitting down on the edge
of the opposite seat with the ball in her hands. Miss Santa Claus put an
arm around Will'm and drew him up on the seat beside her. "There," she
said. "You hold the scissors, Will'm, and when I'm through winding the
ball that Libby holds, I'll ask you to cut the yarn for me. Did you ever
see such scissors, Libby? They're made in the shape of a witch. See! She
sits upon the handles, and when the blades are closed they make the peak
of her long pointed cap. They came from the old witch town of Salem."
Libby darted a half-frightened look at her. She had called them both by
name! Had _she_ been listening down the chimney, too? And those witch
scissors! They looked as if they might be a charm to open all sorts of
secrets. Maybe she knew some charm to keep stepmothers from being cruel.
Oh, if she only dared to ask! Of course Libby knew that one mustn't
"pick up" with strangers and tell them things. Miss Sally had warned her
against that. But this was different. Miss Santa Claus was _more_ than
just a person.
If Pan were to come piping out of the woods, who, with any music in him,
would not respond with all his heart to the magic call? If Titania were
to beckon with her gracious wand, who would not be drawn into her
charm├Ęd circle gladly? So it was these two little wayfarers heard the
call and swayed to the summons of one who not only shed the influence,
but shared the name of the wonderful Spirit of Yule.