CHRISTMAS DAY
The day was several hours older when Humphrey and Elisabeth Shawe
started for Thornby’s camp. Before that time, however, poor Uncle
Steven, weary and disheartened and looking suddenly like an old, old
man, had returned from his futile search in and around Wistar,
accompanied by a number of the inhabitants of the little town who were
eager to lend what aid they could, although they realized how unavailing
their efforts must prove.
They had expected to find the house wrapped in gloom, but instead, as
they stopped at its door, a young woman with a radiantly happy face ran
toward them crying out the joyful news. Then a mighty shout went up from
the sleighs,--no one knew who started it, but it grew and grew, until it
seemed to reach the sky, and when it died away--it was a long while
before that happened, because it was always breaking out again--there
was a great blowing of noses and clearing of throats, as if an epidemic
of influenza was raging among them all. As soon as quiet was restored
every one went within-doors to find Shawe, who was resting under the
strictest orders not to move, and who was allowed to remain quiet no
longer. There would be ample time on another day to get over his
fatigue; for the present he had to submit to being made much of. Such a
shaking of hands as took place then,--Uncle Steven started it,--and such
hearty wishes as were poured forth! It wasn’t Merry Christmas just once,
but it was Merry, merry Christmas over and over again, until the house
rocked with the noise. And there were no reproaches in word, or thought,
about that sad past, with its mistakes and misunderstandings, it was all
blotted out,--just as the snow stretched its sparkling whiteness over
the earth, hiding many an ugly spot, so the beautiful mantle of charity
lay close over what had been.
Finally, at Shawe’s insistence, the sleigh was made ready. Not Uncle
Steven’s shabby cutter, but the roomier one of the most important
citizen of Wistar, who had been among the first to offer his services to
find the little child. It was heaped high with robes from the other
sleighs, until its gorgeousness and comfort were something to wonder at,
and four horses were harnessed to it; then the best driver climbed up in
front with much pride and, as soon as the husband and wife had taken
their places behind him, he cracked his whip briskly, in a hurry to be
gone. Again the air was rent with cheers, and amid the tumult the horses
sprang forward. Ah! they were very different from sober old Danny and
Whitefoot; they fairly flew over the road that had seen the jolly
progress of Santa Claus and his little sweetheart the previous day, and
that solemn faring southward through the night of the messenger bearing
his good tidings. The bells rang out merrily,--the gayest, gladdest
tune,--and the spirits of the sky, the plains, the woods, laughed back
in an ecstasy of delight, echoing the happiness everywhere; as far as
eye could reach the snow twinkled and shone as if with rapture that
Christmas Day. There was hardly any speech among the travellers, but joy
sat very close to their hearts, and no one objected to the silence.
At last the logging-camp was reached, and, as the horses drew up with a
great shaking of their bells, the door of the shanty flew open, and a
body of men trooped out to greet the newcomers. They had all heard of
Shawe’s errand from old Jerome,--all but the child, who was kept in
ignorance, because no one knew what its result would be,--and at sight
of their former comrade a shout of welcome--and something
more--something deeper--burst from them, to be echoed again and again.
Under cover of the happy sounds Shawe, too moved for any words, jumped
from the sleigh and turned to help his wife; but she scarcely touched
his hand, springing past him as if she were winged. Only too well the
men knew who the shining-eyed woman was, yet they had no greeting for
her,--the exultation in her face silenced them all; they opened a way
speedily for her to pass through, and then turned by common accord to
look at the sight that would meet her. As if they could see with her
eyes! And yet the picture was an unforgettable one to them.
They saw the rude familiar room, beautiful as it had never been until
the previous night, with the huge fire blazing at one side, and on the
hearth old Jerome bending down to the child, who, at the clatter
without, had risen from her play, the skirt of her gown gathered up over
a store of her new treasures as she turned wonderingly toward the door.
The men, still looking, saw the little hand relax its hold hastily, so
that the precious hoard fell to the floor unheeded--forgotten. The small
face changed from bright to brighter,--to brightest,--they had not
believed that possible,--and then they saw nothing but two figures
running toward each other and meeting in a close embrace, and they heard
the cries uttered in shaking voices, “Muvver--” “Dear, my little own!”
mingle and lose themselves in breaking sobs and a low peal of rippling
laughter.
“I swan thet hick’ry makes the ’tarnallest smoke,” Jerome muttered a
moment later, “it do beat all”--he stopped, choking over the words,--“it
do beat all,” he said again, blinking around with misty eyes.
Some one laughed unsteadily, and some one else coughed, then a third
person sneezed--and so the charm was broken. The mother raised her head
and gazed over the little shoulder at the other occupants of the room
with a look of deepest gratitude. How good every one was! Her thought
was plainer to them all than the most eloquent words would have been.
Indeed, words were not necessary at all. Betty, in the silence, turned,
and still resting in the encircling arm, smiled right and left on her
many friends, then her eyes came back to the face she loved so well, and
she patted it with fond fingers.
“It’s the very happiest Christmas now,” she laughed, “’thout you
’twasn’t half so nice. Did dear Santa Claus bring you, too?”
“You can never guess,” Elisabeth Shawe answered, the delight in her
voice vibrating like a bell. “It was some one far better and kinder than
Santa Claus, though you and I, darling, have much to thank that old man
for, and we’ll bless him all our days. Listen, sweet.”
For a moment the woman bent close to whisper in the rosy ear, then, as
if she realized that the men who had been so tender to her child had
earned a right to share in the new-found happiness, she told the story
aloud. She spoke very simply so the little hearer might
understand,--indeed, it was meant chiefest for her,--but the others
crowding near were not denied a glimpse of the great joy the morning had
brought into three lives.
“Not daddy,” Betty screamed, as the full truth dawned upon her, “not my
very own, own daddy!”
She didn’t wait for an answer but ran swiftly to Shawe, who was
standing just behind, and threw herself into his arms.
“Oh! you won’t be a far-away daddy ever any more, will you?” she cried.
“Never any more,” he answered brokenly, then he gathered her close to
his breast and kissed her.
The men looked on shy-eyed and silent in the presence of that boundless
content. Who could say anything? Who could speak? Betty’s laughter, as
her father released his hold and she slipped to the floor, acted like
magic upon them all; in a moment a deafening hubbub filled the room.
After it had subsided a little the Kid, who had served as master of
ceremonies on several occasions, assumed the leadership; though he was
the youngest of them, _he_ knew how things were managed out in the
great world. Therefore he escorted Mrs. Shawe to the seat of honor with
his very best company manner,--and there never was a manner like it
anywhere, so his comrades heartily declared, and I’m quite sure they
were right!
The great barrel-chair which Jerome usually occupied was drawn up to the
centre of the hearth, and as soon as her mother was seated Betty brought
all her new treasures and displayed them with great pride, while the men
nudged one another slyly as the former owners were recognized; no matter
how hard they tried to appear unconscious, a quirk of pleasure, or a
I-mustn’t-appear-as-if-I-had-ever-seen-that-before look was a sure
indication when all other signs failed. And Betty always found them
out, shouting gleefully at each discovery, while her mother smiled in
gratitude, no less pleased than the little one. Well, why shouldn’t they
be glad, too, to give all that pleasure? Somehow there was such a cosey,
comfortable feeling about it they felt good all over, and they couldn’t
keep quiet,--that was too much to expect! So the old room rang again and
again with their mirth.
“Sing to us now, dear, my little own,” Elisabeth Shawe said, when the
gifts had been duly admired, “sing the old song about this blessed day.”
Betty leaned against her mother’s shoulder within the happy circle of
her arm.
“You too,” she whispered, “just like we always do?”
“Yes, darling, in our own way.”
The child’s glance went round the room, taking in the joyful faces that
smiled back at her in friendly fashion; then she met her father’s eyes,
and, reaching out, she took his hand in hers, drawing it close, until it
rested on that other hand above her heart. A moment later she began to
sing in her sweet little thread of a voice:
“‘I saw three ships come sailing in,
On Christmas Day--on Christmas Day,
I saw three ships come sailing in,
On Christmas Day in the morning.’”
Elisabeth Shawe took up the next verse:
“‘Oh! they sailed into Bethlehem,
On Christmas Day--on Christmas Day,
Oh! they sailed into Bethlehem,
On Christmas Day in the morning.’”
It was Betty’s turn:
“‘And all the bells on earth shall ring
On Christmas Day--on Christmas Day,
And all the bells on earth shall ring
On Christmas Day in the morning.’”
Again there came the fuller, richer tones of the sweet antiphony:
“‘And all the angels in heaven shall sing,
On Christmas Day--on Christmas Day,’”
The voices of mother and child blended in unison, filling the room with
happy, rippling music:
“‘And all the angels in heaven shall sing
On Christmas Day in the morning.’”
At a signal from Shawe the men joined in the next verse, waiting for the
first line to be given, and then going on with the simple iteration,
until the little carol became a mighty triumphal chorus:
“‘And all the souls on earth shall sing
On Christmas Day--on Christmas Day,
And all the souls on earth shall sing
On Christmas Day in the morning.’”
“Dang thet hick’ry,” old Jerome grumbled in the hush that followed, “it
do set a man splutterin’ ez never was!”
THE END