Two hours later a group of young people led by Mark Dabney trooped out
of Kate’s gate and turned down the Little Gray Lady’s street. Most of
them wore long cloaks and were muffled in thick veils.
They were talking in low tones, glancing from side to side, as if
fearing to be seen. The moon had gone under a cloud, but the light of
the stars, aided by an isolated street lamp, showed them the way. So
careful were they to conceal their identity that the whole party--there
were six in all--would dart into an open gate, crouching behind the
snow-laden hedge to avoid even a single passer-by. Only once were they
in any danger, and that was when a sleigh gliding by stopped in front of
them, the driver calling out in a voice which sounded twice as loud
in the white stillness: “Where’s Mr. Dabney’s new house?” (evidently a
stranger, for the town pump was not better known). No one else stopped
them until they reached the Little Gray Lady’s porch.
Kate crept up first, followed by Mark, and peered in. So far as she
could see everything was just as she had left it.
“The candle is still burning, Mark, and she’s put more wood on the fire.
But I can’t find her. Oh, yes--there she is--in her big chair--you
can just see the top of her head and her hand. Hush! don’t one of you
breathe. Now, listen, girls! Mark and I will tiptoe in first--the front
door is never fastened--and if she is asleep--and I think she is--we
will all crouch down behind her until she wakes up.”
“And another thing,” whispered Mark from behind his hand--“everybody
must drop their coats and things in the hall, so we can surprise her all
at once.”
The strange procession tiptoed in and arranged itself behind the Little
Gray Lady’s chair. Kate was dressed in her mother’s wedding-gown,
flaring poke bonnet, and long, faded gloves clear to her shoulder;
Mark had on a blue coat with brass buttons, a buff waistcoat, and black
stock, the two points of the high collar pinching his ruddy cheeks--the
same dress his father and Uncle Harry had worn, and all the young bloods
of their day, for that matter. The others were in their grandmother’s
or grandfather’s short and long clothes, Tom Fields sporting a
tight-sleeved, high-collared coat, silk-embroidered waistcoat, and
pumps.
Kate crept up behind her chair, but Mark moved to the fireplace and
rested his elbow on the mantel, so that he would be in full view when
the Little Gray Lady awoke.
At last her eyes opened, but she made no outcry, nor did she move,
except to lift her head as does a fawn startled by some sudden light,
her wondering eyes drinking in the apparition. Mark, hardly breathing,
stood like a statue, but Kate, bending closer, heard her catch her
breath with a long, indrawn sigh, and next the half-audible words:
“No--it isn’t so--How foolish I am--” Then there came softly:
“Harry”--and again in almost a whisper--as if hope had died in her
heart--“Harry--”
Kate, half frightened, sprang forward and flung her arms around the
Little Gray Lady.
“Why, don’t you know him? It’s Mark, Cousin Annie, and here’s Tom
and Nanny Fields, and everybody, and we’re going to light all the
candles--every one of them, and make an awful big fire--and have a real,
real Christmas.”
The Little Gray Lady was awake now.
“Oh! you scared me so!” she cried, rising to her feet, rubbing her eyes.
“You foolish Children! I must have been asleep--yes, I know I was!” She
greeted them all, talking and entering into their fun, the spirit of
hospitality now hers, saying over and over again how glad she was they
came, kissing one and another; telling them how happy they made her;
how since they had been kind enough to come, she would let them have a
_real_ Christmas--“Only,” she added quickly, “it will have to be by the
light of one candle; but that won’t make any difference, because you can
pile on just as much wood as you choose. Yes,” she continued, her voice
rising in her effort to meet them on their own joyous plane--“pile
on all the kindling, too, Mark; and Kate, dear, please run and tell
Margaret to bring in every bit of cake she has in the pantry. Oh, how
like your mother you are, Kate! I remember that very dress. And you,
Mark! Why, you’ve got on the same coat I saw your father wear at the
Governor’s ball. And you, too, Tom. Oh, what a good time we will all
have!”
Soon the lid of the old piano was raised, a spinet, really, and one of
the girls began running her fingers over the keys; and later on it was
agreed that the first dance was to be the Virginia reel, with all the
hospitable chairs and the fire screen and the gouty old sofa rolled back
against the wall.
This all arranged, Mark took his place with the Little Gray Lady for a
partner. The music struck up a lively tune and as quickly ceased as the
sound of bells rang through the night air. In the hush that followed a
sleigh was heard at the gate.
Kate sprang up and clapped her hands.
“Oh, they are just in time! There come the rest of them, Cousin Annie.
Now we are going to have a great party! Let’s be dancing when they come
in; keep on playing!”
At this instant the door opened and Margaret put in her head.
“Somebody,” she said, with a low bow, “wants to see Mr. Mark on
business.”
Mark, looking like a gallant of the old school, excused himself with a
great flourish to the Little Gray Lady and strode out. In the hall, with
his back to the light, stood a broad-shouldered man muffled to the chin
in a fur overcoat. The boy was about to apologize for his costume and
then ask the man’s errand, when the stranger turned quickly and gripped
his wrist.
“Hush--not a word! Where is she?” he cried.
With a low whistle of surprise Mark pushed open the door. The stranger
stepped in.
The Little Gray Lady raised her head.
“And who can this new guest be?” she asked--“and in what a queer
costume, too!”
The man drew himself up to his full height and threw wide his coat: “And
you don’t know me, Annie?”
She did not take her eyes from his face, nor did she move except to turn
her head appealingly to the room as if she feared they were playing her
another trick.
He had reached her side and stood looking down at her. Again came the
voice--a strong, clear voice, with a note of infinite tenderness through
it:
“How white your hair is, Annie; and your hand is so thin! Have I changed
like this?”
She leaned forward, scanning him eagerly.
There was a little cry, then all her soul went out in the one word:
“Harry!”
She was inside the big coat now, his strong arms around her, her head
hidden on his breast, only the tips of her toes on the floor.
When he had kissed her again and again--and he did and before
everybody--he crossed the room, picked up the ghostly candle, and
smothered its flame.
“I saw it from the road,” he laughed softly, “that’s why I couldn’t
wait. But you’ll never have to light it again, my darling!”
I saw them both a few years later. Everything in the way of fading and
wrinkling had stopped so far as the Little Gray Lady was concerned. If
there were any lines left in her forehead and around the corners of her
eyes, I could not find them. Joy had planted a crop of dimples instead,
and they had spread out, smoothing the care lines. Margaret even claimed
that her hair was turning brown gold once more, but then Margaret was
always her loyal slave, and believed everything her mistress wished.
And now, if you don’t mind, dear reader, we will put everything back and
shut the Little Gray Lady’s bureau drawer.