morning, hanging on a peg in the woodshed. See!” He held up the coat of
a gray squirrel.
“Where—How did it get there?”
The trapper shrugged his shoulders.
“Ah—how should I know? But I can guess. And you? Where are your wits,
your fancy, my friend?”
David took the skin between his hands, rubbing his fingers through the
soft fur.
“You think he brought it back? That he—”
“Is it not possible? He has gone back to his country—his people. He is
no longer what you call ‘locked out.’ So he gives back again what he
borrowed from Nicholas Bassaraba—the coat. Ah, he is a fairy of honor;
and I bring it to you, my friend. It may be that is what the manikin
intends when he hangs it on the peg. At any rate, it is yours to keep
always; a symbol, a memory of how you found the way to the cabins and
the hearts of some lonely men. Yes, this you shall keep; while we keep
other memories. It is well.”
He turned toward the door to be gone, but David held him back.
“But it isn’t just memories, you know. I’m coming back again and again
to hear more stories of the gipsies. And in the spring, Barney says,
perhaps you’ll help me find a den of young foxes or raccoons. I’ve
always wanted to have some to tame.”
The trapper smiled.
“Even so. We will go together. It is not hard to find the litters of
young things in the spring; they are very plentiful.”
After the trapper had gone David stood a minute thinking before he went
back to his breakfast. So this was a white winter. And Johanna had said
that about as often as a white winter the fairy raths opened on
Christmas Eve—just for that night. Somehow the fairy must have known
this would happen; and he had gone back to Ireland, back to his rath, a
locked-out fairy no longer.
There was a broad smile of happiness on David’s face as he took his seat
at the table again.
“Ye certainly look pleased with your present,” teased Barney. “What did
he bring ye now—just a squirrel’s skin?”
“No, not just! Wait until to-night and I’ll tell you and Johanna one of
your own Irish stories. Only this one will have American improvements.”
And David nodded his head mysteriously after Johanna’s own fashion.
It was then that the telephone rang and Barney answered it. If there had
been a puzzled smile on his face before, when the trapper came, there
was a veritable labyrinth of expressions now as he came back to the
kitchen. There was a tangle of mystery, astonishment, delight,
incredulity, and excitement; and even Johanna herself could not guess
what lay at the heart of it all.
“Speak up, Barney, man,” she cried. “What has happened ye?”
And Mr. Peter slapped him on the back and thundered at him: “Wake up,
sir! You look as if you’d been dreaming about fairies!”
“Maybe I have,” chuckled Barney; then he sobered. “No, ’twas the
station-agent that ’phoned. He says the wee lad’s Christmas present has
come from across the water, and he’s sending it up this minute by the
stage-driver.”
“Is it as large as that?” gasped David in surprise.
“Aye, it’s a good size.” And Barney chuckled harder than ever.
Johanna looked at him sharply.
“Faith, I’m believing ye know what the wee laddy’s getting.”
“Maybe I do, but I’m not going to be telling one of ye—not till it gets
here.”
It was a very excited group that gathered in the window nook and waited
for the stage-driver to make the trip up to the hilltop. It would take
some time, they knew, for the going was slow, as he had reported the
night before, and they all waited with a reasonable amount of patience.
All but Barney. He strode up and down the living-room, slapping his
knees and chuckling to himself as if he were bursting with the rarest,
biggest piece of news a man ever had to keep to himself.
“For the love of St. Patrick, can’t ye sit down and keep quiet a minute,
man?” Johanna asked in desperation. “By the way ye are acting ye’ll have
the lad thinking his father’s sent him a live elephant or some one o’
those creatures that run wild in the East.”
With a final triumphant whoop Barney sprang to the door and threw it
open.
“’Tis almost here!” he cried. “I can hear the bells on the sleigh.”
“So can I,” cried David. “And there’s the team and the sleigh and—Why,
there’s somebody in it besides the driver!”
He was off from the window-seat and beside Barney at the door, and the
others followed quickly, as the driver touched the team with his whip
and the sleigh flew into plain view. Yes, there certainly was some one
on the seat with the driver!
“Mercy on us!” gasped Johanna.
“Merry Christmas!” shouted Barney and Mr. Peter together.
But David could not shout. He could only keep whispering to himself,
over and over: “Mother! _It’s mother!_”
THE END
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
2. Anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as
printed.
3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.