BY THE FIRESIDE
"You must not expect much excitement up in Sandgate," Albert said to his
friend the day they started for that quiet village. "It is a small
place, and all the people do in the winter is to chop wood, shovel snow,
eat, and go to meeting. We shall go sleighing and I shall take you to
church to be stared at, and for the rest Alice and Aunt Susan will give
us plenty to eat."
It must be admitted that this same Alice, whose picture had so
interested him, was the attraction which made young Nason glad to accept
his friend's cordial invitation, and then he really felt a very warm
friendship for that friend. It is likely that the perfect sincerity and
wholesome ideas of Albert attracted and held his rather more pliable and
easy-going nature. The strong attract the weak, among men, and Frank
Nason, never having been hardened by adversity, looked up to and admired
the man who had courage and perseverance. He wondered if Alice was like
him, and rather hoped not. It was nearly dark and snowing when they
reached Sandgate, and when he saw a plump girlish figure with slightly
whitened garments rush forward, almost jump into his friend's arms, and
kiss him vehemently, it occurred to him that a welcome home by such a
sister was worth coming many miles for.
Then he heard his name mumbled in a hurried introduction and, as he
raised his hat, saw this girl withdraw a small hand from a mitten and
offer it to him.
"I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Nason," she said with a bright smile;
"my brother has told me so much about you I feel almost acquainted." And
then, turning to that brother, she added: "I have the horse hitched
outside, Bert, so we will go right home."
She led the way, and when they had stowed their belongings in the sleigh
she said, "You can hold me in your lap, Bert, and I'll drive. I'm used
to it now." She chirruped to the rather docile horse, and as the bells
began to jingle she added: "What have you got in that box, Bertie?"
"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no fibs, Miss Curious," he
answered. "Wait until to-morrow and then I'll show you."
When they drove into the yard he said: "Take Frank right in, sis, and
I'll unharness."
It was quite dark now, but Frank noticed, as he gathered up the bags and
bundles and followed his hostess, that the rather stately house was
aglow with light.
"Leave your hat and coat here in the hall, Mr. Nason," she said
cordially, "and go right into the parlor and get warm. You will kindly
excuse me now. I'm first and second girl, housemaid and cook, and I must
go and help Aunt Susan to get supper ready. You two gentlemen are
hungry, I'm sure."
It was not a formal reception, but it was a cordial one, which was
better, and when Frank entered the parlor he was surprised at the
cheerful sight, for the room was festooned all around with ropes of
evergreen. The long mantel over the fireplace, bright with flames, was
banked with a mass of green, and against each white lace curtain hung a
wreath. In one corner stood an upright piano, in sharp contrast with the
rather antique hair-cloth chairs and sofa. He had just drawn a chair to
the fire, when Albert came in and gave a low whistle at the sight of the
decorations. "That's one of the perquisites of a country schoolma'am,"
he observed, "and I'll bet the boys that gathered all this green for
Alice enjoyed getting it. I used to when I was a boy. Well, old
fellow," he added, addressing Frank, "here we are, and you must make
yourself at home."
Then Alice came in and announced supper, and after Aunt Susan had been
introduced, they all sat down. It was an old-fashioned meal, for while
the brother helped to the ham and eggs and fried potatoes, Aunt Susan
served the quince preserves and passed the hot biscuit, and Alice poured
the tea. The table too had a Christmas touch, for around the mat where
the lamp stood was a green wreath brightened with clusters of red
berries. It was all a charming picture, and not the least of it was the
fair girl who so graciously played the hostess. When the meal was over
she said:
"Now you two gentlemen must go into the parlor and smoke, and I'll join
you later. I command you to smoke," she added imperiously, "for I want
the house to smell as if there was a man around."
When she came in later, wearing her new house-dress, she drew her chair
close to her brother's and resting her elbows on his knee and her chin
in her open palms she looked up and said with a witching smile:
"Now, Bertie, I've fed you nicely, haven't I? and I've done all I could
for your comfort, so now please tell me what is in that long flat box
you brought."
It was charmingly done, but the big brother was proof against her wiles.
"You are a bewitching coaxer, sis," he answered, "but I am hard-hearted.
I'll make a trade with you, though. First tell us all about your
school-teaching and sing us all the songs I ask for, and then I'll open
the box."
"You are very modest in your wants," she replied archly, "but like all
men you must be humored to keep you good-natured, I presume."
"I wish you would tell us about your school, Miss Page," put in Frank;
"you are not a bit like the schoolma'am of my boyhood, and I would like
to know how you manage children."
"Well, it was a little hard at first," she answered, "for boys and girls
of ten and twelve have surprisingly keen intuitions, and it seemed to me
they made a study of my face from the first and concluded I was
soft-hearted. I had one little boy that was a born mischief-maker, but
he had such winsome ways I had to love him in spite of it. But he had to
be punished some way, and so one day I kept him after school and then
told him I must whip him hard, but not at that time. I explained to him
what I was going to punish him for, 'but,' I said, 'I shall not do it
to-night. I may do it to-morrow or the day after, but I will not tell
you when the whipping is to come until I am ready to do it.' My little
plan was a success, for the next night he waited till all the rest had
gone, and then came to me with tears in his eyes, and begged me to whip
him then. I didn't, though, and told him I wouldn't until he disobeyed
again. He has been the most obedient boy in the school ever since. There
is one little girl who has won my heart, though, in the oddest way you
can imagine. The day I received your letter, Bert, I was so happy that
the school ran riot, and I never knew it. They must have seen it in my
face, I think. Well, when school was out, this girl, a shy little body
of ten, sidled up to my desk and said, 'Pleath may I kith you, teacher,
'fore I go home?' It was such an odd and pretty bit of feeling, it
nearly brought tears to my eyes."
"I should like to give that little girl a box of candy, Miss Page,"
observed Frank, "and then ask her for a kiss myself."
For an hour Alice kept both the young men interested in her anecdotes of
school-teaching, and then her brother said:
"Come, sis, you must sing some, or no box to-night!"
"Well," she replied, smiling, "what shall it be? a few gems from Moody
and Sankey, or from 'Laurel Leaves'?" And then turning to Frank she
added: "My brother just dotes on church music!"
"Alice," said her brother with mock sternness, "if you fib like that you
know the penalty!"
"Do you play or sing, Mr. Nason?" she inquired, not heeding her brother.
"I do not know one note from another," he answered.
"Well, that is fortunate for me," she said; "I only sing a few
old-fashioned ballads, and help out at church."
Then without further apology she went to the piano. "Come, Bertie," she
said, "you must help me, and we will go through the College Songs." And
go through them they did, beginning with "Clementine" and ending with
"The Quilting Party."
"Now, sis," said her brother, "I want 'Old Folks at Home,' 'Annie
Laurie,' 'Rock-a-bye,' and 'Ben Bolt,' and then I'll open the box."
It was a simple, old-fashioned home parlor entertainment, and no doubt
most musical artists would have sneered at the programme, but Alice had
a wonderfully sweet and sympathetic soprano voice, and as Frank sat
watching the fitful flames play hide-and-seek in the open fire, and
listened to those time-worn ballads, it seemed to him he had never heard
singing quite so sweet. Much depends upon the time and place, and
perhaps the romance of the open fire sparkling beneath the bank of
evergreen, and making the roses come into the fair singer's cheeks, and
warming the golden sheen of her hair, had much to do with it. When she
came to "Ben Bolt," that old ditty that has all the pathos of our lost
youth in it, there was a tiny quiver in her voice; and when she
finished, had he been near he would have seen the glint of two unshed
tears in her eyes, for the song carried her thoughts to where her mother
was at rest.
It was the first time he had ever heard that song, and he never
afterwards forgot it.
"Now, Bertie," said Alice coaxingly, after she had finished singing,
"haven't I earned the box?"
It was an appeal that few men could resist, and certainly not Albert
Page, and, true to his promise, he gave her the mysterious box. With
excited fingers she untied the cords, tore off the wrapper, and as she
lifted the cover she saw--a beautiful seal-skin sacque!
We will leave to the reader's imagination any and all the expressions
that followed, for no pen can give them with all their girlish fervor,
and when the exciting incident was over, it was time for retiring.
That evening, with its simple home enjoyments, sincere and wholesome,
its bright open fire, the unaffected cordiality of brother and sister,
and beyond all, the feeling that he was a welcome guest, made those few
hours ones long to be remembered by Frank. To begin with, the cheerful
fire was a novelty to him, and perhaps that added a touch of romance.
Then Alice herself was a surprise. He had been captivated by her
picture, but had half expected to find her a timid country girl, too shy
to do aught but answer "yes" and "no," and look pleasant. Then her voice
was also a surprise, and when he reached the seclusion of his room it
haunted him. And more than that, so intently had its bird-like sweetness
charmed him that it usurped all his thoughts. He had thanked her for the
entertainment, of course, but now that he was alone, it seemed to him
that his formal thanks had been too feeble an expression. "I don't
wonder Bert adores her," he thought; "she is the most winsome,
unaffected, and sweet little lady I ever met. If I were to remain in
this house a week I should be madly in love with her myself."
He was a good deal so, as it was.