CHRISTMAS-EVE AT HOME.
A happier party was never assembled within four walls than is now
gathered together within the four walls of Mr. Marvel's kitchen. That
it is Christmas-eve is proclaimed by the two little hoops which hang
from the ceiling, circled by colored Christmas candles; and that the
kindly influence of the time has fallen in full measure upon the
wood-turner's house may be read in the faces of George Marvel and his
family and guests. Sarah Marvel, whose place in this history is but a
small one, has grown into a comely young woman; and, indeed, the four
years which have elapsed since Joshua's departure have changed all his
friends for the better. Those of them who were young when he left are
no longer boys and girls, except in their hearts, which are as young
as ever, and which are pulsing with love for the absent hero. Not to
be absent for long now; for Joshua is coming home. They cannot tell
the exact day of his arrival; it may be a week yet, or a month; but
the sails of his ship are spread for dear home. So, as they sit round
the fire, there is a happy light in their eyes, and they look at each
other and smile, and laugh musical little laughs.
"It is more than four years ago," said George Marvel, "that one night
as we were sitting round the fire, as it might be now, Josh said all
of a sudden, 'I should like to go to sea.' Those were the very words
he said 'I should like to go to sea.' And it came so sudden-like, that
mother there began to cry. So you want to be a sailor, Josh? I
asked. 'Yes,' he answered; 'a sailor first, and then a captain.' Do
you remember, mother? And now my boy is coming home a man; and here we
are this happy Christmas-eve, talking of him, and thinking of him, and
hoping to see him soon after the New Year. Said mother that night,
'Suppose Josh is shipwrecked, what would you say then?' What would I
say then? What _did_ I say then? I said that Josh wasn't going to get
shipwrecked, and that there's more danger on the land than on the sea.
And I was right, I was; and mother wasn't."
Mrs. Marvel smiled contentedly at the reproof, and nodded in
confirmation of her husband's words.
"And when Mr. Praiseworthy Meddler came to see us for the first time,"
continued Mr. Marvel, "he said the very same thing that I said about
the dangers of the sea. And talking of Mr. Meddler, here he is, I do
believe; and that makes our party complete."
The last words had been suggested by a great stamping and puffing
outside in the passage; and presently the door opened, and
Praiseworthy Meddler, covered with snow, stood in the entrance.
"A merry Christmas to you all!" he said, peeling off his glazed coat.
"No, no my lasses, don't come near me; you'll spoil your pretty
ribbons."
But the girls would not be denied, and clustered round him, assisting
him to take off his coat, and to shake the snow from his cap and hair.
A pleasant figure he was to look at as he stood there, his honest face
beaming with health and pleasure, encircling the waists of Ellen and
Minnie, who nestled to him as confidingly and lovingly as if they were
his daughters. A sprig of mistletoe hanging over the door caught his
sight, and he stooped and gallantly kissed the girls, who pretended
resistance, and sprang laughing from his arms. Then he shook hands all
round, and taking the seat that was waiting for him near the warmest
part of the fire, remarked that the snow was two inches thick on the
pavement, and that it was coming down heavily still. It reminded him
of a great snow-storm by which he was overtaken in a cruise in the
north. That, of course, led to entreaties for a snow-story, and the
Old Sailor, in his homely way, told them a story Of icebergs and
polar-bears, which kept them entranced for nearly an hour, and which
was all the more delightful because it ended happily.
The story being concluded, they talked noisily and merrily as to what
they should do next in honor of Christmas. In the midst of the
conversation, Ellen, who was sitting next to Dan, felt her hand
tightly clasped. Looking up, she saw upon his face a listening
expression of such painful intensity that she asked him, in a whisper,
what he was listening to. He put his finger to his lips and told
her--with a strange abstractedness in his manner--that he was going
out of the room, and that he wished her to come with him without
attracting attention.
"We shall be back presently," said Ellen to Mrs. Marvel, as she
assisted Dan with his crutches.
When they were in the passage, she felt that he was trembling, and she
anxiously asked if he was unwell.
"Not bodily," he answered; "I want to look in the street."
They went to the street-door, and, opening it softly, looked out. The
snow was falling fast, and the unpretentious houses, covered with
their white mantle, looked surprisingly quaint and beautiful. A man,
who passed on the opposite side of the way as they opened the door,
was the only sign of life beside themselves in the street. The man
slouched onwards, and dragged his feet along the pavement in a brutish
kind of way, tearing a black gash in the pure white snow, out of sheer
wantonness as it seemed. It looked like a desecration.
"Ellen," said Dan, when the man was out of sight, "I would not tell my
fancies to any one but you. I am not happy. All last night I was
dreaming of Joshua."
"That was good, dear," said Ellen.
"It was not good, Ellen. My dreams were bad ones. They were too
confused and indistinct for me to remember them clearly. But the
impression they left upon me was that Joshua was in danger; I cannot
tell in what way or from whom. I did not hear a word of the story Mr.
Meddler just told us. I was thinking of I don't know what--and all of
a sudden, Ellen, I fancied that I heard Joshua's voice."
"That is because he is so near us."
"Near us? Yes. He is very near us; nearer than you imagine."
"How do you know, dear?"
"I feel that he is; and strange to say, Ellen, the feeling does not
seem to bring me pleasure."
"O Dan!"
"It is so, Ellen; I cannot help it. That Joshua is near us, I am
certain. See: is there anybody in the street?"
Ellen looked up and down. No; there was no person to be seen, and she
said so.
"How beautiful the night is, Dan!"
"Yes, like fairyland, almost," said Dan. "It hurts me to see that
black track on the other side, where the man was walking. Did you
notice how he slouched along? Look at that shadow at the end of the
street. Is it the same man, I wonder?"
The shadow lingered for a few moments, as if undecided which road to
take, and then disappeared again.
"Dan, dear," whispered Ellen, "you said that you would not tell your
fancies to any one but me."
"Well, Ellen?"
"May I whisper something, my dear?" she asked very tenderly.
"Yes."
"Would you not tell them to Minnie?"
She was supporting Dan, and his hand was round her neck; a nervous
twitching of his fingers told her that her question was a momentous
one.
"Dear Ellen," he answered in an agitated voice, "I do not think I
would--at least just yet--because--because"--
"Because what, dear?"
"Because I am not sure, Ellen," he said, with a sob which he strove in
vain to suppress. "Do not say any thing more, dear. My heart is very
sad."
She obeyed him, and kissed him, and then, with a lingering look at the
wondrous white outlines of eaves and roofs and at the wondrous white
carpet with which the earth was clad, they closed the street-door and
re-entered the kitchen. There they were greeted with the news that
Basil Kindred was going to describe and read a play to them. The play
which Basil had selected was Shakspeare's "Tempest," with which none
of them was acquainted but Minnie and Dan. Minnie clapped her hands in
delight.
"We will all have characters," she said. "You," to her father, "shall
be Prospero. You," to the Old Sailor, "shall be Stephano. You," to
Ellen, "shall be Miranda; and I will be Ariel. What a pity it is that
Mr. Fewster is not here!--he should be Caliban. If Joshua were here,
he should be Ferdinand."
"Who is Ferdinand?" asked Ellen.
"Ferdinand is a prince, and is in love with Miran--no!" Minnie
exclaimed suddenly and impetuously, the blood rising into her face,
"he should not play Ferdinand; he should not play at all. Look at me.
I am Ariel."
With a swift motion, she unloosed her hair and let it fall around her
shoulders. Bewitchingly graceful and bewitchingly beautiful, she bent
in obeisance to Prospero and said with a happy inspiration,--
"Do you love me, master?"
And he, partly in accordance with her pretty conceit and partly from
fatherly affection, placed his hand upon her head and answered,--
"Dearly, my delicate Ariel."
Then, motioning her to be silent, Basil Kindred, book in hand,
commenced to tell the story, reading passages now and again in
illustration of the beautiful fancy, and giving appropriate vocal
distinctness to each character; so that his hearers could understand
without difficulty who it was that was supposed to be speaking. He was
in his happiest humor, and he lingered lovingly upon the theme. The
fooling of Trinculo, the brutishness of Caliban, the tenderness of
Miranda, the majesty of Prospero, the daintiness of Ariel, were all
faithfully portrayed; and his audience followed the course of the
story with eager delight. When he had given utterance to that grandest
of poetical images,
"We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep."
he paused, and a deep silence fell upon the room, a silence that was
broken by Dan exclaiming,--
"Hark! a knock at the door!"
Was it the magnetism of love that caused their hearts to flutter with
joy--that caused Mrs. Marvel to rise tremblingly and say that she
would go and open the door? But her limbs failed her, and Minnie,
crying, "I will go!" ran out of the room. They below, listening in a
state of strangely-anxious expectancy, heard Minnie ask "Who is
there?" and heard her open the door. Almost at the same moment they
heard a cry of joy, followed immediately by a sharp cry of pain. They
ran up stairs and saw Minnie kneeling in the snow, supporting on her
bosom the head of a man dressed in sailor-fashion, and pressing her
lips to his neck, from which the blood was flowing. The pure snow was
crimson-stained; and Mrs. Marvel, in an agony of fear falling on her
knees by Minnie's side, looked into the face of the wounded man, and
recognized the features of her sailor-boy just returned from sea.