The next morning, long before the rest of the family were astir,
Charity was sitting at her window, hooded and wrapped for the long
ride. How she had looked forward to this day! With refreshing sleep
and the sweet hopefulness of morning, all her doubts of the preceding
night had flapped away like bats into the darkness where they
belonged; and she was as fair and rosy and bright-eyed as the dawn
itself when she appeared at the door a few minutes later, in answer to
a merry jingle of sleighbells. Tom’s mood was as happy as her own, and
the sturdy little horse jogged along only too fast over the icy road
when they had turned his head toward the city.
There was much to talk about. Tom had not been idle these last few
days, and had a great deal to tell her about her room in the old
Ralston house, where he was to take her on New Year’s day. She
listened shyly, glancing up at him now and then with a happy face and
starry eyes, as he described the improvements he hoped to make on the
farm, and the hay he should take from the new meadow he had just
bought, and the hammock he should put up for her under the elms for
the long, quiet summer days.
“Only,” she broke in eagerly, “you know I must work, too, while you
are in the field”--
Then she grew rosy again, and subsided into the great buffalo robes,
while Tom wandered inconsequently from the subject, and the horse
started ahead suddenly when he wasn’t by any means expected to, and
the dark trees beside the road rustled as if they were singing softly,
and--oh, dear! it was a wonderful ride altogether.
“See!” whispered Tom, pointing to the horizon just before them.
A very grave and sweet look came into the girlish face, as she
followed his glance and saw the star in the east shining brightly
through the swaying pine boughs.
“Christmas, Christmas,” he whispered. “Oh, my darling, what a gift He
is giving me on his birthday--how much more precious than the gold and
frankincense He received eighteen hundred years ago!”
So they glide along as blessed as if the poor old sleigh, with its
odorous load of evergreen and holly, were a heavenly chariot bearing
them away from everything low and bad and wretched in the world,
until they draw near the city. The houses stand more and more closely
together. A milkman passes at full trot, and, seeing the country team
and its errand gives them the first jovial greeting of the day.
Shutters come down, blinds fly open, boys emerge from side streets,
blowing on their fingers and crying the morning papers.
“Mister, gimme some green?” one calls out now and then. And
good-natured Tom turns round in his seat, pulls out a bunch of his
merchandise and hands it to Charity, that she may have the pleasure of
giving it away. Now they are fairly within the long, brick-walled
streets, and the city is awake. Tom leaves Charity at the house of a
friend and makes an engagement to call for her as soon as his load is
sold (half of it has been ordered and engaged already), which will
probably be at about four. He will come at five, anyway; if he should
miss the hour--here he looks at her slyly and they both have a good
laugh at the absurdity of the idea--she can come to the market and
find him. Then they will have before them the beautiful Christmas-eve
ride home: “When,” says Tom solemnly, “the little horse will probably
be so tired that we will have to let him walk most of the way!”