Gay Nan had felt a slight choking in her own throat as she read this
letter. "We really must make an effort to be there Christmas next
year, Sam," she said to her husband, and Sam assented cheerfully. He
only wished there were a father and mother somewhere in the world for
him to go home to.
Guy wrote the same sort of thing, with more or less detail, to Edson
and Oliver, his married elder brothers; to Ralph, his unmarried
brother; and to Carolyn--Mrs. Charles Wetmore, his other--and
elder--married sister. He received varied and more or less sympathetic
responses, to the effect that with so many little children, and such
snowdrifts as always blocked the roads leading toward North Estabrook,
it really was not strange--and of course somebody would go next year.
But they had all sent the nicest gifts they could find. Didn't Guy
think mother liked those beautiful Russian sables Ralph sent her? And
wasn't father pleased with his gold-headed cane from Oliver? Surely
with such presents pouring in from all the children, Father and Mother
Fernald couldn't feel so awfully neglected.
"Gold-headed cane be hanged!" Guy exploded when he read this last
sentence from the letter of Marian, Oliver's wife. "I'll bet she put
him up to it. If anybody dares give me a gold-headed cane before I'm
ninety-five I'll thrash him with it on the spot. He wasn't using it,
either--bless him. He had his old hickory stick, and he wouldn't have
had that if that abominable rheumatism hadn't gripped him so hard. He
isn't old enough to use a cane, by jolly, and Ol ought to know it, if
Marian doesn't. I'm glad I sent him that typewriter. He liked that, I
know he did, and it'll amuse him, too--not make him think he's ready
to die!"
Guy was not the fellow to forget anything which had taken hold of him
as that pathetic Christmas home-coming had done. When the year had
nearly rolled around, the first of December saw him at work getting
his plans in train. He began with his eldest brother, Oliver, because
he considered Mrs. Oliver the hardest proposition he had to tackle in
the carrying out of his idea.
"You see," he expounded patiently, as they sat and stared at him, "it
isn't that they aren't always awfully glad to see the whole outfit,
children and all, but it just struck me it would do 'em a lot of good
to revive old times. I thought if we could make it just as much as
possible like one of the old Christmases before anybody got
married--hang up the stockings and all, you know--it would give them a
mighty jolly surprise. I plan to have us all creep in in the night and
go to bed in our old rooms. And then in the morning--See?"
Mrs. Oliver looked at him. An eager flush lit his still boyish
face--Guy was twenty-eight--and his blue eyes were very bright. His
lithe, muscular figure bent toward her pleadingly; all his arguments
were aimed at her. Oliver sat back in his impassive way and watched
them both. It could not be denied that it was Marian's decisions which
usually ruled in matters of this sort.
"It seems to me a very strange plan," was Mrs. Oliver's comment, when
Guy had laid the whole thing before her in the most tactful manner he
could command. She spoke rather coldly. "It is not usual to think that
families should be broken up like this on Christmas Day, of all days
in the year. Four families, with somebody gone--a mother or a
father--just to please two elderly people who expect nothing of the
sort, and who understand just why we can't all get home at once. Don't
you think you are really asking a good deal?"
Guy kept his temper, though it was hard work. "It doesn't seem to me I
am," he answered quite gently. "It's only for once. I really don't
think father and mother would care much what sort of presents we
brought them, if we only came ourselves. Of course, I know I'm asking
a sacrifice of each family, and it may seem almost an insult not to
invite the children and all, yet--perhaps next year we'll try a
gathering of all the clans. But just for this year--honestly--I do
awfully wish you'd give me my way. If you'd seen those two last
Christmas--"
He broke off, glancing appealingly at Oliver himself. To his surprise,
that gentleman shifted his pipe to the corner of his mouth and put a
few pertinent questions to his younger brother. Had he thought it all
out? What time should they arrive there? How early on the day after
Christmas could they get away? Was he positive they could all crowd
into the house without rousing and alarming the pair?
"Sure thing," Guy declared, quickly. "Marietta--well, you know I've
had the soft side of her old heart ever since I was born, somehow. I
talked it all over with her last year, and I'm solid with her, all
right. She'll work the game. You see, father's quite a bit deaf now--"
"Father deaf?"
"Sure. Didn't you know it?"
"Forgotten. But mother'd hear us."
"No, she wouldn't. Don't you know how she trusts everything about the
house to Marietta since she got that fall--"
"Mother get a fall?"
"Why, _yes_!" Guy stared at his brother with some impatience. "Don't
you remember she fell down the back stairs a year ago last October,
and hurt her knee?"
"Certainly, Oliver," his wife interposed. "I wrote for you to tell her
how sorry we were. But I supposed she had entirely recovered."
"She's a little bit lame, and always will be," said Guy, a touch of
reproach in his tone. "Her knee stiffens up in the night, and she
doesn't get up and go prowling about at the least noise, the way she
used to. Marietta won't let her. So if we make a whisper of noise
Marietta'll tell her it's the cat or something. Good Lord! yes--it can
be worked all right. The only thing that worries me is the fear that I
can't get you all to take hold of the scheme. On my word, Ol,"--he
turned quite away from his sister-in-law's critical gaze and faced his
brother with something like indignation in his frank young
eyes--"don't we owe the old home anything but a present tied up in
tissue paper once a year?"
Marian began to speak. She thought Guy was exceeding his rights in
talking as if they had been at fault. It was not often that elderly
people had so many children within call--loyal children who would do
anything within reason. But certainly a man owed something to his own
family. And at Christmas! Why not carry out this plan at some other--
Her husband abruptly interrupted her. He took his pipe quite out of
his mouth and spoke decidedly.
"Guy, I believe you're right. I'll be sorry to desert my own kids, of
course, but I rather think they can stand it for once. If the others
fall into line, you may count on me."
Guy got away, feeling that the worst of his troubles was over. In his
younger sister, Nan, he hoped to find an ardent ally and he was not
disappointed. Carolyn--Mrs. Charles Wetmore--also fell in heartily
with the plan. Ralph, from somewhere in the far West, wrote that he
would get home or break a leg. Edson thought the idea rather a foolish
one, but was persuaded by Jessica, his wife--whom Guy privately
declared a trump--that he must go by all means. And so they all fell
into line, and there remained for Guy only the working out of the
details.
* * * * *
"Mis' Fernald"--Marietta Cooley strove with all the decision of which
she was capable to keep her high-pitched, middle-aged voice in
order--"'fore you get to bed I'm most forgettin' what I was to ask
you. I s'pose you'll laugh, but Guy--he wrote me partic'lar he wanted
you and his father to"--Marietta's rather stern, thin face took on a
curious expression--"to hang up your stockin's."
Mrs. Fernald paused in the door-way of the bedroom opening from the
sitting-room downstairs. She looked back at Marietta with her gentle
smile.
"Guy wrote that?" she asked. "Then--it almost looks as if he might be
coming himself, doesn't it, Marietta?"
"Well, I don't know's I'd really expect him," Marietta replied,
turning her face away and busying herself about the hearth. "I guess
what he meant was more in the way of a surprise for a Christmas
present--something that'll go into a stockin', maybe."
"It's rather odd he should have written you to ask me," mused Mrs.
Fernald, as she looked out the stockings.
Marietta considered rapidly. "Well, I s'pose he intended for me to get
'em on the sly without mentionin' it to you, an' put in what he sent,
but I sort of guessed you might like to fall in with his idee by
hangin' 'em up yourself, here by the chimbley, where the children all
used to do it. Here's the nails, same as they always was."
Mrs. Fernald found the stockings, and touched her husband on the
shoulder, as he sat unlacing his shoes. "Father, Guy wrote he wanted
us to hang up our stockings," she said, raising her voice a little and
speaking very distinctly. The elderly man beside her looked up,
smiling.
"Well, well," he said, "anything to please the boy. It doesn't seem
more than a year since he was a little fellow hanging up his own
stocking, does it, mother?"
The stockings were hung in silence. They looked thin and lonely as
they dangled beside the dying fire. Marietta hastened to make them
less lonely. "Well," she said, in a shame-faced way, "the silly boy
said I was to hang mine, too. Goodness knows what he'll find to put
into it that'll fit, 'less it's a poker."
They smiled kindly at her, wished her good night, and went back into
their own room. The little episode had aroused no suspicions. It was
very like Guy's affectionate boyishness.
"I presume he'll be down," said Mrs. Fernald, as she limped quietly
about the room, making ready for bed. "Don't you remember how he
surprised us last year? I'm sorry the others can't come. Of course, I
sent them all the invitation, just as usual--I shall always do
that--but it _is_ pretty snowy weather, and I suppose they don't quite
like to risk it."
Presently, as she was putting out the light, she heard Marietta at the
door.
"Mis' Fernald, Peter Piper's got back in this part o' the house,
somehow, and I can't lay hands on him. Beats all how cute that cat is.
Seem's if he knows when I'm goin' to put him out in the wood-shed. I
don't think likely he'll do no harm, but I thought I'd tell you, so 'f
you heard any queer noises in the night you'd know it was Peter."
"Very well, Marietta"--the soft voice came back to the schemer on the
other side of the door. "Peter will be all right, wherever he is. I
shan't be alarmed if I hear him."
"All right, Mis' Fernald; I just thought I'd let you know," and the
guileful one went grinning away.
* * * * *
_There was a long silence in the quiet sleeping-room. Then, out of the
darkness, came this little colloquy:_
_"Emeline, you aren't getting to sleep."_
_"I--know I'm not, John. I--Christmas Eve keeps one awake, somehow. It
always did."_
_"Yes.... I don't suppose the children realise at all, do they?"_
_"Oh, no--oh, no! They don't realise--they never will, till--they're
here themselves. It's all right. I think--I think at least Guy will be
down to-morrow, don't you?"_
_"I guess maybe he will." Then, after a short silence. "Mother--you've
got me, you know. You know--you've always got me, dear."_
_"Yes." She would not let him hear the sob in her voice. She crept
close, and spoke cheerfully in his best ear. "And you've got me,
Johnny Boy!"_
_"Thank the Lord, I have!"_
_So, counting their blessings, they fell asleep at last. But, even in
sleep, one set of lashes was strangely wet._
* * * * *
"Christopher Jinks, what a drift!"
"Lucky we weren't two hours later."
"_Sh-h_--they might hear us."
"Nan, stop laughing, or I'll drop a snowball down your neck!"
"Here, Carol, give me your hand. I'll plough you through. Large bodies
move slowly, of course, but go elbows first and you'll get there."
"Gee _whiz_! Can't you get that door open? I'll bet it's frozen fast."
A light showed inside the kitchen. The storm-door swung open,
propelled by force from inside. A cautious voice said low: "That the
Fernald family?"
A chorus of whispers came back at Miss Marietta Cooley:
"Yes, yes--let us in, we're freezing."
"You bet we're the Fernald family--every man-Jack of us--not one
missing."
"Oh, Marietta--you dear old thing!"
"Hurry up--this is their side of the house."
"_Sh-h-h_--"
"Carol, your _sh-h-ishes_ would wake the dead!"
[Illustration: "STUMBLING OVER THEIR OWN FEET AND BUNDLES ... THE CREW
POURED INTO THE WARM KITCHEN"]
Stumbling over their own feet and bundles in the endeavour to be
preternaturally quiet, the crew poured into the warm kitchen. Bearded
Oliver, oldest of the clan; stout Edson, big Ralph, tall and slender
Guy--and the two daughters of the house, Carolyn, growing plump and
rosy at thirty; Nan, slim and girlish at twenty-four--they were all
there. Marietta heaved a sigh of content as she looked them over.
"Well, I didn't really think you'd get here--all of you. Thank the
Lord, you have. I s'pose you're tearin' hungry, bein' past 'leven. If
you think you can eat quiet as cats, I'll feed you up, but if you're
goin' to make as much rumpus as you did comin' round the corner o' the
wood-shed I'll have to pack you straight off to bed up the back
stairs."
They pleaded for mercy and hot food. They got it--everything that
could be had that would diffuse no odour of cookery through the
house. Smoking clam-broth, a great pot of baked beans, cold meats, and
jellies--they had no reason to complain of their reception. They ate
hungrily with the appetites of winter travel.
"Say, but this is great," exulted Ralph, the stalwart, consuming a
huge wedge of mince pie with a fine disregard for any consequences
that might overtake him. "This alone is worth it. I haven't eaten such
pie in a century. What a jolly place this old kitchen is! Let's have a
candy-pull to-morrow. I haven't been home Christmas in--let me see--by
Jove, I believe it's six--seven--yes, seven years. Look here: there's
been some excuse for me, but what about you people that live near?"
He looked accusingly about. Carolyn got up and came around to him.
"Don't talk about it to-night," she whispered. "We haven't any of us
realised how long it's been."
"We'll get off to bed now," Guy declared, rising. "I can't get over
the feeling that they may catch us down here. If either of them should
want some hot water or anything--"
"The dining-room door's bolted," Marietta assured him, "but it might
need explainin' if I had to bring 'em hot water by way of the parlour.
Now, go awful careful up them stairs. They're pretty near over your
ma's head, but I don't dare have you tramp through the settin'-room to
the front ones. Now, remember that seventh stair creaks like
Ned--you've got to step right on the outside edge of it to keep it
quiet. I don't know but what you boys better step right up over that
seventh stair without touchin' foot to it."
"All right--we'll step!"
"Who's going to fix the bundles?" Carolyn paused to ask as she started
up the stairs.
"Marietta," Guy answered. "I've labeled every one, so it'll be easy.
If they hear paper rattle, they'll think it's the usual presents we've
sent on, and if they come out they'll see Marietta, so it's all right.
Quiet, now. Remember the seventh stair!"
They crept up, one by one, each to his or her old room. There needed
to be no "doubling up," for the house was large, and each room had
been left precisely as its owner had left it. It was rather ghostly,
this stealing silently about with candles, and in the necessity for
the suppression of speech the animation of the party rather suffered
eclipse. It was late, and they were beginning to be sleepy, so they
were soon in bed. But, somehow, once composed for slumber, more than
one grew wakeful again.
Guy, lying staring at a patch of wintry moonlight on the odd striped
paper of his wall--it had stopped snowing since they had come into the
house, and the clouds had broken away, leaving a brilliant
sky--discovered his door to be softly opening. The glimmer of a candle
filtered through the crack, a voice whispered his name.
"Who is it?" he answered under his breath.
"It's Nan. May I come in?"
"Of course. What's up?"
"Nothing. I wanted to talk a minute." She came noiselessly in, wrapped
in a woolly scarlet kimono, scarlet slippers on her feet, her brown
braids hanging down her back. The frost-bloom lately on her cheeks had
melted into a ruddy glow, her eyes were stars. She set her candle on
the little stand, and sat down on the edge of Guy's bed. He raised
himself on his elbow and lay looking appreciatively at her.
"This is like old times," he said. "But won't you be cold?"
"Not a bit. I'm only going to stay a minute. Anyhow, this thing is
warm as toast.... Yes, isn't it like old times?"
"Got your lessons for to-morrow?"
She laughed. "All but my Cæsar. You'll help me with that, in the
morning, won't you?"
"Sure--if you'll make some cushions for my bobs."
"I will. Guy--how's Lucy Harper?"
"She's all right. How's Bob Fields?"
"Oh, I don't care for him, now!" She tossed her head.