Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Dianne Nolan and the Online
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[Illustration: _All that morning Rob fished and Nelly stuck
grasshoppers on the hook for him._
FRONTISPIECE. _See page 204._]
The Beacon Hill Bookshelf
Nelly's Silver Mine
_A Story of Colorado Life_
By
Helen Hunt Jackson
With Illustrations in Color by
Harriet Roosevelt Richards
Boston
Little, Brown, and Company
1926
_Copyright, 1878,_
BY ROBERTS BROTHERS
_Copyright, 1906, 1920,_
BY WILLIAM S. JACKSON.
_Copyright, 1910,_
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
_Printed in the United States of America_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I CHRISTMAS-DAY IN NELLY'S NEW ENGLAND HOME 1
II A TALK ABOUT LEAVING MAYFIELD 18
III OFF FOR COLORADO 48
IV A NIGHT IN A SLEEPING-CAR 71
V FIRST GLIMPSES OF COLORADO AND A NEW HOME 96
VI LIFE AT GARLAND'S 125
VII A HUNT FOR A SILVER MINE 141
VIII THE MARCHES LEAVE GARLAND'S 156
IX WET MOUNTAIN VALLEY 187
X ROB AND NELLY GO INTO BUSINESS 208
XI HOW TO FIND A SILVER MINE 227
XII NELLY'S SILVER MINE 250
XIII "THE GOOD LUCK" 270
XIV AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 292
XV CHANGES IN PROSPECT 311
XVI "GOOT-BY AND GOOT LUCK" 323
ILLUSTRATIONS
All that morning Rob fished and Nelly stuck
grasshoppers on the hook for him _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
Nelly sat on one side, with all the dolls ranged
in a row against the wall 20
He would ring out such a "jodel" that the people
would stop and look up amazed 132
There she saw the very place she recollected so well 256
NELLY'S SILVER MINE
CHAPTER I
CHRISTMAS-DAY IN NELLY'S NEW-ENGLAND HOME
It was Christmas morning; and Nelly March and her brother Rob were
lying wide awake in their beds, wondering if it would do for them to
get up and look in their stockings to see what Santa Claus had
brought them. Nelly and Rob were twins; but you would never have
thought so, when you looked at them, for Nelly was half a head
taller than Rob, and a good deal heavier. She had always been well;
but Rob had always been a delicate child. He was ill now with a bad
sore throat, and had been shut up in the house for ten days. This
was the reason that he and Nelly were in bed at six o'clock this
Christmas morning, instead of scampering all about the house, and
waking everybody up with their shouts of delight over their
presents. When they went to bed the night before, Mrs. March had
said: "Now, Rob, you must promise me not to get out of bed till it
is broad daylight, and the house is thoroughly warm. You will
certainly take cold, if you get up in the cold room."
"Mamma," said Nelly, "I needn't stay in bed just because Rob has to,
need I? I can take his presents out of the stocking, and carry them
to him."
"You shan't, either," said Rob, fretfully. "I want to take them out
myself; and you're real mean not to wait for me, Nell. 'Tisn't half
so much fun for just one. Shan't she stay in bed too, mamma, as long
as I have to?"
Mrs. March looked at Nelly, and smiled. She knew Nelly had not
thought Rob would care any thing about her getting up first, or she
would never have proposed it. Nelly was always ready to give up to
Rob, much more so than was for his good.
"Nelly can do as she pleases, Rob," she answered. "I don't think it
would be fair for me to compel her to stay in bed because you have a
sore throat: do you?"
But Rob did not answer. He was not a very generous boy, and all he
was thinking of now was his own pleasure.
"Say, Nell," he cried, "you won't get up, will you, till I can?
Don't: I'll think you're real unkind if you do."
"No, no, Rob," said Nelly. "Indeed I won't. I don't care. It will be
all the longer to think about it, and that's almost the best part of
it." And Nelly threw her arms around Rob's neck and kissed him.
"It's too bad, you darling," she said, "you have to be sick on
Christmas-day. I won't have any pudding, either, if you don't want
me to."
Mrs. March was an Englishwoman, and had lived in England till she
was married, and she always had on Christmas-day a real English
plum-pudding with brandy turned over it, and set on fire just before
the pudding was brought to the table, so that when it came in the
blue and red and yellow flames were all blazing up high over it, and
the waitress had to turn her head away not to breathe the heat from
the flames.
You would have thought it would have made Rob ashamed to have Nelly
propose to go without pudding because he could not eat any, but I
don't think it did. All he said was,--
"Don't be a goose, Nell. That's quite different."
Just before they went to sleep, Sarah, the cook, went past their
door, and Nelly called to her:--
"Sarah, mamma says we mustn't get up to-morrow morning till the
house is very warm. Couldn't you get up very early and start the
furnace fire?"
"Why, yes, Miss Nelly, I can do that easy enough, sure; but where'll
you be sleeping?"
"Just where we always do, Sarah," replied Nelly, much surprised at
this question.
"Well, miss, I'll be up long before light and get the house as warm
as toast by the time you can see to tell the toes from the heels of
your stockings," said Sarah. "Good-night, Miss Nelly. Good-night,
Master Rob."
"What could she have meant asking where we'd be sleeping?" said Rob.
"I'm sure I don't know," said Nelly; "it's very queer. We've never
slept anywhere but in these two beds since we were babies. I don't
know what's got into her head. It's the queerest thing I ever knew.
I guess she was sleepy," and in a few moments both the children were
fast asleep.
Rob was the first to wake up. It was not much past midnight.
"Nelly," he whispered. No answer.
Twice he called: still no answer. There was not a sound to be heard
except the loud ticking of the high clock at the head of the stairs.
Presently there came a rustle and quick low steps, and his mother
stood by his bed.
"What do you want, my dear little boy?" she said. "Is your throat
worse?"
"No; isn't it time to get up?" said Rob. "Hasn't Sarah made the
fire?"
"Oh, mercy!" exclaimed Mrs. March. "Is that all? Why Rob! it isn't
anywhere near morning. You must go to sleep again, child; it is a
terribly cold night," and she tucked the bed-clothes tight around
him, and ran back to her own room.
"I don't care," said Rob. "I'll just stay awake. I don't believe
it'll be very long;" but before he knew it he was fast asleep again.
The next time he waked, it had begun to be light, or rather a little
less dark. He could see the outline of the window at the foot of his
bed, and he could see Nelly's bedstead, which was on the opposite
side of the room.
"Nelly," he called again.
"I'm awake," said Nelly.
"Why didn't you speak?" said Rob.
"I was thinking," replied Nelly. "Sarah hasn't gone down yet."
"Pshaw," said Rob, "she must have. She said she'd go long before
light. She went before you were awake."
"It's awful cold," whispered Nelly; "I can't keep even my hands out
of bed. I'm going to jump up and see if any hot air comes in at the
register." So saying, she jumped out of bed, ran to the register,
and held her hands above it.
"Cold as Greenland, Rob," she said, "Sarah can't have made the fire.
I don't believe she is up."
"Oh, dear," said Rob, "every thing all goes wrong when I'm sick. I
think it's too mean I have to be the sick one just because we're
twins. I heard a lady say once to mamma,--she didn't think I heard
but I did,--'Weren't you very sorry, Mrs. March, to have twins? You
know they can't ever both be strong. Your Rob, now, he looks very
sickly.' Civil, that was, to mamma, wasn't it? I was so mad I could
have flung my ball at her old wise head. But I think it must be
true, because mamma answered her real gentle, but with her voice all
trembly, and she said, 'Yes, I know that is usually said to be so;
but we hope to prove to the contrary. Rob grows stronger every year,
and he and his sister take so much comfort together, I can never
regret that they were born twins.' But I do: I think it's a shame
to make a fellow sick all his life that way. I say, Nell, I don't
believe you'd mind it half so much as I do. Girls are different from
boys. I think it would have been better for you to be the sick one
than me. Don't you? Say, Nell!"
This was a hard question for poor Nelly.
"Oh, Rob!" she said, "I don't want to be selfish about it. I'd be
willing to take turns and be sick half the times; or some more than
half,--I guess three-quarters: but I think you ought to have a
little."
"But don't you see, Nell, it can't be that way," interrupted Rob;
"it can't be that way with twins. It's got to be one sick one and
one strong one. That's what that lady said, and mamma said she'd
heard so too; and I think it's just as mean as any thing. They might
have let us be born as much as three days apart, or a week: that
wouldn't have made any difference in the fun; we could have played
just as well, and, besides, we'd have had two birthdays to keep
then, don't you see?"
"I don't think that would be so nice, Rob," said Nelly, "as to have
one together. That would be like my getting up now, before you do,
and having my stocking all to myself, and you didn't want me to do
that."
"Pshaw, Nell," replied Rob, impatiently as before: "that's quite
different; but girls never see things."
Nelly laughed out loud. "I don't know why: we have as many eyes as
boys have. I see lots more things in the woods than you do, always."
"Oh, not that sort of things," answered Rob; "not that kind of
seeing; not with your eyes: I mean to see with your--well, I don't
know what it is you see with, the kind I mean; but don't you know
mamma often says to papa about something that's got to be done,
'don't you see? don't you see?' and she doesn't mean that he is to
look with his eyes: that's the kind I mean. Now where is that
Sarah?" he exclaimed suddenly, sitting bolt upright in bed in his
excitement. "It's as cold as out-doors here, and there isn't a
creature stirring in the house, and it's broad daylight."
"Oh, Rob, do lie down and cover yourself up," cried Nelly. "You're a
naughty boy, and you'll have another sore throat as sure's you're
alive. It isn't broad daylight nor any thing like it. I can't but
just see the stockings."
"Can't but just see them!" said Rob. "Didn't I tell you girls
couldn't see any thing? Why, I can see them just as plain, just as
plain as if I was in 'em! Ain't they big, Nell? I know what's in
yours, for one thing."
"Oh, Rob! do you? Tell me!" exclaimed Nell.
"I can't," replied Rob. "I promised mamma I wouldn't. But it's
something you've wanted awfully."
"A doll, Rob! oh, is it a doll with eyes that can shut? oh, say,
Rob!" pleaded Nelly. "It's long past the time I ought to have had
it, if you hadn't been sick: you might tell me. I'll tell you what
one of your things is if you will."
"I don't want to know, Nell," replied Rob, "and you needn't tease
me, for I'll never tell you: not if they lie abed in this house all
day. Dear me! where can Sarah be? I'm going to call mamma."
"You can't make her hear, Rob," answered Nelly. "They shut the doors
ever so long ago. They were talking about something they didn't want
us to hear."
"How do you know?" said Rob.
"Because I heard some of what they said, and I coughed so that they
might know I was awake," replied Nelly. "Oh, Rob, it is awful!" and
Nelly began to sob.
"What's awful? what is it, Nell? Tell me, can't you?" said Rob, in
an excited tone.
"No, Rob I'm not going to tell you any thing about it," replied
Nelly. "It wouldn't be fair, because they didn't want us to know.
It'll be time enough when it comes."
"When what comes?" shouted Rob, thoroughly roused now. "I do say,
Nell March, you're enough to try a saint. What did you tell me any
thing about it for? I'll tell mamma the minute she comes in, and
tell her you listened. Oh, shame, shame, shame on a listener!"
"Rob, you're just as mean as you can be," cried Nelly. "I didn't
listen, and mamma knows very well I wouldn't do such a thing. Of
course I couldn't help hearing when both doors were open, and I
coughed out loud as soon as I thought about it that most likely they
didn't mean we should know any thing about it. I heard papa say
something about the children, and mamma said, 'we won't tell them
till it is all settled,' and then I gave a great big cough, and she
got up and shut both the doors; so now, Rob, you see I wasn't a
listener. I wouldn't listen for any thing: mamma said once it was
the very meanest kind of a lie in the whole world! Mamma knows I
wouldn't do it, and you can just tell her what you like, you old
hateful boy."
This was a very unhappy sort of talk for Christmas morning, was it
not? But both Rob and Nelly were tired and cold, and their patience
was all worn out. It really was a hard trial for two children only
twelve years old to have to lie still in bed, hour after hour,
Christmas morning, waiting for their presents; it grew slowly
lighter and lighter; each moment they could see the big stockings
plainer and plainer; they hung on the outside of the closet door on
two big hooks, where were usually hung the children's school hats.
One stocking was gray, and one was white. I must tell you about
these stockings, for they were very droll. They were larger than the
largest boots you ever saw, and would reach the whole length of a
man's leg, way above his knee, as far up as they could go. They
belonged to the children's grandfather March. He was one of the
queerest old gentlemen that ever was known, I think. He lived in a
city a great many miles away from the village where Mr. and Mrs.
March lived, but he used to spend his winters with them. About six
weeks before he arrived, big boxes used to begin to come. There was
no railroad to this village: every thing had to come on coaches or
big luggage wagons. Early in November, old Mr. March's boxes always
began to arrive at his son's house. When Rob and Nelly saw Mr.
Earle's big express wagon drive up to the back gate, they always
exclaimed, "Oh, there are grandpa's things coming!" and they would
run out to see them unloaded. You would have thought that old Mr.
March supposed there was nothing to eat in all the village, to see
what quantities of food he sent up. But the most peculiar thing
about it was that he sent such queer things. He was as queer about
his food as he was about every thing else, and he did not eat the
things other people ate. For instance, he never ate butter; he ate
fresh olive oil on everything; and he had a notion that no olive oil
was brought to this country to sell which was fit to eat. He had an
intimate friend who was an old sea captain, and used to sail to
Smyrna; this sea captain used to bring over for him large boxes of
bottles of olive oil every spring and autumn; and two or three of
these boxes he would use up in the course of the winter. He never
used more than half of the oil in a bottle: after it had been opened
a few days, he did not like it; he would smell it very carefully
each day, and, by the third or fourth day, he would shove the bottle
from him, and say, "Bah! throw the stuff away! throw it away! it
isn't fit to eat!" Mrs. March had great trouble in disposing of
these half bottles of oil; everybody in the neighborhood took them,
and very glad people were to get them too, for the oil was
delicious; but there were enough for two or three villages of the
size of Mayfield. These sweet-oil boxes had curious letters on them
in scarlet and blue, and the bottles were all rolled up in a sort of
shining silver paper, which Rob and Nelly used to keep to cover
boxes with. It was very pretty, so they were always glad when they
saw a big pile of the olive-oil boxes. Then there were also boxes
full of bottles of pepper-sauce; this came in big black bottles, and
the little peppers showed red through the glass; the smallest drop
of this pepper-sauce made your mouth burn like fire, but this queer
old gentleman used to pour it over every thing he ate. The big
bottle of pepper-sauce and the big bottle of olive oil were always
put by his plate, and he poured first from one and then from the
other, until the food on his plate was nearly swimming in the
strange mixture. Salt fish was another of his favorite dishes, and
he brought up every autumn huge piles of them. They came in flat
packages, tied up with coarse cord; when Mr. Earle threw them down
to the ground from the top of his wagon a strong and disagreeable
odor rose in the air, and Rob and Nelly used to exclaim, "Groans for
the salt fish! groans for the salt fish! Why didn't you lose it off
the wagon, Mr. Earle?"
"It wouldn't have made any odds, miss," Mr. Earle used to reply.
"The old gentleman'd have made me go back for more." Besides the
salt fish, there were little kegs full of what are called "tongues
and sounds," put up in salt brine; these are the tongues and the
intestines of fish; there were also jars of oysters and of clams,
and a barrel of the sort of bread sailors eat at sea, which is
called hard-tack. Now, after hearing about the extraordinary food
this old gentleman used to bring for his own use, you will be
prepared to believe what I have to tell you about his big stockings.
He had just as queer notions about his bed and all his arrangements
for sleeping, as he had about his food. No woman was ever allowed
to make his bed. He always made it himself. Except in the very
hottest weather, he would not have any sheets on it, only the very
finest of flannel blankets, a great many of them; and he never wore
any night-gown; he believed they were very unwholesome things.
"Why don't animals put on night-gowns to sleep in?" he used to say;
one might very well have replied to him, "Animals don't crawl in
between blankets either, and if you are going to be simply an
animal, you must go without any clothes day and night both."
However, he was a very irritable old gentleman, and nobody ever
argued with him about any thing. Mr. and Mrs. March let him do in
all ways exactly as he liked, and never contradicted him, for he
loved them very much, in his way, and was very good to them.
Of all his queer ways and queer things, I think these big stockings
were the queerest. As I said, he never wore any night-gown in bed,
but he was over seventy years old, and, in spite of all his
theories, his feet and legs would sometimes get cold: so he went to
a tailor and got an exact pattern of a tight-fitting leg to a pair
of trousers; then he took this to a woman who knit stockings to
sell, and he unrolled his leg pattern before her, and said:--
"Do you see that leg, ma'am? Can you knit a stocking leg that shape
and length?"
The woman did not know what to make of him.
"Why, sir," said she, "you'd never want a stocking-leg that long?"
"I didn't ask you what I wanted, ma'am," growled the old gentleman,
"I asked you what you could do. Can you knit a stocking-leg that
length and shape?"
"Why, yes, sir, I suppose I can," she replied, much cowed by his
fierce manner.
"Well, then, knit me six pairs, three gray and three white. There's
the pattern for the foot," and he threw down an old sock of his on
the table, and was striding away.
The woman followed him.
"But, sir," she said timidly, "I couldn't knit these for the price
of ordinary stockings. I'm afraid you wouldn't be willing to pay
what they would cost. It would be like knitting a pair of
pantaloons, sir,--indeed it would."
Old Mr. March always carried a big gold-headed cane; and, when he
was angry, he lifted it from the ground and shook the gold knob as
fast as he could right in people's faces. He lifted it now, and
shook the gold knob so close in the woman's face, that she retreated
rapidly toward the door.
"I didn't say any thing about money: did I, ma'am? Knit those
stockings: I don't care what they cost," he cried.
"But I thought," she interrupted.
"I didn't ask you to think, did I?" said Mr. March, speaking louder
and louder. "You'll never earn any money thinking. Knit those
stockings, ma'am, and the sooner the better," and the old gentleman
walked out of the house muttering.
"Dear me, what a very hasty old gentleman!" said the woman to
herself. "I'll go over and ask Mrs. March, and make sure it's all
right." So the next day she went to see Mrs. March, who explained to
her all the old gentleman's whims about sleeping, and that he was
quite willing and able to pay whatever the queer stockings would
cost. In a very few weeks, the stockings were all done; and the old
gentleman was so pleased with them that he gave the woman an extra
five-dollar bill, besides the sum she had charged for knitting them.
And this was the way that there came to be hanging up in Nelly's and
Rob's chamber two such huge stockings on this Christmas morning of
which I am telling you. They were splendid stockings for Christmas
stockings! It did really seem as if you never would get to the
bottom of them. The children used to lay them down on the floor, and
run around them, and pull out thing after thing. Mrs. March
sometimes wished they were not quite so large: it took a great deal
to fill them: but, after having once used them, she had not the
heart to go back to the ordinary-sized stocking, for it would have
been such a disappointment to the children. She used them, first,
one Christmas when Nelly's chief present was a big doll about two
feet and a half tall, which wore real baby clothes like a live baby.
This was so big it could not go into a common stocking, and Mrs.
March happened then to think of her father's. The old gentleman was
delighted to have them used for the purpose, and stood by laughing
hard, while Mrs. March put the things in.
"Ha! ha!" he said, "the old stockings are good for more than one
thing: aren't they?"
But we are leaving Nelly and Rob a long time in bed waiting for
their Christmas presents. It grew lighter and lighter, and still
there was no sound in the house, and the room grew no warmer. Rob
was so thoroughly cross that he lay back on his pillow, with his
eyes shut and his lips pouting out, and would not speak a word. In
vain Nelly tried to comfort him, or to interest him. He would not
speak. Even Nelly's patience was nearly worn out. At last the door
of their mother's room opened, and she came out in her warm red
wrapper.
"Why, you dear patient little children!" she exclaimed; "are you in
bed yet? this is too bad. What does make your room so cold! Why,
bless me!" she exclaimed, going to the register, "no heat is coming
up here; what does this mean?"
"I don't think Sarah has gone down yet: I've been awake a long time,
mamma," said Nelly.
"A thousand years, it is," exclaimed Rob, "or more, that we've been
lying awake here waiting: Sarah's the meanest girl alive."
"Hush, hush, Rob!" said Mrs. March. "Don't speak so. Perhaps she is
ill. I will go and see. But you may have your presents on the bed;"
and, going to the closet, she took down first the gray stocking,
which was for Rob, and carried it and laid it on his bed. Then she
carried the white one, and laid it on Nelly's bed.
"Oh, goody, goody!" they both cried at once. "You're real good,
mamma;" and in one second more all four of the little arms were
plunging into the depths of the big stockings.
"You've earned your presents this time," said Mrs. March, as she
pinned warm blankets round the children's shoulders. "I think you
are really very brave little children to be quiet so many hours. It
is after eight o'clock. I am afraid Sarah is ill."
Then she went upstairs and the children heard her knocking at
Sarah's door, and calling, "Sarah! Sarah!" Presently she came down
very quickly, and went into her room; in a few minutes, she went
back again, and Mr. March went with her. Then the children heard
more knocking, and their papa calling very loud, "Sarah! Sarah! open
the door this moment." Then came a loud crash.
"Papa's smashed the door in," said Rob. "Good enough for her, lazy
old thing, to sleep so Christmas morning! I hope mamma won't give
her any present." Nelly did not speak. She had scarcely heard the
knocking or the calls: she was so absorbed in looking at her new
doll,--a wax doll with eyes that could open and shut. To have such a
doll as this had been the great desire of Nelly's heart for years.
There was also a beautiful little leather trunk full of clothes for
the doll, and four little band-boxes, each with a hat or bonnet in
it. There was a bedstead for her to sleep in, and a pretty red
arm-chair for her to sit in, and a play piano, which could make a
little real music. Then there were four beautiful new books, and
ever so many pretty little paper boxes with different sorts of candy
in them: all white candy; Mrs. March never gave her children any
colored candies.
Rob had a beautiful kaleidoscope, mounted with a handle to turn it
round by; it was about as long as Nelly's doll, and as he drew it
out he couldn't imagine what it was. Then he had a geographical
globe, and a paint-box, and four new volumes of Mayne Reid's
stories, and the same number of boxes of candy which Nelly had.
You never saw two happier children than Rob and Nelly were for the
next half-hour. They forgot all about the cold, about Sarah, and
about having had to wait so long. For half an hour, all that was to
be heard in the room were exclamations from one to the other, such
as:--
"Oh, Nell! see this picture!"
"Oh, Rob! look at this lovely bonnet!"
"Nell, this is the splendidest one of all."
"This doll is bigger than Mary Pratt's: I know it is. Oh, Rob! don't
you suppose it must have cost a lot of money?"
At last Mrs. March came back into their room, looking very much
annoyed.
"Well, children," she said, "we're going to have a droll sort of
Christmas. Sarah is so fast asleep we can't wake her up, and your
papa thinks she must be drunk. We shall have to cook our Christmas
dinner ourselves. How will you like that?"
"Oh, splendid, mamma, splendid! Let us get right up now," cried both
the children, eagerly laying down their playthings.
"No," said Mrs. March. "Rob must not get up yet: it is too cold; but
you may get up, Nell, and help me get breakfast. Can you leave your
new dolly?"
"Oh, yes, mamma!" cried Nelly, "indeed I can." And laying the dolly
carefully between the bed-clothes with her head on the pillow, she
kissed her, and said, "Good-by, dear Josephine Harriet: you won't be
very long alone. I will come back soon."
Rob burst out laughing. "What a name!" he said, mimicking Nelly.
"Josephine Harriet! whoever heard such a name?"
"I think it's a real pretty name, Rob," replied Nelly. "Boys don't
know any thing about dolls names. Besides, she is named for two
people: Josephine is for that poor, dear, beautiful Empress that
mamma told us about; I've always thought since then if ever I had a
doll handsome enough, I'd name her after her. And Harriet is after
Hatty Pratt. I love Hatty dearly, and she's named two dolls after
me."
"Well, I shall call the doll the Empress, then," said Rob, in a tone
intended to be very sarcastic.
"Yes; so shall I," replied Nelly: "I thought of that. It will sound
very nice."
Rob looked a little disappointed. He thought it would tease Nelly to
have her doll called "The Empress."
"No: I think I'll call her Mrs. Napoleon," said he.
"Well," said Nelly, "I suppose that would do,"--Nelly had not the
least idea that Rob was making fun of her,--"but I don't believe
they ever call the real Empress so. I don't remember it in the
story. I'll ask mamma. I think Mrs. Napoleon is a beautiful name:
don't you, Rob?"
By this time Rob was too deep in the "Cliff Climbers"--one of his
new books--to answer; and Nelly was all dressed ready to go
downstairs. As she left the room, Rob called out:--
"I say, Nell, tell mamma I don't want any breakfast. I'd rather stay
in bed and read this story."
It was a very droll Christmas-day, but the children always said it
was one of the very pleasantest they ever spent. It turned out that
the cook was really in a heavy drunken sleep. She had been partly
under the influence of liquor when she went to bed the night before.
That was the reason she had asked Nelly where they would be sleeping
in the morning. She did not know what she was saying when she said
that. Mr. March went and brought a doctor to look at her in her
sleep, for they were afraid it might be apoplexy; but the doctor
only laughed, and said:--
"Pshaw! The woman's drunk. Let her alone. She'll wake up by noon."
Mr. and Mrs. March felt very unhappy about this, for Sarah had lived
with them two years, and had never done such a thing before. She did
not wake up by noon, as the doctor had said. She did not wake up
till nearly night; and, when she went downstairs, there were Mrs.
March and Nelly and Rob in the kitchen, all at work. Mrs. March and
Nelly were washing the dishes, and Rob was cleaning the knives. They
had cooked the dinner and eaten it, and cleared every thing away.
Sarah dropped into a chair, and looked from one to the other without
speaking.
"Hullo!" said Rob, "you cooked us a nice Christmas dinner: didn't
you? We'd have never had any if we'd waited for you."
"Do you feel sick now, Sarah?" said good-hearted little Nelly.
Sarah did not speak. Her brain was not yet clear. She looked
helplessly from Mrs. March to the children, and from the children to
Mrs. March. Then she rose and walked unsteadily to the table, and
tried to take the towel out of Nelly's hands.
"Let me wipe the dishes," she said: "my head's better now."
"No, Sarah," said Mrs. March, sternly. "Go back to your room. You're
not yet fit to be on your feet."
The children wondered very much that their mamma, who was usually so
kind, should speak so sternly to Sarah; but they asked no questions.
They were too full of the excitement of doing all the work, and
looking at their presents, and talking about them. The hours flew by
so quickly that it was dark before they knew it; and, when they went
to bed, they both exclaimed together:--
"Oh, Nell!" and "Oh, Rob! hasn't it been a splendid Christmas!"
They remembered it for a great many years, for it was the last
Christmas they spent in their pleasant home at Mayfield.