NOW there came, warming the frosty heart of December, that delightful
atmosphere of mystery and expectation which forms one pleasure of the
great Yule-tide festival. The Big Brick House seemed particularly full
of this happy spirit of the season. There were many mysterious shopping
excursions, and much whispering in corners,--a thing not usual in this
united family. Jackie showed a sudden and severe self-denial in the
matter of sticks of pure chocolate, and was soon, therefore, able to
proudly flourish a purse containing, he told his mother, "a dollar all
but eighty-five cents," saved toward buying his presents for the family.
He also spent much time at a little table in his own room, cutting out
pictures and pasting them into a scrap-book for a little lame boy of
his acquaintance.
Mrs. Merrithew and Kathie had each, besides innumerable other matters, a
water-colour painting on hand. Each picture, strange to say, was of a
house. Mrs. Merrithew's, the Big Brick House itself, with its trees and
vines, was clearly intended for Daddy; but for whom, the children
wondered, was Aunt Kathie's? It was a spirited little view of the old
stone house on Saunder's Island; not so pretty a subject as Mrs.
Merrithew's, but set in such a delicate atmosphere of early morning
light that even the sombre gray of the stone seemed etherialized and
made poetic. While Marjorie and Dora wondered for whom it was meant,
Jackie promptly inquired,--but she, his dear Aunt Kathie, who had never
refused to answer question of his before, only laughed and shook her
head, and said that every one had secrets at Christmas-time.
Marjorie and Dora did not, as was their wont, spend all of their time
together, for each was making a present for the other. Marjorie was
working hard over a portfolio, which she knew was one of the things Dora
wanted. She had carefully constructed and joined the stiff cardboard
covers, and plentifully provided them with blotting-paper, and now she
was embroidering the linen cover with autumnal maple-leaves in Dora's
favourite colour, a rich, vivid red. As for Dora, though she had no love
for needlework, she was laboriously making a cushion of soft, old-blue
felt for Marjorie's cosey-corner, working it with a griffin pattern in
golden-brown silks. Marjorie had a particular fancy for
griffins,--partly, perhaps, because a griffin was the chief feature of
the family crest.
As the long-looked-for day drew nearer, there was other work to do,
almost the pleasantest Christmas work of all, Dora thought,--the making
wreaths out of fir and hemlock and fragrant spruce. They worked two or
three hours of each day at the decorations for the beautiful little
parish church which they all attended, and which, being very small, was
much easier than the cathedral or the other large churches to transform
into a sweet-smelling tabernacle of green. Then they trimmed the Big
Brick House almost from attic to cellar. The drawing-rooms were hung
with heavy wreaths, with bunches of red cranberries here and there,
making a beautiful contrast to the green. In the other rooms there were
boughs over every picture, and autumn leaves, ferns, and dried grasses
here and there. Mr. Merrithew was sure to buy some holly and mistletoe
at the florist's on Christmas Eve, so places of honour were reserved for
these two plants, which have become so closely entwined with all our
thoughts of Christmas and its festivities. The holly would adorn the
old oil-painting of Mrs. Merrithew's great-aunt, Lady Loveday
Gostwycke, which hung over the mantelpiece in the front drawing-room. As
for the pearly white berries of the mistletoe, they were to hang from
the chandelier in the hall, where people might be expected forgetfully
to pass beneath them. Jackie, who was very useful in breaking twigs for
the wreath-making, begged a few fine wreaths as a reward, and carried
them off to decorate little lame Philip's room. These lengths of
aromatic greenery gave the greatest pleasure to the invalid, and
scarcely less to his mother, who spent the greater part of her time in
that one room.
Besides all these pleasant doings, there were great things going on in
the kitchen. Such baking and steaming and frying as Debby revelled in!
Such spicy and savoury odours as pervaded the house when the kitchen
door was opened! Marjorie and Dora liked to help, whenever Debby would
let them, with these proceedings. It was great fun to shred citron and
turn the raisin-stoner, and help chop the mince-meat, in the big
kitchen, with its shining tins, and general air of comfort. Jackie liked
to take a share in the cooking, too, and as he was Deborah's pet, he
generally got the wherewithal to make a tiny cake or pudding of his own.
When it came to the making of the big plum pudding, all the family by
turns had to stir it, according to a time-honoured institution. Then Mr.
Merrithew would make his expected contribution to its ingredients,--five
shining five-cent pieces, to be stirred through the mixture and left to
form an element of special interest to the children at the Christmas
dinner. Besides this big pudding, there were always three or four
smaller ones (without any silver plums, but very rich and good), for
distribution among some of Mrs. Merrithew's protégés.
On Christmas day all the old customs were faithfully observed. It was
the rule that whoever woke first in the morning should call the others,
and on this occasion it was Jackie who, as the great clock in the hall
struck six, came running from room to room in his moccasin slippers and
little blue dressing-gown, shouting "Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas,"
at the top of his voice.
Every one tumbled out of bed, as in duty bound, and soon a wrappered and
slippered group, all exchanging Christmas wishes, met in Mrs.
Merrithew's den. Here a fire glowed in the grate, and here, too,
mysterious and delightful, hung a long row of very fat white
pillow-cases! These were hung by long cords from hooks on the
curtain-pole. Each pillow-case bore a paper with the name of its owner
written on it in large letters, and they were arranged in order of age,
from Jackie up to Mr. Merrithew. This had been the invariable method of
giving the Christmas presents in this particular family for as long as
any of them could remember.
Armchairs and sofas were drawn near the fire, and the party grouped
themselves comfortably; then Mr. Merrithew lifted down Jackie's
pillow-case and laid it beside him, as he sat with his mother in the
largest of the chairs. Every one looked on with intensest interest
while, with shining eyes, and cheeks red with excitement, he opened his
parcels, and exclaimed over their contents. Truly a fortunate little boy
was Jack! There were books--the very books he wanted,--games, a top, the
dearest little snow-shoes, a great box of blocks,--evidently Santa Claus
knew what a tireless architect this small boy was,--a bugle, drum, and
sword, a dainty cup and saucer, a picture for his room, and, too large
for the pillow-case, but carefully propped beneath it, a fine sled, all
painted in blue and gold and crimson, beautiful to behold!
When Jackie had looked at every one of his presents, it was Marjorie's
turn, and she was just as fortunate as her brother. So it went on up the
scale, till they had all enjoyed their gifts to the very last of Mr.
Merrithew's, and every box of candy had been sampled. And still Aunt
Kathie's picture of the little stone house had not appeared!
When at last, a merry party, they went down to breakfast, Deborah and
Susan came forward with Christmas greetings, and thanks for the
well-filled pillow-cases which they had found beside their beds. The
dining-room in its festal array looked even cheerier than was its wont.
By every plate there lay a spray of holly, to be worn during the rest of
the day. The breakfast-set was a wonderful one of blue and gold, an
heirloom, which was only used on very special occasions. In the centre
of the table stood a large pot of white and purple hyacinths in full
bloom, the fourth or fifth of Mr. Merrithew's presents that morning to
his wife.
At eleven o'clock there was the beautiful Christmas service, which all
the family attended, with the exception of Jackie. He was considered too
young to be kept still for so long a time; so he stayed at home with
Susan, trying all the new toys and having samples read aloud from each
new book. Kitty Grey, decorated with a blue ribbon and a tiny gilt bell,
also kept him company, and seemed to take great pleasure in knocking his
block castles down with her soft silvery paws.
When the churchgoers returned there was lunch; then, for the children, a
long, cosey afternoon with their presents. Mrs. Merrithew and Katherine
early disappeared into the regions of the kitchen and dining-room, for
the six o'clock dinner was to have several guests, and there was much to
be arranged and overseen. But by half-past five the whole family was
assembled in the big drawing-room, and neither Mrs. Merrithew nor Kathie
looked as if they had ever seen the inside of a kitchen. Mrs. Merrithew
wore her loveliest gown, a shimmering silver-gray silk with lace sleeves
and fichu, and lilies-of-the-valley at her neck and in her abundant
hair. As for Katherine, in her fawn-coloured dress with trimmings of
yellow beads, and deep yellow roses, Jackie said she looked like a fairy
lady,--and on the subject of fairies he was an authority. The little
girls were in pure white, with sashes of their favourite colours, and
the gold and coral necklaces which had been among their gifts; while
Jackie, in his red velvet suit and broad lace collar, looked not unlike
the picture of Leonard in "The Story of a Short Life."
Presently the guests began to arrive. First came Miss Bell, a second
cousin of Mr. Merrithew's, and the nearest relative he had in
Fredericton. She was very tall, very thin, quite on the shady side of
fifty, and a little deaf. Nevertheless, she was decidedly handsome, with
her white hair, bright, dark eyes, and beautifully arched brows. She was
a great favourite with the children, and always carried some little
surprise for them in her pocket. A little later came a widowed aunt of
Mrs. Merrithew's, fair, fat, and frivolous; and a bachelor uncle, who
came next in the esteem of the children to Cousin Sophia Bell. Two young
normal school students, sisters, who were not able to go home for the
holidays, soon swelled the party, and last, but not least, came Mr. Will
Graham, looking very handsome in his evening clothes.
When they went out to dinner Jackie escorted Cousin Sophia, and Marjorie
overheard him saying, in urgent tones:
"I _wish_ that you and Uncle Bob would come and live with us,--but I
_don't_ want Aunt Fairley; she is too funny all the time!"
The Christmas dinner was much like other Christmas dinners, except that
Debby's cooking was unsurpassable. After every one had tasted
everything, and three of the five-cent pieces had come to light, the
chairs were pushed back a little, and while nuts and raisins were being
discussed, they had also catches, rounds, and choruses. Each person with
any pretence to a voice was expected to give one solo at least. Jackie,
who had a very sweet little voice, sang "God Save the King," with great
fervour. But the favourite of the evening was the beautiful "Under the
Holly Bough," with the words of which they were all familiar.
Presently, Jackie, who had been promised that he should choose his own
bedtime that night, was found to be fast asleep with his head on his
green-leaf dessert plate, and a bunch of raisins clasped tightly in one
hand. He was tenderly carried away, undressed, and tucked into bed,
without once opening an eye. As Kathie turned to leave him, she picked
up one of his best-beloved new books,--"Off to Fairyland," in blue and
gold covers, with daintily coloured pictures,--and laid it beside him
for a pleasant waking sight the next morning. Down-stairs she found the
rest of the party gathered around the fire, telling stories of Auld Lang
Syne. As almost every one had been up early that morning, no very lively
games seemed to appeal to them; but the children thought no game could
be so interesting as these sprightly anecdotes and rose-leaf-scented
romances that were being recalled and recounted to-night. "Do you
remember--" Cousin Sophia would say; then would follow some entrancing
memories, to which Mr. and Mrs. Merrithew, Uncle Bob, and Mrs. Fairley
would contribute a running comment of "Yes, yes! she was a lovely girl!"
"He never held up his head after she died!" and so on. Then Mrs.
Fairley would hum an old-time waltz, and branch off into reminiscences
of balls,--and of one in particular at Government House, where she had
lost her satin slipper, and the governor's son had brought it to her,
and called her Cinderella. She put out a satin-shod foot as she talked,
and Marjorie thought that, though it certainly was tiny, it was not at
all a pretty shape, and began to understand why her mother made her wear
her boots so loose.
About ten, Susan brought tea and plum-cake, and when this had been
disposed of, they all, according to another time-honoured custom,
gathered around the piano, and sang the grand old words that unnumbered
thousands of voices had sung that day:
"Oh, come, all ye faithful,
Joyful and triumphant;
Oh, come ye, oh, come ye
To Bethlehem!
Come and behold him
Born the King of angels;
Oh, come let us adore him,
Christ the Lord!"
[Illustration: "NOTHING, DORA THOUGHT, COULD BE MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN
THOSE WOODS IN WINTER"]