THE SURPRISE
"WHY," said Christie, "I suppose he wants to know where somebody lives.
You go to the door, Karl."
For the man was knocking, and Christie caught up the baby just in time
to get him out of the whirl of wind that came in at the open door.
"Is this Mr. Jonas Tucker's place?" the gruff voice asked.
The man was a new-comer, and did not know the country very well, though
Karl felt well acquainted with him, having watched him often as he
loaded his big white covered wagon—or "prairie-schooner," as the wagons
for transportation are called in the "Far West."
"Yes, sir," said Karl, "but he isn't at home. He went to the city right
after dinner."
"Is there a Miss Christie Tucker in the family?"
"No, sir. Miss! Why—no—yes, yes, sir, I suppose there is."
"Well, you seem to be mighty uncertain about it. When you get your mind
fully made up, I wish you would tell me. Are you sure you live here
yourself?"
Astonished as he was, Karl could not help laughing over this.
"Yes, sir," he said very decidedly, "I do; and so does Christie; though
it seemed so funny to hear her called 'Miss,' that I thought you must
mean somebody else. She is a little girl."
"Just so. Little or big, I don't know as it makes much difference to
me, provided her name is Christie. I've got an express package out here
for her as big as the house, most, and as heavy as all creation."
Then did Christie set the baby down hastily in the farthest corner she
could find, and come to the door.
"There is some mistake, Karl," she said hurriedly; "nobody would send
an express package to me."
"We don't think it can belong to us," explained Karl to the man who
was turning to go down the walk. "We don't know anybody who would send
packages to us."
"I haven't got anything to do with that, as I know of. It is marked
Miss Christie Tucker, as plain as black paint and a good deal of it can
mark it, and sent to this office. And the clerk who has been here ever
since there was a place says he don't know of any other Tucker within
ten miles of the town, only Jonas, and you say the little girl's name
is Christie, so I guess it's all right. Anyway, if the man has made a
mistake and sent his bundle to the one he doesn't want to have it, why,
that's his lookout, not mine. We'll bring the thing in, and you get
away from the door, for it will fill up your kitchen."
Away he tramped, whistling gaily as he went, and Christie and Karl
looked at each other in great perplexity.
"It is all wrong," murmured Christie. "They will just have to come
to-morrow and take it away, and maybe it will cost father something;
mother will say that we ought not to have let them bring it in. Oh,
Karl! They always have to pay for express packages. They mark them C.
O. D. Father was telling me about that only yesterday, when I helped
him hold that beam, you know."
"We shan't pay any C. O. D., or any other kind of fish," declared Karl
sturdily, rising to assert his manhood. "If he leaves a thing here
that we say doesn't belong to us, he will get no money for it from us,
that's sure."
"That's so," said Christie, relieved and admiring. "We can't tell him
not to leave it, I suppose, but we can tell him that we are not going
to pay for it. In fact, we couldn't; because we haven't any money!"
By this time the great roll, whatever it was, riding on the shoulders
of two stout men, had reached the door, and was thumped down on the
clean kitchen floor.
"My patience!" said Christie.
The thing was so large that she could not help exclaiming over it.
"Look here," said Karl, still intent on business, "we don't at all
think that that belongs to us, and we can't pay you a cent for leaving
it here."
"All right," the good-natured man said, a broad smile on his face.
"There isn't a cent to pay, and if I find any other Christie Tucker who
wants the thing worse than you do, I'll come and take it away again for
nothing at all."
And he went puffing away out of the little house and down the walk, a
smile all over his great broad face.
When he was gone, the two young people stood and looked, first at the
roll, and then at each other. Of course the baby crawled out of his
corner, and hovered around the great bundle, and tried to push it with
his little hands, and tried to bite it, and tried to lift it, and
finally sat down on it in triumph, believing he had found out its use.
"What in the world can it be?" Karl asked, at last.
"And whose can it be?" added Christie, looking at the great roll with
longing eyes.
"Why, it's plain enough that it is yours. Anyhow, that is your name,
Christie Tucker, as large as life, and we 'know' there isn't another
Christie Tucker anywhere around. The question is, where did it come
from, and what is it for?"
"Uncle Daniel never would—" said Christie, slowly, thinking aloud, and
leaving her sentence unfinished.
"No," said Karl, with emphasis, understanding her as well as though
she had finished it, "he never would in this world. Christie Tucker, I
believe in my heart it is a carpet. It is done up, for all the world,
like the rolls that Nick takes up to the Burton's and other places, and
he says they are carpets straight from the stores. They sew them all up
in that straw kind of stuff, so they won't get dirty on the journey."
"Then of course it isn't ours, for we haven't bought any carpet at the
stores, that is certain."
"No," Karl said slowly, and argumentatively; "but then see here,
Christie, neither have we bought anything else, and this is something,
so I don't see as that proves anything. I'd like to see the inside of
it, wouldn't you? Shall we rip it open?"
"Oh, no! We mustn't; mother wouldn't think it was right. It will have
to go back, of course; they have sent it to the wrong town, maybe, and
father would have no end of trouble in getting it sewed up again. We
must just push it into the corner and let it alone. And Karl, it is
time we were getting our treat ready, or planning for it, at least.
Look! It has stopped snowing, and I believe the sun is going to set
clear. They will have a nice ride home."
"I can't imagine what the thing is," said Karl.
He did not mean the sun, nor yet the ride home. Eyes and thoughts
were still on the great roll. He was not in the mood to give it up so
quietly.
"I'll tell you what, Christie, I believe we ought to open it. This
stuff is all damp on the outside, and it may be something that the damp
will hurt. We ought to take care of it, whosoever it is."
"It won't hurt before mother and father come," Christie said, with the
quiet tone in her voice, which Karl knew meant, "It has my name on it,
and therefore I have the right to decide that it is not to be touched."
At the same time, she lifted the baby from it in haste, and examined
carefully the little flannel dress, to see if it felt damp. A little
woman was Christie.
Karl recognized the power in the quiet voice, and began gravely to roll
the bundle into the corner.
It took every bit of strength there was in his stout young body. And
before he had made much progress, an exclamation from Christie stopped
him.
"Karl, there comes another wagon! It has stopped before the gate, and a
man is coming up to the door; and it is loaded with all sorts of stuff!"
You see how these two people muddled the English language when they
were excited. Of course Christie did not mean the door was loaded,
but the wagon. Karl left his roll, and came to attend to this new and
startling development.
"That is the railway freight wagon," he chuckled, "and that is Jim
Pierce driving. I know him, anyhow, and he knows me."
"Halloo!" said Jim Pierce, as the door swung back almost before he had
a chance to knock. "Here you are, eh? Well, is there a Christie Tucker
tucked in here anywhere, that's the question. Miss Christie Tucker; can
you find her?"
"Yes," said Karl, laughing merrily; this whole affair was growing very
funny to him. "I've got her here safe; what do you want of her?"
"Why, I'm getting her ready to set up housekeeping. There's a bedstead,
and bureau, and chairs, and a sofy, and don't know what all, out in
my wagon; as cunning a little set-out as ever you see, all belonging
to Miss Christie Tucker. You aren't getting ready for a wedding nor
nothing are you, Karl?"
Whereupon Karl laughed again, loud and long.
But Christie did not laugh; her face was pale. At once her thoughts
reverted to the nice old gentleman whose acquaintance she had made in
the cars, remembering all his kind words and nice suggestions. How
earnest he was to do the Master's work! A nice old gentleman indeed.
But why? she wondered. What did all these strange proceedings mean?
Just like a story in a book!
"We are having a dream, we guess, or writing a book, or else there's
witches around," explained Karl. "Christie said things never happened
except in books, but I guess she will change her mind after to-day.
Honestly, Jim, we don't know a thing about it, and father and mother
are not at home, and we know they haven't bought any furniture, just as
well as we know anything."
"Well," said Jim, "you know a great deal, I'll admit, but then I know
how to read writing when I see it, especially when it is print; and
these things are all marked Miss Christie Tucker as plain as the nose
on your face. And when I see them, I says to Bill, says I,—
"'There ain't no Christie Tucker around here except that little thing
up to Jonas Tucker's?'
"'No, more there ain't,' says Bill, 'nor any other Tucker folks but
them, this side of the city; you may as well pile 'em in and get them
over there out of the way.'
"So here I am, and my team must be unloaded, you see; so if you will
ask Miss Christie where she will have the things put, we'll be stepping
about."
Then Christie sat the baby down very decidedly and came to the door.
"It is all a mistake, sir," she said earnestly; "it means some other
Christie Tucker, you may be sure. I'm only a little girl, and there is
nobody to send me things. If you would wait a little bit until father
comes, he could tell you there was a mistake, and that would save your
unloading the things, and loading them up again, for I know they will
have to go away."
Jim Pierce smiled admiringly on the little woman.
"Me and father come out to this country sixteen years ago last
October," he said, hitching at one suspender to bring it into place,
"and we know every foot of land within thirty miles of here, and
the name of every man, woman and child in this part of the country,
and there ain't no Christie Tucker except yourself, and I reckon if
the things ain't fur you, they don't belong to nobody. And I reckon
I better unload, for that is a deceitful kind of a sunset, and I
shouldn't wonder if we had a squally evening. Bill and I will jest set
the things inside out of the storm, and to-morrow we can tote 'em back,
if you find any place where they fit better. There ain't nothing to
pay. Boss, he come to the door, jest as I drove out, and says he,—
"'Those goods are paid for, delivered at the door.'
"So delivered at the door it is. Pitch in, Bill, no time to waste."
And they "pitched in!"
Christie gathered up the baby and stood at the window in silent
bewildered dismay, while Karl opened the door of the neat bare little
parlour and let the muffled-up freight take possession. What to do, the
little woman did not know. She had done all she could; there seemed
nothing now but to wait.
"Father and mother haven't been away before in a year," she told the
baby, "and I hope they won't go again for another year. Who would have
thought of so many things happening in this little while! We've lived
here years and years, and nothing has happened!"
"Ah, da! da!" said baby, and dived after a flake of snow that just then
blew past the window. Baby did not agree with Christie; he believed
this to be a wonderful world. Had it not turned white all in a minute
while he was looking at it? What was a wagon or two stopping at the
gate, compared with that?
"Whew!" said Karl, coming presently from the next room, bringing a gust
of cold air with him.
"They're all in, Christie, and it fills the room pack full. I never saw
the beat in my life! If it was Christmas now, and we believed in the
Santa Claus that comes down the chimney. Or if we had a rich uncle who
had been dead twenty years, to come to life like that one did in the
story. It's great fun, anyhow; if every one of them has to be toted
back to the depot to-morrow, I'm kind of glad they've come. It seems
like business, to have teams stopping, and be directing where to put
things. I wish they 'were' ours, Christie, every one of them. You can't
see what a thing is, they are so muffled-up, but you can guess at some
of them. I declare, it is a lark!"
"I'm real sorry to have them come," Christie said gravely. "It will
just make trouble for father; and then it is lonesome to have them all
go away again and not belong to us at all, as we know they don't."
"That is true," Karl said, his face growing sober, "but then, Christie,
we couldn't help it. We did the only thing there was to do, so why not
have all the fun there is to be got out of it?"
"We will," said Christie smiling. "We will make believe they are ours,
and we have earned them, and are going to surprise father and mother
with them. There is a rocking chair among them that looks as though it
might be the mate to mother's, only a prettier shape."
Karl sat down on the great roll of burlap, his face grave and his eyes
large with the thought that had suddenly taken possession of him.
"Christie," he said, and his voice was so full of earnestness that she
turned and looked at him curiously. There were times when she did not
more than half understand this stout little brother of hers. "Christie,
let's truly do it; no making believe about it! I don't mean now, of
course, but let's you and I earn the beautiful things to put in their
room, twice as nice as any of these things are; and carpets as soft and
bright as they have up at Burton's; and lamps, or—no, gas, five or six
burners in every room, and silk curtains, or velvet, at the window,
and—well, everything that anybody else has. I say, let's you and I earn
them for father and mother. Folks do it; poor boys do it, I've read
about them often! And it isn't all story either. Look at Uncle Daniel;
he was a poor boy, poorer than we are, a good deal, and see how he
lives? We can do it, Christie, will you?"
"Yes," said Christie bravely, her eyes twinkling with a merry light.
"I'll do my very best at it, and if we like these things that have to
be sent back, we'll look at them carefully and buy ours just like them.
In the meantime, Karl, while we are waiting for the time to come, shall
we make them some cream toast for their supper?"
Karl laughed at this, and arose and shook himself, like one who had
been dreaming and wanted to get thoroughly awake.
"Yes," he said, "I suppose cream toast will have to do for to-night;
and it is high time it was getting ready. I'll go to the cellar. Only,
Christie, I'm going to do the other thing too; remember that."
And he went back into the little back kitchen and lighted a lamp and
went whistling to the cellar.
Preparations for supper began now in earnest. The short twilight was
fading, and night was setting in steadily. The travellers would soon
be here. Karl and Christie agreed that the mysterious bundle should be
coaxed into the front room with the other mysteries, and not a word
said about them until cream toast and eggs were eaten and enjoyed.
"Because if they once get to talking, and looking, and wondering, they
won't get to eating supper until the toast and eggs are spoiled; and
they will be so hungry and tired. Mother will need her cup of tea to
rest her." So said the young housekeeper.
"Yes; and there is no need of hurrying to tell them, for the teams
have all gone back, and there can't be anything done about it until
morning." So said the man of business.
Do you know anything about how bright and restful that neat kitchen
looked to the cold and hungry people who presently came into its light
and warmth?
The fire was glowing brightly, the tea-kettle sang its gayest tune, the
table was neatly laid, stewed pears and a plate of cookies occupied
places of honour, and the most delightful odour of toast, mingled with
the fragrant tea; and the bowl of eggs stood waiting to be dropped at
just the right moment into the boiling water.
"This is nice," Mother Tucker said, leaning back in her little rocker,
and cuddling the delighted baby.
"There is nothing like it in town, Christie; we passed some
nice-looking homes, and the curtains were up, and everything looked
pretty inside, but father said,—
"'We don't want to stop there, do we? They haven't got our boy and
girls.'"
Then did Christie, with a happy little laugh, pop in her eggs, and set
the baby's chair to the table, and tie Nettie's bib about her, for she
heard a stamping of feet in the kitchen, and she knew the two men had
disposed of the horses, and were ready for supper.
All through the pleasant supper time, she and Karl had the hardest work
to keep from going off into bubbles of laughter, and all the time their
hearts sang the story: "What in the world will they say when we show
them the front room?"
At last, Father Tucker said there was no use, he couldn't eat that last
bit of toast, nice as it was. And Karl telegraphed to Christie, "Now
begin."
And just then Mother Tucker said:
"Now, my girl, if your supper is eaten, we have a surprise for you."