_E. Vinton Blake_
Five feet eleven of vigorous, well-fed, clean-shaven humanity, a little
past the middle age, enveloped in a fur-lined overcoat, and carrying
a handsome dress-suit case; this was John James Alston of New York,
a hard-headed, hard-hearted old bachelor, with no kith or kin in the
world, that he knew. There might be a few distant cousins or so,
somewhere out Connecticut way; he didn’t know or care. He had worked
his way in the world himself, and made a moderate fortune, and knew how
to take care of it. What more did a man want?
The Pullman porters had eyed him respectfully, at intervals, all the
way from New York: his air and apparel indicated wealth, and his manner
commanded instant obedience. Nothing in his firm-set mouth, the poise
of his head, his cool dignity, betrayed the fact that the habits of a
lifetime were attacked and in danger of being carried by assault. And
the besieger was a mite of a four-year-old girl, all daintiness and
captivating ways, whose mother occupied a near-by chair in the Pullman
car. The little miss persisted in hovering about the cold, quiet
gentleman and attracting his attention. John James Alston rather liked
children, when they were well-behaved; and when mama said, “No, no,”
and drew the intruder away, the dainty red lips quivered. In dread of
an outburst,--John James disliked crying children--he suddenly emerged
from his shell.
“Pray let her come, madam; I shall enjoy it,” was what he said. And
directly he found himself taken possession of in the most astonishing
way, and made the recipient of all manner of Christmas confidences.
“You goin’ home for Kis’mus?” she said, cuddling into his lap. Finding
he had no friends to visit, no little girls to play with, she said
she was “drefful sorry.” Then she told him about the delights of
“gwanpa’s” when all the uncles and aunts and cousins were assembled.
When she got out at Stonington, he felt a great loss. And now, as he
walked the platform at the Junction, waiting for another train, he
was somehow conscious of a strange and unusual loneliness. It was two
days before Christmas. All day he had seen jubilant family groups at
stations welcoming their arriving relatives; all day he had heard talk
of home-coming and Christmas gifts among children and grown-ups on the
train. John James Alston, I am sorry to say, became decidedly cross. “I
was stupid,” he told himself, “to start anywhere on business at this
season. I might just as well have waited till next week, and avoided
all this nonsense.” And he wished himself back again in his cozy
bachelor apartments in New York.
His meditations had carried him thus far when somebody seized his
hands. “Aren’t you Uncle John from the West?” cried a girl’s voice. And
a boy’s chimed in: “Of course it’s Uncle John! How do you do, Uncle
John?” Then childish accents uttered, “I know’d him by his picshur!”
And hurrying across the platform, a stout, cheerful woman pushed the
children aside, crying, “John Damon! And you wrote you didn’t think
you could come!” Then she shook him by both hands and kissed him
impulsively.
John James Alston caught his breath. The woman was so wholesome and
hearty, though she _did_ wear a thick shawl and an unfashionable
bonnet, that--well, he collected himself and managed to say, “Madam,
there’s a mistake”; but she didn’t hear or pay the slightest attention
to what he said.
“Billy, bring the horse around, quick,” she commanded. “It’s ten
minutes before the other train comes. We’ll just have time to get away.
Old Griggs’ll never get over being scared of the cars,” with a smile to
John James. “Dolly, don’t hang on to your uncle so. Maidie, can’t you
get her away?”
“Want my nuncle to carry me,” declared Dolly, the smallest girl,
clinging to John James’s immaculate glove. He looked down. The face
that looked up was dimpling and sweet in its worsted hood, and golden
curls peeped out all around it. He never was able to explain the
impulse that moved him, and what followed was a wonderment to him
all his life; but the protest died on his lips, and he picked up the
smallest girl and hugged her. Then and there he shook off John James
Alston as he left the dismal Junction platform, and, as “Uncle John”
from the West, submitted to be led to the waiting carryall.
“Get right in on the back seat,” said the cheerful woman. “Maidie,
you an’ Dolly can sit back there, too. I’ll drive. Or, no--Billy can
drive.” Sarah’s grammar was not quite up to the mark but you can hear
the like of it in the country any day.
They piled in jubilantly and pulled up the buffalo-robes. John James’s
dress-suit case was in the way, and he told Billy to put his feet right
on it and never mind!
“Won’t your brother Asher be glad to see you!” exclaimed the woman.
“Le’ ’s see--it’s full ten years, if ’tis a day, sence you came East.
How is everything in Cheyenne?”
John James assured her that Cheyenne was all right.
“You must ’a’ be’n lonesome sence Annie died. Pity you never had any
children. Home wouldn’t be home to me without children.”
“That’s true,” said John James.
“I don’t s’pose you remember Maidie--she was a baby when you saw her
last.” John said he hardly remembered Maidie. “An’ Billy--he’s ten; and
Dolly, four--they’ve come sence you left us. They’re both mine.”
“And I’ve a little brother, Aunt Sarah,” put in Maidie.
“Yes, Asher an’ Mary’s had both sorrow an’ joy,” said the cheerful
woman, more soberly. “They lost a little girl, but they have a little
two-year-old boy. His name’s John, after you.”
“Oh, so I’ve a namesake,” said John James. He tried to get his
bearings, and kept his ears open for names and facts. But reflection
was also at work; he remembered that the day after to-morrow was
Christmas, and the uncle from the West had not one Christmas gift for
his namesake or the family. He realized with a sudden alarm that he had
to do something, and do it quickly.
“By the way, is there a long-distance telephone round here?” he asked.
“Why, yes; down at the depot,” said Billy, pulling up. “Want I should
drive back?”
“No; I’ll just run over there, myself,” said John James. “You keep old
Griggs round the corner here. I’ll be right back.”
He made haste across the wide country square. Aunt Sarah, watching him,
said, “He’s spry, ain’t he?” and then, “I guess he’s well off. That
coat didn’t cost no small sum.”
John James found the telephone, and got connections with a Boston
business man whom he knew well. Before he had talked three minutes,
the business man’s hair began to rise on his head, and he interrupted
to inquire if John James was really himself or another. With great
irritation, John James replied in hasty language, and bade him confine
his attention to the subject in hand. He talked for fully ten minutes.
At the end he was assured that his order was received and would be
duly honored.
“And rush it!” was John James’s parting injunction as he hung up the
receiver.
The station-master eyed him queerly as he came out. “Le’ ’s see--you
look like John Damon used to--not exactly, either--more cityfied! But
you _be_ him, ain’t ye?”
“That’s what they call me,” replied John, and submitted to be greeted
as an old friend in the jolliest way possible. He also acquired some
new facts.
“Your father’s feeble--very feeble,” said the man. “I’m glad you were
able to come home to spend Christmas with him.”
“I find it hard to leave my affairs,” soberly said John James.
“They said you wrote so. Wal, you’ll find Asher some grayer, but jolly
still. He’s got the mor’gidge all paid off but five hundred or so. He
was talkin’ of old times only t’other day, and how much you boys used
to think of each other. D’ye rember how he once took the whippin’ ’twas
meant for you, an’ never said nothin’?”
“I remember a good many things,” said John James as he left him, and in
a few minutes again took his place in the carryall.
He was becoming more and more interested in the family history which
“Aunt Sarah” continued to give him, when, at last, the carryall turned
up a farm-house lane, and they saw a woman step uncertainly to the side
door.
“There’s Mary,” said Aunt Sarah, and the children began to shout:
“Here’s Uncle John!”
Asher Damon, the first to respond to the summons, stepped out of the
door, a typical New England farmer, in his shirt-sleeves and overalls.
“By Jinks, this is great!” he exclaimed.
John James, descending, received and returned his vigorous hand-grip;
kissed Mary, his sister-in-law; was rushed at and embraced by three
strange women who addressed him as “Cousin John.” Then they all
stood in a group and talked at once. “But come in!” said Asher
suddenly--“come in and see father. He’ll be overjoyed. He’s insisted on
Sarah goin’ to the depot every day for a week, on the chance of your
comin’.” So John James went in to see his father.
He trembled a little under the keen and searching gaze of the old man,
who got up and took him by both shoulders, turning his face to the
light.
“You’re changed, boy, changed!” he said tremulously. “Seems like you’re
steadier, graver. But you’ve lost your wife Annie. It’s natural, after
all. It’s a good deal to me to see you to-day.”
And John James Alston suddenly shrank into himself and felt like the
impostor he was.
“Yes, I think he’s changed--a little,” said Asher’s wife, surveying him
closely. “But it’s ten years; and people and things don’t stand still.
There’s the baby, your namesake, John.”
She ran into the bedroom at a child’s cry and brought out a
round-faced, curly-haired two-year-old, whom she deposited on Uncle
John’s knee. He said, “Great Scott!” and clutched the new burden
awkwardly, conscious of extreme confusion of mind.
“That comes of not being used to children,” cried Mrs. Sarah, merrily,
catching at the child. “Here, Mary; he’s not safe. John’s got to have
some lessons in baby-tending.” And all the women laughed.
If John James Alston ever fancied a country life lacking in variety, he
changed his mind from that day. They took him out to see the cattle,
and Asher dwelt on their strong points. He was made to take note of the
rakish, upward curve in the noses of the Berkshire hogs, and saw the
prize pullets and the Toulouse geese. He heard about the rotation of
crops. And though he tried his best to say the right thing at the right
moment, he saw one and another look at him sometimes in a puzzled way
that made his blood run cold. And this was a queer sensation for the
dignified, self-possessed John J. Alston of New York.
That night he was shown to the best upstairs bedroom; there was just
enough space for the mountainous bed, the bureau, washstand, and one
chair. He turned back the heavy coverlets and stood regarding the
swelling height before him. “Great Scott!” he murmured. “I never slept
in a feather-bed in my life. Wonder how far I shall sink down.”
When he was in, and the pillows heaped around him, he began to grow
deliciously warm. “I don’t care--I’m a rank impostor, I know, but I’ll
see this thing through, now I’ve begun. I feel uncommonly like a boy.”
And he laughed outright.
The next day, to be safe, he devoted himself to the children, to the
great relief of their busy mothers; and before night, Maidie, Billy,
and Dolly were his devoted lovers. There were finger-marks on his
shirt-front and wrinkles in his coat, due to his little namesake,
who was quite ready to howl when separated from his Uncle John.
Early in the day he took Asher aside and inquired about the express
accommodations, intimating that he expected a Christmas shipment by
express from Boston.
“Oh, all right!” said Asher. “We’ll send up at five o’clock; the last
express gets in then.” And he felt a little curiosity, for the real
John Damon was not wont to be over-generous.
More than once that day did John James wonder what had become of his
other self, the city-man Alston, whom he had left on the station
platform. John James was having the time of his life. Anybody who
has ever enjoyed a country Christmas in a farm-house full of peace,
good-will, and happy relatives will understand all about it. At dark
Asher came in. “John!” said he. “You and Billy’ll jes’ have to go down
to the depot--we’re hustlin’ to get the chores done.”
“Certainly,” said John James. “Billy, don’t you want to go?”
“Sure!” said Billy. “I’ll be through with these pigs in a jiffy, an’
I’ll be right along. You can be harnessing.”
John James went out to the barn. He had never harnessed a horse in
his life. He led out old Griggs, who marched deliberately to the
water-trough and plunged his nose in.
John James took down a headstall at random, and old Griggs understood
in about two minutes that he had to deal with inexperience, and
refusing the bit, led the city-man a dance all over the barn floor.
Then Billy came in.
“Here--hello!” said he. “What you doing with that work-harness, Uncle
John? Here’s the right one. An’ the collar goes on first, anyway. Why,
you’ve forgotten how to harness! Hi, you old rascal, stand still!”
John James had the mortification of beholding the ten-year-old corner
old Griggs and equip him with the necessary rigging in no time at all.
“I thought you had a good many horses in your business, uncle,” said
Billy, fastening one of the traces, while his “uncle” tried the other.
“The men do a good deal of the harnessing,” desperately said John James
at a venture.
The box was at the station. It was decidedly a big box. It took John
James and the depot-man to get it into the wagon. When the wagon, much
heavier now, slid upon the horse’s hocks, going down a steep incline on
the return trip, there were prancings, suddenly uplifted iron heels,
then a furious run.
Billy held on valiantly, and rebuked old Griggs in vociferous accents;
while John James, acknowledging the master-hand, sat still and looked
for a soft place to fall in. Having at last pulled up, Billy got out
to investigate.
“Well, I vow, Uncle John, if you didn’t forget to buckle the
britchen-strap on your side!” he exclaimed.
And John James, with a dreadful sense of mortification, blushed scarlet
under cover of the dark.
By the time they got home the snow was falling quietly and steadily,
and it increased as the night wore on.
Late at night, after the household were abed, John James and Asher
opened the box. It was a surprise indeed--that box! The Boston man
had fulfilled his commission admirably, and John James chuckled as he
pulled out one article after another.
“We gener’ly have our presents on our plates or chairs at breakfast,”
observed Asher. “The women-folks put ’em here, as you see,” indicating
the table in the living-room with its modest gifts. “The children hang
their stockings by the fireplace; they like the fun of pullin’ things
out.”
“Well, here’s something for little John,” said John James, unwrapping a
gorgeous drum and a stunning horse with “truly” hair all over him. “And
here, just undo that long box, Asher. Here are some good books for the
children.”
Asher opened the long pasteboard box. “Land o’ Goshen!” said he, “I
never see sech a doll. Looks like an angel gone to sleep.”
“That’s for Dolly; won’t she squeal!” said John James. “Billy skates,
doesn’t he? These will fit him, I hope--and here’s a pair for Maidie.
This--what’s this? It’s labeled ‘for the girl.’” He tore a hole in the
paper. “Oh, a dress. That’s for Maidie, too.”
“Here’s a white knitted shawl for--whom? You know best about the
women-folks. I had to just guess at it. Here’s some fancy embroidered
collars, and stuff of that sort.”
“Mary would like the shawl, and Sarah the collars,” said Asher, slowly.
“All right, put ’em there. Ah ha, now, this is the thing! Try on these
rubber boots, Asher!”
“Hold on, John,” said Asher, resolutely; “you jest go slow! Be you made
of gold, or what? These things must ’a’ cost a mint o’ money!”
John James sat back on his heels and thought a moment. “I can afford it
easily; I have been greatly prospered,” said he.
“Wal, you’re lucky--and this is a reg’lar windfall,” said Asher,
getting into the boots. John James laughed, slapping him on the back.
“Perfect fit. They’re yours, Asher. Now lend a hand. A man’s long
dressing-gown--that’s for father!”
“He won’t know how to act,” said Asher.
“Half a dozen boxes of candy--hope nobody will get ill from them,” went
on John James, still investigating. “Here’s--oh, undo this carefully--a
fur tippet for Mary!”
“Great snakes!” said Asher, handling it with reverence. “I never see no
sech fur as this.”
“Yes, it’s a warm one, I hope,” said John, from the depths of the box.
He brought out mittens for the children, a stunning suit for little
John, dresses for Sarah, Mary, and the cousins, more books, mechanical
toys that set Asher laughing as if he never would stop.
Asher gazed around the kitchen, which looked like a museum.
“I never see sech a sight,” said he; “I’m sort o’ bewildered. _Is_ this
you an’ me, or some other fellows?”
“You’ll find out if you don’t wake up and put all these things on the
plates and chairs where they belong. Asher, we must clear up these
wrappings. Hold on!--here’s something we overlooked.” He picked up a
small box containing four tiny boxes.
“Rings for the children, by jiminy!” said Asher, looking over his
shoulder. “Lucky we didn’t cram it into the kindlin’s.”
It was one o’clock before they got to bed; and it seemed as if they
were only just asleep before the seven-o’clock alarm went off, and
waked them up to a world of snow.
They slept later than usual, but there was a tremendous hustling in
that house, once they were fairly awake. When all were dressed and had
come down, the shrieks of the children and their own curiosity made it
nearly impossible for the women to get breakfast. It was one of their
Christmas rules that no gift on the table should be taken up till all
were at the board. But Dolly, with low “oh’s” and “ah’s” of delight,
touched softly the pink toes and hands of the big “sleeping beauty”
in her chair; for the box was too big to go on the table. All their
chairs were full, and the steaming breakfast cooled before the jubilant
household were ready to eat.
Asher opened his fine new pocket-book, and seeing a piece of paper in
it, took it out, stared, put it back, looked at it again with a dazed
expression, and got up, overturning his chair. His old father looked
up from the warm dressing-gown they had put on him, and which he was
smoothing like a pleased child.
“What ails ye, Asher?” asked the old man.
“Sit down, man, sit down!” said John James in an undertone, picking up
the chair.
“Lawsee, but I can’t! John, this is too much! Why, John, I never
heard--”
“Oh, keep quiet, Asher! Sit down, I tell you!”
“Father, this is a cashier’s draft on a Boston bank for five hundred
an’ fifty dollars. It pays the last o’ the mor’gidge an’ interest,
father! John, I can’t take it--after all this!” said Asher, waving his
hands widely abroad at the gifts around him.
“Nonsense, Asher!--yes, you will, too. Man, I never had such fun in my
life before! Pour him some coffee, somebody, please.”
“John!” said Asher, gripping his hand hard and choking.
“You see, Asher, I thought ’twas high time you got paid off for that
whipping you took for me long ago, when I deserved it.”
“Oh, thunder!” said Asher, unable to speak another word.
They passed the day quietly together, and it seemed to John James that
he never ate so tender a turkey, such exquisitely seasoned vegetables.
The plum-pudding with its burning sauce capped the whole, and left them
with serene souls.
When dark settled down, and the farm “chores” were done, candles and
lamps lit the low-ceiled, comfortable old rooms, and with mirth and
jollity they played Christmas games. John James had forgotten all about
his other self--the city-man left on the depot platform. His oldest
acquaintance wouldn’t have known him as he “marched to Jerusalem,” with
his thick, grayish hair rumpled all over his head, or spun the tin
pie-plate on the kitchen floor.
But suddenly there came a sound of bells, the tramp of a horse on the
cleared path at the side door.
“Somebody’s come in this snow,” said Asher, going to the door. They all
pressed forward to see.
“Well, I declare! Hello! Here ye all are!” cried a voice. “Ye didn’t
expect me, I’ll be bound. I concluded to come, after all. I was snowed
in last night, or I should’a’ got here this mornin’. Merry Christmas to
all of ye!”
It was the _real_ John Damon, covered with snow, hungry but jolly.
Behind him the driver tugged his bag. John James Alston’s heart gave
a great bound, then sunk to the depths of his boots. Amid the amazed
silence of the whole family, the real and the false John Damon
confronted each other.
“What--what--who’s this?” stammered the newcomer, recognizing the
resemblance in a moment, yet unable at once to grasp the astounding
audacity of this stranger’s performance. As for the family, they needed
but to see the two men together in order to know them apart. In the
agitation of the moment, I am afraid the welcome they gave brother John
from the West lacked the proper warmth.
John James Alston understood that it was “up to him” to explain. And
it was the cool and resourceful city-man, his dignity still touched
with the heart-warm jollity of the country John James, who rose to the
occasion, and somehow won all hearts to him anew in the utterance of
his first few sentences.
“Mr. Damon,” he said, “Asher, my brother,”--he put his hand on Asher’s
shoulder and kept it there,--“and all you, my dear, newfound friends, I
have to ask your pardon for usurping a position that does not belong to
me. I am John J. Alston of New York. I have always been a lonely man.
I never married, and have no family ties. I think I never realized how
lonely I was until, coming up into this section on business, I heard
on every side talk of Christmas, and saw at every station Christmas
meetings and greetings, and people going home. Five apartment rooms
make my home,” he added with a smile. “While I waited for my train
at the Junction, these children claimed me as their uncle, and Sarah
here saluted me as her brother.” Sarah looked uncomfortable. “It was
very pleasant, and in an unguarded moment I yielded to temptation and
came home with them. I didn’t know there were such kind-hearted people
alive. I never have had such a good time in my life. May I hope you’ll
all pardon me, and let me be a second Uncle John to the end of the
chapter?”
Half-way through his little oration he felt Maidie’s hand slip shyly
into his. Billy stood close behind him; little John, who had resented
being put down, tried to climb up his leg; and Dolly, with her
curly-haired beauty in one arm, hung to him whenever she could get a
hold. Plainly John James “filled the bill” with them.
“Huh! well! see that now! _My_ nose’s out of joint,” said the Western
Uncle John, with a laugh, indicating the children. “I never heard of a
thing like this--never. It’s a most astonishing thing--really, now. But
I can’t blame you.” He offered his hand to John James. “I don’t see but
we’ll have to get acquainted. It’s a great comfort, too, to know that I
resemble such a good-looking man!” He scrutinized John James closely.
“It almost reconciles me to the loss of my turkey dinner.”
“But you shan’t lose it!” protested Aunt Sarah, amid the babel of
tongues wherewith they welcomed the Western uncle afresh, and sought
to assure John James of their entire forgiveness and acceptance of
him as one of the family. And straightway one of the cousins dragged
Uncle John away to the table, with intent to satisfy his hunger, and
incidentally to lay before him a history of the whole affair.
Later on, the business of Christmas enjoyment was resumed with--if
possible--greater zest than ever; and when, at a shockingly late hour,
John James repaired to the mountainous bed in the little room, he knew
that peace and good-will were more than mere names, and that he never
should repent of the audacious performance which had won him a whole
family of country relatives. And while just dropping off to sleep, it
came to him that it would be well to look up those Connecticut cousins
before next Christmas, and find out what they were like.
[8] Reprinted from “St. Nicholas Magazine,” with permission.