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A Country
Christmas
by Louisa May Alcott
"A handful of good life is worth a bushel of learning."
Dear Emily,
--I have a brilliant idea, and at once hasten to share it with you.
Three weeks ago I came up here to the wilds of Vermont to visit my old
aunt, also to get a little quiet and distance in which to survey
certain new prospects which have opened before me, and to decide
whether I will marry a millionnaire and become a queen of society, or
remain 'the charming Miss Vaughan' and wait till the conquering hero
comes.
Aunt Plumy begs me to stay over Christmas, and I have consented, as I
always dread the formal dinner with which my guardian celebrates the
day.
My brilliant idea is this. I'm going to make it a real old-fashioned
frolic, and won't you come and help me? You will enjoy it immensely I
am sure, for Aunt is a character. Cousin Saul worth seeing, and Ruth a
far prettier girl than any of the city rose-buds coming out this
season. Bring Leonard Randal along with you to take notes for his new
books; then it will be fresher and truer than the last, clever as it
was.
The air is delicious up here, society amusing, this old farmhouse full
of treasures, and your bosom friend pining to embrace you. Just
telegraph yes or no, and we will expect you on Tuesday.
Ever yours,
SOPHIE VAUGHAN
"They will both come, for they are as tired of city life and as fond of
change as I am," said the writer of the above, as she folded her letter
and went to get it posted without delay.
Aunt Plumy was in the great kitchen making pies; a jolly old soul, with
a face as ruddy as a winter apple, a cheery voice, and the kindest
heart that ever beat under a gingham gown. Pretty Ruth was chopping the
mince, and singing so gaily as she worked that the four-and-twenty
immortal blackbirds could not have put more music into a pie than she
did. Saul was piling wood into the big oven, and Sophie paused a moment
on the threshold to look at him, for she always enjoyed the sight of
this stalwart cousin, whom she likened to a Norse viking, with his fair
hair and beard, keen blue eyes, and six feet of manly height, with
shoulders that looked broad and strong enough to bear any burden.
His back was toward her, but he saw her first, and turned his flushed
face to meet her, with the sudden lighting up it always showed when she
approached.
"I've done it, Aunt; and now I want Saul to post the letter, so we can
get a speedy answer."
"Just as soon as I can hitch up, cousin;" and Saul pitched in his last
log, looking ready to put a girdle round the earth in less than forty
minutes.
"Well, dear, I ain't the least mite of objection, as long as it pleases
you. I guess we can stan' it ef your city folks can. I presume to say
things will look kind of sing'lar to 'em, but I s'pose that's what they
come for. Idle folks do dreadful queer things to amuse 'em;" and Aunt
Plumy leaned on the rolling-pin to smile and nod with a shrewd twinkle
of her eye, as if she enjoyed the prospect as much as Sophie did.
"I shall be afraid of 'em, but I'll try not to make you ashamed of me,"
said Ruth, who loved her charming cousin even more than she admired her.
"No fear of that, dear. They will be the awkward ones, and you must set
them at ease by just being your simple selves, and treating them as if
they were every-day people. Nell is very nice and jolly when she drops
her city ways, as she must here. She will enter into the spirit of the
fun at once, and I know you'll all like her. Mr. Randal is rather the
worse for too much praise and petting, as successful people are apt to
be, so a little plain talk and rough work will do him good. He is a
true gentleman in spite of his airs and elegance, and he will take it
all in good part, if you treat him like a man and not a lion."
"I'll see to him," said Saul, who had listened with great interest to
the latter part of Sophie's speech, evidently suspecting a lover, and
enjoying the idea of supplying him with a liberal amount of "plain talk
and rough work."
"I'll keep 'em busy if that's what they need, for there will be a sight
to do, and we can't get help easy up here. Our darters don't hire out
much. Work to home till they marry, and don't go gaddin' 'round gettin'
their heads full of foolish notions, and forgettin' all the useful
things their mothers taught 'em."
Aunt Plumy glanced at Ruth as she spoke, and a sudden color in the
girl's cheeks proved that the words hit certain ambitious fancies of
this pretty daughter of the house of Basset.
"They shall do their parts and not be a trouble; I'll see to that, for
you certainly are the dearest aunt in the world to let me take
possession of you and yours in this way," cried Sophie, embracing the
old lady with warmth.
Saul wished the embrace could be returned by proxy, as his mother's
hands were too floury to do more than hover affectionately round the
delicate face that looked so fresh and young beside her wrinkled one.
As it could not be done, he fled temptation and "hitched up" without
delay.
The three women laid their heads together in his absence, and Sophie's
plan grew apace, for Ruth longed to see a real novelist and a fine
lady, and Aunt Plumy, having plans of her own to further, said "Yes,
dear," to every suggestion.
Great was the arranging and adorning that went on that day in the old
farmhouse, for Sophie wanted her friends to enjoy this taste of country
pleasures, and knew just what additions would be indispensable to their
comfort; what simple ornaments would be in keeping with the rustic
stage on which she meant to play the part of prima donna.
Next day a telegram arrived accepting the invitation, for both the lady
and the lion. They would arrive that afternoon, as little preparation
was needed for this impromptu journey, the novelty of which was its
chief charm to these blase people.
Saul wanted to get out the double sleigh and span, for he prided
himself on his horses, and a fall of snow came most opportunely to
beautify the landscape and add a new pleasure to Christmas festivities.
But Sophie declared that the old yellow sleigh, with Punch, the
farm-horse, must be used, as she wished everything to be in keeping;
and Saul obeyed, thinking he had never seen anything prettier than his
cousin when she appeared in his mother's old-fashioned camlet cloak and
blue silk pumpkin hood. He looked remarkably well himself in his fur
coat, with hair and beard brushed till they shone like spun gold, a
fresh color in his cheek, and the sparkle of amusement in his eyes,
while excitement gave his usually grave face the animation it needed to
be handsome.
Away they jogged in the creaking old sleigh, leaving Ruth to make
herself pretty, with a fluttering heart, and Aunt Plumy to dish up a
late dinner fit to tempt the most fastidious appetite.
"She has not come for us, and there is not even a stage to take us up.
There must be some mistake," said Emily Herrick, as she looked about
the shabby little station where they were set down.
"That is the never-to-be-forgotten face of our fair friend, but the
bonnet of her grandmother, if my eyes do not deceive me," answered
Randal, turning to survey the couple approaching in the rear.
"Sophie Vaughan, what do you mean by making such a guy of yourself?"
exclaimed Emily, as she kissed the smiling face in the hood and stared
at the quaint cloak.
"I'm dressed for my part, and I intend to keep it up. This is our host,
my cousin, Saul Basset. Come to the sleigh at once, he will see to your
luggage," said Sophie, painfully conscious of the antiquity of her
array as her eyes rested on Emily's pretty hat and mantle, and the
masculine elegance of Randal's wraps.
They were hardly tucked in when Saul appeared with a valise in one hand
and a large trunk on his shoulder, swinging both on to a wood-sled that
stood near by as easily as if they had been hand-bags.
"That is your hero, is it? Well, he looks it, calm and comely, taciturn
and tall," said Emily, in a tone of approbation.
"He should have been named Samson or Goliath; though I believe it was
the small man who slung things about and turned out the hero in the
end," added Randal, surveying the performance with interest and a touch
of envy, for much pen work had made his own hands as delicate as a
woman's.
"Saul doesn't live in a glass house, so stones won't hurt him. Remember
sarcasm is forbidden and sincerity the order of the day. You are
country folks now, and it will do you good to try their simple, honest
ways for a few days."
Sophie had no time to say more, for Saul came up and drove off with the
brief remark that the baggage would "be along right away."
Being hungry, cold and tired, the guests were rather silent during the
short drive, but Aunt Plumy's hospitable welcome, and the savory fumes
of the dinner awaiting them, thawed the ice and won their hearts at
once.
"Isn't it nice? Aren't you glad you came?" asked Sophie, as she led her
friends into the parlor, which she had redeemed from its primness by
putting bright chintz curtains to the windows, hemlock boughs over the
old portraits, a china bowl of flowers on the table, and a splendid
fire on the wide hearth.
"It is perfectly jolly, and this is the way I begin to enjoy myself,"
answered Emily, sitting down upon the home-made rug, whose red flannel
roses bloomed in a blue list basket.
"If I may add a little smoke to your glorious fire, it will be quite
perfect. Won't Samson join me?" asked Randal, waiting for permission,
cigar-case in hand.
"He has no small vices, but you may indulge yours," answered Sophie,
from the depths of a grandmotherly chair.
Emily glanced up at her friend as if she caught a new tone in her
voice, then turned to the fire again with a wise little nod, as if
confiding some secret to the reflection of herself in the bright brass
andiron.
"His Delilah does not take this form. I wait with interest to discover
if he has one. What a daisy the sister is. Does she ever speak?" asked
Randal, trying to lounge on the haircloth sofa, where he was slipping
uncomfortably about.
"Oh yes, and sings like a bird. You shall hear her when she gets over
her shyness. But no trifling, mind you, for it is a jealously guarded
daisy and not to be picked by any idle hand," said Sophie warningly, as
she recalled Ruth's blushes and Randal's compliments at dinner.
"I should expect to be annihilated by the big brother if I attempted
any but the 'sincerest' admiration and respect. Have no fears on that
score, but tell us what is to follow this superb dinner. An apple bee,
spinning match, husking party, or primitive pastime of some sort, I
have no doubt."
"As you are new to our ways I am going to let you rest this evening. We
will sit about the fire and tell stories. Aunt is a master hand at
that, and Saul has reminiscences of the war that are well worth hearing
if we can only get him to tell them."
"Ah, he was there, was he?"
"Yes, all through it, and is Major Basset, though he likes his plain
name best. He fought splendidly and had several wounds, though only a
mere boy when he earned his scars and bars. I'm very proud of him for
that," and Sophie looked so as she glanced at the photograph of a
stripling in uniform set in the place of honor on the high mantel-piece.
"We must stir him up and hear these martial memories. I want some new
incidents, and shall book all I can get, if I may."
Here Randal was interrupted by Saul himself, who came in with an armful
of wood for the fire.
"Anything more I can do for you, cousin?" he asked, surveying the scene
with a rather wistful look.
"Only come and sit with us and talk over war times with Mr. Randal."
"When I've foddered the cattle and done my chores I'd be pleased to.
What regiment were you in?" asked Saul, looking down from his lofty
height upon the slender gentleman, who answered briefly,--
"In none. I was abroad at the time."
"Sick?"
"No, busy with a novel."
"Took four years to write it?"
"I was obliged to travel and study before I could finish it. These
things take more time to work up than outsiders would believe."
"Seems to me our war was a finer story than any you could find in
Europe, and the best way to study it would be to fight it out. If you
want heroes and heroines you'd have found plenty of 'em there."
"I have no doubt of it, and shall be glad to atone for my seeming
neglect of them by hearing about your own exploits. Major."
Randal hoped to turn the conversation gracefully, but Saul was not to
be caught, and left the room, saying, with a gleam of fun in his eye,--
"I can't stop now; heroes can wait, pigs can't."
The girls laughed at this sudden descent from the sublime to the
ridiculous, and Randal joined them, feeling his condescension had not
been unobserved.
As if drawn by the merry sound Aunt Plumy appeared, and being
established in the rocking-chair fell to talking as easily as if she
had known her guests for years.
"Laugh away, young folks, that's better for digestion than any of the
messes people use. Are you troubled with dyspepsy, dear? You didn't
seem to take your vittles very hearty, so I mistrusted you was
delicate," she said, looking at Emily, whose pale cheeks and weary eyes
told the story of late hours and a gay life.
"I haven't eaten so much for years, I assure you, Mrs. Basset; but it
was impossible to taste all your good things. I am not dyspeptic, thank
you, but a little seedy and tired, for I've been working rather hard
lately."
"Be you a teacher? or have you a 'perfessun,' as they call a trade
nowadays?" asked the old lady in a tone of kindly interest, which
prevented a laugh at the idea of Emily's being anything but a beauty
and a belle. The others kept their countenances with difficulty, and
she answered demurely,--
"I have no trade as yet, but I dare say I should be happier if I had."
"Not a doubt on't, my dear."
"What would you recommend, ma'am?"
"I should say dressmakin' was rather in your line, ain't it? Your
clothes is dreadful tasty, and do you credit if you made 'em yourself."
and Aunt Plumy surveyed with feminine interest the simple elegance of
the travelling dress which was the masterpiece of a French modiste.
"No, ma'am, I don't make my own things, I'm too lazy. It takes so much
time and trouble to select them that I have only strength left to wear
them."
"Housekeepin' used to be the favorite perfessun in my day. It ain't
fashionable now, but it needs a sight of trainin' to be perfect in all
that's required, and I've an idee it would be a sight healthier and
usefuller than the paintin' and music and fancy work young women do
nowadays."
"But every one wants some beauty in their lives, and each one has a
different sphere to fill, if one can only find it."
"'Pears to me there's no call for so much art when nater is full of
beauty for them that can see and love it. As for 'spears' and so on,
I've a notion if each of us did up our own little chores smart and
thorough we needn't go wanderin' round to set the world to rights.
That's the Lord's job, and I presume to say He can do it without any
advice of ourn."
Something in the homely but true words seemed to rebuke the three
listeners for wasted lives, and for a moment there was no sound but the
crackle of the fire, the brisk click of the old lady's knitting
needles, and Ruth's voice singing overhead as she made ready to join
the party below.
"To judge by that sweet sound you have done one of your 'chores' very
beautifully, Mrs. Basset, and in spite of the follies of our day,
succeeded in keeping one girl healthy, happy and unspoiled," said
Emily, looking up into the peaceful old face with her own lovely one
full of respect and envy.
"I do hope so, for she's my ewe lamb, the last of four dear little
girls; all the rest are in the burying ground 'side of father. I don't
expect to keep her long, and don't ought to regret when I lose her, for
Saul is the best of sons; but daughters is more to mothers somehow, and
I always yearn over girls that is left without a broodin' wing to keep
'em safe and warm in this world of tribulation."
Aunt Plumy laid her hand on Sophie's head as she spoke, with such a
motherly look that both girls drew nearer, and Randal resolved to put
her in a book without delay.
Presently Saul returned with little Ruth hanging on his arm and shyly
nestling near him as he took the three-cornered leathern chair in the
chimney nook, while she sat on a stool close by.
"Now the circle is complete and the picture perfect. Don't light the
lamps yet, please, but talk away and let me make a mental study of you.
I seldom find so charming a scene to paint," said Randal, beginning to
enjoy himself immensely, with a true artist's taste for novelty and
effect.
"Tell us about your book, for we have been reading it as it comes out
in the magazine, and are much exercised about how it's going to end,"
began Saul, gallantly throwing himself into the breach, for a momentary
embarrassment fell upon the women at the idea of sitting for their
portraits before they were ready.
"Do you really read my poor serial up here, and do me the honor to like
it?" asked the novelist, both flattered and amused, for his work was of
the aesthetic sort, microscopic studies of character, and careful
pictures of modern life.
"Sakes alive, why shouldn't we?" cried Aunt Plumy. "We have some
eddication, though we ain't very genteel. We've got a town libry, kep
up by the women mostly, with fairs and tea parties and so on. We have
all the magazines reg'lar, and Saul reads out the pieces while Ruth
sews and I knit, my eyes bein' poor. Our winter is long and evenins
would be kinder lonesome if we didn't have novils and newspapers to
cheer 'em up."
"I am very glad I can help to beguile them for you. Now tell me what
you honestly think of my work? Criticism is always valuable, and I
should really like yours, Mrs. Basset," said Randal, wondering what the
good woman would make of the delicate analysis and worldly wisdom on
which he prided himself.
Short work, as Aunt Plumy soon showed him, for she rather enjoyed
freeing her mind at all times, and decidedly resented the insinuation
that country folk could not appreciate light literature as well as city
people.
"I ain't no great of a jedge about anything but nat'ralness of books,
and it really does seem as if some of your men and women was dreadful
uncomfortable creaters. 'Pears to me it ain't wise to be always pickin'
ourselves to pieces and pryin' into things that ought to come gradual
by way of experience and the visitations of Providence. Flowers won't
blow worth a cent ef you pull 'em open. Better wait and see what they
can do alone. I do relish the smart sayins, the odd ways of furrin
parts, and the sarcastic slaps at folkses weak spots. But massy knows,
we can't live on spice-cake and Charlotte Ruche, and I do feel as if
books was more sustainin' ef they was full of every-day people and
things, like good bread and butter. Them that goes to the heart and
ain't soon forgotten is the kind I hanker for. Mis Terry's books now,
and Mis Stowe's, and Dickens's Christmas pieces,--them is real sweet
and cheerin', to my mind."
As the blunt old lady paused it was evident she had produced a
sensation, for Saul smiled at the fire, Ruth looked dismayed at this
assault upon one of her idols, and the young ladies were both
astonished and amused at the keenness of the new critic who dared
express what they had often felt. Randal, however, was quite composed
and laughed good-naturedly, though secretly feeling as if a pail of
cold water had been poured over him.
"Many thanks, madam; you have discovered my weak point with surprising
accuracy. But you see I cannot help 'picking folks to pieces,' as you
have expressed it; that is my gift, and it has its attractions, as the
sale of my books will testify. People like the 'spice-bread,' and as
that is the only sort my oven will bake, I must keep on in order to
make my living."
"So rumsellers say, but it ain't a good trade to foller, and I'd chop
wood 'fore I'd earn my livin' harmin' my feller man. 'Pears to me I'd
let my oven cool a spell, and hunt up some homely, happy folks to write
about; folks that don't borrer trouble and go lookin' for holes in
their neighbors' coats, but take their lives brave and cheerful; and
rememberin' we are all human, have pity on the weak, and try to be as
full of mercy, patience and lovin' kindness as Him who made us. That
sort of a book would do a heap of good; be real warmin' and
strengthening and make them that read it love the man that wrote it,
and remember him when he was dead and gone."
"I wish I could!" and Randal meant what he said, for he was as tired of
his own style as a watch-maker might be of the magnifying glass through
which he strains his eyes all day. He knew that the heart was left out
of his work, and that both mind and soul were growing morbid with
dwelling on the faulty, absurd and metaphysical phases of life and
character. He often threw down his pen and vowed he would write no
more; but he loved ease and the books brought money readily; he was
accustomed to the stimulant of praise and missed it as the toper misses
his wine, so that which had once been a pleasure to himself and others
was fast becoming a burden and a disappointment.
The brief pause which followed his involuntary betrayal of discontent
was broken by Ruth, who exclaimed, with a girlish enthusiasm that
overpowered girlish bashfulness,--
"I think all the novels are splendid! I hope you will write hundreds
more, and I shall live to read 'em."
"Bravo, my gentle champion! I promise that I will write one more at
least, and have a heroine in it whom your mother will both admire and
love," answered Randal, surprised to find how grateful he was for the
girl's approval, and how rapidly his trained fancy began to paint the
background on which he hoped to copy this fresh, human daisy.
Abashed by her involuntary outburst, Ruth tried to efface herself
behind Saul's broad shoulder, and he brought the conversation back to
its starting-point by saying in a tone of the most sincere interest,--
"Speaking of the serial, I am very anxious to know how your hero comes
out. He is a fine fellow, and I can't decide whether he is going to
spoil his life marrying that silly woman, or do something grand and
generous, and not be made a fool of."
"Upon my soul, I don't know myself. It is very hard to find new
finales. Can't you suggest something, Major? then I shall not be
obliged to leave my story without an end, as people complain I am
rather fond of doing."
"Well, no, I don't think I've anything to offer. Seems to me it isn't
the sensational exploits that show the hero best, but some great
sacrifice quietly made by a common sort of man who is noble without
knowing it. I saw a good many such during the war, and often wish I
could write them down, for it is surprising how much courage, goodness
and real piety is stowed away in common folks ready to show when the
right time comes."
"Tell us one of them, and I'll bless you for a hint. No one knows the
anguish of an author's spirit when he can't ring down the curtain on an
effective tableau," said Randal, with a glance at his friends to ask
their aid in eliciting an anecdote or reminiscence.
"Tell about the splendid fellow who held the bridge, like Horatius,
till help came up. That was a thrilling story, I assure you," answered
Sophie, with an inviting smile.
But Saul would not be his own hero, and said briefly:
"Any man can be brave when the battle-fever is on him, and it only
takes a little physical courage to dash ahead." He paused a moment,
with his eyes on the snowy landscape without, where twilight was
deepening; then, as if constrained by the memory that winter scene
evoked, he slowly continued,--
"One of the bravest things I ever knew was done by a poor fellow who
has been a hero to me ever since, though I only met him that night. It
was after one of the big battles of that last winter, and I was knocked
over with a broken leg and two or three bullets here and there. Night
was coming on, snow falling, and a sharp wind blew over the field where
a lot of us lay, dead and alive, waiting for the ambulance to come and
pick us up. There was skirmishing going on not far off, and our
prospects were rather poor between frost and fire. I was calculating
how I'd manage, when I found two poor chaps close by who were worse
off, so I braced up and did what I could for them. One had an arm blown
away, and kept up a dreadful groaning. The other was shot bad, and
bleeding to death for want of help, but never complained. He was
nearest, and I liked his pluck, for he spoke cheerful and made me
ashamed to growl. Such times make dreadful brutes of men if they
haven't something to hold on to, and all three of us were most wild
with pain and cold and hunger, for we'd fought all day fasting, when we
heard a rumble in the road below, and saw lanterns bobbing round. That
meant life to us, and we all tried to holler; two of us were pretty
faint, but I managed a good yell, and they heard it.
"'Room for one more. Hard luck, old boys, but we are full and must save
the worst wounded first. Take a drink, and hold on till we come back,'
says one of them with the stretcher.
"'Here's the one to go,' I says, pointin' out my man, for I saw by the
light that he was hard hit.
"'No, that one. He's got more chances than I, or this one; he's young
and got a mother; I'll wait,' said the good feller, touchin' my arm,
for he 'd heard me mutterin' to myself about this dear old lady. We
always want mother when we are down, you know."
Saul's eyes turned to the beloved face with a glance of tenderest
affection, and Aunt Plumy answered with a dismal groan at the
recollection of his need that night, and her absence.
"Well, to be short, the groaning chap was taken, and my man left. I was
mad, but there was no time for talk, and the selfish one went off and
left that poor feller to run his one chance. I had my rifle, and
guessed I could hobble up to use it if need be; so we settled back to
wait without much hope of help, everything being in a muddle. And wait
we did till morning, for that ambulance did not come back till next
day, when most of us were past needing it.
"I'll never forget that night. I dream it all over again as plain as if
it was real. Snow, cold, darkness, hunger, thirst, pain, and all round
us cries and cursing growing less and less, till at last only the wind
went moaning over that meadow. It was awful! so lonesome, helpless, and
seemingly God-forsaken. Hour after hour we lay there side by side under
one coat, waiting to be saved or die, for the wind grew strong and we
grew weak."
Saul drew a long breath, and held his hands to the fire as if he felt
again the sharp suffering of that night.
"And the man?" asked Emily, softly, as if reluctant to break the
silence.
"He was a man! In times like that men talk like brothers and show what
they are. Lying there, slowly freezing, Joe Cummings told me about his
wife and babies, his old folks waiting for him, all depending on him,
yet all ready to give him up when he was needed. A plain man, but
honest and true, and loving as a woman; I soon saw that as he went on
talking, half to me and half to himself, for sometimes he wandered a
little toward the end. I've read books, heard sermons, and seen good
folks, but nothing ever came so close or did me so much good as seeing
this man die. He had one chance and gave it cheerfully. He longed for
those he loved, and let 'em go with a good-by they couldn't hear. He
suffered all the pains we most shrink from without a murmur, and kept
my heart warm while his own was growing cold. It's no use trying to
tell that part of it; but I heard prayers that night that meant
something, and I saw how faith could hold a soul up when everything was
gone but God."
Saul stopped there with a sudden huskiness in his deep voice, and when
he went on it was in the tone of one who speaks of a dear friend.
"Joe grew still by and by, and I thought he was asleep, for I felt his
breath when I tucked him up, and his hand held on to mine. The cold
sort of numbed me, and I dropped off, too weak and stupid to think or
feel. I never should have waked up if it hadn't been for Joe. When I
came to, it was morning, and I thought I was dead, for all I could see
was that great field of white mounds, like graves, and a splendid sky
above. Then I looked for Joe, remembering; but he had put my coat back
over me, and lay stiff and still under the snow that covered him like a
shroud, all except his face. A bit of my cape had blown over it, and
when I took it off and the sun shone on his dead face, I declare to you
it was so full of heavenly peace I felt as if that common man had been
glorified by God's light, and rewarded by God's 'Well done.' That's
all."
No one spoke for a moment, while the women wiped their eyes, and Saul
dropped his as if to hide something softer than tears.
"It was very noble, very touching. And you? how did you get off at
last?" asked Randal, with real admiration and respect in his usually
languid face.
"Crawled off," answered Saul, relapsing into his former brevity of
speech.
"Why not before, and save yourself all that misery?"
"Couldn't leave Joe."
"Ah, I see; there were two heroes that night."
"Dozens, I've no doubt. Those were times that made heroes of men, and
women, too."
"Tell us more;" begged Emily, looking up with an expression none of her
admirers ever brought to her face by their softest compliments or
wiliest gossip.
"I've done my part. It's Mr. Randal's turn now;" and Saul drew himself
out of the ruddy circle of firelight, as if ashamed of the prominent
part he was playing.
Sophie and her friend had often heard Randal talk, for he was an
accomplished raconteur, but that night he exerted himself, and was
unusually brilliant and entertaining, as if upon his mettle. The
Bassets were charmed. They sat late and were very merry, for Aunt Plumy
got up a little supper for them, and her cider was as exhilarating as
champagne. When they parted for the night and Sophie kissed her aunt,
Emily did the same, saying heartily,--
"It seems as if I'd known you all my life, and this is certainly the
most enchanting old place that ever was."
"Glad you like it, dear. But it ain't all fun, as you'll find out
to-morrow when you go to work, for Sophie says you must," answered Mrs.
Basset, as her guests trooped away, rashly promising to like everything.
They found it difficult to keep their word when they were called at
half past six next morning. Their rooms were warm, however, and they
managed to scramble down in time for breakfast, guided by the fragrance
of coffee and Aunt Plumy's shrill voice singing the good old hymn--
"Lord, in the morning Thou shalt hear
My voice ascending high."
An open fire blazed on the hearth, for the cooking was done in the
lean-to, and the spacious, sunny kitchen was kept in all its
old-fashioned perfection, with the wooden settle in a warm nook, the
tall clock behind the door, copper and pewter utensils shining on the
dresser, old china in the corner closet and a little spinning wheel
rescued from the garret by Sophie to adorn the deep window, full of
scarlet geraniums, Christmas roses, and white chrysanthemums.
The young lady, in a checked apron and mob-cap, greeted her friends
with a dish of buckwheats in one hand, and a pair of cheeks that proved
she had been learning to fry these delectable cakes.
"You do 'keep it up' in earnest, upon my word; and very becoming it is,
dear. But won't you ruin your complexion and roughen your hands if you
do so much of this new fancy-work?" asked Emily, much amazed at this
novel freak.
"I like it, and really believe I've found my proper sphere at last.
Domestic life seems so pleasant to me that I feel as if I'd better keep
it up for the rest of my life," answered Sophie, making a pretty
picture of herself as she cut great slices of brown bread, with the
early sunshine touching her happy face.
"The charming Miss Vaughan in the role of a farmer's wife. I find it
difficult to imagine, and shrink from the thought of the wide-spread
dismay such a fate will produce among her adorers," added Randal, as he
basked in the glow of the hospitable fire.
"She might do worse; but come to breakfast and do honor to my
handiwork," said Sophie, thinking of her worn-out millionnaire, and
rather nettled by the satiric smile on Randal's lips.
"What an appetite early rising gives one. I feel equal to almost
anything, so let me help wash cups," said Emily, with unusual energy,
when the hearty meal was over and Sophie began to pick up the dishes as
if it was her usual work.
Ruth went to the window to water the flowers, and Randal followed to
make himself agreeable, remembering her defence of him last night. He
was used to admiration from feminine eyes, and flattery from soft lips,
but found something new and charming in the innocent delight which
showed itself at his approach in blushes more eloquent than words, and
shy glances from eyes full of hero-worship.
"I hope you are going to spare me a posy for to-morrow night, since I
can be fine in no other way to do honor to the dance Miss Sophie
proposes for us," he said, leaning in the bay window to look down on
the little girl, with the devoted air he usually wore for pretty women.
"Anything you like! I should be so glad to have you wear my flowers.
There will be enough for all, and I've nothing else to give to people
who have made me as happy as cousin Sophie and you," answered Ruth,
half drowning her great calla as she spoke with grateful warmth.
"You must make her happy by accepting the invitation to go home with
her which I heard given last night. A peep at the world would do you
good, and be a pleasant change, I think."
"Oh, very pleasant! but would it do me good?" and Ruth looked up with
sudden seriousness in her blue eyes, as a child questions an elder,
eager, yet wistful.
"Why not?" asked Randal, wondering at the hesitation.
"I might grow discontented with things here if I saw splendid houses
and fine people. I am very happy now, and it would break my heart to
lose that happiness, or ever learn to be ashamed of home."
"But don't you long for more pleasure, new scenes and other friends
than these?" asked the man, touched by the little creature's loyalty to
the things she knew and loved.
"Very often, but mother says when I'm ready they will come, so I wait
and try not to be impatient." But Ruth's eyes looked out over the green
leaves as if the longing was very strong within her to see more of the
unknown world lying beyond the mountains that hemmed her in.
"It is natural for birds to hop out of the nest, so I shall expect to
see you over there before long, and ask you how you enjoy your first
flight," said Randal, in a paternal tone that had a curious effect on
Ruth.
To his surprise, she laughed, then blushed like one of her own roses,
and answered with a demure dignity that was very pretty to see.
"I intend to hop soon, but it won't be a very long flight or very far
from mother. She can't spare me, and nobody in the world can fill her
place to me."
"Bless the child, does she think I'm going to make love to her,"
thought Randal, much amused, but quite mistaken. Wiser women had
thought so when he assumed the caressing air with which he beguiled
them into the little revelations of character he liked to use, as the
south wind makes flowers open their hearts to give up their odor, then
leaves them to carry it elsewhere, the more welcome for the stolen
sweetness.
"Perhaps you are right. The maternal wing is a safe shelter for
confiding little souls like you, Miss Ruth. You will be as comfortable
here as your flowers in this sunny window," he said, carelessly
pinching geranium leaves, and ruffling the roses till the pink petals
of the largest fluttered to the floor.
As if she instinctively felt and resented something in the man which
his act symbolized, the girl answered quietly, as she went on with her
work, "Yes, if the frost does not touch me, or careless people spoil me
too soon."
Before Randal could reply Aunt Plumy approached like a maternal hen who
sees her chicken in danger.
"Saul is goin' to haul wood after he's done his chores, mebbe you'd
like to go along? The view is good, the roads well broke, and the day
uncommon fine."
"Thanks; it will be delightful, I dare say," politely responded the
lion, with a secret shudder at the idea of a rural promenade at 8 A.M.
in the winter.
"Come on, then; we'll feed the stock, and then I'll show you how to
yoke oxen," said Saul, with a twinkle in his eye as he led the way,
when his new aide had muffled himself up as if for a polar voyage.
"Now, that's too bad of Saul! He did it on purpose, just to please you,
Sophie," cried Ruth presently, and the girls ran to the window to
behold Randal bravely following his host with a pail of pigs' food in
each hand, and an expression of resigned disgust upon his aristocratic
face.
"To what base uses may we come," quoted Emily, as they all nodded and
smiled upon the victim as he looked back from the barn-yard, where he
was clamorously welcomed by his new charges.
"It is rather a shock at first, but it will do him good, and Saul won't
be too hard upon him, I'm sure," said Sophie, going back to her work,
while Ruth turned her best buds to the sun that they might be ready for
a peace-offering to-morrow.
There was a merry clatter in the big kitchen for an hour; then Aunt
Plumy and her daughter shut themselves up in the pantry to perform some
culinary rites, and the young ladies went to inspect certain antique
costumes laid forth in Sophie's room.
"You see, Em, I thought it would be appropriate to the house and season
to have an old-fashioned dance. Aunt has quantities of ancient finery
stowed away, for great-grandfather Basset was a fine old gentleman and
his family lived in state. Take your choice of the crimson, blue or
silver-gray damask. Ruth is to wear the worked muslin and quilted white
satin skirt, with that coquettish hat."
"Being dark, I'll take the red and trim it up with this fine lace. You
must wear the blue and primrose, with the distracting high-heeled
shoes. Have you any suits for the men?" asked Emily, throwing herself
at once into the all-absorbing matter of costume.
"A claret velvet coat and vest, silk stockings, cocked hat and
snuff-box for Randal. Nothing large enough for Saul, so he must wear
his uniform. Won't Aunt Plumy be superb in this plum-colored satin and
immense cap?"
A delightful morning was spent in adapting the faded finery of the past
to the blooming beauty of the present, and time and tongues flew till
the toot of a horn called them down to dinner.
The girls were amazed to see Randal come whistling up the road with his
trousers tucked into his boots, blue mittens on his hands, and an
unusual amount of energy in his whole figure, as he drove the oxen,
while Saul laughed at his vain attempts to guide the bewildered beasts.
"It's immense! The view from the hill is well worth seeing, for the
snow glorifies the landscape and reminds one of Switzerland. I'm going
to make a sketch of it this afternoon; better come and enjoy the
delicious freshness, young ladies."
Randal was eating with such an appetite that he did not see the glances
the girls exchanged as they promised to go.
"Bring home some more winter-green, I want things to be real nice, and
we haven't enough for the kitchen," said Ruth, dimpling with girlish
delight as she imagined herself dancing under the green garlands in her
grandmother's wedding gown.
It was very lovely on the hill, for far as the eye could reach lay the
wintry landscape sparkling with the brief beauty of sunshine on virgin
snow. Pines sighed overhead, hardy birds flitted to and fro, and in all
the trodden spots rose the little spires of evergreen ready for its
Christmas duty. Deeper in the wood sounded the measured ring of axes,
the crash of falling trees, while the red shirts of the men added color
to the scene, and a fresh wind brought the aromatic breath of newly
cloven hemlock and pine.
"How beautiful it is! I never knew before what winter woods were like.
Did you, Sophie?" asked Emily, sitting on a stump to enjoy the novel
pleasure at her ease.
"I've found out lately; Saul lets me come as often as I like, and this
fine air seems to make a new creature of me," answered Sophie, looking
about her with sparkling eyes, as if this was a kingdom where she
reigned supreme.
"Something is making a new creature of you, that is very evident. I
haven't yet discovered whether it is the air or some magic herb among
that green stuff you are gathering so diligently;" and Emily laughed to
see the color deepen beautifully in her friend's half-averted face.
"Scarlet is the only wear just now, I find. If we are lost like babes
in the woods there are plenty of redbreasts to cover us with leaves,"
and Randal joined Emily's laugh, with a glance at Saul, who had just
pulled his coat off.
"You wanted to see this tree go down, so stand from under and I'll show
you how it's done," said the farmer, taking up his axe, not unwilling
to gratify his guests and display his manly accomplishments at the same
time.
It was a fine sight, the stalwart man swinging his axe with magnificent
strength and skill, each blow sending a thrill through the stately
tree, till its heart was reached and it tottered to its fall. Never
pausing for breath Saul shook his yellow mane out of his eyes, and
hewed away, while the drops stood on his forehead and his arm ached, as
bent on distinguishing himself as if he had been a knight tilting
against his rival for his lady's favor.
"I don't know which to admire most, the man or his muscle. One doesn't
often see such vigor, size and comeliness in these degenerate days,"
said Randal, mentally booking the fine figure in the red shirt.
"I think we have discovered a rough diamond. I only wonder if Sophie is
going to try and polish it," answered Emily, glancing at her friend,
who stood a little apart, watching the rise and fall of the axe as
intently as if her fate depended on it.
Down rushed the tree at last, and, leaving them to examine a crow's
nest in its branches, Saul went off to his men, as if he found the
praises of his prowess rather too much for him.
Randal fell to sketching, the girls to their garland-making, and for a
little while the sunny woodland nook was full of lively chat and
pleasant laughter, for the air exhilarated them all like wine. Suddenly
a man came running from the wood, pale and anxious, saying, as he
hastened by for help, "Blasted tree fell on him! Bleed to death before
the doctor comes!"
"Who? who?" cried the startled trio.
But the man ran on, with some breathless reply, in which only a name
was audible--"Basset."
"The deuce it is!" and Randal dropped his pencil, while the girls
sprang up in dismay. Then, with one impulse, they hastened to the
distant group, half visible behind the fallen trees and corded wood.
Sophie was there first, and forcing her way through the little crowd of
men, saw a red-shirted figure on the ground, crushed and bleeding, and
threw herself down beside it with a cry that pierced the hearts of
those who heard it.
In the act she saw it was not Saul, and covered her bewildered face as
if to hide its joy. A strong arm lifted her, and the familiar voice
said cheeringly,--
"I'm all right, dear. Poor Bruce is hurt, but we've sent for help.
Better go right home and forget all about it."
"Yes, I will, if I can do nothing;" and Sophie meekly returned to her
friends who stood outside the circle over which Saul's head towered,
assuring them of his safety.
Hoping they had not seen her agitation, she led Emily away, leaving
Randal to give what aid he could and bring them news of the poor
wood-chopper's state.
Aunt Plumy produced the "camphire" the moment she saw Sophie's pale
face, and made her lie down, while the brave old lady trudged briskly
off with bandages and brandy to the scene of action. On her return she
brought comfortable news of the man, so the little flurry blew over and
was forgotten by all but Sophie, who remained pale and quiet all the
evening, tying evergreen as if her life depended on it.
"A good night's sleep will set her up. She ain't used to such things,
dear child, and needs cossetin'," said Aunt Plumy, purring over her
until she was in her bed, with a hot stone at her feet and a bowl of
herb tea to quiet her nerves.
An hour later when Emily went up, she peeped in to see if Sophie was
sleeping nicely, and was surprised to find the invalid wrapped in a
dressing-gown writing busily.
"Last will and testament, or sudden inspiration, dear? How are you?
faint or feverish, delirious or in the dumps! Saul looks so anxious,
and Mrs. Basset hushes us all up so, I came to bed, leaving Randal to
entertain Ruth."
As she spoke Emily saw the papers disappear in a portfolio, and Sophie
rose with a yawn.
"I was writing letters, but I'm sleepy now. Quite over my foolish
fright, thank you. Go and get your beauty sleep that you may dazzle the
natives to-morrow."
"So glad, good night;" and Emily went away, saying to herself,
"Something is going on, and I must find out what it is before I leave.
Sophie can't blind me."
But Sophie did all the next day, being delightfully gay at the dinner,
and devoting herself to the young minister who was invited to meet the
distinguished novelist, and evidently being afraid of him, gladly
basked in the smiles of his charming neighbor. A dashing sleigh-ride
occupied the afternoon, and then great was the fun and excitement over
the costumes.
Aunt Plumy laughed till the tears rolled down her cheeks as the girls
compressed her into the plum-colored gown with its short waist,
leg-of-mutton sleeves, and narrow skirt. But a worked scarf hid all
deficiencies, and the towering cap struck awe into the soul of the most
frivolous observer.
"Keep an eye on me, girls, for I shall certainly split somewheres or
lose my head-piece off when I'm trottin' round. What would my blessed
mother say if she could see me rigged out in her best things?" and with
a smile and a sigh the old lady departed to look after "the boys," and
see that the supper was all right.
Three prettier damsels never tripped down the wide staircase than the
brilliant brunette in crimson brocade, the pensive blonde in blue, or
the rosy little bride in old muslin and white satin.
A gallant court gentleman met them in the hall with a superb bow, and
escorted them to the parlor, where Grandma Basset's ghost was
discovered dancing with a modern major in full uniform.
Mutual admiration and many compliments followed, till other ancient
ladies and gentlemen arrived in all manner of queer costumes, and the
old house seemed to wake from its humdrum quietude to sudden music and
merriment, as if a past generation had returned to keep its Christmas
there.
The village fiddler soon struck up the good old tunes, and then the
strangers saw dancing that filled them with mingled mirth and envy; it
was so droll, yet so hearty. The young men, unusually awkward in their
grandfathers' knee-breeches, flapping vests, and swallow-tail coats,
footed it bravely with the buxom girls who were the prettier for their
quaintness, and danced with such vigor that their high combs stood
awry, their furbelows waved wildly, and their cheeks were as red as
their breast-knots, or hose.
It was impossible to stand still, and one after the other the city folk
yielded to the spell, Randal leading off with Ruth, Sophie swept away
by Saul, and Emily being taken possession of by a young giant of
eighteen, who spun her around with a boyish impetuosity that took her
breath away. Even Aunt Plumy was discovered jigging it alone in the
pantry, as if the music was too much for her, and the plates and
glasses jingled gaily on the shelves in time to Money Musk and Fishers'
Hornpipe.
A pause came at last, however, and fans fluttered, heated brows were
wiped, jokes were made, lovers exchanged confidences, and every nook
and corner held a man and maid carrying on the sweet game which is
never out of fashion. There was a glitter of gold lace in the back
entry, and a train of blue and primrose shone in the dim light. There
was a richer crimson than that of the geraniums in the deep window, and
a dainty shoe tapped the bare floor impatiently as the brilliant black
eyes looked everywhere for the court gentleman, while their owner
listened to the gruff prattle of an enamored boy. But in the upper hall
walked a little white ghost as if waiting for some shadowy companion,
and when a dark form appeared ran to take its arm, saying, in a tone of
soft satisfaction,--
"I was so afraid you wouldn't come!"
"Why did you leave me, Ruth?" answered a manly voice in a tone of
surprise, though the small hand slipping from the velvet coat-sleeve
was replaced as if it was pleasant to feel it there.
A pause, and then the other voice answered demurely,--
"Because I was afraid my head would be turned by the fine things you
were saying."
"It is impossible to help saying what one feels to such an artless
little creature as you are. It does me good to admire anything so fresh
and sweet, and won't harm you."
"It might if--"
"If what, my daisy?"
"I believed it," and a laugh seemed to finish the broken sentence
better than the words.
"You may, Ruth, for I do sincerely admire the most genuine girl I have
seen for a long time. And walking here with you in your bridal white I
was just asking myself if I should not be a happier man with a home of
my own and a little wife hanging on my arm than drifting about the
world as I do now with only myself to care for."
"I know you would!" and Ruth spoke so earnestly that Randal was both
touched and startled, fearing he had ventured too far in a mood of
unwonted sentiment, born of the romance of the hour and the sweet
frankness of his companion.
"Then you don't think it would be rash for some sweet woman to take me
in hand and make me happy, since fame is a failure?"
"Oh, no; it would be easy work if she loved you. I know some one--if I
only dared to tell her name."
"Upon my soul, this is cool," and Randal looked down, wondering if the
audacious lady on his arm could be shy Ruth.
If he had seen the malicious merriment in her eyes he would have been
more humiliated still, but they were modestly averted, and the face
under the little hat was full of a soft agitation rather dangerous even
to a man of the world.
"She is a captivating little creature, but it is too soon for anything
but a mild flirtation. I must delay further innocent revelations or I
shall do something rash."
While making this excellent resolution Randal had been pressing the
hand upon his arm and gently pacing down the dimly lighted hall with
the sound of music in his ears, Ruth's sweetest roses in his
button-hole, and a loving little girl beside him, as he thought.
"You shall tell me by and by when we are in town. I am sure you will
come, and meanwhile don't forget me."
"I am going in the spring, but I shall not be with Sophie," answered
Ruth, in a whisper.
"With whom then? I shall long to see you."
"With my husband. I am to be married in May."
"The deuce you are!" escaped Randal, as he stopped short to stare at
his companion, sure she was not in earnest.
But she was, for as he looked the sound of steps coming up the back
stairs made her whole face flush and brighten with the unmistakable
glow of happy love, and she completed Randal's astonishment by running
into the arms of the young minister, saying with an irrepressible
laugh, "Oh, John, why didn't you come before?"
The court gentleman was all right in a moment, and the coolest of the
three as he offered his congratulations and gracefully retired, leaving
the lovers to enjoy the tryst he had delayed. But as he went down
stairs his brows were knit, and he slapped the broad railing smartly
with his cocked hat as if some irritation must find vent in a more
energetic way than merely saying, "Confound the little baggage!" under
his breath.
Such an amazing supper came from Aunt Plumy's big pantry that the city
guests could not eat for laughing at the queer dishes circulating
through the rooms, and copiously partaken of by the hearty young folks.
Doughnuts and cheese, pie and pickles, cider and tea, baked beans and
custards, cake and cold turkey, bread and butter, plum pudding and
French bonbons, Sophie's contribution.
"May I offer you the native delicacies, and share your plate? Both are
very good, but the china has run short, and after such vigorous
exercise as you have had you must need refreshment. I'm sure I do!"
said Randal, bowing before Emily with a great blue platter laden with
two doughnuts, two wedges of pumpkin pie and two spoons.
The smile with which she welcomed him, the alacrity with which she made
room beside her and seemed to enjoy the supper he brought, was so
soothing to his ruffled spirit that he soon began to feel that there is
no friend like an old friend, that it would not be difficult to name a
sweet woman who would take him in hand and would make him happy if he
cared to ask her, and he began to think he would by and by, it was so
pleasant to sit in that green corner with waves of crimson brocade
flowing over his feet, and a fine face softening beautifully under his
eyes.
The supper was not romantic, but the situation was, and Emily found
that pie ambrosial food eaten with the man she loved, whose eyes talked
more eloquently than the tongue just then busy with a doughnut. Ruth
kept away, but glanced at them as she served her company, and her own
happy experience helped her to see that all was going well in that
quarter. Saul and Sophie emerged from the back entry with shining
countenances, but carefully avoided each other for the rest of the
evening. No one observed this but Aunt Plumy from the recesses of her
pantry, and she folded her hands as if well content, as she murmured
fervently over a pan full of crullers, "Bless the dears! Now I can die
happy."
Every one thought Sophie's old-fashioned dress immensely becoming, and
several of his former men said to Saul with blunt admiration, "Major,
you look to-night as you used to after we'd gained a big battle."
"I feel as if I had," answered the splendid Major, with eyes much
brighter than his buttons, and a heart under them infinitely prouder
than when he was promoted on the field of honor, for his Waterloo was
won.
There was more dancing, followed by games, in which Aunt Plumy shone
pre-eminent, for the supper was off her mind and she could enjoy
herself. There were shouts of merriment as the blithe old lady twirled
the platter, hunted the squirrel, and went to Jerusalem like a girl of
sixteen; her cap in a ruinous condition, and every seam of the purple
dress straining like sails in a gale. It was great fun, but at midnight
it came to an end, and the young folks, still bubbling over with
innocent jollity, went jingling away along the snowy hills, unanimously
pronouncing Mrs. Basset's party the best of the season.
"Never had such a good time in my life!" exclaimed Sophie, as the
family stood together in the kitchen where the candles among the
wreaths were going out, and the floor was strewn with wrecks of past
joy.
"I'm proper glad, dear. Now you all go to bed and lay as late as you
like to-morrow. I'm so kinder worked up I couldn't sleep, so Saul and
me will put things to rights without a mite of noise to disturb you;"
and Aunt Plumy sent them off with a smile that was a benediction,
Sophie thought.
"The dear old soul speaks as if midnight was an unheard-of hour for
Christians to be up. What would she say if she knew how we seldom go to
bed till dawn in the ball season? I'm so wide awake I've half a mind to
pack a little. Randal must go at two, he says, and we shall want his
escort," said Emily, as the girls laid away their brocades in the press
in Sophie's room.
"I'm not going. Aunt can't spare me, and there is nothing to go for
yet," answered Sophie, beginning to take the white chrysanthemums out
of her pretty hair.
"My dear child, you will die of ennui up here. Very nice for a week or
so, but frightful for a winter. We are going to be very gay, and cannot
get on without you," cried Emily dismayed at the suggestion.
"You will have to, for I'm not coming. I am very happy here, and so
tired of the frivolous life I lead in town, that I have decided to try
a better one," and Sophie's mirror reflected a face full of the
sweetest content.
"Have you lost your mind? experienced religion? or any other dreadful
thing? You always were odd, but this last freak is the strangest of
all. What will your guardian say, and the world?" added Emily in the
awe-stricken tone of one who stood in fear of the omnipotent Mrs.
Grundy.
"Guardy will be glad to be rid of me, and I don't care that for the
world," cried Sophie, snapping her fingers with a joyful sort of
recklessness which completed Emily's bewilderment.
"But Mr. Hammond? Are you going to throw away millions, lose your
chance of making the best match in the city, and driving the girls of
our set out of their wits with envy?"
Sophie laughed at her friend's despairing cry, and turning round said
quietly,--
"I wrote to Mr. Hammond last night, and this evening received my reward
for being an honest girl. Saul and I are to be married in the spring
when Ruth is."
Emily fell prone upon the bed as if the announcement was too much for
her, but was up again in an instant to declare with prophetic
solemnity,--
"I knew something was going on, but hoped to get you away before you
were lost. Sophie, you will repent. Be warned, and forget this sad
delusion."
"Too late for that. The pang I suffered yesterday when I thought Saul
was dead showed me how well I loved him. To-night he asked me to stay,
and no power in the world can part us. Oh! Emily, it is all so sweet,
so beautiful, that everything is possible, and I know I shall be happy
in this dear old home, full of love and peace and honest hearts. I only
hope you may find as true and tender a man to live for as my Saul."
Sophie's face was more eloquent than her fervent words, and Emily
beautifully illustrated the inconsistency of her sex by suddenly
embracing her friend, with the incoherent exclamation, "I think I have,
dear! Your brave Saul is worth a dozen old Hammonds, and I do believe
you are right."
It is unnecessary to tell how, as if drawn by the irresistible magic of
sympathy, Ruth and her mother crept in one by one to join the midnight
conference and add their smiles and tears, tender hopes and proud
delight to the joys of that memorable hour. Nor how Saul, unable to
sleep, mounted guard below, and meeting Randal prowling down to soothe
his nerves with a surreptitious cigar found it impossible to help
confiding to his attentive ear the happiness that would break bounds
and overflow in unusual eloquence.
Peace fell upon the old house at last, and all slept as if some magic
herb had touched their eyelids, bringing blissful dreams and a glad
awakening.
"Can't we persuade you to come with us, Miss Sophie?" asked Randal next
day, as they made their adieux.
"I'm under orders now, and dare not disobey my superior officer,"
answered Sophie, handing her Major his driving gloves, with a look
which plainly showed that she had joined the great army of devoted
women who enlist for life and ask no pay but love.
"I shall depend on being invited to your wedding, then, and yours, too,
Miss Ruth," added Randal, shaking hands with "the little baggage," as
if he had quite forgiven her mockery and forgotten his own brief lapse
into sentiment.
Before she could reply Aunt Plumy said, in a tone of calm conviction,
that made them all laugh, and some of them look conscious,--
"Spring is a good time for weddin's, and I shouldn't wonder ef there
was quite a number."
"Nor I;" and Saul and Sophie smiled at one another as they saw how
carefully Randal arranged Emily's wraps.
Then with kisses, thanks and all the good wishes that happy hearts
could imagine, the guests drove away, to remember long and gratefully
that pleasant country Christmas.
Read this Christmas article at American Literature
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