Part 10

"P.S. I think I shall feel better, if I tell you that we all had a very unhappy time two weeks ago. I had a really dreadful heartache, papa, and, for the first time, was homesick for you.

"You see, March and Rose are very proud of spirit, and I don't think they liked it in me because we are rich--but you and I understand each other, don't we? and know that being rich does n't mean anything to us, does it? and then, too, Chi says we 're poor because we have n't so much family to love as the Blossoms have, and that's true, too, is n't it?--and I think that kind of poorness ought to balance our riches, don't you? And--well, I can't explain how it all came about, but now they are willing to let me give them things when I want to, and that makes me very happy, and we are all a great deal happier than we were before, and I'm going to call Mrs. Blossom, 'Mother Blossom,' after this, she says she wants me to, and she takes me in her arms just as she does Rose and Cherry, and we talk things over together; so everything is all right now.

"Please send up my violin by express when you receive this. There is a very good-looking young man, the new neighbor at the seven-gabled-house, and he plays the violin, too, and his mother the piano. Love to Wilkins and Minna-Lu. I 'll send him a present from here--Oh, I forgot! don't forget to write Chi within a week sure, to inform you about the Wishing-Tree, and don't buy any presents for anybody till you hear from him. H.C."

When Mr. Clyde read this long letter at the breakfast table, his face was the despair of Wilkins, who hovered about, seeking, ineffectually, for an excuse to ask about Miss Hazel.

"Doan know what kin' er news Marse John get from little Missy," he told Minna-Lu, the cook; "but he laffed pow'ful part de time, an' den he grow pow'ful sober, an' de fust ting I know, de tears come splashin' onto de paper, an' he speak up rale sharp, 'Wha' fo' yo' hyar, Wilkins?' an' sayin' nuffin', I jes' makes tracks, case I see he wan's nobuddy see dem tears.-- Fo' Gawd, I 'se be glad when little Missy come home."

Mr. Clyde took this manuscript, as he called it, over to the Doctor.

"There, Dick, read that," was all he said.

After the Doctor had read it, he whisked out his handkerchief in a remarkably suspicious manner, and Mr. Clyde busied himself with a medical journal without reading one word, till the Doctor spoke:

"I say, Johnny, let's get up a theatre party of us two for the Old Homestead to-night; it's the nearest thing we can get to this of Hazel's."

"You always hit the right thing, Dick, I 'll call for you at eight."

XV

WISHING-TREE SECRETS

All-hallow-e'en had come.

The exercises about the tree had been carried out with great success--tom-toms, war-whoop, song and dance. After supper, the apples had been roasted, and the whole family "bobbed" for them in the wash-tub; father, mother, Chi, and even little May joining heartily in the fun. Then they had melted lead, sailed nutshells freighted with wishes, and finally "loved their Loves" with all the letters of the alphabet.

When all were off to bed and sound asleep, Chi took his lantern, and went up again to the old butternut tree in the corner of the pasture.

It was preparing to snow. A chill wind drew through the bare branches, and caused a wild commotion among the roosters' tail feathers that dangled from one of the lower ones.

Chi unlocked the little door, and from the hollow took out a handful of notes. He thrust them into the side pocket of his coat, relocked the door, and went back to his room over the shed. There, by the light of the lantern, he read them and rejoiced over them; re-read them and cried a little over them, nor was he ashamed of his tears; for in the precious missives, Rose and Hazel, March and Budd and Cherry, had shown, as in a mirror, the workings of their loving hearts.

All-hallo w-e'en.

MY DEAR MOTHER,--I have a great favor to ask of you and father. Will you hang up _your_ stockings this year and let us children fill them instead of your filling ours? I don't want you to take one cent of the money you are earning by having Hazel here to buy me anything. I want every penny of it to go to pay off that mortgage you told us of--for I feel just as you do about it, and only wish I had known it last Hallow-e'en when I asked for the paints and brushes. It makes me sick just to think of all we asked for, and you not having any money to buy them with--and never telling us! Oh, mother!

Your devoted son, MARCH BLOSSOM.

All-hallow-e'en.

MY DEAR POPSEY,--Me and Cherry want to help you and Martie pay off that morgige she told us about. March says it is a dreadfull thing that we must get rid of just as soon as we can. So Cherry and me are going to give you 2 dollars apeace out of our $3 we saved for ourselves out of the jam and the chickens as we voted in the N.B.B.O.O. That will make four dollars and March says it will be just 1/300 of what you owe and will help a great deal. I think the other $1 we have left will be enough to buy presents for the rest of the famly, don't you?

Your Son, BUDD BLOSSOM.

P.S. I meant to say I don't expect anything this year 'cause last year I asked for a double-runner and a bat and a new cap with fir on the edges like the boys at Barton's and 20 cents to buy marbles with and I didn't get them 'cause you were sick and I 'm sorry I asked for so much to bother you when you were sick. B.B.

DEAR FRIEND CHI,--Do you think you can find out in some way what March and Budd would like for Christmas? And if you know anything special that Rose wants very _specially_, please let me know at your earliest convenience so I can send to New York for it. I should like to consult you about some gifts for Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann, and if you could get a chance to take me down to the Barton's River shops all alone by myself, I should esteem it a great favor.

Your true friend, HAZEL CLYDE.

All-hallow-e'en.

P. S. I 'm rather anxious about the note I put in the Wishing-Tree for papa.

All-hallow-e'en.

DARLING PATER NOSTER,--When I think of last year, my heart aches for you and my precious Martie. Oh, why did n't she tell us before! I never should have asked for that dress and the French grammar and dictionary and the cheap set of Dickens', if I had only known.

_Do_, Pater dear, let us know in the future if you are in trouble, and let us help share it. Would n't that make it easier for you?

Now a favor; I want you and Martie to play boy and girl again this year and hang up _your_ stockings for a change; and please, _please_, father dear, don't give us anything this year--we don't want anything but you and Martie, and besides, we have money of our _own_! Chi calls us "bloated bond-holders," and says we have formed a "combine."

Your loving daughter, ROSE BLOSSOM.

DEAREST COUSIN JACK,--I have n't answered your letter because I 've been having too good a time. This is only a Wishing-Tree note; I want you to do me a favor, please; find out what I can buy nice for papa with a dollar. I 've earned it myself (and a great deal more, Jack, you would be surprised if you knew how much the preserves and chickens came to) and want him to have a present out of it. Then, I would like to buy something for Doctor Heath, about fifty cents' worth, and another fifty cents' worth for Mrs. Heath. I want to give Aunt Carrie a little something, too, _out of my own earnings_; (I've all my two quarterly allowances besides,) I can afford fifty cents for her; and then I would like to remember Wilkins with a little gift out of _my earnings_ for mamma's sake as well as my own, and then I shall have twenty-five cents left of the money I worked for. The rest we all voted to put aside for March to help him through college. He wants to be an architect, you know, and he draws beautifully. I shall be glad of your advice.

In haste, yours devotedly, HAZEL.

All-hallow-e'en, MOUNT HUNGER.

DEAR CHI,--May wants a doll the kind she saw last summer down at Barton's River. I ve got only a doller to spend for all the famly, so will you plese ask the pris for me as I am afrade it will be to high. There is a big french one in the right hand window at Smith's store with a libel on it 7$, and I play it's mine when I am down there and you are buying horse-feed. I have named her Emilie Angelique. Rose spelt it for me.

Your loving CHERRY BOUNCE.

DEAR OLD CHI,--If you can find out what Hazel would like specially for Christmas, just let me know.

MARCH.

DEAR CHI,--Can you manage to get us all down to Barton's some Saturday to do some Christmas shopping?

Your ROSE-POSE.

All-hallow-e'en.

DEAREST PAPA,--Will you please ask Aunt Carrie to please help you buy these Christmas things? I enclose fifty dollars; (your check.)

A white serge dress pattern, like mine.

A book of lovely foreign photographs of buildings and pictures for March.

2 pairs of white kid gloves, number 6.

2 pairs of tan kid gloves, number 6-1/4.

1 pair fur-lined gloves for March.

1 pair ditto for Mr. Blossom.

A year's subscription for the Woman's Hearthstone Journal for Maria-Ann.

A small shirt waist ironing-board for Aunt Tryphosa.

1 pair brown woolen gloves and one pair of those fleece-lined beaver gauntlet driving gloves like those of yours, for Chi.

1 blue Kardigan jacket for Chi.

The other things I think I can get at Barton's River.

Your devoted daughter, HAZEL CLYDE.

"Well," said Chi, thoughtfully, as he finished reading them a second time, "I 've got more than one string to my bow this year. Beats all, how Chris'mus limbers up a man's feelin's! Guess 't was meant for all of us children of a lovin' Father." So saying, Chi knelt beside his bed, and, dropping his face in his hands, remained there motionless for a few minutes, while his loving, gentle, manly "soul was on its knees."

XVI

A CHRISTMAS PRELUDE

"It 's goin' to be an awful cold night, grandmarm," said Maria-Ann as she stepped to the door just after sunset on Christmas eve. The old dame followed her and looked out over her shoulder.

"I know 't is; my fingers stuck to the latch when I went out to see after Dorcas. While your gettin' supper, I 'm goin' to bundle up the rooster and the hens, or they 'll freeze their combs, sure's your name's Maria-Ann; looks kinder Chris'musy, don't it?"

"I was just thinkin' of that, grandmarm; just look at that star in the east!" She pointed to a shoulder of the Mountain, where a serene planet was ascending the dark blue heavens. "An' there 's been just enough snow to make all the spruces look like the Sunday School tree, all roped over with pop-corn. Do you remember that last one, grandmarm?"

"I ain't never forgot it, Maria-Ann; that's ten year ago, an' I sha'n't never see another?" She shivered, and drew back out of the keen air.

"Nor I," said Maria-Ann, shutting the door.

"I don't know why not," snapped Aunt Tryphosa, who always contradicted Maria-Ann when she could. "I guess we can have a Chris'mus tree same's other folks; we 've got trees enough."

"That's so," replied Maria-Ann, laughing. "Let's have one to-morrow, grandmarm. I don't see why we can't have a tree just as well as we can have wreaths--see what beauties I 've made! I 've saved the four handsomest for Mis' Blossom an' Mis' Ford."

"You do beat all, Maria-Ann, making wreaths with them greens and bitter-sweet; I wish you 'd hang 'em up to-night; 'twould make the room seem kinder Chris'musy."

"To be sure I will." And Maria-Ann bustled about, hanging the beautiful rounds of green and red in each of the kitchen windows, on the panes of which the frost was already sparkling; then, throwing her shawl over her head, she stepped out into the night and hung one on the outside of the narrow, weather-blackened door. Again within, she set the small, square kitchen table with two plates, two cups and saucers of brown and white crockery, the pewter spoons and horn-handled knives and forks that her grandmother had had when she was first married. Finally, she put on one of the pots of red geranium in the centre and stood back to admire the effect.

"Guess we 'll have a treat to-night, seein' it's night before Chris'mus--fried apples an' pork, an' some toast; an' I 'll cut a cheese to-night, I declare I will, even if grandmarm does scold; she 'll eat it fast enough if I don't say nothin' about it beforehand."

Maria-Ann had formed the habit of thinking aloud, for she had been much alone, and, as she said, "she was a good deal of company for herself."

"Oh, hum!" she sighed, as she cut the pork and sliced the apples, "a cup of tea would be about the right thing this cold night, but there ain't a mite in the house." Then she laughed: "What you talkin' 'bout luxuries for, Maria-Ann Simmons? You be thankful you 've got a livin'. I can make some good cambric-tea, and put a little spearmint in it; that 'll be warmin' as anything." She began to sing in a shrill soprano as she busied herself with the preparations for the supper, while the kettle sang, too, and the pork sizzled in the spider:

"'Must I be carried to the skies On flowery beds of ease, While others fought to win the prize And sailed through bloody seas?'"

Meanwhile, Aunt Tryphosa, with her lantern in one hand and a bundle of red something in the other, had repaired to the hen-house which was partitioned off from the woodshed.

Had either one of them happened to look out down the Mountain-road just at this time, they would have seen a strange sight.

Along the white roadway, sparkling in the light of the rising moon, came six silent forms in Indian file. Two were harnessed to small loaded sledges. Sometimes, all six gesticulated wildly; at others, the two who brought up the rear of the file silently danced and capered back and forth across the narrow way. They drew near the house on the woodshed side; the first two freed themselves from the sledges, and left them under one of the unlighted windows. Then all six, attracted by the glimmer of the lantern shining from the one small aperture of the hen-house, stole up noiselessly and looked in.

What they saw proved too much for their risibles, and suppressed giggles and snickers and choking laughter nearly betrayed their presence to the old dame within.

On the low roost sat Aunt Tryphosa's noble Plymouth Rock rooster, and beside him, in an orderly row, her ten hens. Every hen had on her head a tiny flannel hood--some were red, some were white--the strings knotted firmly under their bills by Aunt Tryphosa's old fingers trembling with the cold.

She was just blanketing the rooster, who submitted with a meekness which proved undeniably that he was under petticoat government, for all the airs he gave himself with his wives. The funny, little, hooded heads twisting and turning, the "aks" and "oks" which accompanied Aunt Tryphosa in her labor of love, the wild stretching and flapping of wings, all furnished a scene never to be forgotten by the six pairs of laughing eyes that beheld it.

The moment the old dame took up her lantern, the spectators sped around the corner. Under the dark windows they noiselessly unloaded the wood-sleds, and silently carried bundles, baskets, and burlap-bags around to the front door.

At last they had fairly barricaded it, and the tallest of the party, after fastening a piece of paper in the Christmas wreath that Maria-Ann had hung up only a half-hour before, motioned to the others to step up to the kitchen window.

Just one glimpse they had through the thickening frost and the wreathing green: a glimpse of the kitchen table, the steaming apples, the pot of red geranium, the two cups of smoking spearmint tea, and of two heads--the one white, the other brown--bent low over folded, toil-worn hands in the reverent attitude for the evening "grace."

"For what we are now about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful," said Aunt Tryphosa, in a quavering voice.

"Amen," said Maria-Ann, heartily--"Land sakes, grandmarm! how you scairt me, looking up so sudden!" she exclaimed, almost in the same breath.

"Thought I heerd somethin'," said the old dame, holding her head in a listening attitude--"Hark!"

"I don't hear nothin', grandmarm. Now, just eat your apples while they 're hot. What did you think you heard?" she continued, dishing the apples.

"I thought I heerd it when I was out in the shed, too."

"I should n't wonder if 't was a deer. I saw one come into the clearing this afternoon, an' seein' 't was Christmas evening, I put a good bundle of hay out to the south door of the cow-shed."

"Guess 't was that, then," said Aunt Tryphosa. "You clear up, Maria-Ann, an' I 'll keep up a good fire, for I want to finish off them stockings for Ben Blossom an' Chi. I s'pose you 've got your things ready in case we see a team go by to-morrow?"

"Yes, they 're all ready," said her granddaughter, rather absently, and set about washing the few dishes.

When all was done, neatly and quickly as Maria-Ann so well knew how, she flung on her shawl, saying:

"I 'm goin' out a minute to see if the bundle of hay is gone, and besides, I want to look at the moon on the snow; it's the first time I 've seen it so this year." She opened the door--

"Oh, Luddy!" she screamed, as bundle, and basket, and bag toppled over into the room.

"Land sakes alive!" quavered Aunt Tryphosa, hurrying to the rescue. "Did n't I tell you I heerd somethin'? What be they?"

"Presents!" cried Maria-Ann, pulling, and hauling, and gathering up, and finally getting the door shut.

"Seems to me I see somethin' white catched onto the door 'fore you shut it," said Aunt Tryphosa. "Better look an' see." Again her granddaughter opened the door, and found the strip of paper on which was written;

"Merry Christmas! with best wishes of Benjamin and Mary Blossom and May, Malachi Graham and Rose Eleanor Blossom, March Blossom and Hazel Clyde, Benjamin Budd Blossom and Cherry Elizabeth Blossom of the N.B.B.O.O., and of John Curtis Clyde of New York; U.S.A.; N.A.; W.H."

"Oh, grandmarm! It's just like a romantic novel!" cried Maria-Ann, who was as full of sentiment as an egg is full of yolk. "It makes me feel kinder queer, comin' just now right after we was talkin' 'bout our tree. You open first, an' then we 'll take turns." Aunt Tryphosa, who was winking very hard behind her spectacles, was not loath to begin.

"Let's haul 'em up to the stove; it's so awful cold," she said, shivering.

"Why, you 've let the fire go down; that's the reason. Don't you remember you was goin' to put on the wood just as the things fell in?"

"So I was," said her grandmother, making good her forgetfulness; in a few minutes there was a roaring fire, and the room was filled with a genial warmth. Then they sat down to their delightful task, Maria-Ann kneeling on the square of rag carpet before the stove.

"My land!" cried Aunt Tryphosa, clapping her hands together as she opened the largest burlap bag; "if that boy ain't stuffed this two-bushel bag chock full of birch bark! Look a-here, Maria-Ann, you read this slip of paper for me; my specs get so dim come night-time."

The truth was, the tears were running down Aunt Tryphosa's wrinkled cheeks and filming her eyes to such an extent that she saw the birch bark through all the colors of the rainbow.

"'For Aunt Tryphosa from Budd Blossom to make her fires quick with cold mornings.' Did you ever?" said Maria-Ann, untying another large burlap bundle--"What's this? 'Made by Rose Blossom and Hazel Clyde to keep Aunt Tryphosa snug and warm o' nights when the mercury is below zero.' O grandmarm, look at this!"

Maria-Ann unrolled a coverlet made of silk patch-work (bright bits and pieces that Hazel had begged of Aunt Carrie and Mrs. Heath and others of her New York friends) lined with thin flannel and filled with feathers.

But Aunt Tryphosa was speechless for the first time in her life; and, seeing this, Maria-Ann took advantage of it to do a little talking on her own account.

"She don't seem like a city girl in her ways; she ain't a bit stuck up--Oh, what's _this_!" She poked, and fingered, and pinched, but failed to guess. Aunt Tryphosa grew impatient.

"Let me _see_, you 've done nothin' but feel," she said, reaching for the package, and Maria-Ann handed it over to her.

Again Mrs. Tryphosa Little was nearly dumb, as the miscellaneous contents of the queer, knobby parcel were brought to light.

"These are for you, Maria-Ann," she said in an awed voice, laying them on the kitchen table one after the other:--A copy of the Woman's Hearthstone Journal, with the receipt for a year's subscription pinned to it;--A small shirt waist ironing-board;--A pair of fleece-lined Arctics that buttoned half-way up Maria-Ann's sturdy legs when, an hour later, she tried them on;--Six paper-covered novels of the Chimney Corner Library including Lorna Doone (Hazel had discovered in her frequent visits, that Aunt Tryphosa's granddaughter at twenty-nine was as romantic as a girl of seventeen);--A box of preserved ginger;--Two pounds of Old Hyson Tea;--(upon which Maria-Ann bounced up from the floor, and without more ado made two cups, much to her grandmother's amazement);--Six pounds of lump sugar;---A dozen lemons;--A dozen oranges;--A white Liberty-silk scarf tucked into an envelope;--Six ounces of scarlet knitting-wool;--All for "Miss Maria-Ann Simmons, with Hazel Clyde's best wishes."

Then it was Maria-Ann Simmons's turn to break down and weep, at which Aunt Tryphosa fidgeted, for she had not seen her granddaughter cry since she was a little girl.

"Don't act like a fool, Maria-Ann," she said, crustily, to hide her own feelings; "take your things an' enjoy 'em. I 've seen tears enough for night before Chris'mus," she added, ignoring the fact that she had established a precedent.

"Well, I won't, grandmarm," said her granddaughter, laughing and crying at the same time; "but I 'm goin' to have that cup of tea first to kind of strengthen me 'fore I open the rest," she added decidedly. "Besides, I don't want to see everything at once; I want it to last."

"I don't mind if I have mine, too. Guess you may put in two lumps, seein' as we did n't have to pay for it," and the old dame sipped her Hyson with supreme satisfaction, as did likewise her granddaughter.

As the latter pushed back her chair from the table, her grandmother cautioned her:--"Look out! you 're settin' it on another bag!" But it was too late. To Aunt Tryphosa's amazement and Maria-Ann's horror, the bag suddenly flopped up and down on the floor, the motion being accompanied with such an unearthly, "A--ee--eetsch--ok--ak--ache--eetsch!" that the two women's faces grew pale, and they jumped as if they had been shot.

Then Maria-Ann, with her hand on her thumping heart, burst into a shrill laugh, and Aunt Tryphosa quavered a thin accompaniment. How they laughed! till again the tears rolled down their cheeks.

"Scairt of hens!" chuckled the old dame as she undid the strings of the bag--"at my time of life! Oh, my stars and garters, Maria-Ann! ain't they beauties?"

She drew out by the legs two snow-white Wyandotte pullets, and held them up admiringly. "They 're from March, I know; but just to think of this, Maria-Ann!" Again words and, curiously enough, eyes, too, failed her, and her granddaughter read the slip of paper tied around the leg of one of the hens:--"'One for Aunt Tryphosa, and one for Maria-Ann; have laid three times; last time day before yesterday; I hope they 'll lay two Christmas-morning eggs for your breakfast. March Blossom.'"