Part 12

Directly after dinner Mr. Clyde declared that a seven-mile walk was an actual necessity for him in his present condition, and invited all who would to accompany him to call in state on Mrs. Tryphosa Little and Miss Maria-Ann Simmons. Only Doctor Heath and Jack went with him, for Mr. Blossom and Chi had matters to attend to at home, and Rose and Cherry and Hazel were needed to help Mrs. Blossom. Even March and Budd turned to and wiped dishes.

"I 'll set the table now, Martie," said Rose, "then there will be no confusion to-night--there are so many of us."

"No need for that to-night, children," replied Mrs. Blossom, with a merry smile. "'The last is the best of all the rest,' for we were all invited a week ago to take tea and spend Christmas evening at Hunger-ford."

"Oh, Martie!" A joyful shout went up from the six, that was followed by jigs and double-shuffles, pas-seuls and fancy steps, in which dish-towels were waved wildly, and tin pans were pounded instead of wiped.

When the din had somewhat subsided there were numberless questions asked; by the time they were all answered, and Rose and Hazel had donned their white serge dresses, the gentlemen had returned from their walk, and it was time to go.

"That's why Mrs. Ford had us learn all those songs," said Rose to Hazel. "Don't forget to take your violin."

A merrier Christmas party never set forth on a straw-ride. Mr. and Mrs. Blossom and May went over in the sleigh, but the rest piled into the apple-green pung, and when they came in sight of the seven-gabled-house, a rousing three times three, mingling with the sound of the sleigh-bells, greeted the pretty sight.

Every window was illumined, and adorned with a Christmas wreath. In the light of the rising moon, then at the full, the snow that covered the roof sparkled like frosted silver. The house, with its background of sharply sloping hill wooded with spruce and pine, its twinkling lights and the surrounding white expanse, looked like an illuminated Christmas card.

Within, the hall was festooned with ground hemlock and holly; a roaring fire of hickory logs furnished light and to spare. In the living-room and dining-room, Mr. Clyde and Jack Sherrill found, to their amazement, all the elegance and refinement of a city home combined with country simplicity. The tea-table shone with the service of silver and sparkled with the many-faceted crystal of glass and carafe. For decoration, the rich red of the holly berries gleamed among the dark green gloss of their leaves.

At first, the younger members of the Blossom family felt constrained and a little awed in such surroundings; for although they had been several times in the house, they had never taken tea there. But the Fords and the other city people soon put them at their ease, and, as Cherry declared afterwards, "It was like eating in a fairy story." There was a real pigeon pie at one end and a Virginia ham at the other, as well as cold, roast duck with gooseberry jam. There were sparkling jellies, and the whole family of tea-cakes--orange, cocoanut, sponge, and chocolate; and, oh, bliss!--strawberry ice-cream in a nest of spun cinnamon candy, followed by Malaga grapes and hot chocolate topped with a whip of cream.

After tea there was the surprise of a beautiful Christmas Tree in the library. Ruth Ford had occupied many a weary hour in making the decorations--roses and lilies fashioned from tissue paper to closely copy nature; gilded walnuts; painted paper butterflies; pink sugar hearts, and cornucopias of gilt and silver paper, in each of which was a bunch of real flowers--roses, violets, carnations, and daisies, ordered by Jack Sherrill from New York. On the topmost branch, there was a waxen Christ-child. The tree was lighted by dozens of tiny colored candles. When the door was opened from the living-room, and the children caught sight of the wonderful tree, they held their breath and whispered to one another.

But more lovely than the tree in the eyes of the older people were the radiant faces of the young people and the children. Rose, with clasped hands, stood gazing up at the Christ-child that crowned the glowing, glittering mass of dark green. She was wholly unconscious of the many pairs of eyes that rested upon her in love and admiration. There was nothing so beautiful in the whole room as the young girl standing there with earnest blue eyes, raised reverently to the little waxen figure. Her lips were parted in a half smile; a flush of excitement was on her cheeks; the white dress set off the exquisite fairness of her skin; the shining crown of golden-brown hair, that hung in a heavy braid to within a foot of the hem of her gown, caught the soft lights above her and formed almost a halo about the face.

Suddenly there was a burst of admiration from the children, and, under cover of it, Doctor Heath turned to Mr. Clyde, who was standing beside him:--

"By heavens, John! That girl is too beautiful; she will make some hearts ache before she is many years older, as well as your own Hazel--look at _her_ now!"

The father's eyes rested lovingly, but thoughtfully, on the graceful little figure that was busy distributing the cornucopias with their fragrant contents. Yes, she, too, was beautiful, giving promise of still greater beauty. He turned to the Doctor and held out his hand:--

"Richard, I have to thank you for this transformation."

"No--not me," said the Doctor, earnestly, "but," pointing to Mrs. Blossom, "that woman there, John. Hazel needed the mother-love, just as much as Jack does at this moment."

Jack had turned away when the Doctor began to speak of Rose, and, joining her, said, "Won't you wear one of my roses just to-night, Miss Blossom?"

"Your roses! Why, did you give us all those lovely flowers?"

"Yes, I wanted to contribute my share, and flowers seemed the most appropriate offering just for to-night."

"They 're lovely," said Rose, caressing the exquisite petals of a La France beauty. "Of course I 'll wear one--" she tucked one into her belt; "but why--why!--has n't anyone else roses?" She looked about inquiringly.

"No,--the roses were for their namesake," said Jack, quietly.

Rose laughed merrily,--a pleased, girlish laugh. "Then won't the giver of the roses call their namesake, 'Rose'?--for the sake of the roses?" she added mischievously.

Now Jack Sherrill had seen many girls--silly girls, flirty girls, sensible girls, charming girls, smart girls, nice girls, and horrid girls, and flattered himself he knew every species of the genus, but just this once he was puzzled. If Rose Blossom had been an arrant flirt, she could not have answered him more effectively; yet Jack had decided that she had too earnest a nature to descend to flirting. Somehow, that word could never be applied to Rose Blossom--"My Rose," he said to himself, and knew with a kind of a shock when he said it, that he was very far gone. But in the next breath, he had to confess to himself that he had "been very far gone" many a time in his twenty-one years, so perhaps it did not signify.

Indeed, in the next minute, he was sure it did not signify, for, before he could gather his wits sufficiently to reply to her, Rose had slipped away to the other side of the room, where she was busying herself in fastening one of Jack's roses into the buttonhole of Alan Ford's Tuxedo. In consequence of which, Jack turned his batteries upon Ruth Ford with such effect, that she declared afterwards to her mother he was one of the most fascinating _young_ men--for Ruth was twenty-one!--she had ever met.

Mrs. Ford and Hazel and Mr. Ford had done their best to persuade Chi to remain with them for the tree. Even Rose urged--but in vain. True, the girls had insisted upon his taking one look, then he had begged off, saying, as he patted Hazel's hand that lay on his arm:

"Not to-night, Lady-bird. I don't feel to home in there. I 'll sit out here and hear the music, then I can beat time with my foot if I want to." He remained in the hall, just outside the living-room door, enjoying all he heard.

First there was a lovely piano duet, an Hungarian waltz by Brahms, Mrs. Ford and the grave, quiet son playing with such a perfect understanding of each other, as well as of the music, that it proved a delight to all present. Then there was a carol by all the children, Rose leading, and Mrs. Ford playing the accompaniment:

"'Cheery old Winter! merry old Winter! Laugh, while with yule-wreath thy temples are bound; Drain the spiced bowl now, cheer thy old soul now, "Christmas _waes hael_!" pledge the holy toast round. Broach butt and barrel, with dance and with carol Crown we old Winter of revels the king; And when he is weary of living so merry, He 'll lie down and die on the green lap of Spring. Cheery old Winter! merry old Winter! He 'll lie down and die on the green lap of Spring!'"

This won great applause, and a loud thumping could be heard in the hall. Jack went out to try his powers of persuasion with Chi, and found him sitting close to the door with one knee over the other and a La France rose (!) in his buttonhole.

"Come in, Chi, do."

"Ruther 'd sit here."

"Oh, come on."

"Nope."

Jack laughed at the decided tone. "Where did you get this?" he asked, touching the boutonniere.

"Rose-pose," answered Chi, laconically, but with a happy smile.

"Out of her bunch?"

"Nope--took it out of her belt," said Chi, with a curious twist of his mouth.

Jack went back crestfallen, and Chi smiled.

"I 'm afraid I cut him out, just for once; kind of rough on him, but 't won't hurt him any to have a change. He 's had his own way a little too much," said Chi to himself.

Again there was music, a Schubert serenade, with the two violins, and after that, the children begged Hazel to dance the Highland Fling as she did once in the barn. Hazel, nothing loath, borrowed a blue Liberty-silk scarf from Ruth Ford; the rugs being removed and Alan Ford tuning his violin, she made her curtsy, and, entering heart and body into the spirit of the thing, danced like thistle-down shod with joyousness.

It was a pretty sight! and Chi edged into the room, while the company made believe ignore him in order to induce him to remain there; but when the singing began, he slipped out again. Such singing! Everybody joined in it. They sang everything;--"Oh, where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone?";--"Star-spangled Banner";--"Marching Along";--"John Anderson, my Jo";--"Ye banks and braes o' Bonnie Doon";--"Twinkle, twinkle, little star";--"Annie Laurie";--"A grasshopper sat on a sweet-potato vine";--"Ben Bolt";--"Fair Harvard" and, finally, "Old Hundred."

It had been arranged that Mr. Blossom should take his wife and the younger children home in the pung; the rest were to walk. Chi, meanwhile, had driven home in the single sleigh.

On the walk home Jack tried what he had been apt to term--of course, to himself--his "confidential scheme" with Rose. He had tried it before with many another, and it had never failed to work. The thought of one of his roses in Alan Ford's buttonhole still rankled, and the best side of Jack's manhood was not on the surface when he entered upon the homeward walk.

"Miss Blossom,"--somehow Jack had not quite the courage to say "Rose," although he had been so frankly invited to--"I want to tell you why I came up here; it must have seemed almost an intrusion."

"Oh, no, indeed," said Rose, earnestly, "and I know why you came; Hazel told me."

"Oh, she did," said Jack, rather inanely, and a little uncertain as to his footing, figuratively speaking; for he had given her the chance to ask "Why?"--and she had n't taken it; in which she proved herself different from all those other girls of his acquaintance. To himself he thought, "Well, for all the cordial indifference, commend me to this girl."

"Yes, I 'm sure it would have seemed like anything but Christmas to you in New York with your father in Europe; you must miss him so."

Jack felt himself blush in the moonlight at the remembrance that he had seen his father but little in the last three years, and did not know what it was in reality to miss him. He never remembered to have missed anything or anybody but his mother, and that indefinite something in his life which he had not yet put himself earnestly to seek.

"I suppose you 'll be shocked, Miss Blossom, but I don't really miss my father. I 'm only awfully glad to see him when I get the chance--which is n't often. He 's such a busy man with railroads and syndicates and real estate interests. I wonder often how he can find time to write me even twice a month, which he has done regularly ever since--" he stopped abruptly.

"Since what?" asked Rose, innocently.

"Since my mother died," said Jack, in a hard, dry voice that served to cover his feeling.

"Yes," Rose nodded sympathetically, "Hazel told me." Then--for Rose's love for her own mother was something bordering on adoration--she said softly, under her breath, but with her whole heart in her voice; "Oh, I don't see how you could bear it--how you can live without her!"

"I don't," Jack replied with a break in his voice, "not really live, you know. I've always felt it, but never realized it until last night, when I stood out on the veranda and looked in at the window at you--all. Then I knew I 'd been hungry for that sort of thing for the last seven years--"

Now Rose's heart was swelling with pity for the loneliness of the tall, young fellow swinging along beside her, and at once her inner eyes were opened to see a, to her, startling fact. She turned suddenly towards him.

"Is that why you kissed Martie last night, and came up here to us?" she demanded rather breathlessly.

"Yes;" Jack had forgotten his scheme, and was in dead earnest now.

"Then," cried Rose, impulsively--but at the same time thinking, "I don't care if he is engaged to that Miss Seaton"--"I hope you 'll come to us whenever you feel like it; for," she added earnestly, "I 'm beginning to understand what Chi means when he talks about Hazel's being poor and our being rich, and--and I 'd love to share mine with you."

"You 're awfully good," said Jack, rather awkwardly for him; for, suddenly, in the presence of this young girl, as yet unspoiled by the world, he realized that Life was dependent upon something other than polo and club theatricals, railroad syndicates and Newport casinos, stocks and bonds and marketable real estate.

Jack was young, and the moonlight was transfiguring the face that, framed in a white, knitted hood, was turned towards him full of a frank, loving sympathy for him in his "poverty."---And, seeing it, Jack suddenly braced himself as if to meet some shock, thinking, as he strode along in silence, "Oh, I 'm gone!--for good and all this time."

Rose, a little surprised at the prolonged silence, welcomed the sound of sleigh-bells behind them.

"Why, that's Chi!" she exclaimed. "I thought he was at home long before this. I 'm sure he left long before we did. Where have you been, Chi?" she called so soon as the sleigh was within hailing distance.

"I 've been Chris'musin'," said Chi. "It ain't often you get just such a night on the Mountain as this, and I 've made the most of it. Can I give you a lift?"

"No, thank you, Chi, we 're almost home," said Rose.

"Well, then I 'd better be gettin' along--it's pretty near midnight--chk, Bob--" And Chi drove away down the Mountain, chuckling to himself:

"Ain't a-goin' to give myself away before no city chap that has cut me out as he has. George Washin'ton! When I peeked into the window 'n' saw Marier-Ann sittin' there in front of that kitchen table with all those presents on it, 'n' the little spruce set up so perky in the middle of 'em, 'n' she a-wearin' a great handful of those red, spice pinks in her bosom, 'n' her cheeks to match 'em, 'n' her eyes a-shinin'--I knew he 'd come it over me; he 'd made the first call, 'n' given her the first posies. Guess I won't crow over him after this." Chi undid his greatcoat, and bent his face until his nose rested upon Jack's rose:--

"It ain't touched yet, but it's a stinger; must be twenty below, now." Suddenly Chi gave a loud exclamation: "I must be a fool!--I 've broken one of the N.B.B.O.O. rules not to be afraid of anything, and did n't dare to give my posy to Marier-Ann!--Anyhow, she don't know I was goin' to give it to her, so I need n't feel so cheap about it--Go-long, Bob!"

XVIII

BUDD'S PROPOSAL

Before Mr. Clyde and Jack left the next day, Budd sought an opportunity to interview the latter on a subject, that, for a few weeks past, had been occupying many of his thoughts. The applause, with which his Christmas-day toast had been greeted, had encouraged him to seek an occasion for acquiring more definite knowledge on a subject which lay near his heart. It came when Jack was packing his dress-suit case in the guest chamber.

There was a knock on the half-opened door.

"Come in," said Jack, and Budd made his appearance.

"Halloo, Budd! What can I do for you? Any commissions in New York, or Boston?"

"Don't know what you mean by commissions," replied Budd, cautiously, thrusting both hands deep into the pockets of his knickerbockers, and spreading his sturdy legs to a wide V.

"Anything I can buy with that hen-and-jam money you helped to earn?--you did well, Budd, on that. I congratulate you."

"I have n't any of that money left. You see, we voted to give it to March to go to college with. But I 've got two quarters an' a dollar--Christmas presents, you know; an' that 'll do, won't it?" he asked rather anxiously.

"Well, that depends on what you buy," said Jack, with due seriousness.

"You 'll keep mum, Mr. Sherrill, if I tell you?" said Budd, inquiringly.

"Mum's the word, if you say so, Budd; out with it."

"Well, I want two things; one thing to make me feel grown up, an' I 've wanted it for a year."

"What's that, Budd?" asked Jack, immensely amused at Budd's swelling manhood--"A pair of long trousers?"

"No--" Budd hesitated for a moment, then went on in rather an aggrieved tone; "I hate to wear waists with buttons; it's just like a baby, an' a fellow can't feel grown up when he has to button everything on. I want to hitch things up the way March an' Chi do, an' I want you to buy me a shirt like that one you 're rolling up--only not flannel,--with a flap, you know, to tuck in."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Jack, endeavoring to keep his face and voice from betraying his inward amusement. "Well, I think you can get one for seventy-five cents--plain or striped?"

"I like those narrow blue striped ones like yours best," he replied, pointing to one of Jack's.

"Like mine it shall be, Budd; but you 'll want a pair of suspenders, or there 'll be too much hitching to be agreeable to you."

"March has an old pair, an' I 'm going to borrow them."

"That's an idea; now, what's the second thing?"

"A ring."

"A ring?" Jack looked amazed.

Budd nodded.

"For yourself?" Jack questioned further.

"No--for somebody else."

"Do you mean a finger ring?"

Budd nodded again emphatically.

"Engagement?" laughed Jack, at last, the fun getting the better of him.

Budd's mouth puckered into solemnity; "No--wedding."

Jack gave up the packing, and sat down, shaken with laughter, on the first convenient chair.

"Pardon me for laughing, Budd, but I can't help it. What do you want of a wedding ring? Is it for that 'first wife' of yours you toasted yesterday at dinner?"

Budd nodded again. "I don't see anything to laugh at," he said, with a reproachful glance. "You would n't if you was me."

"No, I don't think I should; you 're right there, Budd," he replied, sobering suddenly after his outburst of laughter. "When is the wedding to be?"

Budd looked thoughtful. "I have n't proposed yet," was his matter-of-fact answer.

"Well, why don't you?" Jack, sinner that he was, scented some fun at Budd's expense.

"I 'm going to when I know how," said Budd, humbly.

"Why don't you take lessons?" suggested Jack.

"I have."

"Of whom?"

"Chi."

Jack shouted. "What did Chi say?" he demanded when he had regained his breath.

"He said if he wanted to marry a girl, he 'd say what he wanted to--tell 'em he was fond of 'em."

"'Fond of them'--hm," repeated Jack, thoughtfully.

"What do _you_ say?" questioned Budd, turning the tables rather suddenly on Jack.

"I don't say--never said," replied Jack, shortly.

"That's what Chi said. He said if I begun early I 'd find out how."

"You seem to be on the right road for it."

"Would you say 'fond of her'?" persisted Budd.

"Yes, I think I should," Jack replied with a peculiar smile; "but, of course, it would depend on the girl."

"Why, that's just what Chi said!"

"He did, did he!" Jack laughed; "Chi knows a thing or two."

"But I thought you 'd know more." Budd's face began to wear a puzzled look.

Just then Jack heard Rose's voice in the long-room asking where Mr. Sherrill was, and the sound brought home to him a realizing sense of the fact that there was but an hour before they left for the station, and every moment too precious to be wasted on Budd. Rising, and proceeding with his packing, he said with perfect seriousness:--

"Well, Budd, all I can say is, that if I were going to ask a girl to marry me, I should ask her if she thought enough of me to take me with all my imperfections and--"

"Where are you, Jack?" called Hazel, at the foot of the stairs; "Chi has to go an hour earlier than he said, and the sleigh is at the door."

In the hurry of Jack's good-byes and departure, the sentence was never finished, and the ring forgotten by him. But Budd remembered.

He was a sturdy little chap, broad of shoulder, strong of limb. His sandy red hair bristled straight up from his full forehead. His pale blue eyes, with thick reddish-brown lashes, were round and serious. His nose was a freckled pug, and his small mouth puckered, when he was very much in earnest, to the size of a buttonhole. From the time he had championed Hazel's coming to them, nearly a year ago, he had never wavered in his allegiance to her, and in his small-boy way showed her his entire devotion. Hazel had been so grateful to him for his whole-souled welcome of her, that she took pains to make his boy's heart happy in every way she could.

For Hazel, Budd was never in the way; never asked too many questions for her patience; never teased her beyond endurance. He found in her a ready listener, a good sympathizer, a capital playmate, and a loving girl-friend, who reproved him sometimes and, at others, praised him. What wonder that his ten-year-old heart had warmed towards her with its first boy-love? and that in his manly, practical way, he made of her an ideal?

"I love Hazel, and when I am big enough, I shall marry her," was what he said to himself whenever he stopped his play long enough to think about it at all. Naturally it seemed the wisest thing to tell her this when he should find the opportunity, and at the same time recall the fact.

Fortified by the testimony of Chi and Jack, he bided his time.

One Saturday afternoon in January, Rose said suddenly to Hazel: "I wish I could do some of the things that you do, Hazel." Hazel looked up from her book in surprise.

"What can I do that you can't do, Rose?"

"You dance so beautifully, and I 've always wanted to know how. I feel so awkward when I see you dance the Highland Fling."

"Is that all?" Hazel laughed a happy laugh. "I can teach you to dance as easy as anything, if you 'll let me."

"Let you!" Rose exclaimed, flushing with pleasure; "just you try me and see. But where can we practise?"