Part 5

“Yes, I think he’s changed--a little,” said Asher’s wife, surveying him closely. “But it’s ten years; and people and things don’t stand still. There’s the baby, your namesake, John.”

She ran into the bedroom at a child’s cry and brought out a round-faced, curly-haired two-year-old, whom she deposited on Uncle John’s knee. He said, “Great Scott!” and clutched the new burden awkwardly, conscious of extreme confusion of mind.

“That comes of not being used to children,” cried Mrs. Sarah, merrily, catching at the child. “Here, Mary; he’s not safe. John’s got to have some lessons in baby-tending.” And all the women laughed.

If John James Alston ever fancied a country life lacking in variety, he changed his mind from that day. They took him out to see the cattle, and Asher dwelt on their strong points. He was made to take note of the rakish, upward curve in the noses of the Berkshire hogs, and saw the prize pullets and the Toulouse geese. He heard about the rotation of crops. And though he tried his best to say the right thing at the right moment, he saw one and another look at him sometimes in a puzzled way that made his blood run cold. And this was a queer sensation for the dignified, self-possessed John J. Alston of New York.

That night he was shown to the best upstairs bedroom; there was just enough space for the mountainous bed, the bureau, washstand, and one chair. He turned back the heavy coverlets and stood regarding the swelling height before him. “Great Scott!” he murmured. “I never slept in a feather-bed in my life. Wonder how far I shall sink down.”

When he was in, and the pillows heaped around him, he began to grow deliciously warm. “I don’t care--I’m a rank impostor, I know, but I’ll see this thing through, now I’ve begun. I feel uncommonly like a boy.” And he laughed outright.

The next day, to be safe, he devoted himself to the children, to the great relief of their busy mothers; and before night, Maidie, Billy, and Dolly were his devoted lovers. There were finger-marks on his shirt-front and wrinkles in his coat, due to his little namesake, who was quite ready to howl when separated from his Uncle John. Early in the day he took Asher aside and inquired about the express accommodations, intimating that he expected a Christmas shipment by express from Boston.

“Oh, all right!” said Asher. “We’ll send up at five o’clock; the last express gets in then.” And he felt a little curiosity, for the real John Damon was not wont to be over-generous.

More than once that day did John James wonder what had become of his other self, the city-man Alston, whom he had left on the station platform. John James was having the time of his life. Anybody who has ever enjoyed a country Christmas in a farm-house full of peace, good-will, and happy relatives will understand all about it. At dark Asher came in. “John!” said he. “You and Billy’ll jes’ have to go down to the depot--we’re hustlin’ to get the chores done.”

“Certainly,” said John James. “Billy, don’t you want to go?”

“Sure!” said Billy. “I’ll be through with these pigs in a jiffy, an’ I’ll be right along. You can be harnessing.”

John James went out to the barn. He had never harnessed a horse in his life. He led out old Griggs, who marched deliberately to the water-trough and plunged his nose in.

John James took down a headstall at random, and old Griggs understood in about two minutes that he had to deal with inexperience, and refusing the bit, led the city-man a dance all over the barn floor. Then Billy came in.

“Here--hello!” said he. “What you doing with that work-harness, Uncle John? Here’s the right one. An’ the collar goes on first, anyway. Why, you’ve forgotten how to harness! Hi, you old rascal, stand still!”

John James had the mortification of beholding the ten-year-old corner old Griggs and equip him with the necessary rigging in no time at all.

“I thought you had a good many horses in your business, uncle,” said Billy, fastening one of the traces, while his “uncle” tried the other.

“The men do a good deal of the harnessing,” desperately said John James at a venture.

The box was at the station. It was decidedly a big box. It took John James and the depot-man to get it into the wagon. When the wagon, much heavier now, slid upon the horse’s hocks, going down a steep incline on the return trip, there were prancings, suddenly uplifted iron heels, then a furious run.

Billy held on valiantly, and rebuked old Griggs in vociferous accents; while John James, acknowledging the master-hand, sat still and looked for a soft place to fall in. Having at last pulled up, Billy got out to investigate.

“Well, I vow, Uncle John, if you didn’t forget to buckle the britchen-strap on your side!” he exclaimed.

And John James, with a dreadful sense of mortification, blushed scarlet under cover of the dark.

By the time they got home the snow was falling quietly and steadily, and it increased as the night wore on.

Late at night, after the household were abed, John James and Asher opened the box. It was a surprise indeed--that box! The Boston man had fulfilled his commission admirably, and John James chuckled as he pulled out one article after another.

“We gener’ly have our presents on our plates or chairs at breakfast,” observed Asher. “The women-folks put ’em here, as you see,” indicating the table in the living-room with its modest gifts. “The children hang their stockings by the fireplace; they like the fun of pullin’ things out.”

“Well, here’s something for little John,” said John James, unwrapping a gorgeous drum and a stunning horse with “truly” hair all over him. “And here, just undo that long box, Asher. Here are some good books for the children.”

Asher opened the long pasteboard box. “Land o’ Goshen!” said he, “I never see sech a doll. Looks like an angel gone to sleep.”

“That’s for Dolly; won’t she squeal!” said John James. “Billy skates, doesn’t he? These will fit him, I hope--and here’s a pair for Maidie. This--what’s this? It’s labeled ‘for the girl.’” He tore a hole in the paper. “Oh, a dress. That’s for Maidie, too.”

“Here’s a white knitted shawl for--whom? You know best about the women-folks. I had to just guess at it. Here’s some fancy embroidered collars, and stuff of that sort.”

“Mary would like the shawl, and Sarah the collars,” said Asher, slowly.

“All right, put ’em there. Ah ha, now, this is the thing! Try on these rubber boots, Asher!”

“Hold on, John,” said Asher, resolutely; “you jest go slow! Be you made of gold, or what? These things must ’a’ cost a mint o’ money!”

John James sat back on his heels and thought a moment. “I can afford it easily; I have been greatly prospered,” said he.

“Wal, you’re lucky--and this is a reg’lar windfall,” said Asher, getting into the boots. John James laughed, slapping him on the back.

“Perfect fit. They’re yours, Asher. Now lend a hand. A man’s long dressing-gown--that’s for father!”

“He won’t know how to act,” said Asher.

“Half a dozen boxes of candy--hope nobody will get ill from them,” went on John James, still investigating. “Here’s--oh, undo this carefully--a fur tippet for Mary!”

“Great snakes!” said Asher, handling it with reverence. “I never see no sech fur as this.”

“Yes, it’s a warm one, I hope,” said John, from the depths of the box.

He brought out mittens for the children, a stunning suit for little John, dresses for Sarah, Mary, and the cousins, more books, mechanical toys that set Asher laughing as if he never would stop.

Asher gazed around the kitchen, which looked like a museum.

“I never see sech a sight,” said he; “I’m sort o’ bewildered. _Is_ this you an’ me, or some other fellows?”

“You’ll find out if you don’t wake up and put all these things on the plates and chairs where they belong. Asher, we must clear up these wrappings. Hold on!--here’s something we overlooked.” He picked up a small box containing four tiny boxes.

“Rings for the children, by jiminy!” said Asher, looking over his shoulder. “Lucky we didn’t cram it into the kindlin’s.”

It was one o’clock before they got to bed; and it seemed as if they were only just asleep before the seven-o’clock alarm went off, and waked them up to a world of snow.

They slept later than usual, but there was a tremendous hustling in that house, once they were fairly awake. When all were dressed and had come down, the shrieks of the children and their own curiosity made it nearly impossible for the women to get breakfast. It was one of their Christmas rules that no gift on the table should be taken up till all were at the board. But Dolly, with low “oh’s” and “ah’s” of delight, touched softly the pink toes and hands of the big “sleeping beauty” in her chair; for the box was too big to go on the table. All their chairs were full, and the steaming breakfast cooled before the jubilant household were ready to eat.

Asher opened his fine new pocket-book, and seeing a piece of paper in it, took it out, stared, put it back, looked at it again with a dazed expression, and got up, overturning his chair. His old father looked up from the warm dressing-gown they had put on him, and which he was smoothing like a pleased child.

“What ails ye, Asher?” asked the old man.

“Sit down, man, sit down!” said John James in an undertone, picking up the chair.

“Lawsee, but I can’t! John, this is too much! Why, John, I never heard--”

“Oh, keep quiet, Asher! Sit down, I tell you!”

“Father, this is a cashier’s draft on a Boston bank for five hundred an’ fifty dollars. It pays the last o’ the mor’gidge an’ interest, father! John, I can’t take it--after all this!” said Asher, waving his hands widely abroad at the gifts around him.

“Nonsense, Asher!--yes, you will, too. Man, I never had such fun in my life before! Pour him some coffee, somebody, please.”

“John!” said Asher, gripping his hand hard and choking.

“You see, Asher, I thought ’twas high time you got paid off for that whipping you took for me long ago, when I deserved it.”

“Oh, thunder!” said Asher, unable to speak another word.

They passed the day quietly together, and it seemed to John James that he never ate so tender a turkey, such exquisitely seasoned vegetables. The plum-pudding with its burning sauce capped the whole, and left them with serene souls.

When dark settled down, and the farm “chores” were done, candles and lamps lit the low-ceiled, comfortable old rooms, and with mirth and jollity they played Christmas games. John James had forgotten all about his other self--the city-man left on the depot platform. His oldest acquaintance wouldn’t have known him as he “marched to Jerusalem,” with his thick, grayish hair rumpled all over his head, or spun the tin pie-plate on the kitchen floor.

But suddenly there came a sound of bells, the tramp of a horse on the cleared path at the side door.

“Somebody’s come in this snow,” said Asher, going to the door. They all pressed forward to see.

“Well, I declare! Hello! Here ye all are!” cried a voice. “Ye didn’t expect me, I’ll be bound. I concluded to come, after all. I was snowed in last night, or I should’a’ got here this mornin’. Merry Christmas to all of ye!”

It was the _real_ John Damon, covered with snow, hungry but jolly. Behind him the driver tugged his bag. John James Alston’s heart gave a great bound, then sunk to the depths of his boots. Amid the amazed silence of the whole family, the real and the false John Damon confronted each other.

“What--what--who’s this?” stammered the newcomer, recognizing the resemblance in a moment, yet unable at once to grasp the astounding audacity of this stranger’s performance. As for the family, they needed but to see the two men together in order to know them apart. In the agitation of the moment, I am afraid the welcome they gave brother John from the West lacked the proper warmth.

John James Alston understood that it was “up to him” to explain. And it was the cool and resourceful city-man, his dignity still touched with the heart-warm jollity of the country John James, who rose to the occasion, and somehow won all hearts to him anew in the utterance of his first few sentences.

“Mr. Damon,” he said, “Asher, my brother,”--he put his hand on Asher’s shoulder and kept it there,--“and all you, my dear, newfound friends, I have to ask your pardon for usurping a position that does not belong to me. I am John J. Alston of New York. I have always been a lonely man. I never married, and have no family ties. I think I never realized how lonely I was until, coming up into this section on business, I heard on every side talk of Christmas, and saw at every station Christmas meetings and greetings, and people going home. Five apartment rooms make my home,” he added with a smile. “While I waited for my train at the Junction, these children claimed me as their uncle, and Sarah here saluted me as her brother.” Sarah looked uncomfortable. “It was very pleasant, and in an unguarded moment I yielded to temptation and came home with them. I didn’t know there were such kind-hearted people alive. I never have had such a good time in my life. May I hope you’ll all pardon me, and let me be a second Uncle John to the end of the chapter?”

Half-way through his little oration he felt Maidie’s hand slip shyly into his. Billy stood close behind him; little John, who had resented being put down, tried to climb up his leg; and Dolly, with her curly-haired beauty in one arm, hung to him whenever she could get a hold. Plainly John James “filled the bill” with them.

“Huh! well! see that now! _My_ nose’s out of joint,” said the Western Uncle John, with a laugh, indicating the children. “I never heard of a thing like this--never. It’s a most astonishing thing--really, now. But I can’t blame you.” He offered his hand to John James. “I don’t see but we’ll have to get acquainted. It’s a great comfort, too, to know that I resemble such a good-looking man!” He scrutinized John James closely. “It almost reconciles me to the loss of my turkey dinner.”

“But you shan’t lose it!” protested Aunt Sarah, amid the babel of tongues wherewith they welcomed the Western uncle afresh, and sought to assure John James of their entire forgiveness and acceptance of him as one of the family. And straightway one of the cousins dragged Uncle John away to the table, with intent to satisfy his hunger, and incidentally to lay before him a history of the whole affair.

Later on, the business of Christmas enjoyment was resumed with--if possible--greater zest than ever; and when, at a shockingly late hour, John James repaired to the mountainous bed in the little room, he knew that peace and good-will were more than mere names, and that he never should repent of the audacious performance which had won him a whole family of country relatives. And while just dropping off to sleep, it came to him that it would be well to look up those Connecticut cousins before next Christmas, and find out what they were like.

[8] Reprinted from “St. Nicholas Magazine,” with permission.

BUNNY FACE AND THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS[9]

_Gertrude A. Kay_

He was such a very little boy and everything about him was pale--hair, eyes, ears, everything. But even though his face was so peaked, his big ears were what you noticed first, and we soon discovered that he could move them most surprisingly--backward and forward. This was something that none of the rest of us could do. It was for this reason probably that we began calling him Bunny Face.

He didn’t have a family, like other children. I don’t know to this day where he came from, but he lived with a woman that he called aunt, whenever he called her anything. But she played very little part in his life, and some folks said that she wasn’t his aunt at all. But our mothers said that this was being inquisitive and told us never, never to say such a thing to Bunny Face. But the grown-ups always stopped talking about it when we were around, so of course we knew there was some more which they never would tell us. Anyway, the aunt’s name was Katie Duckworth, and she had it painted in big letters over her dry-goods store downtown. It was a tiny little store and crowded and dark inside. She was sort of blind and never could find the things that your mother sent you there to buy. There were some folks who said she wasn’t very bright. But to this day, whenever I smell gingham it makes me think of Katie Duckworth and her little dry-goods store.

Although they seemed to get along all right, Bunny Face and his aunt never fixed up in their best clothes and went off together a-hold of hands, as the rest of us did with our mothers or our aunts. But then poor Bunny Face didn’t have any other clothes; though, goodness knows, that didn’t worry him at all. His aunt never sent him to Sunday school and didn’t bother at all when the teacher told her that he played truant. But Bunny Face was good-natured; and if you had ever seen a smile start on his face and spread all over it till it made his ears wiggle, you would have smiled, too, no matter what.

“Why is a goblin, or why isn’t a goblin?” He was fond of asking the rest of us questions like that, and then he would laugh and laugh, just as if he knew the answer himself. He often told us long stories about places he’d been and queer things he’d done, and though we knew that they had never really happened, we didn’t care.

In school he wasn’t any good at all; just sat and looked out of the window and scratched things with his jackknife. He spoiled his books and spilled ink on the floor, but he loved big dictionary words and knew lots of them, so sometimes we didn’t know just what he was talking about. He played truant oftener than any of the big boys; maybe it was because it was so easy for him to get away, being so small he could slip out before teacher noticed.

But the school house janitor--Old Crab, we called him--was always on the lookout for Bunny Face. He was really a terrible person, evil and hateful. He hobbled on one crutch and lived in a battered old shanty by the dump. You see, he didn’t have a wife--dead or something; but the shanty was just full of children. They were all sizes and all starved looking--and bad too.

Bunny Face knew the woods all about as most children knew their own back lot, and he used to walk miles and miles through any kind of weather, for, as he said, things happened in the woods and there were water spirits down in the creek. He kept track of all the little animals, and he knew what trees had squirrels living in them and where certain birds had their nests. But when he told about them the creatures that lived in the woods seemed exactly like folks. Well, late one afternoon on his way home, when he’d been prowling around all day, he heard a most awful racket, then barking. And suddenly a Maltese cat flattened itself and wiggled under the fence and shot up a tree. Bunny Face looked over the fence into the garden. Yes, there was the very dog, only he was tied. Right that minute an old man came out and said “Well, well,” and “What, what,” the way old people do.

“Is she yours?” Bunny Face pointed up in the branches.

“No, sonny,” answered the old man.

“Guess I’ll get her then,” said Bunny Face; and he began to coax “Nice kitty, nice kitty” till the cat came down within reach. She was a poor, thin thing with eager eyes and shabby ears. But he thought that she had a fine coat.

“Let’s give her some supper,” said the old man.

So that is the way it came about that Bunny Face and the Parson started being friends.

Right away they began to get acquainted there in the kitchen while the cat lapped milk, and the Parson invited Bunny Face to stay to supper. He said that he could, all right; so that was settled and they went into the other room to sit by the fire till suppertime.

“Think I’ll take my cat,” said Bunny Face.

“Why not call her Agnes, after my old horse?” said the Parson.

And so the Maltese cat was named Agnes.

It was nice and warm in the Parson’s house, and there were lots of things to ask questions about. There were two big creaking chairs in front of the fire, and the old man sat in one and Bunny Face sat in the other and held Agnes on his lap. Finally the cat went to sleep, and they talked. Bunny Face told his new friend about a lot of things. And the Parson told about his horse that he had had once and about the dog that had barked at Agnes.

Just then a little bell rang, and the Parson said that supper was ready. They went out and washed their hands under the pump, then sat down to the table in the kitchen, where there was an old lady. The Parson said that she was his sister and then he told her who Bunny Face was. After that the old man said a grace and they ate little biscuits with honey and different things and Bunny Face enjoyed himself very much indeed. But the old lady wasn’t a bit like anyone he had ever seen before, because her face was different. And when Bunny Face started home she tied his muffler and asked if he was warm enough. He took Agnes with him and said, yes, he’d come again. And the Parson stood in the door and held the lamp up over his head till Bunny Face got ’way down the road.

The next morning there was snow on the ground, and the children at school began to talk about Christmas. And very soon all the shops fixed up their show windows with Christmas things. But Hampton’s Toy Shop was the finest. Everyone thought so, and each day we were nearly late at school because we stood and looked in so long. Old Mrs. Hampton always clerked with a black satin apron on and a scoopy black hat, and she wore thick glasses to look at the price with. Though the children didn’t buy, they always asked how much everything was.

One day Bunny Face followed some of the other children in, and there hanging up on the wall he saw a picture. It showed Santa Claus himself, pack and all, coming out of a little house with a bright green door and a red chimney. But there was something about that picture that made him feel very queer. Finally he knew what it was. It was the trees. You see, he knew exactly where those big, tall pine trees were, out on Clark’s road. He was sure of it. But he’d find out for himself. Anyway there wouldn’t be a picture of Santa Claus’ house if he really didn’t have one, and why wouldn’t it be out on Clark’s road anyway? He kept on thinking about it all the morning.

So that afternoon he played truant again. It was a cold day, and the snowflakes nipped you on the cheeks as they flew past, but Bunny Face pulled down his cap and hurried on. He scrambled over fences and took all the short cuts across the snowy fields that led off toward Clark’s road. It was a long way to go on such a cold day, but he kept saying to himself what fun it would be when he got there to knock on Santa Claus’ door. Then he’d wait and Santa Claus would say “Come in”--just like that, and open would pop the door and there he, Bunny Face, would be standing. Of course he’d tell Santa Claus right away who he was, and Santa Claus would probably say, “Stay to supper, won’t you?” Then he’d see all the toys that were ready for Christmas, and may be Santa Claus would say, “Help yourself, Bunny Face; pick out something nice.”

Now the road curves just before you come to those tall pines, and Bunny Face decided to close his eyes and take five hundred steps, then open them quick, for there he’d be exactly in front of Santa Claus’ house. It kept him busy counting steps, and he got mixed up and maybe he cheated a little to make five hundred come sooner, but finally it was four hundred and ninety-eight, then four hundred and ninety-nine. Then he opened his eyes.