Chapter 2

"_Father_!"--Her voice caught in her throat.... What was all this?... By some mysterious influence her husband learned that she was calling him, though he had not really heard. He came to the door and looked at her, then at the chimneypiece where the stockings hung--a long row of them, as they had not hung since the children grew up--stockings of quality: one of brown silk, Nan's; a fine gray sock with scarlet clocks, Ralph's,--all stuffed to the top, with bundles overflowing upon the chimneypiece and even to the floor below.

"What's this--what's this?" John Fernald's voice was puzzled. "Whose are these?" He limped closer. He put on his spectacles and stared hard at a parcel protruding from the sock with the scarlet clocks.

"'_Merry Christmas to Ralph from Nan_,'" he read. "'To Ralph from Nan,'" he repeated vaguely. His gaze turned to his wife. His eyes were wide like a child's. But she was getting to her feet, from the chair into which she had dropped.

"The children!" she was saying. "They--they--John--they must be _here_!"

He followed her through the chilly hall to the front staircase, seldom used now, and up--as rapidly as those slow, stiff joints would allow. Trembling, Mrs. Fernald pushed open the first door at the top.

A rumpled brown head raised itself from among the pillows, a pair of sleepy but affectionate brown eyes smiled back at the two faces peering in, and a voice brimful of mirth cried softly: "Merry Christmas, mammy and daddy!" They stared at her, their eyes growing misty. _It was their little daughter Nan, not yet grown up!_

They could not believe it. Even when they had been to every room;--had seen their big son Ralph, still sleeping, his yet youthful face, full of healthy colour, pillowed on his brawny arm, and his mother had gently kissed him awake to be half-strangled in his hug;--when they had met Edson's hearty laugh as he fired a pillow at them--carefully, so that his father could catch it;--when they had seen plump pretty Carol pulling on her stockings as she sat on the floor smiling up at them;--Oliver, advancing to meet them in his bath-robe and slippers;--Guy, holding out both arms from above his blankets, and shouting "Merry Christmas!--and how do you like your children?"--even then it was difficult to realise that not one was missing--and that no one else was there. Unconsciously Mrs. Fernald found herself looking about for the sons' wives and daughters' husbands and children. She loved them all;--yet--to have her own, and no others, just for this one day--it was happiness indeed.

When they were all downstairs, about the fire, there was great rejoicing. They had Marietta in; indeed, she had been hovering continuously in the background, to the apparently frightful jeopardy of the breakfast in preparation, upon which, nevertheless, she had managed to keep a practised eye.

"And you were in it, Marietta?" Mr. Fernald said to her in astonishment, when he first saw her. "How in the world did you get all these people into the house and to bed without waking us?"

"It was pretty consid'able of a resk," Marietta replied, with modest pride, "'seein' as how they was inclined to be middlin' lively. But I kep' a-hushin' 'em up, and I filled 'em up so full of victuals they couldn't talk. I didn't know's there'd be any eatables left for to-day," she added--which last remark, since she had been slyly baking for a week, Guy thought might be considered pure bluff.

At the breakfast table, while the eight heads were bent, this thanksgiving arose, as the master of the house, in a voice not quite steady, offered it to One Unseen:

_Thou who camest to us on that first Christmas Day, we bless Thee for this good and perfect gift Thou sendest us to-day, that Thou forgettest us not in these later years, but givest us the greatest joy of our lives in these our loyal children._

Nan's hand clutched Guy's under the table. "Doesn't that make it worth it?" his grasp said to her, and hers replied with a frantic pressure, "Indeed it does, but we don't deserve it."

... It was late in the afternoon, a tremendous Christmas dinner well over, and the group scattered, when Guy and his mother sat alone by the fire. The "boys" had gone out to the great stock barn with their father to talk over with him every detail of the prosperous business he, with the help of an invaluable assistant, was yet able to manage. Carolyn and Nan had ostensibly gone with them, but in reality the former was calling upon an old friend of her childhood, and the latter had begged a horse and sleigh and driven merrily away alone upon an errand she would tell no one but her mother.

Mrs. Fernald sat in her low chair at the side of the hearth, her son upon a cushion at her feet, his head resting against her knee. Her slender fingers were gently threading the thick locks of his hair, as she listened while he talked to her of everything in his life, and, at last, of the one thing he cared most about.

"Sometimes I get desperate and think I may as well give her up for good and all," he was saying. "She's so--so--_elusive_--I don't know any other word for it. I never can tell how I stand with her. She's going South next week. I've asked her to answer me before she goes. Somehow I've clung to the hope that I'd get my answer to-day. You'll laugh, but I left word with my office-boy to wire me if a note or anything from her came. It's four o'clock, and I haven't heard. She--you see, I can't help thinking it's because she's going to--turn me down--and--hates to do it--Christmas Day!"

He turned suddenly and buried his face in his mother's lap; his shoulders heaved a little in spite of himself. His mother's hand caressed his head more tenderly than ever, but, if he could have seen, her eyes were very bright.

They were silent for a long time. Then suddenly a jingle of sleigh bells approached through the falling winter twilight, drew near, and stopped at the door. Guy's mother laid her hands upon his shoulders. "Son," she said, "there's some one stopping now. Perhaps it's the boy with a message from the station."

He was on his feet in an instant. Her eyes followed him as he rushed away through the hall. Then she rose and quietly closed the sitting-room door behind him.

As Guy flung open the front door, a tall and slender figure in gray furs and a wide gray hat was coming up the walk. Eyes whose glance had long been his dearest torture met Guy Fernald's and fell. Lips like which there were no others in the world smiled tremulously in response to his eager exclamation. And over the piquant young face rose an exquisite colour which was not altogether born of the wintry air. The girl who for two years had been only "elusive" had taken the significant step of coming to North Estabrook in response to an eloquent telephone message sent that morning by Nan.

Holding both her hands fast, Guy led her up into the house--and found himself alone with her in the shadowy hall. With one gay shout Nan had driven away toward the barn. The inner doors were all closed. Blessing the wondrous sagacity of his womankind, Guy took advantage of his moment.

"Nan brought you--I see that. I know you're very fond of her, but--you didn't come wholly to please her, did you--Margaret?"

"Not wholly."

"I've been looking all day for my answer. I--oh--I wonder if--" he was gathering courage from her aspect, which for the first time in his experience failed to keep him at a distance--"_dare_ I think you--_bring it_?"

She slowly lifted her face. "I thought it was so--so dear of you," she murmured, "to come home to your people instead of--staying with me. I thought you deserved--what you say--you want--"

"_Margaret_--you--"

"I haven't given you any Christmas present. Will--I--do?"

"Will _you_ do!... _Oh_!"--It was a great explosive sigh of relief and joy, and as he gave vent to it he caught her close. "Will--_you_--do!... Good Lord!... I rather _think you will_!"

* * * * *

_"Emeline--"_

_"Yes, John dear?"_

_"You're not--crying?"_

_"Oh, no--no, no, John!" What a blessing deafness is sometimes! The ear cannot detect the delicate tremolo which might tell the story too plainly. And in the darkness of night, the eye cannot see._

_"It's been a pretty nice day, hasn't it?"_

_"A beautiful day!"_

_"I guess there's no doubt but the children care a good deal for the old folks yet."_

_"No doubt at all, dear."_

_"It's good to think they're all asleep under the roof once more, isn't it?--And one extra one. We like her, don't we?"_

_"Oh, very, very much!"_

_"Yes, Guy's done well. I always thought he'd get her, if he hung on. The Fernalds always hang on, but Guy's got a mite of a temper--I didn't know but he might let go a little too soon. Well--it's great to think they all plan to spend every Christmas Day with us, isn't it, Emeline?"_

_"Yes, dear--it's--great."_

_"Well--I must let you go to sleep. It's been a big day, and I guess you're tired. Emeline, we've not only got each other--we've got the children too. That's a pretty happy thing at our age, isn't it, now?"_

_"Yes--yes."_

_"Good night--Christmas Night, Emeline."_

_"Good night, dear."_

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By the Same Author

The Second Violin The Indifference of Juliet With Juliet in England Round the Corner in Gay Street

Also many short stories for children

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