Part 8 (1/2)
”That means me, of course,” said Thomas importantly.
”Of course,” echoed both his brothers, quite unanimously.
Mr. Stevens said nothing, but calmly went up to bed, where he apparently slept well, as he did not reappear until after nine o'clock the following morning. He sought out Mrs. Gray in the sunny, s.h.i.+ning kitchen, but did not evince as much surprise as she had expected when she told him, while she bustled about preparing fresh coffee and toast for him, that when Thomas, at seven o'clock, had gone to the barn to ”hitch up” he had found that the double sleigh, the pair, and--Austin had all mysteriously vanished.
”Austin always was a dreadful tease,” she ended, ”but I can't help sayin'
this is downright mean of him, when he knows how Thomas feels.”
”My dear lady,” said Mr. Stevens, cracking open the egg she had set before him with great care, ”where are your eyes? What about Austin himself?”
Mrs. Gray set down the coffee-pot, looking at him in bewilderment.
”What do you mean?” she asked. ”I hope Austin is grateful to her now--an' that he'll _say_ so. At first he didn't like her at all, an'
he's never taken to her same as the rest of us have--seems to feel she's bossy an' meddlesome. Howard an' I have spoken of it a thousand times. He began by resenting everything she did, an' then got so he didn't even mention her name.”
”Exactly. I've noticed that myself. I don't pretend to be an infallible judge of human nature, but mark my words, Austin has cared for my Sylvia since the first moment he ever set eyes on her. No man likes to feel that the woman he's in love with is doing everything for him and his family, and that he can't--as he sees it--do anything in return.
That's why he seems to resent her kindness, which I really think the rest of you have almost overestimated--if she's helped you in material ways, you've been her salvation in greater ways still. But there's still more to it than that: I think your son Austin has in him the makings of one of the finest men I ever knew, but he doesn't consider himself worthy of her. He'll try to conceal, and even to conquer, his feelings--just as long as he possibly can. I suppose he believes that'll be always. Of course, it won't. But naturally he can't bear to talk about her. Thomas has fallen in love with her face--which is pretty--and her manner--which is charming--after the manner of most men. But Austin has fallen in love with her mind--which is brilliant--and her soul--which, in spite of some little superficial faults that I believe he himself will unconsciously teach her to overcome, is beautiful--after the manner of very few men--and those men love but once, deeply and forever. And so, my dear Mrs. Gray, tease Thomas all you like, for Sylvia will refuse Thomas when he asks for her, and he will be engaged to another girl within a year; but she will run away from Austin before he brings himself to tell her how he feels--and it will be many a long day before his heart is light again.”
CHAPTER VIII
”I fairly dread to have Christmas come for one reason,” had said Mrs.
Gray to her husband beforehand.
”Why? I thought you were counting the days!”
”So I am. But I hate to think of all the presents Sylvia's likely to load us down with. Seems as if she'd done enough. I don't want to be beholden to her for any more.”
”Don't worry, Mary. Sylvia's got good sense, and delicate feelings as well as an almighty generous little heart. She'll be the first to think how we'd feel, herself.”
Mr. Gray was right. When Christmas came there was a simple, inexpensive trinket for each of the girls, and slightly costlier ones for the bride and Mrs. Gray; little pocket calendars, all just alike, for the men; that was all. Mr. Stevens had taken pleasure in bringing great baskets of candy, adorned with elaborate bows of ribbon, and bunches of violets as big as their heads, to all the ”children,” a fine plant to Mrs. Gray, and books to Howard and his sons; and Austin's suit-case bulged with all sorts of little treasures, which tumbled out from between his clothes in the most unexpected places, as he unpacked it in the living-room, to the great delight of them all.
”Here's a dress-length of gray silk from Venice for mother,” he said, tossing the s.h.i.+mmering bundle into her lap; ”I want her to have it made up to wear at Sally's wedding. And here's lace for Sadie and Sally both--the bride and the bride-to-be. Nothing much for the rest of you”--and out came strings of corals and beads, handkerchiefs and photographs, silk stockings and filagree work, until the floor was strewn with pretty things. After all the presents were distributed, it was time to begin to get dinner, and to decorate the great table laid for sixteen. There was a turkey, of course, and a huge chicken pie as well, not to mention mince pies and squash pies and apple pies, a plum pudding and vanilla ice-cream; angel cakes and fruit cakes and chocolate cakes; coffee and cider and blackberry cordial; and after they had all eaten until they could not hold another mouthful, and had ”rested up” a little, Sylvia played while they danced the Virginia Reel, Mr. Stevens leading off with Mrs. Gray, and Mr. Gray with Sadie. And finally they all gathered around the piano and sang the good old carols, until it was time for the Elliotts to go home, and for Ruth to carry the sleepy babies up to bed.
Since early fall it had been Sylvia's custom to sit with the family for a time after the early supper was over, and the ”dishes done up”; then she went to her own parlor, lighted her open fire, and sat down by herself to read or write letters. But she always left her door wide open, and it was understood that any one who wished to come to her was welcome. Austin was the last to start to bed on Christmas night, and seeing Sylvia still at her desk as he pa.s.sed her room, he stopped and asked:
”Is it too late, or are you too tired and busy to let me come in for a few minutes?”
She glanced at the clock, smiling. ”It isn't very late, I'm not a bit tired, and in a minute I shan't be too busy; I've been working over some stupid doc.u.ments that I was bound to get through with to-night, but I'm all done now. Throw that rubbish into the fire for me, will you?” she continued, pointing to a pile of torn-up letters and printed matter, ”and draw up two chairs in front of the fire. I'll join you in a minute.”
He obeyed, then stood watching her as she straightened out her silver desk fixtures, gravely putting everything in perfect order before she turned to him.
”What a beau cavalier you have become,” she said, smiling again, as he drew back to let her pa.s.s in front of him, and turned her chair to an angle at which the fire could not scorch her face; ”what's become of the old Austin? I can't seem to find him at all!”
”Oh, I left him in the woods the night of the fire, I hope,” returned Austin, laughing, ”while you were asleep. I'm sure neither you nor any one else wants him back.”
Sylvia settled herself comfortably, and smoothed out the folds of her dull-black silk dress. ”Wouldn't you like to smoke?” she asked; ”it's an awfully comfortable feeling--to watch a man smoking, in front of an open fire!”