Part 14 (1/2)

Mr. Cheeseman, heedless of Cynthy's lamentations, proceeded to re-arrange the show-window, trying one effect and another, head on one side and eyes screwed critically. Satisfied at length, he turned slowly and rather reluctantly toward Calvin Parks, who had been standing silently by.

”After all,” he said apologetically, ”Christmas is for the children, and Lonzo is the Lord's child, my wife used to say, and I expect she was right.”

Calvin's twinkle burst into a smile.

”That's all right, Mr. Cheeseman!” he said. ”That suits me first-rate. I was only wonderin' whether it was just exactly what you would call trade!”

CHAPTER XII

CALVIN'S WATERLOO

Christmas Eve. All day a blaze of white and gold, softening now into cold glories of rose and violet over the great snow-fields. The road, white upon white, outlined with fringes of trees, and here and there a stretch of stump fence, was as empty as the fields, the solitary sleigh with its solitary occupant seeming only to emphasize the loneliness.

Calvin Parks looked down the long stretch of road into which he had just turned, and gave a long whistle.

”Hossy,” he said, ”do you know what this ro'd wants? It wants society! I don't know as it would be reasonable to expect a house, or even a barn, but it does seem as if they might scare up a cow; what?”

Hossy whinnied sympathetically.

”Just so!” said Calvin. ”That's what I say. Christmas Eve and all, it does really appear as if they might scare up a cow. Not that she'd be likely to trade to any great extent. What say? She'd buy as much as that last woman did? That's so, hossy; you're right there. But we ain't complainin', you and me, I want you to understand. We've done real well this trip, and before we get our little oats to-night we'll work off every stick in the whole concern, you see if we don't, and have money to put in the bank, io, money to put in the bank. Gitty up, you hossy!” He flourished his whip round the brown horse's head and whistled a merry tune.

”h.e.l.lo! What's up now?”

Some one was standing at the turn of the road ahead, waving to him; a child; a little girl in cloak and hood, her red-mittened hands gesticulating wildly.

”We're a-comin', we're a-comin'!” said Calvin Parks. ”Git there just the very minute we git there, you see if we don't. Why, Mittie May! you don't mean to tell me this is you?”

”Oh! yes, please!” cried the child. ”Oh! please will you come and see Miss Fidely? oh! please will you?”

”There! there! little un; why, you're all out of breath. Been runnin', have ye?”

”Oh, yes!” panted Mittie May. ”I ran all the way, for fear I wouldn't get here before you went by. Will you come and see Miss Fidely, Mr.

Candy Man?”

”Well!” said Calvin, ”that depends, little gal. There's three p'ints I'd like to consider in this connection and as touchin' this matter, as old parson used to say. First, is Miss Fidely good-lookin' and agreeable _to_ see? Second, does she anyways want to see me? Third, how far off does she live? It's gettin' on towards sundown, and hossy and me have a good ways to go before we get our oats.”

”It's not far,” said the child. ”And she wants to see you terrible bad.

Her goods ain't come that she ordered, and the tree's all up, and the boys and girls all comin' to-morrow, and no candy. And I told her about you, and how you mostly came along this road Wednesdays, and she said run and catch you if I could, and I run!”

”I should say you did!” said Calvin. ”Now you hop right in here with me, little gal! Hopsy upsy--there she comes! Let me tuck you in good--so!

now you tell me which way to go, and hossy and me'll git there. That's a fair division, ain't it?”

Still panting, the child pointed down a narrow cross-road, on which at some distance stood a solitary house.

”That the house?” asked Calvin. Mittie May nodded.

”I hope Miss Fidely ain't large for her size,” said Calvin; ”she might fit rayther snug if she was.”