Part 14 (2/2)

It was a tiny house, gray and weather-beaten; but the windows were trim with white curtains and gay with flowers; on the stone wall a row of milk-pans flashed back the afternoon sun; the whole air of the place was cheerful and friendly.

”I expect Miss Fidely's all right!” said Calvin with emphasis. ”Smart woman, to judge by the looks of her pans, and there's nothing better to go by as I know of. Them's as bright as Miss Hands's, and more than that I can't say. Now you hop out, Mittie May, and ask her will she step out and see the goods, or shall I bring in any special line?”

The child stared. ”She can't come out!” she said. ”Miss Fidely can't walk.”

”Can't walk!” repeated Calvin.

”No! and the path ain't shovelled wide enough for her to come out. Come in and see her, please!”

His eyes very round, Calvin followed the child up the narrow path and in at the low door. Then he stopped short.

The door opened directly into a long, low room, the whole width of the house. The whitewashed walls were like snow, the bare floor was painted bright yellow, with little islands of rag carpet here and there. There were a few quaint old rush-bottomed chairs, and in one corner what looked like a child's trundle-bed, gay with a splendid sunflower quilt.

These things Calvin saw afterwards; the first glance showed him only the Tree and its owner. It was a low, spreading tree, filling one end of the room completely. Strings of pop-corn festooned the branches, and flakes of cotton-wool snow were cunningly disposed here and there. Bright apples peeped from amid the green, and from every tip hung a splendid star of tinsel or tin foil. No ”boughten stuff” these; all through the year Miss Fidely patiently begged from her neighbors: from the women the tinsel on their b.u.t.ton-cards, from the men the ”silver” that wrapped their tobacco. Carefully pressed under the big Bible, they waited till Christmas, to become the glory of the Tree. The presents might not have impressed a city child much, for every one was made by Miss Fidely herself; the ap.r.o.ns, the mittens, the cotton-flannel rabbits and bottle-dolls for the tiny ones, the lace-trimmed sachets and bows for the older girls. Mittie May, all forgetful of marble palaces, stole one glance of delighted awe, and then remembered her manners.

”Here's the Candy Man, Miss Fidely!” she said.

Miss Fidely turned quickly; she had been tying an apple to one of the lower branches with scarlet worsted.

”Pleased to meet you!” she said. ”Do take a seat, won't you? I can't rise, myself, so you must excuse me!”

Miss Fidely sat in a thing like a child's go-cart on four wheels. Her little withered feet clad in soft leather moccasins peeped out from under her scant brown calico skirt. They could never have supported the strong square body and powerful head, Calvin thought; she must have spent her life in that cart; and at the thought a mist came over his brown eyes. But he took the hard brown hand that was held out to him, and shook it cordially.

”I am real pleased to make your acquaintance!” he said. ”Nice weather we're havin'; a mite cold, but 'tis more seasonable that way, to my thinkin'.”

”I was so afraid Mittie May wouldn't catch you!” Miss Fidely went on. ”I s'pose she's told you my misfortune, sir. I order my candy from a firm in Tupham Centre; and I had a letter this mornin' statin' that they had burned up and lost all their stock, and couldn't fill any orders. 'Twas too late to order elsewhere, and I couldn't make enough for all hands--thirty children I expect to-morrow, and some of 'em comin' from nine or ten miles away--and what to do I didn't know; when all of a sudden Mittie May thought of you. She lives on the next ro'd, not fur from here, Mittie doos, and she helps me get the tree ready; don't you, Mittie May? I don't know what I should do without her, I'm sure.”

She smiled at Mittie May, who glowed with pride and pleasure. Calvin thought he had seen only one smile brighter than Miss Fidely's.

”It did seem real providential,” she went on, ”if only she could catch you, and I'm more than pleased she did. Here's my bags all ready,” she pointed to a neat pile that lay on a table beside her; ”and if you've got the goods to fill 'em, I guess we sha'n't need to do much bargainin'. I've got the money ready too.”

”I guess that's all right!” said Calvin, rising. ”I'll bring my stock right in, what's left of it, and you can take your pick. I've sold the heft of it, but yet there's a plenty still to fill them bags twice't over.”

”Mittie May, it's time for you to go,” said Miss Fidely. ”Your Ma'll be lookin' for you to help get supper. Mebbe you can run over to-night to hang the bags, or first thing in the morning.”

”I'll hang the bags!” said Calvin Parks.

”Oh!” said Miss Fidely. ”You're real kind, but that's too much to ask, isn't it?”

”I guess not!” said Calvin. ”I guess I'd rather trim a Christmas Tree than eat my supper any day in the week. You run along, Mittie May; I'll tend to this.”

The rose and violet were deepening over the snow-fields, and stars were piercing the golden veil of sunset. Calvin filled the brown horse's nose-bag and hung it over his head, and covered him carefully with the buffalo robe.

”You rest easy a spell, hossy!” he said. ”This is trade, you know.

Christmas Eve, you can't expect to get to bed real early.”

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