Part 14 (1/2)
These things were music in my ears, for I was quite willing to agree with the boys, and the mother's eyes were full of joy as she led the way to the dining room. That was a jolly meal. Nothing was said that could be remembered, and yet we all talked a great deal and laughed a great deal more. City, country, farm, college, and seminary were touched with merry jests. Light wit provoked heavy laughter, and every one was the better for it. It was nine o'clock before we left the table. I heard Jarvis say:--
”Miss Jane, I count it very unkind of Jack not to have let me go to Farmington with him last term. He used to talk of his 'little sister' as though she were a miss in short dresses. Jack is a deep and treacherous fellow!”
”Rather say, a very prudent brother,” said Jane. ”However, you may come to the Elm Tree Inn in the spring term, if Jack will let you.”
”I'll work him all winter,” was Jarvis's reply.
CHAPTER x.x.xIV
CHRISTMAS
Christmas light was slow in coming. There was a hush in the air as if the earth were padded so that even the footsteps of Nature might not be heard. Out of my window I saw that a great fall of snow had come in the night. The whole landscape was covered by fleecy down--soft and white as it used to be when I first saw it on the hills of New England. No wind had moved it; it lay as it fell, like a white mantle thrown lightly over the world. Great feathery flakes filled the air and gently descended upon the earth, like that beautiful Spirit that made the plains of Judea bright two thousand years ago. It seemed a fitting emblem of that nature which covered the unloveliness of the world by His own beauty, and changed the dark spots of earth to pure white.
It was an ideal Christmas morning,--clean and beautiful. Such a wealth of purity was in the air that all the world was clothed with it. The earth accepted the beneficence of the skies, and the trees bent in thankfulness for their beautiful covering. It was a morning to make one thoughtful,--to make one thankful, too, for home and friends and country, and a future that could be earned, where the white folds of usefulness and purity would cover man's inheritance of selfishness and pa.s.sion.
For an hour I watched the big flakes fall; and, as I watched, I dreamed the dream of peace for all the world. The brazen trumpet of war was a thing of the past. The white dove of peace had built her nest in the cannon's mouth and stopped its awful roar. The federation of the world was secured by universal intelligence and community of interest. Envy and selfishness and hypocrisy, and evil doing and evil speaking, were deeply covered by the snowy mantle that brought ”peace on earth and good will to men.”
My dream was not dispelled by any rude awakening. As the house threw off the fetters of the night and gradually struggled into activity, it was in such a fresh and loving manner and with such thoughtful solicitude for each member of our world, that I walked in my dream all day.
The snow fell rapidly till noon, and then the sun came forth from the veil of clouds and cast its southern rays across the white expanse with an effect that drew exclamations of delight from all who had eyes to see. No wind stirred the air, but ever and anon a bright avalanche would slide from bough or bush, sparkle and gleam as the sun caught it, and then sink gently into the deep lap spread below. The bough would spring as if to catch its beautiful load, and, failing in this, would throw up its head and try to look unconcerned,--though quite evidently conscious of its bereavement.
The appearance of the sun brought signs of life and activity. The men improvised a snow-plough, the strong horses floundering in front of it made roads and paths through the two feet of feathers that hid the world.
After lunch, the young people went for a frolic in the snow. Two hours later the shaking of garments and stamping of feet gave evidence of the return of the party. Stepping into the hall I was at once surrounded by the handsomest troupe of Esquimaux that ever invaded the temperate zone.
The snow clung lovingly to their wet clothing and would not be shaken off; their cheeks were flushed, their eyes bright, and their voices pitched at an out-of-doors key.
”Away to your rooms, every one of you, and get into dry clothes,” said I. ”Don't dare show yourselves until the dinner bell rings. I'll send each of you a hot negus,--it's a prescription and must be taken; I'm a tyrant when professional.”
We saw nothing more of them until dinner. The young ladies came in white, with their maiden shoulders losing nothing by contact with their snow-white gowns. All but Miss Jessie, whose dress was a pearl velvet, b.u.t.toned close to her slender throat. I loved this style best, but I could never believe that anything could be prettier than Jane's white shoulders.
The table was loaded, as Christmas tables should be, and, as I asked G.o.d's blessing on it and us, the thought came that the answer had preceded the request and that we were blessed in unusual degree.
After dinner the rugs in the great room were rolled up, and the young folks danced to Laura's music, which could inspire unwilling feet. But there were none such that night. Tom and Kate led off in the newest and most fantastic waltz, others followed, and Polly and I were the only spectators. An hour of this, and then we gathered around the hearth to hear Polly read ”The Christmas Carol.” No one reads like Polly. Her low, soft voice seems never to know fatigue, but runs on like a musical brook. When the reading was over, a hush of satisfied enjoyment had taken possession of us all. It was not broken when Miss Jessie turned to the piano and sang that glorious hymn, ”Lead, Kindly Light.” Jack was close beside her, his blue eyes s.h.i.+ning with an appreciation of which any woman might be proud, and his baritone in perfect harmony with her rich contralto. The young ladies took the higher part, Frank added his tenor, and even Phil and I leaned heavily on Jarvis's deep ba.s.s. My effort was of short duration; a lump gathered in my throat that caused me to turn away. Polly was searching fruitlessly for something to dry the tears that overran her eyes, and I was able to lend her aid, but the accommodation was of the nature of a ”call loan.”
As we separated for the night, Jarvis said: ”Lady mother, this day has been a revelation to me. If I live a hundred years, I shall never forget it.” I was slow in bringing it to a close. As I loitered in my room, I heard the shuffling of slippered feet in the hall, and a timid knock at Polly's door. It was quickly opened for Jane and Jessie, and I heard sobbing voices say:--
”Momee, we want to cry on your bed,” and, ”Oh, Mrs. Williams, why can't all days be like this!”
Polly's voice was low and indistinct, but I know that it carried strong and loving counsel; and, as I turned to my pillow, I was still dreaming the dream of the morning.
CHAPTER x.x.xV
WE CLOSE THE BOOKS FOR '96
The morning after Christmas broke clear, with a wind from the south that promised to make quick work of the snow. The young people were engaged for the evening, as indeed for most evenings, in the hospitable village, and they spent the day on the farm as pleased them best.