A Daughter of the Rich

By this time the wistful look had disappeared from Jack's eyes, and his handsome face was filled with such a glad light that the Doctor noticed it at once. He shook his head dubiously, with his eyebrows drawn together in a straight line over the bridge of his nose, and, from underneath, his keen eyes glanced from Jack to Rose and from Rose back again to Jack. Then his face cleared, and explanations were in order.

"Why, you see," the Doctor said to Mrs. Blossom, "my wife had to go South with her sister, and could not be at home for Christmas–the first we 've missed celebrating together since we were married–and when I found John was coming up to spend it with you, I couldn't resist giving myself this one good time. But Jack here has failed to give any satisfactory account of how or why he came to intrude his long person just at this festive time. I thought you were off at a Lenox house-party with the Seatons?" he said, quizzically.

Jack laughed good-naturedly. "I don't blame you for wondering at my being here; but I've been here before," he said, willing to pay back the Doctor in his own coin.

"The deuce you have!" exclaimed the Doctor. "I say, Johnny, are we growing old that these young people get ahead of us so easily?"

"I don't know how you feel, Dick, but I 'm as young as Jack to-night."

"That 's right, Papa Clyde," said Hazel, approvingly, softly patting her father on the head; "and, Jack, you 're a dear to come up here to see us, for you 've just as much right as the Doctor."

The Doctor pretended to grumble:–"Come to see you, indeed, you superior young woman–you indeed! As if there weren't any other girls in the world or on Mount Hunger but you and Rose–much you know about it."

"Well, I 'd like to know who you came to see, if not us?" laughed Hazel, sure of her ultimate triumph.

"Why, my dear Ruth Ford, to be sure."

"Ruth Ford!" they exclaimed in amazement.

"Why not Ruth Ford? You did n't suppose I would come away up here into the wilds of Vermont in the dead of winter, did you? just to see–" But Hazel laid her hand on his mouth.

"Stop teasing, do," she pleaded, "and tell us how you knew our Ruth."

"Our Ruth! Ye men of York, hear her!" said the Doctor, appealing to Mr. Clyde and Jack. "The next thing will be 'our Alan Ford,' I suppose. How will you like that, Jack?"

"I feel like saying 'confound him,' only it would n't be polite. You see, Doctor, I thought I had preëmpted the whole Mountain, and was prepared to make a conquest of Miss Maria-Ann Simmons even; but if Mr. Ford has stepped in"–Jack assumed a tragic air–"there is nothing left for me in honor, but to throw down the gauntlet and challenge him to single combat–hockey-sticks and hot lemonade–for her fair hand."

At the mention of Maria-Ann, Rose and Hazel, Budd and Cherry and March went off into fits of laughter. They laughed so immoderately that it proved infectious for their elders, and when Chi entered the room Budd cried out, "Oh, Chi, you tell about the–we can't–the rooster and the hoods, and–Oh my eye!–" Budd was apparently on the verge of convulsions.

"I stuffed snow into my mouth and made my teeth ache so as not to laugh out loud," said Cherry; at which there was another shout, and still another outburst at the table when Chi described the scene in the hen-house.

"Now, children," said Mrs. Blossom, after the somewhat hilarious evening meal was over, the table cleared, the dishes were wiped and put away, "we 're going to do just for this once as you want us to–hang up our stockings; but I want all of you to hang up yours, too. If you don't, I shall miss the sixes and sevens and eights so, that it will spoil my Christmas."

"We will, Martie," they assented, joyfully; for, as March said, it would not seem like night before Christmas if they did not hang up their stockings.

"Yes, and papa, and you," said Hazel, turning to the Doctor, "must hang up yours, and you, too, Jack."

"Why, of course," said Mrs. Blossom, "everybody is to hang up a stocking to-night, even Tell."

"Oh, Martie, how funny!" cried Cherry, "but he has n't a truly stocking."

"No, but one of Budd's will do for his huge paw–won't it, old fellow?" she said, patting his great head.

Then Budd must needs bring out a pair of his pedal coverings and try one brown woollen one on Tell, much to his majesty's surprise; for Tell was a most dignified youth of a dog, as became his nine months and his famous breed.

Early in the evening the stockings were hung up over the fireplace, all sizes and all colors:–May's little red one and Chi's coarse blue one; Mr. Clyde's of thick silk, and Budd's and Tell's of woollen; Hazel's of black cashmere beside Jack's striped Balbriggan. What an array!

Then Mrs. Blossom and May went off into the bedroom, and Mr. Blossom and his guests were forced to smoke their after-tea cigars in the guest bedroom upstairs, while the young people brought out their treasures and stuffed the grown-up stockings till they were painfully distorted.

"Don't they look lovely!" whispered Hazel, ecstatically to March, who begged Rose to get another of their mother's stockings, for the one proved insufficient for the fascinating little packages that were labelled for her.

"Let's go right to bed now," suggested Budd, "then mother 'll fill ours–Oh, I forgot," he added, ruefully, "we are n't going to have presents this year–"

"Why, yes, we are, too, Budd," said Rose, "we 're going to give one another out of our own money."

"Cracky! I forgot all about that–" Budd tore upstairs in the dark, and tore down again and into the bedroom, crying:–"Now all shut your eyes while I 'm going through!" which they did most conscientiously.

Soon they, too, were invited laughingly to retire, and by half-past ten the house was quiet.

"'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, AND ALL THROUGH THE HOUSE,NOT A CREATURE WAS STIRRING, NOT EVEN A MOUSE;"Stretched out on the hearth-rug lay Tell snoring loudly,And above from the mantel the stockings hung proudly;When down from the stairway there came such a patterOf stockingless feet–'t was no laughing matter!As the good Doctor thought, for he sprang out of bedTo see if 't were real, or a dream iii its stead.But no! with his eye at a crack of the doorHe discovered the truth–'t was the Blossoms, all four,With Hazel to aid them, tiptoeing aboutLike a party of ghosts grown a little too stout.They pinched and they fingered; they poked and they squeezedEach plump Christmas stocking–then somebody sneezed!Consternation and terror!! The tall clock struck oneAs the ghosts disappeared on the double-quick run!"'T WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, AND ALL THROUGH THE HOUSE,NOT A CREATURE WAS STIRRING, NOT EVEN A MOUSE;"Without in the moonlight, the snow sparkled bright;The Mountain stood wrapped in a mantle of white,With a crown of dark firs on his noble old crestAnd ermine and diamonds adorning his breast;And the stars that above him swung true into lineOnce shone o'er a manger in far Palestine.

What a Christmas morning that was!

Chi was up at five o'clock, building roaring fires, for it was ten degrees below zero.

With the first glint of the sun on the frosted panes the household was astir. At precisely seven the order was given to take down the thirteen stockings. But bless you! You 're not to think the stockings could hold all the gifts. In front of each wide jamb were piled the bundles and packages, three feet high!

Rose hesitated a moment when the children sat down on the rug with their stockings, as was their custom every Christmas morn; then she plumped down among them, saying, laughingly:

"I don't care if I am growing up, Martie–it's Christmas."

Upon which Jack, hugging his striped Balbriggan, sat down beside her.

Such "Ohs" and "Ahs"! Such thankings and squeezings! Such somersaults as were turned by March and Budd at the kitchen end of the long-room! Such rapturous gurgles from May! Such hand-shakes and kisses! Such silent bliss on the part of Chi, who, though suffering as if in a Turkish bath, had donned his new, blue woollen sweater, drawn on his gauntleted beaver gloves, and proceeded to investigate his stocking with the air of a man who has nothing more to wish for. And through all the chaotic happiness a sentence could be distinguished now and then.

"Chi, these corn-cob pipes are just what I shall want after Christmas when I give my Junior Smoker."

"Oh, Martie, it can't be for me!" as the lovely white serge dress, ready made and trimmed with lace, was held up to Rose's admiring eyes.

Budd was caressing with approving fingers a regular "base-ball-nine" bat and admiring the white leather balls.

"I say, it's a stunner, Mr. Sherrill; but how did you know I wanted it?"

Mr. Clyde, who was touched to his very heart's core by Hazel's gift of a dollar pair of suspenders which she had earned by her own labor, felt a small hand slipped into his, and found Cherry Bounce looking up at him with wide, adoring, brown eyes, which, for the first time, she had taken from her beautiful Émilie Angélique, whom she held pressed to her heart:–

"I want to whisper to you," she said, shyly. Mr. Clyde bent down to her;–"After I said my prayers to Martie, I asked God to give me Émilie Angélique–every night," she nodded–"but I only told Budd, so how did you know?"

March was lost to the world in his volume of foreign photographs, in his boxes of paints and brushes, and a whole set of drawing materials. He had not as yet thanked Hazel for them.

Everybody was happy and satisfied. Everybody said he or she had received just exactly the thing. Tell alone could not express his gratification in words. He had been given his woollen stocking, and nosed about till he had brought forth three fat dog-biscuit, a deliciously juicy-greasy beef bone, wrapped in white waxed paper and tied at one end with a blue ribbon, a fine nickelplated dog collar with a bell attached, and last, from the brown woollen toe, three lumps of sugar.

One by one he took the gifts and laid them down at Mrs. Blossom's feet; putting one huge paw firmly on the waxed-paper package, he waved the other wildly until she took it and spoke a loving word to him. Then, taking up his beloved bone, he retired with it to the farthest end of the long-room, under the kitchen sink, and licked it in peace and joy.

Jack and Chi in the joyful confusion had slipped from the room.

Soon there was a commotion in the woodshed, and the two made their appearance dragging after them a brand-new double-runner and a real Canadian toboggan, which Jack had ordered from Montreal for March.

Breakfast proved to be a short meal, for the whole family was wild to try the new toboggan with Jack to engineer it. Then it was up and down–down and up the steep mountain road; Jack and Doctor Heath, Mr. Clyde, Mr. Blossom and Chi, all on together–clinging for dear life, laughing, whooping, panting, hurrahing like boys let out from school, while March and Budd and Rose and Hazel and Cherry flew after them on the double-runner, the keen air biting rose-red cheeks, and bringing the stinging water to the eyes.

But what sport it was!

"Now, this is something like," panted Jack, drawing up the hill with Chi, his handsome face aglow with life and joy.

"By George Washin'ton! it's the nearest thing to shootin' Niagary that I ever come," puffed Chi.

"Didn't we take that water-bar neatly?" laughed Jack.

"'N inch higher, 'n' we 'd all been goners;–I had n't a minute to think of it, goin' to the rate of a mile a minute; but if I had–I 'd have dusted! Guess I 'll make it level before I try it with the children,–'n' I want you to know there 's no coward about me, but I 'm just speakin' six for myself this time."

So the morning sped. Even Mrs. Blossom and May were taken down once, and the Doctor stopped only because he wanted to make a morning call on his patient, Ruth Ford; for it was by his advice the family had come to live for three years in this mountain region.

The horn for the mid-day meal sounded down the Mountain before they had thought of finishing the exciting sport, and one and all brought such keen appetites to the Christmas dinner, that Mrs. Blossom declared laughingly that she would give them no supper, for they had eaten the pantry shelves bare.

Such roast goose and barberry jam! Such a noble plum-pudding set in the midst of Maria-Ann's best wreath, for she and Aunt Tryphosa had sent over their simple gifts by an early teamster. Such red Northern Spies and winter russet pears! And such mirth and shouts and jests and quips to accompany each course!

It was genuine New England Christmas cheer, and the healths were drunk in the wine of the apple amid great applause, especially Doctor Heath's:

"Health, peace, and long life to the Lost Nation–May its tribe increase!"

And how they laughed at Chi, when he proposed the health of the Prize Chicken (which, by the way, he had kept for the next season's mascot,) and recounted the episode in the barn.

What shouts greeted Budd, who, rising with great gravity, his mouth puckered into real, not mock, seriousness–and that was the comical part of it all–said earnestly:

"To my first wife!" and sat down rather red, but gratified not only by the prolonged applause, but by the enthusiasm with which they drank to this unexpected toast from his unsentimental self.

Directly after dinner Mr. Clyde declared that a seven-mile walk was an actual necessity for him in his present condition, and invited all who would to accompany him to call in state on Mrs. Tryphosa Little and Miss Maria-Ann Simmons. Only Doctor Heath and Jack went with him, for Mr. Blossom and Chi had matters to attend to at home, and Rose and Cherry and Hazel were needed to help Mrs. Blossom. Even March and Budd turned to and wiped dishes.

"I 'll set the table now, Martie," said Rose, "then there will be no confusion to-night–there are so many of us."

"No need for that to-night, children," replied Mrs. Blossom, with a merry smile. "'The last is the best of all the rest,' for we were all invited a week ago to take tea and spend Christmas evening at Hunger-ford."

"Oh, Martie!" A joyful shout went up from the six, that was followed by jigs and double-shuffles, pas-seuls and fancy steps, in which dish-towels were waved wildly, and tin pans were pounded instead of wiped.

When the din had somewhat subsided there were numberless questions asked; by the time they were all answered, and Rose and Hazel had donned their white serge dresses, the gentlemen had returned from their walk, and it was time to go.

"That's why Mrs. Ford had us learn all those songs," said Rose to Hazel. "Don't forget to take your violin."

A merrier Christmas party never set forth on a straw-ride. Mr. and Mrs. Blossom and May went over in the sleigh, but the rest piled into the apple-green pung, and when they came in sight of the seven-gabled-house, a rousing three times three, mingling with the sound of the sleigh-bells, greeted the pretty sight.

Every window was illumined, and adorned with a Christmas wreath. In the light of the rising moon, then at the full, the snow that covered the roof sparkled like frosted silver. The house, with its background of sharply sloping hill wooded with spruce and pine, its twinkling lights and the surrounding white expanse, looked like an illuminated Christmas card.

Within, the hall was festooned with ground hemlock and holly; a roaring fire of hickory logs furnished light and to spare. In the living-room and dining-room, Mr. Clyde and Jack Sherrill found, to their amazement, all the elegance and refinement of a city home combined with country simplicity. The tea-table shone with the service of silver and sparkled with the many-faceted crystal of glass and carafe. For decoration, the rich red of the holly berries gleamed among the dark green gloss of their leaves.

At first, the younger members of the Blossom family felt constrained and a little awed in such surroundings; for although they had been several times in the house, they had never taken tea there. But the Fords and the other city people soon put them at their ease, and, as Cherry declared afterwards, "It was like eating in a fairy story." There was a real pigeon pie at one end and a Virginia ham at the other, as well as cold, roast duck with gooseberry jam. There were sparkling jellies, and the whole family of tea-cakes–orange, cocoanut, sponge, and chocolate; and, oh, bliss!–strawberry ice-cream in a nest of spun cinnamon candy, followed by Malaga grapes and hot chocolate topped with a whip of cream.

After tea there was the surprise of a beautiful Christmas Tree in the library. Ruth Ford had occupied many a weary hour in making the decorations–roses and lilies fashioned from tissue paper to closely copy nature; gilded walnuts; painted paper butterflies; pink sugar hearts, and cornucopias of gilt and silver paper, in each of which was a bunch of real flowers–roses, violets, carnations, and daisies, ordered by Jack Sherrill from New York. On the topmost branch, there was a waxen Christ-child. The tree was lighted by dozens of tiny colored candles. When the door was opened from the living-room, and the children caught sight of the wonderful tree, they held their breath and whispered to one another.

But more lovely than the tree in the eyes of the older people were the radiant faces of the young people and the children. Rose, with clasped hands, stood gazing up at the Christ-child that crowned the glowing, glittering mass of dark green. She was wholly unconscious of the many pairs of eyes that rested upon her in love and admiration. There was nothing so beautiful in the whole room as the young girl standing there with earnest blue eyes, raised reverently to the little waxen figure. Her lips were parted in a half smile; a flush of excitement was on her cheeks; the white dress set off the exquisite fairness of her skin; the shining crown of golden-brown hair, that hung in a heavy braid to within a foot of the hem of her gown, caught the soft lights above her and formed almost a halo about the face.

Suddenly there was a burst of admiration from the children, and, under cover of it, Doctor Heath turned to Mr. Clyde, who was standing beside him:–

"By heavens, John! That girl is too beautiful; she will make some hearts ache before she is many years older, as well as your own Hazel–look at her now!"

The father's eyes rested lovingly, but thoughtfully, on the graceful little figure that was busy distributing the cornucopias with their fragrant contents. Yes, she, too, was beautiful, giving promise of still greater beauty. He turned to the Doctor and held out his hand:–

"Richard, I have to thank you for this transformation."

"No–not me," said the Doctor, earnestly, "but," pointing to Mrs. Blossom, "that woman there, John. Hazel needed the mother-love, just as much as Jack does at this moment."

Jack had turned away when the Doctor began to speak of Rose, and, joining her, said, "Won't you wear one of my roses just to-night, Miss Blossom?"

"Your roses! Why, did you give us all those lovely flowers?"

"Yes, I wanted to contribute my share, and flowers seemed the most appropriate offering just for to-night."

"They 're lovely," said Rose, caressing the exquisite petals of a La France beauty. "Of course I 'll wear one–" she tucked one into her belt; "but why–why!–has n't anyone else roses?" She looked about inquiringly.

"No,–the roses were for their namesake," said Jack, quietly.

Rose laughed merrily,–a pleased, girlish laugh. "Then won't the giver of the roses call their namesake, 'Rose'?–for the sake of the roses?" she added mischievously.

Now Jack Sherrill had seen many girls–silly girls, flirty girls, sensible girls, charming girls, smart girls, nice girls, and horrid girls, and flattered himself he knew every species of the genus, but just this once he was puzzled. If Rose Blossom had been an arrant flirt, she could not have answered him more effectively; yet Jack had decided that she had too earnest a nature to descend to flirting. Somehow, that word could never be applied to Rose Blossom–"My Rose," he said to himself, and knew with a kind of a shock when he said it, that he was very far gone. But in the next breath, he had to confess to himself that he had "been very far gone" many a time in his twenty-one years, so perhaps it did not signify.

Indeed, in the next minute, he was sure it did not signify, for, before he could gather his wits sufficiently to reply to her, Rose had slipped away to the other side of the room, where she was busying herself in fastening one of Jack's roses into the buttonhole of Alan Ford's Tuxedo. In consequence of which, Jack turned his batteries upon Ruth Ford with such effect, that she declared afterwards to her mother he was one of the most fascinating young men–for Ruth was twenty-one!–she had ever met.

Mrs. Ford and Hazel and Mr. Ford had done their best to persuade Chi to remain with them for the tree. Even Rose urged–but in vain. True, the girls had insisted upon his taking one look, then he had begged off, saying, as he patted Hazel's hand that lay on his arm:

"Not to-night, Lady-bird. I don't feel to home in there. I 'll sit out here and hear the music, then I can beat time with my foot if I want to." He remained in the hall, just outside the living-room door, enjoying all he heard.

First there was a lovely piano duet, an Hungarian waltz by Brahms, Mrs. Ford and the grave, quiet son playing with such a perfect understanding of each other, as well as of the music, that it proved a delight to all present. Then there was a carol by all the children, Rose leading, and Mrs. Ford playing the accompaniment:

"'Cheery old Winter! merry old Winter!Laugh, while with yule-wreath thy temples are bound;Drain the spiced bowl now, cheer thy old soul now,"Christmas waes hael!" pledge the holy toast round.Broach butt and barrel, with dance and with carolCrown we old Winter of revels the king;And when he is weary of living so merry,He 'll lie down and die on the green lap of Spring.Cheery old Winter! merry old Winter!He 'll lie down and die on the green lap of Spring!'"

This won great applause, and a loud thumping could be heard in the hall. Jack went out to try his powers of persuasion with Chi, and found him sitting close to the door with one knee over the other and a La France rose (!) in his buttonhole.

"Come in, Chi, do."

"Ruther 'd sit here."

"Oh, come on."

"Nope."

Jack laughed at the decided tone. "Where did you get this?" he asked, touching the boutonniere.

"Rose-pose," answered Chi, laconically, but with a happy smile.

"Out of her bunch?"

"Nope–took it out of her belt," said Chi, with a curious twist of his mouth.

Jack went back crestfallen, and Chi smiled.

"I 'm afraid I cut him out, just for once; kind of rough on him, but 't won't hurt him any to have a change. He 's had his own way a little too much," said Chi to himself.

Again there was music, a Schubert serenade, with the two violins, and after that, the children begged Hazel to dance the Highland Fling as she did once in the barn. Hazel, nothing loath, borrowed a blue Liberty-silk scarf from Ruth Ford; the rugs being removed and Alan Ford tuning his violin, she made her curtsy, and, entering heart and body into the spirit of the thing, danced like thistle-down shod with joyousness.

It was a pretty sight! and Chi edged into the room, while the company made believe ignore him in order to induce him to remain there; but when the singing began, he slipped out again. Such singing! Everybody joined in it. They sang everything;–"Oh, where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone?";–"Star-spangled Banner";–"Marching Along";–"John Anderson, my Jo";–"Ye banks and braes o' Bonnie Doon";–"Twinkle, twinkle, little star";–"Annie Laurie";–"A grasshopper sat on a sweet-potato vine";–"Ben Bolt";–"Fair Harvard" and, finally, "Old Hundred."

It had been arranged that Mr. Blossom should take his wife and the younger children home in the pung; the rest were to walk. Chi, meanwhile, had driven home in the single sleigh.

On the walk home Jack tried what he had been apt to term–of course, to himself–his "confidential scheme" with Rose. He had tried it before with many another, and it had never failed to work. The thought of one of his roses in Alan Ford's buttonhole still rankled, and the best side of Jack's manhood was not on the surface when he entered upon the homeward walk.