A Daughter of the Rich

"Oh, March, my dear boy!" said his mother, rising from the table and placing both hands on the broad, square shoulders of her six foot specimen of youth, "I 'm afraid I 'm getting too proud of you. Did you get the first Latin prize?"

"You bet I did, Martie." March's rare smile illumined his face. "There is n't another fellow at Barton's, who can boast of such a mother as I have, and I was n't going to let any second-class mothers read those books before you did. By Cicky!" (which was March's favorite name for the famous orator)–"But I 've worked like a Turk, and I 'm hungry as a Russian bear. Why, Rose, what's the matter with you? You look awfully glum, and Hazel, too. Here comes Chi; he's bringing something that will cheer you up. The truth is, mother, these girls miss me."

"Indeed, I do, March?" said Hazel, looking straight up into his eyes and showing the amazed lad tears trembling in her own.

"Guess there 'll be some breakin' of hearts, this year, Mis' Blossom." Chi's cheery voice was welcome to them all for some unknown reason. He came in loaded with huge pasteboard boxes.

"Your arms will break first, Chi," said Mrs. Blossom, hastening with March to relieve him.

"It ain't the heft of 'em, it's the bulk. Valentines are generally pretty light weight. Romancin' 'n' sentiment don't count for much, nowadays, though they take up considerable room." He deposited the last box on the settle. "'N' there's a whole parcel of things come by mail. I ain't looked at the superscribin's–you read 'em out, Rose-pose."

Rose read the addresses; there was more than one missive for each member of the family.

"Let's have supper, first, mother," said March, "then, after the table is cleared, we can sit round and guess who they 're from."

This proposition was welcomed by Budd and Cherry. Rose and Hazel gave a cordial assent, but there was a frigidity in the atmosphere which the outside temperature did not warrant. Chi and March were aware of this so soon as they entered the room, and Mrs. Blossom had known it the moment she saw the girls' faces at the table. She thought it not wise to interfere, but let matters straighten themselves in good time. She felt she could trust them both to see things in their right light, without the aid of her mental glasses.

"Now let's begin," said Chi, rubbing his hands in glee as, directly after supper, he piled the boxes on the table while March laid the envelopes in their proper places before each member of the family. "This top one says 'Miss Hazel Clyde.' Show us your valentine, Ladybird."

"They 're violets–from Jack, I know. He always sends them. What's yours, Rose?" She spoke rather indifferently.

"Oh, roses!" Rose was having the first look all to herself. "The loveliest things I have ever seen. Look, Martie!" Rose held up the mass of exquisite bloom, and the children oh'ed and ah'ed at the sight.

"They 're from Mr. Sherrill," said Rose, trying to speak in a most common-place tone, but, in her excitement, failing signally.

"They are lovely," Hazel remarked, shooting an indignant glance at Rose. "They're just like the ones he sent Miss Seaton last year, only they were formed into a great heart. Papa gave me one just like it; he got his idea from Jack."

Rose suddenly put down the flowers, in which she had buried her face to inhale their fragrance, as if something had stung her.

"Mr. Sherrill is very impartial with his favors," she said in a tone that increased the pervading chill of the domestic atmosphere.

"Why, Rose!" exclaimed Mrs. Blossom. "It is not like you to receive a favor so ungraciously; you 've never had flowers sent you before, and I 'm sure you would never have them again if the donor could witness your reception of them."

"I don't care for them again, thank you." Rose retorted with flaming cheeks; "I 'd give more for this of yours, Chi–" she opened a huge yellow envelope, and took from it a scarlet cardboard heart, with a small, white, artificial rose glued to the centre and a gilt paper arrow transfixing both rose and heart.

Chi hemmed rather awkwardly, thinking: "Beats the Dutch what's got into Rose-pose to-night. I ain't ever known her to treat a livin' soul so shabby as that in all her life. Beats all what gets into women 'n' girls, sometimes; when a feller thinks he's doin' 'em just the best turn he knows how, they up 'n' get mad with him, 'n' turn the cold shoulder, 'n' upset things generally." But aloud he said:

"I 'm glad it pleases you, Rose. Can't most always tell when it's goin' to please a girl or not. I suppose Jack, now, thought you 'd be tickled to get those posies just in the dead of winter. They don't grow round here on our bushes. What's in the other box?"

"Why!" Hazel exclaimed, laughing rather half-heartedly, "it's addressed to 'Miss Maria-Ann Simmons'–and just look, Mother Blossom! See what that dear old Jack has sent her! He's just too dear for anything." She added emphatically;–"I 'd like to give him a kiss for thinking of that poor girl all alone over there on the Mountain. I don't believe she ever had a valentine before. Look! Oh, look!"

She took out of the many layers of wadding a mass of yellow tulips, their closed golden cups shining in the lamp-light as if gilded by sunbeams.

"Sho!" was all Chi said, leaning nearer to examine the beautiful blossoms.

"You 'll take them over in the morning, early, won't you, Chi?" said Hazel, replacing them.

"First thing, Lady-bird; guess you 're right, Rose, about that young feller's bein' 'n all-round man with his favors. Don't seem to be much choice between you and Marier-Ann, 'n' that Miss Seaver. Kind of a toss-up, hey, Rose-pose?"

But Rose was too busy with another package to answer Chi. She grew wildly enthusiastic over the calla lilies that Alan Ford had sent her, and caressed their white envelopes, and praised their pure loveliness, until Hazel, growing jealous for poor Jack and his discarded gift, rose to put the neglected beauties in water, saying as she did so:

"I 'm sure, Rose, if Jack had known you cared so much for lilies, he would have sent you some Easter ones, they 're out now. I 'll tell him to next time."

"Hazel!" Rose burst forth indignantly, "do you mean to tell me you told Mr. Sherrill to send me these flowers for a valentine?"

Then Hazel, stung by the tone and the words, yielded to temptation–for it had been the last straw. "What if I did?" she said with irritating calm, "he 's my cousin. I suppose I can say what I choose to him."

Rose answered never a word; but, rising, took the La France roses from the pitcher in which Hazel had just placed them, and, going over to the fireplace, deliberately cast the mass of delicate pink bloom into the fire.

Mrs. Blossom looked both puzzled and shocked; this was wholly unlike Rose. What could it mean? The children were too awed by the proceeding to speak or exclaim. March looked gravely at Hazel, who burst into tears–it was such an insult to Jack!–and rushed into her bedroom and shut the door.

"I 'm going to bed; good-night, Martie," said Rose, quietly, after she had watched the last leaf shrivel in the flame, and, kissing her mother, she lighted her candle and went upstairs. Mrs. Blossom, following her with her eyes, felt that she had lost her "little Rose" in that hour.

March looked grave, complained of feeling tired, and said he would go to bed, too, as to-morrow was the last day of school and there were two more examinations to take. Budd and Cherry kissed their mother twice, bade her good-night in suppressed tones and crept upstairs. "It's just as if somebody was sick in the house," said Cherry, in an awed voice. Budd's was sepulchral:–

"It's just as if somebody was dead and all the flowers had come for the funeral."

Across the dining-room table, loaded with boxes and brilliant with valentines, Chi looked at Mrs. Blossom, and Mrs. Blossom looked at Chi. The whole affair was so incomprehensible, and the result so painfully disagreeable, that, for a while, they found no words with which to give expression to their feelings. Chi broke the silence:–

"Well! I wish I was one of those clairivoyants they tell about, 'n' could kind of see into the meanin' of this flare-up of Rose-pose's. Don't seem natural for Rose to go flyin' off at a tangent that way. What's she got against him, anyway? He 's about as likely as you 'll find. Beats me!" Chi leaned both elbows on the table, unmindful that he was crushing some of the flowers, sank his chin in the palms of his hands and thought hard for full a minute.

"I know Hazel and Rose have had some little trouble this afternoon–the first quarrel they have had–but Rose is too old to allow herself to lose her control in that way. I can't imagine what made her–" Mrs. Blossom broke off suddenly, for Chi had raised his head and sent such a look of intelligence across the table, handing her, as he did so, Jack Sherrill's card, which Rose in her confusion had neglected to read, that, in a flash, something of the truth was revealed to Mrs. Blossom.

She took the card. On the back was written, enclosed in quotation marks:–

"For I am thineWhilst the stars shall shine,To the last–to the last."

"O Chi!" was all Mary Blossom said; but the tears filled her eyes, and, reaching across the table, her hand was clasped in Chi's strong one.

"I wish Ben was to home," sighed Chi, so lugubriously that Mrs. Blossom laughed through her tears.

"Oh, it is n't so bad as that, Chi. Girls will be girls, and grow up, and hearts will ache even when we 're young. We won't make too much of it. I don't understand the ins and outs of it, but I do know Hazel has said her family thought he was engaged to Miss Seaton. I 'm sure I 've thought so all along, and it never occurred to me there could be any danger for Rose under the circumstances. The mere fact of his name being connected so closely with Miss Seaton's would be a safeguard. Then, too, I fear he is spoiled by women on account of his riches."

"I don't know about that Miss Seaver,–but if it's as you say, I kind of wish Rose could cut her out."

"Sh-sh, Chi!" said Mrs. Blossom, reprovingly.

"Well, I do," Chi retorted with some warmth. "She ain't fit to tie Rose's old berryin' shoes, 'n' I saw her lookin' at her feet that day we was sellin' berries down to Barton's to the tavern, 'n' snickerin' so mean like, 'n' Rose just showed her grit–'n' I wish she'd show it again 'n' cut her out. I do, by George Washin'ton!" Chi rose up in his wrath, lighted his lantern, and started for the shed. At the door he turned:–

"I wish Ben was to home," he said again. "There 's goin' to be the biggest kind of a snow-down before long, 'n' he 'll get blocked on the road, sure as blazes."

"He 'll be back in two days, at the most, Chi; I would n't worry."

"I ain't worryin'; I 'm just sayin' I wish he was to home," repeated Chi, doggedly, and shut the door.

Mrs. Blossom smiled. She knew Chi's crotchets. When there was any disturbance of the family peace, Chi was apt to be depressed, and sometimes despondent. She put away the flowers in the cold pantry, smiling as she tied up Maria-Ann's box:

"He is universal," she said to herself. "I know it irritated Rose to be classed with her and Miss Seaton; but things will work around right with time. I can trust to Rose's common-sense.–Not a prayer to-night!" she added thoughtfully. "Well, we 'll make it up to-morrow." She took up the prize books. "That dear March! What a manly fellow he is getting to be–and so handsome. I wonder–" here Mary Blossom checked herself, laughing softly. "Goodness! if Ben were here what a goose he would think me–a regular old Mother Goose–" And again she laughed as she put out the light.

XX

SNOW-BOUND

They were all on the porch the next morning to see March off. It was not so very cold, but there was a marked chill in the air and the sky was leaden.

"It's my last day, mother, then vacation for two weeks. Hooray!" He leaped into the saddle, and Fleet reared gently to show her approval.

"Don't you get out a little earlier to-day, March?" said his mother, looking up at the leaden sky. "I 'm afraid it's going to snow heavily. Promise me not to start from Barton's if the storm is a hard one; you can stay at the inn or at the principal's. I would rather you remained away from home two days, or over Sunday, than to have you attempt the Mountain in too severe a storm."

"I 'll be careful, mother."

"Better give your promise to your mother, March; she 'll feel better 'bout you 're not startin' out," said Chi.

"I promise, little Mother Blossom." He threw himself off the horse, and gave her another kiss; "I would n't go to-day except for the exams.–I can't miss them."

"Good luck, dear," said his mother, and her eyes followed the horse and rider down the Mountain.

"I 'll go over the first thing 'n' give them posies to Marier-Ann, 'n' then I 'll make tracks for home, 'n' get my snow-shed up before it begins to come down."

"Do you think we shall need it?"

"Sure 's fate," replied Chi, laconically, and went into the barn to harness Bess.

It was noon before Chi had set up his snow-shed, a long, low, wooden tunnel, which he had manufactured to connect the woodshed door with a side door of the barn. By means of this he was enabled, in unusually heavy storms, to communicate with the barn and attend to the stock without "shovelling out."

It was about three in the afternoon when the first flakes began to fall, or rather to "spit," as Chi expressed it, and the snow fell intermittently and lightly until four, when there was a sudden change of wind. It veered to the north-east, and blast after blast, charged with icy particles, hurled itself against the Mountain. Within half an hour it was almost as dark as at midnight, and the snow swept in drifting clouds over woodlands and pasture. When the wind ceased for a moment, white, soft avalanches descended upon farmhouse, barn, and mountain-road, until, by six o'clock, the road was impassable and the drifts at the back of the house a foot above the bedroom windows. Chi had made all snug for the night.

"This beats anything I ever saw, Mis' Blossom. I 'm mighty glad Ben ain't comin' home to-day, 'n' that March gave you the promise to stay at Barton's if it stormed hard."

"You don't think he would venture to start, do you, Chi?" asked Mrs. Blossom, trying not to appear anxious for the sake of the others.

"Bless you, no;" was Chi's hearty response. "March has got too level a head to risk himself 'n' Fleet in such a storm–it's a regular howler of a blizzard. If he did start," he added, "he 'd go in somewheres on the road–he couldn't get far."

After tea there was no settling down to the cosey evening pastimes or employments. If such a thing could be, the storm seemed to increase in severity. The wind struck the house at times with terrific force; the intermittent drift of snow and ice against the window panes startled the inmates of the long-room like the rattle of small shot. Chi had put out the fire in the fireplace before supper, for the wind drove flame and ashes out into the room.

Again and again Mrs. Blossom went to the windows–first one then another, and pressed her face close to the pane; but they were plastered so thick with snow that her efforts to see into the night were fruitless. Chi sat by the kitchen stove, which he had filled with wood. His boots rested on the fender, and, apparently, he was indifferent to the storm. But, in reality, not the creak of a beam, not the springing of a board, not an unwonted sound within or without the house escaped his notice.

In marked contrast to Chi's apparent apathy was Tell's restlessness. Since six o'clock he had shown signs of uneasiness. With strides, heavy and long, the huge beast paced up and down the long-room. Sometimes he followed Mrs. Blossom to the window, and, sitting down on his haunches beside her, rested his nose on the window sill and gazed at the whitened panes. At others he took his stand beside Chi and looked into his face, their eyes meeting on a level as the man sat and the dog stood. The dog looked as if he were questioning him dumbly.

As the evening wore on the dog's pace grew more rapid, more uneven; his tail waved in a jerky, excited manner. At last he lay down by the shed door, and, placing his nose on the threshold, gave vent to a long, low, half-stifled moan. At the sound Chi brought down his heels and the tipped chair-legs with a thump, and started to his feet. Mrs. Blossom turned to him with a white face, and Rose cried out:–

"Oh, Chi! What is the matter with Tell? He never acted this way before."

"Don't know," said Chi, shortly; "dumb beasts are curious creatures. Guess he don't like the storm. I 'll go out, Mis' Blossom, 'n' see if the stock 's all right. Kind of looks as if Tell was givin' us a warnin'."

"Oh, Chi, don't go through the tunnel now," cried Mrs. Blossom, all the pent-up anxiety finding expression in her voice.

Chi manufactured a laugh: "That's all safe, Mis' Blossom. I chained it and roped it down, both–it can't get away, 'n' the snow can't crush it. Don't you worry about me. I 'll be back inside of fifteen minutes." He took his lantern from the shelf over the sink:–"Get up, Tell." The dog rose, but, as Chi opened the door, he tried to push past him. Chi crowded him with his leg:–"No you don't, old feller! there ain't room only for just one of us to-night. Lay down!"

And Tell lay down, with his nose on his paws, and both nose and paws pressed close to the crack on the threshold. Another long crescendo moan, that, at the last, sounded like a sharp wail, filled the long-room, and Budd and Cherry clung to their mother in terror.

"You must go to bed, children," said Mrs. Blossom, her face white as the snow on the window panes, but with a voice of forced calm. "When you 're asleep, you won't hear all this trouble the storm is raising to-night."

"But I don't want to sleep upstairs alone without March, Martie," protested Budd, trying to be brave, but showing his fear.

"You can sleep in Hazel's room to-night, Budd, and Cherry can get into my bed and sleep with me."

The twins looked relieved. "Oh, that's different, Martie," said Budd, with a grateful look. Cherry begged for a little cotton wool to stuff in her ears:–"Then I can't hear Tell and this awful noise." A novel idea, which Budd at once adopted and put into practice. Their mother looked relieved when they were safely bestowed in their new quarters.

About ten minutes afterwards they heard Chi's steps in the shed. Then the door opened slowly, as he shoved Tell aside. When he entered the room Mrs. Blossom gave one look at his face.

"Oh, Chi, what has happened!" She cried out as if hurt.

Chi's face showed grayish white and drawn in the lamplight. His hand shook a little as he reached for a second lantern, turning his back on the three terrified faces.

"Horse stalled, that's all. Had a tough tussle to get him round, but he 's all right now." His voice sounded hoarse.

"Was it Bob or Bess?" asked Rose.

Chi, without answering, turned quickly to Tell, who was pressing him nearly off his feet, and at the same time, lashing his tail as if in fury.

"What ails you, anyway?" said Chi, roughly. "D' you want to get out?"

For answer the dog rushed to the front door that opened on the porch, rose on his hind legs, stemmed his powerful forepaws against the panels and, throwing back his massive head, sent forth from his deep throat a roar that seemed to shake the rafters.

"Mis' Blossom," Chi's voice shook and his hand trembled till the glass globe of the lantern tinkled in the wire frame, "I 'm goin' to let him out, 'n' I 'm goin' to follow on–there 's trouble somewhere on the Mountain, 'n' I 'm goin' to find out where 't is."

All three cried out, protesting, entreating, praying him to desist. But Chi shook his head.

"I tell you I 've got to go, Mary Blossom"–Chi had never called her that but once before, and Mrs. Blossom, recalling the time, felt her heart as lead within her–"you're brave,–brave as a woman can be; don't say nothin', but let me go. Have plenty of hot water 'n' flannels, 'n' some spirits ready 'gainst I come back–"

"Lady-bird, give me the dog collar with the bell you gave Tell last Chris'mus; 'n' Molly Stark, fill your mother's hot water-bag–'n' hurry up; 'n' Mis' Blossom, give me Ben's brandy flask, he didn't take it with him."

Chi, while issuing these orders, was strapping down his trousers over his long boots; then he poured out a brimming cup of hot water, and mixed with it some of the brandy from the flask. He put the collar on Tell, the bell ringing loud and clear with every movement. He opened the door; the dog bounded out into the night. Chi followed him, a coil of rope around his neck, a shovel over one shoulder with a lantern suspended from the handle, and in his hand a second lantern. The hot-water bag he had put beneath his sweater, and a leathern belt girded him.

So equipped he went out into the drifting snows and the night of storm. The terrified women were left alone.

"Mother, oh, mother!" cried Rose, wringing her hands, "I know it's something dreadful; Chi would never look that way."

Mary Blossom could not answer. Her silence was prayer. It was all of which she was capable at that time.

"I don't know what the matter was in the barn, mother," again cried Rose, in an agony of fear. "Chi did n't tell us all, I 'm sure. Let me go through the tunnel and find out, do, mother!"

"Oh, Rose, I can't–I can't!" Mrs. Blossom spoke under her breath.

"Please, mother. It 's all safe, and the wind has gone down a little since Chi went; let me go–I can't rest till I do. You can hold the light at the shed door end and I won't be gone but a minute or two. I 'll take the dark lantern with me–Oh, mother! do, do–!"

"Well, Rose, perhaps it's for the best. I 'll watch you through."

"May I watch, too?" asked Hazel, eagerly.

"No, dear, I want you to stay here in case the children should wake. Come, Rose."

They were gone but a few minutes; then Mrs. Blossom came in followed by her daughter. The girl's teeth were chattering; she looked blue and pinched.

"What did you find, Rose?" Her mother's voice was scarce above a whisper.

"I found Fleet!"

The two women sat down on the settle, holding each other close; and the wind rose again in its fury.

Wrapping a heavy shawl about her Hazel crept away upstairs to the back garret and the window overlooking the woods'-road, which formed the approach to the house. There was a little snow-drift beneath it where the flakes had sifted through; but the wind was felt less severely on that side of the house. She opened the window a few inches, propping it on a corn cob she had stepped upon; then, kneeling, she put her ear to the opening and strained her hearing in every lull of the storm.

At last–she knew not how long she had listened–she heard Tell's deep roar. It came muffled, but distinct. She scarce trusted her ears; but again she heard it, and, this time, in a dead silence, she caught the sound of the bell. Surely Tell was nearing the house. She ran downstairs.

"They 're coming!" she cried, hardly realizing what she said in her excitement. Mrs. Blossom and Rose leaped to their feet. They threw open the door.

"Chi! Chi!" they called out into the night. There was a joyous bark for answer–then a groan, and Chi staggered across the snow-laden porch and fell with his heavy burden on the threshold.

At midnight the wind went down, but the snow continued to fall. All the next day it fell steadily, but at sunset it ceased, and a young moon looked over the shoulder of Mount Hunger upon an unbroken white coverlet that, in some places, was drifted to the depth of twenty feet.

There was twilight in Aunt Tryphosa's little cabin "over eastwards," for the snow was piled to the eaves, and the tulips furnished their only sunshine for two days.

There was consternation at Hunger-ford, for the family were cut off from their neighbors and the outside world of letters and papers.

There were councils at Lemuel's and the Spillkinses'–for how could they gather their forces to break out the Mountain?

There were heavy hearts and reddened eyelids in the farmhouse, for March, rescued by Chi and revived by vigorous treatment, had succumbed to the exposure and chill, and lay unconscious in fever–and no help at hand.