"Oh, because it is a great deal more interesting, told on the spot you know. Cousin Betty has heard it all over and over again from grandmamma, and she can point out, from one window of the farm-house, all the places where all those dreadful things happened."

Some warm dinner was now brought in for cousin Betty, and the children went off to tie up and label the gifts for Santa Claus.

"What shall we do with the presents we have for papa and mamma?" asked Grace.

"Oh, we cannot hand those in to the study," said Effie; "we must contrive some way to give them afterwards."

And now the children, one after the other, with their arms laden with packages, were making their way to their father's study; Emily and Agnes, too, had several contributions to make to the heap of bundles which was piled up on the study table; and before six o'clock, Mr.

Wharton said he had taken in enough articles to stock a very respectable country store. At six o'clock the study door was locked, and there was no more admittance.

An hour or two after this, the whole family were a.s.sembled in the two large parlors, which were brilliantly lighted for the occasion, and all were on the tiptoe of expectation.

"I should like to know how he is coming," said Albert; "he'll be likely to get well scorched, if he comes down either chimney."

At this moment there was a slight tap at one of the windows opening on to the piazza, which Mr. Wharton immediately proceeded to open, and in walked St. Nicholas.

He was a jolly, merry-looking, little old gentleman, with beard and whiskers as white as snow, and enveloped in furs from head to foot.

Around his neck, around his waist, over his shoulders, down his back, and even on the top of his head, were presents and toys of every description. Behind him he dragged a beautiful sled, which was loaded with some articles too bulky to be carried around his person. Every pocket was full; and as he pa.s.sed through the rooms, he threw sugar plums and mottoes, nuts and raisins, on all sides, causing a great scrambling and screaming and laughing among the children.

Then he began to disengage the presents, which were pinned about him, and tied to the b.u.t.tons of his coat; and as he did so, he looked at the label, and threw it at the one for whom it was intended. It would be hard for one who was not there to imagine the lively scene which was now presented in the great parlors at Brook Farm; the presents flying round in all directions; the children dodging, and diving, and catching, while shouts and screams of laughter made the house ring.

"But who is he?--who can he be?" was the question which each asked of the other a great many times during this merry scene. Mr. Wharton and Mr. Ellison, "Aunt f.a.n.n.y's" husband, were both in the room, and they were sure there was no other gentleman in the house.

Just then Robert screamed, "Oh, I know now! It's cousin Tom! He throws left-handed!" And now the effort was made to pull off the mask, but Santa Claus avoided them with great dexterity, still continuing his business of distributing the presents.

At the feet of Agnes he placed a work-box, much handsomer than that which Lewie had destroyed; at Emily's, a writing-desk, and some valuable books; and when his sled was emptied, he drew the sled, and left it with little Harry, for whom it was intended.

"My goodness gracious!" said cousin Betty, as a beautiful m.u.f.f "took her in the head," as Albert said, and sadly disarranged the set of her odd little turban.

"And now I believe old Santa Claus has finished his labors," said Mr.

Wharton.

"Oh no, not yet," cried Effie; "he must come with us for a new supply.

But I feel a little afraid of him yet. If I only could be sure it was cousin Tom!"

"You need not doubt that, Effie," said Robert; "n.o.body else ever threw like cousin Tom. I've seen him play snow-ball often enough."

And now Santa Claus was taken captive by the children, and in a few minutes he re-appeared, laden with gifts, but this time for the older members of the family; and the products of the children's industry made quite a display, and much astonished those for whom they were intended, the children having kept their secrets well.

And now, as the rooms were warm, old Santa Claus was quite willing to get rid of his mask and his furs; and this done, he straightened up, and cousin Tom stood revealed.

"And how did you come, and where have you been?" asked the children.

"Oh, I came this afternoon, and stopped at the farm house," answered cousin Tom, or Mr. Thomas Wharton, for it is time he should be introduced by his true name to the reader. "And after it was dusk I slipped over here, and went round to uncle's study door while you were at tea. I sent word by Aunt f.a.n.n.y that you might expect Santa Claus to-night."

And now began a game of romps, which lasted for an hour or more, and then little bodies began to be stumbled over, and were found under tables, and on sofas fast asleep, and were taken off to bed. Mrs.

Ellison's baby being roused by the noise, had awaked, and persisted in keeping awake, and his mother came back to the parlor bringing him in her arms, with his night-gown on, and his cheeks as red as roses.

"Isn't he a splendid fellow?" said she, holding him up before cousin Tom.

"A very comfortable looking piece of flesh certainly," he answered; "but then they are all alike. I think you might divide all babies into two cla.s.s, the fat and the lean; otherwise, there is no difference in them that I can see."

"Pshaw, how ridiculously you talk; there is a great deal more difference between two babies, than between you and all the other young dandies who walk Broadway. They are all alike, the same cut of the coat and collar, and whiskers; the same tie of the neck-cloth, and shape of the boot: when you have seen one, you have seen all. But now just take a good look at this magnificent baby, and confess; wouldn't you like to kiss him?"

"Excuse me, my dear aunty, but that is a thing I haven't been left to do very often. I've no fancy for having my cheeks and whiskers converted into spitoons. It is really astonishing now," continued cousin Tom, "what fools such a brat as that will make of very sensible people."

"Are your allusions personal, sir?" asked Mrs. Ellison, laughing.

"No, not just now; but I was thinking of a man in our place, who used to be really a _very_ sensible fellow; and though quite an old bachelor, he was the life of every party he attended, and more of a favorite than most of the young men. Well, when he was about fifty years old he got married, and he's got a young one now about two years old. And what kind of an exhibition do you suppose that man made of himself the other day.

Why, this refractory young individual couldn't be persuaded to walk towards home in any other way, when they had him out for an airing, and what does this old friend of mine do, but allow a handkerchief to be pinned to his coat-tail, and go prancing along the street like a horse for the spoiled brat to drive. The calf! I declare, before I'd make such a fool of myself as that, I'd eat my head! What are you writing there, uncle?"

"Only taking notes of these remarks, Tom," answered Mr. Wharton, "for your benefit on some future occasion."

There was only one in that Christmas party who could not heartily join in the glee; it was poor Emily, to whom this scene brought back so vividly other holiday seasons pa.s.sed with those who had "gone from earth to return no more," that only by a strong effort could she prevent her own sadness from casting a shade over the happiness of others; for they all loved cousin Emily so dearly, that they could not be merry when she was sad. Emily was usually so quiet, that in their noisy play they did not miss her as she retired to the sofa and shaded her eyes with her hand; but her kind uncle noticed her, and readily understood the reason of her sadness. Taking a seat by her he put his arm around her, and took her hand in his. This act of tenderness was too much for poor Emily's already full heart, and laying her head on her uncle's shoulder, she sobbed out her grief unchecked.

IV.

Cousin Betty.

"Come, wilt thou see me ride!"--HENRY VIII.

Cousin Betty was a little bit of a woman, with a face as full of wrinkles as a frozen apple, and a pair of the busiest and most twinkling little black eyes you ever saw, a prominent and parrot like nose, with a chin formed on the very same pattern, only that it turned up instead of down, the two so very nearly meeting that the children said they had "to turn their faces sideways to kiss her." She had some very unaccountable ways too, which no one understood, and which she never made any attempt to explain, perhaps because she did not understand them herself.

For instance, whenever meals were ready, and the family prepared to sit down, though cousin Betty might have been hovering round for an hour or two before, she was often missing at that very moment, and when a search was inst.i.tuted she was sometimes found taking a stroll in the garret where she could have no possible business, and sometimes poking about in the darkest corner of the dark cellar, without the slightest conceivable object. If her thimble or spectacles were lost, she has often been known to go to the pantry and lift up every tumbler and wine-gla.s.s on the shelf, one after the other, and look under it as if she really expected to find the missing article there; and to take off the cover of vegetable dishes to look for her snuff-box, or open the door of the stove, if her work-bag, or knitting were missing, apparently with the confident expectation of finding them unharmed amidst the blazing fire.

Cousin Betty had a very uncomfortable fashion of _dying_ too, every little while, which at first alarmed her friends so much that restoratives were speedily procured; but as she never failed to come to life again, they became, after a time, accustomed to the parting scene, so that there was great danger that when she really did take her departure, n.o.body would believe it.

"My dear," said she one night to Effie, "I feel very unwell; very unwell, indeed; I think it's more'n likely I shan't last the night through. I wish you wouldn't leave me alone this evening, and then if I'm suddenly taken worse, you know you can call the family. I should like to see them all before I go."

Effie promised she would not leave her, and bringing her book, she seated herself by the stove in cousin Betty's room. In about a hour she appeared in the parlor, her face purple with the effort to suppress the inclination to laugh, and said, "Oh, do all of you please to come to cousin Betty's room a few moments."

"What, is she dying?" they asked.

"Oh, no! but just come; very quietly; there's a sight for you to see."

Cousin Betty always tied a large handkerchief about her head when she went to bed, and on the night in question, the two ends of the handkerchief being tied in a knot stood up from her head like two enormous ears. She was bolstered up by pillows, as she declared she could not breathe in any other position, and at every breath she drew she opened and shut her mouth with a sudden jerk. Effie had looked up from her reading suddenly, and caught the reflection of cousin Betty's profile, thrown by the light, greatly magnified upon the wall, and stuffing her handkerchief in her mouth to prevent a sudden explosion of laughter, by which cousin Betty might be awakened, she ran to call the family. No pen-sketch but an actual profile would give the slightest idea of the extraordinary and most ludicrous appearance of the image thus thrown upon the wall; with the enormous ears standing up, and the mouth and chin snapping together like the claws of a lobster. One by one they rushed from the room, till at length a smothered cacchination from one of the little ones awoke cousin Betty, who exclaimed:

"Who is sobbing there? My dear friends do not distress yourselves, I find myself considerably more comfortable."

This "clapped the climax," and the room was unavoidably deserted for a few minutes; but at length Effie found courage to return, and, by placing the light in another position, was enabled to keep watch for the remainder of the evening.

There were some very amusing stories told in the family of cousin Betty's adventures, one of which I will relate here. She was at one time making one of her long visits at Mr. Wharton's, when, getting out of yarn, and not being willing to remain long idle, she began to worry about some way to get over to the village. The horses were all out at work upon the farm, except Old Prancer, a superannuated old horse, who was never used except for Mrs. Wharton or the girls to drive; for, whatever claims "Prancer" may once have had to his name, it had been a misnomer for some years past, and no one suspected him of having a spark of spirit.

When Mr. Wharton came in to dinner, and cousin Betty consulted him as to the best means of getting over to the village, he told her that the best thing he could do for her would be to put the side-saddle on to Old Prancer, and let her ride over. To this cousin Betty consented, not without a slight trepidation, for she had never been much of a horse-woman, but still, as she had known Prancer for many years, and he had always borne the character of a staid, steady-going animal, she thought there could surely be no risk in trusting herself to him.