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 shining 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.

There were many things to interest city-bred folk on a place like Four Oaks. Everything was new to them, and they wanted to see the workings of the factory farm in all its detail. They made friends with the men who had charge of the stock, and spent much time in the stables. Polly and I saw them occasionally, but they did not need much attention from us. We have never found it necessary to entertain our friends on the farm. They seem to do that for themselves. We simply live our lives with them, and they live theirs with us. This works well both for the guests and for the hosts.

The great event of the holiday week was a New Year Eve dance at the Country Club. Every member was expected to appear in person or by proxy, as this was the greatest of many functions of the year.

Sunday was warm and sloppy, and little could be done out of doors. Part of the household were for church, and the rest lounged until luncheon; then Polly read "Sonny" until twilight, and Laura played strange music in the half-dark.

The next day the men went into town to look about, and to lunch with some college chums. As they would not return until five, the ladies had the day to themselves. They read a little, slept a little, and talked much, and were glad when five o'clock and the men came. Tea was so hot and fragrant, the house so cosey, and the girls so pretty, that Jack said:--

"What chumps we men were to waste the whole day in town!"

"And what do you expect of men, Mr. Jack?" said Jessie.

"Yes, I know, the old story of pearls and swine, but there are pearls and pearls."

"Do you mean that there are more pearls than swine, Mr. Jack? For, if you do, I will take issue with you."

"If I am a swine, I will be an aesthetic one and wear the pearl that comes my way," said Jack, looking steadily into the eyes of the high-headed girl.

"Will you have one lump or two?"

"One," said Jack, as he took his cup.

The last day of the year came all too quickly for both young and old at Four Oaks. Polly and I went into hiding in the office in the afternoon to make up the accounts for the year. As Polly had spent the larger lump sum, I could face her with greater boldness than on the previous occasion. Here is an excerpt from the farm ledger:--

Expended in 1896 $43,309 Interest on previous account 2,200 _______ Total $45,509 Receipts 5,105 _______ Net expense $40,404 Previous account 44,000 _______ $84,404

The farm owes me a little more than $84,000. "Not so good as I hoped, and not so bad as I feared," said Polly. "We will win out all right, Mr.

Headman, though it does seem a lot of money."

"Like the Irishman's pig," quoth I. "Pat said, 'It didn't weigh nearly as much as I expected, but I never thought it would.'"

There was little to depress us in the past, and nothing in the present, so we joined the young people for the dance at the Club.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI

OUR FRIENDS

After our guests had departed, to college or school or home, the house was left almost deserted. We did not shut it up, however. Fires were bright on all hearths, and lamps were kept burning. We did not mean to lose the cheeriness of the house, though much of the family had departed. For a wonder, the days did not seem lonesome. After the fist break was over, we did not find time to think of our solitude, and as the weeks pa.s.sed we wondered what new wings had caused them to fly so swiftly. Each day had its interests of work or study or social function.

Stormy days and unbroken evenings were given to reading. We consumed many books, both old and new, and we were not forgotten by our friends.

The dull days of winter did not drag; indeed, they were accepted with real pleasure. Our lives had hitherto been too much filled with the hurry and bustle inseparable from the fashionable existence-struggle of a large city to permit us to settle down with quiet nerves to the real happiness of home. So much of enjoyment accompanies and depends upon tranquillity of mind, that we are apt to miss half of it in the turmoil of work-strife and social-strife that fill the best years of most men and women.