Читать книгу Lewie; Or, The Bended Twig - Sarah H. Bradford - Страница 26

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Christmas Time.

"In the sounding hall they wake

The rural gambol."—THOMSON.

And now but a week was wanting to Christmas, and all was excitement and bustle among the little folks at Brook Farm. Lewie was quite out of danger, and Agnes was as happy and as busy as any of her little cousins. The cutter was in constant demand; for when one was particularly desirous to go over to the village on some secret expedition, that one must go alone, or only with those who were in her secret. Many were the mysterious brown-paper parcels which were smuggled into the house, and hidden away under lock and key in various closets and drawers; and there were sudden scramblings and hidings of half-finished articles, when some member of the family who "was not to see" entered the room.

"Aunty," said Agnes one day, in a confidential tone, "I should like to make a needle-book for mamma, like the one cousin Emily is making for Effie. She says she will show me, and fix it for me, and I think I can do it. Do you think mamma would like it?"

"Certainly, darling, I should think she would like it; I do not see how any mamma could help being pleased with anything her little girl made for her."

"But, aunty," said Agnes, as if speaking of a well-known and acknowledged fact, "you know mamma doesn't love me much, and perhaps it would trouble her."

The sad tone in which these words were said brought tears to the eyes of Mrs. Wharton, but still she encouraged Agnes to go on with the needle-book. It was not a very complicated affair, and Emily arranged all the most difficult parts; but still it was a work of time, and one requiring much patience and perseverance on the part of so young a child as Agnes. However, it was at length completed on the day before Christmas, and, when handed about for inspection, was much admired by all her friends. Agnes was very happy, for on Christmas day her uncle was to take her over home to see Lewie, who called for her constantly, her aunt said. Mammy had walked over too, to see her little girl, and she told her that "Lewie was greetin' for 'sister' from morn till night."

The day before Christmas came, and with it the party at Brook Farm was augmented by the arrival of Mrs. Ellison, a younger sister of Mr. Wharton's, her husband and baby, a beautiful child of about a year old. There was great joy at the arrival of "Aunt Fanny," who was very lively, and always ready to enter with glee into the frolics and sports of the children.

As they were sitting at the dinner table that day, Mr. Wharton said:

"I have received certain information that Santa Claus himself is to visit us to-night, and bring his gifts in person. He desires me to inform the children, that all packages to be entrusted to his care must be handed into my study, labelled and directed, before six o'clock this evening."

Many were the wonders and speculations as to the nature and appearance of the expected Santa Claus; but they were suddenly interrupted by Robert, who exclaimed:

"Why, who comes here up the lane? It's old cousin Betty, I do declare, in her old green gig set on runners."

"I thought cousin Betty would hardly let Christmas go by without making her appearance," said Mrs. Wharton; "I have thought two or three times to-day that she might come along before night."

"Cousin Betty" was a distant relation of Mrs. Wharton's, a lonely old body, who lodged with a relative in a village about ten miles distant from Brook Farm. She was very eccentric—so much so, that she was by some thought crazy; but Mrs. Wharton was of opinion that cousin Betty had never possessed sufficient mind to subject her to such a calamity. She was more silly than crazy, very good-natured, very inquisitive as to the affairs of others, and very communicative as to her own.

In a few minutes cousin Betty had received a hearty welcome, and was seated by the bright fire, asking and answering questions with the utmost rapidity.

"I've been looking for you, cousin Betty," said Mrs. Wharton.

"Have! What made you?"

"Oh, I thought you could hardly let Christmas go by without coming to see the fun."

"Did! Well, I never thought nothing about comin' till yesterday, when I sat in my little room, and I got feelin' pretty dull; and thinks I to myself, I'll just borrow Mr. White's old horse, and take my old gig, and drive up to the farm, and see the folks."

"Cousin Betty, who do you think is coming to see us to-night?" asked little Grace.

"I'm sure I can't tell, child. Who is it?"

"Why, Santa Claus himself, with all his presents around him."

"Is, hey?" said cousin Betty; "well, I shall be mighty glad to see him,

I can tell you; for, old as I am, I've never seen him yet."

"I'm so glad you've come, cousin Betty!" said Effie; "we want you to go with us some day over to the farm-house, and tell us about our great-grandfather, whose house stood where the farm-house stands now; and how his house was burnt down by the Indians, and he was carried off. Agnes wants to hear it so much."

"Does! Well, I will go over there, and tell you the story, some day. But I can't walk over there while the weather is so cold; I should get the rheumatiz."

"I'll drag you over on my sled, if that will do, cousin Betty," said

Robert.

The children laughed so heartily at the picture presented to their imagination of little old cousin Betty riding on Robert's sled, that Grace actually rolled out of her chair.

"Why wouldn't it do to tell the story here, Effie?" asked Agnes.

"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 assembled 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 passed 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 buttons 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 Fanny'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 muff "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; "nobody 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 Fanny 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 class, 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 passed 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.