XVIII
CHRISTMAS
Within a week of Christmas Bobby suddenly awoke to the fact that he mustgo shopping. He found that in ready money he possessed just one dollarand sixty-two cents; the rest he banked at interest with his father.With this amount he would have to purchase gifts for the four of hisimmediate household, Celia and Mr. Kincaid, of course. Besides them hewould have liked to get something for Auntie Kate, and possibly Johnnieand Carter.
Down town, whither he was allowed to trudge one morning after lessons,he found bright and gay with the holiday spirit. Every shop window hadits holly and red ribbon; and most proper glittering window displaysappropriate to the season. In front of the grocery stores, stacked upagainst the edges of the sidewalks, were rows and rows of Christmastrees, their branches tied up primly, awaiting purchasers. The sidewalkswere crowded with people, hurrying in and out of the shops, their lipssmiling but their eyes preoccupied. Cutters, sleighs, delivery wagons onrunners, dashed up and down the street to a continued merry jingling ofbells. Slower farmers on sturdy sled runners crept back and forth. Ajolly sun peeked down between the tall buildings. The air was crisp asfrost-ice.
Bobby wandered down one side the street and back the other, enjoyinghugely the varied scene, stopping to look with a child's sense offascination into even the hat-store windows. He made his purchasescircumspectly, and not all on the same day. Only after much hunting offive- and ten-cent departments, much investigation of relative merits,did he come to his decision. Then, his mind at rest, he retired to hisown room where he did up extraordinarily clumsy packages with whitestring, and laid them away in the bottom of his bureau drawer.
Three days before Christmas the tree was delivered. Martin and Mr. Ordeinstalled it in the parlour. First they brought in a wash-tub, then fromits resting place since last year, they hunted out its wooden cover withthe hole in the top. Through the hole the butt of the tree was thrust;and there it was solid as a church! It was a very nice tree, and itstopmost finger just brushed the ceiling.
Now Bobby had new occupation which kept him so busy that he had no moretime for coasting. Grandma Orde gave him a spool of stout linen thread,a thimble, and a long needle with a big eye. Bobby, a pan of cranberriesbetween his knees, threaded the pretty red spheres in long strings. Heliked to pierce their flesh with the needle, and then to draw them downthe long thread, like beads. The juice of them dyed the thread crimson,as indeed it also stained Bobby's finger and anything they happenedsubsequently to touch. As each long string was completed, Bobby wentinto the chilly parlour and reverently festooned it from branch tobranch of the tree. It was astonishing what a festive air the redimparted to the sombre green. When finally the pan was emptied ofcranberries, it was replenished with popcorn. Bobby unhooked thelong-handled wire popper from its nail in the back entry and set to workover the open fire. It was great fun to hear the corn explode; and greatfun to keep it shaking and turning until the wire cage was filled to itscapacity with this indoor snow. Once Bobby neglected to fasten the topsecurely, and the first miniature explosion blew it open so that thepopcorn deluged into the fire. When the last little cannon--for so Bobbyalways imagined them--had uttered its belated voice, Bobby knocked loosethe fastening and poured the white, beautiful corn into the pan. Alwayswere some kernels which had refused to expand. "Old Maids," Bobby calledthem.
This popcorn, too, was to be strung by needle and thread. It was adifficult task. The corn was apt to split, or to prove impervious to theneedle. However, the strings were wonderful, like giant snowdropsshackled together to do honour to the spirit of Christmas. Bobby hungthem also on the branches of the tree. His part of the celebration wasfinished.
Mrs. Orde believed that Christmas excitement should have a full day inwhich to expend itself; so Christmas eve offered nothing except athrobbing anticipation. One old custom, however, was observed as usual.After supper Mr. Orde seated himself in front of the fire.
"Get the book, Bobby," said he.
Bobby had the book all ready. It was a very thin wide book, printedentirely on linen, in bright colours, and was somewhat cracked andragged, as though it had seen much service. Bobby presented this to hisfather and climbed on his knee. Mr. Orde opened the book and began toread that one verse of all verses replete to childhood with the veryessence of this children's season:
"_'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings all hung by the chimney with care In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there._"
As the reading progressed, Bobby thrilled more and more at thecumulation of the interest. St. Nick's cry to his steeds:
"_----Now Dolly, now Vixen! Now Feather! Now, Snowball! Now Dunder and Blitzen!_"
brought his heart to his mouth with excitement that culminated in thatfinal surge:
"_To the top of the house, to the top of the wall, Now dash away! dash away! dash away, all!_"
When the reading was finished he sank back with a happy sigh.
"Now story," said he, and became once more for this evening the littlechild of a year back.
He listened with satisfaction to his father's unvarying Christmas storyof the Good Little Boy who went to bed and slept soundly and awoke tovaried gorgeousness of gifts; and the Bad Little Boy who slipped out and"hooked" a ride on Santa Claus's very sleigh, and next morning, onseeing his stocking full congratulated himself that he had beenunobserved; but on opening the stocking beheld a magic ruler thatfollowed him everywhere he went and spanked him vigorously andcontinuously: "Even into the conservatory?" Bobby in his believinginfancy used to ask. "Even into the conservatory," his father wouldsolemnly reply.
After the story Bobby had to go to bed.
"And look out you don't open your eyes if you hear Santa Claus in theroom," warned his mother. "Because if you do, he won't leave you anypresents!"
Bobby kissed them all and trudged upstairs. He was too old to believe inSanta Claus. His attitude during the rest of the year was frankscepticism. Yet when Christmas eve came around, he found that he hadretained just enough faith to be doubtful. It was manifestly impossiblethat such a person could exist; and yet there remained the faint chance.Nobody believes that horseshoes bring luck; and yet we all pick them up.Bobby resolved, as usual, to stay awake. Once in former years he hadawakened in the dark hours. He had become conscious of a bright andunusual light in the street, and had hidden his head, fairly convincedthat Santa was passing. Nobody told Bobby that the light was the lanternon a wagon making late deliveries. To-night he hung his stocking at thefoot of his bed, resolved to see who filled it. The Tree was not to beunveiled until ten o'clock; and it was ridiculous to expect a small boyto wait until then without _anything_. Hence the stocking.
Bobby must have stayed awake an hour. The room gradually became cold. Adozen times his thoughts began to swell into queer ideas, and as manytimes he brought himself back to complete consciousness. Then quitedistinctly he heard the sound of sleighbells, faint and far andcontinuous. Bobby's sleepy thoughts resolved about the old question.This might be Santa. Dared he look? As his faculties cleared, hiscommon-sense resumed sway. He turned over in bed. Then he found that thefaint far sound was not of sleighbells at all, but of the first steamsinging to itself from the radiator; and that the window was gray; andin the dim light he could see a dark irregular, humpy stocking dependingfrom the foot of his bed. He had slept. It was Christmas morning.
Bobby, broad awake with the shock of the discovery, crept hastily down,untied the bulging stocking and crawled back to his warm nest. It wasyet too dark to see; but he cuddled it to him, and felt of it all over,and enjoyed the warmth of his bed in contrast to that momentaryemergence into the outer cold.
Shortly the light strengthened, however, and the room turned warmer.Bobby reached for his dressing gown.
From the top of the stocking projected two fat, red and white stripedcandy canes with curved ends. These, of course, Bobby drew out carefullyand laid aside. H
e knew by former experiences that one was flavouredwith wintergreen, the other with peppermint. They were not to be sampled"between meals." Next came something hard and very cold. Bobby draggedforth a pair of skates. They were shining and beautiful, and when Bobby,with the knowledge of the expert, went hastily into details, he foundthem all heart could wish for. No effeminate straps about these! buttoe-clamps to tighten with a key and a projecting heel lock to insert ina metal socket in the boot's heel. This was the _piece de resistance_ ofthe stocking. Bobby felt perfunctorily along the outside to assurehimself that the usual two oranges and the dollar in the toe were inplace; then returned to gloat over his skates. He wanted to use themthat very day; but realized the heel plates must be fitted to his bootsfirst. After a few moments he stuffed the skates back into the stocking,put on his bedroom knit slippers, and stole shivering down the steep,creaking stairs. The door to his parents' room stood slightly ajar. Hepushed it open cautiously and peered in. The blinds were drawn, and theroom was very dim, so Bobby could make out only the dark shape of thegreat four-poster bed, and could not tell whether or not his father andmother still slept. For a long time he hesitated, shifting uneasily fromone foot to the other. Then he ventured, only just above a whisper.
"Merry Christmas!" said he, a little breathlessly.
But instantly he was reassured. There came a stir of bed-clothes fromthe four-poster.
"Merry Christmas, dear!" answered Mrs. Orde.
"Merry Christmas! Caught us, you little rascal, didn't you?" came in hisfather's voice.
With a gurgle of delight, Bobby, clasping his stocking, ran and leapedat one bound into the soft coverlet. There he perched happily and toldof his skates.
"Suppose you open the blinds and show them," suggested Mr. Orde.
Bobby did so. Mr. Orde examined the skates with the eye of aconnoisseur.
"Seems to me Santa Claus has been pretty good to you," said he finally.
"Yes, sir," said Bobby. For the time being, under the glamour of theday, he wanted to believe in Santa Claus. Doubts had cold comfort, forthey were shut entirely outside the doors of his mind.
But before long it was time to get up. Bobby pattered across the roomand down the hall to the head of the stairs. Outside Grandma Orde's roomhe paused.
"Merry Christmas, grandma!" he called.
"Merry Christmas, Bobby!" replied Grandma Orde promptly.
"Merry Christmas, grandpa!" repeated Bobby.
"Grandpa isn't here," replied Grandma.
And on his way back to his own room Bobby found Grandpa; or ratherGrandpa surprised him by springing on him suddenly from behind thecorner with a shout of "Merry Christmas!" Grandpa had been waiting therefor ten minutes, and was as pleased as a child at having caught Bobby.
The latter dressed and went hunting for other game. Mrs. Fox was an easyvictim. Amanda he stalked most elaborately, ducking below the chairs andtables, exercising the utmost strategy to approach behind her broadback. Apparently his caution succeeded to admiration. Amanda went onpeeling apples, quite oblivious. And then, just as he was about tospring upon her from the rear, she remarked, in an ordinary tone ofvoice and without moving her head:
"Merry Christmas, ye young imp! I know you're there!"
This was a disappointment; but Bobby bagged Martin by hiding in thestorehouse; and Duke was too easy.
After breakfast came the inevitable delay during which Bobby sat andeyed the parlour doors. Mr. Orde slipped in and out of them severaltimes. Martin, too, entered on some mysterious errand regarding theheating. Finally everything was pronounced in readiness. All the familybut Bobby went into the parlour. Suddenly both doors were thrown back atonce. Bobby stood face to face with the Tree.
It stood, glittering and glorious, set like a jewel in the velvet of thedarkened room. Only the illumination of its own many little candles castradiance on its decorations and the parcels hung from its branches andpiled beneath, and dimly on the half-visible circle of the familysitting motionless as though part of a spectacle.
Bobby drew a deep breath and entered. What a changed tree from the onehe had hung with cranberries and popcorn the day before! The cranberriesand popcorn were still there; but in addition were glittering balls, andstrings of silver, and coloured glass bells, and candy birds and angelswith spun-glass wings, and clouds of gold and silver tinsel andcornucopias, and candy in bags of pink net, and dozens of lightedcandles, and on the very top the great silver Star of Bethlehem.
Most of the gifts were wrapped in paper and tied with green and redribbon. Two or three, however, were too large for this treatment, andstood exposed to view. Bobby could not help seeing a sled--a realsled--painted red. He declined, however, to see another larger articlequite on the other side the tree. By a perversity of will he thrust itentirely out of his head, as though it did not exist, unwilling to spoilthe effect of its final realization.
For a full minute Bobby stood in the centre of the stage, his sturdylegs spread apart, his hands clasped tight behind him, his eyes blinkingat the splendour. Finally he sighed.
"My, that tree's just--just--_scrumptious!_" he breathed.
The interest that had held the circle of elders silent and motionless,like a mechanical setting for the tree, broke in a laugh. Mr. Ordearose.
"Well, let's see what we have," said he.
He advanced and picked up a package.
"'For Grandma Orde from her loving daughter,'" he read the inscription."Here you are, grandma. First blood!"
Rapidly the distribution went forward. Cries of delight, of surpriseand of thanks, the rustle of many wrapping papers filled the air. Aroundeach member of the family these papers, tossed carelessly aside in theimpatience of the moment, accumulated knee-deep. The servants, veryclean and proper in their Sunday best, stood in a constrained group nearthe door, holding their gifts, still wrapped, awkwardly in their hands.
Bobby for a few moments was kept very busy acting as messenger. Bycustom his was the hand to deliver to the servants their packages. Thengrown-up excitement lulled, and he had time to gloat over his ownformidable pile.
The sled he at once turned over. Glory! Its runners were of theround-spring variety--the very best. They were dull blue and unpolishedas yet, of course; but that fact was merely an incentive to muchcoasting. Another knife filled his heart with joy! for naturally thebirthday knife was broken-bladed by now. A large square package provedto contain a model steam engine with a brass boiler and what looked likea lead cylinder; its furnace was a small alcohol lamp. Seven or eightbooks of varying interest, another pair of knit socks from Auntie Kate,a half-dozen big glass marbles, a box of tin soldiers completed themiscellaneous list. A fat, round, soft package, when opened, disclosed aset of boxing-gloves.
"Now you and Johnny can have it out," observed Mr. Orde.
Another square package held two volumes from Mr. Kincaid. They werethick volumes with pleasant smelling red leather covers on which werestamped in gold the name and the figure of a man in very old-fashionedgarments aiming a very old-fashioned fowling-piece at something outsideof and higher than the book. "Frank Forrester's Sporting Scenes andCharacters: The Warwick Woodlands" spelled Bobby. He lingered a momentor so over the fat red volumes.
Each of the servants contributed to Bobby's array; for they liked Bobbyand his frank manly ways. Martin gave a red silk handkerchief whoseborders showed a row of horses' heads looking out of mammoth horseshoes.Amanda presented him with a pink china cup-and-saucer on which werescattered bright green flowers. Mrs. Fox's offering was,characteristically, a net-work bag for carrying school books.
The Christmas tree was stripped of everything but its decorations. Evensome of the candles had burned dangerously low and had beenextinguished. The servants had slipped away.
"Here, youngster," admonished Mr. Orde, "aren't you going to get allyour presents? You haven't looked behind the tree yet."
And then at last Bobby permitted himself to see that of which he hadbeen aware all the time; but which, by an effort of
the will he had madetemporarily as unreal to himself as St Paul's in London. Behind thetree, furnished, repainted, wonderful, to be reverenced, stood high andhaughty the self-inking, double roller, 5 x 7 printing press!
"What do you say to that?" cried Mr. Orde.
But Bobby had nothing to say to that. He was too overwhelmed. Heapproached and pulled down the long lever. Immediately, as the platenclosed, the two rollers rose smoothly across the form and over the roundink-plate, which at the same time made a quarter-revolution. At the niceadjustment and correlation of these forces Bobby gave a cry ofadmiration.
"Look in the drawers," advised his father.
The little boy pulled open one after another the shallow drawers in thestand to which the press was fastened. Some were filled with leads andquoins and blocks. Some were regular type-cases, plenished withglittering new fonts all distributed. One contained a small composingstone, a cleaning brush, a composing stick, a pair of narrow-pointedpliers, a mallet and planer. Everything was complete.
"Don't you think Auntie Kate was pretty good to a little boy I know?"asked Mrs. Orde.
"Did Auntie Kate give me all this?" asked Bobby.
"She certainly did," replied his mother.
Now the family, bearing each his presents, moved into the sitting roomto give Mrs. Fox and Martin a chance to clean up the debris. Bobbyarranged his things on the sofa. Suddenly there came to him the uneasyfeeling of having reached the end. He had mounted above the first joyand surprise and anticipation. It was all comprehended; nothing more wasto follow. Novelty had evaporated, like the volatile essence it is; andBobby had not as yet entered the fuller enjoyment of use. He could notcalm to the point of doing more than glance restlessly through thebooks; he had not recovered sufficiently from his morning excitement tosettle down making his engine go, or to trying his press, or to playingwith any of his new toys. There descended upon him that peculiar andtemporary sense of emptiness, which, being revealed by youngsters andmisunderstood by elders, often brings down on its victim the unjustaccusation of ingratitude.
Luckily Bobby was not long left to his own devices. A wild whoop fromoutside summoned him to the window; and what he saw therefrom caused himto jump as quickly as he could into his out-door garments.
By the horse-block stood a very black and very chubby pony. It wore abeautiful brass-mounted harness, atop its head perched a wonderful redand white pompon, to it was hitched a low, one-seated sleigh on theRussian pattern, with high grilled dash, and two impressive red andwhite horse-hair plumes. In this rig-in-miniature sat Johnny English, abroad grin on his face.
"Look what I got for Christmas!" he cried to Bobby. "Jump in and have aride!"
Bobby jumped in, and they drove away. The pony trotted very busily withmore appearance of speed than actual swiftness. The little sleigh, beinglow to the ground, emphasized this illusion; so that the two small boyshad all the exhilaration of tearing along at a racing gait.
"This is great!" cried Bobby. "What else did you get?"
"Yes, and there's a two-wheeled cart for summer," said Johnny; "and whenyou slide the seat forward a little and let down the back, it makesanother seat. I'll show you when we go back."
Shortly they decided to do this. Johnny attempted to turn in his tracks,as he had seen cutters do on the Avenue. But here the snow was notpacked flat, as it is on the thoroughfare, so that when the twisting wasapplied one runner promptly left earth, and the whole sleigh canteddangerously. A moment later, however, in response to the franticcounterbalancing of two frightened small boys and the sensible coming toa halt of the fuzzy pony, it sank back to solidity.
"Gee!" breathed Johnny, wide-eyed, "That was a close squeak!"
They turned more cautiously, and in a wide circle, and jingled awaytoward home. It might be mentioned that the bells were not strung as abelt to encircle the pony, but were attached below to the underside ofthe thills in such a manner as to contribute chimes.
"What's his name?" asked Bobby, referring to the pony.
"He hasn't any. I got to name him."
"I knew a very nice horse once. His name was Bucephalus," remarked Bobbytentatively.
"I tell you!" cried Johnny, who had not been listening. "I'll name himBobby, after you!"
"Oh!" cried that young man. "Will you?" He gazed at the pony with newrespect.
"It'll mix things up a little, though, won't it?" reflected Johnny. "Itell you. We'll call him Bobby Junior. How's that?"
"That's fine!" agreed Bobby gravely.
In the dead cold air of the Englishes' barn, which was situated in analley-way, the block above their house, Bobby and Johnny examined thecart, admired its glossy newness, and, under the coachman'sinstructions, experimented with the sliding seat. They took a peekthrough the folding door into the stable where stood the haughty horses.These, still chewing, slightly turned their heads and rolled their fineeyes back at the intruders, then, with a high-headed indifference,returned to their hay. After this the boys scuttled into the small,overheated "office" with its smell of leather and tobacco and harnesssoap; with its coloured prints of horses, and its shining harness behindthe glass doors; with its cushioned wooden armchairs, its sawdust boxand its round hot stove with the soap-stones heating atop. Here theytoasted through and through; then clumped stiffly down to the Englishes'house, where Johnny exhibited his other presents. They were varied,numerous and expensive. Bobby's Christmas was as dear to him as ever;but it no longer filled the sky. Another and higher mountain had lifteditself beyond his ranges. The eagerness to exhibit triumphantly toJohnny which, up to this moment, he had with difficulty restrained, wassuddenly dashed. It hardly seemed worth while.
"Come over and see my things," he suggested without much enthusiasm.
"It's dinner time now, Bobby," objected Mrs. English, who had just comein. "After dinner."
"All right; after dinner, then," agreed Bobby. "Bring Caroline," headded as an after-thought.
That demure damsel had also her array of presents, of which she seemedvery proud, but which did not interest Bobby in the slightest. Theyseemed to be silver-handled scissors, and pincushions, and embroideredhandkerchief-holders and similar rubbish.
But when Johnny--without Caroline--appeared shortly after the elaborateChristmas dinner the production of which constituted Grandma Orde'schief delight in the day, Bobby's enthusiasm returned. Johnny went wildover the printing press. Experience with the toy press had given him abasis of comparison.
"My!" he ejaculated at last, "I believe I'd rather have this than BobbyJunior!
"Now," continued Johnny, "we can get all sorts of orders. I'll ask papaabout envelopes and letter-heads this evening."