Larry, keeping after Joel as well as he could, found him at the head of the back stairs, and gesticulating wildly to "Hurry, you're slow as a snail. Hush, she'll hear you!"
"Who?" cried Larry, breathlessly, as he gained his side.
"Never mind, come along." He hauled him on and into Mother Fisher's room, dashing up to the closet, turned the key with a click, and flung wide the door, "Why, he isn't here!"
"Who?" cried Larry, forgetting all about Van, and not knowing whom he was expected to see.
Joel's teeth were chattering so that he couldn't answer. "He's got out," he managed to say.
"Who?" Larry crowded up closer and peered fearfully into the closet depths.
"Why, Van," cried Joel, impatiently; "oh, well, he's got out some way. Come on," and he turned to go.
"Van!" exclaimed Larry, faintly.
"Yes, I told you so. I shut him up."
"Oh, I thought you meant in your closet," said Larry, the mad race remaining uppermost in his mind to the effect of crowding out other things that now began to assert themselves. "Well, then, he's here now."
"Phoo, no, he isn't," declared Joel, waving his fingers convincingly; "you can see for yourself. Somebody's let him out, and he's locked the door to cheat me."
But Larry was not to be convinced. "He is, I know he is," leaning forward the better to peer around within the closet.
"Take care," warned Joel, who had good reason to know Van's capabilities along that line, "maybe he's hiding in the corner, and he'll tweak you."
At this Larry, who also had occasion to know Van quite well, bounded back quite suddenly, saying, "I see a shoe sticking out," and pointing to it.
"Oh, that's Mamsie's," said Joel, determined not to believe. Then the moment he had said it he remembered that Mother Fisher's shoes were always kept in the shoe-box over in the corner. "We'll give it a pull," he said, doing his best to speak carelessly, which Larry proceeding to do, out came the leg attached which clearly belonged to Van. But it was limp, and lay just where it was dropped with a thud on the closet floor.
Joel, with his heart thumping so he could hardly breathe, sprang into the closet, twitched away Mother Fisher's long black silk gown, seized Van where he lay under its folds, and got him outside to lay him flat on the carpet.
"He's dead, I guess," said Larry, cheerfully.
"Get some water," screamed Joel, "and open the window;" meantime he slapped Van's hands smartly together and called him to open his eyes, and this not succeeding, he ran over to Mother Fisher's medicine closet, rushed back, and in his trepidation emptied a whole bottle of something all over the white face.
"That's no good," said Larry. The window now being open, he advanced with a water pitcher whose contents he promptly distributed in the same way. "See what you've done; that's castor oil."
It was no time to cast criticisms upon each other, and Joel soon had a cologne bottle, and Larry the ammonia, and in two minutes their united efforts had Van sitting up in the middle of the floor with anything but a pleased expression on his face, into which his usual color was slowly creeping.
And just then in rushed Polly.
"Whatever in the world—" she began, stopping in sheer amazement.
"See what they've done," cried Van, in a towering passion, shaking his head like a half-drowned rat, and he pointed to his clothes, from which little streams of water were running off to join the pools on the carpet. "Tchee! Tchee!Get away," and he knocked the ammonia bottle out of Larry's hand.
"O dear me!" cried Polly, "pick it up, do; don't let it get spilled," as it spun off.
"Now I should just like to know what all this is about," she demanded indignantly, as she joined the group.
"Well, I guess he'd have been in a tight fix if we hadn't—" began Larry, recovering the ammonia bottle. Then he stopped short.
"Hadn't what? Go on," said Polly.
"Hadn't—hadn't—" Larry, not looking at Joel, floundered miserably.
"I'll tell you," said Van, wishing so much of the ammonia hadn't gone into his mouth, and up his nose, and stopping to cough and splutter. "O dear, wait a minute, Polly, I'll tell you!"
But Polly was fixing her brown eyes sternly on Larry and Joel, who stood with his head cast down, and wringing his hands together miserably.
"Now, you two boys must just stay in this room," at last she said decidedly, feeling quite sure there was nothing more to be gotten out of them, "and sit there," pointing to the wide sofa, "till Mamsie comes home, and—"
"No, no," howled Joel; "I'll tell, I'll tell, Polly. Don't make us sit there."
"Yes, you must," said Polly, firmly, feeling that the responsibility that had fallen upon her in Mother Fisher's absence quite weighed her down, "and when Mamsie comes, she will have to know it all," and her mouth drooped sorrowfully.
"'Tisn't any matter," said Van, getting up to his feet and giving a final shake, so that the little drops flew far and wide, "I don't mind it,—I'm all dry now."
"No, you are not," said Polly, guilty of contradicting, "Vannie, you're just as wet as you can be," feeling of his jacket; "run off and get into dry things as soon as you can. Yes, you two boys must sit there; at least Joel, you must," pointing to the sofa again.
"I'm going to stay if Joel has to," declared Larry, after an awful pause in which he had fully decided to cut and run. And down he sat by Joel, who had flung himself in great distress on Mamsie's sofa.
Van started toward the door, took two steps, turned and rushed back to lean over Joel, "I won't ever tell," he whispered, and ran out as fast as he could go.
And Polly wiped up the carpet and put back the bottles and the water pitcher, and tidied things up, the boys watching her out of miserable eyes.
"Polly," came pealing over the stairs.
"Yes," called Polly, back again, pausing in her work long enough to add, "don't come up, Alexia, I'll be right down;" but Alexia, following the sound of her own voice, was already rushing into the room.
"Well, if I ever," she began, pausing by Polly's side. "Whatareyou doing, Polly Pepper?"
"Oh, nothing much," said Polly, running off into the bath room with the wet cloth; "I'll be through in a minute, Alexia."
"Oh, you two boys have been up to mischief," said Alexia, running her pale eyes over the two culprits, "and now you've bothered Polly, and we shan't have time to go down-town at all, and here we all are working ourselves almost to death for our Christmas when Jasper and Ben get home."
It was a long speech, and it had its effect, for the boys wilted perceptibly. That is, Larry did; Joel already being in that state where a greater degree of misery would not easily be noticed.
"It just passes me," said Alexia, provoked not to rouse them to reply, "how you can act so. But then, you are boys. I suppose that's the reason."
"I didn't act so," cried Larry, "and you've no right, Alexia, to scold us. 'Tisn't your house, anyway," he took refuge lamely in that fact, and he swung his feet in defiance.
"Well, somebody must scold you," said Alexia, "and no one else will, unless I come over. Well, anyway,—Polly, where are you?"
"Here," said Polly, hurrying in,—"oh, don't, Alexia, say anything,—they feel badly about it, whatever it is."
"Don't you know what they've been doing?" asked Alexia, with wide eyes, and whirling around to stare at the boys.
"No," said Polly, "I don't, Alexia, but Mamsie'll make it right, for they're going to tell her," and again she cast a sorrowful glance at them.
"Well, come on," said Alexia, turning her back on the sofa and its occupants; "I don't care in the least what they've done, so long as I have you, Polly. Hurry up, Polly, and get on your hat."
"I can't go," said Polly, standing quite still, and not looking at the boys this time.
"Can't go? why, Polly Pepper, you know you said the red-and-green holly ribbon had all given out, and you must get some more so we could tie up the rest of the presents this evening."
"Well, I can't go," said Polly, with a sigh. Then she folded her hands and shook her head.
When Polly looked like that, Alexia always knew it was no use to beg and plead, so now she turned on the boys.
"Now see what you've gone and done," she cried in a passion. "Polly won't go down-town because you're keeping her home. And there we've all had our Christmas put off (Alexia wouldn't hear to celebrating the holiday until the Peppers could have theirs), and you two boys have just gone and spoiled it all."
"Alexia—Alexia!" implored Polly.
"I will say so," cried Alexia, perversely, "they've upset all our nice Christmas; and just think, Jasper almost killed, and—"
"Ow!" howled Joel, springing from the old sofa. He wavered a moment on unsteady feet, then dashed out of the room.
Larry, left without any support whatever, concluded to sink down against the sofa-pillow and bury his face in its soft depths.
"Oh, Alexia!" mourned Polly, but that one word was quite enough.
"O dear, dear!" gasped Alexia, wringing her long fingers together, "I didn't mean—oh, what have I done?"
"I must go after him," said Polly, hoarsely, and springing past her to the door.
"Let me, oh, let me," mumbled Alexia, plunging after her. "I'll go, Polly."
"No, you stay here." Polly was off halfway down the stairs. Alexia turned back to the sofa.
"I don't see why you boys always make such a fuss," she began, too nervous to keep still, and twisting her fingers together.
Larry, having the sofa-pillow stuffed up all around his ears, could not be expected to hear conversation. So Alexia, finding it all one sided, began to rage up and down the room, alternately whimpering that she didn't mean to say it, and blaming the boys for the whole thing. At last, Larry, finding it necessary to get a wholesome breath of fresh air, sat up straight and tossed aside the pillow.
"Oh, now you can hear me," cried Alexia, turning on him with sparkling eyes; "you must confess, Larry, that you've been perfectly awful, both of you boys, and made it just as bad as can be for everybody."
"I haven't been bad," retorted Larry, glaring at her, and pushing off the hair from his hot face, "so there, now; I didn't do a single thing."
"Well, what's it all about, anyway?" cried Alexia, running over to him to sit down by his side.
"What whole thing?" said Larry, edging off. "Go away, Alexia," and he scrambled off to the sofa end, where he planted himself at a safe distance.
"Why, you know just as well as I do," said Alexia, and hurrying to place herself next to him as quickly as if he had invited her there.
"No, I don't," said Larry, with anything but a sweet countenance. "Do go away, Alexia."
"Why, Larry Keep!" exclaimed Alexia, and her pale eyes were very wide, "you must know; and now tell me all about it."
Larry, for answer, hopped nimbly over the sofa arm. "No, I won't. I haven't anything to tell. Go away, Alexia."
"Oh, what anawfulboy," exclaimed Alexia, raising her long hands in horror, "to get off this sofa, when Polly Pepper told you to sit here."
"She didn't either; she said Joel must," corrected Larry, defiantly. "So there, now, Alexia Rhys!"
"Well, you know she meant you," said Alexia, "only she didn't exactly like to make you, 'cause you don't live here."
"Well, Joel's gone, and I'm not going back," declared Larry, flatly, and regarding the sofa with anything but pleasure.
"Well, that's dreadfully mean," said Alexia, leaning back composedly to look him all over, "to run away, now Joel's gone. He'd expect you to stay here, of course."
To do anything that Joel would not expect not fitting into Larry's ideas, he slipped back into his place again, crowding up against the sofa arm as closely as possible.
"Now tell me all about it," said Alexia, happily, and leaning forward to catch every word.
"All about what?" said Larry, sourly.
"Why, all about just everything, you stupid boy; what you and Joel have been up to, and the whole thing," said Alexia, hungrily.
"There hasn't been any whole thing," said Larry, gloomily, and very much wishing he had "been up to something" that had yielded at least a little bit of fun.
"O dear me, how tiresome you are!" exclaimed Alexia, quite exasperated, and picking up the big sofa-pillow to bestow impatient dabs upon it. "O my goodness me!"
For in walked Mrs. Fisher, and Alexia, feeling that in the interview to come she should certainly not be in the right place, skipped to her feet and out of the room, leaving Larry in a miserable state enough to face Joel's mother.
The little widow ran down the road, not much more than a good-sized trail cut between two hard, frozen banks of snow. Her shoes flapped miserably, and with one hand she held the remnant of a bonnet on her head, the other clutched the old plaid shawl together across her thin chest.
Toiling slowly round the curve came a white horse, very tired and old, dragging a wagon that alternately had the wheels on one side or the other tilted up on either bank, making very difficult progress.
"Hullo! Where be ye goin'?" the occupant of the wagon yelled out, as the little woman ran suddenly almost into the face of the old white horse, who, recognizing an obstacle, gladly stood still in his tracks without the sharp twitch on the reins to pull him up.
"Now how yer goin' ter git by, an' what be yer runnin' so fur anyway, Mis' Hansell?" exclaimed the old man, all in one impatient breath.
The little widow drew a long sigh and glanced about her on either side. The hard, frozen wall seemed to oppress her, and she set her gaze on the old face under the fur cap, but pressed her thin lips together without a word.
"Well, ye're there an' ye can't git back," said the old man, twitching one rein violently in an effort to turn the wagon out an inch or two. "Shin up the bank, Mis' Hansell, shin up the bank, and then gimme yer hand, an' you can hop in here,"—he jerked his sharp chin over his shoulder,—"an' set on them bags, bein's th' seat's full." As indeed it was, a collection of various articles, going to the farmers' wives, occupying all the leather cushion not filled with the driver. "Ye've got to; I can't move a mite further," as the little woman hung back.
Her thin lips fell apart. "Are you going anywhere near Harrison road, Mr. Bramble?"
"Hey—Harrison road? Eh, yes, after a spell. I'm goin' first to the Potterses, an' th' Timmenses, an'—Land o' Goshen, I clean forgot,—I'm goin' to your house, Mis' Hansell, I clar to gracious, I am!" He clapped his knee with his big woollen mitten. "There, you hop in an' set on them bags, an' I'll take you home."
"But I'm not going home," said little Mrs. Hansell, creeping as closely to the wall of frozen snow as possible, in her endeavor to get by the team. "And if you've got to go to the Potterses and the Timmenses, I won't ride. Thank you kindly, Mr. Bramble."
She made another attempt to crowd by over the rough, jagged edges of the ice, lost her footing, and fell with her face against the wheel.
"Sho!" ejaculated Mr. Bramble, in great distress, "now ye've hurt ye! Couldn't ye have done as I said? But women have no sense no more'n hens; they must bunt up ag'in' sunthin', blind-headed. Get in, can't ye? Ye'll have to ride a piece anyway, till I get where I can turn round."
"It's no matter," said the little widow, wiping off a few drops of blood that trickled down her cheek, as she got in, being pulled up over the step by the firm grip of the knotted fingers in the woollen mitten, and sat down on the bags of grain, as bidden.
"That 'ere is your box," said Mr. Bramble, when he had seen her comfortably adjusted, and pointing with one mitten over his shoulder.
"Hey?" said little Mrs. Hansell, lost in thought that seemed to be very mournful, for she sighed deeply, and picked at the edge of her shawl where the fringe had been.
"Yes, 'tis yours, I say, your box." Mr. Bramble kept reiterating it, each time giving a fierce nod to the old fur cap that finally settled it well over his eyes. "It come yesterday over to the deepo at Purdy's, but I couldn't get here, th' goin's so bad."
The little widow said nothing. Having never received a box, conversation in regard to one couldn't possibly interest her, so she had failed to hear any reference to herself. And at last old Mr. Bramble, having got the white horse safely past the narrowest part of the road, whirled around on his seat and stared at her.
"Sakes alive, Mis' Hansell, are you deef?" he roared. "You've got a box."
"I?" said the little widow, turning a bewildered gaze up at him. "I—whatdoyou mean, Mr. Bramble?"
"You've got a box;box, I said." The expressman roared it at her so that the old white horse jerked up his tired head and took two rapid steps forward, positively by his own accord.
This wholly unsettling the dilapidated bonnet on the little widow's head so that it slid down her neck, with difficulty being recovered from flying out of the wagon altogether, and the shock of the announcement of the box occurring at the same moment, she was speechless again.
"Well, if I ever!" ejaculated Mr. Bramble, when he recovered from the astonishment into which his steed's burst of energy had plunged him. And giving his travelling companion up as a bad job so far as conversation was concerned, he relapsed into a sullen silence, neither of them speaking till a good half mile was slowly traversed.
And then he felt a timid twitch at the end of the old woollen scarf hanging over his back.
"Mr. Bramble, is that true?" and he glanced over his shoulder to see the thin face of the little widow working convulsively, while her faded eyes gleamed with excitement.
"Oh, ye've waked up, hev ye?" cried Mr. Bramble. "Yes, 'tis true, true as gospel writ, Mis' Hansell," he averred solemnly.
"True?" She had only breath to repeat the one word, and she hung on the answer.
"Sure as shootin'," declared the express driver. He clapped his knee smartly to enforce his words. "There 'tis now," he added suddenly, and pointing with his thumb over his shoulder; "you're a-settin' ag'inst it this blessed minute, Mis' Hansell."
Little Mrs. Hansell turned convulsively, gave one look at the big box looming up behind her, then covered her face with her thin hands, and rocked back and forth on the grain bags.
"Oh, I don't believe it; I can't. I hain't never had a box. 'Tain't mine."
"Well, I'm a-goin' to dump it at your house, anyway," declared Mr. Bramble, "for it's got your name on it."
"'Tain't mine, an' I must git out an' go to Harrison road an' tell Mr. Shuggs that he can come and take us all to the poorhouse, for—"
"Land!" exclaimed Mr. Bramble, in a mighty shout that puffed out his red cheeks like small bellows, "'tain't so bad as that, is it? Thunder an' lightnin', an' that was where ye were goin'?" He was taken with a sudden fit of coughing and he blew his nose violently, wiped his eyes with the back of his mitten, and glanced off at the towering mountains as if he had never seen them before.
"O dear, dear, dear!" The little woman huddled on the grain bags was now in such a bad state at having told her secret that he whirled around to look after her.
"I must whip up Billy an' git there quick, or she'll be out over the wheel with her didoes, like enough," and he slapped the back of the old white horse with the doubled-up end of the reins so effectively that in due time the wagon jounced over the icy ruts of the winding road, and drew up in front of the little cabin nestling at the foot of the hill, the express driver mumbling within his straggly beard: "Well, I am busted, who'd 'a' thought she an' them children was struck so hard!"
Instantly the door burst open and a brood of children, six in number, the baby being left to sprawl on the kitchen floor, plunged out, trooping over the frozen ground, some of them running on the crust of the polished snow lying high in banks—any way to get there the quicker.
To see their mother riding in state in Mr. Bramble's express wagon was a supreme event, and they clambered over the wheels and fairly swarmed around her, as she tremblingly tried to get down.
"Easy, easy there; sho now, can't you let her get down?" Mr. Bramble roared at them, pretending to be very much put out. But they paid not the slightest attention to him.
"Oh, Mammy!" they cried, surrounding her tumultuously.
"You've got hurt," exclaimed one of the big boys, seeing her cheek, and, "Oh, I'm so hungry," said Jane, the youngest, who, since her mother had really returned, thought it just as well to mention a fact she had been steadily reiterating all the morning.
"Hush up!" shouted Mr. Bramble, "and look here, Mat, an' you too, Mark and Luke, tumble out that box. Step lively now." Again his thumb came into service over his shoulder.
"Oh, bless my buttons, I never see such a dull lot," as the whole collection of children, big boys and all, stared open-mouthed at him, without offering to stir from their tracks. "I'll pitch it out myself." And with many grunts, for his legs were rheumatic, he slowly hitched himself off his seat, and laid hold of the box.
"Give us a grip, Mat," he sang out to the oldest boy. "This box has got to go into your house, an' I knowIain't a-goin' to carry it. Come on!"
And instantly the whole swarm of children, wild with excitement, deserted their mother to crowd around Mr. Bramble and the boys.
"The baby's comin' out," screamed Elvira, with one hasty glance back at the cabin door, as she ran to the centre of attraction with the others.
The little widow turned where she had been left alone and sped frantically up to the broken steps, where little Susan, spatting her fat hands on the floor as she crawled along to see what the noise was all about, had just decided to tumble down. But instead of landing on the hard, frozen ruts, she was gathered up to her mother's thin breast and hugged and coddled.
"Oh, baby, baby." She sank down on the steps and rocked back and forth, Susan now spatting her thin cheeks and struggling to get away to where all that delightful noise was coming from. "Oh, good Lord, I can't believe it. We've got a box, Susan; we have, Susan, he says so, but I know he's made a mistake. And p'raps there's somethin' to eat in it, and I won't have to go to the selectmen an' tell 'em we'll go to the poorhouse. But 'tain't ours, I know 'tain't.O Lord, they're bringin' it in!"
And in another minute the little widow, hanging to Susan, was off the steps, the box was dragged over them by the united efforts of the three boys, their progress very much impeded by the crowding up of the girls, who were afraid they would miss something of the progress, Mr. Bramble looking on in great satisfaction. Then he climbed into his wagon, stared at the little cabin for another minute, where they had all disappeared, and drove off, blowing his nose violently, his eyes seeming to need a great deal of attention from the back of his gray woollen mitten.
Down went the big box with a thud in the very middle of the kitchen floor.
"Get the hammer," screamed Elvira, capering wildly, her black braids, tied with bits of string, flying out from either side of her head. "I'm goin' to get it myself," with a leap toward the corner.
"No such thing," Matthew roared at her. "I'll get it. Come back, Viry."
"The axe,"—Mark shouted it high above the din, as he rushed to get that necessary implement,—"that's better'n the hammer."
"Oo—Oo—Scree!" Susan, in dreadful distress at being bound in mother's arms, let her feelings have free vent in a wail that soared high above the crackling of the box cover as it splintered under the effort of both hammer and axe.
"And we can keep warm now." The little widow's eyes glistened at the pile of splintered boards tumbling down on the kitchen floor. "Oh, Susan," and she drew near, the whole cover being off now.
There was an awful pause, every one staring at the smooth layer of brown paper. The supreme importance of the event swept them all into silence.
"I'm goin' to peek first," announced Elvira, finding her tongue.
This unloosed all the others. "She shan't; Elviry's always a-pushin' first."
"Mammy, mayn't I?"
"No, let me." It was a babel in a minute.
"You be still." It was Matthew who commanded silence. "Mother's goin' to look first; it'sherbox," he added convincingly.
The little widow would much rather have allowed this privilege to one of her brood, but it was difficult to choose between the five; so she put out her hand tremblingly, then drew it back.
"We'll let Susan do it," she said; "she couldn't go out to the wagon with the rest of you."
"Oh, yes, let baby do it," cried the others, easily pleased, and in a dreadful twitter to begin operations. "Yes, let baby," echoed Elvira, dashing away from the box to hug Susan, who, delighted at the opportunity, seized one of the black braids in her fat little hands, with a crow that disclosed the few teeth she possessed.
"Ow! Let me go!" screamed Elvira, very red in the face and twisting violently. "Mother, Susan's got myhair! Slap her."
"Oh, no, no," said the little widow, getting the small, triumphant hands within her thin ones; "we wouldn't slap baby for anything. There, there, Susan mustn't. Naughty—naughty!"
Susan looked up in her mother's face to see if she really meant it, and concluding that she did, the black braid slid out of her hands, the string flying off to the floor.
"There, see what she's done! My hair's all untied," cried Elvira, in great vexation, and picking up the old white string; "she ought to be slapped," she added, bobbing her head decidedly, her black eyes flashing.
"Oh, no, no," said her mother again; "why, we couldn't slap our baby, Elviry, ever in all this world," and she pressed her closely to her breast. "Well, come, children, now Susan's going to pull up the paper."
"Wait!" screamed Elvira, the string between her teeth, and doubling over in great distress, "till I tie my braid. Oh, wait, Mammy."
"Oh, never mind! Viry, hurry up!" cried all the boys together. And the other children, capering around the big box, with many dashes and pickings from impatient fingers, made Mrs. Hansell say, "Stop, children; there now, hurry, Elviry. Yes, yes, Susan, you're going to do it," until at last the great moment had arrived, and the whole family was drawn up around the centre of operations, each one scarcely daring to breathe.
"Now, baby," said the little widow, grasping Susan's fat hand in one of her thin ones, "you must take hold of one end of the paper; there, see," and she folded the little one's fingers over it. But Susan preferred to spat the smooth surface, and to crow loudly. So it was really Mother Hansell after all that lifted the veil and opened up fairyland to view.
"Heaven bless me!" exclaimed the little widow. Then she put Susan on the floor, and fell on her knees.
"Mammy, Mammy, look!" the children were hopping wildly around the big box, clutching the sides, each attempting to get hold of their mother's head as it sank between her trembling hands, while she rocked herself to and fro. At last Elvira, unable to keep her hold of the box-edge, the others were crowding her so, and at the same time to attract her mother's attention, stamped her foot violently and howled, "Look!" way up above all the rest of the voices.
"Oh, 'tisn't for us; 'tisn't for us. It's got to go back," moaned Mrs. Hansell, shivering down further between her hands.
At the mention of the box going back, dire alarm struck all the group into sudden silence, and they stared into each other's faces in the greatest distress.
"It shan't," screamed Elvira; "it's ours," and she plunged into the box with both hands, pulling out bundles, which she dropped to the floor, in order to dive for more.
"You hold on," cried Matthew and Mark, seizing her little brown hands.
"You lemme be!" cried Elvira, in a fury.
"No, we ain't a-goin' to let you be," cried Jane. The other girl, who had picked up Susan, who was sprawling in everybody's way, and run over to a corner to barricade her with a big chair turned upside down, now came hurrying back, determination in every line of her thin little face.
"An' I say you ain't a-goin' to either, Elviry Hansell," she declared; "that box ain't yours."
Elvira had no time to retort, "An' 'tain't yours either, Matilda," for she was struggling so with the boys that she had too scant breath to waste in replies. But she whirled a red face over to her sister for a second, while she twisted her wiry little arms in frantic endeavors to get free from the stronger grips upon them.
"Come on," said Matilda, coolly, to Jane, and to Luke, who never would take part in any family quarrel against Elvira, "and we'll pull her petticoat and tickle her legs. Then she'll let go."
"That's not fair," said Luke, glowering at her.
"Huh, I don't care."
"An' 'tis, too," cried Matilda, gleefully. "Come on, Jane, you tickle one leg, and I'll tickle the other, and then she's got to let go."
"Ow," cried Elvira, who knew quite well what to expect from the tickling process, and tucking up first one leg, then the other. "Go 'way, I'll kick dreadful!"
"She will," said Jane, fearfully, who also knew what to expect, as she and Matilda crouched on the floor, with fingers all ready for the attack.
"Huh! S'posin' she does? 'Fraid-cat," said Matilda, scornfully, "can't you scrouge back?"
"No, I can't," said Jane, truthfully, "not in time."
"Then, I tell you." Matilda slid off on the old floor, holding Jane's calico apron-end. "I'll tell you; you tickle first, an' when she's kicking you, I'll tickle the other leg, and she can't—"
"You tickle first," said Jane, interrupting.
"All right, I will," promised Matilda; "only you're so afraid, you won't tickle in time."
"Yes, I will," said Jane; "as long as she ain't kickin' me, I don't care."
"Well, come on," and Matilda slid cautiously up behind the ragged little shoes that ended Elvira's legs, and, understanding through long experience how to bide her time, she bestowed such stinging little nips on the nearest red woollen stocking, that Elvira sent it out with a spiteful kick, just too short to reach the attacking party, who took a long slide back on the floor. And having the same attention now being paid to her other woollen leg, and her two hands full with the boys, it was easy to see that Elvira would soon be pushed quite away from her vantage ground by the big box.
Meantime Susan had crawled over her barricade, with mind intent on joining the family party again around the big box, but, meeting a large wad of paper, she changed her plan, and sat placidly still, chewing it into bits, which she spit out of her mouth with happy little crows.
And now, with four good pairs of hands busy at unpacking, why, it is needless to say that the big box was soon to be quite empty. Elvira ran around and around the sides, trying to crowd herself in somewhere. But they wouldn't let her in, nor Luke either, who they quite well knew would give her up his place as soon as he got it.
"I don't care a single bit," at last cried Elvira, finding all her efforts useless; "I'll take the bundles an' open 'em, so there!" with a dash at the nearest one on the floor.
"No—sir—ee!" exclaimed Matthew, flying away from the big box to pursue her; "we're goin' to open 'em all together. Drop that, now, Viry Hansell!"
But easier said than done. Elvira, clutching the big bundle, raced around and around the kitchen, Matthew after her, till, in an unwary moment, she turned too suddenly; over she went, coming flat down on Susan, with her big wad of paper in her mouth.
"Now, then," cried Matthew, angrily, "see what you've done!" And stopping first to pick up the baby, it gave Elvira just the time she wanted. But where should she fly?
Just then a gust of wind answered her. It blew the crazy old door, always loose on its hinges, free, and with a whoop she pushed it wide, and flew out with her prize.
"All right. Now you won't come in again," declared Matthew, decidedly, who had set Susan in her mother's lap, and slamming the door, he pushed an old nail into the hole over the latch. "That fixes you, Miss Elviry Hansell," and back he went to the interrupted scene of his operations.
"Where's Elviry?" asked Luke, anxiously, as the bustle went on.
"Outdoors," said Matthew, concisely.
"Outdoors?" repeated Luke. "It's cold there."
"Well, she can run and keep warm. I'm goin' to let her in, in a minute. Now, then, we've everythin' out," peering into the box-depth.
"Let's get into a ring round Mammy an' open 'em one at a time," said Mark.
"All right," said Matthew, approvingly. "Come on, move the bundles. All hands now. Take hold, Luke."
But Luke stood quite still. "She can't keep warm a-runnin'," he said.
"Yes, she can; and besides, she's a naughty girl. She's always a naughty girl," said Matthew. "Come ahead, Luke, I'll take care of Elviry, an' let her in, in a minute, I tell you."
But Luke preferred to see to the matter himself. So, in the midst of the bustle attendant upon getting ready to open the bundles, he slid out, with Mrs. Hansell's old black shawl, and scampered around the corner of the house.
"Where be you, Elviry?" he cried, under his breath, and wishing he could put the old shawl around himself.
"Here," said a voice, and looking off, he jumped, for there on a high snowbank, back of the old pump, was a boy in a big overcoat with a red woollen tippet tied around his head.
Luke took one good look, then sprang for the house.
"Oh, you silly thing," cried Elvira's voice, "it's me! Come here, Luke!"
It was so unmistakably Elvira's voice that Luke stared again, and, rubbing his eyes at every step, he stumbled up, putting the old shawl under his arm.
"What you got on?" he gasped, staring wildly at her.
"Hee-hee-hee!" giggled Elvira, drumming her old shoes against the rutty snowbank. "Come up here, an' I'll tell you."
As Luke wouldn't be told until he got up there, he lost no time in doing so, and was soon beside her, with the whites of his eyes showing generously in a prolonged stare at the overcoat and red woollen tippet.
"Whatyougot?" demanded Elvira, feeling quite elegant and sociable, and smoothing down the overcoat front with contented fingers.
"Mammy's shawl—for you," said Luke.
"I don't want it," said Elvira, picking at the end of the woollen tippet with her little finger quirked up elegantly. "Put it on yourself," which Luke was only too glad to do.
"Where'd you get 'em?" gasped Luke, forgetting in his worry over Elvira's being out in the cold, any big bundle she might have had in possession at the time of her departure and laying fearful fingers on the magnificent coat-sleeve.
"O dear, hee-hee-hee!" Elvira went off into a giggle again. And she swung her feet smartly back and forth. "Why, see there, Luke Hansell!" She flapped the coat collar back suddenly. "See there!" she repeated.
"Where?" said Luke, stupidly.
"Why, there, you silly thing, see that paper! 'For Biggest Boy.' I know. I've spelled it all out."
"Well, I don't see," began Luke, blankly, huddling up in the old shawl and wishing it was bigger.
"Oh, you, I'd like to shake you, Luke!" cried Elvira, twisting her hands together nervously; "it's just as bad as it can be to be so stupid. Ioughtto shake you."
"You may," said Luke, humbly, who had given that answer many times to Elvira, but had never yet received the shaking.
"'Twouldn't be any use, you'd be just as stupid," she said with a sigh. "Well, Matthew's our biggest boy, ain't he?"
"Yes," said Luke, "he is."
"Well, an' so this coat an' tippet's meant for him," said Elvira, composedly, and drawing her cold fingers well up within the thick sleeves.
"That coat for Matthew!" cried Luke, slipping off from his snowy perch; "an' that tippet, too!" With that he lost his head completely, and, getting entangled in the ragged fringe of the shawl, over he went, rolling down against the frozen pump.
Meantime the heads of all the children remaining in the old kitchen, except that of Susan, who had squirmed out of her mother's lap to the delight of her paper-chewing again, were pushed tight up over Matthew's shoulder, as he laboriously spelled out a letter found in the midst of the bundle-opening.
"'Mrs. Hansell'—that's Mother," explained Matthew.
"Yes, yes, we know," said Matilda, scornfully; "go on."
"Well, stop pinching me," demanded Matthew, dropping his hand with the letter in his lap to turn a pair of indignant black eyes upon her.
"I didn't," said Matilda, but she ducked nevertheless; "it was Jane."
"Oh, what a story; I didn't neither," said Jane, with round eyes at her.
"Well, do you get right straight down, Matilda Hansell. You ain't goin' to look over, now."
"I won't get down. And I will look too," declared Matilda, savagely.
"Let's see you." With that Matthew shifted his seat on the floor; seeing which, Jane nimbly slipped into Matilda's place.
"Oh, now, that's my place, Jane Hansell," cried Matilda, with a very red face and blazing eyes.
"No, 'tain't," said Matthew, "that's Jane's. Now you keep still, or I'll put you out along with Elviry."
"I'll tell Mother you put Elviry out," said Matilda, with venom.
"Well, you needn't," said Matthew, composedly; "an' she ain't cold, 'cause Luke's took her out Mammy's big shawl. I seen him."
"'Mrs. Hansell,'" and he fell to reading the letter again. "'I re-mem, m-e-m,'—yes, that's it,—'ber, b-e-r—remember you did my wash—washing last summer. You a-p-p-e-a-r-e-d—'" Matthew scratched his head, looked sideways at the word, then full in front, with great determination, then gave it up as a bad job, and slid over it, hoping the children wouldn't notice it.
"Elviry'd read that," said Matilda, "as quick's anythin'."
"'To have a g-r-e-a-t great many c-h-i-l-d-r-e-n, so I t-h-o-u-g-h-t,'"—again Matthew scratched his head and gave great diligence to the word, but was forced to relinquish it also, plunging on,—"'I would send you a box.'" That was plain enough, especially as the box was there before them. "'Some of the a-r-t-i-c-l-e-s—' What in the world is that?" cried Matthew, in despair.
"Go on," cried Matilda; "p'raps the rest will tell."
So Matthew hastened on, "'are s-e-l-e-c-t-e-d—'" Here Matthew felt obliged to omit two lines. "'The o-v-e-r-c-o-a-t,'"—somehow Matthew knew by intuition what that spelt,—"'and the red t-i-p-p-e-t are for your biggest boy—'" Down went the letter to the floor, to be pounced on by Matilda's greedy fingers. Matthew, regardless of this, swept Jane aside, and pawing each bundle this way and that, twitched the strings off, making havoc generally in the piles of presents.
"'Tain't here; she's forgotten to send it," he howled, and, "biggest boy" though he was, he threw himself flat on the floor and cried as hard as he could. Everybody stopped in dismay to hear him.
"Hee-hee-hee!" giggled a voice close to the broken window-pane. Elvira flapped up both arms in the overcoat sleeves, and bobbed her head, tied up in the red tippet.
"Oh!" screamed all the children in such a voice that Matthew raised his head a minute. The next he was flinging wide the crazy old door.
"Don't you wish you may get 'em?" screamed Elvira, making quick time off up the bank, and flapping the coat sleeves derisively.
"That's mine, that coat and tippet!" screamed Matthew, flying after her; "mine—mine!"
Matilda, clutching the precious letter in her greedy fingers, said quite importantly, "Now, children, you can come and look over me while I read it."
"Children!" snorted Mark, in a fury. "I'm twice as big as you. Give that letter here, Tilly Hansell," making a dash for it.
"I ain't a-goin' to, ain't, ain't," screamed Matilda, in a fright, and commencing a mad rush around the kitchen. Then, seeing Mark gaining on her, and Jane running to head her off and deliver her up to him, she turned suddenly and flung the letter into the little widow's lap, where she still crouched on the floor.
"It's Mammy's letter, anyway; 'tain't yours," she cried triumphantly.
"Mammy, can't I read it?" cried Mark, throwing himself down by her side, and spreading his red, chapped hand over the letter.
"Read what?" said Mrs. Hansell, lifting her dazed face.
"Your letter. 'Twas in the box," said Mark, clapping his other hand on it, too, and keeping a sharp lookout for Matilda's next move.
"Mayn't I? I had it before he did, Mammy." Matilda flung herself down by the little woman's side. "Mark's awful mean—he's always pickin' and grabbin'."
"I don't know what you mean, children," said the little widow, turning perplexed eyes from one to the other.
"Well, I'll tell you," cried Mark. "Now keep still, Matilda. You've got a letter, Mammy, in the box, and mayn't I read it?"
"I've got a letter?" repeated little Mrs. Hansell, in a bewildered way.
"Yes, yes," cried Matilda, impatiently. "Now, Mark Hansell, it's mine; I had it first." With that she slapped his red hands with her two little fists. "Anyhow, I'll keep mine on top of yours," suiting the action to the words.
"You won't get the letter," said Mark, with a grin, flattening his hands tightly over it. "Mammy, mayn't I read it? Do hurry an' say yes. Tilly's actin' just awful."
"I've got a letter?" repeated Mrs. Hansell, looking around the old kitchen. When her glance reached the big box, and pile of bundles scattered about, she clasped her hands and burst into tears. "It's too good to be true," she cried; "I can't believe it."
"Why, the box is there. See it," and Mark unguardedly hopped to his feet, ran up to it, and slapped it triumphantly with a resounding thwack.
"There—Mark Hansell, I've got it!" He turned to see Matilda, too excited to keep still, waving the letter, and hopping from one foot to the other. When she saw Mark coming, she wisely took refuge under her mother's arm, within which she tucked the letter, gripped fast in her hand.
Mrs. Hansell sat up suddenly. "Did you say there was a letter come in that box?" she demanded, unwonted energy coming into her pale, tired eyes.
"Yes, I've been a-tellin' you so for ever so long," said Mark, in great chagrin, "an' now Tilly's grabbed it away from me."
"I didn't; I had it before," said Matilda, squirming up tightly to her mother.
"Give me that letter," said her mother.
Matilda, with anxious eyes on Mark, set the letter, now much wrinkled, in her mother's thin hand, and held her breath in suspense.
"Well, as Matthew ain't here," casting a glance around the kitchen, "you're the next biggest, Mark, so you may read it," at last said Mrs. Hansell.
"Ow!" grumbled Matilda, very much discomfited.
Mark, too jubilant to get the letter, wasted no time in his triumph, but, sitting down on the floor in front of his mother, spread it out, and began his attempt to find out what it said. Jane came up and planted herself by his side.
"'Mrs. Hansell,'" read Mark, quite fluently.
"Matthew read that," said Matilda, sourly.
"You stop," said Mark, without looking at her; "I'm reading this to Mammy. 'Mrs. Hansell, I remember you did my washing last summer.'"
"Hoh! He ain't readin'; he's only sayin' what Matthew read, Mammy. Mammy, Matthew's read all that." Matilda got up to her knees and hugged her mother around the throat.
"Sit down," said Mrs. Hansell. The conviction that she really had a box had been slow in growing, but now that she was sure of it, it was quite time to set up authority equal to such magnificence.
Matilda slid down meekly, her arms falling away in amazement to her lap.
"'You a-p-p-e-a-r-e-d—'" Mark stuck fast on the word that had floored Matthew, and helplessly shook his head.
"What is it?" demanded his mother. Since she really had a letter, she was going to have every word of it.
So Mark began again, but it was no use. Flounder and guess as he might, it was impossible to say what that dreadful assortment of letters might mean.
"Oh, well, if you can't read it, Mark," said Mrs. Hansell, coolly, "I must get some one who can."
"Let me try, Mammy, let me," begged Matilda, with two eager little hands thrust out.
"I can read the next words," declared Mark, hanging on to the letter like grim death.
"No, the next ones won't do. I must have the whole of the letter," said Mrs. Hansell, with great dignity. "Yes, you can try now, Matilda," and she picked the sheet from Mark's hand, to be hungrily seized by Matilda.
"She can't read any better'n a pig," said Mark in great scorn. "Now, what is it, Matilda Hansell?"
Matilda turned her shoulders on him, and spelled backward and forward, up and down, with the greatest vigor, but all to no purpose. Her face was red as fire, and she had all she could do to keep from crying, but still she struggled on.
"No, that won't do. You can't read it either," said Mrs. Hansell at length, in the midst of Mark's "What did I tell you, Mammy? Ho! Ho!"
"Now, children, it's just this way," she continued, "some one has got to read that letter, 'cause it explains th' whole thing,—th' box an' all,—so one of you may take it down to the minister an' ask him to please read it for me."
"Oh, let me, Mammy, let me," cried Matilda, seizing her mother's arm.
"No, me; I'm goin'; I'm the biggest," said Mark, having no relish that Matilda should see the inside of the parson's house before he did. Besides, on that important errand!
"Yes, I'm not sure but you ought to go, seem' Matthew ain't here," said Mrs. Hansell.
"O dear!" Matilda flung herself flat on the floor with such wails that Susan crept up, her mouth full of chewed paper, to see what it was all about.
"Hush making such a noise! Well, you may go, too," said their mother. "Oh, mercy me, what you been a-eatin', Susan? Spit it right out this minute," as she gathered her up in her arms.
"An' I'm a-goin' to carry th' letter," declared Matilda, racing up with her tattered old hood and the remnant of a black cloak, "so there!" bobbing her head at Mark.
"No such thing. I shall carry it; I'm the biggest," said Mark, decidedly.
"So you always say," cried Matilda, fretfully, and taking out a pin from her mouth, she brought the two sides of the hood together in a fashion that kept it on at least.
"Well, an' I am," said Mark, "so I always shall say it."
"Mammy, can't I carry the letter part way to the minister's?" begged Matilda, running over to her mother.
"You're not goin' to," declared Mark, stiffly, and marching off to the door.
"What is it?" asked Mrs. Hansell, poking out with her finger the chewed wads of paper that appeared to be the last packed away in Susan's mouth. "Dear me, it's a wonder you ain't choked to death. What'd you say? Oh, yes, you may carry it part way. There, there!" as she set the squirming baby straight on her lap.
"There, Mammy says I can," Matilda shouted triumphantly, and spinning around on one set of toes, till the old hood slipped away from the pin and fell to the floor.
"Did you, Mammy?" cried Mark, running back to Mrs. Hansell.
"Did I what?" asked his mother. "Dear me, I wonder how much this child has swallowed."
"Say Matilda could carry the letter part way?"
"Yes, I did. Now hurry along an' behave, both of you. An' be quick, or I'll send Jane after all, and keep you to home."
This would be so much worse than giving up the letter for half the distance, that Mark took himself off without delay. Matilda scuttled after and slammed the old door as tight as it would shut.
It was certainly an hour by the old clock that wheezed crazily in the corner, and struck whatever time it chose, when steps were heard coming up the frozen path. The door burst open, and in rushed Matilda and Mark, and after them, at a slower pace, as befitted his calling, Mr. St. John, the minister of the mountain parish. The rest of the family sat in gloomy or impatient silence around the big box. All but Matthew; he was radiant in an overcoat, that, had anybody attempted to fit to him, certainly couldn't have been more of a success. And all around his neck was tied a thick, red woollen tippet that seemed to possess no end, so much was left that was wound generously around his head. He was strutting up and down the old kitchen floor, patting his shaggy sleeves, and feeling the thickness of the overcoat skirts, and saying "Ah!" in a tone of the greatest satisfaction.
Luke, unable to take his eyes from him, followed every movement silently, while Elvira, nearly bursting with impatience, sat on the floor, alternately drumming on the side of the big box and bullying Jane, when unfortunate enough to get in her way.
"There! Now let's open the bundles," screamed Elvira, hopping to her feet. "Mark and Tilly have come!"
"For shame, Elviry," reproved her mother, sharply, who now came in from the bedroom, after seeing that Susan was really asleep, and not in convulsions over a diet of paper wads. "Can't you see the minister comin'? Oh, good day, sir!" She dropped him what was meant for a courtesy, and, wiping off a chair with her blue checked apron, she looked around on all her little group for their best behavior.
"I thought it better to come myself, my good woman," said the minister. He was quite young, this being his first parish, and only regarded as a sort of missionary effort to get his hand in after the theological seminary. "Ah—I quite forget your name, madam, as you are so seldom at church."
"Hansell, sir," said the little widow, with another effort at a courtesy. "An' I live so far, sir, from the church, it's not easy gettin' there, if you please." She did not add, "And how can I, without anything to wear?"
"Ah, yes, no doubt," answered the Rev. Mr. St. John, reassuringly. "Well, I considered it best to come and read the letter to you myself, as it contains important directions. I will do so now," and he spread it open on one hand, all the family coming up, even Matthew, losing sight for a moment of his new splendor.
"'Mrs. Hansell,'" read the minister, clearing his throat, "'I remember you did my washing last summer. You appeared to have a great many children, so I thought I would send you a box. Some of the articles are selected with reference to the ages of the members of your family. For instance, the overcoat and the red tippet are for your biggest boy.'"
"I know it," cried Matthew, unable to keep still, and beginning to strut again. "I've got it on."
The minister looked and nodded at him. This unloosed Matthew's tongue, who, before that, had been afraid of him. "I tell you what, it's bully!" he declared, peering out from the folds of the red tippet; "an' this, too," patting his head.
"So 'tis," said the Rev. Mr. St. John, with a little laugh.
"'There are some jackets and trousers for the other boys.'"
"Ow!" Mark and Luke both gave a howl together and darted off toward the pile of bundles.
"Come back this minute," demanded the little widow, sharply. "And, oh, sir, would you mind reading real smart like," she said to the minister, "'cause we can't wait much longer to see what's in them bundles." She was twisting her apron-end now with nervous fingers, and a red spot mounted to either thin cheek.
"Indeed, I will," said the young man, obligingly. "Well, let me see, where was I? Oh,—'The other things you will know quite well how to dispose of.
"'Now I wish you to allow me to have three of your children—your two oldest boys and one girl—to stay a few weeks at my house. This will help you, and I do not doubt that I shall get some amusement out of it. The girl will make the boys behave, I feel quite sure. You may choose which daughter; it makes no difference to me. Ask Mr. St. John, the minister, you know, to put them on the train under the care of the conductor, and then to telegraph me. I enclose a check for all expenses. And I wish you all a Merry Christmas.