It snowed steadily all day; and evening closed around them in the midst of this soft, noiseless storm. The roads were beginning to be blocked up, the houses were hooded in ermine, and no one passed by the windows. Not a soul had been in that day. So, after the lamp was lighted, they drew closer together. Hal read a while from a book of poems that Mrs. Howard had lent him.
"It is nearly bed-time," he said at length.
"I don't feel a bit sleepy."
"Hal," began Granny, stretching out her thin hand, "don't leave me. I feel so strange."
"Worse, my own dear?"
"Not in pain, but sort of restful, as if I'd come to something—no, I'm not afraid, Hal. I've been praying all along that I might die, and maybe it's coming. I'm a poor old body, not worth much,—and Joe'sthere, you know."
She gave her head a feeble nod. Hal swallowed over a great sob.
"When will it be Christmas?"
"To-morrow."
"Maybe I'll be up among the angels,—a poor, ignorant, foolish old body like me! It's wonderful to think of! But Joe'll be there, to take his dear Granny by the hand, and keep her from stumbling, and making mistakes, and doing all the things that would shame or vex any one. And Christ loved us all, you know. He died for us. I think I've understood it better since Joe stood there on the ship, refusing to get into the boat lest he might swamp it. He died for some one: not inthatfashion, for he didn't have any sins to bear, and wasn't reviled and wounded; but still he gave his sweet life,—his dear life that was so much to me."
Dot crept up to the bed.
"After I'm gone you and Dot'll love each other. It will be sad for a little while, but God will remember you, and bring you comfort. I've cried to him a' many times, when it's been dark all round; and, when all other friends fail, you'll find him true and strong. I've done the best I could. It's been poor enough; but then I never had learnin' and all that to help me. I took you when you were all little chaps, motherless and fatherless, and I've tried to keep you together. But they've strayed off, Hal. There's only you and Dot to give Granny a last kiss."
Dot was sobbing on Granny's pillow.
"Don't, deary, don't," in her quivering, entreatingvoice. "We must all die some time. God knows when it's best. And I ain't of any use now, my work's all done. I'd like to see 'em all again, Hal,—dear little things; only I never can believe they are all men and women. And, if Flossy comes back, give her my love. She was so pretty, with her long golden curls! I don't wonder the grand lady liked her. And Charlie,—Charlie was such a good girl all last summer, working like a woman! Yes—if I could only see 'em once more!"
Hal wiped away his fast falling tears. It seemed too hard that Granny's unselfish life should not be crowned at the last. To die here, almost alone!
"You remember the old Christmas, Hal? The last time we were all together! Ah, how sweet it was! And the presents, and the old shoe full!"
Granny's voice sunk to a tremble of delight.
"It was so happy, so merry! All of 'em laughing and talking, and their bright pretty faces full of fun. But—maybe—I'll see 'em all in heaven. Don't cry, Dot."
Hal drew her to his breast, and soothed her with tender kisses. Then he sat down in the old rocker, and took her on his knee.
"There never was such a Christmas, never! I was so glad to have you all, so proud of you! And I've done my best"—
"Yes, Granny, God, who watches over all things,will bear witness to that. You were mother and father to us. And how you have toiled and worried and made sacrifices, how you have loved us, will all be written in the Great Book. I'm glad you are going to have a reward there."
"I shall see Joe."
Then she was quiet for a long while.
"I can't remember any thing about the Christmas," said Dot with much perplexity.
"Tell her, Hal. I'll listen; and it will seem all fresh again," pleaded Granny in a faint, far-off voice.
"You were such a weeny little thing, and couldn't talk plain; but then you had always been sick."
"And cross," Kit says.
"You did use to cry—sometimes; and then at others you were like a little lamb. All children cry occasionally."
Dot felt, somehow, as if she had not outgrown the trick yet; but the tears fell close to Hal's heart.
"But about the Christmas?"
"Oh, yes!"
Then Hal began. The preparations beforehand, the secrecy and plotting, the stockings stuffed to overflowing, and the wildest of merriment the next morning. It appeared to Dot that she could see it like a picture.
"And O Hal, that we should be so lonely now! Hasn't God let us slip out of his mind for a little while?"
"I think not, my darling."
"But howcanyou always believe? Why did God let Joe die, when we wanted him so much; and Flossy go away? And all the other things,—the sweet pretty flowers that were frozen?"
"My dear child, we cannot answer the questions. Trials always appear very hard to those who have them to bear; but maybe God gives us one to save us from some other that would be a great deal harder. And with it there is grace to endure."
"As when you were hurt. I wonder that you could be so patient, Hal!" and the little arms crept up around his neck.
"It was part my nature, you know. I used to be sorry at school, that I wasn't like the other boys; for, somehow, I neverwas: but, when God knew what I would have to bear, he made me patient, and almost girlish, loving to stay in the house, and all that. If I'd been like Joe, I should have fretted sorely when I found I should never be able to go to sea. He was so full of life and energy, you know, so ambitious, that it would almost have killed him. It was best to have it happen to me."
Dot sighed, her small brain being greatly puzzled.
"But I don't see why every one cannot be happy and prosperous. Isn't there enough to go round to all?"
"God knows best. And, when it troubles me sorely,I think of the little Christ-child, who was born eighteen hundred years ago, all goodness and sweetness and meekness, and of the trials he had to bear for our sakes. All the lowly life, the reviling, the unbelief, the persecution, the being homeless, and sometimes almost friendless, and at the last the shameful death. We shall never have all that, my darling; and so we ought to bear our lesser sorrows patiently."
Dot made no answer.
"My darling," said Hal, glancing at the clock, "ought you not to go to bed? It is almost midnight."
"And you?" reaching up to kiss the dear face.
"I am going to stay here by Granny."
Dot looked into his face with great awe.
"Hal, I've never seen any one die; but I want to stay too. There's only just you and I; and she'll want us to kiss her for the last time, when the angels come."
Hal pressed the little face in his trembling hands, but could not deny the wistful eyes.
Then he rose, and looked at Granny. She had fallen into a peaceful slumber. It did not seem as if she could die just then; and yet, at this hour of rejoicing, some souls were slipping out of the world.
He came back to his seat, and to his little sister. Dot's head was pillowed on his knee, and presently she began to drowse. Poor little bairn!
So he kept his vigil by himself, thinking over theold days, when they were all here. Oh, if Granny could have seen them once more! If the brave and lovely men and women could come back to the old home-nest, all outgrown,—and he smiled sadly to himself,—just to clasp each other's hands, and glance into each other's eyes, to speak some word of comfort and blessing, to smooth the path of the dear heart yonder, who had given herself for them without stint or grudging, a holier sacrifice than even a mother's love.
His mind was sorely troubled when he thought of Florence. Since childhood she had "lain in the roses and lilies of life." They had borne the burden and sorrow, the trials, the deprivations, days of toil, nights of anxious care about the future. And it seemed as if none of them had been especially prospered. She had gone to luxury at a bound. Where was she to-night? Did any remembrance of them ever cross her soul, amid her wealth and pleasure?
Poor Joe again! It was the sad refrain to which his life would be forever set, like a strain of minor music. He loved Joe so dearly! There was such a soreness, such an aching and longing in his heart, that it sometimes seemed as if he could stretch out his arms, and search among the tangled seaweed until he found Joe, and lift him out of his cold bed. One bright dream broken off in the middle.
There had been so much to take up his attentionthis winter, that he had hardly felt anxious for Charlie. Her cheerful little notes were like stray sunbeams, and shehadpromised to come back. Ah, if it could only be in time to say good-by to Granny!
Now and then he shut his eyes, and breathed a tender prayer,—that God would keep them all; that, no matter how far they strayed from each other, they might never stray from him.
The lamp burned dimly in the room beyond. Granny still slept peacefully, and Dot's baby hand was fast clasped in his. All was still to awesomeness. Even the storm without must have ceased.
"Hal," called the dear voice.
Gently as he laid Dot down, the movement woke her.
"Give me a little drink, Hal, please," Granny asked.
He brought her some wine.
"I wonder if there is any thing that I could eat?"
"I left some chicken-broth on the stove to keep warm, and there is a little jelly."
"I've had such a nice sleep, Hal! I feel so rested! It was almost like being in heaven, for Joe seemed to have his arms around my neck. Is it morning?"
"Almost."
"Oh!" exclaimed Dot, "it is clear and beautiful, with hosts of stars! I wonder if any shepherd watches them and thinks"—
"'In Bethlehem of Judea,'" said Granny in a chanting tone. "'Unto you is born a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.'"
"How strange it seems! Christmas morning!"
Hal brought the chicken and the jelly. Granny ate remarkably for her. Then he placed his fingers on her pulse. It certainlywasstronger.
"I do think she is better," he said to Dot, who had followed him to the kitchen.
"O Hal! maybe she won't die. I never saw anybody"—
"She was nervous last night, thinking so much of Joe," rejoined Hal softly in the pause that Dot did not finish.
"I'm so glad to have her better!"
"Children," Granny said when they came back, "it is Christmas morning, and you ought to sing. Everybody keeps Christmas."
Dot glanced up in tearful surprise. What was she thinking of,—angels in heaven?
"They sang on the plains of Judea, you know."
An awesome chill crept over Hal. Was this the change that sometimes preceded the last step over the narrow river? Had Granny received that solemn call?
"Sing," she said again. "Some of the bright Christmas hymns."
Hal's heart was throbbing up to his throat. He did not know whether he could trust his voice.
"What shall it be, Dot?"
She thought a moment. "'Wonderful Night,'" she answered. "But, oh! I feel more like crying. I can't help it."
The two voices rose tremblingly in the beautiful carol.
"Wonderful night,Wonderful night!Angels and shining immortals,Thronging the heavenly portals,Fling out their banner of light.Wonderful, wonderful night!"
"Wonderful night,Wonderful night!Angels and shining immortals,Thronging the heavenly portals,Fling out their banner of light.Wonderful, wonderful night!"
"Wonderful night,Wonderful night!Angels and shining immortals,Thronging the heavenly portals,Fling out their banner of light.Wonderful, wonderful night!"
"Wonderful night,
Wonderful night!
Angels and shining immortals,
Thronging the heavenly portals,
Fling out their banner of light.
Wonderful, wonderful night!"
They sang until they forgot sorrow and toil and poverty, and the great fear that overshadowed them. The soft voice of the child Dot growing stronger, and the pain in Hal's slipping away, changing into faith and trust. For, as he sung, he grew wonderfully calm, even hopeful.
"It's like heaven, children! I've been thinking it all over, and Goddoesknow best. If they were all here, it would be harder for me to go."
The two kissed each other amid fast falling tears. When they glanced up again a faint streak of dawn stole in at the window.
"How strange!" exclaimed Dot. "We have not been to bed at all, only I had a nap on your knee." Then very softly,—
"Merry Christmas, Hal."
"Merry Christmas to you, my little darling."
Then Hal looked at the fires, and hurried them up a trifle. How lovely it was without! Over the whole earth lay a mantle of whitest ermine. Tree and shrub were robed in fleecy garments,—arrayed for this Christmas morning. As the sun began to quiver in the east they sparkled with a thousand gems.
It seemed like the beginning of a new life. Why, he could not tell, but he never forgot the feeling of solemn sweetness that stole over him as he stood by the window in the flower-room, looking over to the infinite, fancying that earth and heaven met this morning; the fine gold of the one blending with the snowy whiteness of the other. So pure was the soul of the little child born eighteen hundred years ago.
Within, it was all fragrance and beauty. The plains of the Orient could not have been more odorous in that early dawn. Unconsciously he hummed over two or three lines,—
"Midnight scarcely passed and over,Drawing to this holy morn;Very early, very early—Christ was born."
"Midnight scarcely passed and over,Drawing to this holy morn;Very early, very early—Christ was born."
"Midnight scarcely passed and over,Drawing to this holy morn;Very early, very early—Christ was born."
"Midnight scarcely passed and over,
Drawing to this holy morn;
Very early, very early—
Christ was born."
They went about their simple homely duties, as if some unbidden guest had entered, whose presence filled the space out of which a dear face had vanished.
"Grannyisbetter, I am sure," Dot said, preparing some breakfast for her.
"I am so thankful!"
"Listen to the church-bell! How faintly it comes ploughing through the snow; but oh, how sweet! Hal, I can't help feeling happy. I wonder if it is wrong, when we were so sad last night?"
Something floated through Hal's brain,—"Sorrow may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." He brushed a tear away from his eye; but it was tenderness rather than sorrow.
While Dot was cooking her dainty breakfast, Hal took a turn at shovelling snow, clearing the old doorstep, and part of the path. It made his cheeks rosy, and the fresh crisp air took the tired look out of his eyes.
"Granny has been asking for you," Dot said, as he came in.
He warmed his hands, and entered the room. Dot lingered by the window, glancing up and down the unbroken road. Not a sound anywhere. It absolutely seemed to her as if a little bird ought to come out of the snowy trees, and sing.
Something attracted her attention,—a man striding along, muffled up to the ears, looking this way and that, as if considering how best to extricate himself from the last plunge, and make another. No, it was not Dr. Meade,—no one for them thus early in the morning.
Still she looked, and smiled a little. The strong,manful tread was good to behold. When he reached the house, he paused, appeared to be considering, then wheeled about.
She laughed this time. He placed his hand on the gate-post, and leaped over. It was such a boyish, agile spring! In the path he stamped off the snow, came straight to the door, and knocked.
Dot started, and opened it. A tall, laughing fellow, with a bronze brown beard and swarthy cheeks, lighted with a healthful glow of crimson. What was there so oddly familiar in the laughing eyes?
For an instant he did not speak. Dot began to color with embarrassment, and half turned to summon Hal.
"Oh, it's Dot, little Dot! And you have forgotten me!"
The rich, ringing voice electrified Hal. He made a rush in a blind, dazed way; for the room swam round, and it seemed almost as if he were dying.
"Oh, it isn't Joe! dear old Joe!"
And then Hal felt the strong arms around him. The glowing cheek was against his, and there were tears and kisses, for Hal was crying like a baby. I've done my best with him, I want you to observe; but I'm afraid he will be a "girl"-boy to the end. But nothing ever was so sweet as that clasp; and Joe's love on this side of the shining river seemed the next best thing to the infinite love beyond.
"Oh, I can't believe it!" he sobbed. "Did God raise you from the sea, Joe? for we heard"—
"Yes," with a great tremble in the tone. "It's just like being raised from the dead. And oh, Hal, God only knows how glad I am to come back to you all!"
Hal hid his face in the curly beard, and tried to stop the tears thatwouldflow in spite of his courageous efforts.
There was a call from the other room,—a wild, tender cry,—and the next instant Joe was hugging Granny to his throbbing, thankful heart. You could hear nothing but the soft sobs that sounded like summer rain, blown about by the south wind. Ah, how sweet, how satisfying! What was poverty and care and trouble and loss, so long as they had Joe back again?
"Oh!" cried Granny, "I'm willing to die now. I've seen him, my darling!"
"Why, Granny, that would be blackest ingratitude. Here I've lived through all my narrow escapes, and they have been enough to kill any ten men, and, by way of welcome, you talk of dying. Why, I'll run back, and jump into the sea!"
"She has been very sick," said Hal.
"But she means to get well now. Dear old Granny! We couldn't keep house without you."
They knew well enough then that it was Joe, and not a Christmas ghost; for no one ever did have such a rich merry voice, such a ringing laugh, and oh, the dear bright eyes, shining like an April sky!
Granny looked him all over. How he had changed! A great strong, splendid fellow, whose smiling face put new hope into one.
"I almost feel as if I could get well," she said weakly.
"Of course you will; for, Granny, I have the silk gown, and we'll have just the jolliest time there has ever been in this little shanty. But where are all the rest?"
"Kit is at work in Salem, and he meant to come home last night; but I suppose the storm prevented."
"It was terrible! I've travelled night and day to reach home by Christmas. And last night, when the trains had to go at a snail's pace, or were snowed in, I couldn't stand it, so I took a sleigh; but we lost the road, and twenty other things; and then the horse gave out: it was such fearful, wearing work. And, when I came in sight of Terry's old store, I wouldn't stop, but trudged on afoot; for I wanted you to know, first of all, that I was safe and alive."
"It's just like a dream; and oh, Joe, the merriest Christmas there ever can be!"
"Where's that midget of a Charlie?"
"Ran away! It's very funny;" and Hal smiled, with tears in his eyes.
"But you know where she is?"
"I think she is in New York,—I'm pretty sure; and she has promised to come home."
"Well, that beats my time! Ran away! She threatened to do it, you know. And here I've forgotten all about little Dot! You don't deserve to be kissed nor made much of, you small woman, when you never gave me a word of welcome, but, instead, a cold, unfriendly stare. You don't remember Joe, who broke his delicate constitution carrying you round on his back to keep you from crying."
With that he caught her up, and perched her on the edge of Granny's bed. She was very shy, and turned a brilliant scarlet. This great strange fellow their dear, sweet Joe? She could not believe it!
"And you really were not drowned," said Granny, still anxious.
"Not exactly," with a droll twinkle of the eye.
"We heard"—
"Yes, the brave little 'Argemone' went down, and she was a beauty. But such a frightful storm! You can form no idea of it. Some day I'll tell you all. Our time is too precious for the long story now."
"And you wouldn't get in the boat," said Granny, her pale washed-out eyes alight with pride.
"There were three young fellows of us besides the sick captain, and we had no wives nor babies; so it seemed right that we should give the others the first chance. It was a miracle that they were saved. I never thought they would be. We lashed ourselves to some timbers, and trusted the winds and waves. Whatthose days and nights were I can never tell you! I know now what that brave old soldier and sailor, St. Paul, meant when he said, 'A day and a night have I been in the deep.'"
Hal gave the sun-browned hand a tender squeeze.
"An Arabian trading vessel picked us up at last. We thought Jack was dead, but after a long while he revived. We were all perfectly exhausted. I could send no word, and then I resolved to come home just as soon as I could. I fancied you would hear of the loss. Did that make Granny ill?"
"No, she was sick before."
"But I'll get well now," she rejoined humbly. "I didn't want to, you know. Heaven seemed so much better."
Joe bent over and kissed her, wondering if he ever could repay the tender love.
"Have you ever heard from"—
There was no need of a name.
"She was married more than a year ago. I wrote that to you. There have been no tidings since."
"Are you going to have any breakfast?" asked Dot. "My muffins will be spoiled."
"Yes, indeed! I'm hungry as a bear. Granny, shall I carry you out?"
She laughed in her old cracked, tremulous fashion, good to hear. To Hal it seemed the beginning of a new life.
"I guess I'll lie still and think a bit, for I can't make it true. It's just as if we watched for him last night, Hal, and to-day is a day of great joy."
Dot's coffee and muffins were delightful. Then she broiled over a little of the chicken that had been left from the day before, and they had quite a sumptuous breakfast.
"How odd it seems to have Dot any thing but a baby!" laughed Joe. "It's quite ridiculous for her to set up housekeeping. Small young woman, you can't impose upon me."
"But she is royal at it;" and Hal gave her a fond smile.
"Now tell me all that has happened: I'm crazy to know. I believe I've not heard a word in six or eight months," declared Joe.
So Hal went back to the summer,—losing the school, Charlie's running away, Granny's illness, Kit's going to Salem, the mishap of the flowers, even the vigil of last night, when they believed Granny dying.
"But itwillbe a merry Christmas," Joe said with a great tremble in his voice. "And you can never guess how glad I am to be safe and alive, to comfort you all. Dear, dear Granny!—the best and bravest heart in the wide world, and the most loving."
They sat over their breakfast, and talked a long while. And then, after another glimpse at Granny, they went up to see the flowers, which had begun to recover rapidly from their misfortune.
"Why, Hal, it's a perfect little green-house, and oh, how fragrant! There are some tuberoses coming out. What an awful shame about that cold night! So you have wrecks on the land as well as on the sea?"
"I don't mind now. Your return makes up for all the misfortunes. We will have enough for some bouquets to-day;" and Hal's face was one grateful smile.
"And what will we have for dinner?" asked Dot. "It ought to be a feast. I wonder if Kit will get home in time? Oh, I'll tell you! we will not have our dinner until about three."
"Sensible to the last, Dot. Why, it is almost ten now; and our breakfasts have just been swallowed."
"We will have some chickens," exclaimed Hal.
"And a cranberry pie."
"Who is to make it,—you, or Hal?" laughed Joe. "He used to be my very dear Mrs. Betty. I don't know how we should ever have lived without him. Hal, I must confess that there's some rare good fortune in store for me. I had to stop a while in New York; and to think I should stumble over one of the very men who was last to leave 'The Argemone.' And he tells such a marvellous story! I suppose every thing looked different out there in the storm and darkness and night, with death staring us in the face; for, after all, I only did my duty, and our poor captain lying sick too! I don't mean ever to go very far away while—while Granny lives; but there's nothing like the sea for me!"
"Oh!" exclaimed Hal, with a soft little sigh.
"Well, the upshot of it was, that they, the owners, and this Mr. Parker, made me take a little gift,—five hundred dollars. I know where I can get enough more to build a real green-house. You see, the fall off the hay-wagon did for you; and you'll never be a great hulking fellow like me, fit to take the rough and tumble of life."
Hal clasped the arm that was thrown protectingly around him.
"No, you'll never be very strong; and you shall have the green-house. That will set you up for old age even."
"Dear, noble Joe!"
"Not half as noble as you. I often used to think of you, Hal, out there, miles and miles away, amid all manner of strange sights; and it was my one comfort that you'd always stand by Granny. What comrades you have been! And after this, you see, I shall be able to do my share."
Hal winked away some tears.
"Here's where we used to sleep. Oh! did you dream then that I'd be so tall I should have to go round, bowing my head to every doorway, just as if I believed in Chinese idols? And here's the old garret, where we dreamed our dreams. Hal, my darling, I'm glad to see every old board and crack and crevice in this blessed place!"
They went down presently. Joe stole off to Granny again, while Hal and Dot went about their household affairs. Hal soon had a couple of chickens for roasting. Dot made some savory dressing, stirred up her fire, baked her pie first, and then put the chickens in the oven. Hal shovelled away the snow, and took out two beautiful heads of celery, crisp and creamy.
Dr. Meade dropped in. You may imagine his rejoicing. They made him promise over and over again, that he would not tell a single soul in Madison. They wanted this dear Christmas Day to themselves.
"He's a hero to be proud of, Granny," exclaimed the doctor delightedly. "Such a great stalwart fellow, with a beard like a Turk, and a voice like anorgan! Why, he overtops us all! Dot, if I were in your place, I should give his pockets a wide berth; for he could stow away such a weeny thing before your disconsolate friends would miss you."
Dot laughed, as if she wasn't much afraid.
"The excitement has not hurt Granny?" queried Hal.
"No, indeed! It's better than quarts of my tonics, and gallons of port wine. She only wanted a good strong motive to give the blood a rush through her veins."
"I was quite afraid last night."
"She'll weather it through, and come out in the spring like a lark. O Hal, my dear boy, God is wonderful! 'And so He bringeth them to the haven where they would be.'"
"Yes. I've been thinking of it all the morning."
"Merry Christmas, everybody. Not a word will I say."
Joe was still watching by the window, when another sleigh stopped, and a brisk little figure sprang out, running up the walk. He opened the door.
"Hillo!" he cried. "Here comes Kit, scalp-lock, fiddle, and all."
"Oh!" in the utmost wonder and amazement, glancing around as if suddenly bereft of his senses. "Oh, it isn't Joe, raised out of the sea! It can't be!"
"Pity the poor fishes," said Joe comically. "Thinkof the banquet to which they might have asked all their relations."
And then Kit was in his arms, crying and laughing; and, if Joe's head had not been securely fastened, it never could have stood the pressure.
"Oh, dear darling old Joe! How were you saved? WhatdidGranny say?"
And then the little goose had to go and cry over Granny.
"You have really achieved a fiddle," exclaimed Joe at length. "Kit, my dear, you are on the high road to fame."
"Not veryhigh," returned Kit. "But it's splendid to have. Hal gave it to me, and I can play quite well."
"We shall have to give a party some day,—a golden wedding for Granny."
"Or a golden Christmas. O Joe! I can't believe it a bit. I was awfully disappointed last night when it stormed, and they said I shouldn't come home. I thought how lonely Dot and Hal would be this morning."
The two smiled at each other, remembering the Christmas hymns in the gray dawn.
Dot's dinner began to diffuse its aroma around the room. What with boiling and baking, she had her hands full.
"Let us put both tables together," she said to Hal"It will give us so much more room. And it's to be a regular feast."
"Over the prodigal son," rejoined Joe. "Kit, here, who spends his substance in fiddles and riotous living."
"No: it is Dot who does the latter."
Dot laughed. "You will not complain, when I ask you to share the riotous living," she said.
The tables were set out, and Dot hunted up the best cloth. White enough it was too. Then the plates: how many were there? For somehow her wits seemed to have gone wool-gathering, and she had a misgiving lest some of them might disappear.
"Oh!"
Kit gave a great cry, dashed open the door, and flew down the walk, his scalp-lock flying, until he went head first into a snowbank.
"Kit's demented, and there's a girl at the bottom of it," said Joe. "O Kit! you've gone the way of mankind early."
"It's Charlie!" almost screamed Dot, following as if she had been shot out of a seventy-four pounder.
"Charlie! Oh, what a blessed, blessed Christmas!"
They dragged Charlie in,—not by the hair of her head, for that was hardly long enough. Charlie, in a pretty brown dress and cloak, a squirrel collar and muff, a jaunty hat with green velvet bands and a green feather. She was quite tall, and not so thin; and awinter of good care had completed the bleaching process commenced at the mill. She was many shades fairer, with a soft bloom on her cheek, while her mouth no longer threatened to make the top of her head an island.
"O Hal! and where's Granny? And"—
She paused before Joe.
"Why, Charlie, you're grown so handsome that you really don't know your poor relations."
"It's Joe! What a great giant! Oh! when did he come?"
"And we thought him drowned," said Dot, half crying. "We heard it ever so long ago! It was so splendid to have him come back!"
"Shut the door," exclaimed Hal.
"Why, I thought it was dreadful cold," said Kit, glancing round at the wide open door.
"Cold isn't any word for it! If we had a cast-iron dog we should have to tie him to the stove-leg to keep his hair from freezing off. It's lucky I wear a wig."
"You're the same old Joe," said Charlie, laughing.
"But where have you been, Charlie?"
"In New York. I've such lots and lots to tell you. But oh, I must see Granny!"
So Granny had to be hugged and kissed, and everybody went to look. They all talked and laughed and cried in the same breath; and nobody knew what was said, only they were all there together again, and Granny was alive.
"I intended to come home yesterday, but it stormed so fearfully; and to-day there were so many detentions, that I began almost to despair. But I had some Christmas for darling Granny, and I couldn't wait. See here,"—and Charlie began to search her pockets energetically. "Fifty dollars, Granny; and I earned it all my own self, besides ever so much more. And I'm going to be a—a"—
"Genius," said Kit. "Hooray for Charlie!"
"It's all about the pictures. Mr. Darol sold some designs for me, and I wanted Granny to have the money; but I never dreamed that she had been sick. And did you miss me much? I never told Mr. Darol about it until yesterday. I suppose it wasn't right. And oh! Granny, I'm sorry if I've given you the least mite of pain; but all the time I've been as happy as Joe's big sunflower."
"We shall set Granny crazy," said thoughtful Hal.
"Oh, my dinner!" and Dot flew to the stove-oven like the "moon-eyed herald of dismay."
There was no damage done. The chickens were browned to a turn. She took them out on a dish, and made her gravy, and then Hal came to help with the vegetables. Potatoes, onions, carrots stewed with milk dressing, cranberry sauce, celery,—altogether a fit repast for anybody's Christmas dinner.
"If Granny could only come?"
"I've been thinking that we might take her up alittle while at dessert. She asked to sit up before Charlie came. What a day of excitement!"
"O Hal! it's all lovely. And I can't help thinking how good God wasnotto let her die in the night, when we were to have such a happy day. He saw it, with the angels keeping Christmas around him; didn't he, Hal?" said little Dot.
"Yes, my darling."
"And I'm so full of joy! I can't help crying every other minute! And to think of that magnificent Charlie earning fifty dollars!"
Hal went to summon the "children," and explain to Granny, that if she would be very quiet, and take a good rest, she might get up when the dessert was brought on. The old woebegone look had vanished from her face, and the faded eyes held in their depths a tender brightness.
She assented rather unwillingly to the proposal, for she could hardly bear them out of her sight an instant. Hal closed the door between, but she begged him to open it again.
"I'd like to hear you talk. I'll lie still, and never say a word."
A happy group they were, gathered round the table. Dot was perched up at the head, and Hal took the opposite end, to do the carving. They had time, then, to look round and see how pretty Charlie was growing. The contact with refinement, and, in a certain sense,society, had improved her very much. If any thing, she had grown still farther out of the Wilcox sphere.
Then she had to tell her story.
"You really don't mean Mary Jane Wilcox?" interrupted Joe. "Why, we used to go to school together!"
"I never thought of them," said Hal, "when I was considering where I could write. Then Granny was taken sick, and the bad news about Joe,—and somehow I had a fancy that you were safe."
"Mrs. Wilcox has been like a mother. Sheisgood, and I do like her; but, somehow, she is not our kind, after all. But oh, if you could only see Mr. Darol! I am going to stay a whole week, and he is coming out here. I told them all about you, Hal."
Hal colored a little.
"I'm glad I went, and made a beginning. There is ever so much hard work before me; but it is what I like. I am actually studying wood engraving. And Miss Charteris found me some work to do in my leisure time. She is as lovely as she can be, and a real artist. Think of her getting five hundred dollars for a picture!"
"And if you should ever do that!" said Kit admiringly.
"No: I haven't that kind of genius. But they all do say that my talent for designing is remarkable; and I shall be able to earn a good deal of money, even ifI do not get as much at one time. I'm so glad, and so thankful!"
They all looked at brave Charlie; and, somehow, it didn't seem as if she were the little harum-scarum, who never had a whole dress for six consecutive hours, who ran around bare-headed and bare-footed, and was the tint of a copper-colored Indian. Why, she was almost as elegant as Flossy, but with a nobler grace. There was nothing weak about her. You felt that she would make a good fight to the end, and never go astray in paths of meanness, deceit, or petty pride.
Then they had to tell what had happened to them. She had all the rejoicing over Joe, without any of the pain and anguish. For, now that he was here, she could not imagine the bitter tears which had been the portion of the household.
How gay they were! There was no china on the table, no silver forks, no cut-glass goblets; but the dinner was none the less enjoyable. There never were such roasted chickens, nor such cranberry sauce, nor such celery! And certainly never such glad and loving hearts. The sorrows and successes drew them the more closely together.
What if Granny had let them stray off years ago, to forget and grow cold! Ah! she had her reward now. Every year after this it would pour in a golden harvest.
"We will have our dessert in style," said Hal.
"Kit, please help take off the dishes, for I know Dot must be tired."
"I will too," responded Charlie promptly.
They gathered up the fragments, and carried them in the pantry, took away the dishes, brushed off the cloth, and then came the crowning glories. First, two beautiful bouquets, with a setting of crisp, fragrant geranium leaves; then a dish of apples, rosy-cheeked and tempting.
"It is fortunate that I made a good large pie," said Dot with much complacency.
Hal bundled Granny in a shawl; but, before he could help her out of bed, Joe's strong arms had borne her to the kitchen. Hal brought the rocking-chair, and they made her comfortable with pillows.
They all, I think, saw a strange beauty in her on this Christmas Day. The little silvery curls,—they alwayswouldcurl; the pale, wrinkled face; the faded eyes, with their youth and glory a thing of the past; the feeble, cracked voice; the trembling hands,—all beautiful in their sight. For the hands had toiled, the voice had comforted, the lips had kissed away pains and griefs. Every furrow in the face was sacred. What watching and anxiety and unfaltering labor they bespoke!
Dot poured her a cup of tea: then she proceeded to cut the pie.
"Dot, you are a royal cook!" exclaimed Joe. "We have discovered your special genius."
It was very delightful. Granny had a little slice, and added her praises to the rest so lavishly bestowed.
"There never was but one such Christmas. If I were a boy, I should pronounce it 'red-hot,'" laughed Joe. "I'm almost sorry to outgrow the boyish tricks and slang."
"And you can't cool it," appended Kit, with a melancholy shake of the head.
"If there was one face more," began Granny slowly.
Yes, just one was needed to complete the group.
The sun stole softly out of the window. The happy day was drawing to a close. Would life, too, draw to a close without her?
"Hark!" exclaimed Dot.
For the merry jingle of sleigh-bells ceased suddenly. Was it some unwelcome guest to break in upon the sanctity of their twilight hour?
A knock at the door. Charlie, being the nearest, opened it. A lady dressed in deep mourning, and a tall, fine-looking gentleman. She certainly had never seen either of them before.
The veil was raised. Oh, that face, with all its fairness and beauty; the golden hair, the lustrous eyes! They all knew then.
"O Granny, Granny!" and Florence was kneeling at her grandmother's feet, kissing the wasted hands, her sad, pathetic voice broken with sobs. "I had to come: I couldn't stay away. I've been selfish and ungrateful, and God has punished me sorely. And, when I turned to him in my sorrow, he brought before me all my neglect, my pride, my cruelty. O Granny! can it be forgiven?"
"There's nothing to forgive, child."
She kissed the sweet, wet face. At that moment she forgot every thing save that this darling had come back.
"Yes, there is so much, so much! You don't know. For, after I was married, I might have come. Edmund was tender and noble. This is my husband, Mr. Darol."
She rose as she uttered this, and made a gesture with her outstretched hand. Mr. Darol bowed.
"This is my dear grandmother Edmund; and these are my brothers and sisters. It is so long since I have seen any of you, that you seem strangers to me."
There was a peculiar silence in the room.
"Oh!" with a low, imploring cry,—"have you no welcome for me? Have I forfeitedallregard, all remembrance?"
Hal came round to her side; but she was so stately and beautiful, that he felt almost awed.
"It is Hal, I know. Oh! take me back in your midst: for only yesterday I buried my little baby; and I know now the sense of loss that I entailed upon you."
They all crowded round her then. Not one had forgotten darling Flossy. Kisses and fond clasps. They were so glad to take her into their circle.
"This is Joe," she said, "and Kit, and Dot. O Charlie! to see you all once more! and to have you all alive! For I have been haunted with a terrible fear lest some of you might have fallen out of the old home-chain. Not a break, thank God!"
Then she brought them to her husband. Oh, how wild she had been when she fancied that shemightbe ashamed of them!—this group of brave, loving faces, full of the essential elements of nobility.
Ah, Florence, if you had known all their deeds of simple heroism!
Charlie helped her take off her wrappings. She had not changed greatly, except to grow older and more womanly.
"Granny has been ill!" she exclaimed in quick alarm.
"Yes, nearly all winter. But she is better now. O Flossy, I am so glad you came to-day!" and Hal's soft eyes swam in tears.
"It was Christmas. I could not help thinking of the dear old Christmas when we were all together. O Hal! if you could know all my shame and sorrow!"
"Joe," said Granny feebly, "will you take me back to bed? I'm tired again. I'm a poor old body at the best. Then you can come and sit round me."
"Shall I send the driver away?" asked Mr. Darol of Florence.
"Yes: I can't leave them to-night. You will not mind?"—
She glanced around as she uttered this, as if apologizing for the poor accommodations.
"No, I shall not mind," in a grave tone.
Granny was carried to bed again. Hal shook up the pillow, and straightened the spreads. Joe laid her in tenderly, saying, as he kissed her,—
"You have us all home again in the old shoe!"
The room was neat and orderly; poor, to be sure, but with a cheerful air. Hal brought in the flowers, and Kit some chairs, and they made quite a party.
"But think of the dishes!" whispered housewifely Dot. "And not a clean one for morning, we've used so many. But, oh! wasn't it elegant? And Florence is a real lady!"
"We had better slip out, and look after our household gods," Hal murmured in return.
Before they were fairly in the business, Charlie joined them.
"Let me help too," she said. "I don't hate to wash dishes quite as much as I used; and I am so happy to-night that I could do almost any thing!"
They were a practical exemplification of the old adage. Many hands did make light work. In a little while they had their house in order.
"But what a family!" exclaimed Dot. "Where are we to put them all?"
"I've been thinking. Florence and her husband can have my room, and we will make a bed for Kit and Joe in the flower-room. They won't mind it, I guess."
"Dot can sleep with Granny, and I can curl up in any corner for to-night," said Charlie.
"Hal never had a wink of sleep last night. We talked and sang Christmas hymns, and Granny thought that she would not live."
Charlie gave a sad sigh.
"You are angels, both of you," she answered. "And when Mr. Darol comes,—oh! isn't it funny that Florence's husband should have the same name? I wonder"—
Charlie was off into a brown study.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "isn't it odd? Florence's name is Darol, and there is my Mr. Darol. Why, I do believe they look something alike,—Flossie's husband, I mean."
To which rather incoherent statement no one was able to reply.
"Perhaps we had better put my room in order," suggested Hal, returning to the prose of housekeeping.
Dot found some clean sheets and pillow-cases. Charlie followed them, and assisted a little. The bed was freshly made, a clean napkin spread over the wornwashstand, towels as white as snow, and every thing neat, if not elegant.
"Though, of course, it will look very common to Flossy," said Dot with a sigh. "I feel almost afraid of her, she is so grand."
"But she isn't a bit better than we are," returned Charlie stoutly. "I think Hal is really the noblest of the lot, and the most unfortunate. But I told Mr. Darol all about the green-house, Hal!"
Hal colored. Charlie was a warm and courageous champion.
Then they went down stairs. Florence still sat at the head of Granny's bed, and had been crying. Hal remembered his hard thoughts of Flossy the night before with a pang of regret; for, though they had been poor and burdened with cares, death had not come nighthem, but had taken Florence's first-born in the midst of her wealth and ease.
Charlie went round to them. "Florence," she began a little timidly, "do you live in New York?"
"Yes."
"I've been there since the last of August."
"You?" returned Florence in surprise. "What are you doing?"
"Studying at the School of Design."
"Why, Charlie! how could you get there?"
"It was very strange. I almost wonder now if it really did happen to me. You see, I worked in themill, and saved up some money; and then I went to New York. You remember Mrs. Wilcox, don't you? I've been boarding there. And, while I was trying to find out what I must do, I met a Mr. Paul Darol, who is a perfect prince"—
"O Florence! we have heard all this story," interrupted Mr. Darol. "It is the little girl for whom Uncle Paul sold the designs. She wanted some money to take home, you know. He never mentioned the name."
"Then he is your uncle," said Charlie, quite overwhelmed at her success.
"Yes; and you are a brave girl, a genius too. Florence, I'm proud enough of this little sister. Why didn't Uncle Paul think,—but you don't look a bit alike."
And this was Charlie! Here were the brothers and sisters of whom she had felt secretly ashamed! Joe, the dear, noble fellow; Hal, tender and devoted; heroic Charlie; ambitious Kit; and fond little Dot. Oh! instead,shewas the one for whom they needed to blush,—her own selfish, unworthy soul, that had stood aloof the past year, when she might have come to their assistance. How it humbled her! She even shrank away from her husband's eyes.
"I think Granny is growing weary," Hal said presently, glancing at the pallid cheek. "She has had a great deal of excitement to-day; and now, if youwill come up stairs and look at my flowers, we can let her have a little rest."
They all agreed to the proposal.
So Hal gave her a composing draught; and, though Joe was fain to stay, Granny sent him away with the others. They had all been so good, that she, surely, must not be selfish; and, truth to tell, a little quiet would not come amiss.
For, happy dream! shehadlived to see them all come back. What more could she ask? That she might recover her health, and feast on their smiles and joyousness; and she prayed humbly to God that it might be so, in his great mercy.
They trooped up the narrow stairs. Why, the old loom-room looked like a palace! Hal had made some very pretty brackets out of pine, and stained them; and they were ranged round the wall, upholding a pot of flowers or trailing vines, and two or three little plaster casts. Here were some bookshelves, the table surmounted by a very passable writing-desk, Hal's construction also. But the flowers were a marvel.
"Hal's dream was a green-house," exclaimed Florence. "But I don't see how you found time for it all"—
"It has been profit as well as pleasure," said Hal with a little pride. "Last winter I sold a quantity of flowers, and, in the spring, bedding-plants and garden vegetables."
"Oh!" returned Florence, choking back the sobs, "do you remember one summer day, long, long ago, when we all told over what we would like to have happen to us? And it has all come about."
"Even to my fiddle," said Kit.
"And my running away," appended Charlie with great satisfaction.
Hal brought in some chairs.
"We're going to sit in the corner on the floor," said Charlie; and the three younger ones ranged themselves in a small group.
Florence and her husband walked round to view the flowers, guided by Joe.
"You appear to have wonderful success," remarked Mr. Darol. "These tuberoses are very fine."
"They were frosted about ten days ago, and have hardly recovered. That is, I lost most of my blossoms."
"Oh, what a pity!"
"And all our Christmas money," said Dot softly.
"No matter," returned Charlie. "You can have all of mine. I meant every penny of it for Granny."
"And now I want to hear what you have been doing all these years. I know it was my own act that shut me out of your joys and sorrows; but if you will take me back"—and the voice was choked with tears.
Hal pressed the soft hand.
"You will find Edmund a brother to you all," she went on. "It is my shame, that after my marriage, knowing that I could come any time, I hesitated to take the step."
"It is a poor old house," exclaimed Hal tremulously.
"But holds more love and heroism than many grander mansions," Mr. Darol said in his deep, manly tone. "Florence is right: I should like to be a brother to you all. I honored Charlie before I fancied that I should ever have a dearer claim."
"And I've been a sort of black sheep," returned Charlie frankly. "Hal and Joe are the heroes in this family."
"It is so wonderful to have Joe safe!"
"And to think how sad we were last night," Dot began. "We did not expect any one to help us keep Christmas but Kit."
"O Dot! tell me all about it," said Charlie eagerly. "I do like to hear it so. And how Joe came home."
Dot was a little shy at first; but presently she commenced at Hal's losing the school, Granny's sickness, Joe's shipwreck, the trouble and sorrow that followed in succession, the misfortune of the flowers, and then she came to the night when Granny wanted to die and go to heaven. Only last night; but oh, how far off it appeared! She told it very simply, but with such unconscious pathos that they were all crying softly Florence leaned her head on her husband's shoulder, hiding her face.
"And I never knew a word of it!" exclaimed Charlie with the quiver of tears in her voice. "I didn't want to tell you about my going, for fear you'd worryover me, or, if I should be disappointed, you would feel it all the more keenly. But I never thought any thing sad could happen to you."
"I should like to hear the first part of Charlie's adventures," said Mr. Darol. "How did she come to know that she had a genius?"
"She used to be punished enough in school for drawing comical faces," answered Joe. "Little did Mr. Fielder think that you would make an artist!"
"But I planned then to run away and live in the woods. I believe I once took you off, Kit."
"Yes; and we were threatened with the jail, weren't we, because we made a fire. But how you did talk, Charlie! You were always splendid on the fighting side."
"I was made to go right straight ahead," said Charlie. "And, if I had been afraid, I should never have done any thing."
"And we want to hear how you did it," pursued Mr. Darol.
So Charlie related her trials and perplexities, her fruitless journeys, and her vain endeavors, until she met Mr. Paul Darol, who seemed to understand just what she wanted.
"I don't see how you had the courage," Florence remarked. "And if I'd only known you were there, Charlie!"
Charlie shrugged her shoulders. Now that the fighthad been made, and terminated successfully, she was rather glad to have gone into it single-handed: not from any vanity, but a kind of sturdy independence that had always characterized Charlie Kenneth.
And then they rambled farther back, to the time of Hal's sad accident. Perhaps the most truly noble thing about them was their fearlessness and honesty. They were not ashamed of the poverty and struggle: there was no petty deceit or small shams to cover the truth.
Ah, what heroic lives they had all been, in a simple way! For it is not only in great matters that men and women must fight: it is the truth and endurance and perseverance which they bring into every-day events that moulds character. Not a poor, false, or useless soul among them, unless it was hers, Florence thought.
Hal stole down a time or two to see Granny, who had fallen into a peaceful sleep. And presently the old clock struck ten. Dot and Kit were nodding.
"I am going to put you in our old room," Hal said to Florence. "It is the best I can do."
"No: let me sit up and watch with Granny."
"That is not at all necessary. Last night she was nervous. I fancy she was haunted by a dim impression of impending change, and thought it must mean death. Instead, it was the dearest of joys."
"O Hal! I don't feel worthy to come among you. Not simply because I chose to go away, to have luxury and ease and idleness, while you were in want andsorrow; for in those old days I thought only of myself. But, a few months after I was married, Mrs. Osgood died, and I was quite free to choose. Don't shrink away from me Hal, though the cowardice has in it so much of vile ingratitude. I had not the courage to be true to my secret longings. She had filled my weak soul with her beliefs; and I persuaded myself that my debt to her was greater than that to my own kindred."
"O Florence, hush! let it all go, since youhavecome back," pleaded unselfish Hal.
"And then my precious baby came. Hardly four months ago. He had your tender eyes, Hal; and they used to reproach me daily. But I made a hundred excuses and delays. And then God took him, to let me feel what a wrench the soul endures when its cherished ones are removed. All these years I have been like one dead to you, without the sweet comfort of those who know their treasures are safe in heaven. When we came back fromhisgrave yesterday, I told Edmund my deeper shame and anguish, my disloyalty to those who had the first claim. And if any of you had been dead, if I could never have won Granny's forgiveness, ah, how heavy my burden would have proved!"
"But we all consented to your going," Hal said, longing to comfort her.
"Because you knew how weak and foolish I was,with my sinfully ambitious longings. And oh, if my husband had been less noble!"
"You shall not so blame yourself on this blessed Christmas night. Is there not to be peace on earth, and tenderness and good will for all? And it seems as if you never could have come back at a more precious moment."
Hal, foolish boy, cried a little in her arms. It was so sweet to have her here.
After a while the children were all disposed of. Hal apologized to Joe for the rather close and fragrant quarters.
"Don't worry, old comrade. When you've slept on a whale's backbone, or a couple of inches of tarred rope, you take any thing cheerfully, from a hammock to a bed of eider down."
Kit cuddled in his arms. Dear old Joe was the best and bravest of heroes to him.
Hal threw himself on the lounge, covered with shawls and overcoats, for the bedclothes were insufficient to go around. He laughed softly to himself. Such a houseful as this the "Old Shoe" had never known before. What was poverty and trouble now? A kind of ghostly phantom, that vanished when one came near it. Why, he had never felt so rich in all his life!
Granny was none the worse the next morning for her excitement. Dot bathed her face, combed out thetiny silver curls, and put on a fresh wrapper. Charlie helped get breakfast, though she was not as deft-handed as Dot. The two tables were set again; and, when they brought Granny out, she was more than proud of her family.
That seemed to be a gala-day for all Madison. When the news was once started, it spread like wild-fire. Joe Kenneth wasn't drowned after all, but had come back safe, a great, tall, handsome fellow. Florence had returned with her fine-looking husband; and wild, queer Charlie had actually been transformed into the family beauty.
"There never was a finer set of children in Madison," said Mr. Terry, clearing his voice of a little huskiness. "And to think they're Joe Kenneth's poor orphans! I tell you what! Granny Kenneth has been one woman out of a thousand. Didn't everybody say she had better let the youngsters go to the poor-house. And now they're a credit to the town. Think of Joe being praised in the papers as he was! That went to my heart,—his giving up a chance for life to some one else. He's a brave fellow, and handsome as a picture. There isn't a girl but would jump at the chance of marrying him. He will be a captain before he is five years older, mark my words."
Dr. Meade was brimful of joy also. He kissed Charlie, and laughed at her for running away, and was much astonished to find how fortunate she had been But Joe was everybody's idol.
"I think some of you ought to be spared," exclaimed the good doctor. "I don't see where you were all stowed last night. I have two or three rooms at your service; and, indeed, am quite willing to take you all in. But, anyhow, Kit and Joe might come for lodgings."
"We put them in the flower-room," said Charlie.
"Which accounts for their blooming appearance, I suppose;" and the doctor pinched Charlie's ear.
Between themselves, they had endless talks. It seemed as if all the stories would never get told. And, strangely enough, they came to pity poor Flossy, who, among them all, had the only lasting sorrow.
Charlie took to Mr. Darol at once; and before the day ended they were all fast friends.
"I think yours is a most remarkable family," he said to Florence. "There is not one of the children but what you might be proud of anywhere."
"I am so glad you can love them!" and the grateful tears were in her eyes.
"And, when we return home, it seems as if we ought to take Charlie. There she will have just the position she needs."
"O Edmund! I don't deserve that you should be so good to me. I was longing to ask it. But I have been so weak and foolish!"
"My darling, that is past. I will say now, that my only misgiving about you has been the apparent forgetfulness of old family ties. But I knew you were young when you left your home, and that Mrs. Osgood insisted upon this course; besides, I never could tell how worthy they were of fond remembrance."
"And did not dream that I could be so basely ungrateful!" she answered in deepest shame. "I abhor myself: I have forfeited your respect."
"Hush, dear! Let it all be buried in our child's grave. Perhaps his death was the one needful lesson. And now that we have found them all, we must try to make amends."
Florence sobbed her deep regret, nestling closely to his heart.
"Your brother Hal interests me so much! It seems that he will always feel the result of his accident in some degree, on account of a strained tendon. He has such a passionate love for flowers, and the utmost skill in their care and culture. But he ought to have a wider field for operations."
"Oh!" she said, "if we could help him. Charlie has worked her way so energetically, that she only needs counsel and guidance. Kit and Dot are still so young!"