CHAPTER XIX
“WE’RE goin’ to have a green Christmas, sure’s you’re born,” remarked the usually stolid and reticent Bell Adams. “I only hope the rest of it don’t follow. Dear me, if that delicate motherless baby should be took!”
“Bell Adams, I don’t know what you mean, talking like that to me,” cried her mistress. “Just because I’ve forced myself to endure the strong light and have changed a little outwardly, you treat me as if I were as well and strong as anyone. You used to be so careful, Bell.”
That was quite true,—also that Bell had borne herself differently of late. She had not, as a matter of fact, been the same woman since the visit of Anna Miller and Joe, Junior, when she had held the baby in her arms. And since she had in some manner come to understand that the child had been offered to the household and refused by Mrs. Langley, she had been so thoroughly indignant that she could scarcely speak to her mistress. But silence being her usual role, it was only when her anger had cooled into sulkiness that Mrs. Langley felt and resented the strangeness of her demeanour.
“And why you should pick out that little innocentbaby—” Mrs. Langley went on in an aggrieved voice.
“I ain’t a-pickin’ of him out,” retorted Bell. “If anybody’s doin’ that it’s the Lord, and if He’s marked him out for early death, why, there you are. And anyways, the little mite hasn’t no real home, so to speak. And he’s too bright to grow up. He ought to be tenderly cherished with that bulgin’ forehead, and his speakin’ out so sudden and complete wasn’t natural.”
Mrs. Langley was too affected to reply. Bell hastened back to the kitchen, for it was the day before Christmas and she was deep in preparation.
Ten minutes passed and a shadow fell across her table. Bell looked up in amazement to see her mistress before her. Mrs. Langley had not left her room for years, and Bell was really frightened.
“For the dear sake, Mis’ Langley, you out of your head?” she cried.
“No, Bell, but I felt upset. I wish you would come in and sit with me for a little, but you must be quiet. I don’t want you to say a word. You stirred me all up with your chatter about green Christmases.”
“But ma’am, I’m makin’ cranberry jell, and I must get this mince pie into the oven for Mr. Langley’s Christmas dinner,” returned Bell.
She glanced at her mistress out of the tail of her eye, and, apparently deciding that she could go further with impunity, added:
“It’s bad enough as it is, him a-eatin’ of it all alone.”
Mrs. Langley flushed. That woman was getting unbearable.
“If you pity Mr. Langley, I should like to know what you think of me, Bell Adams?” she cried. “I must not only eat alone but I am forced to remain alone all the time and to suffer constant pain.”
“Yes’m, I know,” Bell relented. “’Tis hard, dear knows. And yet, men are different from we women, and sometimes I mistrust they suffer as much from bein’ lonesome as we do from real pain. And then of course he’s been as good as a widower all these years and——”
“Bell Adams——”
“O, ma’am, you ought not to be standin’ and in this hot kitchin and like a summer day outside and the twenty-fourth day of December. Now why don’t you go into the front room and set a spell and watch the folks go by? They’s a lot of passin’ the day before Christmas, and you can see way to the post office now that the leaves is off. Rusty Miller’s home, they say, and you may see her. You’ll know her by her red hair. Everybody mistrusted she’d come home from college with it done up in a p’siky but it seems she ain’t.”
Mrs. Langley was tempted by her suggestion. It didn’t seem as if she could go back to her room and think about green Christmases and that over-bright baby and Mr. Langley’s having been like a widower all these years. Wherefore, when Bell went before and led her to the at once familiar and strange room, shefollowed and allowed herself to be established comfortably in a big chair before the low window.
She had not been there ten minutes when she was secretly blaming Bell for not having thought of this before. Indeed, if it had not been for haunting thoughts of Anna and the baby, she would have been quite comfortable. It occurred to her that Joe, Junior, would like to be sitting on her lap looking out the window with her. There was a Newfoundland dog—she wondered if he would know what it was and saybow-wow?
As a matter of fact Joe, Junior, was sayingbow-wowto every dog he saw that afternoon, thereby nearly convulsing Freddy Miller who walked at his side. The boys wheeled him all the way from the Hollow to the post office in his new perambulator.
Rusty had brought it home with her as a Christmas present for her sister. After she had gone away in the early autumn, Rusty had begun to feel as if she had been less than fair to Anna. She had been deeply impressed by her sister’s devotion to the baby and by the sacrifice of her beautiful hair. It was like Rusty to desire to make her atonement concrete, and she had saved all her pocket money towards a Christmas present for Anna, expecting to get something handsome in the way of jewelry or other personal adornment. But when she had made secret enquiries of the family, no one knew of anything that Anna really wanted, except that Frank suspected she was saving her money for a perambulator for Joe, Junior. Whereupon Rusty purchasedan handsome carriage that was convertible into a sleigh.
Anna had been overwhelmed with delight. The perambulator had been placed in the parlour and covered by a sheet, that the baby should not see it before Christmas day.
Against this, however, the boys had protested loudly. They declared they wanted to be sure to use it before the runners should be put on, and everyone said there was a storm due, and it would be too mean for anything if they couldn’t try the wheels before April. The baby was so little he wouldn’t know the difference, anyhow. But Anna would not yield.
Reuben was to arrive at Wenham the day before Christmas, and Rusty was to drive over to meet him with Miss Penny’s pony. It occurred to her that morning to ask Anna to go with her.
Anna flushed to the roots of her dandelion hair, as Frank called it. Then she remembered the baby and told Rusty she couldn’t leave him.
“Ma’s got baking to do, and I couldn’t have her bothered, Rusty.”
“But he’ll sit on the floor and not be the least trouble,” urged her sister.
“I don’t like to risk anything now, Rusty,” Anna confessed. “Ma didn’t take to him at first, and now she’s begun to, I don’t want any setback. I want him to live with us always, you see.”
“O, Anna, you’ll never have any more fun then,” protested Rusty.
“Junior’s all the fun I want,” returned Anna rather shyly.
“Well, anyhow, the boys can mind him this afternoon?”
“They could, but I don’t believe they will. Frank’s mad with me because I won’t let him use the perambulator.”
Rusty appealed to her mother.
“I’m afraid it’s no use, Rusty,” returned Mrs. Miller. “Frank’s a good boy, but when he gets a contrary streak, he isn’t to be coaxed. And I shouldn’t like tomakehim mind the baby, for fear he might turn against him, and it’s good for the boys to love him as they do now. But I’ll look after him myself. He’s no trouble at all; he’s just company for me.”
She sighed.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make more of him when he first came,” she owned. “Anna won’t let me do anything for him except in school hours, and I want her to get into the notion of leaving him to me and getting out more herself. It was really for her sake that I sort of hardened my heart against the baby in the first place,—I felt it was too much for her.”
Rusty kissed her mother and said she would try to see what she could do with Frank. She sought out her brother.
“Frank, you and Freddy’ll mind the baby while Anna goes to Wenham with me to meet Reuben, won’t you?” she begged. “You know I’ve been away solong you haven’t had a chance to do anything for me for weeks and weeks.”
“Why Rusty Miller,” the boy exclaimed, “ain’t writing letters anything,—with ink, too! It takes the whole evening, even if you begin the minute the table cloth’s off.”
“Yes indeed, Frank, it’s a lot, and it’s a great comfort to get them,” Rusty owned, “but answer me quick so that Anna can change her dress before dinner. And I’ll tell Reuben how good you are.”
“Fred and me was going to the post office to see the Christmas mail come in,” objected Frank. “Anna won’t let us haul Joe in our cart so far as that on account of the bumps, but if you’ll let us take the perambulator we’ll mind him dandy.”
Rusty argued with him but found that her mother was right, and presently yielded.
“Well, do take it,” she said, “only wait until we’re out of the way. I’ll tell Anna, but be sure she doesn’t know it to-morrow. Wipe the wheels all off as soon as you get back.”
She and Anna went away directly after dinner in order to wander about Wenham and see the Christmas decorations before time for Reuben’s train. Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Miller got the baby into his wraps and put him into the perambulator. The child looked at the new equipage with interest and approval and settled himself comfortably among the cushions with an expression that was almost eager. Mrs. Miller kissed him.
“Frank, don’t you feel a little ashamed when Anna’s so good to you to be doing just what she doesn’t want you to?” she asked.
Frank looked rather sheepish.
But Joe, Junior, was almost smiling.
“Well, perhaps one day won’t make any great difference,” Mrs. Miller admitted indulgently.
“SayGo, baby,” urged Frank, and the child complied instantly.
“Now don’t hurry,” cautioned their mother. “And Freddy, don’t dance up and down that way. It’s long enough there and back if you just walk without any capers. And besides, if you jump about too much that safety pin will give and your stocking will be all down around your foot.”
Of course Freddy forgot the warning. Joe, Junior, repeatingGo, go, Freddy was in an ecstasy, and was hardly out of sight before his stocking was trailing in the dust. The day being unseasonably warm he rather liked it so, and didn’t mind the halting gait it induced. But Frank objected to the latter, and drawing the stocking up over the little boy’s trousers, fastened it securely if not elegantly with the safety pin. Whereupon they rushed on and reached the post office an hour before the mail was due.
After a little the elder brother went inside, cautioning the younger not to wheel the carriage while he was gone. When Freddy grew tired of waiting, he moved it, pushing it sidewise, and went in to tell Frankthat the sun was shining right into the baby’s eyes, and couldn’t he just wheel him into the shade?
But when he entered, the post master was telling his brother how many parcels had come on the stage a year ago on the twenty-fourth of December, and what he calculated would have been their combined weight in pounds. He put it to Frank how many ounces that would be, and Freddy stood spell-bound while his brother computed it ‘in his head.’ Further delay was occasioned by the fact that Frank got his answer according to the avoirdupois scale and had to be reminded that he should have used the Troy, and to multiply all over by sixteen, which was more difficult than reckoning by the dozen.
When finally the matter was settled, the little boy put his request.
“Of course, silly,” returned Frank, and went on talking with the post master. Presently Freddy returned.
“He ain’t there,” he said in a dazed way.
“What you givin’ us?” demanded his brother.
Freddy burst into tears. “He ain’t there, cross my neck, Frank. Nothin’ but a pillow,” he declared, “O, O, the bears must ’a eat him up!”
Frank rushed out. The perambulator was indeed empty. For an instant he stared at it in amazement. Then he decided it was a trick of some of the boys in Farleigh and tiptoed about peering into all possible and impossible corners and hiding-places. But there was no one in sight.