Christmas gold, p.476
Christmas Gold, page 476
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 the old 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 attention this winter, that he had hardly felt anxious for Charlie. Her cheerful little notes were like stray sunbeams, and she had promised 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 certainly was stronger.
"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!"
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 God does know 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."
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.
"Granny is better, 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 that would flow 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. What those 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 it will be 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."
Chapter XIX.
In the Old Home-Nest Again
Table of Contents
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!"
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