The day before Christmas broke cold and clear; and almost before the sun had crested the hill three fur-clad figures were abroad. Two were large and one was small; each carried a post across his shoulders, while the foremost swung an ax in his free hand. They first took the trail for the trapper’s, and a dozen yards from the hut they planted one post, knocking it firmly into the snow with the flat of the ax. There it stood straight as could be and about the height of a little lad, with its white sign pointing up the trail they had come and its bands of Christmas green and red—painted by Mr. Peter at the top—warranted to attract attention.
David cast a backward glance of admiration upon it as they turned to cross-cut the ravine and climb the foot-hill that led to the South-Americans’ cottage. Yes, it certainly did look
140
fine! And how well the black letters stood out against the white background! With a heart almost bursting with the fullness of contentment David read the sign for the hundredth time:
THIS WAY TO CHRISTMAS
Six o’Clock To-night. Please Come.
David
And the hand pointed straight to the hilltop and the lodge. Another sign was planted by the cottage, and a third by the lumber-camp. Then the trio climbed the hill again. At the lodge Barney picked up a fourth post. He was going down to the village for some necessary supplies and he had been appointed to leave the sign for the flagman.
“There’s just one thing that’s the matter,” said David, as he and Mr. Peter started out with knives and bags to hunt for ground-pine and other Christmas greens. “It’s the South-Americans. I don’t see how they could possibly get here. Why, the sick boy has hardly enough strength to walk across the room. And you couldn’t expect a lady to climb a mountain on snow-shoes, just for Christmas.”
Mr. Peter laughed.
141
“You can never tell what’s going to happen Christmas Eve. Maybe the fairy will loan them his wishing-cap. Or Santa, himself, may swing round here on his way to the city and bring them along. I wouldn’t begin to worry about who’s not coming until it’s too late for them to get here.”
All through that crisp winter morning David and Mr. Peter plowed back and forth between the woods and the lodge, carrying green of every description, with intervals spent beside the kitchen stove, warming up. And early in the afternoon they started decorating the hall and living-room, while Johanna and Barney concentrated their efforts in the kitchen. Barney had succeeded in rooting out untold treasures from the shelves of the “variety store” in the village; and he had brought home several cans of silver paint and rolls of red tissue-paper, besides some white and red candles.
With these Mr. Peter and David created miracles. They silvered bunches of the pine-cones and hung them on their drooping green branches above the doorways and windows. They trailed the ground-pine across the ceiling from corner to corner, and about the mantel, hanging from it innumerable tiny red bells
142
fashioned from the red paper. They stood two tall young spruces on either side of the window niche and these they trimmed with strips of pop-corn, silvered nuts and pine-cones and red and white candles. And every window had a hemlock wreath made gay with cranberries.
And Barney and Johanna? They were likewise performing miracles. When David and Mr. Peter had finished and given their work a last survey and exchanged a final round of mutual congratulations they went into the kitchen to behold the others’ handiwork.
There was the table lengthened out and covered with a snowy-white cloth. In the center, surrounded by a wreath of green, stood the mammoth Christmas cake; and at the four corners stood tall white candles in crystal candlesticks. At one end was a cold baked ham resplendent with its crust of sugar and cloves and its paper frill of red and white. At the other was a red Japanese bowl filled with the vegetable salad that had made Johanna famous; while dotted all about the table were delectable dishes of all sorts—jams and jellies, nuts, raisins, savory pickles, and a pyramid of maple-sugar cream. But it was from the stove that the appetizing odors came: rolls baking, coffee steaming,
143
and chicken frying slowly in the great covered pan.
“It smells too good to be true,” cried Mr. Peter, clapping his hands. “Never was there such a Christmas supper! Come, David, boy, we will have to scramble into some festal raiment to do honor to Johanna’s cooking, although I am not quite sure that I have anything to dress up in but a pair of gold sleeve-links and a red necktie.”
“Ye might be making a prayer while ye’re dressing that somebody will come to help eat it up. I’ve said to Barney a score o’ times since dinner that there’s just as much likelihood that not a mortal soul will show his face here this night.”
“Why, Johanna!” David protested.
“I know, laddy. But mind, ye’ve not seen one of them but once, yourself, and I’m a stranger to them. Never matter; only if no one comes ye’ll all be eating ham and fried chicken for the rest o’ the year.” And Johanna ended with a good-humored laugh.
Before six they were gathered in the living-room with the candles lighted and the fire blazing uproariously on the hearth.
“It’s all so fine and like mother used to have.
144
I believe I shall be wishing somebody ‘Merry Christmas’ before I know it,” shouted Mr. Peter. Then he held up a warning finger. “Hush! What’s that?”
They all listened. There was certainly a noise outside; it sounded as if some one was feeling for the knob. David was away like a flash to the hall and had flung open the door wide. The next moment his voice came back to the others, ringing with gladness:
“Uncle Joab! Oh, Uncle Joab! This is just bully!”
The bent figure of the old darky stumbled in out of the night. He carried two bundles under his arm, each wrapped in layers of gunnysack; and he blinked, open-mouthed, at the lights and the faces that gathered about him.
“It sure is a befo’-de-war Chris’mus!” he ejaculated. Then he sniffed the air like an old dog on a scent. “’Pon ma soul, dat’s fried chick’n or Uncle Joab’s no sinner!”
They all laughed; and one by one they shook Uncle Joab’s hand as David introduced them. Once divested of his outside things, the old man turned his attention to his bundles and unwrapped them with great care. The first turned out to be his fiddle and he patted it lovingly.
145
“When I fust cotch sight o’ dat yeah post dis mo’nin’ I wa’n’t sure dat de sign was meant fo’ no ole nigger like Uncle Joab. Den I look ’round, but dere doan’t ’pear to be nobody else. So I brings along de ole fiddle, ’ca’se I reckon dat dey’ll be glad to see him if dey ’ain’t got no welcome fer me.”
“Sure, we’re hearty glad to see the both o’ ye.” And Barney spoke out for them all.
The old man beamed his gratitude as he unwrapped his second bundle. It held a paper sack; and Uncle Joab viewed the contents with approval before he handed it to David.
“M’lasses corn-balls; Chris’mus gif’ fo’ li’l’ boy,” he chuckled.
David’s thanks were cut short by the stamping of feet outside and a clang of the knocker. Again he flew to the door and found the eyes of the trapper looking down upon him with grave pleasure.
“Nicholas Bassaraba, my friend,” he said, proudly, and this was the way he made the trapper known to the others.
The flagman came next, the icicles hanging to his scrubby mustache, his little blue eyes dancing with anticipation. He was quite out of breath and it was some minutes before he could respond properly to his warm welcome.
146
“Zo, Fritz Grossman has some friends this Chreestmas; eet es goot!” And his eyes danced harder than ever. He felt down in the pockets of his greatcoat and brought out his hands full of red apples. Their glossy skins bespoke much careful polishing. “Chreestmas apples for the knabelein. He remembers the tale? Ja!”
The stillness outside was suddenly broken by the jingle of bells—sleigh-bells coming nearer and nearer. This time it was Mr. Peter who reached the door first; he had taken down the hall lantern and was holding it high above his head as he peered out.
“Whoa, there!” came a voice from the dark. “That you, Mr. Peter? I ca’late I wouldn’t ha’ broken through no road like this for no one else. But here we be, all hunky-dory!”
“Well, I ca’late there isn’t another man who could have done it. You bring in the lad and I’ll see to the lady.” And Mr. Peter went out into the darkness, lantern in hand.
The next moment David knew his cup of happiness had filled to the brim; for in strode the village stage-driver with Alfredo in his arms, while behind them came Mr. Peter supporting the mother.
“It’s splendid! It’s perfectly splendid!”
147
David said over and over again, as he helped to unbundle the South-Americans and make the sick boy comfortable in the great lounging-chair by the fire.
“It is wonderful,” said the mother, softly. “To have the aloneness and heart-hunger and then to find the friend!” And her arm slipped about David’s shoulders in a way his own mother had.
“Supper’s ready,” called Johanna from the kitchen. “And, Barney, suppose ye and Mr. Peter fetch out the lad, just as he is in his big chair.”
They put Alfredo at one end of the table, while Johanna sat at the other behind the great, steaming coffee-pot. Uncle Joab insisted on serving every one, bustling back and forth from the stove to the kitchen, his black face radiating his pleasure.
“Lordy gracious!” he would burst forth every few minutes. “Dis yeah nigger hasn’t served a supper like dis not since he was back in ole Virginy. Jes’ smell dat fried chicken! Humm!” And they could not persuade him to take his place among them until every one else’s plate was full.
What a supper it was! The men who had
148
been shifting for themselves alone in their cabins or huts, the South-Americans who had been living on food put up in cans and tins, were quite sure they had never tasted such a Christmas feast. And every one had stories to tell, memories of his own homeland which brought a flush to his cheeks and a sparkling moisture to his eyes. Only David was silent, his ears too full............