The last thing David remembered that night was hearing Mr. Peter’s voice booming out a “Merry Christmas” to each of the departing guests. Incredible and humiliating as it might seem, Johanna had had to help him to bed! He was so worn out with the work and the joy of all that had happened that day that his eyes would not stay open long enough for him to make the proper going-to-bed arrangements for himself.
And the first thing David thought about when he woke Christmas morning was the locked-out fairy. Yes, even before he thought about the gift that was coming that day from father.
Where was the fairy? He had not seen him for two days, had not come upon a single track that might have been his in all his tramping through the woods for greens. He did not like to think it, but perhaps the fairy was shivering
159
and hungry in some hollow tree or deserted rabbit-burrow, homesick and alone, while he, David, had almost, yes, had almost unlocked the door that led back into his old world—almost found opening-time.
It did not seem fair that now the fairy should be left out, when his own happiness was the fairy’s doing, after all; when he would never have found the way to Christmas or the way out of loneliness if the fairy had not made the trail for him to follow. He made up his mind at once, even before he was out of bed, that he would spend Christmas day hunting for the fairy and seeing to it that he had all the comforts that mere mortals could supply.
Then he remembered the Christmas gift that was coming. Perhaps it was something he could share with the fairy. He had thought about it a good many times in the days since father’s letter had come; and he had speculated a good deal as to what it could be. It might be some strange curiosity from the East—father was tremendously interested in curiosities; or it might be books, as father was fond of books. Of one thing he was certain, it would be something that father would like himself; he could not imagine father choosing anything else.
160
Breakfast was late. They had seen Christmas day in before the last guest had gone the night before; and when there are no stockings to empty, no presents to unwrap, there is no need to hurry breakfast along or speed the day. Everybody was in rare good humor. Mr. Peter swung David to his shoulder and marched three times round the table, singing, “Good King Wencelas.”
“Faith, ’tis the best keeping of Christmas I have seen since I came to this country,” was Barney’s comment.
“I think ’tis the best I ever had,” said Johanna.
“I know what I’m going to do,” shouted Mr. Peter. “I’m going to steal the chart and take it back with me to the city; and next year when the notion begins to take me that I want to dodge Christmas again I’ll unroll the chart, take a good look at it, and make straight for the right road. And I tell you what!” He put two hands on David’s shoulders. “I believe it would be just as well to have you along, young man. With you there, and Barney and Johanna, I couldn’t go wrong, you know; and we could take a lot of other poor, tired mortals on the road with us and show them such a
161
Christmas as would warm their hearts and keep their memories green for the rest of their lives.”
“Aye, that’s true,” agreed Johanna. “But if ye don’t sit down and stop talking, Mr. Peter, ye’ll be taking the road to a cold breakfast.”
They were not half through when a knocking came at the front door. Barney answered it, and came back in a moment with a puzzled smile on his face.
“’Tis your friend, the trapper,” he said to David. “He’ll not come in; but he wants to be speaking with ye, laddy.”
Wondering much what it could mean, David slipped from his chair and went into the hall. The trapper was standing just inside the door, and he was holding something small and gray in his great fur mitten.
“Nicholas Bassaraba has brought you something. It was there this morning, hanging on a peg in the woodshed. See!” He held up the coat of a gray squirrel.
“Where—How did it get there?”
The trapper shrugged his shoulders.
“Ah—how should I know? But I can guess. And you? Where are your wits, your fancy, my friend?”
162
David took the skin between his hands, rubbing his fingers through the soft fur.
“You think he brought it back? That he—”
“Is it not possible? He has gone back to his country—his people. He is no longer what you call ‘locked out.’ So he gives back agai............