XIII
THE BIG BOX
The little widow ran down the road, not much more than a good-sizedtrail cut between two hard, frozen banks of snow. Her shoes flappedmiserably, and with one hand she held the remnant of a bonnet on herhead, the other clutched the old plaid shawl together across her thinchest.
Toiling slowly round the curve came a white horse, very tired and old,dragging a wagon that alternately had the wheels on one side or theother tilted up on either bank, making very difficult progress.
"Hullo! Where be ye goin'?" the occupant of the wagon yelled out, as thelittle woman ran suddenly almost into the face of the old white horse,who, recognizing an obstacle, gladly stood still in his tracks withoutthe sharp twitch on the reins to pull him up.
"Now how yer goin' ter git by, an' what be yer runnin' so fur anyway,Mis' Hansell?" exclaimed the old man, all in one impatient breath.
The little widow drew a long sigh and glanced about her on either side.The hard, frozen wall seemed to oppress her, and she set her gaze on theold face under the fur cap, but pressed her thin lips together without aword.
"Well, ye're there an' ye can't git back," said the old man, twitchingone rein violently in an effort to turn the wagon out an inch or two."Shin up the bank, Mis' Hansell, shin up the bank, and then gimme yerhand, an' you can hop in here,"--he jerked his sharp chin over hisshoulder,--"an' set on them bags, bein's th' seat's full." As indeed itwas, a collection of various articles, going to the farmers' wives,occupying all the leather cushion not filled with the driver. "Ye've gotto; I can't move a mite further," as the little woman hung back.
Her thin lips fell apart. "Are you going anywhere near Harrison road,Mr. Bramble?"
"Hey--Harrison road? Eh, yes, after a spell. I'm goin' first to thePotterses, an' th' Timmenses, an'--Land o' Goshen, I clean forgot,--I'mgoin' to your house, Mis' Hansell, I clar to gracious, I am!" He clappedhis knee with his big woollen mitten. "There, you hop in an' set on thembags, an' I'll take you home."
"But I'm not going home," said little Mrs. Hansell, creeping as closelyto the wall of frozen snow as possible, in her endeavor to get by theteam. "And if you've got to go to the Potterses and the Timmenses, Iwon't ride. Thank you kindly, Mr. Bramble."
She made another attempt to crowd by over the rough, jagged edges of theice, lost her footing, and fell with her face against the wheel.
"Sho!" ejaculated Mr. Bramble, in great distress, "now ye've hurt ye!Couldn't ye have done as I said? But women have no sense no more'n hens;they must bunt up ag'in' sunthin', blind-headed. Get in, can't ye? Ye'llhave to ride a piece anyway, till I get where I can turn round."
"It's no matter," said the little widow, wiping off a few drops of bloodthat trickled down her cheek, as she got in, being pulled up over thestep by the firm grip of the knotted fingers in the woollen mitten, andsat down on the bags of grain, as bidden.
"That 'ere is your box," said Mr. Bramble, when he had seen hercomfortably adjusted, and pointing with one mitten over his shoulder.
"Hey?" said little Mrs. Hansell, lost in thought that seemed to be verymournful, for she sighed deeply, and picked at the edge of her shawlwhere the fringe had been.
"Yes, 'tis yours, I say, your box." Mr. Bramble kept reiterating it,each time giving a fierce nod to the old fur cap that finally settled itwell over his eyes. "It come yesterday over to the deepo at Purdy's, butI couldn't get here, th' goin's so bad."
The little widow said nothing. Having never received a box, conversationin regard to one couldn't possibly interest her, so she had failed tohear any reference to herself. And at last old Mr. Bramble, having gotthe white horse safely past the narrowest part of the road, whirledaround on his seat and stared at her.
"Sakes alive, Mis' Hansell, are you deef?" he roared. "_You've got abox._"
"I?" said the little widow, turning a bewildered gaze up at him."I--what _do_ you mean, Mr. Bramble?"
"You've got a box; _box_, I said." The expressman roared it at her sothat the old white horse jerked up his tired head and took two rapidsteps forward, positively by his own accord.
This wholly unsettling the dilapidated bonnet on the little widow's headso that it slid down her neck, with difficulty being recovered fromflying out of the wagon altogether, and the shock of the announcement ofthe box occurring at the same moment, she was speechless again.
"Well, if I ever!" ejaculated Mr. Bramble, when he recovered from theastonishment into which his steed's burst of energy had plunged him. Andgiving his travelling companion up as a bad job so far as conversationwas concerned, he relapsed into a sullen silence, neither of themspeaking till a good half mile was slowly traversed.
And then he felt a timid twitch at the end of the old woollen scarfhanging over his back.
"Mr. Bramble, is that true?" and he glanced over his shoulder to see thethin face of the little widow working convulsively, while her faded eyesgleamed with excitement.
"Oh, ye've waked up, hev ye?" cried Mr. Bramble. "Yes, 'tis true, trueas gospel writ, Mis' Hansell," he averred solemnly.
"True?" She had only breath to repeat the one word, and she hung on theanswer.
"Sure as shootin'," declared the express driver. He clapped his kneesmartly to enforce his words. "There 'tis now," he added suddenly, andpointing with his thumb over his shoulder; "you're a-settin' ag'inst itthis blessed minute, Mis' Hansell."
Little Mrs. Hansell turned convulsively, gave one look at the big boxlooming up behind her, then covered her face with her thin hands, androcked back and forth on the grain bags.
"Oh, I don't believe it; I can't. I hain't never had a box. 'Tain'tmine."
"Well, I'm a-goin' to dump it at your house, anyway," declared Mr.Bramble, "for it's got your name on it."
"'Tain't mine, an' I must git out an' go to Harrison road an' tell Mr.Shuggs that he can come and take us all to the poorhouse, for--"
"Land!" exclaimed Mr. Bramble, in a mighty shout that puffed out his redcheeks like small bellows, "'tain't so bad as that, is it? Thunder an'lightnin', an' that was where ye were goin'?" He was taken with a suddenfit of coughing and he blew his nose violently, wiped his eyes with theback of his mitten, and glanced off at the towering mountains as if hehad never seen them before.
"O dear, dear, dear!" The little woman huddled on the grain bags was nowin such a bad state at having told her secret that he whirled around tolook after her.
"I must whip up Billy an' git there quick, or she'll be out over thewheel with her didoes, like enough," and he slapped the back of the oldwhite horse with the doubled-up end of the reins so effectively that indue time the wagon jounced over the icy ruts of the winding road, anddrew up in front of the little cabin nestling at the foot of the hill,the express driver mumbling within his straggly beard: "Well, I ambusted, who'd 'a' thought she an' them children was struck so hard!"
Instantly the door burst open and a brood of children, six in number,the baby being left to sprawl on the kitchen floor, plunged out,trooping over the frozen ground, some of them running on the crust ofthe polished snow lying high in banks--any way to get there the quicker.
To see their mother riding in state in Mr. Bramble's express wagon was asupreme event, and they clambered over the wheels and fairly swarmedaround her, as she tremblingly tried to get down.
"Easy, easy there; sho now, can't you let her get down?" Mr. Brambleroared at them, pretending to be very much put out. But they paid notthe slightest attention to him.
"Oh, Mammy!" they cried, surrounding her tumultuously.
"You've got hurt," exclaimed one of the big boys, seeing her cheek, and,"Oh, I'm so hungry," said Jane, the youngest, who, since her mother hadreally returned, thought it just as well to mention a fact she had beensteadily reiterating all the morning.
"Hush up!" shouted Mr. Bramble, "and look here, Mat, an' you too, Markand Luke, tumble out that box. Step lively now." Again his thumb cameinto service over his shoulder.
"Oh, bless my buttons, I never see such a dull lot," as
the wholecollection of children, big boys and all, stared open-mouthed at him,without offering to stir from their tracks. "I'll pitch it out myself."And with many grunts, for his legs were rheumatic, he slowly hitchedhimself off his seat, and laid hold of the box.
"Give us a grip, Mat," he sang out to the oldest boy. "This box has gotto go into your house, an' I know _I_ ain't a-goin' to carry it. Comeon!"
And instantly the whole swarm of children, wild with excitement,deserted their mother to crowd around Mr. Bramble and the boys.
"The baby's comin' out," screamed Elvira, with one hasty glance back atthe cabin door, as she ran to the centre of attraction with the others.
The little widow turned where she had been left alone and spedfrantically up to the broken steps, where little Susan, spatting her fathands on the floor as she crawled along to see what the noise was allabout, had just decided to tumble down. But instead of landing on thehard, frozen ruts, she was gathered up to her mother's thin breast andhugged and coddled.
"Oh, baby, baby." She sank down on the steps and rocked back and forth,Susan now spatting her thin cheeks and struggling to get away to whereall that delightful noise was coming from. "Oh, good Lord, I can'tbelieve it. We've got a box, Susan; we have, Susan, he says so, but Iknow he's made a mistake. And p'raps there's somethin' to eat in it, andI won't have to go to the selectmen an' tell 'em we'll go to thepoorhouse. But 'tain't ours, I know 'tain't. _O Lord, they're bringin'it in!_"
And in another minute the little widow, hanging to Susan, was off thesteps, the box was dragged over them by the united efforts of the threeboys, their progress very much impeded by the crowding up of the girls,who were afraid they would miss something of the progress, Mr. Bramblelooking on in great satisfaction. Then he climbed into his wagon, staredat the little cabin for another minute, where they had all disappeared,and drove off, blowing his nose violently, his eyes seeming to need agreat deal of attention from the back of his gray woollen mitten.
Down went the big box with a thud in the very middle of the kitchenfloor.
"Get the hammer," screamed Elvira, capering wildly, her black braids,tied with bits of string, flying out from either side of her head. "I'mgoin' to get it myself," with a leap toward the corner.
"No such thing," Matthew roared at her. "I'll get it. Come back, Viry."
"The axe,"--Mark shouted it high above the din, as he rushed to get thatnecessary implement,--"that's better'n the hammer."
"Oo--Oo--Scree!" Susan, in dreadful distress at being bound in mother'sarms, let her feelings have free vent in a wail that soared high abovethe crackling of the box cover as it splintered under the effort of bothhammer and axe.
"And we can keep warm now." The little widow's eyes glistened at thepile of splintered boards tumbling down on the kitchen floor. "Oh,Susan," and she drew near, the whole cover being off now.
There was an awful pause, every one staring at the smooth layer of brownpaper. The supreme importance of the event swept them all into silence.
THERE WAS AN AWFUL PAUSE, EVERY ONE STARING AT THE SMOOTHLAYER OF BROWN PAPER.]
"I'm goin' to peek first," announced Elvira, finding her tongue.
This unloosed all the others. "She shan't; Elviry's always a-pushin'first."
"Mammy, mayn't I?"
"No, let me." It was a babel in a minute.
"You be still." It was Matthew who commanded silence. "Mother's goin' tolook first; it's _her_ box," he added convincingly.
The little widow would much rather have allowed this privilege to one ofher brood, but it was difficult to choose between the five; so she putout her hand tremblingly, then drew it back.
"We'll let Susan do it," she said; "she couldn't go out to the wagonwith the rest of you."
"Oh, yes, let baby do it," cried the others, easily pleased, and in adreadful twitter to begin operations. "Yes, let baby," echoed Elvira,dashing away from the box to hug Susan, who, delighted at theopportunity, seized one of the black braids in her fat little hands,with a crow that disclosed the few teeth she possessed.
"Ow! Let me go!" screamed Elvira, very red in the face and twistingviolently. "Moth_er_, Susan's got my _hair_! Slap her."
"Oh, no, no," said the little widow, getting the small, triumphant handswithin her thin ones; "we wouldn't slap baby for anything. There, there,Susan mustn't. Naughty--naughty!"
Susan looked up in her mother's face to see if she really meant it, andconcluding that she did, the black braid slid out of her hands, thestring flying off to the floor.
"There, see what she's done! My hair's all untied," cried Elvira, ingreat vexation, and picking up the old white string; "she ought to beslapped," she added, bobbing her head decidedly, her black eyesflashing.
"Oh, no, no," said her mother again; "why, we couldn't slap our baby,Elviry, ever in all this world," and she pressed her closely to herbreast. "Well, come, children, now Susan's going to pull up the paper."
"Wait!" screamed Elvira, the string between her teeth, and doubling overin great distress, "till I tie my braid. Oh, wait, Mammy."
"Oh, never mind! Viry, hurry up!" cried all the boys together. And theother children, capering around the big box, with many dashes andpickings from impatient fingers, made Mrs. Hansell say, "Stop, children;there now, hurry, Elviry. Yes, yes, Susan, you're going to do it," untilat last the great moment had arrived, and the whole family was drawn uparound the centre of operations, each one scarcely daring to breathe.
"Now, baby," said the little widow, grasping Susan's fat hand in one ofher thin ones, "you must take hold of one end of the paper; there, see,"and she folded the little one's fingers over it. But Susan preferred tospat the smooth surface, and to crow loudly. So it was really MotherHansell after all that lifted the veil and opened up fairyland to view.
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