CHAPTER XIII
THEIR CHRISTMAS-DAY
The day before Christmas should, by right of delights about to blossom,be nearly as happy as the sweet old carnival itself, but up at thecabin on the hill it was far from being joyous.
The tiny mite of a foundling was not so well as when his friends hadleft him on the previous afternoon.
He was up and dressed, sitting, in his grave little way, on the miner'sknee, weakly holding his crushed-looking doll, but his cold hadincreased, his sweet baby face was paler, the sad, dumb look in hiseyes was deeper in its questioning, the breakfast that the fond old Jimhad prepared was quite untasted.
"He ain't agoin' to be right down sick, of course?" said theblacksmith, come to report all the progress made. "Natchelly, we'dbetter go on, gittin' ready fer the banquet? He'll be all right ferto-morrow?"
"Oh yes," said Jim. "There never yet was a Christmas that wouldn't geta little youngster well. He'll come to the tree, you bet. It's goin'to be the happiest time he ever had."
Outside, the red-headed Keno was chopping at the brush. The weatherwas cold and windy, the sky gray and forbidding. When the smith hadgone, old Jim, little Skeezucks, and the pup were alone. Tintoretto,the joyous, was prancing about with a boot in his jaws. He stumbledconstantly over its bulk, and growled anew at every interference withhis locomotion.
"Does little pardner like the pup?" said Jim, patting the sick littleman on the back with his clumsy but comforting hand. "Do you want himto come here and play?"
The wee bit of a parentless, deserted boy slowly shook his head.
"Don't you like him any more?" said Jim.
A weak little nod was the answer.
"Is there anything the baby wants?" inquired the miner, tenderly."What would little Skeezucks like?"
For the very first time since his coming to the camp the littlefellow's brown eyes abruptly filled with tears. His tiny lip began totremble.
"Bruv-ver Jim," he said, and, leaning against the rough old coat of theminer, he cried in his silent way of passionate longing, far too deepin his childish nature for the man to comprehend.
"Poor little man ain't well," said Jim, in a gentle way of soothing."Bruvver Jim is here all right, and goin' to stay," and, holding thequiet little figure to his heart, he stood up and walked with him upand down the dingy cabin's length, till the shaking little sobs hadceased and the sad little man had gone to sleep.
All day the miner watched the sleeping or the waking of the tinypilgrim. The men who came to tell of the final completion of the treeand the greater preparations for the feast were assured that the onetiny guest for whom their labors of love were being expended wouldsurely be ready to enjoy the celebration.
The afternoon gave way to night in the manner common to wintry days.From time to time a gust of wind tore the fleece from the clouds andhurled it in snow upon the silent earth. Dimly the lights of thecabins shone through the darkness and the chill.
At the blacksmith's shop the wind went in as if to warm itself beforethe forge, only to find it chill and black, wherefore it crept outagain at the creaking door. A long, straight pencil of snow was flungthrough a chink, across the earthen floor and against the swayingChristmas-tree, on which the, presents, hanging in readiness for littleSkeezucks, beat out a dull, monotonous clatter of tin and wood as theycollided in the draught.
The morning--Christmas morning--broke with one bright gleam ofsunlight, shining through the leaden banks before the cover of cloudswas once more dropped upon the broken rim of mountains all about.
Old Jim was out of his bunk betimes, cooking a breakfast fit, he said,"to tempt a skeleton to feast."
True to his scheme of ensnaring the gray old miner in an idleness withregard to his mine which should soon prove a fatal mistake, Parky, thegambler, had sent a load of the choicest provisions from the store tothe cabin on the hill. Only too glad of the daintier morsels thussupplied for his ailing little guest, old Jim had made but feebleprotest when the things arrived, and now was preparing a meal from thenicest of the packages.
Little Skeezucks, however, waked in a mood of lethargy not to befathomed by mere affection. Not only did he turn away at the meresuggestion of eating, but he feebly hid his face and gave a little moan.
"He ain't no better," Jim announced, putting down a breakfast-dish withits cargo quite untasted. "I wish we had a little bit of medicine."
"What kind?" said the worried Keno.
"It wouldn't make much difference," answered the miner. "Anything ismedicine that a doctor prescribes, even if it's only sugar-and-water."
"But there ain't a doctor into camp," objected Keno, hauling at hissleeves. "And the one they had in Bullionville has went away, and hewas fifty miles from here."
"I know," said Jim.
"You don't think he's sick?" inquired Keno, anxiously.
Jim looked long at his tiny foundling dressed in the nightie that camebelow his feet. A dull, heavy look was in the little fellow's eyes,half closed and listless.
"He ain't no better," the miner repeated. "I don't know what to do."
Keno hesitated, coughed once or twice, and stirred the fire fiercelybefore he spoke again. Then he said, "Miss Doc is a sort of femaledoctor. She knows lots of female things."
"Yes, but she can't work 'em off on the boy," said Jim. "He ain't bigenough to stand it."
"No, I don't suppose he is," agreed Keno, going to the window, on whichhe breathed, to melt away the frosty foliage of ice. "I think there'ssome of the boys a-comin'--yep--three or four."
The boots of the men could be heard, as they creaked on the crisplyfrozen snow, before the visitors arrived at the door. Keno let themin, and with them an oreole of chill and freshness flavored spicily ofwinter. There were three--the carpenter, Bone, and Lufkins.
"How's the little shaver?" Bone inquired at once.
"About the same," said Jim. "And how's the tree?"
"All ready," answered Lufkins. "Old Webber's got a bully fire, andiron melting hot, to warm the shop. The tree looks great. She's alllit up, and the doors all shut to make it dark, and you bet she's agem--a gorgeous gem--ain't she, fellers?"
The others agreed that it was.
"And the boys are nearly all on deck," resumed the teamster, "andWebber wanted to know if the morning--Christmas morning--ain't the timefor to fetch the boy."
"Wal, some might think so," Jim replied, unwilling to concede that thetiny man in the bunk was far too ill to join in the cheer so early inthe day. "But the afternoon is the regular parliamentary time, and,anyway, little Skeezucks 'ain't had his breakfast, boys, and--we wantto be sure the shop is good and warm."
"The boys is all waitin' fer to give three cheers," said the carpenter,"and we're goin' to surprise you with a Christmas song called 'Massa'sin the Cole, Cole Ground.'"
"Shut up!" said Bone; "you're givin' it all away. So you won't bringhim down this mornin'?"
"Well, we'll tell 'em," agreed the disappointed Lufkins. "What time doyou think you'll fetch the little shaver, then, this afternoon?"
"I guess about twelve," said Jim.
"How's he feelin'?" inquired the carpenter.
"Wal, he don't know how to feel on Christmas yet," answered the miner,evasively. "He doesn't know what's a-comin'."
"Wait till he sees them blocks," said the carpenter, with a knowingwink.
"I ain't sayin' nothin'," added Lufkins, with the most significantsmile, "but you jest wait."
"Nor me ain't doin' any talkin'," said Bone.
"Well, the boys will all be waitin'," was the teamster's last remark,and slowly down the whitened hill they went, to join their fellows atthe shop of the smith.
The big, rough men did wait patiently, expectantly, loyally. Blowingout the candles, to save them for the moment when the tiny child shouldcome, they sat around, or stood about, or wandered back and forth, eachtogged out in his very best, each with a new touch of Christmas meaningin his heart.
Behind
the tree a goodly portion of the banquet was in readiness.Keno's pie was there, together with a mighty stack of doughnuts, plateson plates of pickles, cans of fruit preserves, a mighty pan of coldbaked beans, and a fine array of biscuits big as a man's two fists.From time to time the carpenter, who had saved up his appetite fornearly twenty-four hours, went back to the table and feasted his eyeson the spread. At length he took and ate a pickle. From that, atlength, his gaze went longingly to Keno's pie. How one little piecould do any good to a score or so of men he failed to see. At last,in his hunger, he could bear the temptation no longer. He descended onthe pie. But how it came to be shied through the window, practicallyintact, half a moment later, was never explained to the waiting crowd.
By the time gray noon had come across the mountain desolation to thegroup of little shanties in the snow, old Jim was thoroughly alarmed.Little Skeezucks was helplessly lying in his arms, inert, breathingwith difficulty, and now and again moaning, as only a sick little miteof humanity can.
"We can't take him down," said the miner, at last. "He ought to have awoman's care."
Keno was startled; his worry suddenly engulfed him.
"What kin we do?" he asked, in helplessness.
"Miss Doc's a decent woman," answered Jim, in despair. "She might knowwhat to do."
"You couldn't bring yourself to that?" asked Keno, thoroughly amazed.
"I could bring myself to anything," said Jim, "if only my little boycould be well and happy."
"Then you ain't agoin' to take him down to the tree?"
"How can I?" answered Jim. "He's awful sick. He needs something morethan I can give. He needs--a mother. I didn't know how sick he wasgettin'. He won't look up. He couldn't see the tree. He can't belike the most of little kids, for he don't even seem to know it'sChristmas."
"Aw, poor little feller!" said Keno. "Jim, what we goin' to do?"
"You go down and ask Miss Doc if I can fetch him there," instructedJim. "I think she likes him, or she wouldn't have made his littleclothes. She's a decent woman, and I know she's got a heart. Go onthe run! I'm sorry I didn't give in before."
The fat little Keno ran, in his shirt-sleeves, and without his hat.
Jim was afraid the motionless little foundling was dying in his arms.He could presently wait no longer, either for Keno's return or foranything else. He caught up two of the blankets from the bed, and,wrapping them eagerly, swiftly about the moaning little man, left hiscabin standing open and hastened down the white declivity as fast as hecould go, Tintoretto, with puppy whinings of concern, closely taggingat his heels.
Lufkins, starting to climb once more to the cabin, beheld him fromafar. With all his speed he darted back to the blacksmith-shop and thetree.
"He coming!" he cried, when fifty yards away. "Light thecandles--quick!"
In a fever of joy and excitement the rough fellows lighted up theirhome-made tree. The forge flung a largess of heat and light, as red asholly, through the gloom of the place. All the men were prepared witha cheer, their faces wreathed with smiles, in a new sort of joy. Butthe moments sped away in silence and nothing of Jim and the one smallcause of their happiness appeared. Indeed, the gray old miner was atDennihan's already. Keno had met him on the hill with an eager crythat welcome and refuge were gladly prepared.
With her face oddly softened by the news and appeal, Miss Doc herselfcame running to the gate, her hungry arms outstretched to take thechild.
"Just make him well," was Jim's one cry. "I know a woman can make himwell."
And all afternoon the men at the blacksmith's-shop kept up their hope.Keno had come to them, telling of the altered plans by which littleSkeezucks had found his way to Miss Doc, but by special instruction headded that Jim was certain that improvement was coming already.
"He told me that evenin' is the customary hour fer to have a tree,anyhow," concluded Keno, hopefully. "He says he was off when he saidto turn it loose at noon."
"Does he think Miss Doc can git the little feller fixed all up tocelebrate to-night?" inquired Bone. "Is that the bill of fare?"
"That's about it," said Keno, importantly. "I'm to come and let youknow when we're ready."
Impatient for the night to arrive, excited anew, when at last it closedin on the world of snow and mountains, the celebrators once moregathered at the shop and lighted up their tree. The wind was rushingbrusquely up the street; the snow began once more to fall. From the"Palace" saloon came the sounds of music, laughter, song, and revelry.Light streamed forth from the window in glowing invitation. All daylong its flow of steaming drinks and its endless succession of savorydishes had laded the air with temptation.
Not a few of the citizens of Borealis had succumbed to the gayerattractions of Parky's festival, but the men who had builded aChristmas-tree and loaded its branches with presents waited and waitedfor tiny Skeezucks in the dingy shop.
The evening passed. Night aged in the way that wintry storm andlowering skies compel. Dismally creaked the door on its rusted hinges.Into the chink shot the particles of snow, and formed again that icymark across the floor of the shop. One by one the candles burned awayon the tree, gave a gasp, a flare, and expired.
Silently, loyally the group of big, rough miners and toilers sat in thecheerless gloom, hearing that music, in its soullessness, come on thegusts of the storm--waiting, waiting for their tiny guest.
At length a single candle alone illumined their pitiful tree, standingwith its meagre branches of greenery stiffly upheld on its scrawnyframe, while the darkness closed sombrely in upon the glint of the toysthey had labored to make.
Then finally Keno came, downcast, pale, and worried.
"The little feller's awful sick," he said. "I guess he can't come tothe tree."
His statement was greeted in silence.
"Then, maybe he'll see it to-morrow," said the blacksmith, after amoment. "It wouldn't make so very much odds to us old cusses.Christmas is for kids, of course. So we'll leave her standing jest asshe is."
Slowly they gave up their final hopes. Slowly they all went out in thestorm and night, shutting the door on the Christmas celebration nowabandoned to darkness, the creak of the hinges, the long line of snowinside that pointed to the tree.
One by one they bade good-night to Webber, the smith, and so went hometo many a cold little cabin, seemingly hunched like a freezing thing inthe driving storm.
Bruvver Jim's Baby Page 13
