A Vintage Christmas

by Thomas Nelson

  “You wanted to see this tree go down, so stand from under and I’ll show you how it’s done,” said the farmer, taking up his axe, not unwilling to gratify his guests and display his manly accomplishments at the same time.

  It was a fine sight, the stalwart man swinging his axe with magnificent strength and skill, each blow sending a thrill through the stately tree, till its heart was reached and it tottered to its fall. Never pausing for breath Saul shook his yellow mane out of his eyes, and hewed away, while the drops stood on his forehead and his arm ached, as bent on distinguishing himself as if he had been a knight tilting against his rival for his lady’s favor.

  “I don’t know which to admire most, the man or his muscle. One doesn’t often see such vigor, size and comeliness in these degenerate days,” said Randal, mentally booking the fine figure in the red shirt.

  “I think we have discovered a rough diamond. I only wonder if Sophie is going to try and polish it,” answered Emily, glancing at her friend, who stood a little apart, watching the rise and fall of the axe as intently as if her fate depended on it.

  Down rushed the tree at last, and, leaving them to examine a crow’s nest in its branches, Saul went off to his men, as if he found the praises of his prowess rather too much for him.

  Randal fell to sketching, the girls to their garland-making, and for a little while the sunny woodland nook was full of lively chat and pleasant laughter, for the air exhilarated them all like wine. Suddenly a man came running from the wood, pale and anxious, saying, as he hastened by for help, “Blasted tree fell on him! Bleed to death before the doctor comes!”

  “Who? who?” cried the startled trio.

  But the man ran on, with some breathless reply, in which only a name was audible—“Basset.”

  “The deuce it is!” and Randal dropped his pencil, while the girls sprang up in dismay. Then, with one impulse, they hastened to the distant group, half visible behind the fallen trees and corded wood.

  Sophie was there first, and forcing her way through the little crowd of men, saw a red-shirted figure on the ground, crushed and bleeding, and threw herself down beside it with a cry that pierced the hearts of those who heard it.

  In the act she saw it was not Saul, and covered her bewildered face as if to hide its joy. A strong arm lifted her, and the familiar voice said cheeringly,—

  “I’m all right, dear. Poor Bruce is hurt, but we’ve sent for help. Better go right home and forget all about it.”

  “Yes, I will, if I can do nothing”; and Sophie meekly returned to her friends who stood outside the circle over which Saul’s head towered, assuring them of his safety.

  Hoping they had not seen her agitation, she led Emily away, leaving Randal to give what aid he could and bring them news of the poor wood-chopper’s state.

  Aunt Plumy produced the “camphire” the moment she saw Sophie’s pale face, and made her lie down, while the brave old lady trudged briskly off with bandages and brandy to the scene of action. On her return she brought comfortable news of the man, so the little flurry blew over and was forgotten by all but Sophie, who remained pale and quiet all the evening, tying evergreen as if her life depended on it.

  “A good night’s sleep will set her up. She ain’t used to such things, dear child, and needs cossetin’,” said Aunt Plumy, purring over her until she was in her bed, with a hot stone at her feet and a bowl of herb tea to quiet her nerves.

  An hour later when Emily went up, she peeped in to see if Sophie was sleeping nicely, and was surprised to find the invalid wrapped in a dressing-gown writing busily.

  “Last will and testament, or sudden inspiration, dear? How are you? faint or feverish, delirious or in the dumps! Saul looks so anxious, and Mrs. Basset hushes us all up so, I came to bed, leaving Randal to entertain Ruth.”

  As she spoke Emily saw the papers disappear in a portfolio, and Sophie rose with a yawn.

  “I was writing letters, but I’m sleepy now. Quite over my foolish fright, thank you. Go and get your beauty sleep that you may dazzle the natives to-morrow.”

  “So glad, good night”; and Emily went away, saying to herself, “Something is going on, and I must find out what it is before I leave. Sophie can’t blind me.”

  But Sophie did all the next day, being delightfully gay at the dinner, and devoting herself to the young minister who was invited to meet the distinguished novelist, and evidently being afraid of him, gladly basked in the smiles of his charming neighbor. A dashing sleigh-ride occupied the afternoon, and then great was the fun and excitement over the costumes.

  Aunt Plumy laughed till the tears rolled down her cheeks as the girls compressed her into the plum-colored gown with its short waist, leg-of-mutton sleeves, and narrow skirt. But a worked scarf hid all deficiencies, and the towering cap struck awe into the soul of the most frivolous observer.

  “Keep an eye on me, girls, for I shall certainly split somewheres or lose my head-piece off when I’m trottin’ round. What would my blessed mother say if she could see me rigged out in her best things?” and with a smile and a sigh the old lady departed to look after “the boys,” and see that the supper was all right.

  Three prettier damsels never tripped down the wide staircase than the brilliant brunette in crimson brocade, the pensive blonde in blue, or the rosy little bride in old muslin and white satin.

  A gallant court gentleman met them in the hall with a superb bow, and escorted them to the parlor, where Grandma Basset’s ghost was discovered dancing with a modern major in full uniform.

  Mutual admiration and many compliments followed, till other ancient ladies and gentlemen arrived in all manner of queer costumes, and the old house seemed to wake from its humdrum quietude to sudden music and merriment, as if a past generation had returned to keep its Christmas there.

  The village fiddler soon struck up the good old tunes, and then the strangers saw dancing that filled them with mingled mirth and envy; it was so droll, yet so hearty. The young men, unusually awkward in their grandfathers’ knee-breeches, flapping vests, and swallow-tail coats, footed it bravely with the buxom girls who were the prettier for their quaintness, and danced with such vigor that their high combs stood awry, their furbelows waved wildly, and their cheeks were as red as their breast-knots, or hose.

  It was impossible to stand still, and one after the other the city folk yielded to the spell, Randal leading off with Ruth, Sophie swept away by Saul, and Emily being taken possession of by a young giant of eighteen, who spun her around with a boyish impetuosity that took her breath away. Even Aunt Plumy was discovered jigging it alone in the pantry, as if the music was too much for her, and the plates and glasses jingled gaily on the shelves in time to Money Musk and Fishers’ Hornpipe.

  A pause came at last, however, and fans fluttered, heated brows were wiped, jokes were made, lovers exchanged confidences, and every nook and corner held a man and maid carrying on the sweet game which is never out of fashion. There was a glitter of gold lace in the back entry, and a train of blue and primrose shone in the dim light. There was a richer crimson than that of the geraniums in the deep window, and a dainty shoe tapped the bare floor impatiently as the brilliant black eyes looked everywhere for the court gentleman, while their owner listened to the gruff prattle of an enamored boy. But in the upper hall walked a little white ghost as if waiting for some shadowy companion, and when a dark form appeared ran to take its arm, saying, in a tone of soft satisfaction,—

  “I was so afraid you wouldn’t come!”

  “Why did you leave me, Ruth?” answered a manly voice in a tone of surprise, though the small hand slipping from the velvet coat-sleeve was replaced as if it was pleasant to feel it there.

  A pause, and then the other voice answered demurely,—

  “Because I was afraid my head would be turned by the fine things you were saying.”

  “It is impossible to help saying what one feels to such an artless little creature as you are. It does me good to admire anything so fresh and s
weet, and won’t harm you.”

  “It might if—”

  “If what, my daisy?”

  “I believed it,” and a laugh seemed to finish the broken sentence better than the words.

  “You may, Ruth, for I do sincerely admire the most genuine girl I have seen for a long time. And walking here with you in your bridal white I was just asking myself if I should not be a happier man with a home of my own and a little wife hanging on my arm than drifting about the world as I do now with only myself to care for.”

  “I know you would!” and Ruth spoke so earnestly that Randal was both touched and startled, fearing he had ventured too far in a mood of unwonted sentiment, born of the romance of the hour and the sweet frankness of his companion.

  “Then you don’t think it would be rash for some sweet woman to take me in hand and make me happy, since fame is a failure?”

  “Oh, no; it would be easy work if she loved you. I know some one—if I only dared to tell her name.”

  “Upon my soul, this is cool,” and Randal looked down, wondering if the audacious lady on his arm could be shy Ruth.

  If he had seen the malicious merriment in her eyes he would have been more humiliated still, but they were modestly averted, and the face under the little hat was full of a soft agitation rather dangerous even to a man of the world.

  “She is a captivating little creature, but it is too soon for anything but a mild flirtation. I must delay further innocent revelations or I shall do something rash.”

  While making this excellent resolution Randal had been pressing the hand upon his arm and gently pacing down the dimly lighted hall with the sound of music in his ears, Ruth’s sweetest roses in his button-hole, and a loving little girl beside him, as he thought.

  “You shall tell me by and by when we are in town. I am sure you will come, and meanwhile don’t forget me.”

  “I am going in the spring, but I shall not be with Sophie,” answered Ruth, in a whisper.

  “With whom then? I shall long to see you.”

  “With my husband. I am to be married in May.”

  “The deuce you are!” escaped Randal, as he stopped short to stare at his companion, sure she was not in earnest.

  But she was, for as he looked the sound of steps coming up the back stairs made her whole face flush and brighten with the unmistakable glow of happy love, and she completed Randal’s astonishment by running into the arms of the young minister, saying with an irrepressible laugh, “Oh, John, why didn’t you come before?”

  The court gentleman was all right in a moment, and the coolest of the three as he offered his congratulations and gracefully retired, leaving the lovers to enjoy the tryst he had delayed. But as he went down stairs his brows were knit, and he slapped the broad railing smartly with his cocked hat as if some irritation must find vent in a more energetic way than merely saying, “Confound the little baggage!” under his breath.

  Such an amazing supper came from Aunt Plumy’s big pantry that the city guests could not eat for laughing at the queer dishes circulating through the rooms, and copiously partaken of by the hearty young folks.

  Doughnuts and cheese, pie and pickles, cider and tea, baked beans and custards, cake and cold turkey, bread and butter, plum pudding and French bonbons, Sophie’s contribution.

  “May I offer you the native delicacies, and share your plate? Both are very good, but the china has run short, and after such vigorous exercise as you have had you must need refreshment. I’m sure I do!” said Randal, bowing before Emily with a great blue platter laden with two doughnuts, two wedges of pumpkin pie and two spoons.

  The smile with which she welcomed him, the alacrity with which she made room beside her and seemed to enjoy the supper he brought, was so soothing to his ruffled spirit that he soon began to feel that there is no friend like an old friend, that it would not be difficult to name a sweet woman who would take him in hand and would make him happy if he cared to ask her, and he began to think he would by and by, it was so pleasant to sit in that green corner with waves of crimson brocade flowing over his feet, and a fine face softening beautifully under his eyes.

  The supper was not romantic, but the situation was, and Emily found that pie ambrosial food eaten with the man she loved, whose eyes talked more eloquently than the tongue just then busy with a doughnut. Ruth kept away, but glanced at them as she served her company, and her own happy experience helped her to see that all was going well in that quarter. Saul and Sophie emerged from the back entry with shining countenances, but carefully avoided each other for the rest of the evening. No one observed this but Aunt Plumy from the recesses of her pantry, and she folded her hands as if well content, as she murmured fervently over a pan full of crullers, “Bless the dears! Now I can die happy.”

  Every one thought Sophie’s old-fashioned dress immensely becoming, and several of his former men said to Saul with blunt admiration, “Major, you look to-night as you used to after we’d gained a big battle.”

  “I feel as if I had,” answered the splendid Major, with eyes much brighter than his buttons, and a heart under them infinitely prouder than when he was promoted on the field of honor, for his Waterloo was won.

  There was more dancing, followed by games, in which Aunt Plumy shone pre-eminent, for the supper was off her mind and she could enjoy herself. There were shouts of merriment as the blithe old lady twirled the platter, hunted the squirrel, and went to Jerusalem like a girl of sixteen; her cap in a ruinous condition, and every seam of the purple dress straining like sails in a gale. It was great fun, but at midnight it came to an end, and the young folks, still bubbling over with innocent jollity, went jingling away along the snowy hills, unanimously pronouncing Mrs. Basset’s party the best of the season.

  “Never had such a good time in my life!” exclaimed Sophie, as the family stood together in the kitchen where the candles among the wreaths were going out, and the floor was strewn with wrecks of past joy.

  “I’m proper glad, dear. Now you all go to bed and lay as late as you like to-morrow. I’m so kinder worked up I couldn’t sleep, so Saul and me will put things to rights without a mite of noise to disturb you”; and Aunt Plumy sent them off with a smile that was a benediction, Sophie thought.

  “The dear old soul speaks as if midnight was an unheard-of hour for Christians to be up. What would she say if she knew how we seldom go to bed till dawn in the ball season? I’m so wide awake I’ve half a mind to pack a little. Randal must go at two, he says, and we shall want his escort,” said Emily, as the girls laid away their brocades in the press in Sophie’s room.

  “I’m not going. Aunt can’t spare me, and there is nothing to go for yet,” answered Sophie, beginning to take the white chrysanthemums out of her pretty hair.

  “My dear child, you will die of ennui up here. Very nice for a week or so, but frightful for a winter. We are going to be very gay, and cannot get on without you,” cried Emily dismayed at the suggestion.

  “You will have to, for I’m not coming. I am very happy here, and so tired of the frivolous life I lead in town, that I have decided to try a better one,” and Sophie’s mirror reflected a face full of the sweetest content.

  “Have you lost your mind? experienced religion? or any other dreadful thing? You always were odd, but this last freak is the strangest of all. What will your guardian say, and the world?” added Emily in the awe-stricken tone of one who stood in fear of the omnipotent Mrs. Grundy.

  “Guardy will be glad to be rid of me, and I don’t care that for the world,” cried Sophie, snapping her fingers with a joyful sort of recklessness which completed Emily’s bewilderment.

  “But Mr. Hammond? Are you going to throw away millions, lose your chance of making the best match in the city, and driving the girls of our set out of their wits with envy?”

  Sophie laughed at her friend’s despairing cry, and turning round said quietly,—

  “I wrote to Mr. Hammond last night, and this evening received my reward for being an hon
est girl. Saul and I are to be married in the spring when Ruth is.”

  Emily fell prone upon the bed as if the announcement was too much for her, but was up again in an instant to declare with prophetic solemnity,—

  “I knew something was going on, but hoped to get you away before you were lost. Sophie, you will repent. Be warned, and forget this sad delusion.”

  “Too late for that. The pang I suffered yesterday when I thought Saul was dead showed me how well I loved him. To-night he asked me to stay, and no power in the world can part us. Oh! Emily, it is all so sweet, so beautiful, that everything is possible, and I know I shall be happy in this dear old home, full of love and peace and honest hearts. I only hope you may find as true and tender a man to live for as my Saul.”

  Sophie’s face was more eloquent than her fervent words, and Emily beautifully illustrated the inconsistency of her sex by suddenly embracing her friend, with the incoherent exclamation, “I think I have, dear! Your brave Saul is worth a dozen old Hammonds, and I do believe you are right.”

  It is unnecessary to tell how, as if drawn by the irresistible magic of sympathy, Ruth and her mother crept in one by one to join the midnight conference and add their smiles and tears, tender hopes and proud delight to the joys of that memorable hour. Nor how Saul, unable to sleep, mounted guard below, and meeting Randal prowling down to soothe his nerves with a surreptitious cigar found it impossible to help confiding to his attentive ear the happiness that would break bounds and overflow in unusual eloquence.

  Peace fell upon the old house at last, and all slept as if some magic herb had touched their eyelids, bringing blissful dreams and a glad awakening.

  “Can’t we persuade you to come with us, Miss Sophie?” asked Randal next day, as they made their adieux.

  “I’m under orders now, and dare not disobey my superior officer,” answered Sophie, handing her Major his driving gloves, with a look which plainly showed that she had joined the great army of devoted women who enlist for life and ask no pay but love.