XIV
AN INFORMAL VISIT
At the door of what was still called the nursery Laine stood amoment, hesitating whether to go in or to go away. In a lowrocking-chair Claudia was holding Channing, half-asleep in her arms;and at her feet Dorothea, on a footstool, elbows on knees and chin inthe palms of her hands, was listening so intently to the story beingtold that for half a minute his presence was not noted.
Presently she looked up and saw him. "Come in." Her voice was ahigh whisper. "It's the grandest story. Wait a minute, CousinClaudia." She ran toward the door and drew him in. "You'll have tostay with us," she said, "because mother and father have gone out.Some kind of a relation is in town and they had to go. Channing'sgot an awful cold, and mother said he could have anything he wanted,and he took Cousin Claudia to tell him stories. She's been doing itever since dinner. He's asleep now, but--"
"I'm not asleep." Channing's eyes opened blinkingly. "She said theyfound the squirrel in a hollow down by the chestnut-tree, and themoonlight on the snow--the moonlight--on--the--snow." His head fellback on Claudia's bosom and, with a smile, she nodded to Laine andheld out her hand.
"The spirit is valiant, but the flesh prevails. I'm so sorry Hopeand Channing are out."
"I'm not." He drew a cushioned wicker chair close to the fire."It's been long since I heard a good fairy story. Please don't stop."
Dorothea pushed the stool aside and settled herself comfortably inher uncle's lap. "It isn't a fairy story. You don't tell fairystories at Christmas; they're for summer, when the windows are openand they can hide in the flowers and ride on the wind--the fairies, Imean--but this is Christmas." She twisted herself into a knot ofquivering joy and hugged her arms with rapturous intensity. "It'sall in my bones, and I'm nothing but shivers. Isn't it grand to haveChristmas in your bones? Have you got it in yours?" She heldLaine's face between her hands and looked at it anxiously. "CousinClaudia has it in hers. She and I are just alike. We've beenfilling stockings to-day for some children Timkins told us about.They live near him, and their mother is sick and their father isdead, and they haven't a bit of money. Channing and I are going tohang our stockings up here before we go to grandmother's, and we'regoing to hang them up there again. I wish we were going to CousinClaudia's. Of course, I love to go to grandmother's, but she livesin town and they don't have snow in Savannah; and at Cousin Claudia'sthey have everything. I mean everything Christmasy like I like.She's been telling us about when she was a little girl."
Dorothea's feet twisted around each other and her hands were laidpalm to palm as her body swayed backward and forward in rhythmicmovement. "They go out in the woods and cut cart-loads of holly andmistletoe and pine and Christmas-trees, and dress the house, and thefires roar up all the chimneys, and they kill the pigs--"
Channing sat upright and rubbed his eyes. "They don't kill the pigsat Christmas. She said they kill them when the persimmons get ripe."
"Well, they're killed and you eat them Christmas. They put a littleone on the table with an apple in its mouth. And they pick out thefattest turkeys and ducks and geese and chickens; and they go to thesmoke-house and punch and poke the hams and things; and the oysterscome from the river; and Mammy Malaprop comes up from the gate, whereshe lives now, and helps make the cakes and the, pies andplum-puddings and beaten biscuits; and Cousin Claudia says when shewas a little girl Mammy Malaprop always gave her some of theChristmas cake to bake in egg-shells. I wish I could see somebodymake a cake. And Christmas Eve they make egg-nog, and Uncle Bushrodmakes the apple toddy two weeks before." She turned to her uncle."Why don't you go down there, Uncle Winthrop? I bet you'd getChristmas in your bones if you did."
"I am very sure of it." Laine fixed Dorothea more firmly on his lap."There is only one reason in the world why I don't go."
"What's that? We're going away, and you will be all alone if youdon't. Can't he come, Cousin Claudia? He'd love it. I know hewould."
"I don't." Claudia moved her chair farther from the firelight."Christmas at Elmwood would be punishment for a city man. We aremuch too primitive and old-fashioned. He would prefer New York."
"Would you?" Dorothea's arms were around her uncle's neck, and herhead nodded at his. "Would you?"
"I would not." Laine's voice was a little queer. "The punishment isall at this end. I would rather spend Christmas at Elmwood thananywhere on earth. But your Cousin Claudia will not let me,Dorothea."
"Won't you really?" Dorothea slipped from his lap, and, with handson the arms of Claudia's chair, gazed anxiously in her eyes. "He'llbe all alone if you don't. Please ask him, Cousin Claudia! You saidyourself there was always so much company at Elmwood that one morenever mattered and you managed to put them somewhere. Please--oh,please ask him, Cousin Claudia!"
Claudia kissed the lips held close to her own. "I think it is timefor you to be in bed, Dorothea. You are making your uncle say thingshe doesn't mean. He can come to Elmwood if he wishes, but--"
Dorothea sprang back and, with arms extended and fingers flipping,danced round and round the room. "How magnificent! Now I won't havea thing on my mind!" With a last whirl she jumped in Laine's lap andtook his hands in hers. "That's the only thing I hated aboutChristmas, your being here all by yourself." She gave a deep breath."And now you'll be in that heavenly place with Cousin Claudia. WhenI get big I'm going there and hunt by the light of the moon, and hearthe darkies sing when they're having a party with possum andhoe-cake, and--" She sat upright. "Did you know Cousin Claudia wasgoing home to-morrow?"
Laine nodded. Speech had suddenly left him. He did not know whetherto take Dorothea in the next room and lock her up or hold her closeto his heart. What had the child done and made Claudia do?Christmas at Elmwood! His blood surged thickly, and as Dorotheasettled back in his arms he looked up and met Claudia's eyes.
"I'm so scrumptious happy I feel like I'm in heaven!" Dorotheawriggled in sleepy content. "Please finish that story you weretelling when Uncle Winthrop came in, Cousin Claudia. You had gottento where the little boy and the little girl were knocking at the doorof the big house with the wreaths in the windows, and it was snowing.I couldn't sleep to save my life if I didn't know whether they got inor not. Please finish it."
Claudia hesitated, then, changing Channing's position, finished thestory and glanced at the clock. "It is time for you to be in bed,Dorothea. I have some notes to write and some packing to--"
"Just one more and that's all." Dorothea cuddled closer. "It's sonice and home-y with just us in here. Please don't make me go yet.Tell Uncle Winthrop a story"--she blinked bravely--"and then I'llgo--to--bed."
Laine leaned back and turned off the light from the lamp on the tablebehind him, and as the firelight played on Claudia's soft, bluedress, on the slippered feet tapping the stool on which they rested,ran up to the open throat and touched the brown hair, parted andbrushed back in simple fashion, he held Dorothea close lest words hemust not speak be spoken. Presently he looked toward her.
"I am waiting," he said. "Will you tell me a story, Santa Claudia?"
"A story?" Her eyes were watching the curling flames. "What kindshall I tell you? I do not know the kind you like."
"I would like any kind that you would tell me."
She leaned her head back against the cushioned chair, and again herlashes seemed to touch her cheek. For a moment the soft silence wasunbroken, then she turned her face toward him.
"Very well," she said. "I will tell you a story. It will be aboutthe man who did not know."
The Man in Lonely Land Page 14