CHAPTER XVI.
CHRISTMAS GREENS AND WATCH-NIGHT EMBERS
THERE is a chapter in Betty's Good Times book which tells all about thatlast day at the seminary, before the Christmas vacation; of the hurriedpacking and leave-taking; of her trip to town with Lloyd to meet PapaJack and come out home with him on the five o'clock train, laden withChristmas packages like all the other suburban passengers; of thecarriage waiting for them at the depot, just as if they had been away atsome school a long distance from the Valley, and then the crowning joyof seeing her godmother on the platform, waving her handkerchief as thetrain stopped in front of the depot.
They had not expected her back from Hot Springs until the next day, andall the way out on the train had been discussing the reception theyintended to give her. There had been a twinkle in Mr. Sherman's eyes ashe listened, for he knew of this surprise in store for them, and had hada hand in planning it.
It is all in Betty's Good Times book, even to the way they rolled downthe steps and fell over each other in their haste to reach her, and thewelcome that made it seem more than ever as if they were coming homefrom a long journey to spend their Christmas vacation, just as thousandsof other schoolgirls were doing all over the country. Then the drivehomeward in the frosty, starlit dusk to find Locust all a-twinkle, alight in every window and a fire on every hearth; the great front doorswinging wide on its hospitable hinges to send a stream of light downthe avenue to meet them, and the spirit of Christmas cheer andexpectancy falling warm upon them as they crossed the threshold.
The memory of it would be something to be glad for always, Bettythought, as she danced into the long drawing-room after Lloyd, and sawthe old Colonel start up from his chair before the fire and come forwardto meet them, the candle-light falling softly on his silver hair andsmiling face.
Although Betty had laid aside her unfinished romance of Gladys andEugene, she could no more help writing than a fish can keep fromswimming, and that is why her Good Times book held so many interestingpages. All the energy and time that would have been put into the sillylittle novel went instead to the description of real scenes and realpeople, which in after years made the little white books the mostprecious volumes in all her library. As fast as one was filled she begananother. The one now on her desk had the number IV. stamped in gold onthe white kid cover, under her initials.
There were few pages in this fourth volume more interesting than theones she found time to write on Christmas Eve. She had gone with Lloydand Allison and Kitty that afternoon in search for Christmas greens withwhich to decorate the house.
Malcolm and Keith Maclntyre, Rob Moore, and Ranald Walton had met themin Tanglewood, their guns over their shoulders, and had joined them intheir quest. The mistletoe they wanted grew too high to be climbed foror to be dislodged by throwing at, but Ranald, an expert marksman,volunteered to shoot down all they could carry. He was just home frommilitary school on his vacation, and Rob Moore had been out for two dayshunting with him. Malcolm and Keith had been at their grandmother'sseveral days, tramping long distances over the frosty fields, and comingin well satisfied each evening with the contents of their game-bags.
Malcolm and Rob were to leave for the same college-preparatory schoolafter the holidays, and as they were going back to town on the fiveo'clock train they had but a short time left to spend in the Valley. Sothe party, after some discussion, divided into three groups, agreeing tomeet at the depot.
Ranald strode away across the woods as fast as his long legs would carryhim to the trees where the mistletoe hung. Kitty and Katie kept close inhis wake, swinging the baskets between them that he was to fill. Keithand Betty hurried on to the place where the bittersweet grew thickest,while Rob and Allison, Malcolm and Lloyd strolled along, filling theirbaskets from the occasional trees of hemlock, spruce, and cedar theyfound on their way among the bare oaks and beeches. Now and then theyfound a pine with the brown cones clinging to the spicy boughs.
Only Betty's part of that quest is in the little white record; how theyran along through Tanglewood that afternoon, she and Keith, in the lateDecember sunshine, breathing in the woodsy odour of the fallen leavesand the crisp frostiness of the air, until the blood tingled in theirfinger-tips and their cheeks grew red as rosy apples.
It was a pretty picture she left on the page, of the winter woods, ofthe old stile leading into the adjoining churchyard, where in almost athicket of bare dogwood-trees and lilac-bushes stood the littleEpiscopal church, built like the one next the manse, of picturesque graystone. The walls were aglow with the brilliant red and orange berries ofthe bittersweet, which hung even from the eaves and cornices, and fromevery place where the graceful vines could trail and twist and clamber.
Lloyd kept no record of that afternoon, but she never forgot it. Shewalked along, her eyes shining like stars, her cheeks glowing. Her darkblue cap and jacket made her hair seem all the fairer by contrast, andthere was a glint of gold in it, wherever the sun touched it through thetrees.
Rob and Malcolm were full of their plans for the coming term, and talkedof little else all the way through the woods, but as they reached thestile, over which Keith and Betty had passed some time before, Robexclaimed:
"I forgot to tell you, Lloyd! When we were out hunting yesterday westopped at a cabin ever so far from here, to rest and warm. And what doyou suppose we saw on the pendulum of an old clock, swinging away on themantel as big as life? _Your picture!_ The one of the Princess, youknow, with the dove. I couldn't believe my eyes at first. The old mantold us it had been given to his daughter, and when he found out whoRanald was he sent a message to Mrs. Walton about her. She's in ahospital and will soon be well enough to come home. Mrs. Walton told usall about it last night, how the girl imagined every time the clockticked that you were saying, 'For love will find the way.' It made quitea pretty story, but you can't imagine how queer it was to stumble acrossyour picture in such an out-of-the-way place, and fixed up in such oddshape, on a pendulum, of all things!"
"MALCOLM, LEANING ON HIS GUN, STOOD WATCHING HER."]
"It helped Corono ever so much, mother said," remarked Allison. "That'sone good thing our Shadow Club led to, if nothing else." She climbed upon the stile and stood looking over, exclaiming at the beauty of the oldgray walls, draped in the masses of brilliant bittersweet; then,springing down, ran across the churchyard to join Betty and Keith on theother side and make her own selection of vines.
Rob leaned his gun against the fence and took out his watch. "Only halfan hour longer," he announced. Then, opening the back of his watch-case,he held it out toward Lloyd.
"Do you remember that?" he asked, nodding toward a little four-leafclover which lay flat and green inside. "Your good-luck charm workedwonders, Lloyd. It helped me through my Latin in such fine shape that Iintend to carry it through college with me all the way. It's like thepicture on the pendulum, isn't it? only this says, 'For _luck_ will findthe way.'"
As Lloyd began some laughing reply about his being superstitious,Betty's voice called from the vestry door, "Oh, Rob! Come around here aminute, please! Here's the loveliest bunch of berries you ever saw, andit's too high for any one but you to reach!"
With one leap Rob was over the stile hurrying to Betty's assistance.Lloyd had filled both pockets of her jacket with hickory-nuts on her waythrough Tanglewood, and, seating herself on the top step of the stile,she began cracking them with a round stone which she had picked up nearthe fence. Malcolm, leaning on his gun, stood watching her.
"You never gave _me_ any four-leaf clover, Lloyd," he said, in a lowtone, as Rob strode away.
"You nevah happened to be around when I found any," answered Lloyd,carelessly. "Have a nut instead." She nodded toward the pile on the stepbeside her.
Malcolm flushed a trifle. He was nearly sixteen, tall andbroad-shouldered, but the colour came as easily to his handsome facenow as when a little fellow of ten he had begged her to keep his silverarrow "to remember him by."
"No, thanks," he answered, stiffly. Th
ere was a jealous note in hisvoice as he added, "And you wouldn't let me keep the little heart ofgold that night after the play."
"Of co'se not! Papa Jack gave me that. I think everything of it."
"You wouldn't even lend it to me," he continued.
"Because we'd come to the end of the play. You were not Sir Feal anylongah, and you didn't have any shield to bind it on, so what good wouldit have done?"
"But we haven't come to the end of the play," he insisted. "I've thoughtof you ever since as my Princess Winsome, and it has been more than ayear since that night. Yesterday, when I saw your picture on thependulum, and heard how it had influenced that girl in the cabin, Iwished that I could make you understand how much more your influencemeans to me; and I made up my mind to ask you for something. Will yougive it to me, Lloyd? It's just the tip of that little curl behind yourear. It shines like gold, and I want to put it in the back of my watchas a talisman, like they used to carry in old times, you know--a tokenthat I am your knight, and that I may do as it says in the song, comeback to you 'on some glad morrow.' I want to carry it with me always, asI shall always carry your shadow-self wherever I go."
Lloyd bent her head so far over the nuts as she chose one with greatdeliberation that her hair fell across the cheek nearest him, and hecould not see how red her face grew. How handsome he was, she thought.How deep and clear his eyes looked as they smiled into hers. If she hadnever known of Ida's mistake--if she had never heard the Hildegardestory--there might have crept into her girlish fancy, young though shewas, the thought that this was the love written for her in the stars.But like a flash came the recollection of old Hildgardmar's warning:
"_And many youths will come to thee, each begging, 'Give me the royalmantle, Hildegarde. I am the prince the stars have destined for thee!'_"
And then his words of blessing:
"_Because even in childhood days thou ever kept in view the sterlingyardstick as I bade thee, because no single strand of all the goldenwarp that Clotho gave thee was squandered on another, because thouwaitedst till thy woman's fingers wrought the best that lay within thywoman's heart, all happiness shall now be thine._"
"Please, Lloyd," he asked again, in a low, earnest tone.
"I--I can't, Malcolm," she stammered, giving the nut she had chosen asudden blow that completely smashed it.
"Why not? You gave Rob the clover to carry in _his_ watch."
"That was different. Rob doesn't care for the clovah on my account. Hecarries it for the good luck it brings; not because I gave it to him."
"But he'll get to caring after awhile," said Malcolm, moodily. "Hecouldn't help it. Nobody could who knew you, and I don't want him to."Then, after a long pause in which Lloyd attended so strictly to hernut-cracking that she did not even glance in his direction, he asked,jealously: "Would you give _him_ the curl if he asked for it?"
Something in his tone made Lloyd look up with a provoking little smile."No," she answered, "not even the snippiest little snip of a hair, if heasked for it the way you are doing, and wanted it to mean what youdo--that he was my--my chosen knight, you know."
"Is there _anybody_ you would give it to, Lloyd?"
His persistence only made her shake her head the more obstinately. Itdid not take much teasing to arouse what Mom Beck called "the Lloydstubbo'ness."
"No! I tell you! And if you keep on talking that way I'm going home!"
"Why won't you let me talk that way? This is the last time I'll see youuntil next summer, and I'm dreadfully in earnest, Lloyd. You don't knowhow much it means to me. Don't you care for me at all?"
A dozen things came crowding up to her lips in answer. She wanted totell him the story of Hildegarde's weaving and old Hildgardmar'swarning. She wanted to say that she could not trifle with the happinessthat was written for her in the stars by giving away even a strand ofClotho's golden thread before she was old enough to choose wisely theone on whom to bestow such a favour. But she knew that he would notunderstand these allusions to a story of which he had never heard.
She did not know how to put into words the vague, undefined feeling thatshe had, that he must not come to her with such speeches until he hadwon his spurs and received his accolade. It was her helplessness toanswer as she wished that made her spring up impatiently and say in hermost imperious, Little Colonel-like way, "Didn't you heah me tell you tostop talking that way, Malcolm Maclntyre? Of co'se I care for you. I'vealways liked you, and I think you're one of the nicest boys I know, butI won't if you keep on that way when I tell you to stop. You might atleast wait till you come back from college and let me see what sawt of aman you've turned out to be!"
"I'll be whatever you want me to be, Lloyd," he began, but just then themistletoe gatherers came running down the path toward them, and Ranald'swhistle brought the others from the churchyard with their bittersweet.Lloyd flung away her nut-shells, and standing on the top of the stilebrushed her dress with her handkerchief. Malcolm, swinging his gun tohis shoulder, picked up her basket and walked beside her in conscioussilence, as the merry party strolled on toward the depot.
Several times she glanced up shyly at him, saying to herself again thathe was certainly one of the nicest boys she knew, the most courteous,the most attractive, with the same beauty of face and polish of mannerthat had made him such a winning little Knight of Kentucky. But thelittle pin he had worn as the badge of that knighthood, that stood forthe "wearing the white flower of a blameless life," was no longer on thelapel of his coat. He had laid it aside more than a year ago, sayingthat he had outgrown that child's play, and that it was impossible for afellow of his age to live up to it.
As Lloyd noticed its absence she was glad that she had answered him asshe did. But almost with the same breath came the recollection that hehad said, "I'll be whatever you want me to be, Lloyd," and she wonderedwith a quicker heart-throb if it were really so that she had power towield such an influence over him, and she wondered also, if she hadgiven him the curl as he asked, and told him that she wanted him to wearthe white flower again and live up to its meaning, if he would have doneit for her sake.
Keith rushed on ahead to see if the man had brought their suit-casesdown to the waiting-room, and the others crossed over to the store forsome hot pop-corn. There were several holly wreaths hanging in thewindow, and although Lloyd knew that a number of them had already beensent out to Locust from town, she could not resist the temptation ofbuying the largest one there, it was so unusually bright and full ofberries. They had barely reached the waiting-room again when the traincame thundering along the track.
With hasty good-byes the three boys hurried up the steps. Keith and Robhung on to the railing on the platform of the rear car, swinging theircaps and calling back various messages about Christmas and next week andafter the holidays, but Malcolm, after one long look into the LittleColonel's eyes, turned and went into the car. He wanted to carry awaywith him undisturbed the picture she made as she stood there on theplatform, waving her handkerchief. She was all in dark blue, her fairhair blowing in the wind, her cheeks a delicate wild rose pink. At herfeet was the basket of Christmas greens, and on her arm hung the glowingwreath of Christmas holly.
* * * * *
It was the last night of the old year. Watch-night, Mom Beck called it,and as soon as dinner was over she and Aunt Cindy and Alec hurried awayto Brier Creek Church, where the coloured people were to hold servicestill midnight, watching the old year out and the new year in.
It had been a busy week for Lloyd and Betty. The happiest of ChristmasDays had been followed by neighbourhood parties, entertainments, andmerrymakings of all descriptions. The old Southern mansion rang withmany gay young voices, and overflowed with life, for there were guestswithin its hospitable gates from morning until night.
But now a lull had come in the festivities. The last guest had departedon the evening train, and ten o'clock found the house strangely still.The servants were all out. Betty, locked in her room, busy withembroidery silks, w
as finishing a little New Year's gift with which tosurprise her godmother on the morrow. Mrs. Sherman had gone up-stairs tosit with the old Colonel awhile. She had not been able to give him muchof her time since their return to Locust, and to-night, with the waningyear, he seemed to want her to himself to talk to him of his "long, longago," and listen to his tales of old days which grew dearer with eachpassing holiday season.
Only Lloyd and her father were left in the long drawing-room. She hadbegged to be allowed to keep Watch-night with him.
"It's only two houahs moah, mothah," she said, beseechingly. "I'll sleeplate in the mawning to make up for it. I've scarcely seen Papa Jacksince we came home, and he's going away so soon again. Besides, I nevahdid sit up to watch a new yeah come in."
So she had her way, and, sitting on a low stool at his feet, with hishand softly stroking her hair, they talked of many things.
He began in a teasing, playful way, "You haven't told me what youlearned at boarding-school, Little Colonel. You must have absorbed avast amount of knowledge, when even your nights were passed in such alearned institution."
The face she turned toward him was a very serious one, for the time hadcome for confession. Yet after all confession did not seem as hard asshe had thought it would be. The very touch of his hand on her hair madeit easier, it was so kind and sympathetic. She had always gone to himwith all her childish troubles as freely as she had to her mother.Presently she had poured out the whole story, her part in theclandestine correspondence, Edwardo's coming to Locust, her struggle inthat very room to be loyal to the family honour and her father's trustin her.
Allison's Christmas present to her had been an autograph copy of thestory of "The Three Weavers." It was bound in water-colour paper, tiedin the rose and gold ribbons of the Order, and bore on the cover adesign of Allison's own painting, a filmy spider-web held by a row ofgolden stars. Lloyd showed it to him as she told of the forming of theOrder of Hildegarde to take the place of the old Shadow Club, and then,spreading the book open across his knee, read it aloud--the little talewhich was destined to play such an important part in her life, and whichalready had influenced her far more than she was aware.
When she had finished she sat idly turning the leaves and gazing intothe fire. "You see," she said, presently, "this is a story for fathahsand mothahs, too, and--and--I want you to give me my yah'dstick, PapaJack."
As she glanced up at him with a roguish smile dimpling her face, she wasastonished to see tears in his eyes. He had been very silent while sheread the story.
"My precious little Hildegarde!" he exclaimed, drawing her to his kneeand folding his arms around her. She laid her head on his shoulder, andhe began: "I don't suppose you can understand how I feel about it,Lloyd. It breaks me all up to think that my Little Colonel is nearenough grown to come to me with such a request. If I could have my way Iwould be selfish enough to want to keep you a little girl always. Ihate to think that a time can ever come when any one may ask to take youfrom me. But, Lloyd darling, it takes all the sting out of that thoughtto know that you are willing to come to me so freely with yourquestions--to know that there is such perfect confidence between us thatyou do not feel the embarrassment that most girls feel in talking withtheir fathers on such a subject. Let me think a moment, for I want toanswer as wisely as old Hildgardmar did, if that be possible."
It was a long time before he spoke again. Then he said, slowly, "Thereare only three notches on the yardstick which I am going to give you,Lloyd. The prince who comes asking for you must have, first, a cleanlife. There must be no wild oats sowed through its past for my littlegirl to help reap, for no man ever gathers such a harvest alone. Next,he must be honourable in every way which that good old word implies. Theman who is that will not ask anything clandestine, nor will he ask totake you from a comfortable home before he is able to provide one foryou himself. Then, if he would measure up to the third notch, he must bestrong. Strong in character, in purpose, and endeavour. There are manythings that I might ask for my only child, many things that I wouldgladly choose for her if the choice were left to me: family, position,wealth--but they are nothing when weighed in the balance with the loveof an honest man. If his life be clean and honourable and strong, thenchoose as you will, my blessing shall go with you!"
Instantly there flashed into Lloyd's thoughts the recollection of aboyish figure standing beside the old stile, and she wondered how far hewould measure up to that standard. Clean in life and habit? He hadalways seemed so, but a little doubt disturbed her as she thought of thewhite flower he no longer wore, and what he had said about it. Strong inpurpose and in effort? It was too soon to tell. He was only a boy withall his uncertain future before him, with all the temptations of hiscollege days still unmet and unconquered.
As she felt her father's protecting arm around her, she nestled closerin that safe, sure shelter, and sat considering what he had said. Onceshe glanced up at the portrait over the mantel, and met the gaze of thebeautiful eyes of the young girl beside the harp--Amanthis, who had madeno mistake in her choosing, whose girlish romance had bloomed as sweetlyas the June roses that she wore.
Presently Lloyd's arm stole up around her father's neck, and she softlyrepeated the words of Hildegarde's promise:
"'_You may trust me, fathah. I will not cut the golden warp from out theloom until I, a woman grown, have woven such a web as thou thyself shaltsay is worthy of a prince's wearing!_'"
"Dear child," he answered, huskily, "you have crowned not only this yearfor me, but all the years, with that promise. God grant that you mayfind all happiness written for you in His stars!"
The candles were burning low in their silver sconces now. The fire onthe hearth was only a mass of glowing embers, and as the clock ticked ontoward midnight, they sat in happy silence, awaiting the dawn of theuntried new year.
THE END.
The Little Colonel at Boarding-School Page 19