Chapter VI

by Kate Douglas Wiggin

　　VIOn the afternoon before Christmas of that year, the North Station inBoston was filled with hurrying throngs on the way home for theholidays. Everybody looked tired and excited, but most of them hadhappy faces, and men and women alike had as many bundles as they couldcarry; bundles and boxes quite unlike the brown paper ones with whichcommuters are laden on ordinary days. These were white packages,beribboned and beflowered and behollied and bemistletoed, to be gentlycarried and protected from crushing.

　　The train was filled to overflowing and many stood in the aisles untilLatham Junction was reached and the overflow alighted to change carsfor Greentown and way stations.

　　Among the crowd were two men with suit-cases who hurried into the waytrain and, entering the smoking car from opposite ends, met in themiddle of the aisle, dropped their encumbrances, stretched out a handand ejaculated in the same breath:

　　"Dick Larrabee, upon my word!"

　　"Dave Gilman, by all that's great!—Here, let's turn over a seat forour baggage and sit together. Going home, I s'pose?"

　　The men had not met for some years, but each knew something of theother's circumstances and hoped that the other didn't know too much.They scanned each other's faces, Dick thinking that David lookedpinched and pale, David half-heartedly registering the quickimpression that Dick was prosperous.

　　"Yes," David answered; "I'm going home for a couple of days. It's sucha confounded journey to that one-horse village that a business mancan't get there but once in a generation!"

　　"Awful hole!" confirmed Dick. "Simply awful hole! I didn't get it outof my system for years."

　　"Married?" asked David.

　　"No; rather think I'm not the marrying kind, though the fact is I'vehad no time for love affairs—too busy. Let's see, you have a child,haven't you?"

　　"Yes; Letty has seen to all that business for me since my wife died."(Wild horses couldn't have dragged the information from him that the"child" was "twins," and Dick didn't need it anyway, for he had heardthe news the morning he left Beulah.) "Wonder if there have been manychanges in the village?"

　　"Don't know; there never used to be! Mrs. Popham has been ailing foryears,—she couldn't die; and Deacon Todd wouldn't!" Dick's oldanimosities still lingered faintly in his memory, though his laughingvoice and the twinkle in his eyes showed plainly that no bitternesswas left. "How's business with you, David?"

　　"Only so-so. I've had the devil's own luck lately. Can't get anythingthat suits me or that pays a decent income. I formed a new connectionthe other day, but I can't say yet what there is in it. I'm just outof hospital; operation; they cut out the wrong thing first, I believe,sewed me up absent-mindedly, then remembered it was the other thing,and did it over again. At any rate, that's the only way I can accountfor their mewing me up there for two months."

　　"Well, well, that is hard luck! I'm sorry, old boy! Things didn'tbegin to go my way either till within the last few months. I've alwaysmade a fair living and saved a little money, but never gained any realheadway. Now I've got a first-rate start and the future looks prettyfavorable, and best of all, pretty safe.—No trouble at home calls youback to Beulah? I hope Letty is all right?" Dick cast an anxious sideglance at David, though he spoke carelessly.

　　"Oh, no! Everything's serene, so far as I know. I'm a poorcorrespondent, especially when I've no good news to tell; and anyway,the mere sight of a pen ties my tongue. I'm just running down tosurprise Letty."

　　Dick looked at David again. He began to think he didn't like him. Heused to, when they were boys, but when he brought that unaccountablewife home and foisted her and her babies on Letty, he rather turnedagainst him. David was younger than himself, four or five yearsyounger, but he looked as if he hadn't grown up. Surely his boyhoodchum hadn't used to be so pale and thin-chested or his mouth soladylike and pretty. A good face, though; straight and clean, withhonest eyes and a likable smile. Lack of will, perhaps, or apersistent run of ill luck. Letty had always kept him stiffened up inthe old days. Dick recalled one of his father's phrases to the effectthat Dave Gilman would spin on a very small biscuit, and wondered ifit were still true.

　　"And you, Dick? Your father's still living? You see I haven't kept upwith Beulah lately."

　　"Keeping up with Beulah! It sounds like the title of a novel, but thehero would have to be a snail or he'd pass Beulah in the firstchapter!—Yes, father's hale and hearty, I believe."

　　"You come home every Christmas, I s'pose?" inquired David.

　　"No; as a matter of fact this is my first visit since I left forgood."

　　"That's about my case." And David, hung his head a little,unconsciously.

　　"That so? Well, I was a hot-headed fool when I said good-bye toBeulah, and it's taken me all this time to cool off and make up mymind to apologize to the dad. There's—there's rather a queercoincidence about my visit just at this time."

　　"Speaking of coincidences," said David, "I can beat yours, whatever itis. If the thought of your father brought you back, my mother drewme—this way!" And he took something from his inside coat pocket.—"Doyou see that?"

　　Dick regarded the object blankly, then with a quick gesture dived intohis pocket and brought forth another of the same general character."How about this?" he asked.

　　Each had one of Reba Larrabee's Christmas cards but David had thefirst unsuccessful one and Dick the popular one with the lonelylittle gray house and the verse about the folks back home.

　　The men looked at each other in astonishment and Dick gave a lowwhistle. Then they bent over the cards together.

　　"It was mother's picture that pulled me back to Beulah, I don't mindtelling you," said David, his mouth twitching. "Don't you see it?"

　　"Oh! Is that your mother?" And Dick scanned the card closely.

　　"Don't you remember her portrait that always hung there after shedied?"

　　"Yes, of course!" And Dick's tone was apologetic. "You see the face isso small I didn't notice it, but I recognize it now and remember theportrait."

　　"Then the old sitting-room!" exclaimed David. "Look at the rag carpetand the blessed old andirons! Gracious! I've crawled round thoseHessian soldiers, burned my fingers and cracked my skull on 'em, oftenenough when I was a kid! When I'd studied the card five minutes, Ibought a ticket and started for home."

　　David's eyes were suffused and his lip trembled.

　　"I don't wonder," said Dick. "I recognize the dear old room rightenough, and of course I should know Letty."

　　"It didn't occur to me that it was Letty for some time," said herbrother. "There's just the glimpse of a face shown, and no reallikeness."

　　"Perhaps not," agreed Dick. "A stranger wouldn't have known it forLetty, but if it had been only that cape I should have guessed. It'sas familiar as Mrs. Popham's bugle bonnet, and much prettier. She woreit every winter, skating, you know,—and it's just the color of herhair."

　　"Letty has a good-shaped head," said David judicially. "It shows, evenin the card."

　　"And a remarkable ear," added Dick, "so small and so close to herhead."

　　"I never notice people's ears," confessed David.

　　"Don't you? I do, and eyelashes, too. Mother's got Letty's eyelashesdown fine.—She's changed, Dave, Letty has! That hurts me. She wasalways so gay and chirpy. In this picture she has a sad, far-away,listening look, but mother may have put that in just to make itinteresting."

　　"Or perhaps I've had something to do with the change of expression!"thought David. "What attracted me first," he added, "was yourmother's verses. She always had a knack of being pious withoutcramming piety down your throat. I liked that open door. It meantwelcome, no matter how little you'd deserved it."

　　"Where'd you get your card, Dave?" asked Dick. "It's prettier thanmine."

　　"A nurse brought it to me in the hospital just because she took afancy to it. She didn't know it would mean anything to me, but itdid—a relapse!" And David laughed shamedfacedly. "I guess she'llconfine herself to beef tea after this!—Where'd you get yours?"

　　"Picked it up on a dentist's mantelpiece when I was waiting for anappointment. I was traveling round the room, hands in my pockets, whensuddenly I saw this card standing up against an hour-glass. The colorcaught me. I took it to the window, and at first I was puzzled. Itcertainly was Letty's house. The door's open you see and there'ssomebody in the window. I knew it was Letty, but how could any cardpublisher have found the way to Beulah? Then I discovered mother'sinitials snarled up in holly, and remembered that she was alwayspainting and illuminating."

　　"Queer job, life is!" said David, putting his card back in his pocketand wishing there were a little more time, or that he had a littlemore courage, so that he might confide in Dick Larrabee. He felt adesire to tell him some of the wretchedness he had lived through. Itwould be a comfort just to hint that his unhappiness had made him acoward, so that the very responsibilities that serve as a spur tosome men had left him until now cold, unstirred, unvitalized.

　　"You're right!" Dick answered. "Life is a queer job and it doesn't doto shirk it. And just as queer as anything in life is the way thatmother's Christmas cards brought us back to Beulah! They acted as asort of magic, didn't they?—Jiminy! I believe the next station isBeulah. I hope the depot team will be hitched up."

　　"Yes, here we are; seven o'clock and the train only thirty-fiveminutes late. It always made a point of that on holidays!"

　　"Never mind!" And Dick's tone was as gay as David's was sober. "Thebean-pot will have gone back to the cellarway and the doughnuts to thecrock, but the 'folks back home' 'll get 'em out for us, and a mincepie, too, and a cut of sage cheese."

　　"There won't be any 'folks back home,' we're so late, I'm thinking.There's always a Christmas Eve festival at the church, you know. Theynever change—in Beulah."

　　"Then, by George, they can have me for Santa Claus!" said Dick as theystepped out on the platform. "Why, it doesn't seem cold at all; yetlook at the ice on the river! What skating, and what a moon! Myblood's up, and if I find the parsonage closed, I'll follow on to thechurch and make my peace with the members. There's a kind of spell onme! For the first time in years I feel as though I could shake handswith Deacon Todd."

　　"Well, Merry Christmas to you, Dick,—I'm going to walk. Goodgracious! Have you come to spend the winter?" For various bags andparcels were being flung out on the platform with that indifferenceand irresponsibility that bespeak the touch of the seasonedbaggage-handler.

　　"You didn't suppose I was coming back to Beulah empty-handed, onChristmas Eve, did you? If I'm in time for the tree, I'm going to givethose blue-nosed, frost-bitten little youngsters something toremember! Jump in, Dave, and ride as far as the turn of the road."

　　In a few minutes the tottering old sign-board that marked the way toBeulah Center hove in sight, and David jumped from the sleigh to takehis homeward path.

　　"Merry Christmas again, Dick!" he waved.

　　"Same to you, Dave! I'll come myself to say it to Letty the firstminute I see smoke coming from your chimney to-morrow morning. Tellher you met me, will you, and that my visit is partly for her, onlythat father had to have his turn first. She'll know why. Tell hermother's card had Christmas magic in it, tell—"

　　"Say, tell her the rest yourself, will you, Dick?" And Dave broke intoa run down the hill road that led to Letty.

　　"I will, indeed!" breathed Dick into his muffler.