“I’m glad on’t,” she said heartily, “an’ I hope you’ll be comf’table an’ contented here. I must go now an’ help Sairy dish up. Come down to the settin’ room when you’re ready,” and she gave his hands a little squeeze.
“Aunt Po—, I beg pardon, Mrs. Bixbee,” said John, moved by a sudden impulse, “do you think you could find it in your heart to complete my happiness by giving me a kiss? It’s Christmas, you know,” he added smilingly.
Aunt Polly colored to the roots of her hair. “Wa’al,” she said, with a little laugh, “seein’ ’t I’m old enough to be your mother, I guess ’t won’t hurt me none,” and as she went down the stairs she softly rubbed her lips with the side of her forefinger.
John understood now why David had looked out of the bank window so often that morning. All his belongings were in Aunt Polly’s best bedroom, having been moved over from the Eagle while he and David had been in the office. A delightful room it was, in immeasurable contrast to his squalid surroundings at that hostelry. The spacious bed, with its snowy counterpane and silk patchwork “comf’table” folded on the foot, the bright fire in the open stove, the big bureau and glass, the soft carpet, the table for writing and reading standing in the bay, his books on the broad mantel, and his dressing things laid out ready to his hand, not to mention an ample supply of dry towels on the rack.
The poor fellow’s life during the weeks which he had lived in Homeville had been utterly in contrast with any previous experience. Nevertheless he had tried to make the best of it, and to endure the monotony, the dullness, the entire lack of companionship and entertainment with what philosophy he could muster. The hours spent in the office were the best part of the day. He could manage to find occupation for all of them, though a village bank is not usually a scene of active bustle. Many of the people who did business there diverted him somewhat, and most of them seemed never too much in a hurry to stand around and talk the sort of thing that interested them. After John had got acquainted with his duties and the people he came in contact with, David gave less personal attention to the affairs of the bank; but he was in and out frequently during the day, and rarely failed to interest his cashier with his observations and remarks.
But the long winter evenings had been very bad. After supper, a meal which revolted every sense, there had been as many hours to be got through with as he found wakeful, an empty stomach often adding to the number of them, and the only resource for passing the time had been reading, which had often been well-nigh impossible for sheer physical discomfort. As has been remarked, the winter climate of the middle portion of New York State is as bad as can be imagined. His light was a kerosene lamp of half-candle power, and his appliance for warmth consisted of a small wood stove, which (as David would have expressed it) “took two men an’ a boy” to keep in action, and was either red hot or exhausted.
As from the depths of a spacious lounging chair he surveyed his new surroundings, and contrasted them with those from which he had been rescued out of pure kindness, his heart was full, and it can hardly be imputed to him as a weakness that for a moment his eyes filled with tears of gratitude and happiness—no less.
Indeed, there were four happy people at David’s table that Christmas day. Aunt Polly had “smartened up” Mrs. Cullom with collar and cuffs, and in various ways which the mind of man comprehendeth not in detail; and there had been some arranging of her hair as well, which altogether had so transformed and transfigured her that John thought that he should hardly have known her for the forlorn creature whom he had encountered in the morning. And as he looked at the still fine eyes, large and brown, and shining for the first time in many a year with a soft light of happiness, he felt that he could understand how it was that Billy P. had married the village girl.
Mrs. Bixbee was grand in black silk and lace collar fastened with a shell-cameo pin not quite as large as a saucer, and John caught the sparkle of a diamond on her plump left hand—David’s Christmas gift—with regard to which she had spoken apologetically to Mrs. Cullom:
“I told David that I was ever so much obliged to him, but I didn’t want a dimun’ more’n a cat wanted a flag, an’ I thought it was jest throwin’ away money. But he would have it—said I c’d sell it an’ keep out the poorhouse some day, mebbe.”
David had not made much change in his usual raiment, but he was shaved to the blood, and his round red face shone with soap and satisfaction. As he tucked his napkin into his shirt collar, Sairy brought in the tureen of oyster soup, and he remarked, as he took his first spoonful of the stew, that he was “hungry ’nough t’ eat a graven imidge,” a condition that John was able to sympathize with after his two days of fasting on crackers and such provisions as he could buy at Purse’s. It was, on the whole, he reflected, the most enjoyable dinner that he ever ate. Never was such a turkey; and to see it give way under David’s skillful knife—wings, drumsticks, second joints, side bones, breast—was an elevating and memorable experience. And such potatoes, mashed in cream; such boiled onions, turnips, Hubbard squash, succotash, stewed tomatoes, celery, cranberries, “currant jell!” Oh! and to “top off” with, a mince pie to die
