At first, the younger members of the Blossom family felt constrained and a little awed in such surroundings; for although they had been several times in the house, they had never taken tea there. But the Fords and the other city people soon put them at their ease, and, as Cherry declared afterwards, "It was like eating in a fairy story." There was a real pigeon pie at one end and a Virginia ham at the other, as well as cold, roast duck with gooseberry jam. There were sparkling jellies, and the whole family of tea-cakes--orange, cocoanut, sponge, and chocolate; and, oh, bliss!--strawberry ice-cream in a nest of spun cinnamon candy, followed by Malaga grapes and hot chocolate topped with a whip of cream.
After tea there was the surprise of a beautiful Christmas Tree in the library. Ruth Ford had occupied many a weary hour in making the decorations--roses and lilies fashioned from tissue paper to closely copy nature; gilded walnuts; painted paper butterflies; pink sugar hearts, and cornucopias of gilt and silver paper, in each of which was a bunch of real flowers--roses, violets, carnations, and daisies, ordered by Jack Sherrill from New York. On the topmost branch, there was a waxen Christ-child. The tree was lighted by dozens of tiny colored candles. When the door was opened from the living-room, and the children caught sight of the wonderful tree, they held their breath and whispered to one another.
But more lovely than the tree in the eyes of the older people were the radiant faces of the young people and the children. Rose, with clasped hands, stood gazing up at the Christ-child that crowned the glowing, glittering mass of dark green. She was wholly unconscious of the many pairs of eyes that rested upon her in love and admiration. There was nothing so beautiful in the whole room as the young girl standing there with earnest blue eyes, raised reverently to the little waxen figure.
Her lips were parted in a half smile; a flush of excitement was on her cheeks; the white dress set off the exquisite fairness of her skin; the shining crown of golden-brown hair, that hung in a heavy braid to within a foot of the hem of her gown, caught the soft lights above her and formed almost a halo about the face.
Suddenly there was a burst of admiration from the children, and, under cover of it, Doctor Heath turned to Mr. Clyde, who was standing beside him:--
"By heavens, John! That girl is too beautiful; she will make some hearts ache before she is many years older, as well as your own Hazel--look at _her_ now!"
The father's eyes rested lovingly, but thoughtfully, on the graceful little figure that was busy distributing the cornucopias with their fragrant contents. Yes, she, too, was beautiful, giving promise of still greater beauty. He turned to the Doctor and held out his hand:--
"Richard, I have to thank you for this transformation."
"No--not me," said the Doctor, earnestly, "but," pointing to Mrs.
Blossom, "that woman there, John. Hazel needed the mother-love, just as much as Jack does at this moment."
Jack had turned away when the Doctor began to speak of Rose, and, joining her, said, "Won't you wear one of my roses just to-night, Miss Blossom?"
"Your roses! Why, did you give us all those lovely flowers?"
"Yes, I wanted to contribute my share, and flowers seemed the most appropriate offering just for to-night."
"They 're lovely," said Rose, caressing the exquisite petals of a La France beauty. "Of course I 'll wear one--" she tucked one into her belt; "but why--why!--has n't anyone else roses?" She looked about inquiringly.
"No,--the roses were for their namesake," said Jack, quietly.
Rose laughed merrily,--a pleased, girlish laugh. "Then won't the giver of the roses call their namesake, 'Rose'?--for the sake of the roses?"
she added mischievously.
Now Jack Sherrill had seen many girls--silly girls, flirty girls, sensible girls, charming girls, smart girls, nice girls, and horrid girls, and flattered himself he knew every species of the genus, but just this once he was puzzled. If Rose Blossom had been an arrant flirt, she could not have answered him more effectively; yet Jack had decided that she had too earnest a nature to descend to flirting. Somehow, that word could never be applied to Rose Blossom--"My Rose," he said to himself, and knew with a kind of a shock when he said it, that he was very far gone. But in the next breath, he had to confess to himself that he had "been very far gone" many a time in his twenty-one years, so perhaps it did not signify.
Indeed, in the next minute, he was sure it did not signify, for, before he could gather his wits sufficiently to reply to her, Rose had slipped away to the other side of the room, where she was busying herself in fastening one of Jack's roses into the buttonhole of Alan Ford's Tuxedo.
In consequence of which, Jack turned his batteries upon Ruth Ford with such effect, that she declared afterwards to her mother he was one of the most fascinating _young_ men--for Ruth was twenty-one!--she had ever met.
Mrs. Ford and Hazel and Mr. Ford had done their best to persuade Chi to remain with them for the tree. Even Rose urged--but in vain. True, the girls had insisted upon his taking one look, then he had begged off, saying, as he patted Hazel's hand that lay on his arm:
"Not to-night, Lady-bird. I don't feel to home in there. I 'll sit out here and hear the music, then I can beat time with my foot if I want to." He remained in the hall, just outside the living-room door, enjoying all he heard.
First there was a lovely piano duet, an Hungarian waltz by Brahms, Mrs.
Ford and the grave, quiet son playing with such a perfect understanding of each other, as well as of the music, that it proved a delight to all present. Then there was a carol by all the children, Rose leading, and Mrs. Ford playing the accompaniment:
"'Cheery old Winter! merry old Winter!
Laugh, while with yule-wreath thy temples are bound; Drain the spiced bowl now, cheer thy old soul now, "Christmas _waes hael_!" pledge the holy toast round.
Broach butt and barrel, with dance and with carol Crown we old Winter of revels the king; And when he is weary of living so merry, He 'll lie down and die on the green lap of Spring.
Cheery old Winter! merry old Winter!
He 'll lie down and die on the green lap of Spring!'"
This won great applause, and a loud thumping could be heard in the hall.
Jack went out to try his powers of persuasion with Chi, and found him sitting close to the door with one knee over the other and a La France rose (!) in his buttonhole.
"Come in, Chi, do."
"Ruther 'd sit here."
"Oh, come on."
"Nope."
Jack laughed at the decided tone. "Where did you get this?" he asked, touching the boutonniere.
"Rose-pose," answered Chi, laconically, but with a happy smile.
"Out of her bunch?"
"Nope--took it out of her belt," said Chi, with a curious twist of his mouth.
Jack went back crestfallen, and Chi smiled.
"I 'm afraid I cut him out, just for once; kind of rough on him, but 't won't hurt him any to have a change. He 's had his own way a little too much," said Chi to himself.
Again there was music, a Schubert serenade, with the two violins, and after that, the children begged Hazel to dance the Highland Fling as she did once in the barn. Hazel, nothing loath, borrowed a blue Liberty-silk scarf from Ruth Ford; the rugs being removed and Alan Ford tuning his violin, she made her curtsy, and, entering heart and body into the spirit of the thing, danced like thistle-down shod with joyousness.
It was a pretty sight! and Chi edged into the room, while the company made believe ignore him in order to induce him to remain there; but when the singing began, he slipped out again. Such singing! Everybody joined in it. They sang everything;--"Oh, where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone?";--"Star-spangled Banner";--"Marching Along";--"John Anderson, my Jo";--"Ye banks and braes o' Bonnie Doon";--"Twinkle, twinkle, little star";--"Annie Laurie";--"A grasshopper sat on a sweet-potato vine";--"Ben Bolt";--"Fair Harvard"
and, finally, "Old Hundred."
It had been arranged that Mr. Blossom should take his wife and the younger children home in the pung; the rest were to walk. Chi, meanwhile, had driven home in the single sleigh.
On the walk home Jack tried what he had been apt to term--of course, to himself--his "confidential scheme" with Rose. He had tried it before with many another, and it had never failed to work. The thought of one of his roses in Alan Ford's buttonhole still rankled, and the best side of Jack's manhood was not on the surface when he entered upon the homeward walk.
"Miss Blossom,"--somehow Jack had not quite the courage to say "Rose,"
although he had been so frankly invited to--"I want to tell you why I came up here; it must have seemed almost an intrusion."
[Illustration: "'I want to tell you why I came up here'"]
"Oh, no, indeed," said Rose, earnestly, "and I know why you came; Hazel told me."
"Oh, she did," said Jack, rather inanely, and a little uncertain as to his footing, figuratively speaking; for he had given her the chance to ask "Why?"--and she had n't taken it; in which she proved herself different from all those other girls of his acquaintance. To himself he thought, "Well, for all the cordial indifference, commend me to this girl."
"Yes, I 'm sure it would have seemed like anything but Christmas to you in New York with your father in Europe; you must miss him so."
Jack felt himself blush in the moonlight at the remembrance that he had seen his father but little in the last three years, and did not know what it was in reality to miss him. He never remembered to have missed anything or anybody but his mother, and that indefinite something in his life which he had not yet put himself earnestly to seek.
"I suppose you 'll be shocked, Miss Blossom, but I don't really miss my father. I 'm only awfully glad to see him when I get the chance--which is n't often. He 's such a busy man with railroads and syndicates and real estate interests. I wonder often how he can find time to write me even twice a month, which he has done regularly ever since--" he stopped abruptly.
"Since what?" asked Rose, innocently.