Chapter XI: Christmas Doings

THE dusk of Christmas Eve had gathered when Talitha set out for the schoolhouse, leaving the rest of the family to follow later. The place was already warm, but the candles must be lighted; the company would gather at an early hour. Already there was the sound of wheels, the tread of oxen on the wagon track, and the chatter of voices. Every man, woman, and child in Goose Creek, able to hobble forth, would be present.

As she neared the place she saw that light already flamed from the windows. Her steps quickened into a run; she reached the schoolhouse quite breathless. The door was ajar. Talitha pushed it open and entered. At first she was only aware that something very puzzling was going on. She rubbed her eyes—they were dazed with the light—and looked again.

On the platform was a Christmas tree, so tall that the flame of its topmost candle barely escaped the ceiling. The twinkling lights, the glittering tinsel, the toys, made it the most beautiful thing Talitha had ever seen. Several people were moving about it lighting more candles and hanging small, red stockings, with bulging sides, to the lower branches. Did her eyes deceive her? Was one of them—yes, it was really Martin, and there was Miss Howard, and Abner, and Gincy!

The latter rushed forward and caught Talitha in her arms. “We’ve been planning for it ever so long; I was determined to come home with the boys and surprise you,” laughed Gincy with a hug. “Then we coaxed Miss Howard to come too, and when the Bentville folks heard about the school and what you’d done, they wanted to help, so there’s something on the tree for every pupil.”

“Hello, Tally,” Abner interrupted excitedly. “This is a dandy schoolhouse! I should think you’d be awfully ’bliged to Jake Simcox for burnin’ that old shack—”

“Sh!” Talitha held up a warning finger, for a crowd was flocking in at the door. Foremost were the Shackleys with Si Quinn. At first the company looked about bewildered, then their tongues suddenly loosened and the din was deafening.

“Fer the land’s sake!” exclaimed Ann Bills, with a violent poke of her elbow in her husband’s ribs, “jest look at thet pine, will ye, all rigged out with poppets and sech. Whar d’ye s’pose Tally got all thet plunder?”

“I reckon hit war packed all the way from Bentville,” Shad Bills answered shrewdly. “Thar’s Miss Howard over yon—and—I’m blest if hit ain’t Mart and Abner lightin’ them candles! The young-uns hev come back fer Chris’mus, Ann—” But his wife did not hear, her keen eyes had spied Gincy, and she was already elbowing her way through the crowd in a masterful fashion.

Half-dazed, the aged schoolmaster glanced around; it was all very strange—and beautiful, too. His faded old eyes winked and blinked at the unaccustomed twinkle and glitter. It almost took his breath and he dropped trembling, into a seat. How could Talitha have thought of all this! Did they have such things at Bentville? All the years of his teaching he had never once dreamed of celebrating Christmas in this fashion. He eyed the tree—what he could see of it over the heads of the crowd—with all a child’s delight. How shining and stately it looked! Its tallest candle glittered like a star, while those among the holly and pine, around the room, shone back bravely as though they were not to be outdone. And how the folks chattered!

Talitha slipped away to find Martin. She wanted to meet him alone, although that seemed an impossibility, but she darted around the tree and caught him tucking away a parcel under the branches at the base. How tall and manly he looked.

“Oh, Tally!” he exclaimed, beaming at her. “Did we surprise you?” He stooped and kissed her.

Talitha only nodded; she could not trust her voice.

“I can see now why you came back, Tally,” Martin began, but he did not finish, for the two were suddenly besieged by Abner and Gincy and dragged before the surprised company who had not yet discovered Martin.

It was quite a few minutes before the excited audience settled into quiet, and then it was as decorous and interested as one could wish. Miss Howard could hardly have presided with more dignity than did Talitha, and the exercises went off better than either could have believed possible with those alluring gifts before the children’s eyes.

The dialogue between the Twilliger twins went smoothly without prompting. The youngest Dodd boy—small for his ten years and one of the brightest pupils—recited “The Night Before Christmas” like a general, and received long and vociferous applause, as did also the song by little Polly Suttle. Billy Gooch came in for a large share of approval at his rendering of Lincoln’s speech at Gettysburg; there was a marching drill in which Rufe Coyle beat the time on an old drum of his grandfather—who had been through the war. The vigorous rat-a-tat-tat set the men’s restless feet tapping to the great delight of the children. The exercises were at last concluded with the singing of the “Star Spangled Banner” by the school, the younger pupils waving small flags through the chorus.

At the close of the song, Miss Howard, with the aid of Martin and Abner, began to distribute the gifts from the tree. Minta Bills was the first name called, but the child failed to understand and hung back timidly.

“Don’t ye hear Miss Howard callin’ ye? Go ’long, honey,” coaxed her father, giving the child a gentle push. He did not comprehend just what was wanted, but the young woman from Bentville must be obeyed.

“Minty! whar’s yer raisin’?” reproved Ann Bills, turning sharply to her granddaughter. Minta edged shyly toward the tree, and Miss Howard put a stocking full of candy and a small but gaily dressed doll into her arms, watching the look of astonishment and delight grow in her face. At the sight of the latter all the mother instinct was aroused, and she stumbled back to her father, hugging her precious burden close. All Goose Creek watched her. The big blue eyes were fastened on the doll, and the long yellow curls fashioned a sort of halo for the sweet, childish face.

Ann Bills’ hard mouth twitched and she gave Minta a kindly pat as she bent over to view the gift at closer range. “Hit do beat all,” she told her son in an audible whisper. “Thet thar poppet fairly looks like a human.”

For a few minutes Minta was the envy of the school, but it was soon discovered that none of the pupils had been overlooked—that even their teacher had been remembered with enough “store goods” for a new gown, the package Martin was hiding under the branches.

“I declare, if I didn’t forget all about the schoolmaster,” Martin whispered to Talitha. “I’m so sorry—”

“Oh!” his sister gave a start. “And I did too. Martin, I’m going right over to speak to Enoch Shackley, and in ten minutes you must follow me. Just slip away without any one seeing you; I’ll be waiting outside.”

Halfway across the room Talitha was waylaid by a tall, black-eyed girl with a conspicuous pompadour. “I reckon you don’t know me, I ’lowed you wouldn’t—at first sight, anyway, but I war on the train the mornin’ you come from Bentville and you told me ’bout Gincy’s goin’ ter school. I didn’t find out your name, but when I heerd ’bout a gal comin’ back here to Goose Creek to teach school I pieced hit all together and I knew hit war you.”

“This is Piny Twilliger?” inquired Talitha politely.

“You’re jest right. I’ve had a powerful fine time, and I’ve been a-tellin’ Gincy thet I’m goin’ ter Bentville too, next term. I’ve changed my mind ’bout gittin’ larnin’.”

Talitha made her escape as soon as possible, although Piny would have liked to prolong the conversation. With a whispered word in Enoch Shackley’s ear she slipped out of the door unnoticed.