V
The week before Christmas was one of terrific activity for Bess and Angelina, and of unusually bitter hostility between Professor Gayle and Tom Tench. They were shamefully immune from any sort of Christmas spirit.
Indeed, it seemed impossible to arrange any sort of neighborly celebration. Bess had made mince pies and a plum pudding; Angelina had painted place cards to be used on the dinner table. They had both planned all sorts of jolly little Christmas presents, and a Christmas tree; but where was the gathering to be? Tom Tench refused to set foot in Professor Gayle’s domain; and though the professor could probably be induced to go upstairs, who could foresee the consequences?
Nevertheless, the two dauntless women refused to despair.
“At the very last instant we’ll find some way to reconcile them,” said Angelina. “We’ll have a wonderful Christmas—I know it! Let’s walk into the village this afternoon, and get quantities of holly and mistletoe. Why, my dear, it’s Christmas Eve! They can’t quarrel to-day. Nobody could!”
“They can, though,” said Bess, sadly. “I hear them now, out on the stairs.”
“It’s a shame!” said Angelina. “Of course, Tom Tench is very temperamental, but—my dear, I’m going to have one more talk with him this evening. Alan talked to him, but he only made it worse.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, my dear, that any one who could be boorish and ill tempered under the same roof as you was a—well, all sorts of things.”
“Oh! Did he?” said Bess, after a long silence.
“And he wants us to move away,” Angelina continued. “He says he simply can’t stand this.”
“Oh!” said Bess again.
Something in her voice touched the warm-hearted Angelina. She crossed the room and put her arm about the younger girl.
“My dear,” she said, “I’m not going to leave you. I’m much too fond of you. And—if you don’t mind my saying so—I really do think you need somebody cheerful here. Alan said it was absolutely my duty to teach you to laugh. He thinks—”
“It’s getting late, Angelina,” said Bess. “Let’s start!”
It was getting late, because Angelina had been suddenly inspired to finish a drawing after lunch, and it was after three before they set off for the village. When they had bought all the holly they could carry, and turned toward home, it was beginning to grow dark.
It was a bleak and bitter day. The wind was against them now—a savage wind that brought tears to their eyes. With their heads down against it, they went along the desolate road, their numb hands clasping the prickly holly, their numb feet suffering cruelly from the ruts frozen as hard as iron.
They came to the foot of the long hill—and how long it looked, that treeless road, going steeply up to meet the wild, dark sky!
“It’ll be—better—going down!” Bess shouted against the gale.[Pg 501]
“Much!” cried Angelina. “And—I love Christmas!”
Bess could have kissed her for those gallant words. The good will she felt for her companion actually seemed to warm her, and she began the ascent doggedly. Shoulder to shoulder, on they went, nearer and nearer to home. They reached the top of the hill, where the wind was incredibly fierce, and—
Angelina dropped her load of holly and seized Bess’s arm.
“Look!” she cried. “Oh, look! Fire!”
And there was the two-family house in a horrible, reddish glare!
Of one accord they started running, battling against the wind. For a time Bess clung to her armful of holly, because she so hated throwing things away, but in the end it had to go. Their footsteps rang sharply on the frozen road. They were breathless and panting, but the world about them seemed strangely still—no shouts, no hurrying engines, no audible excitement. The two-family house was burning in solitary and awful splendor.
Angelina stumbled to her knees at the foot of the hill, and Bess helped her up. They heard the soft, rustling sound of flames, mounting unhindered.
“Where—is—everybody?” gasped Angelina. “Oh, Bess!”
They struggled on, and turned in at the gate. The front of the building was still untouched, and no one was there. They flew along the path to the back of the house. Two figures were standing there, motionless, sharply outlined against the red light—Professor Gayle and Tom Tench.
“Father!” cried Bess, with all the breath she had left. “Can’t you do anything?”
He answered in a voice that was positively ferocious:
“No! This is Mr. Tench’s fire. He is responsible, and he alone. His papers thrown upon the hot ashes—”
“Tom Tench!” cried Angelina, catching her cousin’s arm and shaking him. “Do something! This instant!”
“I won’t!” said he. “The fire started downstairs, on Gayle’s premises, and it was his business to check it.”
“It has spread to your premises. Put it out there, and—”
“You’ll begin,” said Tom Tench.
“I shall not!” said the professor. “I’ll be—I won’t!”
And they kept on doing nothing, in spite of the desperate appeals and entreaties, the wrath and despair, of Angelina and Bess.
“Then we will!” cried Angelina.
Followed by Bess, she ran around to the front of the house and up the steps of the veranda. She was just opening the door when she was seized by the arm and spun around.
“I’m here,” said her brother. “Don’t worry!”
To the surprise and indignation of Bess, the mere fact of her brother’s being there seemed to reassure Angelina entirely. She sat down on the rail of the veranda with a sigh of relief.
“Alan’s very practical!” she observed, with satisfaction.
But that did not suit Bess. She was not going to leave the fate of all their household goods in the hands of Mr. Smith. She opened the door and went in.
“Come back!” shouted Alan, but she closed the door behind her.
It was very much worse in there than she had expected. The hall was thick with smoke that stifled and blinded her. She groped her way toward the sitting room, with the desperate idea of saving at least an armful of her father’s precious books; but a few steps were enough. There was death for her there. Tears were streaming from her smarting eyes, and every breath was a fiery torment.
In a panic, she turned back. All she wanted now was to get out, to draw one breath of cold, clear air; but the room was a trap, overcrowded as it was with massive furniture. Stumbling and panic-stricken, she turned this way and that. She could not find the door. She could not get out. She tripped over something and fell.
Alan Smith lifted her up. She clung to him in that dreadful, choking darkness. She felt his strong arm about her, and heard his voice, cheerful and steady.
“All right! Don’t worry!”
“Father’s books!” she whispered.
And then the smoke came down and shut out all the world.