Our Little Canadian Cousin

by Elizabeth Roberts MacDonald

CHAPTER VII.

Now there came, warming the frosty heart of December, that delightful atmosphere of mystery and expectation which forms one pleasure of the great Yule-tide festival. The Big Brick House seemed particularly full of this happy spirit of the season. There were many mysterious shopping excursions, and much whispering in corners,—a thing not usual in this united family. Jackie showed a sudden and severe self-denial in the matter of sticks of pure chocolate, and was soon, therefore, able to proudly flourish a purse containing, he told his mother, "a dollar all but eighty-five cents," saved toward buying his presents for the family. He also spent much time at a little table in his own room, cutting out pictures and pasting them into a scrap-book for a little lame boy of his acquaintance.

Mrs. Merrithew and Kathie had each, besides innumerable other matters, a water-colour painting on hand. Each picture, strange to say, was of a house. Mrs. Merrithew's, the Big Brick House itself, with its trees and vines, was clearly intended for Daddy; but for whom, the children wondered, was Aunt Kathie's? It was a spirited little view of the old stone house on Saunder's Island; not so pretty a subject as Mrs. Merrithew's, but set in such a delicate atmosphere of early morning light that even the sombre gray of the stone seemed etherialized and made poetic. While Marjorie and Dora wondered for whom it was meant, Jackie promptly inquired,—but she, his dear Aunt Kathie, who had never refused to answer question of his before, only laughed and shook her head, and said that every one had secrets at Christmas-time.

Marjorie and Dora did not, as was their wont, spend all of their time together, for each was making a present for the other. Marjorie was working hard over a portfolio, which she knew was one of the things Dora wanted. She had carefully constructed and joined the stiff cardboard covers, and plentifully provided them with blotting-paper, and now she was embroidering the linen cover with autumnal maple-leaves in Dora's favourite colour, a rich, vivid red. As for Dora, though she had no love for needlework, she was laboriously making a cushion of soft, old-blue felt for Marjorie's cosey-corner, working it with a griffin pattern in golden-brown silks. Marjorie had a particular fancy for griffins,—partly, perhaps, because a griffin was the chief feature of the family crest.

As the long-looked-for day drew nearer, there was other work to do, almost the pleasantest Christmas work of all, Dora thought,—the making wreaths out of fir and hemlock and fragrant spruce. They worked two or three hours of each day at the decorations for the beautiful little parish church which they all attended, and which, being very small, was much easier than the cathedral or the other large churches to transform into a sweet-smelling tabernacle of green. Then they trimmed the Big Brick House almost from attic to cellar. The drawing-rooms were hung with heavy wreaths, with bunches of red cranberries here and there, making a beautiful contrast to the green. In the other rooms there were boughs over every picture, and autumn leaves, ferns, and dried grasses here and there. Mr. Merrithew was sure to buy some holly and mistletoe at the florist's on Christmas Eve, so places of honour were reserved for these two plants, which have become so closely entwined with all our thoughts of Christmas and its festivities. The holly would adorn the old oil-painting of Mrs. Merrithew's great-aunt, Lady Loveday Gostwycke, which hung over the mantelpiece in the front drawing-room. As for the pearly white berries of the mistletoe, they were to hang from the chandelier in the hall, where people might be expected forgetfully to pass beneath them. Jackie, who was very useful in breaking twigs for the wreath-making, begged a few fine wreaths as a reward, and carried them off to decorate little lame Philip's room. These lengths of aromatic greenery gave the greatest pleasure to the invalid, and scarcely less to his mother, who spent the greater part of her time in that one room.

Besides all these pleasant doings, there were great things going on in the kitchen. Such baking and steaming and frying as Debby revelled in! Such spicy and savoury odours as pervaded the house when the kitchen door was opened! Marjorie and Dora liked to help, whenever Debby would let them, with these proceedings. It was great fun to shred citron and turn the raisin-stoner, and help chop the mince-meat, in the big kitchen, with its shining tins, and general air of comfort. Jackie liked to take a share in the cooking, too, and as he was Deborah's pet, he generally got the wherewithal to make a tiny cake or pudding of his own. When it came to the making of the big plum pudding, all the family by turns had to stir it, according to a time-honoured institution. Then Mr. Merrithew would make his expected contribution to its ingredients,—five shining five-cent pieces, to be stirred through the mixture and left to form an element of special interest to the children at the Christmas dinner. Besides this big pudding, there were always three or four smaller ones (without any silver plums, but very rich and good), for distribution among some of Mrs. Merrithew's protégés.

On Christmas day all the old customs were faithfully observed. It was the rule that whoever woke first in the morning should call the others, and on this occasion it was Jackie who, as the great clock in the hall struck six, came running from room to room in his moccasin slippers and little blue dressing-gown, shouting "Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas," at the top of his voice.

Every one tumbled out of bed, as in duty bound, and soon a wrappered and slippered group, all exchanging Christmas wishes, met in Mrs. Merrithew's den. Here a fire glowed in the grate, and here, too, mysterious and delightful, hung a long row of very fat white pillow-cases! These were hung by long cords from hooks on the curtain-pole. Each pillow-case bore a paper with the name of its owner written on it in large letters, and they were arranged in order of age, from Jackie up to Mr. Merrithew. This had been the invariable method of giving the Christmas presents in this particular family for as long as any of them could remember.

Armchairs and sofas were drawn near the fire, and the party grouped themselves comfortably; then Mr. Merrithew lifted down Jackie's pillow-case and laid it beside him, as he sat with his mother in the largest of the chairs. Every one looked on with intensest interest while, with shining eyes, and cheeks red with excitement, he opened his parcels, and exclaimed over their contents. Truly a fortunate little boy was Jack! There were books—the very books he wanted,—games, a top, the dearest little snow-shoes, a great box of blocks,—evidently Santa Claus knew what a tireless architect this small boy was,—a bugle, drum, and sword, a dainty cup and saucer, a picture for his room, and, too large for the pillow-case, but carefully propped beneath it, a fine sled, all painted in blue and gold and crimson, beautiful to behold!