CHAPTER XIII
A SONG IN THE AIR
The time between Thanksgiving and Christmas is like no other. It may bring its problems, as we keep the anniversary, but there is a certain pleasure and anticipation in the very atmosphere, especially among the young. “Do you realize it?” Marta would ask, “—only three weeks now till Christmas?” Next it was only two weeks, then only one and time to pack up.
Ann saw a great deal of Suzanne, for they consulted over gifts for this one and that one at home. Suzanne was good in suggestion for her family, which fact helped Ann not a little. The girls had so little time to shop. But some things were passed over to Ann’s mother to do for her, after the list of what she thought appropriate for each one was made out. For their grandmother and mothers, Suzanne and Ann were doing a little embroidery, that they might offer something of their own.
The music and services at school treated of Christmas and the girls went around humming carols. “It came upon the midnight clear,” “O little town of Bethlehem,” “While shepherds watched their flocks by night,” “There’s a song in the air. There’s a star in the sky,” or “Holy Night” were favorite hymns at Chapel. And when on that last meeting of the society, Eleanor sang “Thou didst leave thy throne and thy kingly crown, When thou camest to earth for me,” she sang with such expression and feeling that Ann received a new impression of a sober and earnest Eleanor, who cared about the higher things. Impressionable Ann was thrilled at her rendering of the last stanza, and poor little Aline, whose mother had so recently joined those heavenly choirs, clutched Ann’s hand and bit her lip to keep back the tears. Aline was going home with Eleanor for the Holidays. It was, however, the second Christmas since the home had been broken up.
Marta was going back to New York with Ethel and Lucile, having added so much to the good time of everybody at Thanksgiving that both families wanted her. Ann was delighted, for she could not bear to leave Marta again at Christmas time. It was with a very happy heart that Ann said her goodbyes at school and rolled away in the ’bus to take the train. This time she and Suzanne were traveling together, in the most amicable way in the world. “O Ann, don’t you hope that we go to Florida?” was a frequent question, put in one form or another, as they drew nearer home. It was home now to Ann, for her dearest and nearest were there now. A jolly telegram from her father had informed her of his arrival.
It kept growing colder, the girls thought, and even in the train they wore their coats, Suzanne’s a fur one. At the village station who should be there but Maurice, handsome in a big fur coat and pulling off gloves, to greet Ann and draw her furs up to her ears. “Got the big sleigh that was Grand-Dad’s, Ann. Thought that I’d give you a real New England welcome!”
Ann was delighted. “Is it really Grandfather’s sleigh, Maurice?” she asked. “It looks perfectly new to me, so pretty, Maurice!”
“The real, sure enough article, Ann. Of course, it has been freshly painted.”
“Give me a warm, closed car for mine,” said Suzanne, shivering.
“No good, Suzanne. Every car we own has something the matter with it; besides, these roads are made for sleighing. It melted, then it froze, slippery as could be,—then the snow; and it is pretty well packed by now. How does it compare with Montana, Ann?”