Doctor Hathern's daughters

by Mary Jane Holmes

There was a good deal of Carl in this letter, and Katy’s eyes grew very bright for a moment, as Annie read it, and then took on a cold expression, which Miss Errington, who was watching her, could not quite understand. Annie had written to Carl in Boston, telling him there was to be no wedding, but asking him to spend Christmas with them just the same. This letter he evidently had not received. He was coming, and they were all glad, and none more so than Norah. With all his faults there was not a better man living than Carl, she said, and her face was radiant as she prepared his favorite dishes. If they couldn’t have a wedding-feast they should have a dinner that was a dinner, with eight or ten courses, and in the exuberance of her joy she allowed Phyllis to stone the raisins for the pudding she was going to send to the table over a blue flame of-alcohol. Carl’s own room was made ready for him, and every time he heard the whistle of a Richmond train Paul stationed himself at the window to watch for the village ’bus which was to bring his brother from the station. But the trains came and went and brought neither Carl nor any tidings of him, and every one gave him up but Norah. She had more faith in him than anyone else, although admitting that he was never of the same mind two hours at a time.

“But he’s comin’ now. I feel it in my bones,” she said, and made her preparations for Christmas with as much certainty of his presence as if he were already there.

It was a dreary Christmas Eve, with dark clouds scudding across the starless sky and the wind roaring through the tall trees which skirted the avenue leading from the highway to the house, and the morning was drearier still. There had been a blizzard on the western prairies, and it was spending itself on this part of Virginia in a cold, steady rain, which drove against the windows and found its way under the door into the hall, where it stood in little puddles until Phyllis swept it out, letting in more rain as she did so, and shivering with cold as she closed the door and went into the dining-room where breakfast was upon the table and where Paul’s was the only happy face. He had found his stockings full of gifts from Santa Claus, balls and carts and tops and horns, the last of which he blew vigorously as Phyllis lifted him into his high chair and fastened on his bib. Annie was pouring the coffee when Phyllis suddenly exclaimed, “Praise de Lord, thar’s Mas’r Carl now on de step with his umberill blown t’other side out.”

He did not stop to knock, but sprang into the hall, with the rain dripping from his Mackintosh and hat, and his umbrella a total wreck.

“Hallo, Hallo, Hallo, all of you,” he said, as Annie and Katy and Phyllis rushed into the hall to meet him. “This is a nice go for Christmas and a wedding. Call this the sunny south? I am frozen to my bones,” he continued, as he divested himself of his wet garments. “Don’t ask me any questions until I get near a fire and that coffee, which smells so deliciously. I haven’t had a decent thing to eat since I left New York and am half famished.”

He was soon by the open fire in the dining-room and drinking the hot coffee which Annie poured for him.

“I meant to be here yesterday afternoon,” he said, “but was too late for the train; so I came on at night in a cross between a lumber wagon and a cattle car. Never slept a wink, but I was bound to get here if I walked. What time is the ceremony, and where is Fan?” he asked. “Is she staying in her room until she bursts upon us in all her bridal splendor?”

He looked at Annie, who replied, “You didn’t get my letter?”

“No. What letter? I have been in New York three weeks, and when I left Boston I didn’t know how long I should be gone, and gave no directions to have my mail sent to me. My correspondence is not very important anyway, and I hate to answer letters. What did you write, and where is Fan?”

He asked the question a little anxiously, for something in the faces at the table surprised him. It was Paul who answered. With a toot upon his horn and his mouth full of buttered muffins he said, “Fan-er-nan is mar-yed and gone to Europe.”