He dressed quickly to the swinging rhythm of the reel Johanna was lilting in the kitchen below; for in a little lodge bedroom on a hilltop, with the thermometer outside many degrees below zero, one does not dally in putting on one’s clothes. He came down to breakfast for the first time since he had left the old home without having to pretend anything in the way of feelings; and he found beside his plate a letter from father.
“Barney, the rascal, brought it back with him yesterday and carried it about in his pocket all evening, never thinking of it once,” Johanna explained, shaking her fist at that guilty person just coming in.
“Sure, the two of us were that busy entertaining fairies last night we hadn’t mind enough for anything else.” And Barney winked at David knowingly.
David responded absent-mindedly. His thoughts and fingers were too busy with the letter to pay much attention to anything else. Father had little time for boys, as we have already said, but when he did take time the results were unquestionably satisfactory; the letter proved this. It was a wonderful letter, full of all the most interesting seeings and doings—just the things a boy loves to hear about—and yet it was written as any grown-up would write to another. That was one fine thing about father. When he did have time for boys he never looked down upon them as small people with little wisdom and less understanding; he always treated them as equals. But it was what came at the very last of the letter that brought the joyful smile to David’s lips.
Johanna and Barney saw it and smiled to each other.
“Good news, laddy?” Johanna asked.
“There’s nothing about coming home, but there’s something about Christmas.” David consulted the letter again. “Father says he’s been looking around for some time for just the right present to send for Christmas, and he’s just found it. He thinks I’ll like it about the best of anything, and it ought to get here—unless the steamers are awfully delayed—on Christmas day.”
“That’s grand!” Barney beamed his own delight over the news. “What do ye think it might be, now?”
David shook his head.
“I don’t know—don’t believe I could even guess. You see, father never bought me a Christmas present before—he always left mother to choose. He said she knew more about such things than he did.”