“I thought you had a good many horses in your business, uncle,” said Billy, fastening one of the traces, while his “uncle” tried the other.
“The men do a good deal of the harnessing,” desperately said John James at a venture.
The box was at the station. It was decidedly a big box. It took John James and the depot-man to get it into the wagon. When the wagon, much heavier now, slid upon the horse’s hocks, going down a steep incline on the return trip, there were prancings, suddenly uplifted iron heels, then a furious run.
Billy held on valiantly, and rebuked old Griggs in vociferous accents; while John James, acknowledging the master-hand, sat still and looked for a soft place to fall in. Having at last pulled up, Billy got out to investigate.
“Well, I vow, Uncle John, if you didn’t forget to buckle the britchen-strap on your side!” he exclaimed.
And John James, with a dreadful sense of mortification, blushed scarlet under cover of the dark.
By the time they got home the snow was falling quietly and steadily, and it increased as the night wore on.
Late at night, after the household were abed, John James and Asher opened the box. It was a surprise indeed—that box! The Boston man had fulfilled his commission admirably, and John James chuckled as he pulled out one article after another.
“We gener’ly have our presents on our plates or chairs at breakfast,” observed Asher. “The women-folks put ’em here, as you see,” indicating the table in the living-room with its modest gifts. “The children hang their stockings by the fireplace; they like the fun of pullin’ things out.”
“Well, here’s something for little John,” said John James, unwrapping a gorgeous drum and a stunning horse with “truly” hair all over him. “And here, just undo that long box, Asher. Here are some good books for the children.”