They passed the day quietly together, and it seemed to John James that he never ate so tender a turkey, such exquisitely seasoned vegetables. The plum-pudding with its burning sauce capped the whole, and left them with serene souls.
When dark settled down, and the farm “chores” were done, candles and lamps lit the low-ceiled, comfortable old rooms, and with mirth and jollity they played Christmas games. John James had forgotten all about his other self—the city-man left on the depot platform. His oldest acquaintance wouldn’t have known him as he “marched to Jerusalem,” with his thick, grayish hair rumpled all over his head, or spun the tin pie-plate on the kitchen floor.
But suddenly there came a sound of bells, the tramp of a horse on the cleared path at the side door.
“Somebody’s come in this snow,” said Asher, going to the door. They all pressed forward to see.
“Well, I declare! Hello! Here ye all are!” cried a voice. “Ye didn’t expect me, I’ll be bound. I concluded to come, after all. I was snowed in last night, or I should’a’ got here this mornin’. Merry Christmas to all of ye!”
It was the real John Damon, covered with snow, hungry but jolly. Behind him the driver tugged his bag. John James Alston’s heart gave a great bound, then sunk to the depths of his boots. Amid the amazed silence of the whole family, the real and the false John Damon confronted each other.
“What—what—who’s this?” stammered the newcomer, recognizing the resemblance in a moment, yet unable at once to grasp the astounding audacity of this stranger’s performance. As for the family, they needed but to see the two men together in order to know them apart. In the agitation of the moment, I am afraid the welcome they gave brother John from the West lacked the proper warmth.
John James Alston understood that it was “up to him” to explain. And it was the cool and resourceful city-man, his dignity still touched with the heart-warm jollity of the country John James, who rose to the occasion, and somehow won all hearts to him anew in the utterance of his first few sentences.
“Mr. Damon,” he said, “Asher, my brother,”—he put his hand on Asher’s shoulder and kept it there,—“and all you, my dear, newfound friends, I have to ask your pardon for usurping a position that does not belong to me. I am John J. Alston of New York. I have always been a lonely man. I never married, and have no family ties. I think I never realized how lonely I was until, coming up into this section on business, I heard on every side talk of Christmas, and saw at every station Christmas meetings and greetings, and people going home. Five apartment rooms make my home,” he added with a smile. “While I waited for my train at the Junction, these children claimed me as their uncle, and Sarah here saluted me as her brother.” Sarah looked uncomfortable. “It was very pleasant, and in an unguarded moment I yielded to temptation and came home with them. I didn’t know there were such kind-hearted people alive. I never have had such a good time in my life. May I hope you’ll all pardon me, and let me be a second Uncle John to the end of the chapter?”
Half-way through his little oration he felt Maidie’s hand slip shyly into his. Billy stood close behind him; little John, who had resented being put down, tried to climb up his leg; and Dolly, with her curly-haired beauty in one arm, hung to him whenever she could get a hold. Plainly John James “filled the bill” with them.