“You shall be!” cried Grace. “Here, boys, help me wind a couple of wreaths.”
Very soon, two light, twisted wreaths of evergreen were ready, and Mr. Ross, with great laughter, threw them over each shoulder and under the opposite arm, so that they crossed before and behind, like the straps that support a soldier’s belt. Then his fur cap was quickly trimmed with sprays of the evergreen, that rose in a bell-crown all round his head.
Their journey was almost done. How quickly the time had passed! Every few rods they met sleigh loads of people, happy because Christmas and the sleighing had come together, and bent on making the most of both. These merry-makers all looked with wonder upon our travelers as they drew near, and answered their loud shouts of “Merry Christmas!” with laughter and cheers.
They had not gone far through the streets of the village before their kite had considerable tail. Just what it meant the small boys did not know; but if this driver was not Santa Claus, he was somebody equally good natured, for he bowed and laughed right and left, in the jolliest fashion, to the salutations of the boys, and as many of them as could get near hitched their hand sleds to his triumphal car.
Miss Grace was hidden from sight by the evergreens, and she enjoyed the sport of the boys almost as much as they did.
Meantime, the hours were passing slowly at Mr. Burnham’s. The father and mother had been too anxious about their children to sleep much during the night. They could get no word from the train after it left Chester, and the delay and uncertainty greatly distressed them. Mr. Burnham had just returned from the station with the news that the wires were up, and that the train had been heard from in the cut just beyond the summit, where it was likely to be kept the greater part of the day.
“Oh, dear!” cried the mother. “I cannot have it so! Can’t we get at them in some way? I’m afraid they will suffer with hunger. Then we had counted so much on this Christmas, and the children’s fun is all spoiled. Think of them sitting all this blessed holiday, cooped up in those dreadful cars, waiting to be shoveled out of a snowdrift! It seems as if I should fly. I wish I could!”
“Well, my dear,” said Mr. Burnham, soberly, “I am sorry that the holiday is spoiled, but I see nothing that we can do. We can trust William to take good care of them and bring them all home safely; and we’ve got to be patient, and wait.”
Just then the heads of the ponies were turning in at the gate of the wide lawn in front of the house. The small boys who were following unhitched their hand sleds, and the escort remained outside the gate.
“Drive slowly!” said William. “Give them a good chance to see us coming!”