HE WAS COMING FROM THE OLD WELL.
“WHAT IF I HAD!”
NEW YEAR’S morning and the snow lying deep over all the paths, drifted even to the tops of the fences! Plenty of work for Stephen Watson; he frowned a little as he looked out of his attic window in the cold gray of the early morning and saw his nicely-made paths all carefully covered. But almost before the frown had cleared away he laughed, and broke at last into a cheery whistle. “No great loss without some gain.” He stopped to make this wise remark aloud, then went on with his whistling. What he longed for just now was a holiday—a chance to take a run across lots to Dick Wheeler’s home and see the new book which his uncle sent him for Christmas. A beautifully bound book with “oceans of pictures,” and telling all about a journey to Europe. “Not a stupid history,” Dick reported, “but a regular story, telling all about how some folks went and had jolly times, and saw no end of things, and described them.” Stephen’s brain was fairly whirling with a desire to examine this book. It may as well be owned that a book of almost any sort had wonderful attractions for this boy; and books and papers, and indeed reading matter of any kind, were painfully scarce in the country farmhouse where Stephen was chore boy. Mrs. Griggs, the mistress, did not more than half believe in them; she eyed even Stephen’s Geography with suspicion, and occasionally asked her husband “What sense there was in that boy’s learning where all the rivers and mountains in creation with outlandish names were to be found. What good would it do him? He would never find them outside of a book.”
Well, Stephen had smiled and whistled, because he saw that this heavy fall of snow was likely to further his plans for a holiday. If it had only drifted enough to make the roads to the ledge farm impassable then Mr. and Mrs. Griggs would stay at home and take care of the house, and when his chores were done, he might possibly be allowed to go over to Dick’s.
Everything seemed to be shaping according to his plans. Mr. Griggs remarked at the breakfast table that there “wouldn’t be no sense in trying to get to Mary Ann’s that day; the ledge road always drifted if it could get a chance, and the wind was still blowing in that direction.” Mrs. Griggs had sighed, it is true, and said that “Mary Ann would be dreadfully disappointed,” but she, too, had said that she supposed there was no use in trying to go.
Stephen went about his chores with a will, a trifle sorry for Mrs. Griggs, and a little curious over the idea that anybody in the world could be much disappointed over not receiving a visit from her and Mr. Griggs. “But then I suppose it is because they are her father and mother, and that makes a difference,” said this orphan boy, with a sigh. But he could not help being glad that they were not to go. What if he got the chores all done so early that there were several hours before dinner, and Mr. Griggs would let him go in the forenoon? Wouldn’t that be a lark worthy of the day! Dick Wheeler’s mother was always good-natured, and twice she had asked him to stay to supper with Dick; there was everything to be hoped for in that direction. He was coming from the old well with two brimming pails of water, when Mr. Griggs, out by the ash barrel, with his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, dashed the boy’s hopes to the ground. “Got about through, Stephen? Then I guess you may hitch up, after all. The wind has gone down, and Mis’ Griggs is disappointed, and she thinks we better try it. You may get things ready as fast as you can; we ought to be off if we are going; then you’ll have a long warm day in the kitchen. Don’t on no account leave the place; that wouldn’t do, of course.”
Not a word said Stephen, though he would like to have thrown the pails of water over Mr. Griggs, and kicked the empty pails into a snowdrift. He had never been so disappointed in his life! “A long warm day in the kitchen!” If there was any day which he utterly hated it was such an one; not even a new almanac to read—Farmer Griggs had been waiting for one to be sent to him from somewhere, and it had not come. Of course there was nothing to do but obey; but Stephen felt that he hated New Year’s dinners, and wished that “Mary Ann” lived fifty miles away, and hoped that Farmer Griggs would encounter a drift so deep that Mother Griggs would be rolled over in the snow! Oh! he was fierce enough to wish almost anything.
It was because of all this that a very glum-faced boy looked out of the small-paned kitchen window about two hours afterwards, and watched a single horse and cutter skim gaily along. Only one person in the sleigh, and he muffled in furs, and looking as though life was one long holiday. Stephen believed that everybody but himself was having a holiday. Suddenly the sleigh drew up in front of their gate. “Halloo!” said the man in furs, and Stephen ran out and down the snowy path. “Good-morning! Happy New Year,” said a pleasant voice. “Can you tell me whether this is the right road to Mr. Bennett’s farm?”