But our grandmother's room, as I said before, was sacred from intrusion. It was a large, cheerful apartment, with old-fashioned, heavy mahogany furniture, and chintz curtains lined with colored cambric in the winter season, as you may see in the bedrooms of old-fashioned English houses. Her bed was in an adjoining "light closet," as she called it, for she never yet could conquer a prejudice against sleeping in a room with a fire; and hence we all of us, from oldest to youngest, esteemed it a wonderful favor to visit her.
And now, thought Josephine and myself, stealing in on tiptoe, we should find out what the errand of the strange gentleman is, and what he has brought to grandmother in the square packing-case.
But, alas for our hopes! she very quietly closed the cover as she discovered us in the background, and the only satisfaction we had was seeing her go to the tall cabinet in the corner, and take out five bright gold pieces, which she gave to the stranger, and which seemed to please him quite as much as her commendation had done. I dare say he needed the gold more than the praise, though both were grateful to the friendless foreigner.
We did not mean to betray our unlawful curiosity, but I suppose we must have done so, for grandmother said—
"All in good time, children," and nodded a little towards the mysterious box. I took Josephine to task, as we hastily retreated in the wake of the strange gentleman, while she, on the contrary, was convinced it was me who had drawn forth the implied reprimand.
We always made a great account of Christmas, much more than any of our friends, to whom Thanksgiving Day was the high festival of the year. I suppose it was on account of our English descent; and then our grandmother always took such an active and happy part in the day's household festivities.
On this day she always came down stairs to dinner, carefully dressed in an old-fashioned brocaded silk, the snowy lawn handkerchief crossed on her breast, fastened with a brooch containing my grandfather's hair, in a setting of alternate pearls and garnets. My uncle John and his family were usually of the party, but she leaned on papa's arm, and always called him "my son."
The evening of the coming Christmas we were to pass in grandmother's room, by special invitation. Chester Adams, who was in papa's counting-house, and indeed always treated like one of the family, was the only stranger present. Our grandmother was always especially kind to him, for he was a frank, modest young man; an orphan, with no home circle but our own. Papa thought him possessed of unusual business talents and integrity, but he had no other fortune; while Robert Winthrop, the next most constant visitor at the house, was the son of a rich man, and member of Congress. We used to wonder, Josephine and I, why Maude always sent us to bed the instant either of them came, and why our favorite, Chester Adams, would sometimes take up his hat and go away again, when he heard young Winthrop was in the parlor, without so much as saying good-evening. However, we are older now, and have visitors of our own.
I think Maude was in hopes Robert Winthrop would be asked to stay, for he called in the afternoon, and brought her a bouquet from his mother's conservatory, one of the few kept up through our rigorous Boston winters. But though he paid a very long call, sitting almost until the candles were lighted, no further invitation was given. Maude consoled herself, however, by coming to the dinner-table with a branch of the scarlet geranium in her dark hair, which suited the coral ornaments, papa's gift, and was wonderfully becoming. Chester Adams moved a little, to make way for her, and then spilled the gravy he was helping grandmother to, as she sat down. We children thought he was very dull—he did not tell one amusing story, or eat philopœnas with us, as he generally did.