How the Captain made Christmas & Other Christmas Stories. Thomas Nelson Page

till you've known a man twenty years before you marry him, and then you'll never marry him," she said. The point of her advice being that she was past forty and had never married.

      The butler beckoned her out and confided to her his anxiety.

      "He is not well," he said gloomily. "I have not see him this a-way in ten years. He is not well."

      The cook's cheery countenance changed.

      "But you say he have had no dinner." Her excessive grammar was a reassurance. She turned alertly towards her range.

      "But he won't have dinner."

      "What!" The stiffness went out of her form in visible detachments. "Then he air sick!"

      She made one attempt to help matters. "Can't I make him something nice? Very nice?—And light?" She brightened at the hope.

      "No, nothink. He will not hear to it."

      "Then you must have the doctor." She spoke decisively.

      To this the butler made no reply, at least in words. He stood wrapt in deep abstraction, his face filled with perplexity and gloom, and as the cook watched him anxiously her face too took on gradually the same expression.

      "I has not see him like this before, not in ten year—not in twelve year. Not since he got that letter from that young lady what—." He stopped and looked at the cook.—"He was hactually hirascible!"

      "He must be got to bed, poor dear!" said the cook, sympathetically. "And you must get the doctor, and I'll make some good rich broth to have it handy.—And just when we were a-goin' to dress the house and have it so beautiful!"

      She turned away, her round face full of woe.

      "Ah! Well!—" The butler tried to find some sentence that might be comforting; but before he could secure one that suited, the door bell rang, and he went to answer it.

      Chapter VI

       Table of Contents

      It was Mr. Clark, who as soon as the door was opened stepped within and taking off his hat began to shake the snow from it, even while he greeted James and wished him a merry Christmas.

      James liked Mr. Clark. He did not rate him very highly in the matter of intelligence; but he recognized him as a gentleman, and appreciated his kindly courtesy to himself. He knew it came from a good heart.

      Many a man who drove up to the door in a carriage, James relieved of his coat and showed into the drawing-room in silence; but the downcast eyes were averted to conceal inconvenient thoughts and the expressionless face was a mask to hide views which the caller might not have cared to discover. Mr. Clark, however, always treated James with consideration, and James reciprocated the feeling and returned the treatment.

      Mr. Clark was giving James his hat when the butler took in that he had come to see Mr. Livingstone.

      "Mr. Livingstone begs to be excused this evening, sir," he said.

      "Yes." Mr. Clark laid a package on a chair and proceeded to unbutton his overcoat.

      "He says he regrets he cannot see any one," explained the servant.

      "Yes. That's all right. I know." He caught the lapels of the coat preparatory to taking it off.

      "No, sir. He cannot see anybody at all this evening," insisted James, confident in being within his authority.

      "Why, he told me to come and bring his books! I suppose he meant—!"

      "No, sir. He is not very well this evening."

      Mr. Clark's hands dropped to his side.

      "Not well! Why, he left the office only an hour or two ago."

      "Yes, sir; but he walked up, and seemed very tired when he arrived. He did not eat anything, and—the doctor is coming to see him."

      Mr. Clark's face expressed the deepest concern.

      "He has been working too hard," he said, shaking his head. "He ought to have let me go over those accounts. With all he has to carry!"

      "Yes, sir, that's it," said James, heartily.

      "Well, don't you think I'd better go up and see him?" asked the old clerk, solicitously. "I might be able to suggest something?"

      "No, sir. He said quite positive he would not see anybody." James looked the clerk full in the face. "I was afraid something might 'ave 'appened down in the—ah—?"

      Mr. Clark's face lit up with a kindly light.

      "No, indeed. It's nothing like that, James. We never had so good a year. You can make your mind easy about that."

      "Thank you, sir," said the servant. "We'll have the doctor drop in to see him, and I hope he'll be all right in the morning. Snowy night, sir."

      "I hope so," said Mr. Clark, not intending to convey his views as to the weather. "You'll let me know if I am wanted—if I can do anything. I will come around first thing in the morning to see how he is. I hope he'll be all right. Good-night. A merry Christmas to you."

      "Good-night, sir. Thankee, sir; the same to you, sir. I'm going to wait up to see how he is. Good-night, sir."

      And James shut the door softly behind the visitor, feeling a sense of comfort not wholly accounted for by the information as to the successful year. Mr. Clark, somehow, always reassured him. The butler could understand the springs that moved that kindly spirit.

      What Mr. Clark thought as he tramped back through the snow need not be fully detailed. But at least, one thing was certain, he never thought of himself.

      If he recalled that a mortgage would be due on his house just one week from that day, and that the doctors' bills had been unusually heavy that year, it was not on his own account that he was anxious. Indeed, he never considered himself; there were too many others to think of. One thought was that he was glad his friend had such a good servant as James to look after him. Another was pity that Livingstone had never known the joy that was awaiting himself when at the end of that mile of snow he should peep into the little cosy back room (for the front room was mysteriously closed this evening), where a sweet-faced, frail-looking woman would be lying on a lounge with a half-dozen little curly heads bobbing about her. He knew what a scream of delight would greet him as he poked his head in; and out in the darkness and cold John Clark smiled and smacked his lips as he thought of the kisses and squeezes, and renewed kisses that would be his lot as he told how he would be with them all the evening.

      Yes, he was undoubtedly sorry for Livingstone, a poor lonely man in that great house; and he determined that he would not say much about his being ill. Women did not always exactly understand some men, and when he left home, Mrs. Clark had expressed some very strong views as to Livingstone which had pained Clark. She had even spoken of him as selfish and miserly. He would just say now that Livingstone on his arrival had sent him straight back home.

      No, Mr. Clark never thought of himself, and this made him richer than Mr. Livingstone.

      When Mr. Clark reached home his expectation was more than realized. From the way in which he noiselessly opened the front door and then stole along the little passage to the back room, from which the sound of many voices was coming as though it were a mimic Babel, you might have thought he was a thief.

      And when he opened the door softly and, with dancing eyes, poked his head into the room, you might have thought he was Santa Claus himself. There was one second of dead silence as a half-dozen pair of eyes stretched wide and a half-dozen mouths opened with a gasp, and then, with a shout which would have put to the blush a tribe of wild Indians, a half-dozen young bodies flung themselves upon him with screams and shrieks of delight. John Clark's neck must have been of iron to withstand such hugs and tugs as it was given.

      The next instant he was drawn bodily into the room and pushed down forcibly into a chair, whilst the