Country Christmas, A A. Louisa May Alcott

fluttering heart, to make herself pretty and Aunt Plumy to dish up a late dinner fit to tempt the most fastidious appetite.

      "She has not come for us, and there is not even a stage to take us up. There must be some mistake," said Emily Herrick, as she looked about the shabby little station where they were set down.

      "That is the never-to-be-forgotten face of our fair friend, but the bonnet of her grandmother, if my eyes do not deceive me," answered Randal, turning to survey the couple approaching in the rear.

      "Sophie Vaughan, what do you mean by making such a spectacle of yourself?" exclaimed Emily, as she kissed the smiling face in the hood and stared at the quaint cloak.

      "I'm dressed for my part, and I intend to keep it up. This is our host, my cousin, Saul Basset. Come to the sleigh at once; he will see to your luggage," said Sophie, painfully conscious of the antiquity of her array as her eyes rested on Emily's pretty hat and mantle and the masculine elegance of Randal's wraps.

      They were hardly tucked in when Saul appeared with a valise in one hand and a large trunk on his shoulder, swinging both onto a wood sled that stood nearby as easily as if they had been handbags.

      "That is your hero, is it? Well, he looks it: calm and comely, taciturn and tall," said Emily in a tone of approval.

      "He should have been named Samson or Goliath, though I believe it was the small man who slung things about and turned out the hero in the end," added Randal, surveying the performance with interest and a touch of envy, for much pen work had made his own hands as delicate as a woman's.

      "Saul doesn't live in a glass house, so stones won't hurt him. Remember, sarcasm is forbidden and sincerity the order of the day. You are country folks now, and it will do you good to try their simple, honest ways for a few days."

      Sophie had no time to say more, for Saul came up and drove off with the brief remark that the baggage would "be along right away."

      Being hungry, cold, and tired, the guests were rather silent during the short drive, but Aunt Plumy's hospitable welcome, and the savory fumes of the dinner awaiting them, thawed the ice and won their hearts at once.

      "Isn't it nice? Aren't you glad you came?" asked Sophie, as she led her friends into the parlor, which she had redeemed from its primness by putting bright chintz curtains to the windows, hemlock boughs over the old portraits, a china bowl of flowers on the table and a splendid fire on the wide hearth.

      "It is perfectly jolly, and this is the way I begin to enjoy myself," answered Emily, sitting down upon the homemade rug, whose red flannel roses bloomed in a blue list basket.

      "lf I may add a little smoke to your glorious fire, it will be quite perfect. Won't Samson join me?" asked Randal, waiting for permission, cigar case in hand.

      "He has no small vices, but you may indulge yours," answered Sophie from the depths of a chair.

      Emily glanced up at her friend, as if she caught a new tone in her voice, then turned to the fire again with a wise little nod, as if confiding some secret to the reflection of herself in the bright brass andiron.

      "His Delilah does not take this form. I wait with interest to discover if he has one. What a daisy the sister is. Does she ever speak?" asked Randal, trying to lounge on the sofa where he was uncomfortably shifting about.

      "Oh, yes, and sings like a bird. You shall hear her when she gets over her shyness. But no trifling, mind you, for it is a jealously guarded daisy and not to be picked by any idle hand," said Sophie warningly, as she recalled Ruth's blushes and Randal's compliments at dinner.

      "I should expect to be annihilated by the big brother if I attempted any but the 'sincerest' admiration and respect. Have no fears on that score, but tell us what is to follow the superb dinner—a spelling bee, hide and seek, a husking party, or a primitive pastime of some sort, I have no doubt."

      "As you are new to our ways, I am going to let you rest this evening. We will sit about the fire and tell stories. Aunt is a master hand at that, and Saul has reminiscences of the war that are well worth hearing if we can only get him to tell them."

      "Ah, he was there, was he?"

      "Yes, all through it, and is known as Major Basset, though he likes his plain name best. He fought splendidly and had several wounds, though only a mere boy when he earned his scars and bars. I'm very proud of him for that," and Sophie looked so as she glanced at the photograph of a stripling in uniform set in the place of honor on the high mantelpiece.

      "We must stir him up and hear these martial memories. I want some new incidents and shall book all I can get if I may."

      Here Randal was interrupted by Saul himself, who came in with an armful of wood for the fire.

      "Anything more I can do for you, cousin?" he asked, surveying the scene with a rather wistful look.

      "Only come and sit with us and talk over war times with Mr. Randal."

      "When I've foddered the cattle and done my chores, I'd be pleased to. What regiment were you in?" asked Saul, looking down from his lofty height upon the slender gentleman, who answered briefly:

      "In none. I was abroad at the time."

      "Sick?"

      "No, busy with a novel."

      "Took four years to write it?"

      "I was obliged to travel and study before I could finish it. These things take more time to work up than outsiders would believe."

      "Seems to me our war was a finer story than any you could find in Europe, and the best way to study it would have been to fit in it. If you want heroes and heroines, you'd have found plenty of 'em there."

      "I have no doubt of it and shall be glad to atone for my seeming neglect of them by hearing about your own exploits, Major."

      Randal hoped to turn the conversation gracefully, but Saul was not to be caught and left the room, saying, with a gleam of fun in his eye:

      "I can't stop now. Heroes can wait; pigs can't!"

      The girls laughed at this sudden descent from the sublime to the ridiculous, and Randal joined them, feeling his condescension had not been unobserved.

      As if drawn by the merry sound, Aunt Plumy appeared, and being established in the rocking chair, fell to talking as easily as if she had known her guests for years.