Terry Part 3

Terree--Ricorro!"

A moment of hesitation, of a.s.similation, and then a hubbub of delighted acceptance and acclaim. Terry stayed but a few minutes, realizing that much as they liked him, there would be more spontaneity at the fiesta if there were none but their own people at the table.

He went in and thanked Felice gravely for the honor she had conferred upon him, wished for them all a merry Christmas, and pa.s.sed out amid a medley of thanks and benedictions.

The snowfall had ceased. He crossed to the North Side and hastened up Main Street, and though it lacked but an hour of midnight, he found Judd's jewelry store still open. He went in and found young Judd about to close up.

Judd, hollow eyed with the fatigue of the long day, studied his old friend's beaming face: "h.e.l.lo, Sir Galahad!" he said.

Terry eyed him scornfully: "h.e.l.lo, Rut!" He drew himself up proudly.

"Behold in me a new dignity--I am now a G.o.d-father!"

Having in mind the parents' love for the elaborate, he gayly selected an ornate silver cup for the infant.

"I'll engrave it for you after the holidays," Judd offered.

"Good old boy, Judd! The initials will be R--T--R."

He b.u.t.toned his coat and went to the door: Judd was musing over the monogram: "Richard--Terry--what's the 'R' stand for, d.i.c.k?"

Terry grinned as he called back through the open door.

"Why,--Romance, of course!"

He tramped far out the north road through the new fallen snow, his whole being glowing. The stars sparkled through the clear cold air in myriad chorus of the message of hope that one in the East had heralded to a sadder world on another Christmas eve. The snow-flung star beams illuminated the peaceful countryside: there was no moon, no light save the great glow of the heavens, no shadows under gaunt oaks or huddled evergreens.

He was in harmony with the night. He followed the sleigh-rutted highway for several miles, then swung back to town along a woodcutter's trail that edged the lakesh.o.r.e, winding through the new growths of pine and balsam whose night-black branches were outlined by the white fall.

He loved the open: there was no loneliness here.... Magic-wrought, Deane's phantom figure kept apace, matched step with step along the sh.o.r.e trail through the hushed woods, across the white sheen of open s.p.a.ces. Ever, when summoned thus, she came to share the hours and the places that he loved best.

Love surged hot through his veins: love of friends, of living, of youth, love of a woman ... probably his gift lay at her bedside now, as she slept....

Unconsciously he slowed his pace and lifted his fine, pale face upward: his low, clear baritone flooded the broken woods, carried far out across the silent frozen lake, unechoed; it was vibrant with the very spirit of yuletide--love of man and woman.

Love, to share again those winged scented days, Those starry skies: To see once more your joyous face, Your tender eyes: Just to know that years so fair might come again, Awhile: Oh! To thrill again to your dear voice-- Your smile!

It was long past midnight when he reached town, his mood chilling indefinably at sight of its dark houses.

"You're a queer old town," he muttered. "You go to bed on this night of nights--yes, and you batten your windows tight against this glorious air--and all of the other glorious things."

Pa.s.sing the suspicious village constable, he penetrated even his callous heart with the most gladsome Christmas greeting he had heard in many a year.

Home, he stirred the dying logs into flame and sank into a deep cus.h.i.+oned chair drawn up before the glowing embers. The long day had taken no toll of his lithe frame: sleepless, he sat long in pleasant retrospection of the day, which had brought him opportunities to contribute to the sum of peace on earth and to give pleasure to those whom he loved.

His gift to Deane had approached even his exacting criterion of what was fit for her. He envied the skin its rapturous reception, the sparkle of bright eyes its beauty would invoke. It was characteristic that his vision did not carry him to the daily contact of pink toes he had a.s.signed as its function. And it was characteristic of him, too, that he did not think of the gifts which had come for him.

He would see the elders, he mused, and apologize for what must have seemed to them a deliberate flaunting of their standards ... he had been a little careless, lately ... he would remedy that ... it was a good town--his failure to settle down had been a fault ... he would find something to do, worth doing--and do it.... Deane's friends.h.i.+p might ripen into something mellower, and then....

He reached into an inner pocket and withdrew a telegram, bending nearer the fireplace to read it.

Was.h.i.+ngton, D. C.

Richard Terry, Crampville, Vermont.

Wire will you accept commission second lieutenant Philippine Constabulary period immediate decision essential period if you accept wire date you will be able to sail from San Francisco

Wilson Insular Bureau

The glow from the fire which ruddied his face revealed the struggle of the minute before decision came. With an expression curiously mingled of renunciation and relief he tossed the paper among the glowing embers. He rose as the sheet took fire and in the brief flash of light which marked the consumption of the telegram he saw a familiar-looking package on the library table in the shadow cast by his big chair. He carried it to the now fainter glow of the hearth and saw that it was addressed to him in Deane's trim hand. He opened it eagerly, to see what form her remembrance had taken.

It was the fox-skin, returned. Vague, trouble-eyed, he read the inclosed note.

DEAR d.i.c.k:--

I am sending you back your present. Father insists, because you secured it on Sunday.

It hurts me, d.i.c.k, dreadfully, but you know how he feels about such things.

It is the loveliest present I ever received--and it makes me want to cry, sometimes, when I think of your doing such things for me and thinking about me as you do. I _AM_ crying, now, d.i.c.k.

Though I can not have it, your present will always be mine--I can never forget that you were good enough to wish me to have it.

And will you accept my very best wishes that your Christmas may be a very merry one.

DEANE.

He sank back into the chair again, sickened.... "That your Christmas may be a very merry one."

Susan, first down in the morning, raised the curtains to the brilliant Christmas morning, and turned to find him sitting in the chilled room before the dead fire. Shocked by the haggard face, she hurried to him.

"d.i.c.k, are you sick?" As she sank by the side of his chair her hand brushed against the rich fur which lay across his knees, and she understood. She placed a pitying arm about his shoulders.

"I feared it, d.i.c.k--I feared it! You know how he is--her father. I'll never speak to him again as long as--" She burst into tears.

Gently he withdrew her arm and took her hand in his.

"It's all right, Sue, it's--all--right."

Through her tears she read the pain that lurked in his eyes, the agony that betrayed the patient smile. She sobbed convulsively, heartsick in her helplessness to ease this young brother to whom she had been half mother.

"That's what you always say--about everything: 'it will be all right.' When you were a boy it was always the same--'it's all right.'"

He comforted her with quiet words till the storm abated. Then, "I'm going to miss you, Sue-sister," he said.

She stood up, comprehension dawning in her wide eyes.