Holidays at the Grange or A Week's Delight Part 8

Brightly and joyfully did the sun arise after the storm, like a prisoner released from dungeon and chains, again to look upon the faces of those he loved; and all nature put on a holiday garb to greet him. Every tree and bush was sparkling, as if with rapture. If a magician of superhuman power had waved his wand over the earth, it could not have been more changed. Long icicles were suspended from the fences and the overhanging roofs, and even the sheds looked brilliant and beautiful in their icy covering; but the trees! what words can describe them? The pines bristled themselves up like stiff warriors arrayed in steel, their armor making a clanking sound when the cold winds whistled by; and the sycamores, with their little dependent b.a.l.l.s, looked like Christmas trees hung with bon-bons and confectionery for good children. Every stray leaf that had resisted the storms of winter, every seed-vessel upon the shrubs, shone with beauty; the ground was one glittering sheet, like a mirror; the sky was of a deep blue, washed from all impurities, and the sun smiled down upon the beautiful earth, like a crowned king upon his bride, decked with sparkling diamonds. It was one of nature's gala-days, in which she appears to invite all her children to be happy; one of those scenes which forbid us to call winter a dreary time, and which outs.h.i.+ne in brilliancy all the verdure of the tropics.

At any time we enjoy the clear sky after a sullen rain, or a driving, impetuous storm, and young people especially feel the truth and beauty of Solomon's expression, "Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun;" but when, in addition, such a spectacle as this is presented to those long pent up within city walls, how does the heart swell with rapture! No introduction at court, no coronation, no theatrical exhibition, can for a moment compare with it in splendor; nature has shows more beautiful by far than any that man can produce, and all she asks for in exchange is the seeing eye and the feeling heart. Truly, the best gifts of heaven to man are free and universal, bestowed without money and without price, and maybe enjoyed by the penniless as well as by the millionaire, if the spirit be only opened to the impressions of happiness they were intended to convey--the Good G.o.d is daily blessing and feasting his creatures with impartial liberality. What exclamations of delight were heard in The Grange when the fairy scene was first beheld! Every room in the house was visited, to see which presented the finest prospect, and soon, with feet well provided with gum-elastics, and with old-fas.h.i.+oned socks, still better preservatives from falling, all sallied forth to enjoy the spectacle more fully. The clear sky and the keen air raised their spirits, and an occasional slip and tumble was only an additional provocative to laughter; youth and health, and merry hearts, that had never yet tasted of sorrow, made life appear to them, not a desert, not a valley of tears, as it is felt by many to be, but a paradise of sweets, a joyful festival.

To combine duty and pleasure, Mrs. Wyndham proposed that they should bend their steps to the humble home of Mrs. Norton, the poor widow for whom their fingers had been so busily plying the preceding day.

Accordingly, laden with bundles, and with a basket of comforts which would prove very acceptable to a sick person, they walked towards her little cottage. The boys, after a private consultation, declared that they did not intend to allow the girls to do all the charitable, and that they wished to invest some of their surplus Christmas cash in a pair of large warm blankets, for the widow's benefit. Their aunt heartily approved of the suggestion, and all agreed that a far better interest would accrue from a capital so laid up, than from shares taken in the confectioner's or the toymaker's stock; and the walk was considerably prolonged by a visit to the country store, where the desired purchases were made. Joy lighted up the sick woman's eyes when she saw this unexpected provision for her wants, and witnessed the kindly interest of the young people of The Grange: she thanked them with few words, but with overflowing eyes and heart. She was an interesting woman, kind and motherly, and looked as if she had seen better days: her little black-eyed children also were well trained, with manners much superior to their station. One little girl of about twelve attracted Mrs. Wyndham's particular notice; she appeared to have installed herself into the office of chief nurse, and the younger children seemed to look to her for help and advice: when not engaged in waiting upon them or the sick mother, she seated herself near the window, busily occupied with a piece of needlework. She was a very pretty child, of fair complexion and deep blue eyes, with the beseeching look that you sometimes see in the young face, when trouble and hard treatment have too early visited the little heart--like an untimely frost, nipping the tender blossoms of spring. Sad indeed it is to see that look in childhood, when, under the sheltering wings of parents and friends, the body and mind should expand together in an atmosphere of love and gentleness--such is the great Creator's will. Mrs. Wyndham observed to her mother,

"That oldest child of yours does not resemble you and the other children."

The sick woman smiled: "No, ma'am, she is an adopted child, although I love Margaret as much as any of my other children."

"Indeed! with so many little ones, could you take another?"

"Yes, ma'am, she was thrown into our keeping by Providence, at a time when we wanted nothing; my husband was then living, and in excellent business as a saddler, and we enjoyed every comfort. Times are now sadly changed, but Margaret shall share our last crust; but indeed she is our main stay--I should be obliged to give up entirely, and perhaps to go to the Almshouse, if it were not for her help."

"I am glad to see that she makes herself so useful; is she any relation to you?"

"None at all. I will tell you her story, if you will hear it, some time when we are alone: it is rather a long one."

The young people left Mrs. Wyndham still conversing with Mrs. Norton, and returned homeward. After tea, various games amused the fleeting hours, and among them "Proverbs" was played as follows: While one is absent from the circle, all fix upon some well-known old saw or proverb; the absentee then returns and asks a question of every individual, to which an answer must be returned, embracing some one word of the sentence, care being taken not to emphasize it. The first proverb was this: "When the cat's away, the mice will play." Cornelia had been out of the room.

"Cousin Mary, didn't you enjoy the clear-up to-day?"

"Yes, _when_ it clears after a storm, one always does."

"Charlie, are you tired from your long walk this morning?"

"O no, _the_ day was so fine, _the_ walk so pleasant, and _the_ company so agreeable, that I did not feel _the_ fatigue."

"Ellen, didn't you pity poor Mrs. Norton?"

"Yes, and I pitied her _cats_, they looked so thin."

"Cats! I thought she had only one. Cats? Hum! Tom, don't you hope we'll have a story to-night?"

"Yes, I enjoy it vastly, and will take care not to be _away_ when it's told."

"Gertrude, don't you think _the mice will play_ to-night?"

"Yes--but from whom did you take the idea? Who let that cat out of the bag?"

"Ellen, to be sure, with her plural number for Mrs. Norton's cat, which does not look starved at all--so go into the hall, Miss Ellen, while we think of a proverb."

"Let's have 'It is more blessed to give than to receive,'" said Amy, "I thought of that to-day at Mrs. Norton's."

"Very well, that will do. Come in, Ellen; Cornelia will bring in the first two words, as they are small."

"Cornelia, have you finished your crochet purse?"

"_It is_ almost done."

"Amy, are you not almost roasted in that hot corner of the chimney?"

"It would be _more_ pleasant further from the fire."

"George, you are so fond of skating, don't you hope to enjoy the sport to-morrow?"

"Yes indeed--I think we'll have a _blessed_ cold night, and then we'll have skating."

"John, how many miles did you walk to-day?"

"_Two_," said John.

"That's not fair! That's not fair!" cried some of the younger children.

However, it was agreed that playing upon words, where the sound was the same, was quite allowable.

"Tom, do you like to ask questions?"

"Yes, I like to _give_ a question to be answered."

"Aunt Lucy, what shall be our story to-night?"

"That is more easy to ask _than_ to answer."

"Charlie, are you fond of mince-pie?"

"Yes, and of cherry pie _too_."

"Alice, are you not almost tired of this game?"

"Yes, I'd _receive_ pleasure from a change."

"Let me see--George's _blessed_, and John's _two_--blessed too--Oh, I know, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.' Now let's play 'Twenty Questions.'"

"How is that played? It is quite a new game to me."

"It used to be a favorite game in distinguished circles in England; Canning, the celebrated minister, was very fond of it; and it really requires some knowledge and skill in the lawyer-like craft of cross-examination, to play it well--so have your wits about you, young people, for the more ready you are, the better you'll like it. One person thinks of a thing, and by a skillful questioning on the part of one, two, or the whole party, as you prefer it, your thought can always be found out. Twenty questions and three guesses are allowed. If Cornelia will think of something, I'll discover what it is, to show you how it is played."

"I have a thought," said Cornelia, "but you never can find it out."

"We'll see: does it belong to the animal, vegetable, mineral, or spiritual kingdoms?"

"The animal."

"Is it biped or quadruped, fish, flesh, fowl, or insect?"

"Biped."

"Man, monkey, or bird?"