<h2><SPAN name="chapter19" id="chapter19"></SPAN><abbr title="Nineteen">XIX</abbr><br/> CHRISTMAS AND DANGER</h2>
<h3>Wednesday Afternoon,<br/> Christmas Day.</h3>
<p>No time to catch one's breath for ten days. Now the festivities are
over. First came the tree last night. It was an exciting time as all of
us, teachers, children, and parents from miles around, dressed in our
best, sat waiting, the sole blot on my happiness being that just as the
curtain was drawn back, revealing the splendid "spruce-pine" (hemlock)
with its gleaming candles, strings of popcorn and hollyberries, and
mysterious packages tied and banked around, my Philip, having
successfully eluded me beforehand, stepped out on the platform, with a
dirty face, tousled hair, soiled shirt, gallusses fastened by one nail,
and a large hole in the seat of his breeches, to hand the gifts to Santa
Claus for distribution.</p>
<p>Then, before daylight this morning, came the boys' carols, sung through
halls and stairways of the big house, and down through the village
street, awakening the valley with the glad tidings; and, finally, the
great moment after breakfast, when our resident children were turned
into the library, where, on a "fireboard" extended for the occasion
across two sides of the room, hung seventy gay stockings. Great was the
joy of little and big girls, many of whom had never beheld a doll
before, over the pretty "poppets" in the tops of their stockings; great,
though quieter, the pleasure of the boys in "store" marbles, balls and
knives, not to mention candy and "orange-apples"; but greatest was the
happiness of little Iry, the "pure scholar," as, after gazing long and
wonderingly at the large picture beneath his stocking, he at last
clasped it rapturously to his heart, crying, "Me'n my maw! I got my maw
back ag'in!" I knew he would recognize it!</p>
<p>My own stocking, too, held its treasures,—ten sticks of candy from
Nucky, a little poke of brown-sugar and crackers (greatest luxury known
to mountain children) from Killis, a walnut penholder from Philip, a
fine apple, all the way from Rakeshin, and treasured for weeks for the
purpose, from Iry, a red-flannel pincushion from Jason.</p>
<p>Then came the painful moment when I saw my boys scatter to their
homes,—even Jason, who has no home, went for a week with Keats and Hen.
Again I begged Killis not to get the boys drunk when they visit him
Saturday, but he would make no promise. Last of all, and most
reluctantly, I bade Nucky goodbye. I fear and dread the events that this
Christmas season may bring to pass on Trigger,—with one accord, the
boys prophesy "bloody doings" there. I would keep him back if I could;
but nothing can prevent his going.</p>
<p>And now I shall have a much needed rest, and a chance to catch up on
magazines and books laid away for five months.</p>
<h3>Bed-time.</h3>
<p>The day has been ages long,—I cannot read or rest,—the old loneliness
is all back upon me again. Why did I let all the boys go? And how am I
to face the ten days of their absence? The silence is awful. I would
give the world to hear the dozen pairs of shoes come thundering across
the little bridge and into the cottage, the shrill voices raised in play
or song or even a fight!</p>
<h3>Thursday Night.</h3>
<p>My joy may be imagined when, as I started to breakfast this morning, I
saw Jason come climbing over the big gate. To my pleased inquiries as to
the cause of his return, he finally murmured with pretty bashfulness, "I
were homesick for you!" "My darling child!" I cried, hugging him very
hard. Then we went to the village and bought all the goodies he felt
able to eat; and all day I have sat on the floor playing marbles with
him. If I did not have Killis's party, and Nucky's danger to worry over,
I should be quite happy. As it is, a sense of foreboding oppresses me.
When this evening I saw a splendid moon, almost full, hang over the
wooded mountain to the East, my fears were quickened.</p>
<h3>Saturday Morning.</h3>
<p>All Thursday, yesterday and last night, I worried and could not sleep;
and my anxiety has now reached a pitch where I must do, and no longer
think. Something terrible hangs over me,—I know not whether it is some
casualty to-day at Killis's, consequent upon the drinking and shooting,
or something still more dreadful on Trigger Branch. At any rate, there
is nothing to prevent my riding over to Clinch, and then, if I find all
well there, going the eight miles farther to Nucky's, and persuading him
to return with me if possible. I am just about to set off with Jason.</p>
<h3>Sunday Morning,<br/> Killis's Home on Clinch.</h3>
<p>We came by way of Nancy's Perilous, passing the Salyer home. Keats was
out chopping wood in the snow, and greeted me joyfully. I accepted his
invitation to alight for dinner; but before I could get off the nag, he
remarked, "I see you got your little pet up behind you,—did he tell you
how come him to leave a-Thursday?"</p>
<p>"Yes," I replied, proudly; "he was homesick for me."</p>
<p>Keats measured Jason with his eye. "He's the lyin'est little devil ever
I seed," he said; "I'll tell you what made him go. Him and Hiram fit
from the time he stepped in the door, and all through supper, and off'n
on all night, and got up before day to start in ag'in; and Hiram he got
him down and rid him, and Jason he pult his Christmas knife out of his
pocket and jobbed it in Hiram's wrist, and maw she tuck atter him with a
hickory, and he run away."</p>
<p>I slid off Mandy, called for another hickory, sternly dragged down my
"darling child," and gave him, not only the punishment he escaped on
Thursday, but another on my own account; the bitterness of it being
doubled for him when all the Salyers, including Hiram, came out to see
it well done.</p>
<p>After a hasty dinner, we started on again,—I could not be satisfied to
tarry. Dark pictures rose before me all the way,—my dear boys drinking,
shooting, maybe killing one another—and I urged Mandy on, scarcely
feeling the cold wind that blew down from the snowy mountains.</p>
<p>It was past three when I reached the Blair home. Behind it rose a great
hollow, filled with dark hemlocks. I gazed up into it with a shudder,
remembering it was here that Killis's father died.</p>
<p>Mrs. Blair met me at the door, and in answer to my inquiries for the
boys, said, "They've been in and out all day; now they're up the branch
shooting."</p>
<p>"Have they been drinking much?" I asked.</p>
<p>"A sight!" she answered; then she continued smiling, "but what they've
drank won't hurt 'em much, I reckon. When Killis come home a-Wednesday,
he called for several jugs of liquor for the boys a-Saturday; and I told
him all right, for I don't never deny him nothing. But next day 'peared
like he was thoughtful in his mind, and come evening, he said if he had
something that weren't pure liquor, but would just sort of cheer the
boys, he would give 'em that, to please you. And I recollected there was
a barrel of cider left. So this morning, before they come, he drawed off
a kag of that, and being as it was pretty hard, poured in a couple of
gallon of water, so's they wouldn't get <em>too</em> cheered; and all day they
been eating and drinking fit to burst, and then running out to shoot a
while, and then filling up ag'in."</p>
<p>"Anybody wounded?" I asked.</p>
<p>"None so far."</p>
<p>Relieved beyond expression, I sank into a chair and gave thanks to God.
A little later, Killis ran in the front door. "I never give them boys
nary drap but cider," he said; "I done it to please you!"</p>
<p>I threw my arms around him; yes, I even wept.</p>
<p>"And I watered the cider, too," he continued; "them boys thinks they are
drunk, and seeing a right Christmas, but they haint, but it does 'em
just as much good!"</p>
<p>The other boys followed;—all mine but Nucky, the Salyers and the
Atkinses were there, and some neighbor boys—piling up guns and pistols
on the beds, and taking another round of pies and cider. Finding they
were not at all abashed to see me, I accepted pressing invitations to
spend the night, and we had a cheerful evening, with picking and
singing, until Philip, who has been visiting a boy friend on Powderhorn,
roused all my premonitions again by saying,</p>
<p>"I went up Trigger to fetch Trojan; but he couldn't come. He said Todd
and Dalt had give it out they would certainly take the fence and grease
their boots with Blant's brains before Christmas was over; and him and
Rich was a-keeping lookout every minute."</p>
<p>All my fears leaped into being again instantly. If I could, I would have
started for Trigger then and there. I cannot say how sinister the bright
moonlight appeared to me as it streamed in through chinks in the logs
during the night. This morning my panic seems excessive; still I am
going to Trigger at once with Philip to guide me.</p>
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