Speaker 1: Major Pendallus. A Christmas story by Frank R. Stockton On
December twenty fourth, eighteen eighty I was standing in a
little American Country railway station in a state of perplexity.
Near me, sitting in a chair by the stove, was
a young lady, also in a state of perplexity. Facing
us both stood the station master, who had been in
a state of perplexity, but twas getting out of it.
Just you wait here ten minutes, he said, and I'll
see what I can do for you, And putting on
a fur cap and an ulster, he went out of doors.
The state of the case was this Miss Weldon. The
lady by the stove, was on her way to join
a Christmas party at the house of her uncle, mister Dolliver,
some seven miles from the station, and I, invited to
the same house, had been delighted to meet her on
the train. Friends and had studied art together in Paris.
When we left the city in a morning train, a
little snow was beginning to fall, and as we journeyed
northward we found the snowfall heavier and heavier. And we
had arrived at this little village of Boynton at three
o'clock in the afternoon, an hour behind time. From Boynton
to the Dolliver house. We were to go by a
stage coach, but the stage driver had left more than
an hour previously, hurrying away before his ordinary time of starting,
for fear the road would be blocked up before he
could get to his home a good twelve miles away,
and assuring himself that there would be no passengers for
him on such a day. It was reasonably enough that
we should be perplexed, for we could not see, nor
at first could the station master see how we were
to get to our journey's end that day. If we
would wait until next day, he told us the stage
driver would be back in a sleigh. He said he
would be sure to come for Christmas packages, if not
for passengers. But we could not wait until next day.
It would be better to return to the city in
the next down train if happily one should come. We
could not hope that the Dollivers would send for us,
for if they saw the stage pass without stopping, they
would be sure we had not come by the train.
The station master was a good man and did his
best to get us out of our trouble. He had
doubts about another train coming down that day. It was
a branch road, there was one track, and he thought
it would be a great pity if the Dollivers should
be deprived of the company of two of their Christmas guests.
A lot of them had come up the day before.
Nobody in the village made a business of hiring out
vehicles or carrying passengers, but an idea had struck the
station master, and he had gone out to see what
he could do with it. In about a quarter of
an hour he returned. Well, sir, he said, there is
just one thing you can do. There isn't anybody in
this village who will go to Dollivers to day, for
there is no chance of getting back to night. But
the man who keeps the store here, and mister Peter Chase,
has got a horse and sleigh. And if you choose
to hire that of him and do your own driving,
I think you can get it if you are willing
to pay him something extra, for he'll have to send
a man over to morrow with the stage driver to
bring it back. And besides, in rough times like these,
people always charge something extra. I put the matter before
Miss Weldon, and she did not hesitate to say that,
rather than take the risk of being obliged to remain
in the village where there were no accommodations for strangers,
she would take the risk of letting me drive her
to the dollivers. It is only seven miles, she said,
and if the horse is good enough, I don't see
what there is to happen. I tramped through the snow
to Peter Chase's store and quickly arranged with him for
the hire of his horse and sleigh. Five dollars may
seem a good deal, sir, he said, for a trip
like that, But this is a pretty deep snow, and
we all ought to remember that Christmas comes, but once
a year. I'll have the sleigh round at the station
in ten minutes. In half an hour, a little sleigh
drawn by a big brown horse came up to the
back door of the station. I would have been here sooner,
said mister Chase, but it was a good while before
I could find the bells, and I knowed you wouldn't
want to take a Christmas sleigh ride without bells. I
did not complain of the delay, although I had been
getting dreadfully impatient. The station master had had a telegram
from up the line, stay eating that a down train
with a snowplow was on its way, and I was
very much afraid that Miss Weldon would conclude to wait
and take this train back to the city. So without
loss of time, we bundled in the Christmas minded. Mister
Chase had brought two heavy fur robes. Our valises were
packed in behind the sleigh, being of the box variety,
and we were ready. There is no mistake in the way,
said mister Chase. You go straight ahead until you come
to the house, which I know perfectly well, added Miss Weldon,
and away we jingled. The snow was still falling, but
we did not mind that, And now that we had
started off, I was glad that mister Chase had waited
to find the bells. Their merry little jingles suited my
spirits well. A jolly's sleigh ride with Clara Weldon was
more enjoyment than I had counted on for this Christmas.
A young man and a young woman, both of lively dispositions,
good friends, fellow workers, and nothing more, are much more
likely to have a merry time in a case like
this than if they were a pair of lovers, or
even if one of them were a lover. True love
implies a certain seriousness, and is not infrequently conducive to demureness.
The snow was deep on the road and sometimes drifted,
but the sleigh went through it well enough. The horse, however,
probably not a very good traveler on the best of roads,
made but slow progress. But although he was an animal
of deliberate action, possessing, as Miss Weldon thought, an esthetic
turn of mind which made him object to destroy the
virgin smoothness of the snow with his great hoofs he
was strong, and that was the main point with reason
to believe that we should safely reach our journeys end.
It did not trouble me that we were making that
journey slowly, and my companion appeared to be of my
way of thinking. The beauty of the snow decorated forests,
fields and hills was enough to make our artist's heart satisfied,
even if the horse should decline to do more than walk.
It began to grow dark, and we had not reached
the hospitable mansion to which we were bound. But there
was a beautiful weirdness in the snow, scenes softened by
the dusky light, and our hearts and the bells were
still merry, but as it grew darker and darker, we
both began to wish that we stood in the light
and warmth of the Dolliver house. I whipped the horse,
who made a few bounds through the snow and then
relapsed into his former trot. It was of no use
to try to hurry him. Several times Miss Weldon had
assured me that she was not in the least anxious,
and that she was sure we should now reach the
house in a very short time. I think she was
about to say something of the kind again, when suddenly
she exclaimed in a voice that had a ring of
hearty cheerfulness in it, very different from her previous expressions
of thoughtful encouragement. Here it is, didn't I tell you?
We are at the very gate? Sure enough? There was
the gate with a lamp on one of the posts,
and there, in the midst of its whitened grounds was
the house, its windows lighted, and a lamp on the piazza.
When I pulled up to the door, I attempted to
bound from the sleigh, but my bound was a poor one,
for I found my legs were somewhat stiffened by the cold.
As I helped Miss Weldon to alight, I could perceive
she was not nearly so active as I had generally
known her. The door opened before we had time to
reach it, and an elderly woman with a christmasy look
about her, which was absolutely warming, stood in the broad portal.
We stopped on the piazza before entering, stamping and shaking ourselves,
for we were two figures of snow. Our valises are
in the back of the sleigh, I said, and to
my surprise, my teeth chattered a little as I spoke.
I think the horse will stand until someone takes him.
We then went in. Suddenly Miss Weldon stopped and looked
from right to left, and turning to the good woman,
she exclaimed, this is not mister Dolliver's house, of course,
not said the other. Did you think it was Major
pendalas lives here. Miss Weldon and I looked at each
other in dismay. We have made a mistake. I said,
how much further on is it to the Dolliver place.
It isn't farther on at all. The woman replied, it
is not on this road at all. It is too bad,
I said, they'd told us at Boynton it was a
straight road and we could not miss it. So it
is but three miles below here there is a fork
that anybody might mistake, especially at night with the roads unbroken.
But come in and get warm. You must be half frozen.
I'll have a man throw a blanket over the horse.
And with this she showed us into a large room
with a wood fire blazing on the hearth. She pushed
two chairs before the fire. Sit down, she said, and
get a little warm. If I am not mistaken, this
is Miss Clara Welton. Yes, I thought so. It's been
a long time since I have seen you. I am
missus Bardsley. I keep house the maid Pendales. Excuse me
for a moment. What a grand thing this virus, said I.
And who is Major Pendalas? I never saw him in
my life, said Miss Weldon, following my example and drawing
up closer to the fire. But I have often heard
of him. He used to be in the army, I think,
And now he has a stock farm and has all
sorts of fine horses and cows. I wonder if he
would be willing to send over to my uncle's. I
can't bear to think of starting out again in that
sleigh and with that horse. I was glad she did
not include the driver in her objections, and said, I
hoped that the Major would be able to do something
for us. But at the time I did not give
much thought to the subject, for my whole soul was
occupied in reveling in the genial heat. I had had
no idea that I was so cold. In about five minutes,
the door opened and a tall, broad shouldered man wearing
a heavy pea jacket and an unmistakable air of being
the master of the house entered the room. He was
middle aged, had side whiskers and bright blue eyes. We
both rose, and with outstretched hand, he greeted Miss Weldon.
Delighted to see you, he said, in a hearty tone.
Missus Bardsley tells me you have lost your way, but
that doesn't matter. I'll make that all right. Then he
turned towards me, and Miss Weldon introduced me Ashmead, he repeated,
as he grasped me by the hand. Yes, I replied,
Henry g Ashmead. As I spoke, he gave me a
quick look and seemed about to say something in reference
to my name, but he checked himself and urged us
to sit down again. What you must do now is
to get warm. Get warm, he said, and he put
two great logs on the fire. With a few quick questions,
and without sitting down, he made himself acquainted with the situation.
For a moment he gazed down upon us, and then
he said, the first thing to do now that you
are a little thord is to get off your coats
and wraps. That is hardly worth while, I replied, for
as soon as we are well warmed, we must get
on in some way or other to the Dolliver house.
Sir said Major Pendalus. There is no Dolliver house for
you to night. Here you are, and here you stay.
It is three miles back to the main road, and
then you would have two miles more to go. And
before you reach the Dolliver house there is a long hollow,
and at this present moment the snow is probably drifted
five feet. If you had taken the right road, you
most likely would have been in that snow drift. Now,
I have sleighs and teams enough, and no doubt I
could pull you through. But it is blowing now as
well as snowing, and I am not going to let
a young lady go out into a storm like this,
especially when she has had already as much as she
is able to stand of that sort of thing. Your
bags will be brought in and your horse put in
the stable. Missus Bardsley will take charge of Miss Weldon.
I'll attend to you, sir, and supper will be ready
in half an hour, And without waiting for an answer,
he left the room. We looked at each other and laughed.
That is just what I hoped he would do, said
Miss Wildon. I have had all the sleighing I want
for this day. Good, I cried, throwing off my overcoat.
I feared I might have to persuade you. That is
really absurd, she said, as if the storm and Major
Pendallas were not quite enough. In five minutes, Miss Weldon
had been carried off by the beaming Missus Bardsley, while
Major Pendalas conducted me to a bedroom on the ground floor,
in which I found a crackling wood fire. The house
was a large one and seemed to be lighted from
top to bottom. We three sat down to a big,
round supper table, and as might have been expected, the
meal was bountiful, hot, and most grateful and cheery to
the two storm beaten travelers who had eaten nothing since
breakfast except an unattractive luncheon. On the train. Our host
did most of the talking, and we were well content
to let him do it. You cannot imagine he burst
out as soon as we were seated, How glad I
am to have you two people here. I expected to
spend this Christmas Eve absolutely alone, and I should have
felt that, for I never did anything of the kind before,
and from a boy, I have thought more of Christmas
Eve than of Christmas Day. There is less of a
strain in it. On Christmas Day, you feel as if
you ought to be awfully jolly, because if you don't,
you won't have another chance for a year. On Christmas Eve,
one can be jolly without thinking of it. If there
are any shortcomings, they can be made up next day.
Last year, my niece was with me and we had
plenty of company. But now she is married and cleared
out utterly, gone to Europe with her husband and intends
to stay there. But the storm has been good to me.
Let me give you a piece of this chicken, sir,
and some butter. This is Christmas butter especially made from
the cream of two cows, both granddaughters of the great
cavalier George. The Major's anticipation of a truly jolly Christmas
Eve was interfered with by miss Wildon, who declared shortly
after nine o'clock that she was so fatigued by her
day's experiences that she would be obliged to bid us
good night. When she had gone, the Major and I
each lighted a cigar and drew up before the big
fire in the parlor. I can't help being disappointed, said he,
for I intended to get up a lot of games
and to have missus Barsley and her daughter in. They
are very respectable people, and at Christmas time we always
have them in at the games. But bed is the
best place for Miss Weldon after what she has pulled
through this day. And I am so rejoiced to have
you both in the house that I shan't grumble. It
doesn't matter in the least that when the sun set
to day I had never seen either of you, nor
you me. I know who you are, and you know
who I am. At least Miss Weldon knows, and that's enough.
But you don't know me, I said, Indeed, I do
he exclaimed, slapping one of his spread out knees and
leaning toward me. I know you in the best kind
of a way. I have one of your pictures. Nah,
don't go and say you are not the artist Henry
g ashmead. I am that man, I replied. I didn't
doubt it, said the Major, leaning back in his chair.
You look like it. I am a bachelors here, and
it takes a good deal to keep that sort of
a man content and easy in his mind. Pictures and
books help a lot in that way, and I make
it a point every year to buy a good picture.
I got one of yours last fall, and I am
very fond of looking at it. Come with me and
i'll show it to you. The Major then preceded me
to a medium sized room in the front of the house,
which he called his reading room. It isn't a study,
said he, for I never study, and it isn't a library,
for it hasn't books enough for that. But it is
as good a room to read in as I know,
a fine light and always cool in summer. There is
the picture, and he held up a lamp before one
of my large landscapes. I thought Barnett owned that, I exclaimed,
Yes he did, but he's been hard up lately and
had to sell off part of his collection. I snapped
up that as soon as I saw it, there are
things in that picture that you seldom see in paintings.
That's timothy grass in that meadow, and a cut about
the end of June would make hay worth about twenty
dollars a ton. It's ready to cut, now, said he.
And from the looks of the leaves on the trees
and the size of those mullein plants, I should say
it was in June that you took it. I made
my studies in June, I replied, Good, he cried, I
knew it. There's no nonsense about that meadow such as
you would see in most pictures, no bushes and straggling
briars or patches of red clover and orchard grass. I
am a straightforward and practical man, and I like a
straightforward and practical picture. Of course, you couldn't help the daisies,
and no more can I in my own meadows now, then,
said he, when we were again before the fire, you
can see for yourself how I know you, and I
can tell you that it delights me to have in
my house the man who painted that picture. After a while,
I'll brew a bowl of Regent's punch. But it isn't
late enough for that. We'll have a bachelor night of it.
By next Christmas. I suppose the young lady will put
a veto on bachelor night. Veto, said I, What do
you mean? You will surely be married by next Christmas?
He replied, married, I exclaimed, with a laugh. We have
never thought of being married. The Major took his cigar
from his mouth, put his hands upon his knees, leaned forward,
and looked at me. Do you mean to say, sir,
that you and miss Welton are not engaged to be married?
Not at all, said I. We have known each other
a long time, but we are friends and nothing more. Well,
I'll be hanged, cried Major Pendellus, throwing away his cigar
and rising abruptly from his chair. Then standing with his
back to the fire, he looked down upon me. Now
I am disappointed. I surely thought you too were a team,
and a fine one. I had made up my mind
to it, and now I am set back. I feel
as if I were driving a big pursure on and
a polo pony. I am a practical common sense man,
and I don't mind asking practical common sense questions. I
have done that all my life, and though I have
made a good many people mad, it has always been
better for me in the end. Now, or do you
mind telling me if that young woman is engaged to
somebody else or if you are. Don't get angry if
anybody is angry, I ought to be. I was not
in the least offended. There was an impetuous but kindly
earnestness about the man which impressed me very agreeably. There
are some people whose liberties are pleasant rather than otherwise.
The Major was one of those people. I am not engaged,
I said, with a smile. And I have no reason
to believe that she is. Major Pendaalus thrust his hands
into his trouser pockets, strolled to the other end of
the large room, and then turning, came back and sat down.
I believe, said he that the man who lives alone
does more thinking to the minute than other people. When
she was pouring out the coffee to night and you
were handing your cup to her, and both of you
were laughing about the sugar, I stopped eating and I
said to myself. That is as perfect a match as
I ever saw, and in regard to human beings, it
is very seldom that I think that. And now you
turn around and tell me that you and she go single.
I could not help laughing at the serious way in
which he discussed the subject. I am sorry to disappoint you,
said I, but Miss Wildon and I are not marrying people.
For myself. I cannot afford matrimony. That's what I once thought,
he said, And for thirty five years I have regretted
that I was foolish enough to think so. It was
plain that my host was a man of nervous temperament.
He could not sit still while considering this subject, Evidently
of deep interest to him. He now rose, folded his
arms and looked at me steadily for fully a minute.
As he gazed at me, his eyes seemed to grow
brighter and larger. It was my intention to make a
business proposition to you, founded on what you and Miss
Weldon said about this part of the country and how
much you liked it. I considered it one of the
happiest thoughts I had ever had. What was it, I asked?
A good deal, amused but careful not to show it.
I shall be glad to hear hear it, whether I
can accept it or not. All right, said the major,
seating himself with decision. You shall have it. I will
make the proposition in the common sense, straightforward manner in
which I intended to make it. For over ten months
I have been kicking and fuming at being obliged to
live here in this lonely house. Tonight I said to
myself over and over again, what would I give if
these two would eat all their meals with me, would
come here and live in this house? And then I said,
why shouldn't they? He is a landscape painter, and they
would want to live somewhere in the country and are
not likely to find any place more beautiful than this. Ah.
Perhaps that's just what they want and what they're looking for,
and the best thing you can do is to make
them the offer without loss of time. While I was
thinking of this, my spirits went up to about a
hundred in the shade. But when you told me you
were not an engaged couple, down they went, I don't
know how far. What did you intend to offer? I asked, offer?
He said, everything I intended to put at your disposal
as soon after you married, as you pleased, the handsomest
room in the house, second floor front with a beautiful
flower garden in summer directly under the side window. I
would have given you the run of this house, reading
room and everything, and made you feel at home. If
the lady is a musician, I would have bought a
new piano. If you were fond of riding or driving,
my stables should have been at your service. I have
to pay men to exercise the horses, and it would
be a favor to me to have you do some
of it. Moreover, I have a carriage house on the
other side of my garden, which I do not use,
and I would have fitted it up as a studio
for you, with a big north light and all conveniences.
Then again, if you would have liked to come here
to spend your honeymoon, I would have vacated the place
for a month and let you have it all to yourselves.
For the accommodations I should have offered you, I should
have charged you no more than what your living would
cost me, certainly not over seven dollars a week each
for the rent of my studio. I should have asked
you one landscape picture every year. I was most cheerfully
impressed by the project thus laid before me. My dear sir,
I exclaimed, you are generous. Indeed, will you make me
the same offer if I bring some other lady? Here
is my wife? No, sir, cried the major, striking his
knee with his broad hand. No, sir, I will I
know all about Miss Weldon, and I have formed a
great fancy for her. I will run no risks with
outside and unknown women, so saying, he rose abruptly to
his feet, walked to a window, raised a shade, and
looked out into the night. I remained gazing into the
cheerful fire. The enthusiasm of this man had had a
powerful effect upon me. I was actually thinking what a
delightful thing it would be to marry miss Weldon. It
was not the first time that this thought had come
into my mind, but it had always been promptly expelled.
As I told my host, I was not a marrying man.
At least I considered that my financial circumstances gave me
no right to be one. But now the state of
affairs seemed to be entirely changed. So far as pecuniary
considerations were concerned. There was no reason why I should
not be married tomorrow, and the perception of this fact
set me in a glow. The Major now returned to
the fire. Hello, he cried, your face looks as if
you were getting converted. It may be that I am.
I said, you are a powerful preacher. He stepped quickly
towards me and clapped his hand upon my shoulder. Nah,
he said, you are in the right road. Don't hesitate,
don't look to the right or the left, don't stop
to consider, don't reason, but go straight ahead and ask
that young woman to be your wife. The fact that
you are beginning to feel converted shows that you want her,
And indeed I should have a very small opinion of
you if you didn't want her, ask her to morrow morning.
Ask her here, in this this house, before you go
into that crowd of dollivers, where you will have no
chance at all. I'll see to it that you have
every chance. Here, Major said, I rising, I have the
greatest mind in the world to do it. You have
put before me opportunities which I did not suppose to exist.
You have stirred up feelings in me that I thought
were long ago conquered, and quieted you have now, my
dear boy, interrupted the Major. Don't say another word. Go
to your room while you are in this mind, go
to bed and go to sleep. Don't consider this or
that or any other thing. Keep your mind on the
one fact that you are going to propose to Miss
Weldon in the morning. Above all, don't think about me.
Don't imagine that perhaps I'm not going to suit your fancies.
I will give you my word, said. If I don't suit,
or can't make myself suit, I'll clear out. I'll take
the risk of all that very good, said I. I'll
go to my room, for it is past country bedtime,
and I'll keep my mind on the subject you have
brought up before me. But what of that regent's punch
you are going to brew? Not a drop, sir, Not
a drop, exclaimed the Major. When men want cheering up
and have nothing to do afterward, a glass of punch
on a winter night is a very good thing. But
in a case like this we want clear heads. Anybody
can determine to marry almost anybody if he drinks enough punch.
When I set out to drive a pair of horses
in a storm or on a cold chilly night, I
never touch a drop of spirits, no matter how much
I feel that I need warming up. At such times
I want to be sharpened, not comforted. But when I
get safely home, I myself a glass of something hot.
Making up your mind at this time is much more
important than driving any sort of horses in any kind
of weather. The punch can wait until tomorrow, and if
things turn out all right, I'll brew something out of
the common I assure you. In my bedroom that night,
I gave no time to deliberation before I bade the
Major good night. I had made up my mind to
propose to Miss Weldon. I was downstairs before breakfast the
next morning, and I met the Major just coming in
from a visit to his stables. Merry Christmas, he cried,
And isn't this a glorious day, some bright and sky clear?
But the snow is about a foot deep on the level,
and nobody knows how deep in the drifts. I have
a Canadian in my employment who walks on snows, and
I have sent him across the country to the Dollarvers
to tell them where you are and let them know
that you'll be there in the course of the afternoon.
I'll send out some men with a double team of
oxen and a snowplow to break the road, and after luncheon,
i'll drive you over myself. In the meantime, how are
you going to spend the morning, Sir, I laughed as
I gazed into his earnest countenance. I am going to
try to break a road into the region of matrimony,
I replied. The Major's face shone like the morning sun.
Your sound is a dollar, he exclaimed. After breakfast, you
too shall have this house to yourselves. I'll carry off
missus Bardsley and the rest of them to the Christmas
present business in the big barn. I suppose you can
get through in an hour? Oh yes, I answered, probably
in less. Time was now called off, and I strolled
into the reading room to look again at my picture.
The room was full of the morning light, and as
I turned to the wall on which my landscape hung,
I stood with eyes and mouth open. The paper on
the wall was one designed by Clara Weldon. I remembered
when she was working on it in her studio. There
was a tendril running through it, which I had suggested.
I clapped my hands and felt like bursting out with
a shout of pure enjoyment, but I restrained myself. The
breakfast bell rang, and as I went out, I closed
the door behind me. Miss Weldon came down, refreshed and lovely,
and as we exchanged Christmas salutations, I almost felt guilty
in thinking of the conspiracy which we two men had
hatched up against her, but I did not in the
least from my purpose. It was about an hour afterward,
when Miss Wildon and I were sitting before a blazing
fire in the parlor, that I declared my love for her,
that I asked her to be my wife. And in
the ardor which increased as I spoke, I told her
everything I laid before her, the whole glowing picture which
Major Pendalas had painted for me. When I began to speak,
she looked at me in a quizzical way, as if
she were amused at the sudden outcropping of my passion.
But afterwards she began to listen with interest, as if
it were due to me to give serious consideration to
a matter which I urged so warmly, odd as it
might be that I happened to be urging it just then.
But when I told her what the Major had been
talking about her, face flushed with indignation. It is a shame,
she exclaimed, that that man should discuss me in such
a way. What right has he to meddle with my
affairs or give advice concerning me? If I can do it,
I will leave this house this instant. You cannot do it,
I said, and I beg you will restrain your anger
until I explain the case. Major Pendalus takes a great
interest in me on account of my work. You remember
what he said at breakfast about my picture he has taken.
I don't care anything about his interest in you, she interrupted,
I am thinking about myself. He has no right to
take any interest in me, to discuss me. It is
the most unwarrantable thing, the most Please do not say
anything more against him, I implored. I first want you
to look at my picture. It is one of the
few you have not seen. I don't want to see
anything he owns, she said sharply. But I beg of
you to come and look at this because I painted it.
You may never have another chance, and I very much
want you to see it. She had a kind heart,
and angry as she was, she accompanied me to the
reading room. As we stood before the picture. Her eyes
wandered away from it and over the wall. Then she
turned and looked at me, and I looked at her,
but said nothing. Do you suppose, she asked, presently, that
he knew I designed this paper. I am positive he
does not, I replied, for if he had known it,
he would certainly have mentioned it to me. And beside,
it is almost impossible that he should know it. It
is wonderful, she said, in a softer tone. What do
you make of it? I make this, I replied. The
soul of that man is in sympathy with yours and
with mine. The things we do touch his tastes and
his sensibilities. He covers his wall with your paper, and
he hangs my picture upon it. He does not know
either of us, but his soul is in sympathy with us.
I think you can hardly say that he has no
right to take an interest in you. She looked at
me and smiled. That is all very pretty, she said,
but rather sentimental. Not a bit too much, so, I exclaimed, Clara,
I think you cannot any longer be angry with our host,
And having set him aside, will you not consider me
and consent to be a background to your work, she asked.
There was a bright sparkle in her eye, which made
me feel justified in gently closing the door. When Major
Pendallus returned from the big Barn, where, according to his custom,
he had been making Christmas presents to all his people,
he found Clara and me in the parlor. He approached
us in a somewhat hesitating way, and as I looked
around at him, I could see an expression on his
countenance which looked like a fear that he had come
back before I had gotten through with the business of
the morning, or perhaps before I had begun it. But
as we both rose to meet him, eyes still holding
Clara's hand, all doubt vanished from his handsome, honest, wether
brown face. I know it, he cried, as he looked
from one to the other of his I know it.
You needn't tell me anything, and he stretched out a
hand to each of us. This is a glorious Christmas,
he said, a glorious Christmas. It was plain. He wanted
to say a good deal but could not find words,
But Clara allowed no embarrassing silence. I have been very
angry with you, Major, she said, with the kindest of
smiles upon her still slightly flushed face. He looked at
her inquiringly. It was because you were making all sorts
of arrangements for me without my knowing a word about them. Oh,
that was because he didn't understand about the wallpaper, I said.
If he had known about that, about what, exclaimed Major Pendlus.
We two laughed, and then we took him into the
reading room. When all was explained to him, he exclaimed,
my world. And then, with his hands thrust deep into
the pockets of his short coat, he turned about and
deliberately gazed upon the four walls of the room. Truly,
he cried, I can't take it in to think that
the two years I have been sitting in this room,
surrounded by these warm, bright, delicate colors, these flowers of spring,
these soft leaves, and these graceful spirals, this general impression
of blossomy air, and then to think that you did it.
I can't comprehend it. Why, I'll tell you, madam. When
I went with my niece to a great city store
where they had thousands of patterns of wallpaper, I've picked
out this one in ten minutes, and although there were
a half dozen others. She fancied, I would have none
but this for my reading room. It is the flowers
and air of spring, I said, and I want to
have it always around me. I thought. I liked you, madam,
on account of what I had heard of you, and
because of looking at you and listening to you. Bah,
that wasn't all. No, that wasn't all. There was a
moisture in Clara's eyes as she held out her hand
to him. It is most marvelous and most charming, I said,
And I can see only one objection to the state
of affairs. The picture should have been Clara's in the
background mine, not a bit of it, exclaimed the major.
The picture can be taken down, it can be stolen,
Lots of things can happen to it, and it occupies
only a little space. After all, but that beautiful wall
is there, and it is here and all around us,
and here it will stay. It will last out my lifetime,
and if any accidents happened to it, I've got a
lot more of it. Upstairs. A servant now entered with
a letter which had been brought over from the dollivers
by the man in snow shoes. It was written to Clara,
and she read it to us. Our friends were evidently
overjoyed that we had not remained in the city as
they had supposed, and that we would soon be with them.
They insisted that Major Pendellas should come over with us
and spend the night. They had a large party of
friends at the house and were having a jolly time.
Oh I'll go, said the Major. I intended to go anyway.
But as to jolly times, the times they are having
there are no more to compare with what we are
having here than an ashman's donkey is fit to run
a three mile heat with my coat sapling. But will
help to make them jolly. I'll take over the big
silver punch bowl that I won four years ago and
have not used yet, for I have never had people
in enough here to make it worthwhile. We'll christen the
bowl on this happy day, and you, madam, shall have
the first glass out of it. And now continued the host,
looking from the one to the other. Before we do
any more, or say any more, or think of anything else,
I want you to tell me this. Are you too
going to accept my proposition and coming to live with me?
I don't say anything about winter time, because that may
be asking too much, but in the time of the
year you would want to live in the country anyway,
my dear Major said Clara. We have been talking about
your proposition, and I don't see how we can help
accepting it. Good, cried the Major. Good better best. I
remarked before that this is a glorious Christmas, and I
repeat the statement. Look you, the sun is beaming out
of doors almost as brightly as we are beaming in here.
There is a broad path cut to the stables, and
I want to show you a Sorrel mare with the
most beautiful tail and mane you ever saw. I am
going to have her put into training to carry a lady,
and she is to be at your service, madam, whenever
you want her. And as for you, sir, there are
my stables. And if a beautiful country and fine horses
helped to make people happy, I think you will have
no fault to find. Early in the afternoon, the Major
drove us over to the Dollivers behind a pair of
magnificent Cleveland bays. The grand action and spirits of the
powerful animals, fired by the delight of being out of
doors on this sparkling winter day, would have made Clara tremble,
she said, under ordinary circumstances, but with the Major holding
the reins, she felt as safe as if she were
dashing through the white caps with an old cape cod
skipper at the tiller. That was a grand old Christmas
night at the Doliver House. Our hostess, who was soon
informed of what had happened in the morning, urged that
our engagement should be made known. And when the punch
bowl was christened, and the first cupful of the Major's
wonderful brew was presented by him to Clara, there was
an outburst of congratulation which deeply stirred the hearts of
three of us. And now said Major Pendalus, let us
drink the health of the blessed storm of Christmas Eve,
eighteen hundred and eighty. And we drank it. End of
Major Pendalus, A Christmas story by Frank R. Stockton,