John Engleman and the Spirit of Christmas II

John Engleman and the Spirit of Christmas BY NEPHI ANDERSON, AUTHOR OF "The Castle Builder. "Added Upon, etc."

II The next day John Engleman rode out to Harvey Woodson's. He saw no one about, so he stabled his horse and went into the house. Harvey was in, sitting by the kitchen stove with his head in his hands. "A merry Christmas!" shouted, John as he stamped the snow from his boots, in the open doorway. "Halloo, John," replied the other. "What are you doing here? Come right in." "I am delivering invitations." Harvey straightened and motioned his visitor to a chair. The room was hot and close, so John threw off his overcoat. As he glanced around, he saw that the floor was unswept, and the table was stacked with dirty dishes. The stove was red with rust. Harvey sat in his stable clothes, his boots soiled, and his hair touseled, as if it had not seen a comb for a week. "Yes," continued John, "I want you to come to my house this evening. It's Christmas Eve, you know, and it will be pretty lonesome out here all by yourself, your mother being away." "Yes, but I can stand it." "You see, I'm off in a day or two?" "Off?" "Yes: there is nothing to keep me here this winter, so I thought I would take a run back to Ohio to visit some folks. I have been wanting to for a long time, but I haven't been able to get off until now. So this evening I'm going to have a house warming, a farewell, and a Christmas celebration all in one." "Leave me out John, thank you just the same." "Not much. You'll have to come. It isn't a party —only a few friends. You see, that little house I recently acquired has never had a house warming, and I would like to give it one before I leave."

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"Who is to be there?" "Why, there's you and me and Clara and her folks —that's all."

"Count me out What are you up to, anyway? Haven't you heard the village gossip for the past week that Clara and I — have separated we've quit." "Oh, yes; I've heard some talk; but children's quarrels are soon made up." "Look here, John; this is no joking matter. You had better mind your own business." "I am making this my business now, and I think I have a right to. I called on Clara last evening — "Yes I have already heard you did. It seems to me that you ;

are butting in pretty soon." John arose from the chair which he had drawn to the stove and walked around to where he could better look his companion in the face. "See here, Harve," he said with no display of anger, "you don't know what you are talking about." — "Yes I do leave me alone." "Do you remember that day when you and I came to an understanding about Clara?" "What about it?" "That was a fair and square proposition, wasn't it?" "I guess so." "You won. From the day Clara became yours, I have never coveted her, have never seriously thought of her as anything but your wife. Your wife she is now; yours, I believe, she always will He seated himself again, and the other turned, in better be." humor to listen, as John continued:

"We are old friends. You have always believed in me, so you have said. There is a terrible crisis in your life, and you need some help if you are not to go to wreck and ruin. I am going to help you and Clara to get together again." "What! to fight and quarrel again, and live in a very hell!" "You are going to quit that; both of you are going to come to your senses." "But you don't know what a temper she has. It's God's truth, John, I've tried and tried until I could not put up with it longer." "I thought you were a man, but I see you are a weakling.

212 IMPROVEMENT ERA Can't stand it ! —such a trifling thing as a woman's temper. Shame — on you. Why, every woman has a temper I wouldn't give much for one that hasn't. She has an inborn right to display it at times, to the testing of the men — and yet here is big, strong Harvey Woodson downed and put out by a little woman's temper." "You place your words well by saying, a little woman's temper; but it's no joke even if you think so." "I don't think so. Let's get down to business, then. Whnt did you marry Clara for?" As the reply was only a surprised start, John continued: "I fear you married, as many young fellows do, simply to get, not to give. It's getting we're all after. First we want love, that indefinable something that can only be made clear in the experiences of life; then we want our meals cooked, our shirts washed, our stockings darned. These and a hundred other things a young man expects, but what does he give? Think a moment, Harvey Woodson, and be absolutely honest with yourself, what had you planned to give your wife. Oh, yes, I know; you thought of love and home and protection and such things, but you were to share them. What one thing have you given your wife that has been untinged by selfishness? Think about it. Wasn't everything to be so nice and comfortable and easy? All your sacrifices were to bring you a hundred fold of bliss. You were to give a bit of your muscular exertion for all the gifts and graces of the spirit. Don't you know that there are things vastly more precious than houses or lands, or fine dresses, or good things to eat? Some of these are a forbearing spirit, a willingness to forgive, a blindness to faults — and above all, a manly strength upon which a woman's weakness may rest and feel secure." "Go on, I am listening." — "Another thing and this is above all other reasons why you and Clara should cleave to each other, you two are husband and wife, not only for the few years of this life, but for the eternities beyond. You are now laying the foundation for the future. In the beginning of your married life you may have thought of each other as nearly perfect beings.You know better now, and that knowledge has upset you both, instead of being a help to you for the better adjusting of affairs. What then is the part of brave men and wo Den? Why, to face the music, to meet the conditions and help each other to do the right. This will have to be done sooner

JOHN ENGLEMAN AND THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS 213 or later. You can't afford to be at outs with your wife, for sometime,somewhere in the future, all secrets must come to light, all — wrongs must be righted. Begin now believe me, it is easier than after a while."

The young husband arose and turned his face to the darkened window. He stood there for some minutes, both men being silent. Then he turned and asked, "What did Clara say last night?" "She did not say much. I did most of the talking, as I am doing here with you; but she told me a lot without words. She is suffering,and she needs you." — "Does she care does she want me?" "Above everything else —just as you want her You two can't deceive yourselves, even as you can't deceive me." "No; I guess not." "Come here, Harve; I want you something about to tell myself that you do not know." The younger man sat down again. "You knew when you and I came out here together that I had been a married man, but had lost my wife." "Yes; so you told me." "My wife and I were together just a little longer than you and Clara have been. During that brief time, I grieve to say, we were often unwise enough to quarrel. I had a hasty temper, and she,

(bless her memory) did not have wisdom enough to meet it in the right way. One day we fell out more violently than usual, and for days we went about without speaking to each other. Then she was smitten with a disease we knew very little about. I neglected her, thinking it was only a spell of stubbornness. I awoke when it was too late. She died within a week." The ticking of the little clock on the shelf was all the sound that could be heard for a few moments. Then John resumed: "Harve, I don't want you to have any such experience. That's another reason why I have come to you." "I thank you," said Harvey in a subdued tone. The conversation continued for another hour, Harvey taking more of a part. As they talked the spirit of depression departed, as it always does when the spirit of Christmas enters. "Now," said John, "I must hurry home, as I have much to do to prepare for my little party this evening. Promise me you'll come."

214 IMPROVEMENT ERA Harvey thought for a moment, then said, "Yes, I'll come, and be glad of the chance." "Good. Be early. Come prepared to stay with me all night. You ought to be glad to get out of this pesky place. Oh, if your mother could see those dishes!"

John Engleman had planned a party for Christmas Eve; here itwas noon of the day, and all he had done was to invite the guests. He rode back to the village in great haste, planning further as he galloped along. The idea of the party had popped into his head — when he had been talking to Clara it seemed he was saying and doing all kinds of uncommon things on the spur of the moment. John had not even completely finished moving into his new quarters, so the first thing he did was to take a wagon load of furniture from the old house to the new one. He secured the services of a next-door neighbor to do some rapid house cleaning, and then he engaged Widow Brown, a near-by friend, as cook. After consulting her, he visited the village meat market. Turkeys or geese there were none, but there was plenty of tender meat. At the grocery store, John procured, besides the staples, some rosy apples and golden oranges. After the third trip with the market basket, there was enough on the kitchen table to feed a large company, for John had doubled the amounts suggested by the cook. After seeing that things were well under way, John rode out to the Ridge after some greens with which he gave his rooms a holiday appearance. How busy the three workers were! John was here and there, carrying water and wood, putting up a stove and blackening it, doing errands first for one and then for the other of his helpers. The short winter day closed with the cleaning completed, and the cooking and baking well under way. Promptly at the appointed time Harvey Woodson appeared, clean-shaven, fresh, smiling, and dressed in his best. He surveyed John's new home closely, never having been in it before. "You must be going to get married," suggested Harvey goodnaturedly. "Oh, no; somebody else is." The two men looked at each other understandingly. Harvey and Clara had gone through a form of marriage, but there was yet the binding power of the spirit to sanctify the union. "I bought this house three months ago," explained John, as

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JOHN ENGLEMAN AND THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS 215 he took his friend through the rooms. "I had to take it on a debt; but what to do with it now, I don't know. I would willingly let someone live in it rent free just to take care of it." "Live in it yourself, John. It's cozy." "But I'm going away." The announcement had been made, so, of course, he would have to carry the program out. This going away, being one of those spur-of-the-moment ideas, was yet somewhat vague; but really he had nothing to keep him at home, during the winter, at least. And yes; why not ask as a favor that Harvey and Clara live in and take care of his house until his return. They had none of their own. "The fellow that built this house had an eye to his business," said John. "Here in the large front room is a dandy fireplace. See that carved mantle. That's his own work. He used to be a carver in the old country, I understand; but out here, in this wild and woolly west, he would starve on that business. The kitchen is fine—and everything so handy—isn't it Mrs. Brown?" The busy cook agreed with him. "And here's the bed room," continued the guide;" there's a big window in the south wall to admit plenty of sunshine. You'll have to excuse the bareness of the rooms, as you see I haven't had time to fix them up as I should have liked. You remain here a few moments while I go into the kitchen." Harvey seated himself in the cosy-corner, fitted up where the bed should have been. A new, prettily-colored carpet covered the floor. White curtains hung before the window. The walls were tinted and adorned with a few pictures, among which were one of John Engleman, and another of a sweet-faced young woman —his wife. A small parlor stove warmed the room pleasantly, and a shaded lamp cast a warm glow over everything. Harvey felt quite at home. In a few moments John came back. "Harvey," said he,

"this room is dedicated to a sacred purpose. You are my guest, and I want you to do exactly as I tell you." "Yes; what is it?" "When the folks come, I want you to remain in this room. I will send someone in to you and close the door after her. You two you, for I shall be busy with the are not to come out until I call table, and you would be in the way. Do you understand?" "Yes—but—

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— "Hush, here they are now you just do as I tell you." Footsteps were at the door, and John hastened to meet his company. "Come right in, folks," he gave them welcome. "A meny Christmas to you all." He took Mr. Waite's hat and coat and laid them on a chair in the corner. Then he assisted Mrs. Waite with her wraps. He placed two chairs before the fire and bade the father and the mother to be seated. Clara had taken off her wraps and stood holding them in her arms, not knowing what to do with them. It was for a moment only. John, adding her mother's wraps to her own, touched her on the arm, and led her towards the bed-room door. "You'll find a place to hang them, in here," he said; then added in a lower voice, "Harvey is waiting for you in the room." Then before she had time to consider what action to take because of this announcement, she was pushed gently into the room and the door closed behind her.

Then how busy John Engleman became! To have seen him, one would have supposed that Widow Brown had neglected everything until the last moment, and there was a big company to provide for. He piled more cedar logs into the fireplace, rushed back and forth from the kitchen to the front room, fetched more water and wood from without, gave some finishing touches to the setting of the table, until the cook had to tell him to mind his own business, which was to entertain his company. This he tried to do, but he could not sit still long at a time. Thirty minutes passed. No sound came from the other room loud enough to be heard above the crackling of the cedar. At the end of an hour, the cook announced that all was about ready, but John was slow in asking his guests to sit up. At length, very deliberately, he went to the door and knocked on it. "Do you want to come out now and have your supper?" he asked. "Yes," came from within. "Do you promise to be good children in the future?" "Yes," said a voice which was plainly Harvey's. "And the little girl?" continued the catechiser. "I promise," said Clara. "All right, then" —whereupon John opened wide the door

JOHN ENGLEMAN AND THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS 217 and the two stepped out. They were laughing, but that was only a disguise to cover up traces of tears that had been. "Here's your places/' directed the host. "We must hurry and sit down, or the supper will be cold, so saith the cook. Come, Mrs. Brown, put everything you can on the table, and sit down with us. We'll wait on each other as we always do." Everything was "just lovely" the meat was juicy and tender; :

the mashed potatoes loomed like mountains of frozen cream; the pie melted in the mouth; the pudding had a "moreish" taste. The cook was happy, the father and mother were happy, Harvey — and Clara were happy, and John Engleman well, his was a peculiar kind of happiness, hard to describe. If the unseen Spirit of Christmas which formed part of that company could have spoken to mortal ears, the secret might have been told. "Yes, I'm going East in a few days," John was saying, "and I think I shall also take a trip across the water to old England.

Very likely I shall be away all winter; but Harvey and Clara here are going to be so kind as to live in my house and keep it straight until I come back." Clara stopped eating her pie to listen in amazement. "You know," John went on without apparently noticing her, "a house runs down very much when it is not occupied. It will be a great favor to me, Harvey, if you two will live right here and look after it."

Harvey looked at Clara as if asking her to reply, and she looked at John. What she saw in John's face, and what thoughts were in her mind, again no one but the Spirit of Christmas might tell, but what he saw in that shining face turned to him repaid him again for what he- was doing. "Do you really want us to?" she asked. "Really and truly. This place and everything in it is yours until I come back. Will you keep it in trust for me?" "Yes, if Harvey is willing?" said she. "We'll do the best we can," he replied. "Good—that's right—the best you can, forme and for each other. Remember that, always and always—but here, you two have newly married people, you have hardly eaten anything— another piece of pie."

(The End)