The Home at Greylock. E. Prentiss
The carpenter was forthcoming, the plan shown him; he had little folks of his own, and entered into the fun of the thing, gleefully. Christmas Eve arrived, and the house was full. As lively greetings were exchanged, Margaret began to shrink into herself, and to wish she could hide in some cranny till all was over. Is this natural? Is this picture true to life? It is. Reality never tries to shine, to display its plumage or clap its wings. It is Unreality that comes strutting forward, crying, "Go to, and admire my gifts!"
The Christmas breakfast was a failure. In vain Mrs. Grey tried to persuade herself that her children had taken Margaret into their hearts, and loved her like a sister; in vain they reproached themselves for not being able to do it; in vain Margaret tried to appear at her ease with all those eyes upon her; a cold silence fell upon every sally made by some bold adventurer, and all were thankful when the meal was over.
"And now," said Mrs. Grey, "you older boys must come immediately to help Margaret through with her Christmas surprise, whatever it may be: for what it is I know no more than the rest of you."
Two or three stout fellows volunteered, and were led off by Margaret, who unfolded her plan to them, and was at once placed on a pedestal as an object of admiration.
"It's just capital!" they all agreed, and in a few minutes the ice between them melted, and they were laughing, working, joking together, like fellows well-met. The entertainment was to come directly after the children's dinner, as many of them were too young to bear excitement at night, and while Margaret and her allies were pushing on their preparations, the mother and her children sat together in one of those family councils in which the more there are the merrier. One does not often see so many happy faces together, for while no one forgot how Maud used to enjoy those festivities, they would not allow themselves to spoil the day by sad retrospections. After a time most of the party went to church; then came the bountiful lunch Mrs. Grey was so fond of getting up, and the children's dinner, followed by the expectant procession headed by Margaret silent and shy. Instantly a great hue and cry arose, as they came into view of a real house at the end of the large parlors, rooms rarely used now, from whose tall red chimney Santa Claus was emerging, with his arms full of snow-balls, with which he began pelting the crowd with might and main.
Margaret's house appeared to be covered with snow, as was the ground on which it stood; and she had contrived to produce the effect of moonlight, the illusion being perfect. Some of the very little children fell back in affright at the weird scene, the strange figure of Santa Claus and the shower of snow-balls. But that was all set right when they found that the balls were made of cotton, not snow, and each contained a gift. Such a scrambling as followed this disclosure!
Little Sam Grey was knocked off his legs, and lay prostrate on his back, holding a large snow-ball in each hand, and a well-aimed blow at delicate, blue-eyed Mabel Heath, sent her spinning over the fleecy floor, to her great amazement, and that of the "baby" she held in her arms.
The whole scene was as picturesque as possible; and Margaret was in her element now, and forgot to be either proud or shy, as she moved about among the children, enjoying their enjoyment. She did not know she was fond of girls and boys and babies, for she had never come in contact with them, though she had heard plenty of screaming and quarreling among those who lived in the house with her in times past. But here were sweet, well-bred, daintily-dressed little mortals, the very ideal of babyhood and childhood; and with the quick instinct of their age they speedily elected her as the beloved of their hearts. And as the road to a mother's heart lies through that of her children, before the day closed Margaret had won, without trying to do it, the admiration and the love of the six young mothers whose coming she had so dreaded. They, too, were relieved. They had not known exactly how they were to take this new inmate of the family, and had some misgivings, which they frankly confessed the next morning as they gathered around the library-fire to have a family confab. Margaret had established herself in what used to be the day-nursery, and which was still used as such when the grandchildren came home, and could have been seen with a baby on her lap, a little darling, blue-eyed Mabel standing behind her on the chair she occupied, with her arms around her neck, and two or three others clustered at her knee.
"Well, girls," said Mrs. Grey, "what do you think of my Margaret?"
"Oh, mamma!" cried Belle Heath, "it is such a relief to find her what she is! Cyril and I were afraid some designing creature had taken you in. You know you are so easily taken in."
"I know no such thing," said Mrs. Grey, greatly amused. "I know of no one so hard to impose on as I am."
"'O wad some power the giftie gie us,'" quoted Frank Grey, who had just entered the room, after a late breakfast, and was bending his six-feet frame to kiss his mother.
"I wish it wad," said his sister Laura, "for then you would be up in season for breakfast. It isn't nice to come down after everything has grown as cold as a stone. Does Lily let you do so at home?"
"Lily set me the example," he said, laughing. "Besides, mamma grows indulgent in her declining years."
"Perhaps I am a little indulgent," said Mrs. Grey. "Parents who are severe with their children when they are young, are apt to relax as they grow older."
A shout of laughter followed this remark. Mrs. Grey looked around, surprised.
"Now, what have I said that should make you so merry?" she asked, innocently.
"That little word 'severe' lies at the bottom of the joke," said Frank. "The idea of our beautiful lady-mother insinuating that she was ever hard upon her offspring!"
"At all events, if I could live my life over again, I would deal very differently with my children from what I did—especially with you two older ones."
"O, we were more depraved than those that came after," said Belle. "And if you hadn't taken us in hand, in a summary way, I do not know what would have become of us. Papa never would do anything but spoil us, he was so indulgent."
"It's not a man's business to manage his children," said Cyril Heath. "It's the mother's."
"I don't agree with you," said Frank Grey. "It's the man's."
"Of course it is," said his wife.
"Well, why?" pursued Cyril.
"He is supposed to have more weight of character than she."
"And suppose he hasn't?"
"I can't suppose any such thing. Men are born to rule, and do rule; women are born to yield, and do yield."
"They are born to rule in their own sphere, it is true," interposed Mrs. Grey, who, as the reader ought to know, had written a book on the subject of education. "But home is not their sphere. It is woman's kingdom, and there she should reign."
"But I always took the ground that a modest woman would doubt her own judgment in regard to the children, and defer to the father," objected Frank's wife. She was a little, delicate creature, who admired her husband above all things, though she could pretend to be ashamed of him now and then.
"A man ought to be master in his own house," said one.
"That applies to the kitchen as well as to the nursery," said another. "A woman who makes her husband manage the children will make him manage the servants."
"Well, some do."
"The more shame to them."
"It's rather hard upon a man when he comes home at night, hoping for a smile from his wife, and a romp with his boys, to see an anxious wrinkle on her brow, and hear her say:
"'O, John, I am so thankful you have come! There's Tom won't take his powders, and I can do nothing with him! And Sue has stolen and eaten four slices of cake. Four slices! Just think of it! And Hatty struck her nurse twice, and nurse says she'll leave.'"
Everybody laughed, and everybody had something to say.
"Why, of course such a woman as that has no force of character," said Cyril Heath. "Really sensible women do