Under the Lilacs (33 page)

Miss Celia had been gone a fortnight, and everyone was longing to have her back. The first week brought Ben a
newspaper, with a crinkly line drawn round the marriages to attract attention to that spot, and one was marked by a black
frame with a large hand pointing at it from the margin. Thorny sent that; but the next week came a parcel for Mrs. Moss, and
in it was discovered a box of wedding cake for every member of the family, including Sancho, who ate his at one gulp, and
chewed up the lace paper which covered it. This was the third week; and, as if there could not be happiness enough crowded
into it for Ben, the letter he read on his way home told him that his dear mistress was coming back on the following Saturday.
One passage particularly pleased him —

“I want the great gate opened, so that the new master may go in that way. Will you see that it is done, and all made neat
afterward? Randa will give you the key, and you may have out all your flags if you like, for the old place cannot look too
gay for this homecoming.”

Sunday though it was, Ben could not help waving the letter over his head as he ran in to tell Mrs. Moss the glad news, and
begin at once to plan the welcome they would give Miss Celia, for he never called her anything else.

During their afternoon stroll in the mellow sunshine, Ben continued to talk of her, never tired of telling about his happy
summer under her roof. And Mr. Brown was never weary of hearing, for every hour showed him more plainly what a lovely miracle
her gentle words had wrought, and every hour increased his gratitude, his desire to return the kindness in some humble way.
He had his wish, and did his part handsomely when he least expected to have a chance.

On Monday he saw Mr. Towne, and, thanks to the Squire’s good word, was engaged for a month on trial, making himself so useful
that it was soon evident he was the right man in the right place. He lived on the hill, but managed
to get down to the little brown house in the evening for a word with Ben, who just now was as full of business as if the President
and his Cabinet were coming.

Everything was put in apple-pie order in and about the old house; the great gate, with much creaking of rusty hinges and some
clearing away of rubbish, was set wide open, and the first creature who entered it was Sancho, solemnly dragging the dead
mullein which long ago had grown above the keyhole. October frosts seemed to have spared some of the brightest leaves for
this especial occasion; and on Saturday the arched gateway was hung with gay wreaths, red and yellow sprays strewed the flags,
and the porch was a blaze of color with the red woodbine, that was in its glory when the honeysuckle was leafless.

Fortunately it was a half-holiday, so the children could trim and chatter to their heart’s content, and the little girls ran
about sticking funny decorations where no one would ever think of looking for them. Ben was absorbed in his flags, which were
sprinkled all down the avenue with a lavish display, suggesting several Fourth of Julys rolled into one. Mr. Brown had come
to lend a hand, and did so most energetically, for the breakneck things he did with his son during the decoration fever would
have terrified Mrs. Moss out of her wits, if she had not been in the house giving last touches to every room, while Randa
and Katy set forth a sumptuous tea.

All was going well, and the train would be due in an hour, when luckless Bab nearly turned the rejoicing into mourning, the
feast into ashes. She heard her mother say to Randa, “There ought to be a fire in every room, it looks so cheerful, and the
air is chilly spite of the sunshine”; and, never waiting to hear the reply that some of the long-unused chimneys were not
safe till cleaned, off went Bab
with an apron full of old shingles, and made a roaring blaze in the front room fireplace, which was of all others the one
to be let alone, as the flue was out of order. Charmed with the brilliant light and the crackle of the tindery fuel, Miss
Bab refilled her apron, and fed the fire till the chimney began to rumble ominously, sparks to fly out at the top, and soot
and swallows’ nests to come tumbling down upon the hearth. Then, scared at what she had done, the little mischief-maker hastily
buried her fire, swept up the rubbish, and ran off, thinking no one would discover her prank if she never told.

Everybody was very busy, and the big chimney blazed and rumbled unnoticed till the cloud of smoke caught Ben’s eye as he festooned
his last effort in the flag line, part of an old sheet with the words “Father has come!” in red cambric letters half a foot
long sewed upon it.

“Hullo! I do believe they’ve got up a bonfire without asking my leave. Miss Celia never would let us, because the sheds and
roofs are so old and dry; I must see about it. Catch me, Daddy, I’m coming down!” cried Ben, dropping out of the elm with
no more thought of where he might light than a squirrel swinging from bough to bough.

His father caught him, and followed in haste as his nimble-footed son raced up the avenue, to stop in the gateway, frightened
at the prospect before him, for falling sparks had already kindled the roof here and there, and the chimney smoked and roared
like a small volcano, while Katy’s wails and Randa’s cries for water came from within.

“Up there with wet blankets, while I get out the hose!” cried Mr. Brown, as he saw at a glance what the danger was.

Ben vanished; and, before his father got the garden hose rigged, he was on the roof with a dripping blanket over the
worst spot. Mrs. Moss had her wits about her in a minute, and ran to put in the fire board, and stop the draft. Then, stationing
Randa to watch that the falling cinders did no harm inside, she hurried off to help Mr. Brown, who might not know where things
were. But he had roughed it so long that he was the man for emergencies, and seemed to lay his hand on whatever was needed,
by a sort of instinct. Finding that the hose was too short to reach the upper part of the roof, he was on the roof in a jiffy
with two pails of water, and quenched the most dangerous spots before much harm was done. This he kept up till the chimney
burned itself out, while Ben dodged about among the gables with a watering pot, lest some stray sparks should be overlooked
and break out afresh.

While they worked there, Betty ran to and fro with a dipper of water, trying to help; and Sancho barked violently, as if he
objected to this sort of illumination. But where was Bab, who reveled in flurries? No one missed her till the fire was out,
and the tired, sooty people met to talk over the danger just escaped.

“Poor Miss Celia wouldn’t have had a roof over her head, if it hadn’t been for you, Mr. Brown,” said Mrs. Moss, sinking into
a kitchen chair, pale with the excitement.

“It would have burnt lively, but I guess it’s all right now. Keep an eye on the roof, Ben, and I’ll step up garret and see
if all’s safe there. Didn’t you know that chimney was foul, ma’am?” asked the man, as he wiped the perspiration off his grimy
face.

“Randa said it was, and I’m surprised she made a fire there,” began Mrs. Moss, looking at the maid, who just then came in
with a pan full of soot.

“Bless you, ma’am, I never thought of such a thing, nor Katy neither. That naughty Bab must have done it, and so
don’t dar’st to show herself,” answered the irate Randa, whose nice room was in a mess.

“Where is the child?” asked her mother; and a hunt was immediately instituted by Betty and Sancho, while the elders cleared
up.

Anxious Betty searched high and low, called and cried, but all in vain; and was about to sit down in despair, when Sancho
made a bolt into his new kennel and brought out a shoe with a foot in it while a doleful squeal came from the straw within.

“Oh, Bab, how could you do it? Ma was frightened dreadfully,” said Betty, gently tugging at the striped leg, as Sancho poked
his head in for another shoe.

“Is it
all
burnt up?” demanded a smothered voice from the recesses of the kennel.

“Only pieces of the roof. Ben and his father put it out, and
I
helped,” answered Betty, cheering up a little as she recalled her noble exertions.

“What do they do to folks who set houses afire?” asked the voice again.

“I don’t know; but you needn’t be afraid, there isn’t much harm done, I guess, and Miss Celia will forgive you, she’s so good.”

“Thorny won’t; he calls me a ‘botheration,’ and I guess I am,” mourned the unseen culprit, with sincere contrition.

“I’ll ask him; he is always good to me. They will be here pretty soon, so you’d better come out and be made tidy,” suggested
the comforter.

“I never can come out, for everyone will hate me,” sobbed Bab among the straw, as she pulled in her foot, as if retiring forever
from an outraged world.

“Ma won’t, she’s too busy cleaning up; so it’s a good time to come. Let’s run home, wash our hands, and be all
nice when they see us. I’ll love you, no matter what anybody else does,” said Betty, consoling the poor little sinner, and
proposing the sort of repentance most likely to find favor in the eyes of the agitated elders.

“P’raps I’d better go home, for Sanch will want his bed,” and Bab gladly availed herself of that excuse to back out of her
refuge, a very crumpled, dusty young lady, with a dejected face and much straw sticking in her hair.

Betty led her sadly away, for she still protested that she never should dare to meet the offended public again; but in fifteen
minutes both appeared in fine order and good spirits, and naughty Bab escaped a lecture for the time being, as the train would
soon be due.

At the first sound of the car whistle everyone turned good-natured as if by magic, and flew to the gate smiling as if all
mishaps were forgiven and forgotten. Mrs. Moss, however, slipped quietly away, and was the first to greet Mrs. Celia as the
carriage stopped at the entrance of the avenue, so that the luggage might go in by way of the Lodge.

“We will walk up and you shall tell us the news as we go, for I see you have some,” said the young lady, in her friendly manner,
when Mrs. Moss had given her welcome and paid her respects to the gentleman who shook hands in a way that convinced her he
was indeed what Thorny called him, “regularly jolly,” though he was a minister.

That being exactly what she came for, the good woman told her tidings as rapidly as possible, and the newcomers were so glad
to hear of Ben’s happiness they made very light of Bab’s bonfire, though it had nearly burnt their house down.

“We won’t say a word about it, for everyone must be happy today,” said Mr. George, so kindly that Mrs. Moss felt a load taken
off her heart at once.

“Bab was always teasing me for fireworks, but I guess she has had enough for the present,” laughed Thorny, who was gallantly
escorting Bab’s mother up the avenue.

“Everyone is so kind! Teacher was out with the children to cheer us as we passed, and here you all are making things pretty
for me,” said Mrs. Celia, smiling with tears in her eyes, as they drew near the great gate, which certainly did present an
animated if not an imposing appearance.

Randa and Katy stood on one side, all in their best, bobbing delighted curtsies; Mr. Brown, half hidden behind the gate on
the other side, was keeping Sancho erect, so that he might present arms promptly when the bride appeared. As flowers were
scarce, on either post stood a rosy little girl clapping her hands, while out from the thicket of red and yellow boughs, which
made a grand bouquet in the lantern frame, came Ben’s head and shoulders, as he waved his grandest flag with its gold paper
“Welcome Home!” on a blue ground.

“Isn’t it beautiful!” cried Mrs. Celia, throwing kisses to the children, shaking hands with her maids, and glancing brightly
at the stranger who was keeping Sanch quiet.

“Most people adorn their gateposts with stone balls, vases, or griffins; your living images are a great improvement, love,
especially the happy boy in the middle,” said Mr. George, eying Ben with interest, as he nearly tumbled overboard, top-heavy
with his banner.

“You must finish what I have only begun,” answered Celia, adding gaily as Sancho broke loose and came to offer both his paw
and his congratulations, “Sanch, introduce your master, that I may thank him for coming back in time to save my old house.”

“If I’d saved a dozen it wouldn’t have half paid for all you’ve done for my boy, ma’am,” answered Mr. Brown,
bursting out from behind the gate quite red with gratitude and pleasure.

“I loved to do it, so please remember that this is still his home till you make one for him. Thank God, he is no longer fatherless!”
and her sweet face said even more than her words as the white hand cordially shook the brown one with a burn across the back.

“Come on, sister. I see the tea table all ready, and I’m awfully hungry,” interrupted Thorny, who had not a ray of sentiment
about him, though very glad Ben had got his father back again.

“Come over, by and by, little friends, and let me thank you for your pretty welcome — it certainly is a warm one”; and Mrs.
Celia glanced merrily from the three bright faces above her to the old chimney, which still smoked sullenly.

“Oh, don’t!” cried Bab, hiding her face.

“She didn’t mean to,” added Betty, pleadingly.

“Three cheers for the bride!” roared Ben, dipping his flag, as leaning on her husband’s arm his dear mistress passed under
the gay arch, along the leaf-strewn walk, over the threshold of the house which was to be her happy home for many years.

The closed gate where the lonely little wanderer once lay was always to stand open now, and the path where children played
before was free to all comers, for a hospitable welcome henceforth awaited rich and poor, young and old, sad and gay, Under
the Lilacs.

by Lousia May Alcott