Across the Years | Page 2

"I won't--'pon honor!"
"But it's so silly," faltered Lydia Ann, her cheeks a deeper pink. "Me--
an old woman!"
"Of course," agreed Samuel promptly. "It's bound ter be silly, ye know,
if we want anythin' but slippers an' neckerchiefs," he added with a
chuckle. "Come--out with it, Lyddy Ann."
"It's--it's a tree."
"Dampers and doughnuts!" ejaculated Samuel, his jaw dropping. "A
tree!"
"There, I knew you'd laugh," quavered Lydia Ann, catching up her
knitting.
"Laugh? Not a bit of it!" averred Samuel stoutly. "I--I want a tree
myself!"
"Ye see, it's just this," apologized Lydia Ann feverishly. "They give us
things, of course, but they never make anythin' of doin' it, not even ter
tyin' 'em up with a piece of red ribbon. They just slip into our bedroom
an' leave 'em all done up in brown paper an' we find 'em after they're
gone. They mean it all kind, but I'm so tired of gray worsted and
sensible things. Of course I can't have a tree, an' I don't suppose I really
want it; but I'd like somethin' all pretty an' sparkly an'--an' silly, you
know. An' there's another thing I want--ice cream. An' I want to make
myself sick eatin' it, too,--if I want to; an' I want little pink-an'-white
sugar pep'mints hung in bags. Samuel, can't you see how pretty a bag o'
pink pep'mints 'd be on that green tree? An'--dearie me!" broke off the
little old woman breathlessly, falling back in her chair. "How I'm
runnin' on! I reckon I am in my dotage."
For a moment Samuel did not reply. His brow was puckered into a
prodigious frown, and his right hand had sought the back of his
head--as was always the case when in deep thought. Suddenly his face
cleared.
"Ye ain't in yer dotage--by gum, ye ain't!" he cried excitedly. "An' I
ain't, neither. An' what's more, you're a-goin' ter have that tree--ice

cream, pink pep'mints, an' all!"
"Oh, my grief an' conscience--Samuel!" quavered Lydia Ann.
"Well, ye be. We can do it easy, too. We'll have it the night 'fore
Christmas. The children don't get here until Christmas day, ever, ye
know, so 't won't interfere a mite with their visit, an' 'twill be all over
'fore they get here. An' we'll make a party of it, too," went on Samuel
gleefully. "There's the Hopkinses an' old Mis' Newcomb, an' Uncle Tim,
an' Grandpa Gowin'--they'll all come an' be glad to."
"Samuel, could we?" cried Lydia Ann, incredulous but joyous. "Could
we, really?"
"I'll get the tree myself," murmured Samuel, aloud, "an' we can buy
some o' that shiny stuff up ter the store ter trim it."
"An' I'll get some of that pink-an'-white tarl'tan for bags," chimed in
Lydia Ann happily: "the pink for the white pep'mints, an' the white for
the pink. Samuel, won't it be fun?" And to hear her one would have
thought her seventeen instead of seventy-three.
* * * * *
A week before Christmas Samuel Bertram's only daughter, Ella, wrote
this letter to each of her brothers:
It has occurred to me that it might be an excellent idea if we would plan
to spend a little more time this year with Father and Mother when we
go for our usual Christmas visit; and what kind of a scheme do you
think it would be for us to take the children, and make a real family
reunion of it?
I figure that we could all get there by four o'clock the day before
Christmas, if we planned for it; and by staying perhaps two days after
Christmas we could make quite a visit. What do you say? You see
Father and Mother are getting old, and we can't have them with us
many more years, anyway; and I'm sure this would please them--only
we must be very careful not to make it too exciting for them.
The letters were dispatched with haste, and almost by return mail came
the answers; an emphatic approval, and a promise of hearty cooperation
signed "Frank" and "Ned." What is every one's business is apt to be no
one's business, however, and no one notified Mr. and Mrs. Samuel
Bertram of the change of plan, each thinking that one of the others
would attend to it.
"As for presents," mused Ella, as she hurried downtown two days

before Christmas, "I never can think what to give them; but, after all,
there's nothing better than bed-slippers for Mother, and a warm
neckerchief for Father's throat. Those are always good."
The day before Christmas dawned clear and cold. It had been expected
that Ella, her husband, and her twin boys would arrive at the little
village station a full hour before the train from the north bringing Ned,
Mrs. Ned, and little Mabel,