The Seeker | Page 8

to do more than say "Oh, Clytie!" with
little impotent pointings toward the candy cane. But the action now in
order served to restore him to a state of working sanity. There was
washing and dressing after Clytie had the fire crackling; the forgetting
of some treasures to remember others; and the conveyance of them all
down stairs to the big sitting-room where the sun came in over the
geraniums in the bay-window, and where the Franklin heater made the
air tropic. The rocking-horse was led and pushed by both boys; but to
Clytie's responsible hand alone was intrusted the more than earthly
candy cane.
Downstairs there was the grandfather to greet--erect, fresh-shaven,
flashing kind eyes from under stern brows. He seemed to be awkwardly

pleased with their pleasure, yet scarce able to be one with them; as if
that inner white spirit of his fluttered more than its wont to be free, yet
found only tiny exits for its furtive flashes of light.
Breakfast was a chattering and explosive meal, a severe trial, indeed, to
the patience of the littler boy, who decided that he wished never to eat
breakfast again. During the ten days that he had been a member of the
household a certain formality observed at the beginning of each meal
had held him in abject fascination, so that he looked forward to it with
pleased terror. This was that, when they were all seated, there ensued a
pause of precisely two seconds--no more and no less--a pause that
became awful by reason of the fact that every one grew instantly
solemn and expectant--even apprehensive. His tingling nerves had
defined his spine for him before this pause ended, and then, when the
roots of his hair began to crinkle, his grandfather would suddenly bow
low over his plate and rumble in his head. It was very curious and
weirdly pleasurable, and it lasted one minute. When it ceased the
tension relaxed instantly, and every one was friendly and cordial and
safe again.
This morning the little boy was actually impatient during the rumble, so
eager was he to talk. And not until he had been assured by both his
grandfather and Clytie that Santa Claus meant everything he left to be
truly kept; that he came back for nothing--not even for a cane--_of any
kind_--that he might have left at a certain house by mistake--not until
then would he heave the sigh of immediate security and consent to eat
his egg and muffins, of which latter Clytie had to bring hot ones from
the kitchen because both boys had let the first plate go cold. For Clytie,
like Grandfather Delcher, was also one of the last of a race of American
giants--in her case a race preceding servants, that called itself "hired
girls"--who not only ate with the family, but joyed and sorrowed with it
and for long terms of years was a part of it in devotion, responsibility
and self-respect. She had, it is true, dreaded the coming of these
children, but from the moment that the two cold, subdued little figures
had looked in doubting amazement at the four kinds of preserves and
three kinds of cake set out for their first collation in the new home, she
had rejoiced unceasingly in a vicarious motherhood.

Within an hour after breakfast the morning's find had been examined,
appraised, and accorded perpetual rank by merit. Grandfather Delcher
made but one timid effort to influence decisions.
"Now, Bernal, which do you like best of all your presents?" he asked.
With a heart too full for words the littler boy had pointed promptly but
shyly at his candy cane. Not once, indeed, had he been able to say the
words "candy cane." It was a creation which mere words were
inadequate to name. It was a presence to be pointed at. He pointed
again firmly when the old man asked, "Are you quite certain, now, you
like it best of all?"--suggestively--"better than this fine book with this
beautiful picture of Joseph being sold away by his wicked brothers?"
The questioner had turned then to the older boy, who tactfully divined
that a different answer would have pleased the old man better.
"And what do you like best, Allan?"
"Oh, I like this fine and splendid book best of all!"--and he read from
the title-page, in the clear, confident tones of the pupil who knows that
the teacher's favour rests upon him--"'From Eden to Calvary; or
through the Bible in a year with our boys and girls; a book of pleasure
and profit for young persons on Sabbath Afternoon. By Grandpa Silas
Atterbury, the well-known author and writer for young people."
His glance toward his brother at the close was meant to betray the
consciousness of his own superiority to one