When the Yule Log Burns | Page 3

up
with a flourish before the lonely little house among the forest pines, his
earlier depression had vanished.
So with a prodigious stamping of snow from his feet and a cheerful
wave of his mittened hand to the boy by the window, the Doctor
bustled cheerily indoors and with kindly eyes averted from the single
tell-tale sauce-pan upon the fire, over which Madge Hildreth had bent
with sudden color, fell to bustling about with a queer lump in his throat
and talking ambiguously of Aunt Ellen's Christmas orders, painfully
conscious that the girl's dark face had grown pitifully white and tense
and that Roger's wan little face was glowing. And when the fire was
damped by the Doctor himself, and his Christmas guests hustled into
dazed, protesting readiness, the Doctor deftly muffled the thin little
fellow in blankets and gently carried him out to the waiting sleigh with
arms that were splendid and sturdy and wonderfully reassuring.
"There, there, little man!" he said cheerfully, "we've not hurt the poor
lame leg once, I reckon. And now we'll just help Sister Madge blow out
the lamp and lock the door and be off to Aunt Ellen!"
But, strangely enough, the Doctor halted abruptly in the doorway and
turned his kindly eyes away to the shadowy pines. And Sister Madge,
on her knees by Roger's bed, sobbing and praying in an agony of relief,
presently blew out the lamp herself and wiped her eyes. For nights
among the whispering pines are sleepless and long when work is scarce
and Christmas hovers with cold, forbidding eyes over the restless couch
of a dear and crippled brother.

II
Wishing Sparks
Round the Doctor's house frolicked the brisk, cold wind of a Christmas
eve, boisterously rattling the luminous checkerboard windows and the
Christmas wreaths, tormenting the cheerful flame in the old iron lantern
and whisking away the snow from the shivering elms, whistling eerily
down the Doctor's chimney to startle a strange little cripple by the
Doctor's fire, who, queerly enough, would not be startled.
For to Roger there had never been a wind so Christmasy, or a fire so
bright and warm, and his solemn black eyes glowed! Never a wealth of
holly and barberry and alder-berries so crimson as that which rimmed
the snug old house in Christmas flame! Never such evergreen wreaths,
for, tucked up here in this very chair by Aunt Ellen, he had made them
all himself of boughs from the evergreen forest! And never surely such
enticing odors as had floated out for the last two days from old Annie's
pots and pans as she baked and roasted and boiled and stewed in
endless preparation for Christmas day and the Christmas eve party,
scolding away betimes in indignant whispers at old Asher, who, by
reason of a chuckling air of mystery, was in perpetual disgrace.
Wonderful days indeed for Roger, with Sister Madge's smooth, pale
cheeks catching the flaring scarlet of the holly, and Sister Madge's slim
and willing fingers so busy hanging boughs that she had forgotten to
sigh; with motherly Aunt Ellen so warmly intent upon Roger's comfort
and plans for the masquerade that many a mysterious and significant
occurrence slipped safely by her kindly eyes; and with the excited
Doctor's busy sleigh jingling so hysterically about on secret errands and
his kindly face so full of boyish mystery that Roger, with the key to all
this Christmas intrigue locked safely in his heart, had whispered a shy
little warning in the culprit's attentive ear.
And presently--Roger caught his breath and furtively eyed the
grandfather's clock, ticking boastfully through a welter of
holly--presently it would be time for the Doctor's masquerade, and later,
when the clock struck twelve and the guests unmasked, that great

surprise which the doctor had planned so carefully by telegram!
But now from the kitchen came the sound of the Doctor singing:
"Come bring with a noise, My merry, merry boys, The Christmas log to
the firing!"
Roger clapped his thin little hands with a cry of delight, for old Asher
and the Doctor were bringing in the Yule-log to light it presently with
the charred remains of the Christmas log of a year ago. To-morrow
another Yule-log would crackle and blaze and shower on the hearth, for
the old Doctor molded a custom to suit his fancy. And here was Annie
splendidly aproned in white, following them in, and Aunt Ellen in a
wonderful old brown-gold brocade disinterred for the doctor's party
from a lavender-sweet cedar chest in the garret. And Sister
Madge!--Roger stared--radiant in old-fashioned crimson satin and holly,
colorful foils indeed for her night-black hair and eyes! As for the doctor
himself, Roger now began to realize that with his powdered wig, his
satin breeches and gaily-flowered waistcoat--to say nothing of silken