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Whang!

What was that?

“Tom, darling, take care of baby; do not let her get out of the cradle, while mamma goes to the door.” Downstairs to the door. The gale has doubled its rage. How ever did it get in behind the storm-door outside? That ” whang ” was the blow with which the door, wrenched off its hinges, was flung against the side of the wood-house. Nothing can be done but to bolt the storm-door to the other passage, and bolt the outer window shutters, and then go back to the children.

“Once there was a little boy, and he had two kittens, and he named one Minna, and one Brenda”–

“No, mamma, no! one Muff, and one”–

“Oh, yes! my darling! once there was a little boy, and he had two kittens, and he named one Buff, and one Muff. And one day he went to walk”–

Heavens! the lanterns! Who was to trim the lamps? Strange to say, because this was wholly out of her daily routine, the men always caring for it of course, Laura had not once thought of it till now. And now it was after one o’clock. But now she did think of it with a will. “Come, Tommy, come and help mamma.” And she bundled him up in his thickest storm rig. “Come up into the lantern.” Here the boy had never come before. He was never frightened when he was with her. Else he might well have been frightened. And he was amazed there in the whiteness; drifts of white snow on the lee-side and the weather-side; clouds of white snow on the south-west sides and north-east sides; snow; snow everywhere; nothing but whiteness wherever he looked round.

Laura made short shift of those wicks which had burned all through the night before. But she had them ready. She wound up the carcels for their night’s work. Again and again she drew her oil and filled up her reservoirs. And as she did so, an old text came on her, and she wondered whether Father Spaulding knew how good a text it would be for Christmas. And the fancy touched her, poor child, and as she led little Tom down into the nursery again, she could not help opening into the Bible Parson Spaulding gave her and reading:–

“‘But the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps. While the bridegroom tarried, they all slumbered and slept.’ Dear Tommy, dear Tommy, my own child, we will not sleep, will we? ‘While the bridegroom tarried,’ O my dear Father in Heaven, let him come. ‘And at midnight there was a cry made, Behold, the bridegroom cometh, go ye out to meet him;'” and she devoured little Tommy with kisses, and cried, “We will go, my darling, we will go, if he comes at the first hour,–or the second,–or the third! But now Tommy must come with mamma, and make ready for his coming.” For there were the other lamps to trim in the other tower, with that heavy reach of snow between. And she did not dare leave the active boy alone in the house. Little Matty could be caged in her crib, and, even if she woke, she would at best only cry. But Tom was irrepressible.

So they unbolted the lee-door, and worked out into the snow. Then poor Laura, with the child, crept round into the storm. Heavens! how it raged and howled! Where was her poor bridegroom now? She seized up Tom, and turned her back to the wind, and worked along, go,–step sideway, sideway, the only way she could by step,–did it ever seem so far before? Tommy was crying. “One minute more, dear boy. Tommy shall see the other lantern. And Tommy shall carry mamma’s great scissors up the stairs. Don’t cry, my darling, don’t cry.”

Here is the door;–just as she began to wonder if she were dreaming or crazy. Not so badly drifted in as she feared. At least she is under cover. “Up-a-day, my darling, up-a-day. One, two, what a many steps for Tommy! That’s my brave boy.” And they were on the lantern deck again, fairly rocking in the gale,–and Laura was chopping away on her stiff wicks, and pumping up her oil again, and filling the receivers, as if she had ever done it till this Christmas before. And she kept saying over to herself,–