The Wooing of Calvin Parks

"It's not far," said the child. "And she wants to see you terrible bad. Her goods ain't come that she ordered, and the tree's all up, and the boys and girls all comin' to-morrow, and no candy. And I told her about you, and how you mostly came along this road Wednesdays, and she said run and catch you if I could, and I run!"

"I should say you did!" said Calvin. "Now you hop right in here with me, little gal! Hopsy upsy – there she comes! Let me tuck you in good – so! now you tell me which way to go, and hossy and me'll git there. That's a fair division, ain't it?"

Still panting, the child pointed down a narrow cross-road, on which at some distance stood a solitary house.

"That the house?" asked Calvin. Mittie May nodded.

"I hope Miss Fidely ain't large for her size," said Calvin; "she might fit rayther snug if she was."

It was a tiny house, gray and weather-beaten; but the windows were trim with white curtains and gay with flowers; on the stone wall a row of milk-pans flashed back the afternoon sun; the whole air of the place was cheerful and friendly.

"I expect Miss Fidely's all right!" said Calvin with emphasis. "Smart woman, to judge by the looks of her pans, and there's nothing better to go by as I know of. Them's as bright as Miss Hands's, and more than that I can't say. Now you hop out, Mittie May, and ask her will she step out and see the goods, or shall I bring in any special line?"

The child stared. "She can't come out!" she said. "Miss Fidely can't walk."

"Can't walk!" repeated Calvin.

"No! and the path ain't shovelled wide enough for her to come out. Come in and see her, please!"

His eyes very round, Calvin followed the child up the narrow path and in at the low door. Then he stopped short.

The door opened directly into a long, low room, the whole width of the house. The whitewashed walls were like snow, the bare floor was painted bright yellow, with little islands of rag carpet here and there. There were a few quaint old rush-bottomed chairs, and in one corner what looked like a child's trundle-bed, gay with a splendid sunflower quilt. These things Calvin saw afterwards; the first glance showed him only the Tree and its owner. It was a low, spreading tree, filling one end of the room completely. Strings of pop-corn festooned the branches, and flakes of cotton-wool snow were cunningly disposed here and there. Bright apples peeped from amid the green, and from every tip hung a splendid star of tinsel or tin foil. No "boughten stuff" these; all through the year Miss Fidely patiently begged from her neighbors: from the women the tinsel on their button-cards, from the men the "silver" that wrapped their tobacco. Carefully pressed under the big Bible, they waited till Christmas, to become the glory of the Tree. The presents might not have impressed a city child much, for every one was made by Miss Fidely herself; the aprons, the mittens, the cotton-flannel rabbits and bottle-dolls for the tiny ones, the lace-trimmed sachets and bows for the older girls. Mittie May, all forgetful of marble palaces, stole one glance of delighted awe, and then remembered her manners.

"Here's the Candy Man, Miss Fidely!" she said.

Miss Fidely turned quickly; she had been tying an apple to one of the lower branches with scarlet worsted.

"Pleased to meet you!" she said. "Do take a seat, won't you? I can't rise, myself, so you must excuse me!"

Miss Fidely sat in a thing like a child's go-cart on four wheels. Her little withered feet clad in soft leather moccasins peeped out from under her scant brown calico skirt. They could never have supported the strong square body and powerful head, Calvin thought; she must have spent her life in that cart; and at the thought a mist came over his brown eyes. But he took the hard brown hand that was held out to him, and shook it cordially.

"I am real pleased to make your acquaintance!" he said. "Nice weather we're havin'; a mite cold, but 'tis more seasonable that way, to my thinkin'."

"I was so afraid Mittie May wouldn't catch you!" Miss Fidely went on. "I s'pose she's told you my misfortune, sir. I order my candy from a firm in Tupham Centre; and I had a letter this mornin' statin' that they had burned up and lost all their stock, and couldn't fill any orders. 'Twas too late to order elsewhere, and I couldn't make enough for all hands – thirty children I expect to-morrow, and some of 'em comin' from nine or ten miles away – and what to do I didn't know; when all of a sudden Mittie May thought of you. She lives on the next ro'd, not fur from here, Mittie doos, and she helps me get the tree ready; don't you, Mittie May? I don't know what I should do without her, I'm sure."

She smiled at Mittie May, who glowed with pride and pleasure. Calvin thought he had seen only one smile brighter than Miss Fidely's.

"It did seem real providential," she went on, "if only she could catch you, and I'm more than pleased she did. Here's my bags all ready," she pointed to a neat pile that lay on a table beside her; "and if you've got the goods to fill 'em, I guess we sha'n't need to do much bargainin'. I've got the money ready too."

"I guess that's all right!" said Calvin, rising. "I'll bring my stock right in, what's left of it, and you can take your pick. I've sold the heft of it, but yet there's a plenty still to fill them bags twice't over."

"Mittie May, it's time for you to go," said Miss Fidely. "Your Ma'll be lookin' for you to help get supper. Mebbe you can run over to-night to hang the bags, or first thing in the morning."

"I'll hang the bags!" said Calvin Parks.

"Oh!" said Miss Fidely. "You're real kind, but that's too much to ask, isn't it?"

"I guess not!" said Calvin. "I guess I'd rather trim a Christmas Tree than eat my supper any day in the week. You run along, Mittie May; I'll tend to this."

The rose and violet were deepening over the snow-fields, and stars were piercing the golden veil of sunset. Calvin filled the brown horse's nose-bag and hung it over his head, and covered him carefully with the buffalo robe.

"You rest easy a spell, hossy!" he said. "This is trade, you know. Christmas Eve, you can't expect to get to bed real early."

Hossy shook himself, whinnied "All right!" and addressed himself to his supper. Calvin pulled out one drawer after another, studying their contents with frowning anxiety. "She's goin' to have the best there is!" he said. "There's a look in that lady's eyes that puts me in mind of Miss Hands; and take that with her bein' afflicted and all – I guess we'll give her a good set-off, hossy. I guess – that – is – what we'll do!"

While he spoke, he was piling box upon box, jar upon jar, holding the pile firm with his chin. Entering the house again, he deposited them carefully on the table, and proceeded to spread them out.

"There!" he said. "I guess you'll find what you want here. All the candies, stick, drop and fancy; tutti-frutti and pepsin chewing-gum, chocolate creams and marshmallow goods. You didn't say what amount you was calc'latin' to lay out – ?"

Miss Fidely looked round her carefully. "I didn't care to say before the little gal!" she said. "My neighbors is real careful of me, and they grudge my spendin' so much money. I tell 'em it's my circus and fair and sociable and spring bunnet all in one. There! I calc'late to spend five dollars, and I've got it to spend. I'm a stranger to you, sir, and mebbe you'd like to see it before we go any further."

"I guess not!" said Calvin Parks. "I guess I know a straight stick when I see one – " his eyes fell on the twisted outlines covered by the brown calico skirt, and he finished his sentence in silence. "Your one comfort," he said, "is that it ain't likely the Lord made another fool like you when he see the way you'd act."

"That's a handsome sum of money," he added aloud. "You'll get a handsome set-out for it."

"I've got no one belongin' to me," said the lame woman simply; "and I'm far from church privileges. I never touch my burial money, but I do feel that I have a right to this. Well! you have got elegant goods, I must say. Now we'll get down to business, if agreeable to you."

It was most agreeable to Calvin Parks, and he made it so to Miss Fidely. She must taste every variety of sugar-plum, so that she could know what she was giving.

"That's trade!" he said, when she remonstrated. "That's straight trade; no samples, no buyers! You try this lemon taffy! I do regard it as extry. These goods is all pure sugar, every mite; I know the man as made 'em, and helped some in the makin'. Some of the pineapple sticks? That's a lovely candy to my mind. I helped make these only yesterday morning. You try a morsel; here's a broken stick!"

"Why, I never had no such candy as this before!" cried Miss Fidely, crunching the white and scarlet stick. "Why, 'tis as different from the goods I've bought before as new-laid eggs is from store. I guess you'll have a steady customer from now on, as many Christmases as I have to live."

"That so?" said Calvin. "Well, I aim to give satisfaction, and so does the man who makes for me. All pure sugar; no glucose, terry alby, nor none of them things, destroyin' folks's stomachs. Nothin' else than poison, some of the stuff you'll find in the market is; but good sugar and good flavorin' is wholesome, I claim, taken moderate, you know, and the system craves it, or so appears to do. Say we commence to fill the bags now, what? And so you toll in the neighborin' children and give 'em a Christmas Tree! Now that's a pleasant thing to do; I don't know as ever I heard of a pleasanter."

Miss Fidely glowed again, and again she looked like Mary Sands. "I've been doin' it for ten years now," she said, "and shall, I expect, as long as the Lord thinks I'm best off here. You see, not havin' the use of my limbs, I can't go much; and I do love children, and they've got the habit of runnin' in here for a cooky or a story or like that. This ain't a wealthy neighborhood; the soil's rather poor; folks has moved away; I scarcely know how it is, but yet 'tis so. And, too, they haven't had the habit of makin' of Christmas same as they do in most places. Some ten year ago I spent a winter in the city. There was a man thought he could cure me of my lameness, or made me think so; and though I was old enough to know better, I give in, and went and let him try. Well, I didn't get any help that way, but I got an amazin' deal other ways. There was a Tree to the hospital where I was, and they carried me in to see it; and I said that minute of time, 'There shan't any child round our way go without a Tree after this, as long as I live!' I says. I count it a great mercy that I've been able to keep that promise. I begin Near Year's day to make my presents – doin' it evenin's and odd times, you know, and 'tis my child's play all the year through till Christmas comes again. They ask me sometimes if I ain't lonesome; any one can't be lonesome, I tell 'em, while they're makin' Christmas presents."

"You don't live all sole alone?" asked Calvin Parks.

"Certin I do! I've no kin of my own, and them as wished to marry me warn't more than what I had time to say no to," she laughed gleefully; "and I wouldn't be bothered with no stranger messin' round. I'm used to myself, you see, but I don't know as any person else could get along with me real well, come to stay right along. I expect I'm as caniptious as an old hen. The neighbors is real good; any one couldn't ask for better help than they be when I need help, but 'tis seldom I do. I'm strong and well, and everything is handy by, as you may say. Only when it comes Christmas, I can't fetch in the tree nor yet mount up to trim the upper branches, and then I have to call on some one. My! ain't you smart? you've got all them bags hung while I've been talkin'. They do look pretty, don't they?"

"They look handsome!" Calvin assented warmly, "they certainly do. But if you'll excuse me takin' a liberty, I think there's just one extry touch this tree needs, and with your permission I'm goin' to put it on. Excuse me a half a minute!"

He ran out, and soon returned beaming with pleasure and good will, his hands full of small tissue paper parcels.

"I had these all wrapped up separate," he said, "'cause they're fraygile. How many children did you say there was? Thirty? Well, if that ain't a nice fit! Here's three dozen left; and not one of them is goin' any further to-night."

He unwrapped the parcels, and displayed to Miss Fidely's wondering eyes dogs, lions, camels, rabbits, all sparkling in barley sugar, all glittering in the sunset light. The lame woman clasped her hands, and her eyes shone.

"Oh!" she cried. "I see the like of them in the hospital; I never see them before or since. I can't believe it's true. Oh! I do believe the Lord sent you, sir!"

"I believe so too!" said Calvin Parks.

Suddenly Miss Fidely's face changed.

"My goodness!" she cried. "I never thought, and I know you never either. I can't take them, sir! I've spent all my money, and more too, I expect, for I know well you give me extry measure in some of them candies. But I'm just as pleased at you takin' the pains to bring 'em in, and the children haven't seen 'em, so there's no harm."

"Now what a way that is to talk!" said Calvin, "for a lady as sensible as you be. Didn't I know you had laid out your money, and a good sum, too? Did you think you was the only person that liked to do a little something for the children Christmas time? Now ain't that a sight! Them's my present to Mittie May and her friends, that's all. Now see me hang 'em on!"