Holidays at the Grange or A Week's Delight Games and Stories for Parlor and Fireside

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CHAPTER I.

THE GATHERING.—CHRISTMAS EVE.—CONSEQUENCES.—HOW DO YOU LIKE IT?

Not many miles from Philadelphia, in a beautifully wooded and hilly country, may be seen a large rambling mansion, whose substantial walls show that it was built at a time when more attention was paid to the durability of dwellings than at present. It is, indeed, quite an ancient house for this part of the world, having been erected by a certain John Wyndham, a hundred years ago; and it has remained in the family ever since, the owner of it generally inheriting the name of John, a taste for rural life, and the old homestead together. It was constructed in good taste, and with great regard for comfort; the broad hall, the favorite resort in summer, was ornamented with family portraits of many ages back, and a complete suit of armor, visor and all, struck awe into the hearts of young visitors, who almost expected its former occupant to resume possession, with his gauntleted hand to draw the sword from its scabbard, and, seizing the flag over his head, to drive the modern usurpers from the house. Large antlers, bows and arrows, and rusty fowling-pieces against the wall, intimated that the descendants of the grim warrior had exercised their valor in the chase; while a guitar with blue ribbon, in the corner, told that gentler days had come, and spoke of peace, domestic joys, and woman's influence.

Many were the bright sunshiny chambers in that cheerful home; but I will describe one apartment only, the sitting-room, with which we are chiefly concerned. The furniture is quaint and massive; but it is the rich mellow light streaming through the room that principally attracts the eye. Is it the western sun, tinted by the colored glass of the bay-window, or is it the ruddy hickory fire? What a remarkable chimney-place! few such can be seen now-a-days; they had gone out of date a hundred years ago; but it was ancient John Wyndham's fancy, as far as possible, to possess a fac-simile of the family mansion in England, in which his childish days had been spent. What elaborate carving upon the huge mantel-piece!—hunters with their guns and dogs; shepherds and shepherdesses, with crooks and sheep; scriptural scenes and rural incidents, afford endless amusement to the groups gathered before the fire. Before, did I say? around, is the right expression; for so large is the chimney, that while crackling up-piled logs blaze upon the hearth, a number might be accommodated on the benches at the side, as well as in front. It is the most sociable gathering-place in the world, and the stiffest and most formal person would soon relax there; while fingers are thawed, hearts are melted by that fire—warm and kind affections are drawn out—sparkles of wit fly about the room, as if in emulation of the good hickory: it is a chimney corner most provocative of ancient legends, of frightful ghost-stories, of tales of knight-errantry and romantic love, of dangers and of hair-breadth escapes; in short, of all that can draw both old and young away from their every-day cares, into the brighter world of fiction and poesy. In the recess on one side is a small library, comfortable enough to entice the student from the merry group so near him; on the other, is a room looked upon with great affection by the juvenile members of the family, for here does Aunt Lucy manufacture and keep for distribution those delicious cakes, never to be refused at lunch time; and those pies, jellies, whips, and creams, which promise to carry down her name to posterity as the very nonpareil of housekeepers.

Three persons are sitting in the room, whom in common politeness I should introduce to the reader: very pleasant people are they to know and to visit. Uncle John and Aunt Lucy Wyndham, the master and mistress of the house, are remarkable for kindness, and make their nephews and nieces, and whole troops of friends, feel perfectly at home at once; they are Uncle John and Aunt Lucy to all their young acquaintances, and delight in the title. Perhaps they would not have been generally called so, had they any children of their own; but they have none, and the only young person in the house at present is Mary Dalton—Cousin Mary—an orphan niece of Mrs....