Evenings at Donaldson Manor; Or, The Christmas GuestMcIntosh, Maria J. (Maria Jane)
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Evenings at Donaldson Manor; Or, The Christmas Guest
McIntosh, Maria J. (Maria Jane)
Christmas stories; Fiction
Merrily blazed the wood fire in the huge old chimney of the large parlor
in which we were accustomed to assemble in the evening, at Donaldson
Manor, and its light was thrown upon faces bright with good-humored
merriment, yet not without some touch of deeper and more earnest
feeling. That party would of itself have made an interesting picture.
There was Col. Donaldson, tall, gaunt, his figure slightly bent, yet
evincing no feebleness, his curling snow-white locks, his broad bold
forehead, and shaggy brows overhanging eyes beaming with kindness.
Beside him sat Mrs. Donaldson, still beautiful in her green old age. Her
face was usually pale, yet her clear complexion, and the bright eyes
that looked out from beneath the rich Valenciennes border of her cap,
redeemed it from the appearance of ill health. Her form, stately yet
inclining to _embonpoint_, was shown to advantage by the soft folds of
the rich and glossy satin dress which ordinarily, at mid-day, took the
place in summer of her cambric morning-dress, and in winter of her
cashmere _robe de chambre_. Mrs. Donaldson has a piece of fancy netting
which she reserves for her evening work, because, she says, it does not
make much demand upon her eyes. This the mischievous and privileged
Annie calls "Penelope's Web," declaring, that whatever is done on it in
the evening is undone the next morning. Around the table, on which the
brightest lights were placed for the convenience of those who would
read or sew, clustered the two married daughters of the house--who
always return to their "_home_," as they still continue to call
Donaldson Manor, for the Christmas holidays--Annie, Mr. Arlington, and
myself. Miss Donaldson, the eldest daughter of my worthy friends, is the
housekeeper of the family, and usually sits quietly beside her mother,
somewhat fatigued probably by the active employments of her day. The two
sons of Col. Donaldson, the elder of whom is only twenty-three, his
sons-in-law, and his grandson, Robert Dudley, a fine lad of twelve, give
animation to the scene by moving hither and thither, now joining our
group at the table, now discussing in a corner the amusements of
to-morrow, and now entertaining us with a graphic account of to-day's
adventures, of the sleighs upset, or the skating-matches won.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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