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They both hurried to the front door. A wagon drawn by two horses was slowly coming up the hill, lanterns hung upon it and sleigh bells jingling merrily from about the necks of the horses. It was filled with young people who were singing at the tops of their voices.
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God rest ye merry, gentlemen! let nothing you dismay,
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas day.
“How sweet!” exclaimed Edith. “We ought to invite them in.”
The noise would rouse the children, she knew unhappily, as the youngsters went on into another carol. Theodore walked out to the wagon to deliver the invitation, while Edith racked her brain to think what she had in the house to offer a crowd of young fry, who would certainly have huge appetites. There might be cookies in the pantry or apples. The cook always kept a supply of cookies on hand as Theodore often put a few in his pockets when he went on his almost daily rambles over the countryside.
It was a relief to her when he returned to the porch saying that the carolers would not alight, as they had many other places to go and it was getting late. After a dozen more songs, coming sweetly clear on the frosty air, the singers launched into a popular song that had been sung when crowds greeted the hero of San Juan Hill.
We’ll send you to the White House for the gallant deeds you’ve done.
Edith knew a sudden trepidation as the wagon jolted away, the voices still floating back on the still, cold air. She had heard whispers of the White House before from the politicians and public men who were constantly thronging the house, but never a word from Theodore. If he had any ambitions beyond the governorship he was keeping 17them from her and that was unlike her husband who was often too vocal and positive in his plans and opinions. Certainly he had always confided in his wife, even if at times she had secretly thought he was not too wise to be so frank about important and confidential matters.
What he may have been thinking she had no way of knowing, though as a rule his line of thought was seldom concealed from her. The presidency would be an honor of course, and if Theodore had a dream of sometime occupying that distinguished position she could say nothing to discourage or frustrate such an ambition, but her quiet soul shrank a little from being thrust into the responsibilities of such a life and always she thought of her children. The publicity and adulation to which they would be exposed in Albany would be bad enough.
Like their father they were all fiercely democratic—at least the boys were—but every honor that had come to their father had excited them, Alice especially. Alice loved importance and took every plaudit and cheer as partially her own.
Edith argued determinedly with herself that she was worrying about nothing, that no doubt after his term as governor was ended, Theodore would be content to return to Sagamore Hill to write and live the life of a country squire. But all the while she was tormented by her hidden awareness that quiet and peace were never made for Theodore Roosevelt.
They went back into the house and discovered three small figures crouched above, peering through the railings of the stairs.
“We couldn’t sleep, the singing kept us awake,” said Alice when Theodore began to scold.
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“Scurry back to bed, all of you,” he ordered. “You’ll catch your death of cold.”
“Just some young people singing Christmas carols,” explained their mother. “When you are older perhaps you can go out caroling too on Christmas Eve. Kermit, come here, your night clothes aren’t properly buttoned.”