Snowflakes and Secrets

It had been a custom, in the first years I attended Dr. Strong's good school in Canterbury, for me to return to my aunt for the duration of our Christmas holidays. "I am sure you would be glad to keep him to yourself, Mr. Wickfield," my aunt had told that gentleman, with her usual frankness and candour, "And Agnes, too, but you shall have to spare him for that holiday week. For I am fond of my grand-nephew, and accustomed to having my way, and there is an end to that."

Despite his good opinion of me, I don't think Mr. Wickfield had any intentions of contesting the point, but my aunt had a habit of approaching certain topics with a military air, as she did now, standing straight and tall in her gentlemanly cloak and winter hat, and looking the picture of a general in a dress and tucker.

The first Christmas I spent with my aunt shall be impressed upon my memory for ever afterwards, as one of the first entirely happy and pleasant holidays I spent away from my home, at the Rookery, with Peggotty and my mother. To be sure, it was a very different kind of Christmas. My aunt was decidedly against cakes, for instance, which had been my nurse's pride, but she had a great affinity for a certain kind of ham, which Janet cooked very carefully, and to my aunt's exact specifications. There was also a profusion of tea with cider and cloves in it, which my aunt informed me, insinuatingly, warned off colds and coughs, and which she made me drink, whenever I entered her presence.

And to see Mr. Dick's transports of joy, in leaving off his Memorial ("It is a holiday, you know," he told me), and sitting in the floor, making paper chains and snowflakes with which to decorate the parlor, in which important task I would often join him, when I was finished reading or writing letters to Mr. Wickfield and Agnes, and Dr. Strong. Mr. Dick's love for his paper snowflakes (which my aunt proudly tacked up in all the windows) was exceeded only by his love for the real snow. The first year, clearest in my memory, the snow began falling as my aunt I made our journey in the pony-chaise to the house in Dover. Mr. Dick ran about the yard, in his thickest coat and, I believe, all the scarves in the house, being careful to step only in the spots where he had already left footprints, lest he spoil the splendor of the shining white. When night fell, and my aunt ordered him inside, he pulled me to all the windows in the house, so we could see how the snow changed every view, and every view changed the look of the snow.

Mr. Dick and I were very great friends at this time of the season, but I soon noticed a change in him that perplexed me. Whenever I was to pass him in the hallway, or meet him in the kitchen, his eyes, upon spying me, would go quite wide, and he would run away in the opposite direction. He also rather lost his art of conversation and would, very regularly, begin to open his mouth only to shut it again very quickly, and look into my face to assure himself I did not notice his awkwardness.

At first, I wondered if I had injured him in some way, and tried to recollect if I had committed any offenses against the good old man, but could think of none (apart from an incident on the first day of the snow, where I had thrown a snowball at him, and he turned and regarded me most grievously, until I promised never to do it again). I supposed it was simply another of his eccentricities and regarded it as such, until my aunt illuminated me on the topic while we sat around the fireplace one evening very near Christmas.

Upon my first day home, my aunt had told me, in advance, that it was not a custom of hers and Mr. Dick's to exchange presents on the occasion as others did, and I told her truthfully that it did not matter to me.

"I got a Noah's Ark once," Mr. Dick had said, thoughtfully, "but I lost all the pieces."

"Yes you did, Dick – but that was for your birthday," my aunt returned. "At any rate, in this house, our greatest gift is good company (call me a fussbudget of an old woman, but I do believe so, and will, and no one can convince me otherwise), and I think we are certainly not in want of that!"

I had thought no more of it, for as my aunt said, the company she and Mr. Dick provided me was worth more than anything material I could have asked of them – though Mr. Dick's discomfit in my presence was something I could have done without.

Indeed, on the evening of December 23rd, he was very agitated. We were gathered around the fire (as I have said); I was sitting across from my aunt, looking at a book about India, which she had procured from me out of her own library, but I was often interrupted in my reading by the sound of Mr. Dick opening his mouth, and drawing a breath, as if he wished to say something; then, when I raised my eyes, he quickly shut it up again and was much abashed.

After the first two times, I also perceived my Aunt, attempting to be discreet, but looking hard at Mr. Dick with a meaning in her eyes, which only increased the old man's confusion. At last, between my aunt's peremptory staring, and her companion's eccentricity, I ventured to ask if there was anything the matter?

Mr. Dick looked more startled than ever, and my aunt gave him such an accusatory glance I did not blame him, before she turned to me. "Well, Trot, it seems, despite our best intentions, our secret is betrayal." Mr. Dick breathed a sigh of relief, but I replied, "Not so betrayed as you think, Aunt, for I do not know what you mean."

"I suppose you saw Dick gaping about the house like a fish these past few days, and that is because I made the mistake of entrusting him with a secret, which I know the poor man would have kept to his grave – but the keeping of it did enough harm, on its own! You're a smart boy, Trot, and so I suppose you must know I was rather weak, and tender-hearted, and abandoned my good sensible tradition in buying you a gift! Now what do you think of that!"

I thought, privately, I was not so intelligent as she gave me credit for, for that idea had not crossed my mind at all. But what I said was, "You are much too good to me, Aunt! And I don't believe you should feel guilty or consider your tradition to be broken – you simply insisted that we remember our company to be our greatest present to each other, and I do believe that, and would and will, no matter if you bought me a gift or not!"

My aunt hugged me tight, and informed me she would not say another word about my gift and would console herself by refusing to break her tradition until Christmas day, but that she hoped the intelligence would relieve Mr. Dick's conscience, at least somewhat, and I said I hoped so, too.

"Oh, you can't imagine how it does!" that gentleman responded, blithely. "For you see, now I have no apprehensions that I will accidentally tell Trotwood about the pocket-watch he is to receive. No, no apprehensions about that – none in the slightest!"

Judging from the look on my aunt's face though, I thought perhaps he would, soon enough.