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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78374 ***
+
+
+
+
+  Transcriber’s Note
+  Italic text displayed as: _italic_
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE MERRY CHRISTMAS
+
+
+
+
+_By_
+
+WINIFRED ARNOLD
+
+
+Little Merry Christmas
+
+  Illustrated, 12mo, boards, net 60c.
+
+  From the moment she alights, one wintry night, at the snow-piled
+  station of Oatka Center, little Merry Christmas begins to carry
+  sunshine and happiness into the frosty homes, and still frostier
+  hearts, of its inhabitants. How Lem Perkins, her crusty old uncle,
+  together with the entire village, is led into the delectable kingdom
+  of Peace and Goodwill by the guiding hand of a child, is here told in
+  a sweet and jolly little story.
+
+
+Mis’ Bassett’s Matrimony Bureau
+
+  Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.00.
+
+  Si, Ezry and Zekle, Cynthy, Elviny, and Mirandy, with many another
+  character whose name suggests the humorous and homely phraseology of
+  “way down East,” disport themselves to the “everlastin’” delight of
+  the reader.
+
+  “There is a good deal of homely philosophy in Mis’ Bassett’s
+  observations expressed in her delightful way.”
+
+    —_Rochester Herald._
+
+[Illustration: “Mr. Perkins found himself fumbling with the buttons on
+a small, blue gingham back”
+
+  (See page 18)
+]
+
+
+
+
+  LITTLE MERRY
+  CHRISTMAS
+
+  By
+  WINIFRED ARNOLD
+  Author of “Mis’ Bassett’s Matrimony Bureau”
+
+  _ILLUSTRATED_
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  NEW YORK       CHICAGO       TORONTO
+  Fleming H. Revell Company
+  LONDON     AND     EDINBURGH
+
+
+
+
+  Copyright, 1913 by
+  STREET & SMITH
+
+  Copyright, 1914, by
+  FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
+
+  New York: 158 Fifth Avenue
+  Chicago: 125 N. Wabash Ave.
+  Toronto: 25 Richmond St., W.
+  London: 21 Paternoster Square
+  Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+     I. THE SURPRISE PACKAGE                                           9
+
+    II. PANCAKES FOR TWO                                              14
+
+   III. THE NEW HOUSEKEEPER                                           23
+
+    IV. HUNTING FOR THE PIE-MAKER                                     31
+
+     V. THE TURNOVER GOES TO SCHOOL                                   43
+
+    VI. MRS. EM. TO THE RESCUE                                        53
+
+   VII. EXIT “OLD GROUCHY GRUFF”                                      61
+
+  VIII. UNCLE LEM’S CHRISTMAS PARTY                                   73
+
+    IX. MERRY CHRISTMAS FINDS THE HAPPY NEW YEAR                      87
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+  “Mr. Perkins found himself fumbling
+  with the buttons on a small, blue
+  gingham back”    _Frontispiece_
+
+                               FACING
+                               PAGE
+
+  “Where’s the bundle Sim Coles left?”
+  he demanded of the group around
+  the stove               10
+
+  “How do you do! Does my uncle, Mr.
+  Lemuel Perkins, live here?”        14
+
+  “Oh, goody!” she cried. “I was so
+  afraid you’d be late, and I didn’t
+  want you to miss anything”        78
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+THE SURPRISE PACKAGE
+
+
+“Here’s a package for you, Hime,” yelled the burly conductor. “Brown,
+with a red label on top. I’ll just set it here till you haul down the
+mail bags.”
+
+The station-master’s lantern stopped bobbing for a moment.
+
+“All right. Set it down inside,” he shouted, over his shoulder. “Snow’s
+so deep to-night I might lose it on the platform.”
+
+The little girl in the brown coat and the hat with the big red bow on
+top, giggled delightedly.
+
+“He’ll think it’s lost sure enough,” she said. “’Twould be a fine April
+Fool if it wasn’t so near Christmas, wouldn’t it?”
+
+“A-number-one,” agreed the big conductor, appreciatively. “Well,
+good-bye, sissy; the train’s moving. Hope you’ll have a fine time.”
+
+“Oh, I shall,” responded the little girl confidently. “I always do.
+Good-bye. Oh, look! He’s coming!”
+
+Down the platform bobbed the station-master’s lantern, the centre of a
+moving vortex of big, fluffy snowflakes. After the darkness outside,
+even the dimly lighted little waiting room seemed dazzling as he
+stepped inside, dragging the mail bags behind him.
+
+“Where’s the bundle Sim Coles left?” he demanded of the little group
+assembled around the tall, whitewashed stove, slinging his burden at
+the feet of the village bus driver, who stood with one foot on the
+ledge around the bottom of the stove, while he slapped his wet mittens
+against its glowing sides.
+
+“Sim Coles never came in here,” answered a tall man with a black beard.
+“He was talkin’ outside with a little gal.”
+
+“Likely he’s hove it into a snowdrift,” grumbled the station-master,
+turning back toward the door. “Should think he might uv——”
+
+A little brown figure sprang out of the shadows.
+
+“No, he didn’t,” she contradicted gleefully. “I’m the brown package,
+you know, and the bow on my hat is the red label. He said it for a
+joke.”
+
+For a moment the group around the stove stared—then they joined in the
+merry peal of laughter that was shaking the red label.
+
+[Illustration: “Where’s the bundle Sim Coles left?” he demanded of the
+group around the stove]
+
+“So you’re the package, be ye?” inquired the station-master. “Waal,
+where are you bound for, sissy? Come on up and let’s read that fancy
+tag of yourn.”
+
+The little girl bubbled appreciatively.
+
+“I’ve come to visit my uncle,” she explained. “That is, he’s mother’s
+uncle, Mr. Lemuel Perkins.”
+
+“Is Lem expectin’ of you?” inquired the ’bus driver, leisurely picking
+up a mail bag from the floor.
+
+“Oh, no. Isn’t it fun? I’m a real Christmas surprise, you know, sent
+early, so as not to overload the mail.”
+
+She laughed again.
+
+“Well, I guess you’d better ride along up with me, then. Lem lives just
+a little piece beyond the post-office.”
+
+“Oh, goody!” exclaimed the delighted passenger, with a breezy little
+rush across the room to the other door. “This will be my second sleigh
+ride, and I can drop right down on him out of a snowstorm, just the way
+a Christmas surprise ought to. May I sit on the front seat with you,
+Mr.—er——”
+
+“Bennett,” supplied that gentleman genially. “Drove the Oatka Centre
+’bus ever since there was a deepo to drive to. Say, who was your
+mother, sissy? Did she ever live here?”
+
+“Not exactly. Her name was Ellen Rumball, till she married father and
+went to India to live. She used to visit Uncle Lemuel and Aunt Nancy,
+before Aunt Nancy died.”
+
+“Why, pshaw now! She ain’t the Ellen Rumball that married a missionary
+named Christian, is she?”
+
+“Christie,” corrected the small person. “We’re all missionaries, and
+live in India. Father and mother and me and the children. Only I’m in
+boarding school now—Crescent Hill, you know—the _loveliest_ school! But
+scarlet fever broke out, so school closed two weeks early, and the girl
+I was going to visit has the fever, so I decided to come right down and
+spend Christmas with Uncle Lemuel. Won’t he be surprised?”
+
+The driver peered out through the soft darkness.
+
+“He will that,” he drawled. “Lem ain’t so gol darned used to children
+as some.”
+
+The little girl’s laugh tinkled gleefully.
+
+“Oh, I’m not a child,” she explained. “I guess you didn’t see me very
+well; the station was so dark. Why, I’m thirteen and a half years old,
+and I’ve been grown up for a long time. I had to be, you see, to take
+care of the children. Mother had her hands so full with the people and
+the schools and father’s meetings and all that. Being a missionary is
+the most absorbing work there is,” she ended impressively.
+
+“Oh, I see,” chuckled Mr. Bennett. “Quite an old lady, and a missionary
+to boot. That’s lucky, now. Lem’s been lookin’ for a housekeeper
+for quite a spell, they say—ever since the Widder Em left him. A
+missionary, now, will come in real handy. I’ll drive ye right over
+first, and stop to the office on the way back. Can you see that light
+down there? That’s Lem’s kitchen. Want I should come in with ye, sissy?”
+
+The little girl pondered for a minute. “No, I believe not,” she
+answered. “It would make you seem more like Santa Claus, I think, if
+you just dropped me and rode away.”
+
+Mr. Bennett chuckled.
+
+“Mebbe it would, sissy, mebbe it would. I hain’t seen Sandy Claus in
+so long that I’ve pretty nigh forgot how he does act. Whoa, there, you
+reindeers! Hold on while I drop a Christmas passel down through Lem
+Perkins’ chimley. Good-bye now, sissy. Good luck to ye. Giddap thar,
+you reindeers! Giddap!”
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+PANCAKES FOR TWO
+
+
+In the kitchen wing of the old-fashioned brown house an old man was
+just beginning to get supper, a choleric old man, if one could judge by
+the bushy fierceness of the shaggy eyebrows above the sharp blue eyes,
+and the aggressive slant of the gray chin whisker. Mr. Lemuel Perkins
+had come in rather late from a particularly heated meeting of the
+village debating society, in grocery store assembled, and you will have
+to admit that it is not a soothing experience for a hungry man to find
+the kitchen in dire confusion, the fire in the cook stove nothing but a
+mass of embers, and not a sign of supper in sight unless the attenuated
+remains of a solitary dinner answer that description.
+
+[Illustration: “How do you do! Does my uncle, Mr. Lemuel Perkins, live
+here?”]
+
+A fire was blazing in the stove now, however; and, girdled in a blue
+gingham apron, Mr. Perkins was adding to the general confusion on
+the kitchen table by trying to “stir up” something for supper, with
+the aid of a “ring-streaked and spotted” recipe book. Intent upon
+discovering whether a certain eleven was really eleven or only a one
+and a fly speck, Mr. Perkins totally disregarded the sound of “some one
+gently tapping, tapping” at his kitchen door, and did not even realize
+that it had been pushed open till a brisk young voice inquired:
+
+“How do you do! Does my uncle, Mr. Lemuel Perkins, live here?”
+
+“Huh?” demanded Mr. Perkins, whirling about, recipe book in hand, and
+eyeing the intruder fiercely.
+
+But fierce looks can find no entrance through a pair of rose-colored
+spectacles that are radiating sunshine and goodwill as hard as ever
+they can.
+
+“Oh, you are Uncle Lemuel!” cried a happy little voice, while its owner
+rushed headlong across the kitchen with outstretched arms. “I’m so glad
+to see you.” With a gay little spring she planted a kiss on the tip of
+the bristling chin whisker. “I’m your grandniece, Mary, and I’ve come
+to spend Christmas with you for a surprise. Have you had scarlet fever?”
+
+“Huh?” inquired Mr. Perkins again, a trifle less fierce, but much more
+bewildered.
+
+“Scarlet fever?” shrieked Mary, deciding at once that of course a
+proper great-uncle would be deaf. “Have—you—had—scarlet fever?
+I’ve—been exposed!”
+
+“For the land sakes, little gal, quit your yellin’! I ain’t deef,”
+retorted Mr. Perkins. “Who’d you say you was?”
+
+“Mary, your niece; but I’m not a little girl. I’m thirteen and a half.
+Mother says I’m a real little woman.”
+
+“She does, does she? Waal, we’ll see which on us is right about it. Is
+there one cup of flour in pancakes, or eleven? This blamed receipt book
+is so messed up I can’t tell.”
+
+“Oh, are you making pancakes?” returned his guest joyfully. “I’m so
+glad. I was afraid you’d be through supper, and I’m almost starved. You
+wouldn’t let me make the pancakes, would you, Uncle Lemuel? India’s not
+a very suitable place for them, mother says, so we never had them much,
+but she let me make them once or twice, and I just love to hear them
+go splash on the griddle, and then bob up like a rubber ball, and then
+flop them over, all brown and lovely. It’s such fun! But probably you
+love to make them, too. I oughtn’t to ask the first night, I suppose.”
+
+Uncle Lemuel’s visage, being trained to express habitual displeasure,
+had no difficulty in concealing the feelings of joy that coursed
+through him at these words. As he himself would have expressed it, he
+“hated like dumb p’ison to cook a meal of vittles,” but it was against
+Uncle Lemuel’s principles to display satisfaction with the happenings
+of the world about him.
+
+“Well,” he responded slowly, “if you’re so set on it, I s’pose you
+might as well. Only don’t be wasteful now, and stir up a mess we can’t
+eat.”
+
+He handed over the recipe book with a grudging air that would have
+deceived the very elect.
+
+“I won’t,” promised his guest happily, whisking off her coat with one
+hand and her hat with the other, and finally finding a satisfactory
+place for them on a remote rocking-chair covered with red calico. “What
+fun, starting in housekeeping with you right away like this! And such
+a grand fire! Will you set the table, and have you got some real maple
+sirup? I don’t think they have at school, but mother said you and
+Aunt Nancy got it right from your own trees. Do you keep them in the
+back yard, and go out, and draw some when you want it, as if you were
+milking a cow?”
+
+She was diving into her russet leather handbag as she spoke, and
+presently she pulled out a blue gingham apron with triumphant glee.
+
+“Here’s my big kitchen apron. Isn’t it the luckiest thing that I
+brought it in my handbag? I didn’t have a chance to wear it at school,
+so I left it out of my trunk, and then I ran across it at the last
+minute, and tucked it in here. Everything does turn out so grandly!
+Why, see, our aprons match! How funny! We’re twins, aren’t we? Will you
+button me up in the back, please, and then I’ll tie yours again. Yours
+is slipping off.”
+
+In another moment the dazed Mr. Perkins found himself fumbling with the
+buttons on a small blue gingham back; and then, before he could even
+think of the first letter of Jack Robinson’s name, a capable hand had
+tightened his own apron strings, and transported by two active little
+feet was marshalling the various “ingrejunts” that he had already
+gathered together on the kitchen table.
+
+Muttering something about maple sirup, he retreated to the cellar to
+collect his wits, though he knew full well that the sirup can, since
+time immemorial, had occupied the right-hand end of the top “butt’ry”
+shelf.
+
+By the time he returned the culinary operations had been transferred to
+the sink bench, and the kitchen table was laid for two. On the stove a
+shining griddle was smoking in anticipation, while the little cook was
+giving a last anxious whip to the batter.
+
+“I couldn’t find the napkins, Uncle Lemuel,” she called, as the
+cellarway door opened. “Will you get them out, please, and put the
+butter and sirup on the table? Oh, I do _pray_ these cakes will be
+good! It’s such a responsibility to cook for a grown-up man!”
+
+A silence, heavy with the deepest anxiety, settled almost visibly over
+the Perkins kitchen from the first slap of the batter upon the smoking
+griddle, till three cakes had been duly “flopped” by the little cook’s
+careful hand. These, however, presented to view such beautiful, round,
+creamy countenances, almost obscured by very becoming brown lace veils,
+that two huge sighs of relief exhaled together; one of which was
+speedily transformed into a dry little cough, while Uncle Lemuel turned
+and tiptoed away in search of the tea caddy and the old brown pot.
+
+“As soon as we get six, we can sit down and begin,” called Mary
+excitedly. “The stove’s so handy I can cook and eat, too. That’s such
+a nice thing about eating in the kitchen. We could never do that in
+India, there were always too many servants around, though mother tried
+to keep it as much like an American home as she could. That’s why she
+taught me to cook—so we could have American dishes.”
+
+“Can you make pie?” queried Uncle Lemuel, through a mouthful so
+dripping with maple sirup that even his tones seemed sweetened.
+
+“No, I can’t,” admitted Mary regretfully. “Father didn’t think pie was
+good for us, so mother never tried to manage that.”
+
+All traces of sirup departed abruptly from Uncle Lemuel’s tones.
+
+“Good for ye?” he growled. “Well, if that ain’t just like some folkses
+impudence! Good for ye? Humph! Mebbe if I hadn’t et it three times a
+day I mightn’t have had no more sprawl than to go out to Injy and lay
+round under a green cotton umbrell’ with a black feller fannin’ the
+flies off of me. Why, it’s eatin’ pie reg’lar that’s put the United
+States ahead of all the other nations of the world! It’s the bulwark of
+the American Constitution, pie is.”
+
+Mary gazed at him with wide and interested eyes. Her mental picture
+of her own overworked father was so many leagues away from the vision
+under the green cotton umbrella that, far from resenting Uncle Lemuel’s
+thrust, she never even recognized it.
+
+“Do you think maybe that’s the matter with our constitutions?” she
+inquired eagerly. “I had to come over to school because I wasn’t well,
+and father isn’t a bit strong, either. Mother thought it was the
+climate.”
+
+Uncle Lem’s growl struggled through another mouthful of sirup.
+
+“Climate! Huh! A man that eats strengthenin’ food enough can stand up
+against any climate the Almighty ever made. I’ve felt sorter pindlin’
+myself since I hain’t had my pie reg’lar, an’ the climate or Oatka
+Centre is the same as ever, hain’t it?”
+
+Even the intellect of a missionary as old as thirteen and a half is
+forced to bow before such logic as that.
+
+“Then I must learn how to make pie straight away,” announced Mary
+solemnly. “Could you teach me, Uncle Lemuel?”
+
+Uncle Lemuel shook his head.
+
+“It takes womenfolks to make pies,” he admitted grudgingly. “I hain’t
+had a decent pie in the house since the Widder Em left here.”
+
+“Did she make good ones?” inquired Mary sympathetically.
+
+Uncle Lemuel was almost torn in twain between his natural tendency
+toward disparagement and the soothing effects of the innumerable
+procession of well-browned griddle cakes that had come his way.
+
+“There is folks,” he compromised, “that thinks she was a master-hand at
+it. Some say the best in the village. I’ve et worse myself.”
+
+“It’s too bad she moved away,” sighed Mary; “but I guess we can find
+somebody else. Mother said the people in Oatka Centre were the kindest
+in the world, and of course they’d do it for you, anyhow.”
+
+A touch of a smile twitched at one corner of the old man’s mouth.
+
+“Oh, yes,” he assented, with grim humour. “Any durned one of ’em would
+do anythin’ under the canopy for me.”
+
+“That’s because you’d do anything under the canopy for them,” agreed
+the little girl. “Kind people always find other people kind, mother
+says. I do wish I could do something for you myself, you’re such a nice
+uncle, but I’m getting so sleepy I can’t think of a thing. If you’re
+through, we’d better wash the dishes quickly, else I might,” she ended,
+with a sleepy little giggle, “tumble—splash—into the dishpan.”
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+THE NEW HOUSEKEEPER
+
+
+It was still dark when a resounding thump on the door of the “parlour
+bedroom” wakened the unconscious little missionary, who had plumped
+into the exact centre of its feather bed the night before, and had
+never stirred since.
+
+“Be ye goin’ to sleep all day?” growled a voice outside.
+
+The little brown head bounced out of its pillow like a jack-in-a-box.
+
+“Goodness, no!” answered its owner, in a startled voice. “I didn’t know
+it was daytime. Why, I meant to help you get breakfast! Is it too late?”
+
+“I s’pose I can wait, if you’re set on makin’ some more pancakes,”
+responded Uncle Lemuel craftily. “But you’d better flax around pretty
+spry. I’ll get the griddle het up.”
+
+The air of that “parlour bedroom” was certainly conducive to spry
+“flaxing” if you didn’t want to congeal in a half-dressed condition,
+and by the time the griddle was well “het,” the new cook appeared on
+the scene.
+
+“Good morning, Uncle Lemuel!” she cried gaily, whisking across the
+kitchen and planting a swift little kiss upon that gentleman’s amazed
+countenance before she whirled about and presented her blue gingham
+back to be buttoned. “You certainly are the nicest man in the world to
+wait so I could cook, and I have planned a perfectly grand surprise for
+you, too. We’re going to have the jolliest Christmas together that ever
+was. Is the coffee made yet?”
+
+“Who told you to come here for Christmas?” demanded Mr. Perkins, as he
+began on his second plate of pancakes.
+
+“Nobody at all,” bubbled his guest gleefully. “That’s the joke of
+it. It’s a perfect surprise all around. I was going home with Patty
+Stanwood, you know, because her mother and mine used to be school
+friends. And then Patty had scarlet fever, and her mother was afraid of
+me on account of the baby. So then I remembered what fine times mother
+used to have here when she was a girl, and I knew this would be just
+the ideal place to spend Christmas. You know, I’ve never seen a real
+snowy American Christmas before in my life, and I’m just wild about
+it. The girls at school call me ‘Merry Christmas,’ instead of ‘Mary
+Christie,’ because I talk so much about it, and I _love_ it for a name!
+Aren’t you just crazy about Christmas, Uncle Lemuel?”
+
+Crazy about Christmas? Yes, indeed, little Merry! Why, it was only the
+afternoon before, Job Simpkins, of the village “Emporium,” would have
+told you, that “Lem Perkins had bellered and tore around as if the very
+name of Christmas was a red flannin rag waved in front of a bull.”
+
+But when he looked into the shining young eyes before him, even Uncle
+Lemuel’s frenzy couldn’t fail to be a trifle abated.
+
+“I hain’t much use for it—late years,” he answered gruffly. “Folks make
+such tarnation fools of themselves.”
+
+“Oh, you are a Christmas reformer,” translated his little guest
+blithely. “Lots of people are in America, they say. Maybe you are a
+Spug. Are you a Spug, Uncle Lemuel?”
+
+“No, siree, Republican and Hardshell Baptist, same as I’ve always been.
+The old ways is good enough for me. What’s Spug, I’d like to know?”
+
+Mary clapped her hands.
+
+“I’m so glad!” she cried gleefully. “It’s a society to make you give
+useful Christmas presents to people, and I’ve had useful ones all my
+life—being a missionary family with five children, of course we had
+to. But I’d rather join a society to prevent them myself, for I like
+useless ones lots better. Don’t you? I’ve been hoping awfully that
+somebody would give me a string of red beads or a set of pink hair
+ribbons. Oh, I didn’t mean that for a hint! Do excuse me, Uncle Lemuel!
+Of course, I’ll like best whatever you choose. How big a turkey do you
+usually buy?” she ended hastily.
+
+“Don’t buy none,” grunted Uncle Lemuel, with his nose in his coffee cup.
+
+“Why, of course not! You raise them yourself, don’t you? I _am_ a
+goose,” she laughed. “Besides, people always invite you when you live
+alone. I hope they won’t this year. It would be such fun to have a
+Christmas party of our own, wouldn’t it, right here in this kitchen?
+Who do you want to invite? I must go right out and get acquainted, so
+I’ll have some friends of my own to ask. It’s only two weeks off, but
+you can make a lot of friends in two weeks, can’t you, if you go about
+it the right way? See what friends we’ve got to be already!”
+
+“The science of self-expression” was quite unknown when Uncle Lemuel
+went to district school, but it would have demanded a full dramatic
+course adequately to cope with the torrent of varying emotions that was
+surging through the time-worn channels of his consciousness. Surprise,
+disgust, amusement, wonder, disapproval, horror, and a wee touch of
+pleasure tumbled over one another in rapid succession.
+
+And some way the wee touch of pleasure in the child’s innocent
+friendliness and liking soared high enough on top of the flood to
+soften the hard old mouth for a little and keep back for the nonce the
+bitter words that would shatter her Christmas air castles to fragments.
+Nobody had really liked Lemuel Perkins in so many years that he
+couldn’t be blamed for enjoying the sensation, though he felt as queer
+as must an ice-bound stream when the first little trickle of water
+creeps warmly through its breast.
+
+“Want I should help ye with the dishes?” he inquired almost kindly.
+“I’ve got to go over to town of an errand after a spell.”
+
+“Oh, have you got time? I’m so glad! Do you know, that’s the funny
+thing about dishes? If you do them alone, they are the worst old job
+that ever was, but when somebody nice wipes for you, they’re just fun.
+Mother says it’s that way with most kinds of work. Could you stay long
+enough to help sort things out a little, too? For a man, of course,
+you’re a very nice housekeeper—you ought to see father!—but with two of
+us around we may need a little more room, don’t you think so?”
+
+Fortunately there was no one at hand to reveal the fact that, no longer
+ago than two hours, Mr. Lemuel Perkins had stated firmly to the kitchen
+stove that “folks that walked in on you unasked and unwanted should at
+least pay for their vittles by doing all the housework.” Kitchen stoves
+do not taunt you with changing your mind, so Uncle Lemuel was not
+hampered by the fear that has kept many a better man from improving on
+himself.
+
+By half-past nine the Perkins kitchen shone resplendent in the morning
+sunshine with a brightness reminiscent of the days when Aunt Nancy had
+boasted proudly that her kitchen was the pleasantest room in the house.
+
+Uncle Lemuel would really have liked to sit down and enjoy its sunny
+neatness for a while, but an irresistible impulse had begun tugging at
+his cowhide boots, and Uncle Lemuel had no choice but to set them at
+once on the path to the post-office. For nine o’clock is “mail time”
+in Oatka Centre, and either totally unsocial or completely bedridden
+are the menfolks who fail to forgather on a fine winter morning in the
+ever-exciting pursuit of the letter that never comes.
+
+“I’m goin’ over to the office, and to get the meat,” he announced,
+pulling his old cap down over his ears.
+
+“Oh, I hope you’ll get me a letter!” cried Mary. “I never feel
+perfectly at home in a new place till I begin to get mail. Do you know
+the post-master, Uncle Lemuel?”
+
+“Know Marthy Ann Watkins?” jeered Uncle Lemuel. “Knowed her since she
+was knee high to a grasshopper. And, moreover, if there’s a man, woman,
+or child in this township that don’t know Marthy Ann, it ain’t her
+fault; you can bet your bottom dollar on that. Keepin’ track of folks
+is her business. Prob’ly knows what we et for breakfast by this time.”
+
+Mary’s laughter bubbled out merrily. “Goodness me, Uncle Lemuel! Then
+she knows that I haven’t written to mother yet, to tell her where I
+am. So I’d better do it right away. Maybe I’ll see you over at the
+post-office by-and-by. Have you any special messages for mother and
+father, or shall I just send your love?”
+
+Uncle Lemuel was engaged in hauling his old cap still farther over his
+ears, and apparently he did not hear this amazing question, for he
+emitted no sounds but another grunt before the door slammed behind him.
+
+“He _is_ deaf,” decided his little guest innocently; “but I mustn’t
+make him see that I notice it by asking over. Deaf people are so
+sensitive. Love will do this time, anyway.”
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+HUNTING FOR THE PIE-MAKER
+
+
+It was nearly ten o’clock when Mary pushed open the door of the
+post-office and stepped in. Not a soul was in sight, so she tiptoed
+over to the little window framed in boxes.
+
+“Are you Miss Martha Watkins?” she inquired cheerfully.
+
+“Mercy land!” ejaculated a thin lady inside, quitting at one bound her
+creaky rocking-chair and her enthralling occupation of sorting picture
+postcards. “Who be you, child, and whose mail do you want?”
+
+“My own, if there is any—Mary Christie’s—but I guess there isn’t, for
+I only got here last night. I really came to mail my letter to mother,
+and get acquainted with you. My uncle said you were the friendliest
+lady in town, and I’m looking for friends, myself.”
+
+“Who’s your uncle?” inquired Miss Watkins.
+
+“Mr. Lemuel Perkins, a very old friend of yours. Isn’t he nice?”
+
+Miss Marthy overlooked the last question.
+
+“And what did Lem Perkins say about me, did you say?” she demanded.
+
+Mary knitted her brows.
+
+“He said,” she repeated slowly, “that you—that you—oh, I know!—that you
+tried to be friends with everybody in town, and it wasn’t your fault if
+you weren’t. And I needed some help right away, so of course I came to
+you.”
+
+Miss Watkins struggled not to look as pleased as she felt.
+
+“Now, who in tunket would uv thought that of Lem Perkins?” she
+marvelled. “Well, he hit the nail on the head anyways. I do love to be
+friendly with folks, that’s certain. What can I do for you, sissy?”
+
+“Can you tell me who’s the best pie-maker in town, since uncle’s
+housekeeper moved away? It’s such a shame she’s gone, for I want to
+learn right off for a surprise for uncle.”
+
+“She that was the Widder Em Cottle, do you mean? Mis’ Caldwell that is?”
+
+Mary hesitated.
+
+“Uncle said the Widow Em. Is she Mrs. Caldwell, too? He said people
+thought she was the best pie-maker in town. Is that the one?”
+
+Miss Watkins stared.
+
+“Lem Perkins has certainly met a change of heart!” she ejaculated.
+“What made you think she’d moved away? She lives in that white house
+just beyond your uncle’s. I’ll bet he never told you the whole story,
+did he?”
+
+She leaned forward eagerly.
+
+But Mary was absorbed in her joy over the happy turn of affairs.
+
+“Oh, goody, goody!” she exclaimed gleefully. “Why, I must have
+misunderstood uncle some way. Isn’t that glorious? Now I can run right
+up there, and maybe she’ll teach me before dinner. Oh, thank you so
+much, Miss Watkins. You are a real friend, just as uncle said. I’m
+going to come down this afternoon and get your help about Christmas,
+too. Good-bye.”
+
+Right outside the door she encountered Mr. Bennett, the ’bus driver,
+returning from a leisurely trip to the “ten o’clock.”
+
+“Well, if here ain’t the lady missionary!” he called cheerfully. “Where
+ye goin’ so fast this fine morning? Huntin’ heathen?”
+
+Mary giggled.
+
+“No,” she returned merrily. “Going to hunt for a missionary myself—Mrs.
+Caldwell, that was uncle’s housekeeper.”
+
+“Jump in, then, and I’ll give ye a lift. I have to go right by the
+door, to carry some feed to Elder Smith’s.”
+
+“Oh, goody!” cried Mary again, bobbing up on the front seat with one
+spring. “Another sleigh ride! And now, if uncle’s got home, he won’t
+see me go by.”
+
+“Has Lem done anythin’ to scare ye?” demanded Mr. Bennett, suddenly
+dropping his joking manner.
+
+“Mercy me, no!” answered Mary gaily. “Some people might be scared of
+that growly way he has, I suppose; but when you know how awfully nice
+he really is that only adds to the fun. I’m going now to learn how to
+make pies for him for a surprise. Isn’t it fine she’s so handy to our
+house? She’s the best pie-maker in town, uncle says.”
+
+“You certainly are the beatin’est young one I’ve seen in a month of
+Sundays. Beg pardon, ma’am! I mean beatin’est lady missionary, o’
+course. I seen your uncle, though, over to the blacksmith’s shop, so
+he won’t be poppin’ out and sp’ilin’ your surprise. Here we be to the
+Widder Em’s now. I’ll step in later to get some of the pies.”
+
+“Do,” returned Mary cordially. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can make
+some real good ones, and then I’ll give you all you can eat. Uncle will
+love to have you.”
+
+“Much obleeged,” chuckled Mr. Bennett. “I guess I had better drop in
+and get acquainted with that uncle of yourn, too. He sounds kind of
+furrin to me.”
+
+Just then the side door flew open, and a fresh-looking woman in a red
+calico dress stepped out.
+
+“Hello, Mr. Bennett,” she called. “Got anythin’ for me this morning?”
+
+“Why, yes,” returned Mr. Bennett jocosely. “A Christmas present of
+an A-number-one missionary. She’s a-visitin’ her uncle, Mr. Lemuel
+Perkins; and now she’s got him converted she’s run over to neighbour
+with you for a spell. She’ll cure you of any heathen idees you’ve got,
+Em, quicker’n scat.”
+
+Mary turned to shake her finger at Mr. Bennett, and then ran down the
+path.
+
+“Isn’t he funny?” she laughed merrily. “Anybody’d think Uncle Lemuel
+was a heathen instead of the nicest uncle that ever was, wouldn’t they?
+But you know better. You’ve lived at his house. That’s why I came
+over. He says that he hasn’t had a decent piece of pie since you left.
+I guess you spoiled other people’s pies for him, for he says you are
+the very best pie-maker in town. So I came over to see if you wouldn’t
+teach me how. He’s been such a dear to me since I came that I do want
+to pay it back somehow—only, of course, you never can exactly.”
+
+Surprise and pleasure struggled in Mrs. Caldwell’s countenance, as she
+led the way into her immaculate kitchen.
+
+“Why, I didn’t know ’t Lem relished my pies so well,” she said
+deprecatingly. “I don’t lay out to be no great of a cook. Why, yes, of
+course I’ll teach you. ’Taint no knack.”
+
+“Oh, thank you!” cried her little guest, bounding out of the
+rocking-chair in which she had just seated herself. “Could you do it
+to-day, do you think? Uncle says he’s been ‘real pindling’ since you
+left, and he thinks it’s on account of the pies.”
+
+“You don’t say!” ejaculated her hostess. “Lem must ’a’ been feelin’
+sorry for some of the things he said. I’m afeared there ain’t time to
+teach ye much afore noon, but I’ve got some fresh-baked pies handy.
+I’ll give ye one to take home with ye for dinner. You can come back
+this afternoon and learn how yourself.”
+
+“Oh, I’m so sorry!” explained Mary. “You see, I really ought to do my
+Christmas shopping this afternoon. My family live so far away that they
+won’t get their presents now till awfully late, but I couldn’t before
+on account of the sickness at school. Where’s the best store in the
+village?”
+
+“There ain’t but two,” laughed Mrs. Caldwell, “and I guess it’s which
+and t’other between ’em. They’ve both got in a pretty good stock this
+year. You’d better go to Job Simpson’s, I guess. Lem does his tradin’
+there now.”
+
+“Mother sent me five dollars,” announced her guest proudly. “I think,
+with all of that to spend, I’d better divide it between the two. Don’t
+you think it would be fairer? It might hurt the other man’s feelings
+if I didn’t buy anything of him, and mother says you mustn’t ever hurt
+people’s feelings if you can help it. What do you think Uncle Lemuel
+would like best? It’s hard to choose for a man—even father. What did
+you usually give him when you lived there?”
+
+When a man grudgingly pays you only two dollars and a half a week for
+doing all of his housework, and making the kitchen garden besides, it
+is not very surprising that your Christmas presents to him have been
+few and far between, but under the glance of the shining eyes before
+her, the late “Widder Em” suddenly hesitated to explain that fact.
+
+“Why, I dunno,” she stammered. “I—I—why don’t you give him a coffee
+cup? I’ll show you one I got for the deacon. It says ‘Merry Christmas’
+on it in red.”
+
+“Oh, oh!” cried the other Merry Christmas, gazing in an ecstasy of
+admiration. “It’ll be just the thing for me to give uncle, won’t it? If
+it only said ‘From,’ now! Oh, I didn’t tell you about my name, did I?
+Well, I must.”
+
+And forthwith, away she pranced on her holly-wreathed hobby, till the
+woman, too, harked back in fancy to the days when “Christmas” was a
+name of magic, and launched forth into eager reminiscences of her
+childhood revels, while her visitor listened, entranced.
+
+All at once she tore her gaze from the shining eyes before her.
+
+“Mercy me, child!” she cried suddenly. “And here I was goin’ to have
+veal potpie for dinner, and the deacon’ll be as mad as a hatter if his
+vittles ain’t ready on the stroke!” She stopped and kissed the glowing
+face. “Couldn’t you stay, little Merry Christmas?” she asked softly.
+
+“I wish I could!” cried Mary. “I’d love to! But you see I’m
+housekeeping for uncle, so I have to go right away. He’d be so
+disappointed if I wasn’t there. I’ll come some time with him, pretty
+soon.”
+
+“‘Peace on earth, good will to men,’” quoted Mrs. Caldwell softly.
+“Then good-bye, little Christmas girl. Here’s another pie for you,
+dearie—mince. Lem was always partial to mince.”
+
+“Oh, thank you _so_ much!” cried Mary in delight. “Uncle will be
+awfully pleased. He certainly has the nicest friends in the world.
+Good-bye, you dear Mrs. Caldwell. I must run and get things started.”
+
+It was quarter to twelve when Uncle Lemuel stamped up the snowy path
+to the kitchen door and flung it open. On the stove a steaming kettle
+was bubbling merrily. On the table “covers were laid,” as the society
+column has it, for two. Certainly a pleasant sight for a hungry man who
+had been cooking his own dinners and setting his own table—if setting
+it could be called—for two dreary years. But, strangely enough, Uncle
+Lemuel’s gaze turned unsatisfied from the attractive table, and even
+rested coldly upon the bubbling pot.
+
+“What’s become of that gal?” he growled to himself, dexterously kicking
+the door shut behind him.
+
+A little blue gingham catapult dashed out from the departing shelter,
+and flung herself at his back, while two little hands made futile
+attempts to reach far enough to cover his eyes.
+
+“Here I am!” cried a gay voice behind him. “Merry Christmas! Are you
+Mr. Santa Claus? I hope you’ve got some meat in your pack for me. I’m
+nearly starved, honest! I’ve got the potatoes and turnips on, the way
+you told me. Do you hear them? Oh, it’s sausage! Goody! I love sausage!
+And what do you think? I’ve got the nicest surprise for you, too. You’d
+better cook the sausage, though, for I can’t do it very well. And I
+will make the tea.”
+
+Uncle Lem grunted almost as gruffly as ever in response, but, between
+you and me, that was just because he was trying so hard not to reveal
+the little thrills of pleasure that were warming the cockles of his
+hard old heart. And the best joke of all was that he never guessed that
+the softened glance of his sharp blue eyes and the gentler lines around
+his grim old mouth were betraying him as fast as ever they could.
+
+Mary bobbed hither and yon, trying the potatoes and relieving them of
+their brown jackets, preparing the turnips under directions, and making
+the tea in a most housewifely manner. Finally, she settled down into
+her place at the head of the table with a sigh of absolute content.
+
+“How do you take your tea, Mr. Perkins?” she inquired in the most
+elegant of society tones; then, suddenly resuming her own: “You don’t
+know what fun it is, Uncle Lemuel,” she cried, “to be the real lady of
+the house, and ask about the tea, and say, ‘Let me help you to a little
+more sauce,’ or, ‘Which kind of pie will you have, mince or apple?’
+Goodness, I almost gave it away then! And oh, uncle, I can’t keep my
+surprise a minute longer—honest I can’t!”
+
+She sprang up from the table and into the pantry, whence she emerged
+immediately with a beaming face and a pie balanced upon either hand.
+
+“Which will you have, Mr. Perkins, apple or mince?” she inquired
+gleefully, bobbing a little curtsy to the imminent peril of the pies.
+“Your constitution won’t have to feel ‘pindling’ any longer, for here
+are two fine, large ones—enough to last several meals, I guess. Mrs.
+Caldwell sent them to you, with her compliments. She said you liked
+mince particularly, but I like apple just as well, so we can play Jack
+Spratt and his wife. People in Oatka Centre are just _lovely_, aren’t
+they? It’s because I’m your niece, of course, so far, but I hope by and
+by they’ll like me for my own sake.”
+
+As she that was the Widder Em and Mr. Perkins had not spoken to each
+other since they had parted with mutual recriminations two years
+before, it is not to be wondered at that that gentleman laid down his
+knife and fork, and stared in open bewilderment.
+
+“Em Cottle sent them pies to me?” he demanded. “To _me_? How in thunder
+did she happen to do that?”
+
+“Why, because she liked you, of course,” explained Mary simply. “That’s
+why everybody gives each other things. That’s what Christmas is for
+especially, mother says—to give you a good chance to show other people
+that you love them—just the way God showed us when He gave us the
+little Baby Jesus.”
+
+And once again something—was it the dear gift that she had
+mentioned?—kept back the sharp words that were hovering upon the old
+man’s lips.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+THE TURNOVER GOES TO SCHOOL
+
+
+In Uncle Lemuel’s able dissertation upon the virtues of pie, that
+bulwark of the American Constitution, he neglected to mention one of
+its most remarkable features—namely, its effect upon the flow of the
+milk of human kindness. Nothing else certainly could explain the fact
+that when the dishes were finished the next morning he stamped down
+the cellar stairs and returned presently with a basket of juicy winter
+pears, which he plumped down upon the kitchen table.
+
+In a voice that was “growlier” than ever, he said:
+
+“If you’re goin’ over to the Widder Em’s any time again, you might as
+well carry this mess of pears along. Old man Caldwell never did have
+gumption enough to raise winter pears, and Em was always partial to
+’em. You mustn’t never let yourself be beholden to folks.”
+
+Mary clapped her hands.
+
+“How lovely to have a whole cellar full of things to give away! It must
+make you feel like Santa Claus, and I’m the Merry Christmas that goes
+with them. And, oh, won’t Mrs. Caldwell be pleased!”
+
+But pleasure was far from Mrs. Caldwell’s predominating emotion when
+Merry Christmas presented the basket some fifteen minutes later, with
+the polite addition that it was “with Uncle Lem’s love and thanks.”
+
+“For the land sakes alive!” ejaculated the one-time Widow Em, almost
+letting the gift fall in her amazement. “Is Lem Perkins experiencin’
+religion in his old age?”
+
+Mary looked a little puzzled by the irrelevance of the question.
+
+“Why, yes, I guess so,” she answered happily. “Mother says really good
+people experience it all their lives. And we’re experiencing Christmas,
+too. Isn’t it the best fun? We’ve begun a list of our Christmas
+presents, and I put down your pies at the head—apple for me and mince
+for Uncle Lem. Is it quite convenient for you to teach me this morning?”
+
+“Yes, indeed, sissy; yes, indeed,” returned Mrs. Caldwell, recovering
+herself. “I’ve got the dishes of fillin’ all ready, and we can begin
+right away. There ain’t no knack to it but the know-how. Don’t you
+know folks always say ‘easy as pie’?”
+
+“Why, so they do!” agreed Mary joyfully. “But I thought that meant easy
+as eating pie. I never knew how easy that was till yesterday. You see,
+father didn’t think they were good for us—and I suppose Indian ones
+wouldn’t have been,” she added loyally. “But you ought to have seen
+Uncle Lem and me yesterday! The pies were so good that we just ate and
+ate, apple and mince turn about, till we had all we could do to save
+enough for breakfast. And I do feel perfectly fine this morning—and so
+does uncle. I guess our constitutions needed it. Could I learn to make
+three this morning—one for each meal?”
+
+Under Mrs. Caldwell’s capable direction, the lesson progressed finely,
+and in due time three fragrant pies and a turnover were cooling upon
+the kitchen sink bench—pies that for brown flakiness of crust and
+general comeliness of aspect would not have disgraced the champion of
+the county fair herself.
+
+“They look lovely, don’t they?” inquired their creator anxiously. “But,
+oh, I can hardly wait till dinner time to see how they taste! Oh, Mrs.
+Caldwell, how shall I ever _bear_ it if they aren’t really good and
+Uncle Lemuel is disappointed?”
+
+“There, there, now, don’t you fret!” soothed kindly Mrs. Caldwell. “Lem
+don’t always say things out same as some do, but I’ll bet a cooky he’ll
+think them pies is as good as any he ever et in his life.”
+
+“Oh, I do _pray_ that they’ll be good!” ejaculated the little cook
+fervently. “It’s such a responsibility cooking for men, isn’t it?
+But I like it,” she added naïvely, “even though I’m scared. Can’t I
+_possibly_ tell about them before dinner time?”
+
+Mrs. Caldwell considered.
+
+“Well, yes,” she admitted. “If you want to do some extra Christmassin’
+this mornin’, I can think up a job for ye. The schoolmarm, Miss Porter,
+boarded with me last winter, and she was real partial to a hot turnover
+for her mornin’ recess. If you want to give her yourn, the schoolhouse
+is only a piece up the road, and if you run tight as you can lick it, I
+guess you can get there before the bell rings. I’ll just tie my cloud
+over your head, so you can run faster.”
+
+Ten minutes later a breathless little figure, in a red “cloud,” dashed
+up to the door of the old stone schoolhouse, just as the joyous
+pandemonium of recess broke out. Knocking seemed quite a superfluous
+refinement in the midst of all that babel, so she lifted the great
+latch, and then was nearly capsized by a flying wedge of small boys
+who came hurtling out to the accompaniment of a long-pent-up explosion
+of war-whoops. The point of the wedge stopped and surveyed the reeling,
+small figure with the natural defiance of the guilty party.
+
+“What d’you git in my way for?” he demanded gruffly.
+
+To his surprise his victim merely giggled.
+
+“Did you think I was a turnover too?” she inquired. “Because I’m not.
+This is it, and it’s been turned once already. Where’s the teacher?”
+
+“Goin’ to tell on us?” inquired another boy sulkily.
+
+Mary stared.
+
+“Tell what?” she inquired. “’Twasn’t your fault. I got in the way. I
+hope you didn’t smash the turnover, though,” she added anxiously. “I’m
+carrying it to the teacher. No, it’s all right, thank goodness! Doesn’t
+it look fine?” she inquired, pulling the covering quite away from her
+prize.
+
+The little boys crowded closer.
+
+“And _smell_!” cried the first one admiringly. “Where’d you get it?”
+
+“I made it myself,” returned Mary, with pardonable pride.
+
+“Did you, honest?” he queried, with the natural admiration of the
+normal male for a good cook. “Say, fellers, let’s play school. I’ll be
+teacher.”
+
+Mary laughed appreciatively, and then her face sobered. Nobody with
+a sisterly heart in her bosom could have looked unmoved upon those
+appealing eyes, alight with the eternal hunger of boyhood—and Mary was
+sister to four little Christies at home.
+
+“If I possibly can—and these are good—I’ll bring you a whole pie
+to-morrow,” she promised rashly. “Now I must hurry up to the real
+teacher, honest.”
+
+Miss Porter had just finished opening the windows, and was walking
+briskly back and forth across the end of the room when Mary approached.
+
+“Good morning,” she said, in a politely puzzled voice. “Are you a new
+scholar? Did you want to see me?”
+
+“I wish I _could_ come to school,” returned Mary promptly, “but I’m
+just Merry Christmas here on a visit, so I can’t. But I’ve got a
+present for you. It’s a turnover. I made it, but Mrs. Caldwell sent
+it. Will you eat it right now, please, and tell me how it tastes? I’m
+worried to death.”
+
+“Thank you so much,” cried Miss Porter, laughing. “We’ll eat it
+together, then. I’m sure it’s delicious, but that’s the best way to
+prove it to you. And there’s Nora O’Neil. I don’t think she brought any
+lunch, so we’ll give her some. And then if we all agree that it’s good,
+it must be fine, mustn’t it?”
+
+In two minutes they were all munching happily together on the flaky
+triangle, which Miss Porter and Nora O’Neil praised till the blushing
+cook felt that they appreciated her masterpiece at almost its true
+value.
+
+By this time other little girls, nibbling at their own pies and cakes
+and doughnuts, had begun crowding shyly around to stare at the newcomer.
+
+“These are my little girls,” announced Miss Porter affectionately,
+nodding to a few of the more timid ones to come closer. “And who do you
+suppose this is who has come to see us to-day? Merry Christmas! What do
+you think of that? She was visiting dear Mrs. Caldwell up the road, so
+she lived up to her name and brought me a nice hot turnover for lunch.”
+
+The little girls stared.
+
+“Merry Christmas?” they whispered to one another. “Do you s’pose? Is
+she—_real_?”
+
+Mary’s sharp ears caught the whispers.
+
+“My true-for-a-fact name is Mary Christie,” she explained merrily, “but
+they call me Merry Christmas at school because I’m so crazy about
+snow, and Christmas trees, and Santa Claus, and everything. Aren’t you?”
+
+Several little girls nodded eagerly, then a sudden gloom seemed to
+settle down upon them.
+
+“Might be,” hazarded one.
+
+“Why, what’s the matter?” inquired Mary, with quick sympathy.
+
+The plague of dumbness lifted all at once.
+
+“We was going to have a tree,” began one.
+
+“And a party,” interrupted another.
+
+“On Christmas Eve.”
+
+“Here to the schoolhouse.”
+
+“And give presents.”
+
+“And popcorn, and candy, and everything.”
+
+“It was all planned out, and the trustees had almost promised.”
+
+They took the sentences out of one another’s mouth.
+
+“And old Grouchy Gruff heard of it.”
+
+Miss Porter’s gentle correction passed unheeded.
+
+“Old Grouchy Gruff heard of it, and said he paid most taxes, and he
+wouldn’t let ’em.”
+
+“Said ’twas a waste of fire and lights.”
+
+“Mean old thing!”
+
+“And my father said he’d give the wood.”
+
+“And mine the oil.”
+
+“And then he wouldn’t let ’em use the schoolhouse.”
+
+“’Cause he hates Christmas!”
+
+“I hate _him_!”
+
+“Mean old thing!”
+
+“Children, children!” chided Miss Porter. “You mustn’t talk that way.
+I’ll have to ring the bell. We’re late already. Won’t you stay and
+visit us a little while, Merry Christmas?”
+
+But Merry Christmas shook her head.
+
+“I can’t just now,” she answered gravely. “Maybe I will this afternoon.
+Good-bye!”
+
+The little boys stared in amazement at the quiet little figure that
+slipped past them with only a perfunctory response to their friendly
+grins.
+
+“What’d teacher do to ye?” demanded Jimmy Harrison, the one-time front
+of the flying wedge. “Shall I plug her in the eye with a spitball for
+ye? I can do it,” he added darkly.
+
+Merry Christmas came to herself.
+
+“Oh, no, don’t! She’s awfully nice,” she whispered anxiously. “It’s
+something else—about Christmas,” she added. “The teacher didn’t do it.”
+
+For poor Merry Christmas was struggling with a paralyzing glimpse of
+human perfidy, and her rose-coloured spectacles were searching in vain
+for a sunny spot to relieve the awful gloom. Could Christian America
+shelter such an ogre—a man who hated Christmas so that he was going to
+prevent a party and a tree—and popcorn—and presents—on Christmas Eve
+itself? And did that man live in Oatka Centre—the very warmest corner
+in the heart of that same Christian America? It was so incredible that
+the rose-coloured spectacles began to see a ray of hope in that very
+fact.
+
+“Why, he’d be worse than a heathen!” she murmured. “And of course there
+aren’t any heathen in America, where everybody knows about Christ and
+His birthday. There’s some mistake, that’s all; and I’ll get uncle to
+fix it right.”
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+MRS. EM. TO THE RESCUE
+
+
+It was over two years now since the Widow Em Cottle had left Lemuel
+Perkins’ house in a rage at some last straw of household tyranny, and
+then had widened the breach to a chasm by marrying his hereditary enemy
+and neighbour, Deacon Caldwell. In all that time the chasm had never
+been bridged by one friendly word, and never, both had declared, would
+they utter a syllable to each other, if it were to save their lives.
+
+Fortunately, human beings are rarely as bad or as foolish as their own
+rash vows; and when Mrs. Emma Caldwell stepped out of the Emporium that
+morning and ran into Lem Perkins, unmistakably headed for home and
+dinner, she recognized a “leadin’ plain as the nose on her face,” as
+she afterward explained to the deacon. And Mrs. Caldwell was far too
+good a woman to disobey a “leading.”
+
+“Mornin’, Lem,” she began boldly, casting the usual polite fly upon the
+conversational waters. “Much obliged for the pears. They was as tasty
+as yours always is.”
+
+Mr. Perkins nodded.
+
+“The little gal wanted I should send ’em,” he explained gruffly. “She’s
+a great hand for neighbourin’, sissy is.”
+
+The bull having turned his forehead in her direction, Mrs. Caldwell
+promptly seized him by the horns.
+
+“It’s her I want to talk about,” she announced. “She’s a takin’ young
+one as I’ve seen in a month o’ Sundays, but blind as a bat—or an
+angel,” she added softly. “Land only knows how she’s managed it, but
+she’s took all sorts of a shine to her ‘dear Uncle Lemuel,’ as she
+calls you—thinks you’re the salt of the earth—and good—and kind. Law
+me, Lem, if you could hear her talk, you’d go home and look in the
+glass, and say: ‘Mercy me, who be I, anyway?’”
+
+“Waal,” grunted “dear Uncle Lemuel,” turning aside to hide the pleased
+smile that would twitch at the corners of his mouth in spite of his
+strenuous efforts, “what’s to hender, Mis’ Caldwell? Blood is thicker’n
+water—ain’t it?”
+
+“Yourn hain’t,” retorted Mrs. Caldwell promptly. “It’s hern that’s got
+to provide all the thickenin’ for two. And as to what’s to hender,
+you are, most likely. I’m worried to death this minute over how soon
+that little gal’s heart is a-goin’ to be stove to flinders, a-findin’
+out how fur you be from an’ angel dropped. She’s been up there to my
+house this mornin’ slavin’ away over the cook stove a-making pies for
+a surprise for you, and a-fetchin’ of ’em home so careful! Land, I
+just had to laugh to see her a-carryin’ ’em home one to a time—three
+trips she made of it—usin’ both hands, and a-tiptoein’ along as if
+she was Undertaker Pearse a-startin’ for a funeral. And now I s’pose
+she’s waitin’ there, all nerved up to see how you’ll relish ’em—not
+knowin’ that you’re just about as likely to say a word o’ praise as a
+rhinoceros in a circus. But if you don’t, it’ll break her little heart;
+that’s all I’ve got to say.”
+
+“Humph!” grunted Uncle Lemuel. “Well, so that’s all you got to say,
+Neighbour Caldwell, I’m willin’.”
+
+“No, ’tain’t,” retorted Mrs. Caldwell hotly. “’Tain’t by a long
+shot! Another thing that blessed child’s all worked up about is that
+Christmas business over to school. I sent her over on an errand to the
+teacher this mornin’, and they got to talkin’ over there about how
+you set down on their Christmas doin’s in the trustee meetin’. They
+didn’t use your name—called you some kind of a nickname or other,
+the young ones did—and she never dreamed who ’twas, but come back all
+keyed up and plannin’ to git her Uncle Lem to go to the other old
+what’s-his-name and fix things up. And how she’s ever goin’ to stand it
+when she finds that that dear Uncle Lem of hers is the old curmudgeon
+they was talkin’ about, I dunno. It’s a sin and a shame, Lem Perkins,
+how that child’s cottoned to you—that’s what I call it.”
+
+She stopped suddenly with a gulp, and wiped away a tear with the corner
+of her white apron as she turned away.
+
+Uncle Lem stepped after her.
+
+“Em Cottle,” he said abruptly, “you’re a truthful woman, as fur as I
+know—and I’ve known ye quite a spell. Do you reely b’lieve that young
+one is so—so—that is——” He paused and cleared his throat. “Does she
+lot on me as much as she makes out, or is she jest—doin’ it—to git my
+money, mebbe?”
+
+A blaze of anger dried the tears in Em Cottle’s eyes.
+
+“Well,” she remarked scathingly, “blindness runs in your family, sure
+enough—only with some it’s for bad and with some it’s for good—that’s
+all! There ain’t no use wastin’ no more time on you; that’s sure as
+preachin’.”
+
+With a capable hitch of her green plaid shawl, she turned her plump
+shoulders full upon him, and started briskly up the road.
+
+Uncle Lemuel glanced furtively about him. The village square was empty;
+not even Marthy Ann Watkins’ eye was visible at the post-office window.
+
+“Em! Oh, Em!” he called loudly, and then, as the brisk figure in front
+seemed to hesitate for a moment, he scuttled after it.
+
+“Don’t be in such a brash, Em,” he gasped, as he caught up with her.
+“We hain’t had a dish o’ talk in so long that I guess we can afford to
+spend a minute or so a-doin’ it. You didn’t jest ketch my meanin’ then,
+Em. I didn’t reely think that sissy, there, had plans herself, but I
+didn’t know but mebbe Ellen——”
+
+“If Ellen Rumball had had her eye on your old money bags, she wouldn’t
+’a’ broke with you to go off to Injy with that missionary feller, would
+she?”
+
+Uncle Lem glowered with the remembrance of past injuries.
+
+“Ellen Rumball pretended to like me, too,” he muttered; “and then she
+deserted me in my old age for that good-for-nothin’ missionary chap.”
+
+“Pretended?” exploded Mrs. Em; “pretended? If ’tain’t real likin’
+that would make a woman swaller down all the things you said, and the
+way you acted, and bring up her young ones to think you was the finest
+uncle goin’, well, then it’s real grace; that’s all I’ve got to say!
+And here I be, a-quarrelin’ with you the same as ever, and I’d made up
+my mind butter shouldn’t melt in my mouth.”
+
+But Uncle Lemuel was absorbed in struggling against the softening of
+his grim old face.
+
+“Ellen _has_ fetched sissy up fair to middlin’ well,” he admitted.
+“She’s kind of smart for her years—handy round the house, I mean, ain’t
+she, Em? And folksy—it does beat all! They couldn’t nobody around town
+talk of nothin’ this mornin’ but ‘my little gal,’ as they called her.
+She started out yestiddy arternoon to do her Christmas tradin’, and she
+must ’a’ got acquainted with everybody in sight. She promised Marthy
+Watkins some postcards from Injy. And then the minister comes along,
+and she got him so interested he asked me if I’d let her speak about
+missions to the Children’s Band. And Nate Waters—you know I hain’t been
+in Waters’s store for a matter of a year or so, since he sold me that
+busted plough—but out come Mis’ Waters this morning, to see if I’d mind
+her savin’ sissy a little red chain she had there. Sissy took to it
+uncommon, but she didn’t have money enough to get it, she’d bought so
+much truck for other folks, and Mis’ Waters wanted to give it to her
+for Christmas.”
+
+“Well, I hope to the land you let her!” cried Mrs. Caldwell. “She
+was goin’ to spend a whole fifty cents a-buyin’ you a handsome china
+cup, Lem, good enough for a president. And, though Nate may be tricky
+sometimes, Mis’ Waters is a real nice woman.”
+
+Uncle Lem coughed.
+
+“Well, here ’tis, Em,” he replied at last, producing a little packet
+from his overcoat pocket. “But I guess me and my folks don’t have to be
+beholden to the Waterses yet for our fixin’s. You know little Loviny
+was very partial to red, too,” he added, after a moment.
+
+They had now reached the Perkins gate, but Mrs. Caldwell suddenly
+turned and laid a detaining hand on his arm.
+
+“Why, that’s who ’tis!” she exclaimed softly. “I’ve been a-wonderin’
+and a-wonderin’ who that child reminded me of. She don’t take after
+Ellen Rumball exactly, nor yet Christie, as I remember him, but she’s
+got the very same disposition as your little Loviny had, laughin’ all
+day like a brook, and yet as serious and interested as an old woman
+about things she took a notion to, and the most lovin’ little heart
+that ever was. I was in the Sixth Reader when she began her A B C’s,
+but she got to be friends with the whole school afore the first week
+was out—and I guess there wa’n’t a dry eye to the Centre when we heard
+tell about the runaway. ‘Of such is the kingdom of heaven’—that was the
+text to her funeral, wa’n’t it? And I guess ’tis, too, fast enough. And
+’twould come a heap sooner on earth, I’m thinkin’, if there was more
+like her—wouldn’t it? Well, give my love to sissy,” she added quickly,
+with kindly tact, “and tell her I’ll look for her again in the morning.”
+
+But the old man did not heed her. Across the gulf of over forty years
+he was looking once more at a gay little figure in red merino, that
+danced before him, while his little daughter’s voice cried happily:
+
+“Father, father, come kiss Loviny in her Kissmas-coloured d’ess!”
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+EXIT “OLD GROUCHY GRUFF”
+
+
+Uncle Lemuel laid down his knife and fork with a sigh of repletion, and
+turned toward his little housekeeper.
+
+“Well, sissy,” he remarked, softening his growl to a point that he
+considered positively effeminate, “that ham and eggs was pretty good
+for fillers, but I wouldn’t mind a little somethin’ in the line of
+trimmin’s, myself. I s’pose the Widder Em hain’t sent in no more pies?”
+
+Mary met this triumph of diplomacy with a masterpiece in kind.
+
+“Oh, Uncle Lemuel,” she answered, struggling to hold in leash a half
+dozen riotous dimples that were determined to pop out, “oh, Uncle
+Lemuel, it was doughnuts she sent in this time. Won’t they do?”
+
+And then she sat with bated breath for fear he should say that they
+would.
+
+But Uncle Lemuel did not fail her.
+
+“Well, I s’pose I can eat doughnuts,” he growled more naturally; “but
+what I should reely relish is a good piece of pie.”
+
+At these welcome words, Mary fairly ran into the pantry and out again.
+
+“Would you really, Uncle Lemuel?” she cried, in a state of tense
+excitement. “Well, here it is! Somebody else brought them in this time.
+Apple!” Back once more from the pantry. “Mince!” Another trip. “And
+blueberry!” she ended triumphantly. “Which one shall I cut?”
+
+Uncle Lemuel surveyed the sumptuous array before him.
+
+“Well,” he finally decided, “the blueberry might soak the crust. I
+dunno but we’d better begin on that. Who’d you say fetched ’em?”
+
+“Oh, a friend of yours,” answered Mary hastily. “She wanted you to
+guess after you tasted them. Here’s a nice big piece. I do hope it’s
+good!”
+
+She handed him a generous piece; and then, unmindful of the luscious
+blue juice oozing temptingly upon her own plate, she sat and watched
+his every mouthful with an eager anxiety that would have been
+transparent to a babe in arms.
+
+“Oh, Uncle Lemuel!” she cried, after the lapse of an eternity at least
+five minutes long. “Oh, why don’t you say something? Don’t you _like_
+it?”
+
+“Why don’t you eat your own?” retorted Uncle Lemuel. “I’m just tryin’
+to figger out whose bakin’ this is. It’s kind of new to me, I guess.”
+
+“Isn’t it good?” cried Mary breathlessly.
+
+“Uh-humph!” responded Mr. Perkins slowly, struggling to twist his
+tongue to the unaccustomed language of compliment.
+
+Suddenly a queer little sound across the table made him look up, and,
+to his amazement, he saw that the usually shining brown eyes were
+dimmed with tears.
+
+“It’ll break her little heart,” Mrs. Caldwell’s voice seemed to
+whisper, and with one mighty effort Uncle Lemuel threw discretion to
+the winds.
+
+“It’s better than the Widder Em’s,” he stated rashly. “And I swan I
+didn’t believe there was a woman in town that could beat her on makin’
+pies.”
+
+Pretty good for a man who hadn’t turned a compliment in Heaven knows
+how many years? But Heaven knows, too, how miraculously fast these hard
+old hearts will soften sometimes under the warming sunshine of childish
+love and trust.
+
+“Oh, Uncle, do you mean it?” cried a choked little voice, and, with
+one bound, Mary had flown around the table and flung her arms about his
+neck. “Oh, Uncle Lemuel,” she sobbed happily, “I couldn’t ever have
+borne it if you hadn’t liked it, for I made it myself! You’d never
+believe it, would you? But you can ask Mrs. Caldwell. She showed me
+how.”
+
+“You don’t say,” responded Uncle Lemuel, patting her awkwardly on the
+arm. “Was that what you had your head in the oven for when I came in? I
+thought ’twas them little wind-bags you give me.”
+
+Mary giggled happily.
+
+“The popovers, you mean? Yes, it was. I always have to sit right down
+on the floor and watch when I make them, else I don’t get them out the
+right minute. I had meant those for a surprise, too, but you got here
+so soon you surprised me, instead.”
+
+“Well, you run around now, sissy, and cut me another good piece of pie.
+None of your samples, now,” he added, with something that was almost a
+chuckle. “And you might take a bite or two yourself, now you know it’s
+safe. There won’t be no extry charge.”
+
+It was a veritable incarnation of Merry Christmas who ran to obey these
+commands.
+
+“You don’t know what a weight that is off my mind!” she sighed
+blissfully, settling down at last to “bulwark” her own constitution.
+“They tasted good to me, and to the teacher, and to Nora O’Neil, but
+of course you were the one that really counted. But, oh, Uncle Lemuel,
+that reminds me! Do you know who it is that they call ‘old Grouchy
+Gruff’?”
+
+“Huh?” demanded Mr. Perkins, with a growl that would have answered the
+question to any ears less unsuspecting than those of his little niece.
+
+“Old Grouchy Gruff?” inquired Mary, raising her voice. “Mrs. Caldwell
+said she couldn’t tell me. Do you know him?”
+
+Uncle Lemuel shook his head.
+
+“Don’t you, either?” Mary leaned forward confidentially. “Well, Uncle
+Lemuel, there is somebody around here that they call that. It seems
+unbelievable, but there’s a man in town so horrid that he has stopped
+the Christmas Eve party at the schoolhouse. The biggest taxpayer, they
+say he was, Uncle Lemuel. Who would that be?”
+
+But Uncle Lemuel was deeply absorbed in blueberry pie and showed no
+interest in the identity of old Grouchy Gruff.
+
+“Do you know,” continued Mary thoughtfully, “I almost believe there’s
+some mistake about it somewhere. It doesn’t seem possible that there
+would be anybody who’d stop the children from being happy on the night
+when the dear little Baby Jesus was born in the manger, and the angels
+sang: ‘Peace on earth, good will to men.’ Oh, I just love that part,
+don’t you? The shepherds, and the soft, dark-blue night, and then the
+lovely star and the angels singing.” She paused, and a reverent look
+softened the brown eyes that shone themselves like two little Christmas
+stars. “Oh, Uncle, it’s so beautiful that it makes little thrills go
+all over me, and I want to cry and I want to laugh. Mother used to read
+it to us every Christmas Eve, and then we used to sing, ‘When shepherds
+watched their flocks by night.’ Oh, I wish they would sing that at the
+Christmas party!”
+
+“Thought there wa’n’t goin’ to be none,” growled Mr. Perkins.
+
+Mary smiled cheerfully.
+
+“Oh, I think there will be,” she answered confidently. “Mother says
+things always turn out right when you pray about them, and of course I
+have; and, besides, it’s really His own birthday party, and it must be
+right for us to celebrate that.”
+
+“Was you asked to the party?” inquired Uncle Lemuel.
+
+“Of course I’m not asked yet, because there isn’t any; but if we can
+only get that party for them somehow, they’d invite us both, I’m sure.
+Oh, wouldn’t that be fun! Oh, Uncle, we’ve just got to! First, you ask
+everybody all around who old Grouchy Gruff is, and then, when you find
+out, we’ll go and talk to him and explain. Oh, I’m sure he’d take it
+back if _you_ explained things to him. Why, _anybody_ would be nice
+about a thing like that if he only understood.”
+
+Uncle Lemuel coughed uneasily.
+
+“Mebbe he has his reasons, sissy,” he began; “mebbe he has his reasons.
+They was talkin’ it over to the Emporium the other day, and ’tain’t the
+party part nor the Christmas part that folks objects to so much. It’s
+the schoolhouse. ’Tain’t right to the deestrict to tear the schoolhouse
+to flinders for a thing like that. Why, they’d have to haul up the
+desks offen the floor, and rack the benches all to pieces, like as not,
+and move the teacher’s desk and all. They couldn’t have a party with
+the floor all cluttered up with desks and such.”
+
+Mary pondered.
+
+“And it would be bad for the desks and seats to move them?”
+
+“Tear ’em to flinders,” stated Uncle Lemuel uncompromisingly,
+following up his advantage. “And, besides, they wanted to make candy
+and popcorn, and a schoolroom is no place for that. They need a kitchen
+stove.”
+
+Mary was still pondering, but her eyes were suddenly brighter.
+
+“Besides,” added Uncle Lemuel, delighted that his eloquence was proving
+even more effective here than it had in that memorable session at the
+Emporium, “the schoolhouse don’t light up very first-class, nor heat
+neither—for a winter night. We don’t want the young ones a-ketchin’
+their deaths,” he finished, with an effective, but unexpected, burst of
+altruism.
+
+Mary clapped her hands.
+
+“Oh, I knew you and I could fix it all right!” she cried gleefully.
+“Yes, sir; we can have it right here in this kitchen. I’d rather have
+it than the other party we planned. And that old Grouchy ogre man won’t
+have a thing to say. Mrs. Caldwell said you couldn’t do anything about
+it, but I knew better. And, oh, Uncle Lemuel, this will be just too
+lovely for words! We’ll put the tree in that corner, and they can make
+their candy and popcorn on the stove, and still have plenty of room to
+play games. I knew what you meant the very minute you said kitchen
+stove, and I do think you are the nicest, dearest, preciousest uncle
+that ever walked, so I do!” She ran around the table again to bestow
+an ecstatic hug upon the speechless Mr. Perkins. “And everybody else
+thinks so, too, for I asked them yesterday, and not a person disagreed.”
+
+“This kitchen is just like a talent, isn’t it, Uncle Lem? I guess you
+must be the man that had ten of them; you have so many ways to make
+people happy. I have only one so far—a loving heart; and everybody has
+that, of course; but mother says, if I keep hard at work with that,
+I’ll get others to use in time. When do you suppose afternoon recess
+is, uncle?”
+
+“Huh?” inquired Mr. Perkins, in a voice that betrayed his condition of
+utter daze.
+
+“Afternoon recess?” repeated Mary, more loudly. “I just can’t wait to
+go over and tell those poor children that it’s all right. They’ll be so
+happy. Oh, Uncle, you dear, dear thing! Don’t you want to go, too?”
+
+“I’ve got to go over to Meadsbury this afternoon,” explained Uncle
+Lemuel hastily. “Thought you might like to go for the ride. There’s
+room enough in the cutter. You get ready, while I tackle up. We can
+leave the dishes.”
+
+“Oh, goody! My fourth sleigh ride! I’ll just slip on my hat and coat,
+and run ahead. You can stop at the schoolhouse for me. Do you know,
+Uncle Lemuel, I don’t want to find out who old Grouchy Gruff is, after
+all? So don’t ask, will you? I want to love everybody in Oatka Centre,
+and I know I never could a man like that.”
+
+Up till that moment, Uncle Lemuel had really meant in the back of his
+mind to “put a stop to sissy’s foolishness” as soon as he could get
+his breath, but right then and there a most remarkable thing happened.
+A poor, starved, rickety old organ down under his left ribs, which he
+had almost forgotten he owned, and would have been ashamed to mention,
+anyway, suddenly spoke up in the most surprising manner.
+
+“You’ve starved and choked and neglected me for these many years,
+Lemuel Perkins,” it said, “and tried your best sometimes to kill me off
+entirely; but the tonic of that little girl’s love, with the tender
+memories that it wakens in me, has called me back again to life and
+strength. You may explain in any way you like to those old loafers at
+the Emporium, you may growl all you choose to old Topsy out in the
+barn, but you may _not_ disappoint that little heart that believes in
+you and loves you, in spite of yourself, nor choke up that little
+fountain of innocent affection that is filling my very cockles full of
+youth and love.”
+
+And Uncle Lemuel proved that he was a wise man, after all, by pulling
+his old cap down low over his ears, and stamping without a word out to
+the barn to “tackle up.”
+
+Half an hour later he stopped old Topsy in front of the stone
+schoolhouse, to pick up a small and excited “brown package with a red
+label,” that certainly said “Merry Christmas” as far as you could see
+it.
+
+“Oh, Uncle Lemuel,” cried the package, bobbing to his side as if it
+were full of springs, “why didn’t you come a little sooner? Oh, I wish
+you had been here! I whispered about it to Miss Porter, and she stopped
+the classes and let me tell them all myself what you said about the
+schoolhouse, and that you invited them to come to your house for the
+Christmas party. At first they thought my uncle was Deacon Caldwell,
+wasn’t that funny? But when they heard that it was you, they all just
+clapped and clapped. They like you awfully, don’t they, you dear, dear
+Uncle Lem? And then they gave three cheers for Merry Christmas—that’s
+me; and then three more for you. Oh, I wish you could have heard them
+say: ‘What’s the matter with Mr. Perkins? He’s all right!’ I was so
+proud, I almost cried when I heard them. Uncle Lemuel, this is going to
+be the very happiest Christmas that ever was, isn’t it?”
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+UNCLE LEM’S CHRISTMAS PARTY
+
+
+The village of Oatka Centre had no sooner swallowed the amazing fact
+that Lemuel Perkins was going to give the school children a Christmas
+party in his own house, than its bump of credulity was again strained
+almost to the bursting point by the information that Mrs. Em Caldwell
+was helping actively about the preparations, and that Mr. Lemuel
+Perkins himself had been seen bringing several parcels from “Nate
+Waterses store,” and even talking amicably with Elder Smith on the
+subject of missions in India and a certain small missionary from that
+land, though various essential differences between free will and
+predestination had previously cleft an impassable gulf between them.
+
+“Will wonders never cease?” marvelled Oatka Centre, and then decided
+unanimously that they certainly would not, for about that time it
+transpired that the children’s party had enlarged into a neighbourhood
+celebration, and that every man, woman, and child in the village was
+invited.
+
+It had been Merry Christmas’s first idea to invite the fathers
+and mothers to come with their children; but then so many of her
+particular friends—like Mr. Bennett, and Mrs. Caldwell, and Miss Marthy
+Watkins—were not blessed with children that it seemed impossible
+to narrow the gates of paradise in that manner. And when it was
+once decided to light the fires in the long-disused parlour and
+sitting-room, there really seemed to be no excuse for shutting out
+anybody; particularly as Uncle Lemuel developed a sudden mania for
+inviting every person who had a good word to speak for his “little
+sissy”; and who in Oatka Centre hadn’t by the time those two jolly
+weeks of holiday preparation were over? For, like an unconscious
+messenger of “peace on earth, good will to men,” she had bobbed from
+the schoolhouse to the stores and back again, and presently into every
+house in the village, on one errand or another, trading happily with
+her one little talent, and leaving a trail of “Merry Christmas” in the
+air behind her.
+
+Talk about your Marconi stations! There is nothing like a little human
+heart brimming over with goodwill, and bubbling with enthusiasm, to
+fill the air so full of Christmas spirit that not another thought can
+find a wave to ride on.
+
+And so it happened that by the time the windows of the brown Perkins
+homestead were set cheerily ablaze the snowy village streets were
+crackling and snapping merrily under the tread of many feet.
+
+“I dunno as I’d orter ’a’ shut up the post-office and come,” confided
+Miss Watkins to her neighbour, Mrs. Waters, as they creaked cheerfully
+along together at the end of the line, “when the six o’clock is so late
+and the mail hain’t come in, but Merry Christmas she couldn’t have it
+no other way. She said she was goin’ to have Tom Bennett for Sandy
+Claus, anyway, and she’d just rig him up and have him fetch in the mail
+bags, too, and I could call the letters and passels out right there.”
+
+“That’s a good idee,” assented Mrs. Waters. “Trust that little gal for
+fixin’ things around. She got Nate to shut up, too; and Job, he’s even
+locked up the Emporium. Both on ’em is about sold out, anyway. There
+hain’t been such a time for Christmas tradin’ in Oatka Centre dear
+knows when. It’s funny how that young one stirs things up. It’s her
+bein’ brought up in Injy, I expect, and a missionary’s daughter, so.
+Why, the Baby Jesus and the shepherds and the wise men and the angels
+and all is just as real to her as if they was out in Lem’s paster
+this minute, and she seen ’em. Makes you feel kind of green to have a
+young one come from heathen lands to teach us Christian folks about
+Christmas!”
+
+“It’s her takin’ things so for granted,” explained Miss Watkins. “I
+hain’t give nobody much for Christmas in years, made an excuse of
+bein’ in the office and not havin’ time; and so I told her when she
+was in consultin’ me about some of her Christmas doin’s. Well, sir—the
+next afternoon in she breezed about two o’clock, and said she’d come
+to tend office for me till four, so I could go and do my tradin’;
+and land if she hadn’t wrote a list, too, of some things that she’d
+heard my sister’s young ones say they wanted.” She stopped to laugh
+deprecatingly. “Well, Priscilla, you know I come and bought ’em, don’t
+ye?”
+
+“I bet that’s how she’s worked it with Lem,” answered Mrs. Waters.
+“Took it for granted he was so decent that he was ashamed not to be.
+Lem’s reely quite human these days. Do you remember his little gal,
+Loviny, that he lost years and years ago. Well, he’s been and hunted
+out a little red dress she had, and he wanted me to get some cloth just
+that colour and then to have Mis’ Mosher make it up on the sly for
+Merry. It was for a Christmas present, but Mis’ Mosher carried it up
+this mornin’, and I’ll bet she’ll have it on to-night.”
+
+By this time the two women had reached the brown gate, and they stopped
+to admire the Christmas wreaths that shone against the lighted panes.
+
+“Twenty on ’em there is, in all, and a little bell inside of each one,”
+announced Miss Watkins. “Miss Porter told me, though you can’t see but
+twelve from here. The young ones made ’em yesterday to the schoolhouse.
+Say, there she is now—red dress and all!”
+
+There she was indeed, little Merry Christmas, in her “Kissmas-coloured”
+dress, with a wreath of holly crowning her brown braids—literally
+exploding with joy and delight into a hundred little ripples of
+laughter.
+
+Unmindful of the cold air outside, she danced down the steps to meet
+the latest comers.
+
+“Oh, goody!” she cried. “I was so afraid you’d be late, and I didn’t
+want you to miss anything. The children are going to sing their carols
+first, and then we’re going to have the tree and then the popcorn and
+candy. We made those this afternoon, for there really wouldn’t have
+been any room to-night, there are so many here. And uncle has put a
+dish of apples everywhere he could possibly make room. He thinks apples
+are almost as healthy as pies. You just come this way to the back entry
+and hang your things up. Oh, listen! They’re beginning now. Do you
+suppose I can ever get into the kitchen far enough to sing?”
+
+She certainly couldn’t if she had been anybody but her active little
+self, for everybody else seemed to want to get into that kitchen, too.
+And no wonder, for it was certainly an attractive spot, with its old
+walls wreathed with ground pine and gay streamers, and the lighted
+Christmas tree sparkling at the end, with a ring of happy young faces
+beneath it, lustily carolling their Christmas songs.
+
+[Illustration: “Oh, goody!” she cried. “I was so afraid you’d be late,
+and I didn’t want you to miss anything”]
+
+It was a mammoth kitchen, too, built in the days when the kitchen was
+really the living-room and the heart of the house. But, bless you!
+it would have taken half a dozen such kitchens to contain all the
+happiness and eager anticipation and radiant good-fellowship that
+were rampant there; to say nothing at all of all the people who were
+disjointing their necks, and standing on each other’s feet, and poking
+holes in each other’s ribs, in their anxiety to hear the music, and
+see the decorations, and most of all to satisfy themselves for the
+hundredth time that their own little Johns and Marys were far and
+away the handsomest children there, and the best singers, and that it
+was a wonder that all the other fathers and mothers weren’t blushing
+with mortification at the painful obviousness of these facts.
+
+First and foremost of all these self-complacent mortals was Mr. Lemuel
+Perkins, though he would have been the last person in the world to
+admit, or even to suspect, the fact; though nobody knows how else he
+could have explained the proud lift of his bristling chin whisker, or
+the positively vainglorious swelling of his chest, as a certain little
+holly-crowned figure in a red dress was lifted mysteriously on high,
+and smiled radiantly upon the assembled guests.
+
+“Santa Claus is rather slow to-night,” announced the clear, childish
+voice, “because some of his pack came by mail, and the train is late;
+but my Uncle Lemuel will take his place till he comes. Oh, there he is,
+over by the sink. Will you let Uncle Lemuel through, if you please?”
+
+Uncle Lemuel glanced wildly about, but there was no avenue of escape
+unless he leaped directly through the sink window. And in front of him
+a way was opening through that mass of humanity as miraculously as if
+Moses had been present with his famous rod. Even his growl of dissent
+was lost in the merry babel of voices around him, as a score of hands
+pushed him forward to where a little red-garbed figure welcomed him
+joyfully.
+
+“I’ll help you, Uncle, if you can’t see the names very well,” she
+whispered. “But they’ll like to have you do the calling out.”
+
+“Now, look here, sissy,” he protested; “I ain’t goin’ to have no
+foolishness. Tom Bennett can rig himself up in a mess of red flannin
+and cotton battin’ if he wants to, but I hain’t goin’ to make no show
+of _my_self.”
+
+“Mercy, no!” giggled Mary. “You aren’t round enough for Santa Claus,
+anyway. You just call out the names. Here’s one for Elder Smith, and
+Sarah Haskell, and Deacon Caldwell. There are perfect heaps. Oh, hurry,
+do!”
+
+Uncle Lemuel glanced at the first parcel, and a grim, “down-East” sense
+of humour triumphed.
+
+“Waal, Elder Smith,” he announced in stentorian tones, “I seem
+predestined to hand you over this passel, that’s sure. I’ll bet you
+can’t prove it was my free will this time.”
+
+The burst of laughter that acclaimed this witticism was so intoxicating
+that Mr. Perkins promptly proceeded to make another, which was even
+more successful. Whereupon he yielded himself so thoroughly to the
+unaccustomed delight of public appreciation and approval that when the
+real Santa Claus finally came he was forced to divide his honours with
+a determined Uncle Lemuel, who evidently regarded him as an upstart and
+an interloper.
+
+But bless me! nobody minded that, and least of all the genial Mr.
+Bennett, for two Santa Clauses and a Merry Christmas and half a dozen
+understudies and assistants were none too many to tackle that mass of
+Christmas presents and clear them out of the way in time for the games
+and other jollifications to begin.
+
+It was a mercy that the popcorn and the molasses candy were all made
+beforehand, for otherwise the whole school, and their presents, and
+their teacher, and the tree, would have been stuck together in one huge
+and inextricable popcorn ball; they barely escaped that fate as it was
+just in the eating of those toothsome dainties. But blindman’s-buff and
+stage-coach and puss-in-the-corner have their advantage in the line of
+keeping things moving and preventing you from being glued for life to
+your next neighbour if you chance to adhere in passing.
+
+“Well, this is a real, right-down, old-fashioned Christmas party,
+‘same as mother used to make,’ ain’t it?” queried Deacon Caldwell
+jovially of the man next him and then stopped suddenly, as he realized
+that that man was his time-honoured foe, Mr. Perkins.
+
+But Mr. Perkins had no thought for any ancient grudges just then.
+
+“What’s become of sissy?” he demanded sharply. “I can’t spot her
+nowhere in sight. She was blindman along back, but she hain’t playin’
+now.”
+
+“She must be in the parlour,” suggested Deacon Caldwell kindly. “Like
+as not she went in to hunt up Em. They’re great cronies, her and Em.”
+
+“No, she ain’t,” retorted Uncle Lemuel shortly. “She ain’t there nor in
+the settin’-room, nor upstairs in the bedrooms. You don’t s’pose she’s
+been and took sick, somewheres, do ye?” he added anxiously. “Et too
+much stuff, or come down with that scarlet fever, mebbe?”
+
+“Why, sho now, Lem!” cried the deacon sympathetically. “I’d hate to
+think so. But let’s go get Em. Em’s a master hand in sickness if need
+be.”
+
+“It’ll be easy enough to find her by the red dress,” said Mrs. Caldwell
+encouragingly as she joined the little party of searchers. But
+“upstairs and downstairs and in my lady’s chamber” they looked, and no
+sign of the “Kissmas-coloured” dress did they see.
+
+“There’s the cellar and the woodshed still left,” comforted Mrs.
+Caldwell, glancing sidewise at Uncle Lemuel’s grimly suffering face.
+
+And just as they reached the back-entry door, a little figure in a red
+dress popped in from the woodshed entrance, a radiant little figure,
+that waved a lantern on high, and flung itself joyfully upon Uncle
+Lemuel.
+
+“Where’ve you been?” demanded that gentleman with the gruffness of
+relief. “We’ve been huntin’ you from garret to cellar.”
+
+“Oh, I’m so sorry if you worried!” cried Mary penitently. “I never
+thought you’d notice. Mr. Bennett brought me a letter, you see, from
+mother—my Christmas letter—and of course I was dying to read it, and I
+couldn’t find a single place that was quiet, so I took a lantern and
+went out to the woodshed.”
+
+“I hope you hain’t took your death of cold,” cried Mrs. Caldwell
+anxiously.
+
+“Oh, no; I’m warm as toast,” answered Mary happily. “And I’ve had the
+nicest news you ever knew. Father and mother and the children are
+all coming back to America! Isn’t that lovely? That’s been the only
+drawback to this perfectly beautiful Christmas here—missing them all
+so—and now—just think! They’re coming, too!”
+
+“How do they happen to be comin’?” queried Mrs. Caldwell, returning
+Mary’s ecstatic embrace.
+
+“Why, it’s on account of father’s health. Father’s not been very strong
+for a long time. But neither was I, and look at me now! He’ll be all
+right as soon as he gets to Oatka Centre, and eats enough pie and
+things.”
+
+“Oh, are they comin’ here?” inquired Mrs. Caldwell, in a voice in which
+pleasure and surprise were mingled. Oatka Centre had not yet forgotten
+that when Ellen Rumball chose to marry and go to India, she had done
+so in face of the threat that the Perkins doors would be closed to her
+henceforth and forever.
+
+But Mary returned her gaze with wide-open, astonished eyes.
+
+“Why, she didn’t _say_ Oatka Centre,” she cried. “But where else should
+they come? Why, mother loves Oatka Centre better than any other place
+on earth, she always says. And father has no family at all. So Uncle
+Lemuel is our nearest surviving relative,” she ended quaintly.
+
+“Why, that’s so, of course,” agreed Mrs. Caldwell hastily. “How soon
+did you say they was comin’?”
+
+“Right away, mother says. Isn’t that grand? Maybe I won’t even go back
+to school. Crescent Hill is lovely—for a school; but of course a real
+home, with Uncle Lemuel and the rest of my family, would be lots nicer.
+Oh, Uncle Lemuel, aren’t you glad as can be?”
+
+But the old man was gazing at her with dazed eyes.
+
+“Was you—goin’ back—to school, sissy?” he said slowly. “When?”
+
+“Why, week after next, Uncle Lemuel. We’ve had a whole month, you see.
+But if mother is coming here to live maybe she won’t make me, and I can
+stay right along and bake pies for you all winter. Oh, goody, goody!
+I’m so glad that my toes are skipping round inside my shoes. Do come
+with me while I go and ask Miss Porter what class she would put me in.”
+
+But Uncle Lemuel, muttering something about “the stock,” stepped to the
+back door, and walked slowly out under the silent stars.
+
+“Oh, he’s going out to see if they kneel down,” explained Mary happily,
+after a second of surprise. “I heard that the animals all knelt in
+their stalls on Christmas Eve; and he promised me that he’d go and look
+and call me if they did. But I’m afraid that he’s too early. They
+don’t do it till twelve o’clock, I think. I must run and tell him to
+wait.”
+
+Mrs. Caldwell laid a detaining hand upon her arm.
+
+“I wouldn’t bother him if I was you, dearie,” she said. “Mebbe he’ll
+find ’em now. It’s Christmas Eve, anyhow.”
+
+For Mrs. Caldwell, down deep in her heart, was praying eagerly that the
+stars of Christmas Eve would lead Uncle Lemuel, as they had led the
+Wise Men long ago, to learn the lessons of humbleness and love by the
+side of a manger.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+MERRY CHRISTMAS FINDS THE HAPPY NEW YEAR
+
+
+“Merry Christmas!” shouted a gay little voice, so close to Uncle
+Lemuel’s ear that he turned suddenly and almost dropped the pen with
+which he was laboriously scratching upon a sheet of paper. “Merry
+Christmas! You were such a dear not to wake me up, but it is really
+scandalous, isn’t it, not to get up early on my namesake morning? And
+you’ve been wanting your breakfast, I know. Aren’t you nearly starved,
+Uncle Lemuel, honest?”
+
+Uncle Lemuel permitted himself the luxury of a wintry smile.
+
+“Pretty nigh,” he assented. “I hain’t had a bite to eat but half a pie,
+and three, four doughnuts, and two cups of coffee, and a little bread
+and butter. Before you get them buck-wheats going I’ll likely drop in
+my tracks.”
+
+Mary giggled appreciatively.
+
+“Poor thing!” she cried, with tender mockery. “Well, I’ll hurry.
+Wasn’t Mrs. Caldwell a dear to mix these for me before she went home?
+And weren’t she and Mrs. Waters and Miss Watkins and Miss Porter
+perfect _angels_ to stay and clear up the house for us? Oatka Centre
+people are certainly the loveliest in the world, just as mother says.
+Why, Uncle, what are you doing?”
+
+“Oh, nothing,” returned Mr. Perkins briefly; “just a-writin’ a letter.”
+He spoke as carelessly as if letter writing were a daily occurrence
+with him, instead of an event that was more nearly decennial. “You
+hurry with them cakes, sissy. I’m used to havin’ my breakfast some time
+afore sundown, though I s’pose any time will do for them that’s lived
+turned upside downward on Injy’s coral strand.”
+
+This was a time-honoured joke between them by now, so Mary giggled
+again, meanwhile beating her batter with a skilful hand and issuing
+directions about the table setting.
+
+“Let’s have it right over under the Christmas tree. I’m so glad they
+had to leave that! And you must put on your new cup and drink your
+coffee in it. See, I have my red chain on this morning. I didn’t dare
+to wear my be-yoo-tiful red dress, but I’m going to put it on for
+dinner when we go to Mrs. Caldwell’s. I’m so glad she’s going to have
+Miss Porter, too—and Mr. Bennett. I was afraid they didn’t have any
+nice place to go. And, oh, Uncle Lemuel, what’s that box you’re hiding
+in my chair? Another present? You _dear_! I’m going to open it right
+away!”
+
+“You hold your horses, sissy, till you get them cakes done,” growled
+Uncle Lemuel.
+
+In due time a stack of cakes that matched Uncle Lemuel’s appetite was
+ready, and then the box was opened and the girl “began to sing,” though
+“sing” is really a very polite word with which to describe the series
+of shrieks, squeals, and even whoops of ecstasy with which she greeted
+the consecutive appearance of six wonderful sets of hair ribbons.
+
+“I shall wear them all!” she cried recklessly, and promptly proceeded
+to deck her neat brown braids like May poles with a series of
+fluttering bows—red, light blue, dark blue, yellow, white, and, at the
+very end, two wonderful rosettes of exquisite pink, which were rivalled
+in colour only by the tint of the cheeks above them.
+
+“Oh, Uncle Lemuel!” she cried, in solemn rapture. “I feel as if I must
+have died and gone to heaven. I love pink so that it almost makes me
+ache to look at it. That’s my only objection to being an angel—always
+having to wear white clothes and wings. Don’t you think maybe, if
+I was very good, the Lord would let me have a set of pink ones for
+Sundays?”
+
+But Uncle Lemuel’s theology was not prepared for such imaginative
+flights.
+
+“You’d better eat your vittles, sissy,” he remarked drily. “Time enough
+for choosin’ your wings when you have them to wear. Coffee’s kind of
+tasty this mornin’,” he added craftily. “Wonder if it’s the cup?”
+
+“Let me taste yours and see,” cried Mary, prancing eagerly around the
+table. “Yes, I believe it is. Oh, Uncle, see what I’ve done—got a
+splash of coffee on your letter! I’ll see if I can’t mop it off. Why,
+Uncle, it begins, ‘Niece Ellen!’ Were you writing to mother?”
+
+Uncle Lemuel nodded.
+
+“You see,” he explained slowly, “Ellen and me, we had some words a
+while back, and I thought mebbe she mightn’t feel free—that is, I
+thought mebbe she and Christie would feel freer to come and make their
+home with us for a spell if I wrote and invited ’em right away. I told
+’em that the school was first-class, and that I should start you right
+there with Miss Porter till they come. Do you like that idee?” he ended
+anxiously.
+
+Mary embraced him rapturously.
+
+“Like it?” she cried. “Oh, Uncle Lemuel, I like it so much I can
+scarcely speak! I never saw anybody that did such lovely things for
+people all the time!” She paused a minute, and then clapped her hands.
+“Oh, I know what you are!” she said suddenly. “We are twins, just as I
+said—for I am your little Merry Christmas, and you are the great, big
+Happy New Year that goes with me.”
+
+
+PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+FICTION WORTH READING
+
+
+_NORMAN DUNCAN_
+
+The Bird Store Man
+
+An Old-Fashioned Story. Illustrated, 12mo, boards, net 75c.
+
+  By the sheer wizardry of his art, the author illumines a gray, shabby
+  neighborhood with genial light, and makes of a dingy bird store a
+  temple of high romance. What happens to Timothy Twitter, the cheery
+  old bird dealer; to a wonderful dog Alexander; to the little girl who
+  owns him and her veteran grandfather, is related with a whimsical
+  tenderness few writers since Dickens have been able to employ. There
+  is many a long chuckle awaiting the readers of THE BIRD STORE MAN,
+  and not a few tugs at the heart.
+
+
+_CLARA E. LAUGHLIN_
+
+  _Author of
+  “Everybody’s Lonesome”_
+
+Everybody’s Birthright
+
+A Vision of Jeanne d’Arc. Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net 75c.
+
+  “A tender, heart-reaching and heart-finding story. The aspirations of
+  the average young girl are too little understood. Miss Laughlin not
+  only understands them, but she provides something for them to feed
+  on. In all, she has contrived to put a lot of thoughts on interesting
+  problems into a story that is full of the human touches that gives
+  life to a book. It should add another to that series of classics for
+  girls which have made Miss Laughlin the friend of girls and parents
+  as well.”—_Norma Bright Carson._
+
+
+_WINIFRED ARNOLD_
+
+  _Author of “Mis’ Basset’s
+  Matrimony Bureau”_
+
+Little Merry Christmas
+
+Illustrated, 12mo, boards, net 60c.
+
+  From the moment she alights, one wintry night, at the snow-piled
+  station of Oatka Center, little Mary Christie begins to carry
+  sunshine and happiness into the frosty homes, and still frostier
+  hearts of its inhabitants. How Lem Perkins, her crusty old uncle,
+  together with the entire village, is led into the delectable kingdom
+  of Peace and Goodwill by the guiding hand of a child, is here told in
+  as sweet and jolly a little story as anybody has either written or
+  read in many a long year.
+
+
+_NORMAN HINSDALE PITMAN_
+
+  _Author of
+  “The Lady Elect,” etc._
+
+A Chinese Christmas Tree
+
+Illustrated by Liu Hsing-p’u. Boards, net 50c.
+
+  Here is a Christmas story that is “different”—scenes laid in China,
+  real Chinese children romping through its chapters, and illustrated
+  by quaint pictures drawn by a real Chinese artist. Those who
+  gratefully remember this author’s fine story “The Lady Elect,” will
+  not be surprised to find a vein of mellow wisdom, tempered with warm,
+  glowing sunshine.
+
+
+_CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY_
+
+The Little Angel of Canyon Creek
+
+Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.25.
+
+  A cracking good story of the bad old days of the Western Colorado
+  mining camps—days when a man’s chances of returning to his cabin
+  o’nights depended very largely on the despatch with which he could
+  bring his gun to the “draw.” Into one of these lawless camps comes
+  little Olaf, a homeless wanderer from the East. His advent, followed
+  by that of the Morrisons, marks a new era for Canyon Creek which
+  ends in the “cleaning up” of the entire town. Dr. Brady gives us a
+  captivating tale, brim-full of the vim and color incident to days and
+  places where life was cheap, and virtue both rare and dear.
+
+
+_MARIETTA HOLLEY_
+
+  “_Samantha Allen_”
+
+Josiah Allen on the Woman Question
+
+Illustrated, 16mo, cloth, net $1.00.
+
+  A new volume from the pen of Miss Holley, marked by such quaint
+  thoughtfulness and timely reflection as ran through “Samantha.” All
+  who read it will be bound to feel better, as indeed they should, for
+  they will have done some hearty laughing, and have been ‘up against’
+  some bits of striking philosophy delivered with point, vigor, and
+  chuckling humor. All Josiah Allen’s opinions are wittily, pithily
+  expressed, causing the whole book to fairly bubble with homely,
+  fun-provoking wisdom.
+
+
+_J. J. BELL_
+
+  _Author of “Wee Macgreegor,”
+  “Oh! Christina!” etc._
+
+The Misadventures of Joseph
+
+12mo, cloth, net $1.00.
+
+  A characteristic story in which the author displays unusual ability
+  to portray with quiet, humorous touch, the idiosyncrasies of Scottish
+  life and character. Through a series of highly diverting chapters
+  a homely yet worthy house-painter extricates himself from many a
+  seeming dilemma, by the exercise of a kindly charity and the best
+  attributes of a man.
+
+
+_THEODORA PECK_
+
+  _Author of
+  “The Sword of Dundee”_
+
+White Dawn
+
+A Legend of Ticonderoga. Illustrated, net $1.25.
+
+  A real romance, redolent of love and war. The plot, for the most
+  part, is laid in the beautiful Champlain valley, in the days when
+  the British were storming Ticonderoga, and the armies of Wolfe
+  and Montcalm striving for supremacy in the northern part of the
+  continent. Miss Peck simply packs her book with action, and depicts
+  scene after scene which literally resound with the din of battle and
+  the clash of arms.
+
+
+_S. R. CROCKETT_
+
+  _Author of “The Stickit Minister,”
+  “The Raiders,” etc._
+
+Silver Sand
+
+A Romance of Old Galloway. Cloth, net $1.25.
+
+  “In this romance published only a few days after his death, we find
+  Mr. Crockett in his familiar Wigtownshire, writing at his best,
+  and giving us an even finer display of his powers than when he
+  first captured his admirers. ‘Silver Sand’ is certainly one of the
+  best things he ever did. Some of the characters here portrayed are
+  among the best of his many creations, with an even added depth and
+  tenderness.”—_Pall Mall Gazette._
+
+
+_CAROLINE ABBOT STANLEY_
+
+Dr. Llewellyn and His Friends
+
+Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.25.
+
+  Mrs. Stanley’s new book is a human chronicle of absorbing interest.
+  Humor and pathos of a rare order alternate in its pages, together
+  with some astonishingly good delineation of negro life and character.
+  The _Kansas City Star_ says: “If there is to be a Missouri school of
+  literature to rival the famed Indiana institution, Mrs. Stanley has
+  fairly earned the right to a charter membership.”
+
+
+_GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL LUTZ_
+
+The Man of the Desert
+
+Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.25.
+
+  The author of “The Best Man,” “Marcia Schuyler,” etc., enjoys no mean
+  reputation as a weaver of sweet, wholesome romances, a reputation
+  which “The Man of the Desert” fully maintains. Her latest book tells
+  the love-story of a daughter of luxury and a plain man facing his
+  duty and doing his work on the home mission field of the West. Every
+  reader of this charming story will be made to rejoice in the happy
+  triumph over difficulties which gives to these young people the
+  crowning joy of life, the union of kindred souls.
+
+
+_THURLOW FRASER_
+
+The Call of The East
+
+A Romance of Far Formosa. Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.25.
+
+  Here is a jewel in romance—set amid the blossom-laden islands of the
+  Eastern seas. To its making go the record of one white man’s heroism
+  and native worth, of another’s baseness and treachery; some thrilling
+  incidents of the French invasion of Formosa; a satisfying picture of
+  the great pioneer missionary Mackay, and a love-story as old as Eden,
+  yet as fresh as the dews of the morning.
+
+
+_CAROLINE ABBOT STANLEY_
+
+  _Author of
+  “The Master of the Oaks”_
+
+The Keeper of the Vineyard
+
+A Tale of the Ozarks. Illustrated, $1.25 net.
+
+  “When the Revells publish a novel there can be no question as to its
+  high moral tone. This is an unusual story, in which a young woman
+  assumes the burden of the support of a family and succeeds in her
+  purpose. The story takes us to the Ozarks and to the Vineyards,
+  and charms us by the descriptions of life near the heart of
+  nature.”—_Watchman Examiner._
+
+
+_NORMAN HINSDALE PITMAN_
+
+The Lady Elect
+
+A Chinese Romance. Illustrated by Chinese artists. 12mo, cloth, net
+$1.25.
+
+  “A story that depicts, in all its fascination, the old
+  China—Something of the knowledge of what may be lies at the heart
+  of this Chinese romance—the story of a girl who rebelled against an
+  ‘arranged’ marriage, and of the young man she loved. A romance with
+  all the plot, situation and charm of a modern popular love-story
+  makes the book irresistible.”—_Norma Bright Carson, Editor of Book
+  News._
+
+
+_RICHARD S. HOLMES_
+
+Bradford Horton: Man
+
+A novel. 12mo, cloth, net $1.25.
+
+  “This story is one of intense interest, combining sentiment, pathos,
+  love, humor and high aims and purposes. It is not a sermon. It is
+  just what it claims to be, “a novel.” But he who reads it will find
+  in it an inspiration to higher living. It is fascinating in its
+  presentation of its distinctly human characters.”—_Presbyterian of
+  the South._
+
+
+_MARIETTA HOLLEY_
+
+  (_Josiah Allen’s Wife_)
+
+Samantha on the Woman Question
+
+Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.00.
+
+  “This is the book we have been waiting for. What Samantha doesn’t
+  know, isn’t worth knowing—will throw a little humor on the situation
+  which is becoming too intense. We hope it may have a wide circulation
+  in England, for Samantha who believes in suffrage, does not believe
+  in dynamite, gunpowder and mobs.”—_Examiner._
+
+
+_CHARLES H. LERRIGO_
+
+Doc Williams
+
+A Tale of the Middle West. Illustrated, net $1.25.
+
+  “The homely humor of the old doctor and his childlike faith in
+  ‘the cure’ is so intensely human that he captures the sympathy of
+  the layman at once—a sympathy that becomes the deepest sort of
+  interest.”—_Topeka Capital._
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78374 ***
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+    <meta charset="UTF-8">
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+      Little Merry Christmas | Project Gutenberg
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+</head>
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78374 ***</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 85%">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation">
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+<h1>
+LITTLE MERRY CHRISTMAS
+</h1>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="pageborder">
+<div class="chapter">
+  <p class="center no-indent">
+    <em>By</em>
+    <br>
+    WINIFRED ARNOLD
+  </p>
+  <hr class="double">
+</div>
+<br>
+
+<p>Little Merry Christmas</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p>Illustrated, 12mo, boards, net 60c.</p>
+
+<p>From the moment she alights, one wintry
+night, at the snow-piled station of
+Oatka Center, little Merry Christmas begins
+to carry sunshine and happiness into
+the frosty homes, and still frostier hearts,
+of its inhabitants. How Lem Perkins,
+her crusty old uncle, together with the
+entire village, is led into the delectable
+kingdom of Peace and Goodwill by the
+guiding hand of a child, is here told in a
+sweet and jolly little story.</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+
+<p>Mis’ Bassett’s Matrimony Bureau</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p>Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.00.</p>
+
+<p>Si, Ezry and Zekle, Cynthy, Elviny,
+and Mirandy, with many another character
+whose name suggests the humorous and
+homely phraseology of “way down East,”
+disport themselves to the “everlastin’”
+delight of the reader.</p>
+
+<p>“There is a good deal of homely philosophy
+in Mis’ Bassett’s observations expressed
+in her delightful way.”</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+  —<em>Rochester Herald.</em>
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+</div>
+<br>
+
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp85" id="frontis" style="max-width: 51.5625em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/frontis.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    “Mr. Perkins found himself fumbling with the buttons<br>
+    on a small, blue gingham back”
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+  <p class="right">(See page <a href="#Page_18">18</a>)</p>
+<br>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="center no-indent fs150 bold">
+  LITTLE MERRY<br>
+  CHRISTMAS</p>
+  <br>
+<br>
+  <p class="center no-indent wsp lh">
+  By<br>
+  <span class="fs120">WINIFRED ARNOLD</span><br>
+  Author of “Mis’ Bassett’s Matrimony Bureau”<br>
+  <br>
+  <em>ILLUSTRATED</em><br>
+  <br>
+  </p>
+<figure class="figcenter illowp10" id="titlepage" style="max-width: 7.8125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="">
+</figure>
+  <br>
+  <p class="center no-indent wsp lh">
+  <span class="smcap">New York</span>  <span class="smcap" style="padding-left: 1em">Chicago</span>  <span class="smcap" style="padding-left: 1em">Toronto</span><br>
+  <span class="fs120">Fleming H. Revell Company</span><br>
+  <span class="smcap">London</span>  <span class="allsmcap" style="padding-left: 1em">AND</span>  <span class="smcap" style="padding-left: 1em">Edinburgh</span>
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="center no-indent wsp">
+  Copyright, 1913 by<br>
+  STREET &amp; SMITH<br>
+  <br>
+  Copyright, 1914, by<br>
+  FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY<br>
+  <br>
+  <br>
+  <br>
+  New York: 158 Fifth Avenue<br>
+  Chicago: 125 N. Wabash Ave.<br>
+  Toronto: 25 Richmond St., W.<br>
+  London: 21 Paternoster Square<br>
+  Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street
+</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">
+    CONTENTS
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+<table class="autotable">
+<tr>
+<td class="tdr">
+I.
+</td>
+<td class="tdl">
+<span class="smcap">The Surprise Package</span>
+</td>
+<td class="tdr">
+<a href="#Page_9">9</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdr">
+II.
+</td>
+<td class="tdl">
+<span class="smcap">Pancakes for Two</span>
+</td>
+<td class="tdr">
+<a href="#Page_14">14</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdr">
+III.
+</td>
+<td class="tdl">
+<span class="smcap">The New Housekeeper</span>
+</td>
+<td class="tdr">
+<a href="#Page_23">23</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdr">
+IV.
+</td>
+<td class="tdl">
+<span class="smcap">Hunting for the Pie-Maker</span>
+</td>
+<td class="tdr">
+<a href="#Page_31">31</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdr">
+V.
+</td>
+<td class="tdl">
+<span class="smcap">The Turnover Goes to School</span>
+</td>
+<td class="tdr">
+<a href="#Page_43">43</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdr">
+VI.
+</td>
+<td class="tdl">
+<span class="smcap">Mrs. Em. to the Rescue</span>
+</td>
+<td class="tdr">
+<a href="#Page_53">53</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdr">
+VII.
+</td>
+<td class="tdl">
+<span class="smcap">Exit “Old Grouchy Gruff”</span>
+</td>
+<td class="tdr">
+<a href="#Page_61">61</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdr">
+VIII.
+</td>
+<td class="tdl">
+<span class="smcap">Uncle Lem’s Christmas Party</span>
+</td>
+<td class="tdr">
+<a href="#Page_73">73</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdr">
+IX.
+</td>
+<td class="tdl">
+<span class="smcap">Merry Christmas Finds the Happy New Year</span>
+</td>
+<td class="tdr">
+<a href="#Page_87">87</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="ILLUSTRATIONS">
+    ILLUSTRATIONS
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+<table class="autotable">
+<tr>
+<td class="tdlx">
+“Mr. Perkins found himself fumbling with the buttons on a small, blue gingham back”
+</td>
+<td class="tdr">
+<em><a href="#frontis">Frontispiece</a></em>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdlx">
+</td>
+<td class="tdr fs70">
+FACING
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdlx">
+</td>
+<td class="tdr fs70">
+PAGE
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdlx">
+“Where’s the bundle Sim Coles left?” he demanded of the group around the stove
+</td>
+<td class="tdr">
+<a href="#facing010">10</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdlx">
+“How do you do! Does my uncle, Mr. Lemuel Perkins, live here?”
+</td>
+<td class="tdr">
+<a href="#facing014">14</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdlx">
+“Oh, goody!” she cried. “I was so afraid you’d be late, and I didn’t want you to miss anything”
+</td>
+<td class="tdr">
+<a href="#facing078">78</a>
+</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="I">
+    I
+    <br>
+    THE SURPRISE PACKAGE
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image009.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap">
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap2"><span class="upper-case">“Here’s</span> a package for you, Hime,”
+yelled the burly conductor.
+“Brown, with a red label on top.
+I’ll just set it here till you haul
+down the mail bags.”</p>
+
+<p>The station-master’s lantern
+stopped bobbing for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>“All right. Set it down inside,” he shouted,
+over his shoulder. “Snow’s so deep to-night
+I might lose it on the platform.”</p>
+
+<p>The little girl in the brown coat and the hat
+with the big red bow on top, giggled delightedly.</p>
+
+<p>“He’ll think it’s lost sure enough,” she said.
+“’Twould be a fine April Fool if it wasn’t so
+near Christmas, wouldn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>“A-number-one,” agreed the big conductor,
+appreciatively. “Well, good-bye, sissy; the
+train’s moving. Hope you’ll have a fine time.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I shall,” responded the little girl confidently.
+“I always do. Good-bye. Oh, look!
+He’s coming!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p>
+
+<p>Down the platform bobbed the station-master’s
+lantern, the centre of a moving vortex of
+big, fluffy snowflakes. After the darkness
+outside, even the dimly lighted little waiting
+room seemed dazzling as he stepped inside,
+dragging the mail bags behind him.</p>
+
+<p>“Where’s the bundle Sim Coles left?” he
+demanded of the little group assembled around
+the tall, whitewashed stove, slinging his burden
+at the feet of the village bus driver, who stood
+with one foot on the ledge around the bottom
+of the stove, while he slapped his wet mittens
+against its glowing sides.</p>
+
+<p>“Sim Coles never came in here,” answered
+a tall man with a black beard. “He was talkin’
+outside with a little gal.”</p>
+
+<p>“Likely he’s hove it into a snowdrift,”
+grumbled the station-master, turning back
+toward the door. “Should think he might
+uv——”</p>
+
+<p>A little brown figure sprang out of the
+shadows.</p>
+
+<p>“No, he didn’t,” she contradicted gleefully.
+“I’m the brown package, you know, and the
+bow on my hat is the red label. He said it for
+a joke.”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment the group around the stove
+stared—then they joined in the merry peal of
+laughter that was shaking the red label.</p>
+<br>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="facing010" style="max-width: 62.5em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/facing010.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    “Where’s the bundle Sim Coles left?” he demanded of the group around the stove
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+<br>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p>
+
+<p>“So you’re the package, be ye?” inquired
+the station-master. “Waal, where are you
+bound for, sissy? Come on up and let’s read
+that fancy tag of yourn.”</p>
+
+<p>The little girl bubbled appreciatively.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve come to visit my uncle,” she explained.
+“That is, he’s mother’s uncle, Mr. Lemuel
+Perkins.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is Lem expectin’ of you?” inquired the
+’bus driver, leisurely picking up a mail bag
+from the floor.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, no. Isn’t it fun? I’m a real Christmas
+surprise, you know, sent early, so as not
+to overload the mail.”</p>
+
+<p>She laughed again.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I guess you’d better ride along up
+with me, then. Lem lives just a little piece
+beyond the post-office.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, goody!” exclaimed the delighted passenger,
+with a breezy little rush across the
+room to the other door. “This will be my
+second sleigh ride, and I can drop right down
+on him out of a snowstorm, just the way a
+Christmas surprise ought to. May I sit on the
+front seat with you, Mr.—er——”</p>
+
+<p>“Bennett,” supplied that gentleman genially.
+“Drove the Oatka Centre ’bus ever since there
+was a deepo to drive to. Say, who was your
+mother, sissy? Did she ever live here?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Not exactly. Her name was Ellen Rumball,
+till she married father and went to India
+to live. She used to visit Uncle Lemuel and
+Aunt Nancy, before Aunt Nancy died.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, pshaw now! She ain’t the Ellen
+Rumball that married a missionary named
+Christian, is she?”</p>
+
+<p>“Christie,” corrected the small person.
+“We’re all missionaries, and live in India.
+Father and mother and me and the children.
+Only I’m in boarding school now—Crescent
+Hill, you know—the <em>loveliest</em> school! But
+scarlet fever broke out, so school closed two
+weeks early, and the girl I was going to visit
+has the fever, so I decided to come right down
+and spend Christmas with Uncle Lemuel.
+Won’t he be surprised?”</p>
+
+<p>The driver peered out through the soft darkness.</p>
+
+<p>“He will that,” he drawled. “Lem ain’t so
+gol darned used to children as some.”</p>
+
+<p>The little girl’s laugh tinkled gleefully.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I’m not a child,” she explained. “I
+guess you didn’t see me very well; the station
+was so dark. Why, I’m thirteen and a half
+years old, and I’ve been grown up for a long
+time. I had to be, you see, to take care of the
+children. Mother had her hands so full with
+the people and the schools and father’s meetings
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>and all that. Being a missionary is the
+most absorbing work there is,” she ended impressively.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I see,” chuckled Mr. Bennett. “Quite
+an old lady, and a missionary to boot. That’s
+lucky, now. Lem’s been lookin’ for a housekeeper
+for quite a spell, they say—ever since
+the Widder Em left him. A missionary, now,
+will come in real handy. I’ll drive ye right
+over first, and stop to the office on the way
+back. Can you see that light down there?
+That’s Lem’s kitchen. Want I should come in
+with ye, sissy?”</p>
+
+<p>The little girl pondered for a minute. “No,
+I believe not,” she answered. “It would make
+you seem more like Santa Claus, I think, if you
+just dropped me and rode away.”</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bennett chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>“Mebbe it would, sissy, mebbe it would. I
+hain’t seen Sandy Claus in so long that I’ve
+pretty nigh forgot how he does act. Whoa,
+there, you reindeers! Hold on while I drop a
+Christmas passel down through Lem Perkins’
+chimley. Good-bye now, sissy. Good luck to
+ye. Giddap thar, you reindeers! Giddap!”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="II">
+    II
+    <br>
+    PANCAKES FOR TWO
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image014.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap">
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">In</span> the kitchen wing of the old-fashioned
+brown house an old man was
+just beginning to get supper, a
+choleric old man, if one could judge
+by the bushy fierceness of the shaggy
+eyebrows above the sharp blue eyes,
+and the aggressive slant of the gray chin
+whisker. Mr. Lemuel Perkins had come in
+rather late from a particularly heated meeting
+of the village debating society, in grocery store
+assembled, and you will have to admit that it
+is not a soothing experience for a hungry man
+to find the kitchen in dire confusion, the fire in
+the cook stove nothing but a mass of embers,
+and not a sign of supper in sight unless the
+attenuated remains of a solitary dinner answer
+that description.</p>
+<br>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="facing014" style="max-width: 62.5em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/facing014.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    “How do you do! Does my uncle, Mr. Lemuel Perkins, live here?”
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+<br>
+
+<p>A fire was blazing in the stove now, however;
+and, girdled in a blue gingham apron, Mr.
+Perkins was adding to the general confusion on
+the kitchen table by trying to “stir up” something
+for supper, with the aid of a “ring-streaked
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>and spotted” recipe book. Intent
+upon discovering whether a certain eleven was
+really eleven or only a one and a fly speck, Mr.
+Perkins totally disregarded the sound of “some
+one gently tapping, tapping” at his kitchen
+door, and did not even realize that it had been
+pushed open till a brisk young voice inquired:</p>
+
+<p>“How do you do! Does my uncle, Mr.
+Lemuel Perkins, live here?”</p>
+
+<p>“Huh?” demanded Mr. Perkins, whirling
+about, recipe book in hand, and eyeing the intruder
+fiercely.</p>
+
+<p>But fierce looks can find no entrance through
+a pair of rose-colored spectacles that are radiating
+sunshine and goodwill as hard as ever
+they can.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you are Uncle Lemuel!” cried a happy
+little voice, while its owner rushed headlong
+across the kitchen with outstretched arms.
+“I’m so glad to see you.” With a gay little
+spring she planted a kiss on the tip of the
+bristling chin whisker. “I’m your grandniece,
+Mary, and I’ve come to spend Christmas with
+you for a surprise. Have you had scarlet
+fever?”</p>
+
+<p>“Huh?” inquired Mr. Perkins again, a trifle
+less fierce, but much more bewildered.</p>
+
+<p>“Scarlet fever?” shrieked Mary, deciding at
+once that of course a proper great-uncle would
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>be deaf. “Have—you—had—scarlet fever?
+I’ve—been exposed!”</p>
+
+<p>“For the land sakes, little gal, quit your
+yellin’! I ain’t deef,” retorted Mr. Perkins.
+“Who’d you say you was?”</p>
+
+<p>“Mary, your niece; but I’m not a little girl.
+I’m thirteen and a half. Mother says I’m a real
+little woman.”</p>
+
+<p>“She does, does she? Waal, we’ll see which
+on us is right about it. Is there one cup of flour
+in pancakes, or eleven? This blamed receipt
+book is so messed up I can’t tell.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, are you making pancakes?” returned
+his guest joyfully. “I’m so glad. I was afraid
+you’d be through supper, and I’m almost
+starved. You wouldn’t let me make the pancakes,
+would you, Uncle Lemuel? India’s not
+a very suitable place for them, mother says, so
+we never had them much, but she let me make
+them once or twice, and I just love to hear
+them go splash on the griddle, and then bob
+up like a rubber ball, and then flop them over,
+all brown and lovely. It’s such fun! But
+probably you love to make them, too. I
+oughtn’t to ask the first night, I suppose.”</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lemuel’s visage, being trained to express
+habitual displeasure, had no difficulty in
+concealing the feelings of joy that coursed
+through him at these words. As he himself
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span>would have expressed it, he “hated like dumb
+p’ison to cook a meal of vittles,” but it was
+against Uncle Lemuel’s principles to display
+satisfaction with the happenings of the world
+about him.</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” he responded slowly, “if you’re so
+set on it, I s’pose you might as well. Only
+don’t be wasteful now, and stir up a mess we
+can’t eat.”</p>
+
+<p>He handed over the recipe book with a
+grudging air that would have deceived the
+very elect.</p>
+
+<p>“I won’t,” promised his guest happily,
+whisking off her coat with one hand and her
+hat with the other, and finally finding a satisfactory
+place for them on a remote rocking-chair
+covered with red calico. “What
+fun, starting in housekeeping with you right
+away like this! And such a grand fire! Will
+you set the table, and have you got some real
+maple sirup? I don’t think they have at
+school, but mother said you and Aunt Nancy
+got it right from your own trees. Do you
+keep them in the back yard, and go out, and
+draw some when you want it, as if you were
+milking a cow?”</p>
+
+<p>She was diving into her russet leather handbag
+as she spoke, and presently she pulled out
+a blue gingham apron with triumphant glee.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Here’s my big kitchen apron. Isn’t it the
+luckiest thing that I brought it in my handbag?
+I didn’t have a chance to wear it at
+school, so I left it out of my trunk, and then
+I ran across it at the last minute, and tucked
+it in here. Everything does turn out so
+grandly! Why, see, our aprons match! How
+funny! We’re twins, aren’t we? Will you
+button me up in the back, please, and then
+I’ll tie yours again. Yours is slipping off.”</p>
+
+<p>In another moment the dazed Mr. Perkins
+found himself fumbling with the buttons on
+a small blue gingham back; and then, before
+he could even think of the first letter of Jack
+Robinson’s name, a capable hand had tightened
+his own apron strings, and transported
+by two active little feet was marshalling the
+various “ingrejunts” that he had already
+gathered together on the kitchen table.</p>
+
+<p>Muttering something about maple sirup,
+he retreated to the cellar to collect his
+wits, though he knew full well that the sirup
+can, since time immemorial, had occupied
+the right-hand end of the top “butt’ry”
+shelf.</p>
+
+<p>By the time he returned the culinary operations
+had been transferred to the sink bench,
+and the kitchen table was laid for two. On
+the stove a shining griddle was smoking in anticipation,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>while the little cook was giving a
+last anxious whip to the batter.</p>
+
+<p>“I couldn’t find the napkins, Uncle Lemuel,”
+she called, as the cellarway door opened.
+“Will you get them out, please, and put the
+butter and sirup on the table? Oh, I do <em>pray</em>
+these cakes will be good! It’s such a responsibility
+to cook for a grown-up man!”</p>
+
+<p>A silence, heavy with the deepest anxiety,
+settled almost visibly over the Perkins kitchen
+from the first slap of the batter upon the smoking
+griddle, till three cakes had been duly
+“flopped” by the little cook’s careful hand.
+These, however, presented to view such beautiful,
+round, creamy countenances, almost obscured
+by very becoming brown lace veils,
+that two huge sighs of relief exhaled together;
+one of which was speedily transformed into
+a dry little cough, while Uncle Lemuel turned
+and tiptoed away in search of the tea caddy
+and the old brown pot.</p>
+
+<p>“As soon as we get six, we can sit down
+and begin,” called Mary excitedly. “The
+stove’s so handy I can cook and eat, too.
+That’s such a nice thing about eating in the
+kitchen. We could never do that in India,
+there were always too many servants around,
+though mother tried to keep it as much like
+an American home as she could. That’s why
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span>she taught me to cook—so we could have
+American dishes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Can you make pie?” queried Uncle Lemuel,
+through a mouthful so dripping with maple
+sirup that even his tones seemed sweetened.</p>
+
+<p>“No, I can’t,” admitted Mary regretfully.
+“Father didn’t think pie was good for us, so
+mother never tried to manage that.”</p>
+
+<p>All traces of sirup departed abruptly from
+Uncle Lemuel’s tones.</p>
+
+<p>“Good for ye?” he growled. “Well, if
+that ain’t just like some folkses impudence!
+Good for ye? Humph! Mebbe if I hadn’t et
+it three times a day I mightn’t have had no
+more sprawl than to go out to Injy and lay
+round under a green cotton umbrell’ with a
+black feller fannin’ the flies off of me. Why,
+it’s eatin’ pie reg’lar that’s put the United
+States ahead of all the other nations of the
+world! It’s the bulwark of the American
+Constitution, pie is.”</p>
+
+<p>Mary gazed at him with wide and interested
+eyes. Her mental picture of her own
+overworked father was so many leagues away
+from the vision under the green cotton umbrella
+that, far from resenting Uncle Lemuel’s
+thrust, she never even recognized it.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think maybe that’s the matter with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>our constitutions?” she inquired eagerly. “I
+had to come over to school because I wasn’t
+well, and father isn’t a bit strong, either.
+Mother thought it was the climate.”</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lem’s growl struggled through another
+mouthful of sirup.</p>
+
+<p>“Climate! Huh! A man that eats strengthenin’
+food enough can stand up against any
+climate the Almighty ever made. I’ve felt
+sorter pindlin’ myself since I hain’t had my pie
+reg’lar, an’ the climate or Oatka Centre is the
+same as ever, hain’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>Even the intellect of a missionary as old as
+thirteen and a half is forced to bow before
+such logic as that.</p>
+
+<p>“Then I must learn how to make pie
+straight away,” announced Mary solemnly.
+“Could you teach me, Uncle Lemuel?”</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lemuel shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“It takes womenfolks to make pies,” he
+admitted grudgingly. “I hain’t had a decent
+pie in the house since the Widder Em left
+here.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did she make good ones?” inquired Mary
+sympathetically.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lemuel was almost torn in twain between
+his natural tendency toward disparagement
+and the soothing effects of the innumerable
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>procession of well-browned griddle cakes
+that had come his way.</p>
+
+<p>“There is folks,” he compromised, “that
+thinks she was a master-hand at it. Some
+say the best in the village. I’ve et worse myself.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s too bad she moved away,” sighed
+Mary; “but I guess we can find somebody
+else. Mother said the people in Oatka Centre
+were the kindest in the world, and of course
+they’d do it for you, anyhow.”</p>
+
+<p>A touch of a smile twitched at one corner
+of the old man’s mouth.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes,” he assented, with grim humour.
+“Any durned one of ’em would do anythin’
+under the canopy for me.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s because you’d do anything under
+the canopy for them,” agreed the little girl.
+“Kind people always find other people kind,
+mother says. I do wish I could do something
+for you myself, you’re such a nice uncle, but
+I’m getting so sleepy I can’t think of a thing.
+If you’re through, we’d better wash the dishes
+quickly, else I might,” she ended, with a
+sleepy little giggle, “tumble—splash—into the
+dishpan.”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="III">
+    III
+    <br>
+    THE NEW HOUSEKEEPER
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image023.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap">
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">It</span> was still dark when a resounding
+thump on the door of the “parlour
+bedroom” wakened the unconscious
+little missionary, who had plumped
+into the exact centre of its feather
+bed the night before, and had
+never stirred since.</p>
+
+<p>“Be ye goin’ to sleep all day?” growled a
+voice outside.</p>
+
+<p>The little brown head bounced out of its
+pillow like a jack-in-a-box.</p>
+
+<p>“Goodness, no!” answered its owner, in a
+startled voice. “I didn’t know it was daytime.
+Why, I meant to help you get breakfast!
+Is it too late?”</p>
+
+<p>“I s’pose I can wait, if you’re set on makin’
+some more pancakes,” responded Uncle Lemuel
+craftily. “But you’d better flax around
+pretty spry. I’ll get the griddle het up.”</p>
+
+<p>The air of that “parlour bedroom” was
+certainly conducive to spry “flaxing” if you
+didn’t want to congeal in a half-dressed condition,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>and by the time the griddle was well
+“het,” the new cook appeared on the scene.</p>
+
+<p>“Good morning, Uncle Lemuel!” she cried
+gaily, whisking across the kitchen and planting
+a swift little kiss upon that gentleman’s
+amazed countenance before she whirled about
+and presented her blue gingham back to be
+buttoned. “You certainly are the nicest man
+in the world to wait so I could cook, and I
+have planned a perfectly grand surprise for
+you, too. We’re going to have the jolliest
+Christmas together that ever was. Is the coffee
+made yet?”</p>
+
+<p>“Who told you to come here for Christmas?”
+demanded Mr. Perkins, as he began
+on his second plate of pancakes.</p>
+
+<p>“Nobody at all,” bubbled his guest gleefully.
+“That’s the joke of it. It’s a perfect
+surprise all around. I was going home with
+Patty Stanwood, you know, because her
+mother and mine used to be school friends.
+And then Patty had scarlet fever, and her
+mother was afraid of me on account of the
+baby. So then I remembered what fine times
+mother used to have here when she was a girl,
+and I knew this would be just the ideal place
+to spend Christmas. You know, I’ve never
+seen a real snowy American Christmas before
+in my life, and I’m just wild about it. The
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>girls at school call me ‘Merry Christmas,’ instead
+of ‘Mary Christie,’ because I talk so
+much about it, and I <em>love</em> it for a name!
+Aren’t you just crazy about Christmas, Uncle
+Lemuel?”</p>
+
+<p>Crazy about Christmas? Yes, indeed, little
+Merry! Why, it was only the afternoon before,
+Job Simpkins, of the village “Emporium,”
+would have told you, that “Lem Perkins
+had bellered and tore around as if the
+very name of Christmas was a red flannin rag
+waved in front of a bull.”</p>
+
+<p>But when he looked into the shining young
+eyes before him, even Uncle Lemuel’s frenzy
+couldn’t fail to be a trifle abated.</p>
+
+<p>“I hain’t much use for it—late years,” he
+answered gruffly. “Folks make such tarnation
+fools of themselves.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you are a Christmas reformer,” translated
+his little guest blithely. “Lots of people
+are in America, they say. Maybe you are
+a Spug. Are you a Spug, Uncle Lemuel?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, siree, Republican and Hardshell Baptist,
+same as I’ve always been. The old ways
+is good enough for me. What’s Spug, I’d like
+to know?”</p>
+
+<p>Mary clapped her hands.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m so glad!” she cried gleefully. “It’s
+a society to make you give useful Christmas
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>presents to people, and I’ve had useful ones
+all my life—being a missionary family with
+five children, of course we had to. But I’d
+rather join a society to prevent them myself,
+for I like useless ones lots better. Don’t you?
+I’ve been hoping awfully that somebody would
+give me a string of red beads or a set of pink
+hair ribbons. Oh, I didn’t mean that for a
+hint! Do excuse me, Uncle Lemuel! Of
+course, I’ll like best whatever you choose.
+How big a turkey do you usually buy?” she
+ended hastily.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t buy none,” grunted Uncle Lemuel,
+with his nose in his coffee cup.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, of course not! You raise them
+yourself, don’t you? I <em>am</em> a goose,” she
+laughed. “Besides, people always invite you
+when you live alone. I hope they won’t this
+year. It would be such fun to have a Christmas
+party of our own, wouldn’t it, right here
+in this kitchen? Who do you want to invite?
+I must go right out and get acquainted, so I’ll
+have some friends of my own to ask. It’s
+only two weeks off, but you can make a lot
+of friends in two weeks, can’t you, if you go
+about it the right way? See what friends
+we’ve got to be already!”</p>
+
+<p>“The science of self-expression” was quite
+unknown when Uncle Lemuel went to district
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>school, but it would have demanded a full
+dramatic course adequately to cope with the
+torrent of varying emotions that was surging
+through the time-worn channels of his consciousness.
+Surprise, disgust, amusement,
+wonder, disapproval, horror, and a wee touch
+of pleasure tumbled over one another in rapid
+succession.</p>
+
+<p>And some way the wee touch of pleasure in
+the child’s innocent friendliness and liking
+soared high enough on top of the flood to
+soften the hard old mouth for a little and keep
+back for the nonce the bitter words that would
+shatter her Christmas air castles to fragments.
+Nobody had really liked Lemuel Perkins in so
+many years that he couldn’t be blamed for enjoying
+the sensation, though he felt as queer
+as must an ice-bound stream when the first
+little trickle of water creeps warmly through
+its breast.</p>
+
+<p>“Want I should help ye with the dishes?”
+he inquired almost kindly. “I’ve got to go
+over to town of an errand after a spell.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, have you got time? I’m so glad! Do
+you know, that’s the funny thing about dishes?
+If you do them alone, they are the worst old
+job that ever was, but when somebody nice
+wipes for you, they’re just fun. Mother says
+it’s that way with most kinds of work. Could
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>you stay long enough to help sort things out
+a little, too? For a man, of course, you’re
+a very nice housekeeper—you ought to see father!—but
+with two of us around we may
+need a little more room, don’t you think so?”</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately there was no one at hand to
+reveal the fact that, no longer ago than two
+hours, Mr. Lemuel Perkins had stated firmly
+to the kitchen stove that “folks that walked
+in on you unasked and unwanted should at
+least pay for their vittles by doing all the
+housework.” Kitchen stoves do not taunt you
+with changing your mind, so Uncle Lemuel
+was not hampered by the fear that has kept
+many a better man from improving on himself.</p>
+
+<p>By half-past nine the Perkins kitchen shone
+resplendent in the morning sunshine with a
+brightness reminiscent of the days when Aunt
+Nancy had boasted proudly that her kitchen
+was the pleasantest room in the house.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lemuel would really have liked to
+sit down and enjoy its sunny neatness for a
+while, but an irresistible impulse had begun
+tugging at his cowhide boots, and Uncle
+Lemuel had no choice but to set them at once
+on the path to the post-office. For nine o’clock
+is “mail time” in Oatka Centre, and either
+totally unsocial or completely bedridden are
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>the menfolks who fail to forgather on a fine
+winter morning in the ever-exciting pursuit
+of the letter that never comes.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m goin’ over to the office, and to get
+the meat,” he announced, pulling his old cap
+down over his ears.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I hope you’ll get me a letter!” cried
+Mary. “I never feel perfectly at home in a
+new place till I begin to get mail. Do you
+know the post-master, Uncle Lemuel?”</p>
+
+<p>“Know Marthy Ann Watkins?” jeered
+Uncle Lemuel. “Knowed her since she was
+knee high to a grasshopper. And, moreover,
+if there’s a man, woman, or child in this township
+that don’t know Marthy Ann, it ain’t her
+fault; you can bet your bottom dollar on that.
+Keepin’ track of folks is her business. Prob’ly
+knows what we et for breakfast by this time.”</p>
+
+<p>Mary’s laughter bubbled out merrily.
+“Goodness me, Uncle Lemuel! Then she
+knows that I haven’t written to mother yet,
+to tell her where I am. So I’d better do it
+right away. Maybe I’ll see you over at the
+post-office by-and-by. Have you any special
+messages for mother and father, or shall I
+just send your love?”</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lemuel was engaged in hauling his
+old cap still farther over his ears, and apparently
+he did not hear this amazing question,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>for he emitted no sounds but another grunt
+before the door slammed behind him.</p>
+
+<p>“He <em>is</em> deaf,” decided his little guest innocently;
+“but I mustn’t make him see that I
+notice it by asking over. Deaf people are so
+sensitive. Love will do this time, anyway.”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span></p>
+
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="IV">
+    IV
+    <br>
+    HUNTING FOR THE PIE-MAKER
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image031.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap">
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">It</span> was nearly ten o’clock when Mary
+pushed open the door of the post-office
+and stepped in. Not a soul
+was in sight, so she tiptoed over to
+the little window framed in boxes.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you Miss Martha Watkins?”
+she inquired cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Mercy land!” ejaculated a thin lady inside,
+quitting at one bound her creaky rocking-chair
+and her enthralling occupation of sorting
+picture postcards. “Who be you, child, and
+whose mail do you want?”</p>
+
+<p>“My own, if there is any—Mary Christie’s—but
+I guess there isn’t, for I only got
+here last night. I really came to mail my letter
+to mother, and get acquainted with you.
+My uncle said you were the friendliest lady
+in town, and I’m looking for friends, myself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who’s your uncle?” inquired Miss Watkins.</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Lemuel Perkins, a very old friend of
+yours. Isn’t he nice?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p>
+
+<p>Miss Marthy overlooked the last question.</p>
+
+<p>“And what did Lem Perkins say about me,
+did you say?” she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>Mary knitted her brows.</p>
+
+<p>“He said,” she repeated slowly, “that you—that
+you—oh, I know!—that you tried to be
+friends with everybody in town, and it wasn’t
+your fault if you weren’t. And I needed
+some help right away, so of course I came to
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Watkins struggled not to look as
+pleased as she felt.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, who in tunket would uv thought
+that of Lem Perkins?” she marvelled. “Well,
+he hit the nail on the head anyways. I do love
+to be friendly with folks, that’s certain. What
+can I do for you, sissy?”</p>
+
+<p>“Can you tell me who’s the best pie-maker
+in town, since uncle’s housekeeper moved
+away? It’s such a shame she’s gone, for I
+want to learn right off for a surprise for
+uncle.”</p>
+
+<p>“She that was the Widder Em Cottle, do
+you mean? Mis’ Caldwell that is?”</p>
+
+<p>Mary hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>“Uncle said the Widow Em. Is she Mrs.
+Caldwell, too? He said people thought she
+was the best pie-maker in town. Is that the
+one?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p>
+
+<p>Miss Watkins stared.</p>
+
+<p>“Lem Perkins has certainly met a change
+of heart!” she ejaculated. “What made you
+think she’d moved away? She lives in that
+white house just beyond your uncle’s. I’ll bet
+he never told you the whole story, did he?”</p>
+
+<p>She leaned forward eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>But Mary was absorbed in her joy over the
+happy turn of affairs.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, goody, goody!” she exclaimed gleefully.
+“Why, I must have misunderstood
+uncle some way. Isn’t that glorious? Now I
+can run right up there, and maybe she’ll
+teach me before dinner. Oh, thank you so
+much, Miss Watkins. You are a real friend,
+just as uncle said. I’m going to come down
+this afternoon and get your help about Christmas,
+too. Good-bye.”</p>
+
+<p>Right outside the door she encountered Mr.
+Bennett, the ’bus driver, returning from a
+leisurely trip to the “ten o’clock.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, if here ain’t the lady missionary!”
+he called cheerfully. “Where ye goin’ so fast
+this fine morning? Huntin’ heathen?”</p>
+
+<p>Mary giggled.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” she returned merrily. “Going to
+hunt for a missionary myself—Mrs. Caldwell,
+that was uncle’s housekeeper.”</p>
+
+<p>“Jump in, then, and I’ll give ye a lift. I
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>have to go right by the door, to carry some
+feed to Elder Smith’s.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, goody!” cried Mary again, bobbing
+up on the front seat with one spring. “Another
+sleigh ride! And now, if uncle’s got
+home, he won’t see me go by.”</p>
+
+<p>“Has Lem done anythin’ to scare ye?” demanded
+Mr. Bennett, suddenly dropping his
+joking manner.</p>
+
+<p>“Mercy me, no!” answered Mary gaily.
+“Some people might be scared of that growly
+way he has, I suppose; but when you know
+how awfully nice he really is that only adds
+to the fun. I’m going now to learn how to
+make pies for him for a surprise. Isn’t it
+fine she’s so handy to our house? She’s the
+best pie-maker in town, uncle says.”</p>
+
+<p>“You certainly are the beatin’est young one
+I’ve seen in a month of Sundays. Beg pardon,
+ma’am! I mean beatin’est lady missionary,
+o’ course. I seen your uncle, though,
+over to the blacksmith’s shop, so he won’t be
+poppin’ out and sp’ilin’ your surprise. Here
+we be to the Widder Em’s now. I’ll step in
+later to get some of the pies.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do,” returned Mary cordially. “I’ll let
+you know as soon as I can make some real
+good ones, and then I’ll give you all you can
+eat. Uncle will love to have you.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Much obleeged,” chuckled Mr. Bennett.
+“I guess I had better drop in and get acquainted
+with that uncle of yourn, too. He
+sounds kind of furrin to me.”</p>
+
+<p>Just then the side door flew open, and a
+fresh-looking woman in a red calico dress
+stepped out.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello, Mr. Bennett,” she called. “Got
+anythin’ for me this morning?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, yes,” returned Mr. Bennett jocosely.
+“A Christmas present of an A-number-one
+missionary. She’s a-visitin’ her uncle, Mr.
+Lemuel Perkins; and now she’s got him converted
+she’s run over to neighbour with you
+for a spell. She’ll cure you of any heathen
+idees you’ve got, Em, quicker’n scat.”</p>
+
+<p>Mary turned to shake her finger at Mr.
+Bennett, and then ran down the path.</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t he funny?” she laughed merrily.
+“Anybody’d think Uncle Lemuel was a
+heathen instead of the nicest uncle that ever
+was, wouldn’t they? But you know better.
+You’ve lived at his house. That’s why I came
+over. He says that he hasn’t had a decent
+piece of pie since you left. I guess you spoiled
+other people’s pies for him, for he says you
+are the very best pie-maker in town. So I
+came over to see if you wouldn’t teach me how.
+He’s been such a dear to me since I came that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>I do want to pay it back somehow—only, of
+course, you never can exactly.”</p>
+
+<p>Surprise and pleasure struggled in Mrs.
+Caldwell’s countenance, as she led the way
+into her immaculate kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, I didn’t know ’t Lem relished my
+pies so well,” she said deprecatingly. “I don’t
+lay out to be no great of a cook. Why,
+yes, of course I’ll teach you. ’Taint no
+knack.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, thank you!” cried her little guest,
+bounding out of the rocking-chair in which she
+had just seated herself. “Could you do it
+to-day, do you think? Uncle says he’s been
+‘real pindling’ since you left, and he thinks
+it’s on account of the pies.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t say!” ejaculated her hostess.
+“Lem must ’a’ been feelin’ sorry for some
+of the things he said. I’m afeared there ain’t
+time to teach ye much afore noon, but I’ve
+got some fresh-baked pies handy. I’ll give ye
+one to take home with ye for dinner. You can
+come back this afternoon and learn how yourself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I’m so sorry!” explained Mary.
+“You see, I really ought to do my Christmas
+shopping this afternoon. My family live so
+far away that they won’t get their presents
+now till awfully late, but I couldn’t before on
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>account of the sickness at school. Where’s
+the best store in the village?”</p>
+
+<p>“There ain’t but two,” laughed Mrs. Caldwell,
+“and I guess it’s which and t’other between
+’em. They’ve both got in a pretty
+good stock this year. You’d better go to
+Job Simpson’s, I guess. Lem does his tradin’
+there now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mother sent me five dollars,” announced
+her guest proudly. “I think, with all of that
+to spend, I’d better divide it between the two.
+Don’t you think it would be fairer? It might
+hurt the other man’s feelings if I didn’t buy
+anything of him, and mother says you mustn’t
+ever hurt people’s feelings if you can help it.
+What do you think Uncle Lemuel would like
+best? It’s hard to choose for a man—even
+father. What did you usually give him when
+you lived there?”</p>
+
+<p>When a man grudgingly pays you only two
+dollars and a half a week for doing all of his
+housework, and making the kitchen garden
+besides, it is not very surprising that your
+Christmas presents to him have been few and
+far between, but under the glance of the shining
+eyes before her, the late “Widder Em”
+suddenly hesitated to explain that fact.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, I dunno,” she stammered. “I—I—why
+don’t you give him a coffee cup? I’ll
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>show you one I got for the deacon. It says
+‘Merry Christmas’ on it in red.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, oh!” cried the other Merry Christmas,
+gazing in an ecstasy of admiration. “It’ll
+be just the thing for me to give uncle, won’t
+it? If it only said ‘From,’ now! Oh, I
+didn’t tell you about my name, did I? Well,
+I must.”</p>
+
+<p>And forthwith, away she pranced on her
+holly-wreathed hobby, till the woman, too,
+harked back in fancy to the days when
+“Christmas” was a name of magic, and
+launched forth into eager reminiscences of her
+childhood revels, while her visitor listened,
+entranced.</p>
+
+<p>All at once she tore her gaze from the shining
+eyes before her.</p>
+
+<p>“Mercy me, child!” she cried suddenly.
+“And here I was goin’ to have veal potpie
+for dinner, and the deacon’ll be as mad as a
+hatter if his vittles ain’t ready on the stroke!”
+She stopped and kissed the glowing face.
+“Couldn’t you stay, little Merry Christmas?”
+she asked softly.</p>
+
+<p>“I wish I could!” cried Mary. “I’d love
+to! But you see I’m housekeeping for uncle,
+so I have to go right away. He’d be so disappointed
+if I wasn’t there. I’ll come some
+time with him, pretty soon.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p>
+
+<p>“‘Peace on earth, good will to men,’”
+quoted Mrs. Caldwell softly. “Then good-bye,
+little Christmas girl. Here’s another pie
+for you, dearie—mince. Lem was always
+partial to mince.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, thank you <em>so</em> much!” cried Mary in
+delight. “Uncle will be awfully pleased. He
+certainly has the nicest friends in the world.
+Good-bye, you dear Mrs. Caldwell. I must
+run and get things started.”</p>
+
+<p>It was quarter to twelve when Uncle Lemuel
+stamped up the snowy path to the kitchen
+door and flung it open. On the stove a steaming
+kettle was bubbling merrily. On the table
+“covers were laid,” as the society column has
+it, for two. Certainly a pleasant sight for a
+hungry man who had been cooking his own
+dinners and setting his own table—if setting
+it could be called—for two dreary years. But,
+strangely enough, Uncle Lemuel’s gaze turned
+unsatisfied from the attractive table, and even
+rested coldly upon the bubbling pot.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s become of that gal?” he growled
+to himself, dexterously kicking the door shut
+behind him.</p>
+
+<p>A little blue gingham catapult dashed out
+from the departing shelter, and flung herself
+at his back, while two little hands made futile
+attempts to reach far enough to cover his eyes.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Here I am!” cried a gay voice behind
+him. “Merry Christmas! Are you Mr. Santa
+Claus? I hope you’ve got some meat in your
+pack for me. I’m nearly starved, honest!
+I’ve got the potatoes and turnips on, the way
+you told me. Do you hear them? Oh, it’s
+sausage! Goody! I love sausage! And what
+do you think? I’ve got the nicest surprise for
+you, too. You’d better cook the sausage,
+though, for I can’t do it very well. And I will
+make the tea.”</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lem grunted almost as gruffly as
+ever in response, but, between you and me, that
+was just because he was trying so hard not
+to reveal the little thrills of pleasure that were
+warming the cockles of his hard old heart.
+And the best joke of all was that he never
+guessed that the softened glance of his sharp
+blue eyes and the gentler lines around his grim
+old mouth were betraying him as fast as ever
+they could.</p>
+
+<p>Mary bobbed hither and yon, trying the potatoes
+and relieving them of their brown jackets,
+preparing the turnips under directions, and
+making the tea in a most housewifely manner.
+Finally, she settled down into her place
+at the head of the table with a sigh of absolute
+content.</p>
+
+<p>“How do you take your tea, Mr. Perkins?”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>she inquired in the most elegant of society
+tones; then, suddenly resuming her own:
+“You don’t know what fun it is, Uncle Lemuel,”
+she cried, “to be the real lady of the
+house, and ask about the tea, and say, ‘Let
+me help you to a little more sauce,’ or, ‘Which
+kind of pie will you have, mince or apple?’
+Goodness, I almost gave it away then! And
+oh, uncle, I can’t keep my surprise a minute
+longer—honest I can’t!”</p>
+
+<p>She sprang up from the table and into the
+pantry, whence she emerged immediately with
+a beaming face and a pie balanced upon either
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Which will you have, Mr. Perkins, apple
+or mince?” she inquired gleefully, bobbing a
+little curtsy to the imminent peril of the pies.
+“Your constitution won’t have to feel ‘pindling’
+any longer, for here are two fine, large
+ones—enough to last several meals, I guess.
+Mrs. Caldwell sent them to you, with her compliments.
+She said you liked mince particularly,
+but I like apple just as well, so we can
+play Jack Spratt and his wife. People in
+Oatka Centre are just <em>lovely</em>, aren’t they? It’s
+because I’m your niece, of course, so far, but
+I hope by and by they’ll like me for my own
+sake.”</p>
+
+<p>As she that was the Widder Em and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span>Mr. Perkins had not spoken to each other since
+they had parted with mutual recriminations
+two years before, it is not to be wondered at
+that that gentleman laid down his knife and
+fork, and stared in open bewilderment.</p>
+
+<p>“Em Cottle sent them pies to me?” he demanded.
+“To <em>me</em>? How in thunder did she
+happen to do that?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, because she liked you, of course,”
+explained Mary simply. “That’s why everybody
+gives each other things. That’s what
+Christmas is for especially, mother says—to
+give you a good chance to show other people
+that you love them—just the way God showed
+us when He gave us the little Baby Jesus.”</p>
+
+<p>And once again something—was it the dear
+gift that she had mentioned?—kept back the
+sharp words that were hovering upon the old
+man’s lips.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span></p>
+
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="V">
+    V
+    <br>
+    THE TURNOVER GOES TO SCHOOL
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image043.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap">
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">In</span> Uncle Lemuel’s able dissertation
+upon the virtues of pie, that bulwark
+of the American Constitution, he
+neglected to mention one of its most
+remarkable features—namely, its effect
+upon the flow of the milk of human
+kindness. Nothing else certainly could
+explain the fact that when the dishes were finished
+the next morning he stamped down the
+cellar stairs and returned presently with a
+basket of juicy winter pears, which he
+plumped down upon the kitchen table.</p>
+
+<p>In a voice that was “growlier” than ever,
+he said:</p>
+
+<p>“If you’re goin’ over to the Widder Em’s
+any time again, you might as well carry this
+mess of pears along. Old man Caldwell never
+did have gumption enough to raise winter
+pears, and Em was always partial to ’em. You
+mustn’t never let yourself be beholden to
+folks.”</p>
+
+<p>Mary clapped her hands.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span></p>
+
+<p>“How lovely to have a whole cellar full
+of things to give away! It must make you
+feel like Santa Claus, and I’m the Merry
+Christmas that goes with them. And, oh,
+won’t Mrs. Caldwell be pleased!”</p>
+
+<p>But pleasure was far from Mrs. Caldwell’s
+predominating emotion when Merry Christmas
+presented the basket some fifteen minutes
+later, with the polite addition that it was
+“with Uncle Lem’s love and thanks.”</p>
+
+<p>“For the land sakes alive!” ejaculated the
+one-time Widow Em, almost letting the gift
+fall in her amazement. “Is Lem Perkins experiencin’
+religion in his old age?”</p>
+
+<p>Mary looked a little puzzled by the irrelevance
+of the question.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, yes, I guess so,” she answered happily.
+“Mother says really good people experience
+it all their lives. And we’re experiencing
+Christmas, too. Isn’t it the best fun?
+We’ve begun a list of our Christmas presents,
+and I put down your pies at the head—apple
+for me and mince for Uncle Lem. Is
+it quite convenient for you to teach me this
+morning?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, indeed, sissy; yes, indeed,” returned
+Mrs. Caldwell, recovering herself. “I’ve got
+the dishes of fillin’ all ready, and we can begin
+right away. There ain’t no knack to it
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>but the know-how. Don’t you know folks always
+say ‘easy as pie’?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, so they do!” agreed Mary joyfully.
+“But I thought that meant easy as eating pie.
+I never knew how easy that was till yesterday.
+You see, father didn’t think they were good
+for us—and I suppose Indian ones wouldn’t
+have been,” she added loyally. “But you
+ought to have seen Uncle Lem and me yesterday!
+The pies were so good that we just
+ate and ate, apple and mince turn about, till
+we had all we could do to save enough for
+breakfast. And I do feel perfectly fine this
+morning—and so does uncle. I guess our constitutions
+needed it. Could I learn to make
+three this morning—one for each meal?”</p>
+
+<p>Under Mrs. Caldwell’s capable direction,
+the lesson progressed finely, and in due time
+three fragrant pies and a turnover were cooling
+upon the kitchen sink bench—pies that for
+brown flakiness of crust and general comeliness
+of aspect would not have disgraced the
+champion of the county fair herself.</p>
+
+<p>“They look lovely, don’t they?” inquired
+their creator anxiously. “But, oh, I can
+hardly wait till dinner time to see how they
+taste! Oh, Mrs. Caldwell, how shall I ever
+<em>bear</em> it if they aren’t really good and Uncle
+Lemuel is disappointed?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span></p>
+
+<p>“There, there, now, don’t you fret!”
+soothed kindly Mrs. Caldwell. “Lem don’t
+always say things out same as some do, but
+I’ll bet a cooky he’ll think them pies is as good
+as any he ever et in his life.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I do <em>pray</em> that they’ll be good!” ejaculated
+the little cook fervently. “It’s such a
+responsibility cooking for men, isn’t it? But
+I like it,” she added naïvely, “even though I’m
+scared. Can’t I <em>possibly</em> tell about them before
+dinner time?”</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Caldwell considered.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, yes,” she admitted. “If you want
+to do some extra Christmassin’ this mornin’,
+I can think up a job for ye. The schoolmarm,
+Miss Porter, boarded with me last winter, and
+she was real partial to a hot turnover for her
+mornin’ recess. If you want to give her yourn,
+the schoolhouse is only a piece up the road, and
+if you run tight as you can lick it, I guess you
+can get there before the bell rings. I’ll just
+tie my cloud over your head, so you can run
+faster.”</p>
+
+<p>Ten minutes later a breathless little figure,
+in a red “cloud,” dashed up to the door of
+the old stone schoolhouse, just as the joyous
+pandemonium of recess broke out. Knocking
+seemed quite a superfluous refinement in the
+midst of all that babel, so she lifted the great
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>latch, and then was nearly capsized by a flying
+wedge of small boys who came hurtling out to
+the accompaniment of a long-pent-up explosion
+of war-whoops. The point of the wedge
+stopped and surveyed the reeling, small figure
+with the natural defiance of the guilty party.</p>
+
+<p>“What d’you git in my way for?” he demanded
+gruffly.</p>
+
+<p>To his surprise his victim merely giggled.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you think I was a turnover too?” she
+inquired. “Because I’m not. This is it, and
+it’s been turned once already. Where’s the
+teacher?”</p>
+
+<p>“Goin’ to tell on us?” inquired another boy
+sulkily.</p>
+
+<p>Mary stared.</p>
+
+<p>“Tell what?” she inquired. “’Twasn’t
+your fault. I got in the way. I hope you
+didn’t smash the turnover, though,” she added
+anxiously. “I’m carrying it to the teacher.
+No, it’s all right, thank goodness! Doesn’t
+it look fine?” she inquired, pulling the covering
+quite away from her prize.</p>
+
+<p>The little boys crowded closer.</p>
+
+<p>“And <em>smell</em>!” cried the first one admiringly.
+“Where’d you get it?”</p>
+
+<p>“I made it myself,” returned Mary, with
+pardonable pride.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you, honest?” he queried, with the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>natural admiration of the normal male for a
+good cook. “Say, fellers, let’s play school.
+I’ll be teacher.”</p>
+
+<p>Mary laughed appreciatively, and then her
+face sobered. Nobody with a sisterly heart in
+her bosom could have looked unmoved upon
+those appealing eyes, alight with the eternal
+hunger of boyhood—and Mary was sister to
+four little Christies at home.</p>
+
+<p>“If I possibly can—and these are good—I’ll
+bring you a whole pie to-morrow,” she
+promised rashly. “Now I must hurry up to
+the real teacher, honest.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Porter had just finished opening the
+windows, and was walking briskly back and
+forth across the end of the room when Mary
+approached.</p>
+
+<p>“Good morning,” she said, in a politely puzzled
+voice. “Are you a new scholar? Did
+you want to see me?”</p>
+
+<p>“I wish I <em>could</em> come to school,” returned
+Mary promptly, “but I’m just Merry Christmas
+here on a visit, so I can’t. But I’ve got
+a present for you. It’s a turnover. I made
+it, but Mrs. Caldwell sent it. Will you eat it
+right now, please, and tell me how it tastes?
+I’m worried to death.”</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you so much,” cried Miss Porter,
+laughing. “We’ll eat it together, then. I’m
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>sure it’s delicious, but that’s the best way to
+prove it to you. And there’s Nora O’Neil.
+I don’t think she brought any lunch, so we’ll
+give her some. And then if we all agree that
+it’s good, it must be fine, mustn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>In two minutes they were all munching happily
+together on the flaky triangle, which Miss
+Porter and Nora O’Neil praised till the blushing
+cook felt that they appreciated her masterpiece
+at almost its true value.</p>
+
+<p>By this time other little girls, nibbling at
+their own pies and cakes and doughnuts, had
+begun crowding shyly around to stare at the
+newcomer.</p>
+
+<p>“These are my little girls,” announced Miss
+Porter affectionately, nodding to a few of the
+more timid ones to come closer. “And who
+do you suppose this is who has come to see
+us to-day? Merry Christmas! What do you
+think of that? She was visiting dear Mrs.
+Caldwell up the road, so she lived up to her
+name and brought me a nice hot turnover for
+lunch.”</p>
+
+<p>The little girls stared.</p>
+
+<p>“Merry Christmas?” they whispered to one
+another. “Do you s’pose? Is she—<em>real</em>?”</p>
+
+<p>Mary’s sharp ears caught the whispers.</p>
+
+<p>“My true-for-a-fact name is Mary Christie,”
+she explained merrily, “but they call me
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>Merry Christmas at school because I’m so
+crazy about snow, and Christmas trees, and
+Santa Claus, and everything. Aren’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>Several little girls nodded eagerly, then a
+sudden gloom seemed to settle down upon
+them.</p>
+
+<p>“Might be,” hazarded one.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, what’s the matter?” inquired Mary,
+with quick sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>The plague of dumbness lifted all at once.</p>
+
+<p>“We was going to have a tree,” began one.</p>
+
+<p>“And a party,” interrupted another.</p>
+
+<p>“On Christmas Eve.”</p>
+
+<p>“Here to the schoolhouse.”</p>
+
+<p>“And give presents.”</p>
+
+<p>“And popcorn, and candy, and everything.”</p>
+
+<p>“It was all planned out, and the trustees
+had almost promised.”</p>
+
+<p>They took the sentences out of one another’s
+mouth.</p>
+
+<p>“And old Grouchy Gruff heard of it.”</p>
+
+<p>Miss Porter’s gentle correction passed unheeded.</p>
+
+<p>“Old Grouchy Gruff heard of it, and said
+he paid most taxes, and he wouldn’t let ’em.”</p>
+
+<p>“Said ’twas a waste of fire and lights.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mean old thing!”</p>
+
+<p>“And my father said he’d give the wood.”</p>
+
+<p>“And mine the oil.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span></p>
+
+<p>“And then he wouldn’t let ’em use the
+schoolhouse.”</p>
+
+<p>“’Cause he hates Christmas!”</p>
+
+<p>“I hate <em>him</em>!”</p>
+
+<p>“Mean old thing!”</p>
+
+<p>“Children, children!” chided Miss Porter.
+“You mustn’t talk that way. I’ll have to ring
+the bell. We’re late already. Won’t you stay
+and visit us a little while, Merry Christmas?”</p>
+
+<p>But Merry Christmas shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t just now,” she answered gravely.
+“Maybe I will this afternoon. Good-bye!”</p>
+
+<p>The little boys stared in amazement at the
+quiet little figure that slipped past them with
+only a perfunctory response to their friendly
+grins.</p>
+
+<p>“What’d teacher do to ye?” demanded
+Jimmy Harrison, the one-time front of the
+flying wedge. “Shall I plug her in the eye
+with a spitball for ye? I can do it,” he added
+darkly.</p>
+
+<p>Merry Christmas came to herself.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, no, don’t! She’s awfully nice,” she
+whispered anxiously. “It’s something else—about
+Christmas,” she added. “The teacher
+didn’t do it.”</p>
+
+<p>For poor Merry Christmas was struggling
+with a paralyzing glimpse of human perfidy,
+and her rose-coloured spectacles were searching
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>in vain for a sunny spot to relieve the
+awful gloom. Could Christian America shelter
+such an ogre—a man who hated Christmas
+so that he was going to prevent a party
+and a tree—and popcorn—and presents—on
+Christmas Eve itself? And did that man live
+in Oatka Centre—the very warmest corner in
+the heart of that same Christian America? It
+was so incredible that the rose-coloured spectacles
+began to see a ray of hope in that very
+fact.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, he’d be worse than a heathen!” she
+murmured. “And of course there aren’t any
+heathen in America, where everybody knows
+about Christ and His birthday. There’s some
+mistake, that’s all; and I’ll get uncle to fix it
+right.”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span></p>
+
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="VI">
+    VI
+    <br>
+    MRS. EM. TO THE RESCUE
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image053.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap">
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">It</span> was over two years now since the
+Widow Em Cottle had left Lemuel
+Perkins’ house in a rage at some
+last straw of household tyranny,
+and then had widened the breach
+to a chasm by marrying his hereditary
+enemy and neighbour, Deacon Caldwell.
+In all that time the chasm had never been
+bridged by one friendly word, and never, both
+had declared, would they utter a syllable to
+each other, if it were to save their lives.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately, human beings are rarely as bad
+or as foolish as their own rash vows; and when
+Mrs. Emma Caldwell stepped out of the Emporium
+that morning and ran into Lem Perkins,
+unmistakably headed for home and dinner,
+she recognized a “leadin’ plain as the nose
+on her face,” as she afterward explained to
+the deacon. And Mrs. Caldwell was far too
+good a woman to disobey a “leading.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mornin’, Lem,” she began boldly, casting
+the usual polite fly upon the conversational waters.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>“Much obliged for the pears. They
+was as tasty as yours always is.”</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Perkins nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“The little gal wanted I should send ’em,”
+he explained gruffly. “She’s a great hand
+for neighbourin’, sissy is.”</p>
+
+<p>The bull having turned his forehead in her
+direction, Mrs. Caldwell promptly seized him
+by the horns.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s her I want to talk about,” she announced.
+“She’s a takin’ young one as I’ve
+seen in a month o’ Sundays, but blind as a bat—or
+an angel,” she added softly. “Land only
+knows how she’s managed it, but she’s took all
+sorts of a shine to her ‘dear Uncle Lemuel,’
+as she calls you—thinks you’re the salt of the
+earth—and good—and kind. Law me, Lem,
+if you could hear her talk, you’d go home and
+look in the glass, and say: ‘Mercy me, who
+be I, anyway?’”</p>
+
+<p>“Waal,” grunted “dear Uncle Lemuel,”
+turning aside to hide the pleased smile that
+would twitch at the corners of his mouth in
+spite of his strenuous efforts, “what’s to
+hender, Mis’ Caldwell? Blood is thicker’n
+water—ain’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yourn hain’t,” retorted Mrs. Caldwell
+promptly. “It’s hern that’s got to provide
+all the thickenin’ for two. And as to what’s
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span>to hender, you are, most likely. I’m worried
+to death this minute over how soon that little
+gal’s heart is a-goin’ to be stove to flinders,
+a-findin’ out how fur you be from an’ angel
+dropped. She’s been up there to my house
+this mornin’ slavin’ away over the cook stove
+a-making pies for a surprise for you, and
+a-fetchin’ of ’em home so careful! Land, I
+just had to laugh to see her a-carryin’ ’em
+home one to a time—three trips she made of
+it—usin’ both hands, and a-tiptoein’ along as
+if she was Undertaker Pearse a-startin’ for a
+funeral. And now I s’pose she’s waitin’ there,
+all nerved up to see how you’ll relish ’em—not
+knowin’ that you’re just about as likely to
+say a word o’ praise as a rhinoceros in a circus.
+But if you don’t, it’ll break her little
+heart; that’s all I’ve got to say.”</p>
+
+<p>“Humph!” grunted Uncle Lemuel. “Well,
+so that’s all you got to say, Neighbour Caldwell,
+I’m willin’.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, ’tain’t,” retorted Mrs. Caldwell hotly.
+“’Tain’t by a long shot! Another thing that
+blessed child’s all worked up about is that
+Christmas business over to school. I sent her
+over on an errand to the teacher this mornin’,
+and they got to talkin’ over there about how
+you set down on their Christmas doin’s in the
+trustee meetin’. They didn’t use your name—called
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span>you some kind of a nickname or
+other, the young ones did—and she never
+dreamed who ’twas, but come back all keyed
+up and plannin’ to git her Uncle Lem to go
+to the other old what’s-his-name and fix things
+up. And how she’s ever goin’ to stand it
+when she finds that that dear Uncle Lem of
+hers is the old curmudgeon they was talkin’
+about, I dunno. It’s a sin and a shame, Lem
+Perkins, how that child’s cottoned to you—that’s
+what I call it.”</p>
+
+<p>She stopped suddenly with a gulp, and
+wiped away a tear with the corner of her
+white apron as she turned away.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lem stepped after her.</p>
+
+<p>“Em Cottle,” he said abruptly, “you’re a
+truthful woman, as fur as I know—and I’ve
+known ye quite a spell. Do you reely b’lieve
+that young one is so—so—that is——” He
+paused and cleared his throat. “Does she lot
+on me as much as she makes out, or is she
+jest—doin’ it—to git my money, mebbe?”</p>
+
+<p>A blaze of anger dried the tears in Em
+Cottle’s eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” she remarked scathingly, “blindness
+runs in your family, sure enough—only
+with some it’s for bad and with some it’s for
+good—that’s all! There ain’t no use wastin’
+no more time on you; that’s sure as preachin’.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span></p>
+
+<p>With a capable hitch of her green plaid
+shawl, she turned her plump shoulders full
+upon him, and started briskly up the road.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lemuel glanced furtively about him.
+The village square was empty; not even Marthy
+Ann Watkins’ eye was visible at the post-office
+window.</p>
+
+<p>“Em! Oh, Em!” he called loudly, and
+then, as the brisk figure in front seemed to
+hesitate for a moment, he scuttled after it.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t be in such a brash, Em,” he gasped,
+as he caught up with her. “We hain’t had
+a dish o’ talk in so long that I guess we can
+afford to spend a minute or so a-doin’ it. You
+didn’t jest ketch my meanin’ then, Em. I
+didn’t reely think that sissy, there, had
+plans herself, but I didn’t know but mebbe
+Ellen——”</p>
+
+<p>“If Ellen Rumball had had her eye on your
+old money bags, she wouldn’t ’a’ broke with
+you to go off to Injy with that missionary feller,
+would she?”</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lem glowered with the remembrance
+of past injuries.</p>
+
+<p>“Ellen Rumball pretended to like me, too,”
+he muttered; “and then she deserted me in
+my old age for that good-for-nothin’ missionary
+chap.”</p>
+
+<p>“Pretended?” exploded Mrs. Em; “pretended?
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>If ’tain’t real likin’ that would make
+a woman swaller down all the things you said,
+and the way you acted, and bring up her
+young ones to think you was the finest uncle
+goin’, well, then it’s real grace; that’s all I’ve
+got to say! And here I be, a-quarrelin’ with
+you the same as ever, and I’d made up my
+mind butter shouldn’t melt in my mouth.”</p>
+
+<p>But Uncle Lemuel was absorbed in struggling
+against the softening of his grim old
+face.</p>
+
+<p>“Ellen <em>has</em> fetched sissy up fair to middlin’
+well,” he admitted. “She’s kind of smart
+for her years—handy round the house, I mean,
+ain’t she, Em? And folksy—it does beat all!
+They couldn’t nobody around town talk of
+nothin’ this mornin’ but ‘my little gal,’ as
+they called her. She started out yestiddy arternoon
+to do her Christmas tradin’, and she
+must ’a’ got acquainted with everybody in
+sight. She promised Marthy Watkins some
+postcards from Injy. And then the minister
+comes along, and she got him so interested
+he asked me if I’d let her speak about missions
+to the Children’s Band. And Nate Waters—you
+know I hain’t been in Waters’s store
+for a matter of a year or so, since he sold me
+that busted plough—but out come Mis’ Waters
+this morning, to see if I’d mind her savin’
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>sissy a little red chain she had there. Sissy
+took to it uncommon, but she didn’t have
+money enough to get it, she’d bought so much
+truck for other folks, and Mis’ Waters wanted
+to give it to her for Christmas.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I hope to the land you let her!”
+cried Mrs. Caldwell. “She was goin’ to spend
+a whole fifty cents a-buyin’ you a handsome
+china cup, Lem, good enough for a president.
+And, though Nate may be tricky sometimes,
+Mis’ Waters is a real nice woman.”</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lem coughed.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, here ’tis, Em,” he replied at last,
+producing a little packet from his overcoat
+pocket. “But I guess me and my folks don’t
+have to be beholden to the Waterses yet for
+our fixin’s. You know little Loviny was very
+partial to red, too,” he added, after a moment.</p>
+
+<p>They had now reached the Perkins gate,
+but Mrs. Caldwell suddenly turned and laid a
+detaining hand on his arm.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, that’s who ’tis!” she exclaimed
+softly. “I’ve been a-wonderin’ and a-wonderin’
+who that child reminded me of. She
+don’t take after Ellen Rumball exactly, nor
+yet Christie, as I remember him, but she’s got
+the very same disposition as your little Loviny
+had, laughin’ all day like a brook, and yet as
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>serious and interested as an old woman about
+things she took a notion to, and the most lovin’
+little heart that ever was. I was in the Sixth
+Reader when she began her A B C’s, but she
+got to be friends with the whole school afore
+the first week was out—and I guess there
+wa’n’t a dry eye to the Centre when we heard
+tell about the runaway. ‘Of such is the kingdom
+of heaven’—that was the text to her
+funeral, wa’n’t it? And I guess ’tis, too, fast
+enough. And ’twould come a heap sooner on
+earth, I’m thinkin’, if there was more like
+her—wouldn’t it? Well, give my love to
+sissy,” she added quickly, with kindly tact,
+“and tell her I’ll look for her again in the
+morning.”</p>
+
+<p>But the old man did not heed her. Across
+the gulf of over forty years he was looking
+once more at a gay little figure in red merino,
+that danced before him, while his little daughter’s
+voice cried happily:</p>
+
+<p>“Father, father, come kiss Loviny in her
+Kissmas-coloured d’ess!”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p>
+
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="VII">
+    VII
+    <br>
+    EXIT “OLD GROUCHY GRUFF”
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image061.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap">
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Uncle Lemuel</span> laid down his
+knife and fork with a sigh of repletion,
+and turned toward his little
+housekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, sissy,” he remarked, softening
+his growl to a point that he
+considered positively effeminate, “that ham
+and eggs was pretty good for fillers, but I
+wouldn’t mind a little somethin’ in the line of
+trimmin’s, myself. I s’pose the Widder Em
+hain’t sent in no more pies?”</p>
+
+<p>Mary met this triumph of diplomacy with
+a masterpiece in kind.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Uncle Lemuel,” she answered, struggling
+to hold in leash a half dozen riotous dimples
+that were determined to pop out, “oh,
+Uncle Lemuel, it was doughnuts she sent in
+this time. Won’t they do?”</p>
+
+<p>And then she sat with bated breath for fear
+he should say that they would.</p>
+
+<p>But Uncle Lemuel did not fail her.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I s’pose I can eat doughnuts,” he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>growled more naturally; “but what I should
+reely relish is a good piece of pie.”</p>
+
+<p>At these welcome words, Mary fairly ran
+into the pantry and out again.</p>
+
+<p>“Would you really, Uncle Lemuel?” she
+cried, in a state of tense excitement. “Well,
+here it is! Somebody else brought them in
+this time. Apple!” Back once more from
+the pantry. “Mince!” Another trip. “And
+blueberry!” she ended triumphantly. “Which
+one shall I cut?”</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lemuel surveyed the sumptuous array
+before him.</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” he finally decided, “the blueberry
+might soak the crust. I dunno but we’d better
+begin on that. Who’d you say fetched
+’em?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, a friend of yours,” answered Mary
+hastily. “She wanted you to guess after you
+tasted them. Here’s a nice big piece. I do
+hope it’s good!”</p>
+
+<p>She handed him a generous piece; and then,
+unmindful of the luscious blue juice oozing
+temptingly upon her own plate, she sat and
+watched his every mouthful with an eager
+anxiety that would have been transparent to
+a babe in arms.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Uncle Lemuel!” she cried, after the
+lapse of an eternity at least five minutes long.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>“Oh, why don’t you say something? Don’t
+you <em>like</em> it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why don’t you eat your own?” retorted
+Uncle Lemuel. “I’m just tryin’ to figger out
+whose bakin’ this is. It’s kind of new to me,
+I guess.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t it good?” cried Mary breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>“Uh-humph!” responded Mr. Perkins
+slowly, struggling to twist his tongue to the
+unaccustomed language of compliment.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a queer little sound across the
+table made him look up, and, to his amazement,
+he saw that the usually shining brown
+eyes were dimmed with tears.</p>
+
+<p>“It’ll break her little heart,” Mrs. Caldwell’s
+voice seemed to whisper, and with one
+mighty effort Uncle Lemuel threw discretion
+to the winds.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s better than the Widder Em’s,” he
+stated rashly. “And I swan I didn’t believe
+there was a woman in town that could beat
+her on makin’ pies.”</p>
+
+<p>Pretty good for a man who hadn’t turned
+a compliment in Heaven knows how many
+years? But Heaven knows, too, how miraculously
+fast these hard old hearts will soften
+sometimes under the warming sunshine of
+childish love and trust.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Uncle, do you mean it?” cried a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>choked little voice, and, with one bound, Mary
+had flown around the table and flung her arms
+about his neck. “Oh, Uncle Lemuel,” she
+sobbed happily, “I couldn’t ever have borne
+it if you hadn’t liked it, for I made it myself!
+You’d never believe it, would you? But
+you can ask Mrs. Caldwell. She showed me
+how.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t say,” responded Uncle Lemuel,
+patting her awkwardly on the arm. “Was
+that what you had your head in the oven for
+when I came in? I thought ’twas them little
+wind-bags you give me.”</p>
+
+<p>Mary giggled happily.</p>
+
+<p>“The popovers, you mean? Yes, it was.
+I always have to sit right down on the floor
+and watch when I make them, else I don’t get
+them out the right minute. I had meant those
+for a surprise, too, but you got here so soon
+you surprised me, instead.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, you run around now, sissy, and cut
+me another good piece of pie. None of your
+samples, now,” he added, with something that
+was almost a chuckle. “And you might take
+a bite or two yourself, now you know it’s safe.
+There won’t be no extry charge.”</p>
+
+<p>It was a veritable incarnation of Merry
+Christmas who ran to obey these commands.</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t know what a weight that is off
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>my mind!” she sighed blissfully, settling
+down at last to “bulwark” her own constitution.
+“They tasted good to me, and to the
+teacher, and to Nora O’Neil, but of course
+you were the one that really counted. But,
+oh, Uncle Lemuel, that reminds me! Do you
+know who it is that they call ‘old Grouchy
+Gruff’?”</p>
+
+<p>“Huh?” demanded Mr. Perkins, with a
+growl that would have answered the question
+to any ears less unsuspecting than those of his
+little niece.</p>
+
+<p>“Old Grouchy Gruff?” inquired Mary,
+raising her voice. “Mrs. Caldwell said she
+couldn’t tell me. Do you know him?”</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lemuel shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you, either?” Mary leaned forward
+confidentially. “Well, Uncle Lemuel,
+there is somebody around here that they call
+that. It seems unbelievable, but there’s a man
+in town so horrid that he has stopped the
+Christmas Eve party at the schoolhouse. The
+biggest taxpayer, they say he was, Uncle Lemuel.
+Who would that be?”</p>
+
+<p>But Uncle Lemuel was deeply absorbed in
+blueberry pie and showed no interest in the
+identity of old Grouchy Gruff.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you know,” continued Mary thoughtfully,
+“I almost believe there’s some mistake
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>about it somewhere. It doesn’t seem possible
+that there would be anybody who’d stop the
+children from being happy on the night when
+the dear little Baby Jesus was born in the
+manger, and the angels sang: ‘Peace on earth,
+good will to men.’ Oh, I just love that part,
+don’t you? The shepherds, and the soft, dark-blue
+night, and then the lovely star and the
+angels singing.” She paused, and a reverent
+look softened the brown eyes that shone themselves
+like two little Christmas stars. “Oh,
+Uncle, it’s so beautiful that it makes little
+thrills go all over me, and I want to cry and
+I want to laugh. Mother used to read it to us
+every Christmas Eve, and then we used to
+sing, ‘When shepherds watched their flocks by
+night.’ Oh, I wish they would sing that at
+the Christmas party!”</p>
+
+<p>“Thought there wa’n’t goin’ to be none,”
+growled Mr. Perkins.</p>
+
+<p>Mary smiled cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I think there will be,” she answered
+confidently. “Mother says things always turn
+out right when you pray about them, and of
+course I have; and, besides, it’s really His own
+birthday party, and it must be right for us to
+celebrate that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Was you asked to the party?” inquired
+Uncle Lemuel.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Of course I’m not asked yet, because there
+isn’t any; but if we can only get that party
+for them somehow, they’d invite us both, I’m
+sure. Oh, wouldn’t that be fun! Oh, Uncle,
+we’ve just got to! First, you ask everybody
+all around who old Grouchy Gruff is, and then,
+when you find out, we’ll go and talk to him
+and explain. Oh, I’m sure he’d take it back if
+<em>you</em> explained things to him. Why, <em>anybody</em>
+would be nice about a thing like that if he only
+understood.”</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lemuel coughed uneasily.</p>
+
+<p>“Mebbe he has his reasons, sissy,” he began;
+“mebbe he has his reasons. They was
+talkin’ it over to the Emporium the other day,
+and ’tain’t the party part nor the Christmas
+part that folks objects to so much. It’s the
+schoolhouse. ’Tain’t right to the deestrict to
+tear the schoolhouse to flinders for a thing
+like that. Why, they’d have to haul up the
+desks offen the floor, and rack the benches all
+to pieces, like as not, and move the teacher’s
+desk and all. They couldn’t have a party
+with the floor all cluttered up with desks and
+such.”</p>
+
+<p>Mary pondered.</p>
+
+<p>“And it would be bad for the desks and
+seats to move them?”</p>
+
+<p>“Tear ’em to flinders,” stated Uncle Lemuel
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>uncompromisingly, following up his advantage.
+“And, besides, they wanted to
+make candy and popcorn, and a schoolroom
+is no place for that. They need a kitchen
+stove.”</p>
+
+<p>Mary was still pondering, but her eyes were
+suddenly brighter.</p>
+
+<p>“Besides,” added Uncle Lemuel, delighted
+that his eloquence was proving even more effective
+here than it had in that memorable
+session at the Emporium, “the schoolhouse
+don’t light up very first-class, nor heat neither—for
+a winter night. We don’t want the
+young ones a-ketchin’ their deaths,” he finished,
+with an effective, but unexpected, burst
+of altruism.</p>
+
+<p>Mary clapped her hands.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I knew you and I could fix it all
+right!” she cried gleefully. “Yes, sir; we
+can have it right here in this kitchen. I’d
+rather have it than the other party we planned.
+And that old Grouchy ogre man won’t have a
+thing to say. Mrs. Caldwell said you couldn’t
+do anything about it, but I knew better. And,
+oh, Uncle Lemuel, this will be just too lovely
+for words! We’ll put the tree in that corner,
+and they can make their candy and popcorn
+on the stove, and still have plenty of room to
+play games. I knew what you meant the very
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>minute you said kitchen stove, and I do think
+you are the nicest, dearest, preciousest uncle
+that ever walked, so I do!” She ran around
+the table again to bestow an ecstatic hug upon
+the speechless Mr. Perkins. “And everybody
+else thinks so, too, for I asked them yesterday,
+and not a person disagreed.”</p>
+
+<p>“This kitchen is just like a talent, isn’t it,
+Uncle Lem? I guess you must be the man
+that had ten of them; you have so many ways
+to make people happy. I have only one so
+far—a loving heart; and everybody has that,
+of course; but mother says, if I keep hard at
+work with that, I’ll get others to use in time.
+When do you suppose afternoon recess is,
+uncle?”</p>
+
+<p>“Huh?” inquired Mr. Perkins, in a voice
+that betrayed his condition of utter daze.</p>
+
+<p>“Afternoon recess?” repeated Mary, more
+loudly. “I just can’t wait to go over and tell
+those poor children that it’s all right. They’ll
+be so happy. Oh, Uncle, you dear, dear thing!
+Don’t you want to go, too?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve got to go over to Meadsbury this afternoon,”
+explained Uncle Lemuel hastily.
+“Thought you might like to go for the ride.
+There’s room enough in the cutter. You get
+ready, while I tackle up. We can leave the
+dishes.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Oh, goody! My fourth sleigh ride! I’ll
+just slip on my hat and coat, and run ahead.
+You can stop at the schoolhouse for me. Do
+you know, Uncle Lemuel, I don’t want to find
+out who old Grouchy Gruff is, after all? So
+don’t ask, will you? I want to love everybody
+in Oatka Centre, and I know I never could a
+man like that.”</p>
+
+<p>Up till that moment, Uncle Lemuel had
+really meant in the back of his mind to “put
+a stop to sissy’s foolishness” as soon as he
+could get his breath, but right then and there
+a most remarkable thing happened. A poor,
+starved, rickety old organ down under his left
+ribs, which he had almost forgotten he owned,
+and would have been ashamed to mention, anyway,
+suddenly spoke up in the most surprising
+manner.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve starved and choked and neglected
+me for these many years, Lemuel Perkins,” it
+said, “and tried your best sometimes to kill
+me off entirely; but the tonic of that little girl’s
+love, with the tender memories that it wakens
+in me, has called me back again to life and
+strength. You may explain in any way you
+like to those old loafers at the Emporium, you
+may growl all you choose to old Topsy out in
+the barn, but you may <em>not</em> disappoint that little
+heart that believes in you and loves you, in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span>spite of yourself, nor choke up that little fountain
+of innocent affection that is filling my very
+cockles full of youth and love.”</p>
+
+<p>And Uncle Lemuel proved that he was
+a wise man, after all, by pulling his old
+cap down low over his ears, and stamping
+without a word out to the barn to “tackle
+up.”</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour later he stopped old Topsy
+in front of the stone schoolhouse, to pick up
+a small and excited “brown package with a
+red label,” that certainly said “Merry Christmas”
+as far as you could see it.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Uncle Lemuel,” cried the package,
+bobbing to his side as if it were full of springs,
+“why didn’t you come a little sooner? Oh,
+I wish you had been here! I whispered about
+it to Miss Porter, and she stopped the classes
+and let me tell them all myself what you said
+about the schoolhouse, and that you invited
+them to come to your house for the Christmas
+party. At first they thought my uncle was
+Deacon Caldwell, wasn’t that funny? But
+when they heard that it was you, they all just
+clapped and clapped. They like you awfully,
+don’t they, you dear, dear Uncle Lem? And
+then they gave three cheers for Merry Christmas—that’s
+me; and then three more for you.
+Oh, I wish you could have heard them say:
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span>‘What’s the matter with Mr. Perkins? He’s
+all right!’ I was so proud, I almost cried
+when I heard them. Uncle Lemuel, this is
+going to be the very happiest Christmas that
+ever was, isn’t it?”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span></p>
+
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="VIII">
+    VIII
+    <br>
+    UNCLE LEM’S CHRISTMAS PARTY
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image073.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap">
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">The</span> village of Oatka Centre had no
+sooner swallowed the amazing fact
+that Lemuel Perkins was going to
+give the school children a Christmas
+party in his own house, than
+its bump of credulity was again
+strained almost to the bursting point by the
+information that Mrs. Em Caldwell was helping
+actively about the preparations, and that
+Mr. Lemuel Perkins himself had been seen
+bringing several parcels from “Nate Waterses
+store,” and even talking amicably with Elder
+Smith on the subject of missions in India and
+a certain small missionary from that land,
+though various essential differences between
+free will and predestination had previously
+cleft an impassable gulf between them.</p>
+
+<p>“Will wonders never cease?” marvelled
+Oatka Centre, and then decided unanimously
+that they certainly would not, for about that
+time it transpired that the children’s party had
+enlarged into a neighbourhood celebration, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>that every man, woman, and child in the village
+was invited.</p>
+
+<p>It had been Merry Christmas’s first idea to
+invite the fathers and mothers to come with
+their children; but then so many of her particular
+friends—like Mr. Bennett, and Mrs.
+Caldwell, and Miss Marthy Watkins—were
+not blessed with children that it seemed impossible
+to narrow the gates of paradise in that
+manner. And when it was once decided to
+light the fires in the long-disused parlour and
+sitting-room, there really seemed to be no excuse
+for shutting out anybody; particularly as
+Uncle Lemuel developed a sudden mania for
+inviting every person who had a good word to
+speak for his “little sissy”; and who in
+Oatka Centre hadn’t by the time those two
+jolly weeks of holiday preparation were over?
+For, like an unconscious messenger of “peace
+on earth, good will to men,” she had bobbed
+from the schoolhouse to the stores and back
+again, and presently into every house in the
+village, on one errand or another, trading happily
+with her one little talent, and leaving a
+trail of “Merry Christmas” in the air behind
+her.</p>
+
+<p>Talk about your Marconi stations! There
+is nothing like a little human heart brimming
+over with goodwill, and bubbling with enthusiasm,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>to fill the air so full of Christmas spirit
+that not another thought can find a wave to
+ride on.</p>
+
+<p>And so it happened that by the time the windows
+of the brown Perkins homestead were
+set cheerily ablaze the snowy village streets
+were crackling and snapping merrily under
+the tread of many feet.</p>
+
+<p>“I dunno as I’d orter ’a’ shut up the post-office
+and come,” confided Miss Watkins to
+her neighbour, Mrs. Waters, as they creaked
+cheerfully along together at the end of the
+line, “when the six o’clock is so late and the
+mail hain’t come in, but Merry Christmas she
+couldn’t have it no other way. She said she
+was goin’ to have Tom Bennett for Sandy
+Claus, anyway, and she’d just rig him up and
+have him fetch in the mail bags, too, and I
+could call the letters and passels out right
+there.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s a good idee,” assented Mrs. Waters.
+“Trust that little gal for fixin’ things
+around. She got Nate to shut up, too; and
+Job, he’s even locked up the Emporium. Both
+on ’em is about sold out, anyway. There
+hain’t been such a time for Christmas tradin’
+in Oatka Centre dear knows when. It’s funny
+how that young one stirs things up. It’s her
+bein’ brought up in Injy, I expect, and a missionary’s
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>daughter, so. Why, the Baby Jesus
+and the shepherds and the wise men and the
+angels and all is just as real to her as if they
+was out in Lem’s paster this minute, and she
+seen ’em. Makes you feel kind of green to
+have a young one come from heathen lands to
+teach us Christian folks about Christmas!”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s her takin’ things so for granted,” explained
+Miss Watkins. “I hain’t give nobody
+much for Christmas in years, made an excuse
+of bein’ in the office and not havin’ time; and
+so I told her when she was in consultin’ me
+about some of her Christmas doin’s. Well,
+sir—the next afternoon in she breezed about
+two o’clock, and said she’d come to tend office
+for me till four, so I could go and do my
+tradin’; and land if she hadn’t wrote a list,
+too, of some things that she’d heard my sister’s
+young ones say they wanted.” She stopped to
+laugh deprecatingly. “Well, Priscilla, you
+know I come and bought ’em, don’t ye?”</p>
+
+<p>“I bet that’s how she’s worked it with Lem,”
+answered Mrs. Waters. “Took it for granted
+he was so decent that he was ashamed not to
+be. Lem’s reely quite human these days. Do
+you remember his little gal, Loviny, that he
+lost years and years ago. Well, he’s been and
+hunted out a little red dress she had, and he
+wanted me to get some cloth just that colour
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>and then to have Mis’ Mosher make it up on
+the sly for Merry. It was for a Christmas
+present, but Mis’ Mosher carried it up this
+mornin’, and I’ll bet she’ll have it on to-night.”</p>
+
+<p>By this time the two women had reached
+the brown gate, and they stopped to admire
+the Christmas wreaths that shone against the
+lighted panes.</p>
+
+<p>“Twenty on ’em there is, in all, and a little
+bell inside of each one,” announced Miss Watkins.
+“Miss Porter told me, though you can’t
+see but twelve from here. The young ones
+made ’em yesterday to the schoolhouse. Say,
+there she is now—red dress and all!”</p>
+
+<p>There she was indeed, little Merry Christmas,
+in her “Kissmas-coloured” dress, with
+a wreath of holly crowning her brown braids—literally
+exploding with joy and delight into
+a hundred little ripples of laughter.</p>
+
+<p>Unmindful of the cold air outside, she
+danced down the steps to meet the latest
+comers.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, goody!” she cried. “I was so afraid
+you’d be late, and I didn’t want you to miss
+anything. The children are going to sing their
+carols first, and then we’re going to have the
+tree and then the popcorn and candy. We
+made those this afternoon, for there really
+wouldn’t have been any room to-night, there
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>are so many here. And uncle has put a dish
+of apples everywhere he could possibly make
+room. He thinks apples are almost as healthy
+as pies. You just come this way to the back
+entry and hang your things up. Oh, listen!
+They’re beginning now. Do you suppose I
+can ever get into the kitchen far enough to
+sing?”</p>
+
+<p>She certainly couldn’t if she had been anybody
+but her active little self, for everybody
+else seemed to want to get into that kitchen,
+too. And no wonder, for it was certainly an
+attractive spot, with its old walls wreathed
+with ground pine and gay streamers, and the
+lighted Christmas tree sparkling at the end,
+with a ring of happy young faces beneath it,
+lustily carolling their Christmas songs.</p>
+<br>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp85" id="facing078" style="max-width: 42.5625em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/facing078.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    “Oh, goody!” she cried. “I was so afraid you’d be late,
+    and I didn’t want you to miss anything”
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+<br>
+
+<p>It was a mammoth kitchen, too, built in the
+days when the kitchen was really the living-room
+and the heart of the house. But, bless
+you! it would have taken half a dozen such
+kitchens to contain all the happiness and eager
+anticipation and radiant good-fellowship that
+were rampant there; to say nothing at all of
+all the people who were disjointing their necks,
+and standing on each other’s feet, and poking
+holes in each other’s ribs, in their anxiety to
+hear the music, and see the decorations, and
+most of all to satisfy themselves for the hundredth
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>time that their own little Johns and
+Marys were far and away the handsomest
+children there, and the best singers, and that
+it was a wonder that all the other fathers and
+mothers weren’t blushing with mortification
+at the painful obviousness of these facts.</p>
+
+<p>First and foremost of all these self-complacent
+mortals was Mr. Lemuel Perkins, though
+he would have been the last person in the
+world to admit, or even to suspect, the fact;
+though nobody knows how else he could have
+explained the proud lift of his bristling chin
+whisker, or the positively vainglorious swelling
+of his chest, as a certain little holly-crowned
+figure in a red dress was lifted mysteriously
+on high, and smiled radiantly upon the
+assembled guests.</p>
+
+<p>“Santa Claus is rather slow to-night,” announced
+the clear, childish voice, “because
+some of his pack came by mail, and the train
+is late; but my Uncle Lemuel will take his
+place till he comes. Oh, there he is, over by
+the sink. Will you let Uncle Lemuel through,
+if you please?”</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lemuel glanced wildly about, but
+there was no avenue of escape unless he leaped
+directly through the sink window. And in
+front of him a way was opening through that
+mass of humanity as miraculously as if Moses
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>had been present with his famous rod. Even
+his growl of dissent was lost in the merry
+babel of voices around him, as a score of hands
+pushed him forward to where a little red-garbed
+figure welcomed him joyfully.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll help you, Uncle, if you can’t see the
+names very well,” she whispered. “But
+they’ll like to have you do the calling out.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now, look here, sissy,” he protested; “I
+ain’t goin’ to have no foolishness. Tom Bennett
+can rig himself up in a mess of red flannin
+and cotton battin’ if he wants to, but I
+hain’t goin’ to make no show of <em>my</em>self.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mercy, no!” giggled Mary. “You aren’t
+round enough for Santa Claus, anyway. You
+just call out the names. Here’s one for Elder
+Smith, and Sarah Haskell, and Deacon Caldwell.
+There are perfect heaps. Oh, hurry,
+do!”</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lemuel glanced at the first parcel,
+and a grim, “down-East” sense of humour
+triumphed.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, Elder Smith,” he announced in
+stentorian tones, “I seem predestined to hand
+you over this passel, that’s sure. I’ll bet you
+can’t prove it was my free will this time.”</p>
+
+<p>The burst of laughter that acclaimed this
+witticism was so intoxicating that Mr. Perkins
+promptly proceeded to make another,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span>which was even more successful. Whereupon
+he yielded himself so thoroughly to the unaccustomed
+delight of public appreciation and
+approval that when the real Santa Claus finally
+came he was forced to divide his honours with
+a determined Uncle Lemuel, who evidently
+regarded him as an upstart and an interloper.</p>
+
+<p>But bless me! nobody minded that, and
+least of all the genial Mr. Bennett, for two
+Santa Clauses and a Merry Christmas and
+half a dozen understudies and assistants were
+none too many to tackle that mass of Christmas
+presents and clear them out of the way
+in time for the games and other jollifications
+to begin.</p>
+
+<p>It was a mercy that the popcorn and the
+molasses candy were all made beforehand, for
+otherwise the whole school, and their presents,
+and their teacher, and the tree, would have
+been stuck together in one huge and inextricable
+popcorn ball; they barely escaped that
+fate as it was just in the eating of those toothsome
+dainties. But blindman’s-buff and stage-coach
+and puss-in-the-corner have their advantage
+in the line of keeping things moving
+and preventing you from being glued for life
+to your next neighbour if you chance to adhere
+in passing.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, this is a real, right-down, old-fashioned
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span>Christmas party, ‘same as mother used
+to make,’ ain’t it?” queried Deacon Caldwell
+jovially of the man next him and then stopped
+suddenly, as he realized that that man was his
+time-honoured foe, Mr. Perkins.</p>
+
+<p>But Mr. Perkins had no thought for any
+ancient grudges just then.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s become of sissy?” he demanded
+sharply. “I can’t spot her nowhere in sight.
+She was blindman along back, but she hain’t
+playin’ now.”</p>
+
+<p>“She must be in the parlour,” suggested
+Deacon Caldwell kindly. “Like as not she
+went in to hunt up Em. They’re great cronies,
+her and Em.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, she ain’t,” retorted Uncle Lemuel
+shortly. “She ain’t there nor in the settin’-room,
+nor upstairs in the bedrooms. You
+don’t s’pose she’s been and took sick, somewheres,
+do ye?” he added anxiously. “Et
+too much stuff, or come down with that scarlet
+fever, mebbe?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, sho now, Lem!” cried the deacon
+sympathetically. “I’d hate to think so. But
+let’s go get Em. Em’s a master hand in sickness
+if need be.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’ll be easy enough to find her by the red
+dress,” said Mrs. Caldwell encouragingly as she
+joined the little party of searchers. But “upstairs
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>and downstairs and in my lady’s chamber”
+they looked, and no sign of the “Kissmas-coloured”
+dress did they see.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s the cellar and the woodshed still
+left,” comforted Mrs. Caldwell, glancing sidewise
+at Uncle Lemuel’s grimly suffering face.</p>
+
+<p>And just as they reached the back-entry
+door, a little figure in a red dress popped in
+from the woodshed entrance, a radiant little
+figure, that waved a lantern on high, and flung
+itself joyfully upon Uncle Lemuel.</p>
+
+<p>“Where’ve you been?” demanded that gentleman
+with the gruffness of relief. “We’ve
+been huntin’ you from garret to cellar.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I’m so sorry if you worried!” cried
+Mary penitently. “I never thought you’d notice.
+Mr. Bennett brought me a letter, you
+see, from mother—my Christmas letter—and
+of course I was dying to read it, and I couldn’t
+find a single place that was quiet, so I took
+a lantern and went out to the woodshed.”</p>
+
+<p>“I hope you hain’t took your death of cold,”
+cried Mrs. Caldwell anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, no; I’m warm as toast,” answered
+Mary happily. “And I’ve had the nicest news
+you ever knew. Father and mother and the
+children are all coming back to America!
+Isn’t that lovely? That’s been the only drawback
+to this perfectly beautiful Christmas here—missing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>them all so—and now—just think!
+They’re coming, too!”</p>
+
+<p>“How do they happen to be comin’?” queried
+Mrs. Caldwell, returning Mary’s ecstatic
+embrace.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, it’s on account of father’s health.
+Father’s not been very strong for a long time.
+But neither was I, and look at me now! He’ll
+be all right as soon as he gets to Oatka Centre,
+and eats enough pie and things.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, are they comin’ here?” inquired Mrs.
+Caldwell, in a voice in which pleasure and surprise
+were mingled. Oatka Centre had not
+yet forgotten that when Ellen Rumball chose
+to marry and go to India, she had done so in
+face of the threat that the Perkins doors would
+be closed to her henceforth and forever.</p>
+
+<p>But Mary returned her gaze with wide-open,
+astonished eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, she didn’t <em>say</em> Oatka Centre,” she
+cried. “But where else should they come?
+Why, mother loves Oatka Centre better than
+any other place on earth, she always says. And
+father has no family at all. So Uncle Lemuel
+is our nearest surviving relative,” she ended
+quaintly.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, that’s so, of course,” agreed Mrs.
+Caldwell hastily. “How soon did you say they
+was comin’?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Right away, mother says. Isn’t that
+grand? Maybe I won’t even go back to
+school. Crescent Hill is lovely—for a school;
+but of course a real home, with Uncle Lemuel
+and the rest of my family, would be lots
+nicer. Oh, Uncle Lemuel, aren’t you glad as
+can be?”</p>
+
+<p>But the old man was gazing at her with
+dazed eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Was you—goin’ back—to school, sissy?”
+he said slowly. “When?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, week after next, Uncle Lemuel.
+We’ve had a whole month, you see. But if
+mother is coming here to live maybe she won’t
+make me, and I can stay right along and bake
+pies for you all winter. Oh, goody, goody!
+I’m so glad that my toes are skipping round
+inside my shoes. Do come with me while I
+go and ask Miss Porter what class she would
+put me in.”</p>
+
+<p>But Uncle Lemuel, muttering something
+about “the stock,” stepped to the back door,
+and walked slowly out under the silent stars.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, he’s going out to see if they kneel
+down,” explained Mary happily, after a second
+of surprise. “I heard that the animals
+all knelt in their stalls on Christmas Eve; and
+he promised me that he’d go and look and call
+me if they did. But I’m afraid that he’s too
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>early. They don’t do it till twelve o’clock, I
+think. I must run and tell him to wait.”</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Caldwell laid a detaining hand upon
+her arm.</p>
+
+<p>“I wouldn’t bother him if I was you,
+dearie,” she said. “Mebbe he’ll find ’em now.
+It’s Christmas Eve, anyhow.”</p>
+
+<p>For Mrs. Caldwell, down deep in her heart,
+was praying eagerly that the stars of Christmas
+Eve would lead Uncle Lemuel, as they
+had led the Wise Men long ago, to learn the
+lessons of humbleness and love by the side of
+a manger.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p>
+
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="IX">
+    IX
+    <br>
+    MERRY CHRISTMAS FINDS THE
+    HAPPY NEW YEAR
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+<div>
+  <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image087.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap">
+</div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap2"><span class="upper-case">“Merry Christmas!”</span> shouted a
+gay little voice, so close to Uncle
+Lemuel’s ear that he turned suddenly
+and almost dropped the pen
+with which he was laboriously
+scratching upon a sheet of paper.
+“Merry Christmas! You were such a dear
+not to wake me up, but it is really scandalous,
+isn’t it, not to get up early on my namesake
+morning? And you’ve been wanting your
+breakfast, I know. Aren’t you nearly starved,
+Uncle Lemuel, honest?”</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lemuel permitted himself the luxury
+of a wintry smile.</p>
+
+<p>“Pretty nigh,” he assented. “I hain’t had
+a bite to eat but half a pie, and three, four
+doughnuts, and two cups of coffee, and a little
+bread and butter. Before you get them buck-wheats
+going I’ll likely drop in my tracks.”</p>
+
+<p>Mary giggled appreciatively.</p>
+
+<p>“Poor thing!” she cried, with tender mockery.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>“Well, I’ll hurry. Wasn’t Mrs. Caldwell
+a dear to mix these for me before she
+went home? And weren’t she and Mrs. Waters
+and Miss Watkins and Miss Porter perfect
+<em>angels</em> to stay and clear up the house for
+us? Oatka Centre people are certainly the
+loveliest in the world, just as mother says.
+Why, Uncle, what are you doing?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, nothing,” returned Mr. Perkins
+briefly; “just a-writin’ a letter.” He spoke
+as carelessly as if letter writing were a daily
+occurrence with him, instead of an event that
+was more nearly decennial. “You hurry with
+them cakes, sissy. I’m used to havin’ my
+breakfast some time afore sundown, though I
+s’pose any time will do for them that’s lived
+turned upside downward on Injy’s coral
+strand.”</p>
+
+<p>This was a time-honoured joke between
+them by now, so Mary giggled again, meanwhile
+beating her batter with a skilful hand and
+issuing directions about the table setting.</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s have it right over under the Christmas
+tree. I’m so glad they had to leave that!
+And you must put on your new cup and drink
+your coffee in it. See, I have my red chain on
+this morning. I didn’t dare to wear my be-yoo-tiful
+red dress, but I’m going to put it on
+for dinner when we go to Mrs. Caldwell’s.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>I’m so glad she’s going to have Miss Porter,
+too—and Mr. Bennett. I was afraid they
+didn’t have any nice place to go. And, oh,
+Uncle Lemuel, what’s that box you’re hiding
+in my chair? Another present? You <em>dear</em>!
+I’m going to open it right away!”</p>
+
+<p>“You hold your horses, sissy, till you get
+them cakes done,” growled Uncle Lemuel.</p>
+
+<p>In due time a stack of cakes that matched
+Uncle Lemuel’s appetite was ready, and then
+the box was opened and the girl “began to
+sing,” though “sing” is really a very polite
+word with which to describe the series of
+shrieks, squeals, and even whoops of ecstasy
+with which she greeted the consecutive appearance
+of six wonderful sets of hair ribbons.</p>
+
+<p>“I shall wear them all!” she cried recklessly,
+and promptly proceeded to deck her neat
+brown braids like May poles with a series of
+fluttering bows—red, light blue, dark blue, yellow,
+white, and, at the very end, two wonderful
+rosettes of exquisite pink, which were rivalled
+in colour only by the tint of the cheeks
+above them.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Uncle Lemuel!” she cried, in solemn
+rapture. “I feel as if I must have died and
+gone to heaven. I love pink so that it almost
+makes me ache to look at it. That’s my only
+objection to being an angel—always having to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>wear white clothes and wings. Don’t you
+think maybe, if I was very good, the Lord
+would let me have a set of pink ones for Sundays?”</p>
+
+<p>But Uncle Lemuel’s theology was not prepared
+for such imaginative flights.</p>
+
+<p>“You’d better eat your vittles, sissy,” he remarked
+drily. “Time enough for choosin’
+your wings when you have them to wear. Coffee’s
+kind of tasty this mornin’,” he added
+craftily. “Wonder if it’s the cup?”</p>
+
+<p>“Let me taste yours and see,” cried Mary,
+prancing eagerly around the table. “Yes, I
+believe it is. Oh, Uncle, see what I’ve done—got
+a splash of coffee on your letter! I’ll see
+if I can’t mop it off. Why, Uncle, it begins,
+‘Niece Ellen!’ Were you writing to
+mother?”</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Lemuel nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“You see,” he explained slowly, “Ellen
+and me, we had some words a while back, and
+I thought mebbe she mightn’t feel free—that
+is, I thought mebbe she and Christie would feel
+freer to come and make their home with us for
+a spell if I wrote and invited ’em right away.
+I told ’em that the school was first-class, and
+that I should start you right there with Miss
+Porter till they come. Do you like that idee?”
+he ended anxiously.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p>
+
+<p>Mary embraced him rapturously.</p>
+
+<p>“Like it?” she cried. “Oh, Uncle Lemuel,
+I like it so much I can scarcely speak!
+I never saw anybody that did such lovely
+things for people all the time!” She paused
+a minute, and then clapped her hands. “Oh,
+I know what you are!” she said suddenly.
+“We are twins, just as I said—for I am your
+little Merry Christmas, and you are the great,
+big Happy New Year that goes with me.”</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<p class="center no-indent fs70 wsp">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+  <p class="center no-indent bold">
+    FICTION WORTH READING
+  </p>
+</div>
+<hr class="wide-double">
+
+<p class="u wsp"><em>NORMAN DUNCAN</em></p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent fs120 wsp bold">The Bird Store Man</p>
+
+<p>An Old-Fashioned Story. Illustrated, 12mo,
+boards, net 75c.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">By the sheer wizardry of his art, the author illumines a gray,
+shabby neighborhood with genial light, and makes of a dingy
+bird store a temple of high romance. What happens to
+Timothy Twitter, the cheery old bird dealer; to a wonderful
+dog Alexander; to the little girl who owns him and her
+veteran grandfather, is related with a whimsical tenderness
+few writers since Dickens have been able to employ. There
+is many a long chuckle awaiting the readers of THE BIRD
+STORE MAN, and not a few tugs at the heart.</p>
+<br>
+
+<div>
+ <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>CLARA E. LAUGHLIN</em></p>
+ <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Author of</em><br><em>“Everybody’s Lonesome”</em></p>
+</div>
+<div style="clear:both;"></div>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Everybody’s Birthright</p>
+
+<p>A Vision of Jeanne d’Arc. Illustrated, 12mo,
+cloth, net 75c.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">“A tender, heart-reaching and heart-finding story. The
+aspirations of the average young girl are too little understood.
+Miss Laughlin not only understands them, but she
+provides something for them to feed on. In all, she has
+contrived to put a lot of thoughts on interesting problems
+into a story that is full of the human touches that gives life
+to a book. It should add another to that series of classics
+for girls which have made Miss Laughlin the friend of girls
+and parents as well.”—<em>Norma Bright Carson.</em></p>
+<br>
+
+<div>
+ <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>WINIFRED ARNOLD</em></p>
+ <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Author of “Mis’ Basset’s</em><br><em>Matrimony Bureau”</em></p>
+</div>
+<div style="clear:both;"></div>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Little Merry Christmas</p>
+
+<p>Illustrated, 12mo, boards, net 60c.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">From the moment she alights, one wintry night, at the
+snow-piled station of Oatka Center, little Mary Christie begins
+to carry sunshine and happiness into the frosty homes,
+and still frostier hearts of its inhabitants. How Lem Perkins,
+her crusty old uncle, together with the entire village, is led
+into the delectable kingdom of Peace and Goodwill by the
+guiding hand of a child, is here told in as sweet and jolly
+a little story as anybody has either written or read in many
+a long year.</p>
+<br>
+
+<div>
+ <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>NORMAN HINSDALE PITMAN</em></p>
+ <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Author of</em><br><em>“The Lady Elect,” etc.</em></p>
+</div>
+<div style="clear:both;"></div>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">A Chinese Christmas Tree</p>
+
+<p>Illustrated by Liu Hsing-p’u. Boards, net 50c.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">Here is a Christmas story that is “different”—scenes laid
+in China, real Chinese children romping through its chapters,
+and illustrated by quaint pictures drawn by a real Chinese
+artist. Those who gratefully remember this author’s fine
+story “The Lady Elect,” will not be surprised to find a vein
+of mellow wisdom, tempered with warm, glowing sunshine.</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="u wsp"><em>CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY</em></p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">The Little Angel of Canyon Creek</p>
+
+<p>Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">A cracking good story of the bad old days of the Western
+Colorado mining camps—days when a man’s chances of
+returning to his cabin o’nights depended very largely on the
+despatch with which he could bring his gun to the “draw.”
+Into one of these lawless camps comes little Olaf, a homeless
+wanderer from the East. His advent, followed by that of
+the Morrisons, marks a new era for Canyon Creek which
+ends in the “cleaning up” of the entire town. Dr. Brady
+gives us a captivating tale, brim-full of the vim and color
+incident to days and places where life was cheap, and virtue
+both rare and dear.</p>
+<br>
+
+<div>
+ <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>MARIETTA HOLLEY</em></p>
+ <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Samantha Allen</em></p>
+</div>
+<div style="clear:both;"></div>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Josiah Allen on the Woman Question</p>
+
+<p>Illustrated, 16mo, cloth, net $1.00.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">A new volume from the pen of Miss Holley, marked by such
+quaint thoughtfulness and timely reflection as ran through
+“Samantha.” All who read it will be bound to feel better, as
+indeed they should, for they will have done some hearty laughing,
+and have been ‘up against’ some bits of striking philosophy delivered
+with point, vigor, and chuckling humor. All Josiah Allen’s
+opinions are wittily, pithily expressed, causing the whole book to
+fairly bubble with homely, fun-provoking wisdom.</p>
+<br>
+
+<div>
+ <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>J. J. BELL</em></p>
+ <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Author of “Wee Macgreegor,”</em><br><em>“Oh! Christina!” etc.</em></p>
+</div>
+<div style="clear:both;"></div>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">The Misadventures of Joseph</p>
+
+<p>12mo, cloth, net $1.00.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">A characteristic story in which the author displays unusual
+ability to portray with quiet, humorous touch, the idiosyncrasies
+of Scottish life and character. Through a series of
+highly diverting chapters a homely yet worthy house-painter
+extricates himself from many a seeming dilemma, by the exercise
+of a kindly charity and the best attributes of a man.</p>
+<br>
+
+<div>
+ <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>THEODORA PECK</em></p>
+ <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Author of</em><br><em>“The Sword of Dundee”</em></p>
+</div>
+<div style="clear:both;"></div>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">White Dawn</p>
+
+<p>A Legend of Ticonderoga. Illustrated, net $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">A real romance, redolent of love and war. The plot,
+for the most part, is laid in the beautiful Champlain valley,
+in the days when the British were storming Ticonderoga,
+and the armies of Wolfe and Montcalm striving for supremacy
+in the northern part of the continent. Miss Peck
+simply packs her book with action, and depicts scene after
+scene which literally resound with the din of battle and the
+clash of arms.</p>
+<br>
+
+<div>
+ <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>S. R. CROCKETT</em></p>
+ <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Author of “The Stickit Minister,”</em><br><em>“The Raiders,” etc.</em></p>
+</div>
+<div style="clear:both;"></div>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Silver Sand</p>
+
+<p>A Romance of Old Galloway. Cloth, net $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">“In this romance published only a few days after his
+death, we find Mr. Crockett in his familiar Wigtownshire,
+writing at his best, and giving us an even finer display of his
+powers than when he first captured his admirers. ‘Silver
+Sand’ is certainly one of the best things he ever did. Some
+of the characters here portrayed are among the best of his
+many creations, with an even added depth and tenderness.”—<em>Pall
+Mall Gazette.</em></p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="u wsp"><em>CAROLINE ABBOT STANLEY</em></p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Dr. Llewellyn and His Friends</p>
+
+<p>Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">Mrs. Stanley’s new book is a human chronicle of absorbing
+interest. Humor and pathos of a rare order alternate in its
+pages, together with some astonishingly good delineation of
+negro life and character. The <em>Kansas City Star</em> says: “If
+there is to be a Missouri school of literature to rival the
+famed Indiana institution, Mrs. Stanley has fairly earned the
+right to a charter membership.”</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="u wsp"><em>GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL LUTZ</em></p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">The Man of the Desert</p>
+
+<p>Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">The author of “The Best Man,” “Marcia Schuyler,” etc.,
+enjoys no mean reputation as a weaver of sweet, wholesome
+romances, a reputation which “The Man of the Desert”
+fully maintains. Her latest book tells the love-story of a
+daughter of luxury and a plain man facing his duty and
+doing his work on the home mission field of the West. Every
+reader of this charming story will be made to rejoice in the
+happy triumph over difficulties which gives to these young
+people the crowning joy of life, the union of kindred souls.</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="u wsp"><em>THURLOW FRASER</em></p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">The Call of The East</p>
+
+<p>A Romance of Far Formosa. Illustrated, 12mo,
+cloth, net $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">Here is a jewel in romance—set amid the blossom-laden
+islands of the Eastern seas. To its making go the record
+of one white man’s heroism and native worth, of another’s
+baseness and treachery; some thrilling incidents of the French
+invasion of Formosa; a satisfying picture of the great
+pioneer missionary Mackay, and a love-story as old as Eden,
+yet as fresh as the dews of the morning.</p>
+<br>
+
+
+<div>
+ <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>CAROLINE ABBOT STANLEY</em></p>
+ <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Author of</em><br><em>“The Master of the Oaks”</em></p>
+</div>
+<div style="clear:both;"></div>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">The Keeper of the Vineyard</p>
+
+<p>A Tale of the Ozarks. Illustrated, $1.25 net.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">“When the Revells publish a novel there can be no question
+as to its high moral tone. This is an unusual story, in
+which a young woman assumes the burden of the support
+of a family and succeeds in her purpose. The story takes
+us to the Ozarks and to the Vineyards, and charms us by
+the descriptions of life near the heart of nature.”—<em>Watchman
+Examiner.</em></p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="u wsp"><em>NORMAN HINSDALE PITMAN</em></p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">The Lady Elect</p>
+
+<p>A Chinese Romance. Illustrated by Chinese artists.
+12mo, cloth, net $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">“A story that depicts, in all its fascination, the old China—Something
+of the knowledge of what may be lies at the heart
+of this Chinese romance—the story of a girl who rebelled
+against an ‘arranged’ marriage, and of the young man she
+loved. A romance with all the plot, situation and charm of
+a modern popular love-story makes the book irresistible.”—<em>Norma
+Bright Carson, Editor of Book News.</em></p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="u wsp"><em>RICHARD S. HOLMES</em></p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Bradford Horton: Man</p>
+
+<p>A novel. 12mo, cloth, net $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">“This story is one of intense interest, combining sentiment,
+pathos, love, humor and high aims and purposes. It is not
+a sermon. It is just what it claims to be, “a novel.” But
+he who reads it will find in it an inspiration to higher living.
+It is fascinating in its presentation of its distinctly human
+characters.”—<em>Presbyterian of the South.</em></p>
+<br>
+
+<div>
+ <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>MARIETTA HOLLEY</em></p>
+ <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90">(<em>Josiah Allen’s Wife</em>)</p>
+</div>
+<div style="clear:both;"></div>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Samantha on the Woman Question</p>
+
+<p>Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.00.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">“This is the book we have been waiting for. What Samantha
+doesn’t know, isn’t worth knowing—will throw a
+little humor on the situation which is becoming too intense.
+We hope it may have a wide circulation in England, for Samantha
+who believes in suffrage, does not believe in dynamite,
+gunpowder and mobs.”—<em>Examiner.</em></p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="u wsp"><em>CHARLES H. LERRIGO</em></p>
+
+<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Doc Williams</p>
+
+<p>A Tale of the Middle West. Illustrated, net $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class="fs90">“The homely humor of the old doctor and his childlike
+faith in ‘the cure’ is so intensely human that he captures the
+sympathy of the layman at once—a sympathy that becomes
+the deepest sort of interest.”—<em>Topeka Capital.</em></p>
+<br>
+<br>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78374 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #78374
+(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78374)