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diff --git a/78374-0.txt b/78374-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2cd7375 --- /dev/null +++ b/78374-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2367 @@ +*** 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 *** |