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diff --git a/78374-h/78374-h.htm b/78374-h/78374-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..04a01be --- /dev/null +++ b/78374-h/78374-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3607 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Little Merry Christmas | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } + +.tdl {text-align: left; padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} +.tdlx {text-align: left; padding-left: 2em; padding-right: .5em; text-indent: -1.5em;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; + color: #A9A9A9; +} /* page numbers */ + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +.fs70 {font-size: 70%} +.fs90 {font-size: 90%} +.fs120 {font-size: 120%} +.fs150 {font-size: 150%} + +.no-indent {text-indent: 0em;} +.bold {font-weight: bold;} +.wsp {word-spacing: 0.3em;} +.lh {line-height: 1.5em;} + +img.drop-cap +{ + float: left; + margin: 0em .25em 0.5em 0em; +} + +img.drop-cap2 +{ + float: left; + margin: 0em .25em 0.5em 0em; +} + +p.drop-cap:first-letter +{ + color: transparent; + visibility: hidden; + margin-left: -1.5em; +} + +p.drop-cap2:first-letter +{ + color: transparent; + visibility: hidden; + margin-left: -2.25em; +} + +.upper-case +{ + text-transform: uppercase; +} + +h2 {font-size: 130%; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.6em; word-spacing: .3em;} +.pageborder {width: 400px; border: 1px solid; padding: 10px; margin: auto;} +hr.double {width: 40%; border-top: 6px double; margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 30%; +margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;} +hr.wide-double {width: 100%; border-top: 6px double; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 0%; +margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em;} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp85 {width: 85%;} +.illowp10 {width: 10%;} +.illowp100 {width: 100%;} + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78374 ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 85%"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<h1> +LITTLE MERRY CHRISTMAS +</h1> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="pageborder"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="center no-indent"> + <em>By</em> + <br> + WINIFRED ARNOLD + </p> + <hr class="double"> +</div> +<br> + +<p>Little Merry Christmas</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>Illustrated, 12mo, boards, net 60c.</p> + +<p>From the moment she alights, one wintry +night, at the snow-piled station of +Oatka Center, little Merry Christmas begins +to carry sunshine and happiness into +the frosty homes, and still frostier hearts, +of its inhabitants. How Lem Perkins, +her crusty old uncle, together with the +entire village, is led into the delectable +kingdom of Peace and Goodwill by the +guiding hand of a child, is here told in a +sweet and jolly little story.</p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Mis’ Bassett’s Matrimony Bureau</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.00.</p> + +<p>Si, Ezry and Zekle, Cynthy, Elviny, +and Mirandy, with many another character +whose name suggests the humorous and +homely phraseology of “way down East,” +disport themselves to the “everlastin’” +delight of the reader.</p> + +<p>“There is a good deal of homely philosophy +in Mis’ Bassett’s observations expressed +in her delightful way.”</p> + +<p class="right"> + —<em>Rochester Herald.</em> +</p> +</blockquote> +</div> +<br> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp85" id="frontis" style="max-width: 51.5625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/frontis.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + “Mr. Perkins found himself fumbling with the buttons<br> + on a small, blue gingham back” + </figcaption> +</figure> + <p class="right">(See page <a href="#Page_18">18</a>)</p> +<br> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center no-indent fs150 bold"> + LITTLE MERRY<br> + CHRISTMAS</p> + <br> +<br> + <p class="center no-indent wsp lh"> + By<br> + <span class="fs120">WINIFRED ARNOLD</span><br> + Author of “Mis’ Bassett’s Matrimony Bureau”<br> + <br> + <em>ILLUSTRATED</em><br> + <br> + </p> +<figure class="figcenter illowp10" id="titlepage" style="max-width: 7.8125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + <br> + <p class="center no-indent wsp lh"> + <span class="smcap">New York</span> <span class="smcap" style="padding-left: 1em">Chicago</span> <span class="smcap" style="padding-left: 1em">Toronto</span><br> + <span class="fs120">Fleming H. Revell Company</span><br> + <span class="smcap">London</span> <span class="allsmcap" style="padding-left: 1em">AND</span> <span class="smcap" style="padding-left: 1em">Edinburgh</span> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center no-indent wsp"> + Copyright, 1913 by<br> + STREET & SMITH<br> + <br> + Copyright, 1914, by<br> + FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY<br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + New York: 158 Fifth Avenue<br> + Chicago: 125 N. Wabash Ave.<br> + Toronto: 25 Richmond St., W.<br> + London: 21 Paternoster Square<br> + Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street +</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS"> + CONTENTS + </h2> +</div> + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +I. +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +<span class="smcap">The Surprise Package</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_9">9</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +II. +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +<span class="smcap">Pancakes for Two</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_14">14</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +III. +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +<span class="smcap">The New Housekeeper</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_23">23</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +IV. +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +<span class="smcap">Hunting for the Pie-Maker</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_31">31</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +V. +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +<span class="smcap">The Turnover Goes to School</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_43">43</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +VI. +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +<span class="smcap">Mrs. Em. to the Rescue</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_53">53</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +VII. +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +<span class="smcap">Exit “Old Grouchy Gruff”</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_61">61</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +VIII. +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +<span class="smcap">Uncle Lem’s Christmas Party</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_73">73</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +IX. +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +<span class="smcap">Merry Christmas Finds the Happy New Year</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_87">87</a> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"> + ILLUSTRATIONS + </h2> +</div> + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"> +“Mr. Perkins found himself fumbling with the buttons on a small, blue gingham back” +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<em><a href="#frontis">Frontispiece</a></em> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"> +</td> +<td class="tdr fs70"> +FACING +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"> +</td> +<td class="tdr fs70"> +PAGE +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"> +“Where’s the bundle Sim Coles left?” he demanded of the group around the stove +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#facing010">10</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"> +“How do you do! Does my uncle, Mr. Lemuel Perkins, live here?” +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#facing014">14</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"> +“Oh, goody!” she cried. “I was so afraid you’d be late, and I didn’t want you to miss anything” +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#facing078">78</a> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="I"> + I + <br> + THE SURPRISE PACKAGE + </h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image009.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap2"><span class="upper-case">“Here’s</span> a package for you, Hime,” +yelled the burly conductor. +“Brown, with a red label on top. +I’ll just set it here till you haul +down the mail bags.”</p> + +<p>The station-master’s lantern +stopped bobbing for a moment.</p> + +<p>“All right. Set it down inside,” he shouted, +over his shoulder. “Snow’s so deep to-night +I might lose it on the platform.”</p> + +<p>The little girl in the brown coat and the hat +with the big red bow on top, giggled delightedly.</p> + +<p>“He’ll think it’s lost sure enough,” she said. +“’Twould be a fine April Fool if it wasn’t so +near Christmas, wouldn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“A-number-one,” agreed the big conductor, +appreciatively. “Well, good-bye, sissy; the +train’s moving. Hope you’ll have a fine time.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I shall,” responded the little girl confidently. +“I always do. Good-bye. Oh, look! +He’s coming!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p> + +<p>Down the platform bobbed the station-master’s +lantern, the centre of a moving vortex of +big, fluffy snowflakes. After the darkness +outside, even the dimly lighted little waiting +room seemed dazzling as he stepped inside, +dragging the mail bags behind him.</p> + +<p>“Where’s the bundle Sim Coles left?” he +demanded of the little group assembled around +the tall, whitewashed stove, slinging his burden +at the feet of the village bus driver, who stood +with one foot on the ledge around the bottom +of the stove, while he slapped his wet mittens +against its glowing sides.</p> + +<p>“Sim Coles never came in here,” answered +a tall man with a black beard. “He was talkin’ +outside with a little gal.”</p> + +<p>“Likely he’s hove it into a snowdrift,” +grumbled the station-master, turning back +toward the door. “Should think he might +uv——”</p> + +<p>A little brown figure sprang out of the +shadows.</p> + +<p>“No, he didn’t,” she contradicted gleefully. +“I’m the brown package, you know, and the +bow on my hat is the red label. He said it for +a joke.”</p> + +<p>For a moment the group around the stove +stared—then they joined in the merry peal of +laughter that was shaking the red label.</p> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="facing010" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/facing010.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + “Where’s the bundle Sim Coles left?” he demanded of the group around the stove + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p> + +<p>“So you’re the package, be ye?” inquired +the station-master. “Waal, where are you +bound for, sissy? Come on up and let’s read +that fancy tag of yourn.”</p> + +<p>The little girl bubbled appreciatively.</p> + +<p>“I’ve come to visit my uncle,” she explained. +“That is, he’s mother’s uncle, Mr. Lemuel +Perkins.”</p> + +<p>“Is Lem expectin’ of you?” inquired the +’bus driver, leisurely picking up a mail bag +from the floor.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no. Isn’t it fun? I’m a real Christmas +surprise, you know, sent early, so as not +to overload the mail.”</p> + +<p>She laughed again.</p> + +<p>“Well, I guess you’d better ride along up +with me, then. Lem lives just a little piece +beyond the post-office.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, goody!” exclaimed the delighted passenger, +with a breezy little rush across the +room to the other door. “This will be my +second sleigh ride, and I can drop right down +on him out of a snowstorm, just the way a +Christmas surprise ought to. May I sit on the +front seat with you, Mr.—er——”</p> + +<p>“Bennett,” supplied that gentleman genially. +“Drove the Oatka Centre ’bus ever since there +was a deepo to drive to. Say, who was your +mother, sissy? Did she ever live here?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span></p> + +<p>“Not exactly. Her name was Ellen Rumball, +till she married father and went to India +to live. She used to visit Uncle Lemuel and +Aunt Nancy, before Aunt Nancy died.”</p> + +<p>“Why, pshaw now! She ain’t the Ellen +Rumball that married a missionary named +Christian, is she?”</p> + +<p>“Christie,” corrected the small person. +“We’re all missionaries, and live in India. +Father and mother and me and the children. +Only I’m in boarding school now—Crescent +Hill, you know—the <em>loveliest</em> school! But +scarlet fever broke out, so school closed two +weeks early, and the girl I was going to visit +has the fever, so I decided to come right down +and spend Christmas with Uncle Lemuel. +Won’t he be surprised?”</p> + +<p>The driver peered out through the soft darkness.</p> + +<p>“He will that,” he drawled. “Lem ain’t so +gol darned used to children as some.”</p> + +<p>The little girl’s laugh tinkled gleefully.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m not a child,” she explained. “I +guess you didn’t see me very well; the station +was so dark. Why, I’m thirteen and a half +years old, and I’ve been grown up for a long +time. I had to be, you see, to take care of the +children. Mother had her hands so full with +the people and the schools and father’s meetings +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>and all that. Being a missionary is the +most absorbing work there is,” she ended impressively.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I see,” chuckled Mr. Bennett. “Quite +an old lady, and a missionary to boot. That’s +lucky, now. Lem’s been lookin’ for a housekeeper +for quite a spell, they say—ever since +the Widder Em left him. A missionary, now, +will come in real handy. I’ll drive ye right +over first, and stop to the office on the way +back. Can you see that light down there? +That’s Lem’s kitchen. Want I should come in +with ye, sissy?”</p> + +<p>The little girl pondered for a minute. “No, +I believe not,” she answered. “It would make +you seem more like Santa Claus, I think, if you +just dropped me and rode away.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Bennett chuckled.</p> + +<p>“Mebbe it would, sissy, mebbe it would. I +hain’t seen Sandy Claus in so long that I’ve +pretty nigh forgot how he does act. Whoa, +there, you reindeers! Hold on while I drop a +Christmas passel down through Lem Perkins’ +chimley. Good-bye now, sissy. Good luck to +ye. Giddap thar, you reindeers! Giddap!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="II"> + II + <br> + PANCAKES FOR TWO + </h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image014.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">In</span> the kitchen wing of the old-fashioned +brown house an old man was +just beginning to get supper, a +choleric old man, if one could judge +by the bushy fierceness of the shaggy +eyebrows above the sharp blue eyes, +and the aggressive slant of the gray chin +whisker. Mr. Lemuel Perkins had come in +rather late from a particularly heated meeting +of the village debating society, in grocery store +assembled, and you will have to admit that it +is not a soothing experience for a hungry man +to find the kitchen in dire confusion, the fire in +the cook stove nothing but a mass of embers, +and not a sign of supper in sight unless the +attenuated remains of a solitary dinner answer +that description.</p> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="facing014" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/facing014.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + “How do you do! Does my uncle, Mr. Lemuel Perkins, live here?” + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>A fire was blazing in the stove now, however; +and, girdled in a blue gingham apron, Mr. +Perkins was adding to the general confusion on +the kitchen table by trying to “stir up” something +for supper, with the aid of a “ring-streaked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>and spotted” recipe book. Intent +upon discovering whether a certain eleven was +really eleven or only a one and a fly speck, Mr. +Perkins totally disregarded the sound of “some +one gently tapping, tapping” at his kitchen +door, and did not even realize that it had been +pushed open till a brisk young voice inquired:</p> + +<p>“How do you do! Does my uncle, Mr. +Lemuel Perkins, live here?”</p> + +<p>“Huh?” demanded Mr. Perkins, whirling +about, recipe book in hand, and eyeing the intruder +fiercely.</p> + +<p>But fierce looks can find no entrance through +a pair of rose-colored spectacles that are radiating +sunshine and goodwill as hard as ever +they can.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you are Uncle Lemuel!” cried a happy +little voice, while its owner rushed headlong +across the kitchen with outstretched arms. +“I’m so glad to see you.” With a gay little +spring she planted a kiss on the tip of the +bristling chin whisker. “I’m your grandniece, +Mary, and I’ve come to spend Christmas with +you for a surprise. Have you had scarlet +fever?”</p> + +<p>“Huh?” inquired Mr. Perkins again, a trifle +less fierce, but much more bewildered.</p> + +<p>“Scarlet fever?” shrieked Mary, deciding at +once that of course a proper great-uncle would +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>be deaf. “Have—you—had—scarlet fever? +I’ve—been exposed!”</p> + +<p>“For the land sakes, little gal, quit your +yellin’! I ain’t deef,” retorted Mr. Perkins. +“Who’d you say you was?”</p> + +<p>“Mary, your niece; but I’m not a little girl. +I’m thirteen and a half. Mother says I’m a real +little woman.”</p> + +<p>“She does, does she? Waal, we’ll see which +on us is right about it. Is there one cup of flour +in pancakes, or eleven? This blamed receipt +book is so messed up I can’t tell.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, are you making pancakes?” returned +his guest joyfully. “I’m so glad. I was afraid +you’d be through supper, and I’m almost +starved. You wouldn’t let me make the pancakes, +would you, Uncle Lemuel? India’s not +a very suitable place for them, mother says, so +we never had them much, but she let me make +them once or twice, and I just love to hear +them go splash on the griddle, and then bob +up like a rubber ball, and then flop them over, +all brown and lovely. It’s such fun! But +probably you love to make them, too. I +oughtn’t to ask the first night, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>Uncle Lemuel’s visage, being trained to express +habitual displeasure, had no difficulty in +concealing the feelings of joy that coursed +through him at these words. As he himself +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span>would have expressed it, he “hated like dumb +p’ison to cook a meal of vittles,” but it was +against Uncle Lemuel’s principles to display +satisfaction with the happenings of the world +about him.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he responded slowly, “if you’re so +set on it, I s’pose you might as well. Only +don’t be wasteful now, and stir up a mess we +can’t eat.”</p> + +<p>He handed over the recipe book with a +grudging air that would have deceived the +very elect.</p> + +<p>“I won’t,” promised his guest happily, +whisking off her coat with one hand and her +hat with the other, and finally finding a satisfactory +place for them on a remote rocking-chair +covered with red calico. “What +fun, starting in housekeeping with you right +away like this! And such a grand fire! Will +you set the table, and have you got some real +maple sirup? I don’t think they have at +school, but mother said you and Aunt Nancy +got it right from your own trees. Do you +keep them in the back yard, and go out, and +draw some when you want it, as if you were +milking a cow?”</p> + +<p>She was diving into her russet leather handbag +as she spoke, and presently she pulled out +a blue gingham apron with triumphant glee.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p> + +<p>“Here’s my big kitchen apron. Isn’t it the +luckiest thing that I brought it in my handbag? +I didn’t have a chance to wear it at +school, so I left it out of my trunk, and then +I ran across it at the last minute, and tucked +it in here. Everything does turn out so +grandly! Why, see, our aprons match! How +funny! We’re twins, aren’t we? Will you +button me up in the back, please, and then +I’ll tie yours again. Yours is slipping off.”</p> + +<p>In another moment the dazed Mr. Perkins +found himself fumbling with the buttons on +a small blue gingham back; and then, before +he could even think of the first letter of Jack +Robinson’s name, a capable hand had tightened +his own apron strings, and transported +by two active little feet was marshalling the +various “ingrejunts” that he had already +gathered together on the kitchen table.</p> + +<p>Muttering something about maple sirup, +he retreated to the cellar to collect his +wits, though he knew full well that the sirup +can, since time immemorial, had occupied +the right-hand end of the top “butt’ry” +shelf.</p> + +<p>By the time he returned the culinary operations +had been transferred to the sink bench, +and the kitchen table was laid for two. On +the stove a shining griddle was smoking in anticipation, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>while the little cook was giving a +last anxious whip to the batter.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t find the napkins, Uncle Lemuel,” +she called, as the cellarway door opened. +“Will you get them out, please, and put the +butter and sirup on the table? Oh, I do <em>pray</em> +these cakes will be good! It’s such a responsibility +to cook for a grown-up man!”</p> + +<p>A silence, heavy with the deepest anxiety, +settled almost visibly over the Perkins kitchen +from the first slap of the batter upon the smoking +griddle, till three cakes had been duly +“flopped” by the little cook’s careful hand. +These, however, presented to view such beautiful, +round, creamy countenances, almost obscured +by very becoming brown lace veils, +that two huge sighs of relief exhaled together; +one of which was speedily transformed into +a dry little cough, while Uncle Lemuel turned +and tiptoed away in search of the tea caddy +and the old brown pot.</p> + +<p>“As soon as we get six, we can sit down +and begin,” called Mary excitedly. “The +stove’s so handy I can cook and eat, too. +That’s such a nice thing about eating in the +kitchen. We could never do that in India, +there were always too many servants around, +though mother tried to keep it as much like +an American home as she could. That’s why +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span>she taught me to cook—so we could have +American dishes.”</p> + +<p>“Can you make pie?” queried Uncle Lemuel, +through a mouthful so dripping with maple +sirup that even his tones seemed sweetened.</p> + +<p>“No, I can’t,” admitted Mary regretfully. +“Father didn’t think pie was good for us, so +mother never tried to manage that.”</p> + +<p>All traces of sirup departed abruptly from +Uncle Lemuel’s tones.</p> + +<p>“Good for ye?” he growled. “Well, if +that ain’t just like some folkses impudence! +Good for ye? Humph! Mebbe if I hadn’t et +it three times a day I mightn’t have had no +more sprawl than to go out to Injy and lay +round under a green cotton umbrell’ with a +black feller fannin’ the flies off of me. Why, +it’s eatin’ pie reg’lar that’s put the United +States ahead of all the other nations of the +world! It’s the bulwark of the American +Constitution, pie is.”</p> + +<p>Mary gazed at him with wide and interested +eyes. Her mental picture of her own +overworked father was so many leagues away +from the vision under the green cotton umbrella +that, far from resenting Uncle Lemuel’s +thrust, she never even recognized it.</p> + +<p>“Do you think maybe that’s the matter with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>our constitutions?” she inquired eagerly. “I +had to come over to school because I wasn’t +well, and father isn’t a bit strong, either. +Mother thought it was the climate.”</p> + +<p>Uncle Lem’s growl struggled through another +mouthful of sirup.</p> + +<p>“Climate! Huh! A man that eats strengthenin’ +food enough can stand up against any +climate the Almighty ever made. I’ve felt +sorter pindlin’ myself since I hain’t had my pie +reg’lar, an’ the climate or Oatka Centre is the +same as ever, hain’t it?”</p> + +<p>Even the intellect of a missionary as old as +thirteen and a half is forced to bow before +such logic as that.</p> + +<p>“Then I must learn how to make pie +straight away,” announced Mary solemnly. +“Could you teach me, Uncle Lemuel?”</p> + +<p>Uncle Lemuel shook his head.</p> + +<p>“It takes womenfolks to make pies,” he +admitted grudgingly. “I hain’t had a decent +pie in the house since the Widder Em left +here.”</p> + +<p>“Did she make good ones?” inquired Mary +sympathetically.</p> + +<p>Uncle Lemuel was almost torn in twain between +his natural tendency toward disparagement +and the soothing effects of the innumerable +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>procession of well-browned griddle cakes +that had come his way.</p> + +<p>“There is folks,” he compromised, “that +thinks she was a master-hand at it. Some +say the best in the village. I’ve et worse myself.”</p> + +<p>“It’s too bad she moved away,” sighed +Mary; “but I guess we can find somebody +else. Mother said the people in Oatka Centre +were the kindest in the world, and of course +they’d do it for you, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>A touch of a smile twitched at one corner +of the old man’s mouth.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” he assented, with grim humour. +“Any durned one of ’em would do anythin’ +under the canopy for me.”</p> + +<p>“That’s because you’d do anything under +the canopy for them,” agreed the little girl. +“Kind people always find other people kind, +mother says. I do wish I could do something +for you myself, you’re such a nice uncle, but +I’m getting so sleepy I can’t think of a thing. +If you’re through, we’d better wash the dishes +quickly, else I might,” she ended, with a +sleepy little giggle, “tumble—splash—into the +dishpan.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="III"> + III + <br> + THE NEW HOUSEKEEPER + </h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image023.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">It</span> was still dark when a resounding +thump on the door of the “parlour +bedroom” wakened the unconscious +little missionary, who had plumped +into the exact centre of its feather +bed the night before, and had +never stirred since.</p> + +<p>“Be ye goin’ to sleep all day?” growled a +voice outside.</p> + +<p>The little brown head bounced out of its +pillow like a jack-in-a-box.</p> + +<p>“Goodness, no!” answered its owner, in a +startled voice. “I didn’t know it was daytime. +Why, I meant to help you get breakfast! +Is it too late?”</p> + +<p>“I s’pose I can wait, if you’re set on makin’ +some more pancakes,” responded Uncle Lemuel +craftily. “But you’d better flax around +pretty spry. I’ll get the griddle het up.”</p> + +<p>The air of that “parlour bedroom” was +certainly conducive to spry “flaxing” if you +didn’t want to congeal in a half-dressed condition, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>and by the time the griddle was well +“het,” the new cook appeared on the scene.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Uncle Lemuel!” she cried +gaily, whisking across the kitchen and planting +a swift little kiss upon that gentleman’s +amazed countenance before she whirled about +and presented her blue gingham back to be +buttoned. “You certainly are the nicest man +in the world to wait so I could cook, and I +have planned a perfectly grand surprise for +you, too. We’re going to have the jolliest +Christmas together that ever was. Is the coffee +made yet?”</p> + +<p>“Who told you to come here for Christmas?” +demanded Mr. Perkins, as he began +on his second plate of pancakes.</p> + +<p>“Nobody at all,” bubbled his guest gleefully. +“That’s the joke of it. It’s a perfect +surprise all around. I was going home with +Patty Stanwood, you know, because her +mother and mine used to be school friends. +And then Patty had scarlet fever, and her +mother was afraid of me on account of the +baby. So then I remembered what fine times +mother used to have here when she was a girl, +and I knew this would be just the ideal place +to spend Christmas. You know, I’ve never +seen a real snowy American Christmas before +in my life, and I’m just wild about it. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>girls at school call me ‘Merry Christmas,’ instead +of ‘Mary Christie,’ because I talk so +much about it, and I <em>love</em> it for a name! +Aren’t you just crazy about Christmas, Uncle +Lemuel?”</p> + +<p>Crazy about Christmas? Yes, indeed, little +Merry! Why, it was only the afternoon before, +Job Simpkins, of the village “Emporium,” +would have told you, that “Lem Perkins +had bellered and tore around as if the +very name of Christmas was a red flannin rag +waved in front of a bull.”</p> + +<p>But when he looked into the shining young +eyes before him, even Uncle Lemuel’s frenzy +couldn’t fail to be a trifle abated.</p> + +<p>“I hain’t much use for it—late years,” he +answered gruffly. “Folks make such tarnation +fools of themselves.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you are a Christmas reformer,” translated +his little guest blithely. “Lots of people +are in America, they say. Maybe you are +a Spug. Are you a Spug, Uncle Lemuel?”</p> + +<p>“No, siree, Republican and Hardshell Baptist, +same as I’ve always been. The old ways +is good enough for me. What’s Spug, I’d like +to know?”</p> + +<p>Mary clapped her hands.</p> + +<p>“I’m so glad!” she cried gleefully. “It’s +a society to make you give useful Christmas +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>presents to people, and I’ve had useful ones +all my life—being a missionary family with +five children, of course we had to. But I’d +rather join a society to prevent them myself, +for I like useless ones lots better. Don’t you? +I’ve been hoping awfully that somebody would +give me a string of red beads or a set of pink +hair ribbons. Oh, I didn’t mean that for a +hint! Do excuse me, Uncle Lemuel! Of +course, I’ll like best whatever you choose. +How big a turkey do you usually buy?” she +ended hastily.</p> + +<p>“Don’t buy none,” grunted Uncle Lemuel, +with his nose in his coffee cup.</p> + +<p>“Why, of course not! You raise them +yourself, don’t you? I <em>am</em> a goose,” she +laughed. “Besides, people always invite you +when you live alone. I hope they won’t this +year. It would be such fun to have a Christmas +party of our own, wouldn’t it, right here +in this kitchen? Who do you want to invite? +I must go right out and get acquainted, so I’ll +have some friends of my own to ask. It’s +only two weeks off, but you can make a lot +of friends in two weeks, can’t you, if you go +about it the right way? See what friends +we’ve got to be already!”</p> + +<p>“The science of self-expression” was quite +unknown when Uncle Lemuel went to district +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>school, but it would have demanded a full +dramatic course adequately to cope with the +torrent of varying emotions that was surging +through the time-worn channels of his consciousness. +Surprise, disgust, amusement, +wonder, disapproval, horror, and a wee touch +of pleasure tumbled over one another in rapid +succession.</p> + +<p>And some way the wee touch of pleasure in +the child’s innocent friendliness and liking +soared high enough on top of the flood to +soften the hard old mouth for a little and keep +back for the nonce the bitter words that would +shatter her Christmas air castles to fragments. +Nobody had really liked Lemuel Perkins in so +many years that he couldn’t be blamed for enjoying +the sensation, though he felt as queer +as must an ice-bound stream when the first +little trickle of water creeps warmly through +its breast.</p> + +<p>“Want I should help ye with the dishes?” +he inquired almost kindly. “I’ve got to go +over to town of an errand after a spell.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, have you got time? I’m so glad! Do +you know, that’s the funny thing about dishes? +If you do them alone, they are the worst old +job that ever was, but when somebody nice +wipes for you, they’re just fun. Mother says +it’s that way with most kinds of work. Could +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>you stay long enough to help sort things out +a little, too? For a man, of course, you’re +a very nice housekeeper—you ought to see father!—but +with two of us around we may +need a little more room, don’t you think so?”</p> + +<p>Fortunately there was no one at hand to +reveal the fact that, no longer ago than two +hours, Mr. Lemuel Perkins had stated firmly +to the kitchen stove that “folks that walked +in on you unasked and unwanted should at +least pay for their vittles by doing all the +housework.” Kitchen stoves do not taunt you +with changing your mind, so Uncle Lemuel +was not hampered by the fear that has kept +many a better man from improving on himself.</p> + +<p>By half-past nine the Perkins kitchen shone +resplendent in the morning sunshine with a +brightness reminiscent of the days when Aunt +Nancy had boasted proudly that her kitchen +was the pleasantest room in the house.</p> + +<p>Uncle Lemuel would really have liked to +sit down and enjoy its sunny neatness for a +while, but an irresistible impulse had begun +tugging at his cowhide boots, and Uncle +Lemuel had no choice but to set them at once +on the path to the post-office. For nine o’clock +is “mail time” in Oatka Centre, and either +totally unsocial or completely bedridden are +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>the menfolks who fail to forgather on a fine +winter morning in the ever-exciting pursuit +of the letter that never comes.</p> + +<p>“I’m goin’ over to the office, and to get +the meat,” he announced, pulling his old cap +down over his ears.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I hope you’ll get me a letter!” cried +Mary. “I never feel perfectly at home in a +new place till I begin to get mail. Do you +know the post-master, Uncle Lemuel?”</p> + +<p>“Know Marthy Ann Watkins?” jeered +Uncle Lemuel. “Knowed her since she was +knee high to a grasshopper. And, moreover, +if there’s a man, woman, or child in this township +that don’t know Marthy Ann, it ain’t her +fault; you can bet your bottom dollar on that. +Keepin’ track of folks is her business. Prob’ly +knows what we et for breakfast by this time.”</p> + +<p>Mary’s laughter bubbled out merrily. +“Goodness me, Uncle Lemuel! Then she +knows that I haven’t written to mother yet, +to tell her where I am. So I’d better do it +right away. Maybe I’ll see you over at the +post-office by-and-by. Have you any special +messages for mother and father, or shall I +just send your love?”</p> + +<p>Uncle Lemuel was engaged in hauling his +old cap still farther over his ears, and apparently +he did not hear this amazing question, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>for he emitted no sounds but another grunt +before the door slammed behind him.</p> + +<p>“He <em>is</em> deaf,” decided his little guest innocently; +“but I mustn’t make him see that I +notice it by asking over. Deaf people are so +sensitive. Love will do this time, anyway.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="IV"> + IV + <br> + HUNTING FOR THE PIE-MAKER + </h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image031.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">It</span> was nearly ten o’clock when Mary +pushed open the door of the post-office +and stepped in. Not a soul +was in sight, so she tiptoed over to +the little window framed in boxes.</p> + +<p>“Are you Miss Martha Watkins?” +she inquired cheerfully.</p> + +<p>“Mercy land!” ejaculated a thin lady inside, +quitting at one bound her creaky rocking-chair +and her enthralling occupation of sorting +picture postcards. “Who be you, child, and +whose mail do you want?”</p> + +<p>“My own, if there is any—Mary Christie’s—but +I guess there isn’t, for I only got +here last night. I really came to mail my letter +to mother, and get acquainted with you. +My uncle said you were the friendliest lady +in town, and I’m looking for friends, myself.”</p> + +<p>“Who’s your uncle?” inquired Miss Watkins.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Lemuel Perkins, a very old friend of +yours. Isn’t he nice?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> + +<p>Miss Marthy overlooked the last question.</p> + +<p>“And what did Lem Perkins say about me, +did you say?” she demanded.</p> + +<p>Mary knitted her brows.</p> + +<p>“He said,” she repeated slowly, “that you—that +you—oh, I know!—that you tried to be +friends with everybody in town, and it wasn’t +your fault if you weren’t. And I needed +some help right away, so of course I came to +you.”</p> + +<p>Miss Watkins struggled not to look as +pleased as she felt.</p> + +<p>“Now, who in tunket would uv thought +that of Lem Perkins?” she marvelled. “Well, +he hit the nail on the head anyways. I do love +to be friendly with folks, that’s certain. What +can I do for you, sissy?”</p> + +<p>“Can you tell me who’s the best pie-maker +in town, since uncle’s housekeeper moved +away? It’s such a shame she’s gone, for I +want to learn right off for a surprise for +uncle.”</p> + +<p>“She that was the Widder Em Cottle, do +you mean? Mis’ Caldwell that is?”</p> + +<p>Mary hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Uncle said the Widow Em. Is she Mrs. +Caldwell, too? He said people thought she +was the best pie-maker in town. Is that the +one?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p> + +<p>Miss Watkins stared.</p> + +<p>“Lem Perkins has certainly met a change +of heart!” she ejaculated. “What made you +think she’d moved away? She lives in that +white house just beyond your uncle’s. I’ll bet +he never told you the whole story, did he?”</p> + +<p>She leaned forward eagerly.</p> + +<p>But Mary was absorbed in her joy over the +happy turn of affairs.</p> + +<p>“Oh, goody, goody!” she exclaimed gleefully. +“Why, I must have misunderstood +uncle some way. Isn’t that glorious? Now I +can run right up there, and maybe she’ll +teach me before dinner. Oh, thank you so +much, Miss Watkins. You are a real friend, +just as uncle said. I’m going to come down +this afternoon and get your help about Christmas, +too. Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>Right outside the door she encountered Mr. +Bennett, the ’bus driver, returning from a +leisurely trip to the “ten o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if here ain’t the lady missionary!” +he called cheerfully. “Where ye goin’ so fast +this fine morning? Huntin’ heathen?”</p> + +<p>Mary giggled.</p> + +<p>“No,” she returned merrily. “Going to +hunt for a missionary myself—Mrs. Caldwell, +that was uncle’s housekeeper.”</p> + +<p>“Jump in, then, and I’ll give ye a lift. I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>have to go right by the door, to carry some +feed to Elder Smith’s.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, goody!” cried Mary again, bobbing +up on the front seat with one spring. “Another +sleigh ride! And now, if uncle’s got +home, he won’t see me go by.”</p> + +<p>“Has Lem done anythin’ to scare ye?” demanded +Mr. Bennett, suddenly dropping his +joking manner.</p> + +<p>“Mercy me, no!” answered Mary gaily. +“Some people might be scared of that growly +way he has, I suppose; but when you know +how awfully nice he really is that only adds +to the fun. I’m going now to learn how to +make pies for him for a surprise. Isn’t it +fine she’s so handy to our house? She’s the +best pie-maker in town, uncle says.”</p> + +<p>“You certainly are the beatin’est young one +I’ve seen in a month of Sundays. Beg pardon, +ma’am! I mean beatin’est lady missionary, +o’ course. I seen your uncle, though, +over to the blacksmith’s shop, so he won’t be +poppin’ out and sp’ilin’ your surprise. Here +we be to the Widder Em’s now. I’ll step in +later to get some of the pies.”</p> + +<p>“Do,” returned Mary cordially. “I’ll let +you know as soon as I can make some real +good ones, and then I’ll give you all you can +eat. Uncle will love to have you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p> + +<p>“Much obleeged,” chuckled Mr. Bennett. +“I guess I had better drop in and get acquainted +with that uncle of yourn, too. He +sounds kind of furrin to me.”</p> + +<p>Just then the side door flew open, and a +fresh-looking woman in a red calico dress +stepped out.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Mr. Bennett,” she called. “Got +anythin’ for me this morning?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes,” returned Mr. Bennett jocosely. +“A Christmas present of an A-number-one +missionary. She’s a-visitin’ her uncle, Mr. +Lemuel Perkins; and now she’s got him converted +she’s run over to neighbour with you +for a spell. She’ll cure you of any heathen +idees you’ve got, Em, quicker’n scat.”</p> + +<p>Mary turned to shake her finger at Mr. +Bennett, and then ran down the path.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t he funny?” she laughed merrily. +“Anybody’d think Uncle Lemuel was a +heathen instead of the nicest uncle that ever +was, wouldn’t they? But you know better. +You’ve lived at his house. That’s why I came +over. He says that he hasn’t had a decent +piece of pie since you left. I guess you spoiled +other people’s pies for him, for he says you +are the very best pie-maker in town. So I +came over to see if you wouldn’t teach me how. +He’s been such a dear to me since I came that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>I do want to pay it back somehow—only, of +course, you never can exactly.”</p> + +<p>Surprise and pleasure struggled in Mrs. +Caldwell’s countenance, as she led the way +into her immaculate kitchen.</p> + +<p>“Why, I didn’t know ’t Lem relished my +pies so well,” she said deprecatingly. “I don’t +lay out to be no great of a cook. Why, +yes, of course I’ll teach you. ’Taint no +knack.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, thank you!” cried her little guest, +bounding out of the rocking-chair in which she +had just seated herself. “Could you do it +to-day, do you think? Uncle says he’s been +‘real pindling’ since you left, and he thinks +it’s on account of the pies.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t say!” ejaculated her hostess. +“Lem must ’a’ been feelin’ sorry for some +of the things he said. I’m afeared there ain’t +time to teach ye much afore noon, but I’ve +got some fresh-baked pies handy. I’ll give ye +one to take home with ye for dinner. You can +come back this afternoon and learn how yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m so sorry!” explained Mary. +“You see, I really ought to do my Christmas +shopping this afternoon. My family live so +far away that they won’t get their presents +now till awfully late, but I couldn’t before on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>account of the sickness at school. Where’s +the best store in the village?”</p> + +<p>“There ain’t but two,” laughed Mrs. Caldwell, +“and I guess it’s which and t’other between +’em. They’ve both got in a pretty +good stock this year. You’d better go to +Job Simpson’s, I guess. Lem does his tradin’ +there now.”</p> + +<p>“Mother sent me five dollars,” announced +her guest proudly. “I think, with all of that +to spend, I’d better divide it between the two. +Don’t you think it would be fairer? It might +hurt the other man’s feelings if I didn’t buy +anything of him, and mother says you mustn’t +ever hurt people’s feelings if you can help it. +What do you think Uncle Lemuel would like +best? It’s hard to choose for a man—even +father. What did you usually give him when +you lived there?”</p> + +<p>When a man grudgingly pays you only two +dollars and a half a week for doing all of his +housework, and making the kitchen garden +besides, it is not very surprising that your +Christmas presents to him have been few and +far between, but under the glance of the shining +eyes before her, the late “Widder Em” +suddenly hesitated to explain that fact.</p> + +<p>“Why, I dunno,” she stammered. “I—I—why +don’t you give him a coffee cup? I’ll +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>show you one I got for the deacon. It says +‘Merry Christmas’ on it in red.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, oh!” cried the other Merry Christmas, +gazing in an ecstasy of admiration. “It’ll +be just the thing for me to give uncle, won’t +it? If it only said ‘From,’ now! Oh, I +didn’t tell you about my name, did I? Well, +I must.”</p> + +<p>And forthwith, away she pranced on her +holly-wreathed hobby, till the woman, too, +harked back in fancy to the days when +“Christmas” was a name of magic, and +launched forth into eager reminiscences of her +childhood revels, while her visitor listened, +entranced.</p> + +<p>All at once she tore her gaze from the shining +eyes before her.</p> + +<p>“Mercy me, child!” she cried suddenly. +“And here I was goin’ to have veal potpie +for dinner, and the deacon’ll be as mad as a +hatter if his vittles ain’t ready on the stroke!” +She stopped and kissed the glowing face. +“Couldn’t you stay, little Merry Christmas?” +she asked softly.</p> + +<p>“I wish I could!” cried Mary. “I’d love +to! But you see I’m housekeeping for uncle, +so I have to go right away. He’d be so disappointed +if I wasn’t there. I’ll come some +time with him, pretty soon.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p> + +<p>“‘Peace on earth, good will to men,’” +quoted Mrs. Caldwell softly. “Then good-bye, +little Christmas girl. Here’s another pie +for you, dearie—mince. Lem was always +partial to mince.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, thank you <em>so</em> much!” cried Mary in +delight. “Uncle will be awfully pleased. He +certainly has the nicest friends in the world. +Good-bye, you dear Mrs. Caldwell. I must +run and get things started.”</p> + +<p>It was quarter to twelve when Uncle Lemuel +stamped up the snowy path to the kitchen +door and flung it open. On the stove a steaming +kettle was bubbling merrily. On the table +“covers were laid,” as the society column has +it, for two. Certainly a pleasant sight for a +hungry man who had been cooking his own +dinners and setting his own table—if setting +it could be called—for two dreary years. But, +strangely enough, Uncle Lemuel’s gaze turned +unsatisfied from the attractive table, and even +rested coldly upon the bubbling pot.</p> + +<p>“What’s become of that gal?” he growled +to himself, dexterously kicking the door shut +behind him.</p> + +<p>A little blue gingham catapult dashed out +from the departing shelter, and flung herself +at his back, while two little hands made futile +attempts to reach far enough to cover his eyes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> + +<p>“Here I am!” cried a gay voice behind +him. “Merry Christmas! Are you Mr. Santa +Claus? I hope you’ve got some meat in your +pack for me. I’m nearly starved, honest! +I’ve got the potatoes and turnips on, the way +you told me. Do you hear them? Oh, it’s +sausage! Goody! I love sausage! And what +do you think? I’ve got the nicest surprise for +you, too. You’d better cook the sausage, +though, for I can’t do it very well. And I will +make the tea.”</p> + +<p>Uncle Lem grunted almost as gruffly as +ever in response, but, between you and me, that +was just because he was trying so hard not +to reveal the little thrills of pleasure that were +warming the cockles of his hard old heart. +And the best joke of all was that he never +guessed that the softened glance of his sharp +blue eyes and the gentler lines around his grim +old mouth were betraying him as fast as ever +they could.</p> + +<p>Mary bobbed hither and yon, trying the potatoes +and relieving them of their brown jackets, +preparing the turnips under directions, and +making the tea in a most housewifely manner. +Finally, she settled down into her place +at the head of the table with a sigh of absolute +content.</p> + +<p>“How do you take your tea, Mr. Perkins?” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>she inquired in the most elegant of society +tones; then, suddenly resuming her own: +“You don’t know what fun it is, Uncle Lemuel,” +she cried, “to be the real lady of the +house, and ask about the tea, and say, ‘Let +me help you to a little more sauce,’ or, ‘Which +kind of pie will you have, mince or apple?’ +Goodness, I almost gave it away then! And +oh, uncle, I can’t keep my surprise a minute +longer—honest I can’t!”</p> + +<p>She sprang up from the table and into the +pantry, whence she emerged immediately with +a beaming face and a pie balanced upon either +hand.</p> + +<p>“Which will you have, Mr. Perkins, apple +or mince?” she inquired gleefully, bobbing a +little curtsy to the imminent peril of the pies. +“Your constitution won’t have to feel ‘pindling’ +any longer, for here are two fine, large +ones—enough to last several meals, I guess. +Mrs. Caldwell sent them to you, with her compliments. +She said you liked mince particularly, +but I like apple just as well, so we can +play Jack Spratt and his wife. People in +Oatka Centre are just <em>lovely</em>, aren’t they? It’s +because I’m your niece, of course, so far, but +I hope by and by they’ll like me for my own +sake.”</p> + +<p>As she that was the Widder Em and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span>Mr. Perkins had not spoken to each other since +they had parted with mutual recriminations +two years before, it is not to be wondered at +that that gentleman laid down his knife and +fork, and stared in open bewilderment.</p> + +<p>“Em Cottle sent them pies to me?” he demanded. +“To <em>me</em>? How in thunder did she +happen to do that?”</p> + +<p>“Why, because she liked you, of course,” +explained Mary simply. “That’s why everybody +gives each other things. That’s what +Christmas is for especially, mother says—to +give you a good chance to show other people +that you love them—just the way God showed +us when He gave us the little Baby Jesus.”</p> + +<p>And once again something—was it the dear +gift that she had mentioned?—kept back the +sharp words that were hovering upon the old +man’s lips.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="V"> + V + <br> + THE TURNOVER GOES TO SCHOOL + </h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image043.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">In</span> Uncle Lemuel’s able dissertation +upon the virtues of pie, that bulwark +of the American Constitution, he +neglected to mention one of its most +remarkable features—namely, its effect +upon the flow of the milk of human +kindness. Nothing else certainly could +explain the fact that when the dishes were finished +the next morning he stamped down the +cellar stairs and returned presently with a +basket of juicy winter pears, which he +plumped down upon the kitchen table.</p> + +<p>In a voice that was “growlier” than ever, +he said:</p> + +<p>“If you’re goin’ over to the Widder Em’s +any time again, you might as well carry this +mess of pears along. Old man Caldwell never +did have gumption enough to raise winter +pears, and Em was always partial to ’em. You +mustn’t never let yourself be beholden to +folks.”</p> + +<p>Mary clapped her hands.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span></p> + +<p>“How lovely to have a whole cellar full +of things to give away! It must make you +feel like Santa Claus, and I’m the Merry +Christmas that goes with them. And, oh, +won’t Mrs. Caldwell be pleased!”</p> + +<p>But pleasure was far from Mrs. Caldwell’s +predominating emotion when Merry Christmas +presented the basket some fifteen minutes +later, with the polite addition that it was +“with Uncle Lem’s love and thanks.”</p> + +<p>“For the land sakes alive!” ejaculated the +one-time Widow Em, almost letting the gift +fall in her amazement. “Is Lem Perkins experiencin’ +religion in his old age?”</p> + +<p>Mary looked a little puzzled by the irrelevance +of the question.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, I guess so,” she answered happily. +“Mother says really good people experience +it all their lives. And we’re experiencing +Christmas, too. Isn’t it the best fun? +We’ve begun a list of our Christmas presents, +and I put down your pies at the head—apple +for me and mince for Uncle Lem. Is +it quite convenient for you to teach me this +morning?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed, sissy; yes, indeed,” returned +Mrs. Caldwell, recovering herself. “I’ve got +the dishes of fillin’ all ready, and we can begin +right away. There ain’t no knack to it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>but the know-how. Don’t you know folks always +say ‘easy as pie’?”</p> + +<p>“Why, so they do!” agreed Mary joyfully. +“But I thought that meant easy as eating pie. +I never knew how easy that was till yesterday. +You see, father didn’t think they were good +for us—and I suppose Indian ones wouldn’t +have been,” she added loyally. “But you +ought to have seen Uncle Lem and me yesterday! +The pies were so good that we just +ate and ate, apple and mince turn about, till +we had all we could do to save enough for +breakfast. And I do feel perfectly fine this +morning—and so does uncle. I guess our constitutions +needed it. Could I learn to make +three this morning—one for each meal?”</p> + +<p>Under Mrs. Caldwell’s capable direction, +the lesson progressed finely, and in due time +three fragrant pies and a turnover were cooling +upon the kitchen sink bench—pies that for +brown flakiness of crust and general comeliness +of aspect would not have disgraced the +champion of the county fair herself.</p> + +<p>“They look lovely, don’t they?” inquired +their creator anxiously. “But, oh, I can +hardly wait till dinner time to see how they +taste! Oh, Mrs. Caldwell, how shall I ever +<em>bear</em> it if they aren’t really good and Uncle +Lemuel is disappointed?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span></p> + +<p>“There, there, now, don’t you fret!” +soothed kindly Mrs. Caldwell. “Lem don’t +always say things out same as some do, but +I’ll bet a cooky he’ll think them pies is as good +as any he ever et in his life.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I do <em>pray</em> that they’ll be good!” ejaculated +the little cook fervently. “It’s such a +responsibility cooking for men, isn’t it? But +I like it,” she added naïvely, “even though I’m +scared. Can’t I <em>possibly</em> tell about them before +dinner time?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Caldwell considered.</p> + +<p>“Well, yes,” she admitted. “If you want +to do some extra Christmassin’ this mornin’, +I can think up a job for ye. The schoolmarm, +Miss Porter, boarded with me last winter, and +she was real partial to a hot turnover for her +mornin’ recess. If you want to give her yourn, +the schoolhouse is only a piece up the road, and +if you run tight as you can lick it, I guess you +can get there before the bell rings. I’ll just +tie my cloud over your head, so you can run +faster.”</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later a breathless little figure, +in a red “cloud,” dashed up to the door of +the old stone schoolhouse, just as the joyous +pandemonium of recess broke out. Knocking +seemed quite a superfluous refinement in the +midst of all that babel, so she lifted the great +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>latch, and then was nearly capsized by a flying +wedge of small boys who came hurtling out to +the accompaniment of a long-pent-up explosion +of war-whoops. The point of the wedge +stopped and surveyed the reeling, small figure +with the natural defiance of the guilty party.</p> + +<p>“What d’you git in my way for?” he demanded +gruffly.</p> + +<p>To his surprise his victim merely giggled.</p> + +<p>“Did you think I was a turnover too?” she +inquired. “Because I’m not. This is it, and +it’s been turned once already. Where’s the +teacher?”</p> + +<p>“Goin’ to tell on us?” inquired another boy +sulkily.</p> + +<p>Mary stared.</p> + +<p>“Tell what?” she inquired. “’Twasn’t +your fault. I got in the way. I hope you +didn’t smash the turnover, though,” she added +anxiously. “I’m carrying it to the teacher. +No, it’s all right, thank goodness! Doesn’t +it look fine?” she inquired, pulling the covering +quite away from her prize.</p> + +<p>The little boys crowded closer.</p> + +<p>“And <em>smell</em>!” cried the first one admiringly. +“Where’d you get it?”</p> + +<p>“I made it myself,” returned Mary, with +pardonable pride.</p> + +<p>“Did you, honest?” he queried, with the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>natural admiration of the normal male for a +good cook. “Say, fellers, let’s play school. +I’ll be teacher.”</p> + +<p>Mary laughed appreciatively, and then her +face sobered. Nobody with a sisterly heart in +her bosom could have looked unmoved upon +those appealing eyes, alight with the eternal +hunger of boyhood—and Mary was sister to +four little Christies at home.</p> + +<p>“If I possibly can—and these are good—I’ll +bring you a whole pie to-morrow,” she +promised rashly. “Now I must hurry up to +the real teacher, honest.”</p> + +<p>Miss Porter had just finished opening the +windows, and was walking briskly back and +forth across the end of the room when Mary +approached.</p> + +<p>“Good morning,” she said, in a politely puzzled +voice. “Are you a new scholar? Did +you want to see me?”</p> + +<p>“I wish I <em>could</em> come to school,” returned +Mary promptly, “but I’m just Merry Christmas +here on a visit, so I can’t. But I’ve got +a present for you. It’s a turnover. I made +it, but Mrs. Caldwell sent it. Will you eat it +right now, please, and tell me how it tastes? +I’m worried to death.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you so much,” cried Miss Porter, +laughing. “We’ll eat it together, then. I’m +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>sure it’s delicious, but that’s the best way to +prove it to you. And there’s Nora O’Neil. +I don’t think she brought any lunch, so we’ll +give her some. And then if we all agree that +it’s good, it must be fine, mustn’t it?”</p> + +<p>In two minutes they were all munching happily +together on the flaky triangle, which Miss +Porter and Nora O’Neil praised till the blushing +cook felt that they appreciated her masterpiece +at almost its true value.</p> + +<p>By this time other little girls, nibbling at +their own pies and cakes and doughnuts, had +begun crowding shyly around to stare at the +newcomer.</p> + +<p>“These are my little girls,” announced Miss +Porter affectionately, nodding to a few of the +more timid ones to come closer. “And who +do you suppose this is who has come to see +us to-day? Merry Christmas! What do you +think of that? She was visiting dear Mrs. +Caldwell up the road, so she lived up to her +name and brought me a nice hot turnover for +lunch.”</p> + +<p>The little girls stared.</p> + +<p>“Merry Christmas?” they whispered to one +another. “Do you s’pose? Is she—<em>real</em>?”</p> + +<p>Mary’s sharp ears caught the whispers.</p> + +<p>“My true-for-a-fact name is Mary Christie,” +she explained merrily, “but they call me +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>Merry Christmas at school because I’m so +crazy about snow, and Christmas trees, and +Santa Claus, and everything. Aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>Several little girls nodded eagerly, then a +sudden gloom seemed to settle down upon +them.</p> + +<p>“Might be,” hazarded one.</p> + +<p>“Why, what’s the matter?” inquired Mary, +with quick sympathy.</p> + +<p>The plague of dumbness lifted all at once.</p> + +<p>“We was going to have a tree,” began one.</p> + +<p>“And a party,” interrupted another.</p> + +<p>“On Christmas Eve.”</p> + +<p>“Here to the schoolhouse.”</p> + +<p>“And give presents.”</p> + +<p>“And popcorn, and candy, and everything.”</p> + +<p>“It was all planned out, and the trustees +had almost promised.”</p> + +<p>They took the sentences out of one another’s +mouth.</p> + +<p>“And old Grouchy Gruff heard of it.”</p> + +<p>Miss Porter’s gentle correction passed unheeded.</p> + +<p>“Old Grouchy Gruff heard of it, and said +he paid most taxes, and he wouldn’t let ’em.”</p> + +<p>“Said ’twas a waste of fire and lights.”</p> + +<p>“Mean old thing!”</p> + +<p>“And my father said he’d give the wood.”</p> + +<p>“And mine the oil.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span></p> + +<p>“And then he wouldn’t let ’em use the +schoolhouse.”</p> + +<p>“’Cause he hates Christmas!”</p> + +<p>“I hate <em>him</em>!”</p> + +<p>“Mean old thing!”</p> + +<p>“Children, children!” chided Miss Porter. +“You mustn’t talk that way. I’ll have to ring +the bell. We’re late already. Won’t you stay +and visit us a little while, Merry Christmas?”</p> + +<p>But Merry Christmas shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I can’t just now,” she answered gravely. +“Maybe I will this afternoon. Good-bye!”</p> + +<p>The little boys stared in amazement at the +quiet little figure that slipped past them with +only a perfunctory response to their friendly +grins.</p> + +<p>“What’d teacher do to ye?” demanded +Jimmy Harrison, the one-time front of the +flying wedge. “Shall I plug her in the eye +with a spitball for ye? I can do it,” he added +darkly.</p> + +<p>Merry Christmas came to herself.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, don’t! She’s awfully nice,” she +whispered anxiously. “It’s something else—about +Christmas,” she added. “The teacher +didn’t do it.”</p> + +<p>For poor Merry Christmas was struggling +with a paralyzing glimpse of human perfidy, +and her rose-coloured spectacles were searching +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>in vain for a sunny spot to relieve the +awful gloom. Could Christian America shelter +such an ogre—a man who hated Christmas +so that he was going to prevent a party +and a tree—and popcorn—and presents—on +Christmas Eve itself? And did that man live +in Oatka Centre—the very warmest corner in +the heart of that same Christian America? It +was so incredible that the rose-coloured spectacles +began to see a ray of hope in that very +fact.</p> + +<p>“Why, he’d be worse than a heathen!” she +murmured. “And of course there aren’t any +heathen in America, where everybody knows +about Christ and His birthday. There’s some +mistake, that’s all; and I’ll get uncle to fix it +right.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="VI"> + VI + <br> + MRS. EM. TO THE RESCUE + </h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image053.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">It</span> was over two years now since the +Widow Em Cottle had left Lemuel +Perkins’ house in a rage at some +last straw of household tyranny, +and then had widened the breach +to a chasm by marrying his hereditary +enemy and neighbour, Deacon Caldwell. +In all that time the chasm had never been +bridged by one friendly word, and never, both +had declared, would they utter a syllable to +each other, if it were to save their lives.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, human beings are rarely as bad +or as foolish as their own rash vows; and when +Mrs. Emma Caldwell stepped out of the Emporium +that morning and ran into Lem Perkins, +unmistakably headed for home and dinner, +she recognized a “leadin’ plain as the nose +on her face,” as she afterward explained to +the deacon. And Mrs. Caldwell was far too +good a woman to disobey a “leading.”</p> + +<p>“Mornin’, Lem,” she began boldly, casting +the usual polite fly upon the conversational waters. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>“Much obliged for the pears. They +was as tasty as yours always is.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Perkins nodded.</p> + +<p>“The little gal wanted I should send ’em,” +he explained gruffly. “She’s a great hand +for neighbourin’, sissy is.”</p> + +<p>The bull having turned his forehead in her +direction, Mrs. Caldwell promptly seized him +by the horns.</p> + +<p>“It’s her I want to talk about,” she announced. +“She’s a takin’ young one as I’ve +seen in a month o’ Sundays, but blind as a bat—or +an angel,” she added softly. “Land only +knows how she’s managed it, but she’s took all +sorts of a shine to her ‘dear Uncle Lemuel,’ +as she calls you—thinks you’re the salt of the +earth—and good—and kind. Law me, Lem, +if you could hear her talk, you’d go home and +look in the glass, and say: ‘Mercy me, who +be I, anyway?’”</p> + +<p>“Waal,” grunted “dear Uncle Lemuel,” +turning aside to hide the pleased smile that +would twitch at the corners of his mouth in +spite of his strenuous efforts, “what’s to +hender, Mis’ Caldwell? Blood is thicker’n +water—ain’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Yourn hain’t,” retorted Mrs. Caldwell +promptly. “It’s hern that’s got to provide +all the thickenin’ for two. And as to what’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span>to hender, you are, most likely. I’m worried +to death this minute over how soon that little +gal’s heart is a-goin’ to be stove to flinders, +a-findin’ out how fur you be from an’ angel +dropped. She’s been up there to my house +this mornin’ slavin’ away over the cook stove +a-making pies for a surprise for you, and +a-fetchin’ of ’em home so careful! Land, I +just had to laugh to see her a-carryin’ ’em +home one to a time—three trips she made of +it—usin’ both hands, and a-tiptoein’ along as +if she was Undertaker Pearse a-startin’ for a +funeral. And now I s’pose she’s waitin’ there, +all nerved up to see how you’ll relish ’em—not +knowin’ that you’re just about as likely to +say a word o’ praise as a rhinoceros in a circus. +But if you don’t, it’ll break her little +heart; that’s all I’ve got to say.”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” grunted Uncle Lemuel. “Well, +so that’s all you got to say, Neighbour Caldwell, +I’m willin’.”</p> + +<p>“No, ’tain’t,” retorted Mrs. Caldwell hotly. +“’Tain’t by a long shot! Another thing that +blessed child’s all worked up about is that +Christmas business over to school. I sent her +over on an errand to the teacher this mornin’, +and they got to talkin’ over there about how +you set down on their Christmas doin’s in the +trustee meetin’. They didn’t use your name—called +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span>you some kind of a nickname or +other, the young ones did—and she never +dreamed who ’twas, but come back all keyed +up and plannin’ to git her Uncle Lem to go +to the other old what’s-his-name and fix things +up. And how she’s ever goin’ to stand it +when she finds that that dear Uncle Lem of +hers is the old curmudgeon they was talkin’ +about, I dunno. It’s a sin and a shame, Lem +Perkins, how that child’s cottoned to you—that’s +what I call it.”</p> + +<p>She stopped suddenly with a gulp, and +wiped away a tear with the corner of her +white apron as she turned away.</p> + +<p>Uncle Lem stepped after her.</p> + +<p>“Em Cottle,” he said abruptly, “you’re a +truthful woman, as fur as I know—and I’ve +known ye quite a spell. Do you reely b’lieve +that young one is so—so—that is——” He +paused and cleared his throat. “Does she lot +on me as much as she makes out, or is she +jest—doin’ it—to git my money, mebbe?”</p> + +<p>A blaze of anger dried the tears in Em +Cottle’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she remarked scathingly, “blindness +runs in your family, sure enough—only +with some it’s for bad and with some it’s for +good—that’s all! There ain’t no use wastin’ +no more time on you; that’s sure as preachin’.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span></p> + +<p>With a capable hitch of her green plaid +shawl, she turned her plump shoulders full +upon him, and started briskly up the road.</p> + +<p>Uncle Lemuel glanced furtively about him. +The village square was empty; not even Marthy +Ann Watkins’ eye was visible at the post-office +window.</p> + +<p>“Em! Oh, Em!” he called loudly, and +then, as the brisk figure in front seemed to +hesitate for a moment, he scuttled after it.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be in such a brash, Em,” he gasped, +as he caught up with her. “We hain’t had +a dish o’ talk in so long that I guess we can +afford to spend a minute or so a-doin’ it. You +didn’t jest ketch my meanin’ then, Em. I +didn’t reely think that sissy, there, had +plans herself, but I didn’t know but mebbe +Ellen——”</p> + +<p>“If Ellen Rumball had had her eye on your +old money bags, she wouldn’t ’a’ broke with +you to go off to Injy with that missionary feller, +would she?”</p> + +<p>Uncle Lem glowered with the remembrance +of past injuries.</p> + +<p>“Ellen Rumball pretended to like me, too,” +he muttered; “and then she deserted me in +my old age for that good-for-nothin’ missionary +chap.”</p> + +<p>“Pretended?” exploded Mrs. Em; “pretended? +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>If ’tain’t real likin’ that would make +a woman swaller down all the things you said, +and the way you acted, and bring up her +young ones to think you was the finest uncle +goin’, well, then it’s real grace; that’s all I’ve +got to say! And here I be, a-quarrelin’ with +you the same as ever, and I’d made up my +mind butter shouldn’t melt in my mouth.”</p> + +<p>But Uncle Lemuel was absorbed in struggling +against the softening of his grim old +face.</p> + +<p>“Ellen <em>has</em> fetched sissy up fair to middlin’ +well,” he admitted. “She’s kind of smart +for her years—handy round the house, I mean, +ain’t she, Em? And folksy—it does beat all! +They couldn’t nobody around town talk of +nothin’ this mornin’ but ‘my little gal,’ as +they called her. She started out yestiddy arternoon +to do her Christmas tradin’, and she +must ’a’ got acquainted with everybody in +sight. She promised Marthy Watkins some +postcards from Injy. And then the minister +comes along, and she got him so interested +he asked me if I’d let her speak about missions +to the Children’s Band. And Nate Waters—you +know I hain’t been in Waters’s store +for a matter of a year or so, since he sold me +that busted plough—but out come Mis’ Waters +this morning, to see if I’d mind her savin’ +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>sissy a little red chain she had there. Sissy +took to it uncommon, but she didn’t have +money enough to get it, she’d bought so much +truck for other folks, and Mis’ Waters wanted +to give it to her for Christmas.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I hope to the land you let her!” +cried Mrs. Caldwell. “She was goin’ to spend +a whole fifty cents a-buyin’ you a handsome +china cup, Lem, good enough for a president. +And, though Nate may be tricky sometimes, +Mis’ Waters is a real nice woman.”</p> + +<p>Uncle Lem coughed.</p> + +<p>“Well, here ’tis, Em,” he replied at last, +producing a little packet from his overcoat +pocket. “But I guess me and my folks don’t +have to be beholden to the Waterses yet for +our fixin’s. You know little Loviny was very +partial to red, too,” he added, after a moment.</p> + +<p>They had now reached the Perkins gate, +but Mrs. Caldwell suddenly turned and laid a +detaining hand on his arm.</p> + +<p>“Why, that’s who ’tis!” she exclaimed +softly. “I’ve been a-wonderin’ and a-wonderin’ +who that child reminded me of. She +don’t take after Ellen Rumball exactly, nor +yet Christie, as I remember him, but she’s got +the very same disposition as your little Loviny +had, laughin’ all day like a brook, and yet as +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>serious and interested as an old woman about +things she took a notion to, and the most lovin’ +little heart that ever was. I was in the Sixth +Reader when she began her A B C’s, but she +got to be friends with the whole school afore +the first week was out—and I guess there +wa’n’t a dry eye to the Centre when we heard +tell about the runaway. ‘Of such is the kingdom +of heaven’—that was the text to her +funeral, wa’n’t it? And I guess ’tis, too, fast +enough. And ’twould come a heap sooner on +earth, I’m thinkin’, if there was more like +her—wouldn’t it? Well, give my love to +sissy,” she added quickly, with kindly tact, +“and tell her I’ll look for her again in the +morning.”</p> + +<p>But the old man did not heed her. Across +the gulf of over forty years he was looking +once more at a gay little figure in red merino, +that danced before him, while his little daughter’s +voice cried happily:</p> + +<p>“Father, father, come kiss Loviny in her +Kissmas-coloured d’ess!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="VII"> + VII + <br> + EXIT “OLD GROUCHY GRUFF” + </h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image061.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Uncle Lemuel</span> laid down his +knife and fork with a sigh of repletion, +and turned toward his little +housekeeper.</p> + +<p>“Well, sissy,” he remarked, softening +his growl to a point that he +considered positively effeminate, “that ham +and eggs was pretty good for fillers, but I +wouldn’t mind a little somethin’ in the line of +trimmin’s, myself. I s’pose the Widder Em +hain’t sent in no more pies?”</p> + +<p>Mary met this triumph of diplomacy with +a masterpiece in kind.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Uncle Lemuel,” she answered, struggling +to hold in leash a half dozen riotous dimples +that were determined to pop out, “oh, +Uncle Lemuel, it was doughnuts she sent in +this time. Won’t they do?”</p> + +<p>And then she sat with bated breath for fear +he should say that they would.</p> + +<p>But Uncle Lemuel did not fail her.</p> + +<p>“Well, I s’pose I can eat doughnuts,” he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>growled more naturally; “but what I should +reely relish is a good piece of pie.”</p> + +<p>At these welcome words, Mary fairly ran +into the pantry and out again.</p> + +<p>“Would you really, Uncle Lemuel?” she +cried, in a state of tense excitement. “Well, +here it is! Somebody else brought them in +this time. Apple!” Back once more from +the pantry. “Mince!” Another trip. “And +blueberry!” she ended triumphantly. “Which +one shall I cut?”</p> + +<p>Uncle Lemuel surveyed the sumptuous array +before him.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he finally decided, “the blueberry +might soak the crust. I dunno but we’d better +begin on that. Who’d you say fetched +’em?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, a friend of yours,” answered Mary +hastily. “She wanted you to guess after you +tasted them. Here’s a nice big piece. I do +hope it’s good!”</p> + +<p>She handed him a generous piece; and then, +unmindful of the luscious blue juice oozing +temptingly upon her own plate, she sat and +watched his every mouthful with an eager +anxiety that would have been transparent to +a babe in arms.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Uncle Lemuel!” she cried, after the +lapse of an eternity at least five minutes long. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>“Oh, why don’t you say something? Don’t +you <em>like</em> it?”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you eat your own?” retorted +Uncle Lemuel. “I’m just tryin’ to figger out +whose bakin’ this is. It’s kind of new to me, +I guess.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it good?” cried Mary breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“Uh-humph!” responded Mr. Perkins +slowly, struggling to twist his tongue to the +unaccustomed language of compliment.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a queer little sound across the +table made him look up, and, to his amazement, +he saw that the usually shining brown +eyes were dimmed with tears.</p> + +<p>“It’ll break her little heart,” Mrs. Caldwell’s +voice seemed to whisper, and with one +mighty effort Uncle Lemuel threw discretion +to the winds.</p> + +<p>“It’s better than the Widder Em’s,” he +stated rashly. “And I swan I didn’t believe +there was a woman in town that could beat +her on makin’ pies.”</p> + +<p>Pretty good for a man who hadn’t turned +a compliment in Heaven knows how many +years? But Heaven knows, too, how miraculously +fast these hard old hearts will soften +sometimes under the warming sunshine of +childish love and trust.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Uncle, do you mean it?” cried a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>choked little voice, and, with one bound, Mary +had flown around the table and flung her arms +about his neck. “Oh, Uncle Lemuel,” she +sobbed happily, “I couldn’t ever have borne +it if you hadn’t liked it, for I made it myself! +You’d never believe it, would you? But +you can ask Mrs. Caldwell. She showed me +how.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t say,” responded Uncle Lemuel, +patting her awkwardly on the arm. “Was +that what you had your head in the oven for +when I came in? I thought ’twas them little +wind-bags you give me.”</p> + +<p>Mary giggled happily.</p> + +<p>“The popovers, you mean? Yes, it was. +I always have to sit right down on the floor +and watch when I make them, else I don’t get +them out the right minute. I had meant those +for a surprise, too, but you got here so soon +you surprised me, instead.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you run around now, sissy, and cut +me another good piece of pie. None of your +samples, now,” he added, with something that +was almost a chuckle. “And you might take +a bite or two yourself, now you know it’s safe. +There won’t be no extry charge.”</p> + +<p>It was a veritable incarnation of Merry +Christmas who ran to obey these commands.</p> + +<p>“You don’t know what a weight that is off +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>my mind!” she sighed blissfully, settling +down at last to “bulwark” her own constitution. +“They tasted good to me, and to the +teacher, and to Nora O’Neil, but of course +you were the one that really counted. But, +oh, Uncle Lemuel, that reminds me! Do you +know who it is that they call ‘old Grouchy +Gruff’?”</p> + +<p>“Huh?” demanded Mr. Perkins, with a +growl that would have answered the question +to any ears less unsuspecting than those of his +little niece.</p> + +<p>“Old Grouchy Gruff?” inquired Mary, +raising her voice. “Mrs. Caldwell said she +couldn’t tell me. Do you know him?”</p> + +<p>Uncle Lemuel shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you, either?” Mary leaned forward +confidentially. “Well, Uncle Lemuel, +there is somebody around here that they call +that. It seems unbelievable, but there’s a man +in town so horrid that he has stopped the +Christmas Eve party at the schoolhouse. The +biggest taxpayer, they say he was, Uncle Lemuel. +Who would that be?”</p> + +<p>But Uncle Lemuel was deeply absorbed in +blueberry pie and showed no interest in the +identity of old Grouchy Gruff.</p> + +<p>“Do you know,” continued Mary thoughtfully, +“I almost believe there’s some mistake +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>about it somewhere. It doesn’t seem possible +that there would be anybody who’d stop the +children from being happy on the night when +the dear little Baby Jesus was born in the +manger, and the angels sang: ‘Peace on earth, +good will to men.’ Oh, I just love that part, +don’t you? The shepherds, and the soft, dark-blue +night, and then the lovely star and the +angels singing.” She paused, and a reverent +look softened the brown eyes that shone themselves +like two little Christmas stars. “Oh, +Uncle, it’s so beautiful that it makes little +thrills go all over me, and I want to cry and +I want to laugh. Mother used to read it to us +every Christmas Eve, and then we used to +sing, ‘When shepherds watched their flocks by +night.’ Oh, I wish they would sing that at +the Christmas party!”</p> + +<p>“Thought there wa’n’t goin’ to be none,” +growled Mr. Perkins.</p> + +<p>Mary smiled cheerfully.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I think there will be,” she answered +confidently. “Mother says things always turn +out right when you pray about them, and of +course I have; and, besides, it’s really His own +birthday party, and it must be right for us to +celebrate that.”</p> + +<p>“Was you asked to the party?” inquired +Uncle Lemuel.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span></p> + +<p>“Of course I’m not asked yet, because there +isn’t any; but if we can only get that party +for them somehow, they’d invite us both, I’m +sure. Oh, wouldn’t that be fun! Oh, Uncle, +we’ve just got to! First, you ask everybody +all around who old Grouchy Gruff is, and then, +when you find out, we’ll go and talk to him +and explain. Oh, I’m sure he’d take it back if +<em>you</em> explained things to him. Why, <em>anybody</em> +would be nice about a thing like that if he only +understood.”</p> + +<p>Uncle Lemuel coughed uneasily.</p> + +<p>“Mebbe he has his reasons, sissy,” he began; +“mebbe he has his reasons. They was +talkin’ it over to the Emporium the other day, +and ’tain’t the party part nor the Christmas +part that folks objects to so much. It’s the +schoolhouse. ’Tain’t right to the deestrict to +tear the schoolhouse to flinders for a thing +like that. Why, they’d have to haul up the +desks offen the floor, and rack the benches all +to pieces, like as not, and move the teacher’s +desk and all. They couldn’t have a party +with the floor all cluttered up with desks and +such.”</p> + +<p>Mary pondered.</p> + +<p>“And it would be bad for the desks and +seats to move them?”</p> + +<p>“Tear ’em to flinders,” stated Uncle Lemuel +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>uncompromisingly, following up his advantage. +“And, besides, they wanted to +make candy and popcorn, and a schoolroom +is no place for that. They need a kitchen +stove.”</p> + +<p>Mary was still pondering, but her eyes were +suddenly brighter.</p> + +<p>“Besides,” added Uncle Lemuel, delighted +that his eloquence was proving even more effective +here than it had in that memorable +session at the Emporium, “the schoolhouse +don’t light up very first-class, nor heat neither—for +a winter night. We don’t want the +young ones a-ketchin’ their deaths,” he finished, +with an effective, but unexpected, burst +of altruism.</p> + +<p>Mary clapped her hands.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I knew you and I could fix it all +right!” she cried gleefully. “Yes, sir; we +can have it right here in this kitchen. I’d +rather have it than the other party we planned. +And that old Grouchy ogre man won’t have a +thing to say. Mrs. Caldwell said you couldn’t +do anything about it, but I knew better. And, +oh, Uncle Lemuel, this will be just too lovely +for words! We’ll put the tree in that corner, +and they can make their candy and popcorn +on the stove, and still have plenty of room to +play games. I knew what you meant the very +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>minute you said kitchen stove, and I do think +you are the nicest, dearest, preciousest uncle +that ever walked, so I do!” She ran around +the table again to bestow an ecstatic hug upon +the speechless Mr. Perkins. “And everybody +else thinks so, too, for I asked them yesterday, +and not a person disagreed.”</p> + +<p>“This kitchen is just like a talent, isn’t it, +Uncle Lem? I guess you must be the man +that had ten of them; you have so many ways +to make people happy. I have only one so +far—a loving heart; and everybody has that, +of course; but mother says, if I keep hard at +work with that, I’ll get others to use in time. +When do you suppose afternoon recess is, +uncle?”</p> + +<p>“Huh?” inquired Mr. Perkins, in a voice +that betrayed his condition of utter daze.</p> + +<p>“Afternoon recess?” repeated Mary, more +loudly. “I just can’t wait to go over and tell +those poor children that it’s all right. They’ll +be so happy. Oh, Uncle, you dear, dear thing! +Don’t you want to go, too?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got to go over to Meadsbury this afternoon,” +explained Uncle Lemuel hastily. +“Thought you might like to go for the ride. +There’s room enough in the cutter. You get +ready, while I tackle up. We can leave the +dishes.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, goody! My fourth sleigh ride! I’ll +just slip on my hat and coat, and run ahead. +You can stop at the schoolhouse for me. Do +you know, Uncle Lemuel, I don’t want to find +out who old Grouchy Gruff is, after all? So +don’t ask, will you? I want to love everybody +in Oatka Centre, and I know I never could a +man like that.”</p> + +<p>Up till that moment, Uncle Lemuel had +really meant in the back of his mind to “put +a stop to sissy’s foolishness” as soon as he +could get his breath, but right then and there +a most remarkable thing happened. A poor, +starved, rickety old organ down under his left +ribs, which he had almost forgotten he owned, +and would have been ashamed to mention, anyway, +suddenly spoke up in the most surprising +manner.</p> + +<p>“You’ve starved and choked and neglected +me for these many years, Lemuel Perkins,” it +said, “and tried your best sometimes to kill +me off entirely; but the tonic of that little girl’s +love, with the tender memories that it wakens +in me, has called me back again to life and +strength. You may explain in any way you +like to those old loafers at the Emporium, you +may growl all you choose to old Topsy out in +the barn, but you may <em>not</em> disappoint that little +heart that believes in you and loves you, in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span>spite of yourself, nor choke up that little fountain +of innocent affection that is filling my very +cockles full of youth and love.”</p> + +<p>And Uncle Lemuel proved that he was +a wise man, after all, by pulling his old +cap down low over his ears, and stamping +without a word out to the barn to “tackle +up.”</p> + +<p>Half an hour later he stopped old Topsy +in front of the stone schoolhouse, to pick up +a small and excited “brown package with a +red label,” that certainly said “Merry Christmas” +as far as you could see it.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Uncle Lemuel,” cried the package, +bobbing to his side as if it were full of springs, +“why didn’t you come a little sooner? Oh, +I wish you had been here! I whispered about +it to Miss Porter, and she stopped the classes +and let me tell them all myself what you said +about the schoolhouse, and that you invited +them to come to your house for the Christmas +party. At first they thought my uncle was +Deacon Caldwell, wasn’t that funny? But +when they heard that it was you, they all just +clapped and clapped. They like you awfully, +don’t they, you dear, dear Uncle Lem? And +then they gave three cheers for Merry Christmas—that’s +me; and then three more for you. +Oh, I wish you could have heard them say: +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span>‘What’s the matter with Mr. Perkins? He’s +all right!’ I was so proud, I almost cried +when I heard them. Uncle Lemuel, this is +going to be the very happiest Christmas that +ever was, isn’t it?”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="VIII"> + VIII + <br> + UNCLE LEM’S CHRISTMAS PARTY + </h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image073.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">The</span> village of Oatka Centre had no +sooner swallowed the amazing fact +that Lemuel Perkins was going to +give the school children a Christmas +party in his own house, than +its bump of credulity was again +strained almost to the bursting point by the +information that Mrs. Em Caldwell was helping +actively about the preparations, and that +Mr. Lemuel Perkins himself had been seen +bringing several parcels from “Nate Waterses +store,” and even talking amicably with Elder +Smith on the subject of missions in India and +a certain small missionary from that land, +though various essential differences between +free will and predestination had previously +cleft an impassable gulf between them.</p> + +<p>“Will wonders never cease?” marvelled +Oatka Centre, and then decided unanimously +that they certainly would not, for about that +time it transpired that the children’s party had +enlarged into a neighbourhood celebration, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>that every man, woman, and child in the village +was invited.</p> + +<p>It had been Merry Christmas’s first idea to +invite the fathers and mothers to come with +their children; but then so many of her particular +friends—like Mr. Bennett, and Mrs. +Caldwell, and Miss Marthy Watkins—were +not blessed with children that it seemed impossible +to narrow the gates of paradise in that +manner. And when it was once decided to +light the fires in the long-disused parlour and +sitting-room, there really seemed to be no excuse +for shutting out anybody; particularly as +Uncle Lemuel developed a sudden mania for +inviting every person who had a good word to +speak for his “little sissy”; and who in +Oatka Centre hadn’t by the time those two +jolly weeks of holiday preparation were over? +For, like an unconscious messenger of “peace +on earth, good will to men,” she had bobbed +from the schoolhouse to the stores and back +again, and presently into every house in the +village, on one errand or another, trading happily +with her one little talent, and leaving a +trail of “Merry Christmas” in the air behind +her.</p> + +<p>Talk about your Marconi stations! There +is nothing like a little human heart brimming +over with goodwill, and bubbling with enthusiasm, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>to fill the air so full of Christmas spirit +that not another thought can find a wave to +ride on.</p> + +<p>And so it happened that by the time the windows +of the brown Perkins homestead were +set cheerily ablaze the snowy village streets +were crackling and snapping merrily under +the tread of many feet.</p> + +<p>“I dunno as I’d orter ’a’ shut up the post-office +and come,” confided Miss Watkins to +her neighbour, Mrs. Waters, as they creaked +cheerfully along together at the end of the +line, “when the six o’clock is so late and the +mail hain’t come in, but Merry Christmas she +couldn’t have it no other way. She said she +was goin’ to have Tom Bennett for Sandy +Claus, anyway, and she’d just rig him up and +have him fetch in the mail bags, too, and I +could call the letters and passels out right +there.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a good idee,” assented Mrs. Waters. +“Trust that little gal for fixin’ things +around. She got Nate to shut up, too; and +Job, he’s even locked up the Emporium. Both +on ’em is about sold out, anyway. There +hain’t been such a time for Christmas tradin’ +in Oatka Centre dear knows when. It’s funny +how that young one stirs things up. It’s her +bein’ brought up in Injy, I expect, and a missionary’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>daughter, so. Why, the Baby Jesus +and the shepherds and the wise men and the +angels and all is just as real to her as if they +was out in Lem’s paster this minute, and she +seen ’em. Makes you feel kind of green to +have a young one come from heathen lands to +teach us Christian folks about Christmas!”</p> + +<p>“It’s her takin’ things so for granted,” explained +Miss Watkins. “I hain’t give nobody +much for Christmas in years, made an excuse +of bein’ in the office and not havin’ time; and +so I told her when she was in consultin’ me +about some of her Christmas doin’s. Well, +sir—the next afternoon in she breezed about +two o’clock, and said she’d come to tend office +for me till four, so I could go and do my +tradin’; and land if she hadn’t wrote a list, +too, of some things that she’d heard my sister’s +young ones say they wanted.” She stopped to +laugh deprecatingly. “Well, Priscilla, you +know I come and bought ’em, don’t ye?”</p> + +<p>“I bet that’s how she’s worked it with Lem,” +answered Mrs. Waters. “Took it for granted +he was so decent that he was ashamed not to +be. Lem’s reely quite human these days. Do +you remember his little gal, Loviny, that he +lost years and years ago. Well, he’s been and +hunted out a little red dress she had, and he +wanted me to get some cloth just that colour +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>and then to have Mis’ Mosher make it up on +the sly for Merry. It was for a Christmas +present, but Mis’ Mosher carried it up this +mornin’, and I’ll bet she’ll have it on to-night.”</p> + +<p>By this time the two women had reached +the brown gate, and they stopped to admire +the Christmas wreaths that shone against the +lighted panes.</p> + +<p>“Twenty on ’em there is, in all, and a little +bell inside of each one,” announced Miss Watkins. +“Miss Porter told me, though you can’t +see but twelve from here. The young ones +made ’em yesterday to the schoolhouse. Say, +there she is now—red dress and all!”</p> + +<p>There she was indeed, little Merry Christmas, +in her “Kissmas-coloured” dress, with +a wreath of holly crowning her brown braids—literally +exploding with joy and delight into +a hundred little ripples of laughter.</p> + +<p>Unmindful of the cold air outside, she +danced down the steps to meet the latest +comers.</p> + +<p>“Oh, goody!” she cried. “I was so afraid +you’d be late, and I didn’t want you to miss +anything. The children are going to sing their +carols first, and then we’re going to have the +tree and then the popcorn and candy. We +made those this afternoon, for there really +wouldn’t have been any room to-night, there +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>are so many here. And uncle has put a dish +of apples everywhere he could possibly make +room. He thinks apples are almost as healthy +as pies. You just come this way to the back +entry and hang your things up. Oh, listen! +They’re beginning now. Do you suppose I +can ever get into the kitchen far enough to +sing?”</p> + +<p>She certainly couldn’t if she had been anybody +but her active little self, for everybody +else seemed to want to get into that kitchen, +too. And no wonder, for it was certainly an +attractive spot, with its old walls wreathed +with ground pine and gay streamers, and the +lighted Christmas tree sparkling at the end, +with a ring of happy young faces beneath it, +lustily carolling their Christmas songs.</p> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp85" id="facing078" style="max-width: 42.5625em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/facing078.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + “Oh, goody!” she cried. “I was so afraid you’d be late, + and I didn’t want you to miss anything” + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>It was a mammoth kitchen, too, built in the +days when the kitchen was really the living-room +and the heart of the house. But, bless +you! it would have taken half a dozen such +kitchens to contain all the happiness and eager +anticipation and radiant good-fellowship that +were rampant there; to say nothing at all of +all the people who were disjointing their necks, +and standing on each other’s feet, and poking +holes in each other’s ribs, in their anxiety to +hear the music, and see the decorations, and +most of all to satisfy themselves for the hundredth +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>time that their own little Johns and +Marys were far and away the handsomest +children there, and the best singers, and that +it was a wonder that all the other fathers and +mothers weren’t blushing with mortification +at the painful obviousness of these facts.</p> + +<p>First and foremost of all these self-complacent +mortals was Mr. Lemuel Perkins, though +he would have been the last person in the +world to admit, or even to suspect, the fact; +though nobody knows how else he could have +explained the proud lift of his bristling chin +whisker, or the positively vainglorious swelling +of his chest, as a certain little holly-crowned +figure in a red dress was lifted mysteriously +on high, and smiled radiantly upon the +assembled guests.</p> + +<p>“Santa Claus is rather slow to-night,” announced +the clear, childish voice, “because +some of his pack came by mail, and the train +is late; but my Uncle Lemuel will take his +place till he comes. Oh, there he is, over by +the sink. Will you let Uncle Lemuel through, +if you please?”</p> + +<p>Uncle Lemuel glanced wildly about, but +there was no avenue of escape unless he leaped +directly through the sink window. And in +front of him a way was opening through that +mass of humanity as miraculously as if Moses +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>had been present with his famous rod. Even +his growl of dissent was lost in the merry +babel of voices around him, as a score of hands +pushed him forward to where a little red-garbed +figure welcomed him joyfully.</p> + +<p>“I’ll help you, Uncle, if you can’t see the +names very well,” she whispered. “But +they’ll like to have you do the calling out.”</p> + +<p>“Now, look here, sissy,” he protested; “I +ain’t goin’ to have no foolishness. Tom Bennett +can rig himself up in a mess of red flannin +and cotton battin’ if he wants to, but I +hain’t goin’ to make no show of <em>my</em>self.”</p> + +<p>“Mercy, no!” giggled Mary. “You aren’t +round enough for Santa Claus, anyway. You +just call out the names. Here’s one for Elder +Smith, and Sarah Haskell, and Deacon Caldwell. +There are perfect heaps. Oh, hurry, +do!”</p> + +<p>Uncle Lemuel glanced at the first parcel, +and a grim, “down-East” sense of humour +triumphed.</p> + +<p>“Waal, Elder Smith,” he announced in +stentorian tones, “I seem predestined to hand +you over this passel, that’s sure. I’ll bet you +can’t prove it was my free will this time.”</p> + +<p>The burst of laughter that acclaimed this +witticism was so intoxicating that Mr. Perkins +promptly proceeded to make another, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span>which was even more successful. Whereupon +he yielded himself so thoroughly to the unaccustomed +delight of public appreciation and +approval that when the real Santa Claus finally +came he was forced to divide his honours with +a determined Uncle Lemuel, who evidently +regarded him as an upstart and an interloper.</p> + +<p>But bless me! nobody minded that, and +least of all the genial Mr. Bennett, for two +Santa Clauses and a Merry Christmas and +half a dozen understudies and assistants were +none too many to tackle that mass of Christmas +presents and clear them out of the way +in time for the games and other jollifications +to begin.</p> + +<p>It was a mercy that the popcorn and the +molasses candy were all made beforehand, for +otherwise the whole school, and their presents, +and their teacher, and the tree, would have +been stuck together in one huge and inextricable +popcorn ball; they barely escaped that +fate as it was just in the eating of those toothsome +dainties. But blindman’s-buff and stage-coach +and puss-in-the-corner have their advantage +in the line of keeping things moving +and preventing you from being glued for life +to your next neighbour if you chance to adhere +in passing.</p> + +<p>“Well, this is a real, right-down, old-fashioned +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span>Christmas party, ‘same as mother used +to make,’ ain’t it?” queried Deacon Caldwell +jovially of the man next him and then stopped +suddenly, as he realized that that man was his +time-honoured foe, Mr. Perkins.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Perkins had no thought for any +ancient grudges just then.</p> + +<p>“What’s become of sissy?” he demanded +sharply. “I can’t spot her nowhere in sight. +She was blindman along back, but she hain’t +playin’ now.”</p> + +<p>“She must be in the parlour,” suggested +Deacon Caldwell kindly. “Like as not she +went in to hunt up Em. They’re great cronies, +her and Em.”</p> + +<p>“No, she ain’t,” retorted Uncle Lemuel +shortly. “She ain’t there nor in the settin’-room, +nor upstairs in the bedrooms. You +don’t s’pose she’s been and took sick, somewheres, +do ye?” he added anxiously. “Et +too much stuff, or come down with that scarlet +fever, mebbe?”</p> + +<p>“Why, sho now, Lem!” cried the deacon +sympathetically. “I’d hate to think so. But +let’s go get Em. Em’s a master hand in sickness +if need be.”</p> + +<p>“It’ll be easy enough to find her by the red +dress,” said Mrs. Caldwell encouragingly as she +joined the little party of searchers. But “upstairs +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>and downstairs and in my lady’s chamber” +they looked, and no sign of the “Kissmas-coloured” +dress did they see.</p> + +<p>“There’s the cellar and the woodshed still +left,” comforted Mrs. Caldwell, glancing sidewise +at Uncle Lemuel’s grimly suffering face.</p> + +<p>And just as they reached the back-entry +door, a little figure in a red dress popped in +from the woodshed entrance, a radiant little +figure, that waved a lantern on high, and flung +itself joyfully upon Uncle Lemuel.</p> + +<p>“Where’ve you been?” demanded that gentleman +with the gruffness of relief. “We’ve +been huntin’ you from garret to cellar.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m so sorry if you worried!” cried +Mary penitently. “I never thought you’d notice. +Mr. Bennett brought me a letter, you +see, from mother—my Christmas letter—and +of course I was dying to read it, and I couldn’t +find a single place that was quiet, so I took +a lantern and went out to the woodshed.”</p> + +<p>“I hope you hain’t took your death of cold,” +cried Mrs. Caldwell anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no; I’m warm as toast,” answered +Mary happily. “And I’ve had the nicest news +you ever knew. Father and mother and the +children are all coming back to America! +Isn’t that lovely? That’s been the only drawback +to this perfectly beautiful Christmas here—missing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>them all so—and now—just think! +They’re coming, too!”</p> + +<p>“How do they happen to be comin’?” queried +Mrs. Caldwell, returning Mary’s ecstatic +embrace.</p> + +<p>“Why, it’s on account of father’s health. +Father’s not been very strong for a long time. +But neither was I, and look at me now! He’ll +be all right as soon as he gets to Oatka Centre, +and eats enough pie and things.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, are they comin’ here?” inquired Mrs. +Caldwell, in a voice in which pleasure and surprise +were mingled. Oatka Centre had not +yet forgotten that when Ellen Rumball chose +to marry and go to India, she had done so in +face of the threat that the Perkins doors would +be closed to her henceforth and forever.</p> + +<p>But Mary returned her gaze with wide-open, +astonished eyes.</p> + +<p>“Why, she didn’t <em>say</em> Oatka Centre,” she +cried. “But where else should they come? +Why, mother loves Oatka Centre better than +any other place on earth, she always says. And +father has no family at all. So Uncle Lemuel +is our nearest surviving relative,” she ended +quaintly.</p> + +<p>“Why, that’s so, of course,” agreed Mrs. +Caldwell hastily. “How soon did you say they +was comin’?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p> + +<p>“Right away, mother says. Isn’t that +grand? Maybe I won’t even go back to +school. Crescent Hill is lovely—for a school; +but of course a real home, with Uncle Lemuel +and the rest of my family, would be lots +nicer. Oh, Uncle Lemuel, aren’t you glad as +can be?”</p> + +<p>But the old man was gazing at her with +dazed eyes.</p> + +<p>“Was you—goin’ back—to school, sissy?” +he said slowly. “When?”</p> + +<p>“Why, week after next, Uncle Lemuel. +We’ve had a whole month, you see. But if +mother is coming here to live maybe she won’t +make me, and I can stay right along and bake +pies for you all winter. Oh, goody, goody! +I’m so glad that my toes are skipping round +inside my shoes. Do come with me while I +go and ask Miss Porter what class she would +put me in.”</p> + +<p>But Uncle Lemuel, muttering something +about “the stock,” stepped to the back door, +and walked slowly out under the silent stars.</p> + +<p>“Oh, he’s going out to see if they kneel +down,” explained Mary happily, after a second +of surprise. “I heard that the animals +all knelt in their stalls on Christmas Eve; and +he promised me that he’d go and look and call +me if they did. But I’m afraid that he’s too +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>early. They don’t do it till twelve o’clock, I +think. I must run and tell him to wait.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Caldwell laid a detaining hand upon +her arm.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t bother him if I was you, +dearie,” she said. “Mebbe he’ll find ’em now. +It’s Christmas Eve, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>For Mrs. Caldwell, down deep in her heart, +was praying eagerly that the stars of Christmas +Eve would lead Uncle Lemuel, as they +had led the Wise Men long ago, to learn the +lessons of humbleness and love by the side of +a manger.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="IX"> + IX + <br> + MERRY CHRISTMAS FINDS THE + HAPPY NEW YEAR + </h2> +</div> + +<div> + <img class="drop-cap" src="images/image087.jpg" width="47" height="75" alt="drop-cap"> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap2"><span class="upper-case">“Merry Christmas!”</span> shouted a +gay little voice, so close to Uncle +Lemuel’s ear that he turned suddenly +and almost dropped the pen +with which he was laboriously +scratching upon a sheet of paper. +“Merry Christmas! You were such a dear +not to wake me up, but it is really scandalous, +isn’t it, not to get up early on my namesake +morning? And you’ve been wanting your +breakfast, I know. Aren’t you nearly starved, +Uncle Lemuel, honest?”</p> + +<p>Uncle Lemuel permitted himself the luxury +of a wintry smile.</p> + +<p>“Pretty nigh,” he assented. “I hain’t had +a bite to eat but half a pie, and three, four +doughnuts, and two cups of coffee, and a little +bread and butter. Before you get them buck-wheats +going I’ll likely drop in my tracks.”</p> + +<p>Mary giggled appreciatively.</p> + +<p>“Poor thing!” she cried, with tender mockery. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>“Well, I’ll hurry. Wasn’t Mrs. Caldwell +a dear to mix these for me before she +went home? And weren’t she and Mrs. Waters +and Miss Watkins and Miss Porter perfect +<em>angels</em> to stay and clear up the house for +us? Oatka Centre people are certainly the +loveliest in the world, just as mother says. +Why, Uncle, what are you doing?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing,” returned Mr. Perkins +briefly; “just a-writin’ a letter.” He spoke +as carelessly as if letter writing were a daily +occurrence with him, instead of an event that +was more nearly decennial. “You hurry with +them cakes, sissy. I’m used to havin’ my +breakfast some time afore sundown, though I +s’pose any time will do for them that’s lived +turned upside downward on Injy’s coral +strand.”</p> + +<p>This was a time-honoured joke between +them by now, so Mary giggled again, meanwhile +beating her batter with a skilful hand and +issuing directions about the table setting.</p> + +<p>“Let’s have it right over under the Christmas +tree. I’m so glad they had to leave that! +And you must put on your new cup and drink +your coffee in it. See, I have my red chain on +this morning. I didn’t dare to wear my be-yoo-tiful +red dress, but I’m going to put it on +for dinner when we go to Mrs. Caldwell’s. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>I’m so glad she’s going to have Miss Porter, +too—and Mr. Bennett. I was afraid they +didn’t have any nice place to go. And, oh, +Uncle Lemuel, what’s that box you’re hiding +in my chair? Another present? You <em>dear</em>! +I’m going to open it right away!”</p> + +<p>“You hold your horses, sissy, till you get +them cakes done,” growled Uncle Lemuel.</p> + +<p>In due time a stack of cakes that matched +Uncle Lemuel’s appetite was ready, and then +the box was opened and the girl “began to +sing,” though “sing” is really a very polite +word with which to describe the series of +shrieks, squeals, and even whoops of ecstasy +with which she greeted the consecutive appearance +of six wonderful sets of hair ribbons.</p> + +<p>“I shall wear them all!” she cried recklessly, +and promptly proceeded to deck her neat +brown braids like May poles with a series of +fluttering bows—red, light blue, dark blue, yellow, +white, and, at the very end, two wonderful +rosettes of exquisite pink, which were rivalled +in colour only by the tint of the cheeks +above them.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Uncle Lemuel!” she cried, in solemn +rapture. “I feel as if I must have died and +gone to heaven. I love pink so that it almost +makes me ache to look at it. That’s my only +objection to being an angel—always having to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>wear white clothes and wings. Don’t you +think maybe, if I was very good, the Lord +would let me have a set of pink ones for Sundays?”</p> + +<p>But Uncle Lemuel’s theology was not prepared +for such imaginative flights.</p> + +<p>“You’d better eat your vittles, sissy,” he remarked +drily. “Time enough for choosin’ +your wings when you have them to wear. Coffee’s +kind of tasty this mornin’,” he added +craftily. “Wonder if it’s the cup?”</p> + +<p>“Let me taste yours and see,” cried Mary, +prancing eagerly around the table. “Yes, I +believe it is. Oh, Uncle, see what I’ve done—got +a splash of coffee on your letter! I’ll see +if I can’t mop it off. Why, Uncle, it begins, +‘Niece Ellen!’ Were you writing to +mother?”</p> + +<p>Uncle Lemuel nodded.</p> + +<p>“You see,” he explained slowly, “Ellen +and me, we had some words a while back, and +I thought mebbe she mightn’t feel free—that +is, I thought mebbe she and Christie would feel +freer to come and make their home with us for +a spell if I wrote and invited ’em right away. +I told ’em that the school was first-class, and +that I should start you right there with Miss +Porter till they come. Do you like that idee?” +he ended anxiously.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p> + +<p>Mary embraced him rapturously.</p> + +<p>“Like it?” she cried. “Oh, Uncle Lemuel, +I like it so much I can scarcely speak! +I never saw anybody that did such lovely +things for people all the time!” She paused +a minute, and then clapped her hands. “Oh, +I know what you are!” she said suddenly. +“We are twins, just as I said—for I am your +little Merry Christmas, and you are the great, +big Happy New Year that goes with me.”</p> +<br> +<br> +<p class="center no-indent fs70 wsp">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="center no-indent bold"> + FICTION WORTH READING + </p> +</div> +<hr class="wide-double"> + +<p class="u wsp"><em>NORMAN DUNCAN</em></p> + +<p class="center no-indent fs120 wsp bold">The Bird Store Man</p> + +<p>An Old-Fashioned Story. Illustrated, 12mo, +boards, net 75c.</p> + +<p class="fs90">By the sheer wizardry of his art, the author illumines a gray, +shabby neighborhood with genial light, and makes of a dingy +bird store a temple of high romance. What happens to +Timothy Twitter, the cheery old bird dealer; to a wonderful +dog Alexander; to the little girl who owns him and her +veteran grandfather, is related with a whimsical tenderness +few writers since Dickens have been able to employ. There +is many a long chuckle awaiting the readers of THE BIRD +STORE MAN, and not a few tugs at the heart.</p> +<br> + +<div> + <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>CLARA E. LAUGHLIN</em></p> + <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Author of</em><br><em>“Everybody’s Lonesome”</em></p> +</div> +<div style="clear:both;"></div> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Everybody’s Birthright</p> + +<p>A Vision of Jeanne d’Arc. Illustrated, 12mo, +cloth, net 75c.</p> + +<p class="fs90">“A tender, heart-reaching and heart-finding story. The +aspirations of the average young girl are too little understood. +Miss Laughlin not only understands them, but she +provides something for them to feed on. In all, she has +contrived to put a lot of thoughts on interesting problems +into a story that is full of the human touches that gives life +to a book. It should add another to that series of classics +for girls which have made Miss Laughlin the friend of girls +and parents as well.”—<em>Norma Bright Carson.</em></p> +<br> + +<div> + <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>WINIFRED ARNOLD</em></p> + <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Author of “Mis’ Basset’s</em><br><em>Matrimony Bureau”</em></p> +</div> +<div style="clear:both;"></div> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Little Merry Christmas</p> + +<p>Illustrated, 12mo, boards, net 60c.</p> + +<p class="fs90">From the moment she alights, one wintry night, at the +snow-piled station of Oatka Center, little Mary Christie begins +to carry sunshine and happiness into the frosty homes, +and still frostier hearts of its inhabitants. How Lem Perkins, +her crusty old uncle, together with the entire village, is led +into the delectable kingdom of Peace and Goodwill by the +guiding hand of a child, is here told in as sweet and jolly +a little story as anybody has either written or read in many +a long year.</p> +<br> + +<div> + <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>NORMAN HINSDALE PITMAN</em></p> + <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Author of</em><br><em>“The Lady Elect,” etc.</em></p> +</div> +<div style="clear:both;"></div> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">A Chinese Christmas Tree</p> + +<p>Illustrated by Liu Hsing-p’u. Boards, net 50c.</p> + +<p class="fs90">Here is a Christmas story that is “different”—scenes laid +in China, real Chinese children romping through its chapters, +and illustrated by quaint pictures drawn by a real Chinese +artist. Those who gratefully remember this author’s fine +story “The Lady Elect,” will not be surprised to find a vein +of mellow wisdom, tempered with warm, glowing sunshine.</p> +<br> + +<p class="u wsp"><em>CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY</em></p> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">The Little Angel of Canyon Creek</p> + +<p>Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.25.</p> + +<p class="fs90">A cracking good story of the bad old days of the Western +Colorado mining camps—days when a man’s chances of +returning to his cabin o’nights depended very largely on the +despatch with which he could bring his gun to the “draw.” +Into one of these lawless camps comes little Olaf, a homeless +wanderer from the East. His advent, followed by that of +the Morrisons, marks a new era for Canyon Creek which +ends in the “cleaning up” of the entire town. Dr. Brady +gives us a captivating tale, brim-full of the vim and color +incident to days and places where life was cheap, and virtue +both rare and dear.</p> +<br> + +<div> + <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>MARIETTA HOLLEY</em></p> + <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Samantha Allen</em></p> +</div> +<div style="clear:both;"></div> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Josiah Allen on the Woman Question</p> + +<p>Illustrated, 16mo, cloth, net $1.00.</p> + +<p class="fs90">A new volume from the pen of Miss Holley, marked by such +quaint thoughtfulness and timely reflection as ran through +“Samantha.” All who read it will be bound to feel better, as +indeed they should, for they will have done some hearty laughing, +and have been ‘up against’ some bits of striking philosophy delivered +with point, vigor, and chuckling humor. All Josiah Allen’s +opinions are wittily, pithily expressed, causing the whole book to +fairly bubble with homely, fun-provoking wisdom.</p> +<br> + +<div> + <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>J. J. BELL</em></p> + <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Author of “Wee Macgreegor,”</em><br><em>“Oh! Christina!” etc.</em></p> +</div> +<div style="clear:both;"></div> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">The Misadventures of Joseph</p> + +<p>12mo, cloth, net $1.00.</p> + +<p class="fs90">A characteristic story in which the author displays unusual +ability to portray with quiet, humorous touch, the idiosyncrasies +of Scottish life and character. Through a series of +highly diverting chapters a homely yet worthy house-painter +extricates himself from many a seeming dilemma, by the exercise +of a kindly charity and the best attributes of a man.</p> +<br> + +<div> + <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>THEODORA PECK</em></p> + <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Author of</em><br><em>“The Sword of Dundee”</em></p> +</div> +<div style="clear:both;"></div> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">White Dawn</p> + +<p>A Legend of Ticonderoga. Illustrated, net $1.25.</p> + +<p class="fs90">A real romance, redolent of love and war. The plot, +for the most part, is laid in the beautiful Champlain valley, +in the days when the British were storming Ticonderoga, +and the armies of Wolfe and Montcalm striving for supremacy +in the northern part of the continent. Miss Peck +simply packs her book with action, and depicts scene after +scene which literally resound with the din of battle and the +clash of arms.</p> +<br> + +<div> + <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>S. R. CROCKETT</em></p> + <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Author of “The Stickit Minister,”</em><br><em>“The Raiders,” etc.</em></p> +</div> +<div style="clear:both;"></div> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Silver Sand</p> + +<p>A Romance of Old Galloway. Cloth, net $1.25.</p> + +<p class="fs90">“In this romance published only a few days after his +death, we find Mr. Crockett in his familiar Wigtownshire, +writing at his best, and giving us an even finer display of his +powers than when he first captured his admirers. ‘Silver +Sand’ is certainly one of the best things he ever did. Some +of the characters here portrayed are among the best of his +many creations, with an even added depth and tenderness.”—<em>Pall +Mall Gazette.</em></p> +<br> + +<p class="u wsp"><em>CAROLINE ABBOT STANLEY</em></p> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Dr. Llewellyn and His Friends</p> + +<p>Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.25.</p> + +<p class="fs90">Mrs. Stanley’s new book is a human chronicle of absorbing +interest. Humor and pathos of a rare order alternate in its +pages, together with some astonishingly good delineation of +negro life and character. The <em>Kansas City Star</em> says: “If +there is to be a Missouri school of literature to rival the +famed Indiana institution, Mrs. Stanley has fairly earned the +right to a charter membership.”</p> +<br> + +<p class="u wsp"><em>GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL LUTZ</em></p> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">The Man of the Desert</p> + +<p>Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.25.</p> + +<p class="fs90">The author of “The Best Man,” “Marcia Schuyler,” etc., +enjoys no mean reputation as a weaver of sweet, wholesome +romances, a reputation which “The Man of the Desert” +fully maintains. Her latest book tells the love-story of a +daughter of luxury and a plain man facing his duty and +doing his work on the home mission field of the West. Every +reader of this charming story will be made to rejoice in the +happy triumph over difficulties which gives to these young +people the crowning joy of life, the union of kindred souls.</p> +<br> + +<p class="u wsp"><em>THURLOW FRASER</em></p> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">The Call of The East</p> + +<p>A Romance of Far Formosa. Illustrated, 12mo, +cloth, net $1.25.</p> + +<p class="fs90">Here is a jewel in romance—set amid the blossom-laden +islands of the Eastern seas. To its making go the record +of one white man’s heroism and native worth, of another’s +baseness and treachery; some thrilling incidents of the French +invasion of Formosa; a satisfying picture of the great +pioneer missionary Mackay, and a love-story as old as Eden, +yet as fresh as the dews of the morning.</p> +<br> + + +<div> + <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>CAROLINE ABBOT STANLEY</em></p> + <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90"><em>Author of</em><br><em>“The Master of the Oaks”</em></p> +</div> +<div style="clear:both;"></div> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">The Keeper of the Vineyard</p> + +<p>A Tale of the Ozarks. Illustrated, $1.25 net.</p> + +<p class="fs90">“When the Revells publish a novel there can be no question +as to its high moral tone. This is an unusual story, in +which a young woman assumes the burden of the support +of a family and succeeds in her purpose. The story takes +us to the Ozarks and to the Vineyards, and charms us by +the descriptions of life near the heart of nature.”—<em>Watchman +Examiner.</em></p> +<br> + +<p class="u wsp"><em>NORMAN HINSDALE PITMAN</em></p> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">The Lady Elect</p> + +<p>A Chinese Romance. Illustrated by Chinese artists. +12mo, cloth, net $1.25.</p> + +<p class="fs90">“A story that depicts, in all its fascination, the old China—Something +of the knowledge of what may be lies at the heart +of this Chinese romance—the story of a girl who rebelled +against an ‘arranged’ marriage, and of the young man she +loved. A romance with all the plot, situation and charm of +a modern popular love-story makes the book irresistible.”—<em>Norma +Bright Carson, Editor of Book News.</em></p> +<br> + +<p class="u wsp"><em>RICHARD S. HOLMES</em></p> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Bradford Horton: Man</p> + +<p>A novel. 12mo, cloth, net $1.25.</p> + +<p class="fs90">“This story is one of intense interest, combining sentiment, +pathos, love, humor and high aims and purposes. It is not +a sermon. It is just what it claims to be, “a novel.” But +he who reads it will find in it an inspiration to higher living. +It is fascinating in its presentation of its distinctly human +characters.”—<em>Presbyterian of the South.</em></p> +<br> + +<div> + <p style="float: left;" class="u wsp"><em>MARIETTA HOLLEY</em></p> + <p style="float: right;" class="center no-indent fs90">(<em>Josiah Allen’s Wife</em>)</p> +</div> +<div style="clear:both;"></div> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Samantha on the Woman Question</p> + +<p>Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, net $1.00.</p> + +<p class="fs90">“This is the book we have been waiting for. What Samantha +doesn’t know, isn’t worth knowing—will throw a +little humor on the situation which is becoming too intense. +We hope it may have a wide circulation in England, for Samantha +who believes in suffrage, does not believe in dynamite, +gunpowder and mobs.”—<em>Examiner.</em></p> +<br> + +<p class="u wsp"><em>CHARLES H. LERRIGO</em></p> + +<p class="center no-indent wsp bold fs120">Doc Williams</p> + +<p>A Tale of the Middle West. Illustrated, net $1.25.</p> + +<p class="fs90">“The homely humor of the old doctor and his childlike +faith in ‘the cure’ is so intensely human that he captures the +sympathy of the layman at once—a sympathy that becomes +the deepest sort of interest.”—<em>Topeka Capital.</em></p> +<br> +<br> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78374 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |