"'Four score and ten of us, poor old maids,—Four score and ten of us,Without a penny in ourpuss,Poor old maids,'"
"'Four score and ten of us, poor old maids,—Four score and ten of us,Without a penny in ourpuss,Poor old maids,'"
"'Four score and ten of us, poor old maids,—Four score and ten of us,Without a penny in ourpuss,Poor old maids,'"
"'Four score and ten of us, poor old maids,—
Four score and ten of us,
Without a penny in ourpuss,
Poor old maids,'"
sang Joe pathetically, cutting short thepurseon account of the rhyme.
"O Joe, you are too bad! I won't tell any more."
"Yes, do!" entreated Hal. "And so he liked you on account of the resemblance, and wanted to adopt you."
"Exactly! Hal, how could you guess it?" returned Florence, much mollified. "And so he would take me to a beautiful house, where there were plenty of servants, and get me lovely clothes to wear; and there would be lots of china and silver and elegant furniture and a piano. I'd go to school, and study music and drawing, and never have to sew or do any kind of work. Then I'd send you nice presents home; and, when you were fixed up a little, you should come and see me. And maybe, Hal, as you grew older, he would help you about getting a hot-house. I think when I became a woman, I would take Dot to educate."
"I've heard of fairy godmothers before, but this seems to be a godfather. Here's luck to your old covey, Florrie, drunk in imaginary champagne."
"Joe, I wish you wouldn't use slang phrases, nor be so disrespectful."
"I'm afraid I'll have to keep clear of the palace."
"Oh, if it only could be!" sighed Hal. "I think Flo was meant for a lady."
Florence smiled inwardly at hearing this. It was her opinion also.
"Here, Kit, are you asleep?" And Joe pulled him out of the pile by one leg. "Wake up, and give us your heart's desire."
Kit indulged in a vigorous kick, which Joe dodged.
"It'll be splendid," began Kit, "especially the piano. I've had my hands over my eyes, making stars; and I was thinking"—
"That's just what we want, Chief of the Mohawk Valley. Don't keep us in suspense."
"I'm going to save up my money, like some one Hal was reading about the other day, and buy a fiddle."
A shout of laughter greeted this announcement, it sounded so comical.
Kit rubbed his eyes in amazement, and failed to see any thing amusing. Then he said indignantly,—
"You needn't make such a row!"
"But what will you do with a fiddle? You might tie a string to Charlie, and take her along for a monkey; or you might both go round singing in a squeaky voice,—
'Two orphan boys of Switzerland.'"
"You're real mean, Joe," said Kit, with his voice full of tears.
"Kit, I'll give you the violin myself when I get rich," Florence exclaimed in a comforting tone, her soft hand smoothing down the refractory scalp-lock; "but I would say violin, it sounds so much nicer. And then you'll play."
"Play!" enunciated Kit in a tone that I cannot describe, as if that were a weak word for the anticipated performance. "I'd make her talk! They'd sit there and listen,—a whole houseful of people it would be, you know; and when I first came out with my fiddle,—violin. I mean,—they would look at me as ifthey thought I couldn't do much. I'd begin with a slow sound, like the wind wailing on a winter night,—I guess I'd have it a storm, and a little lost child, for you can make almost any thing with a violin; and the cries should grow fainter and fainter, for she would be chilled and worn out; and presently it should drop down into the snow, and there'd be the softest, strangest music you ever heard. The crowd would listen and listen, and hold their breath; and when the storm cleared away, and the angels came down for the child, it would be so, so sad"—and there was an ominous falter in Kit's voice, "they couldn't help crying. There'd be an angel's song up in heaven; and in the sweetest part of it all, I'd go quietly away, for I wouldn't want any applause."
"But you'd have it," said Hal softly, reaching out for the small fingers that were to evoke such wonderful melody. "It almost makes me cry myself to think of it! and the poor little girl lost in the snow, not bigger than Dot here!"
"Children!" called Granny from the foot of the stairs, "ain't you going to come down and have any supper? I've made a great pot full of mush."
There was a general scrambling. Hal carried Dot in his arms, for she was fast asleep. Two or three times in the short journey he stopped to kiss the soft face, thinking of Kit's vision.
"Oh, we've been having such a splendid time!"announced Charlie. "All of us telling what we'd like to do; and, Granny, Joe's going to build you aneleganthouse!" with a great emphasis on the word, as Charlie was not much given to style, greatly to the sorrow and chagrin of Florence.
Granny gave a cheerful but cracked treble laugh, and asked,—
"What'll he build it of, my dear,—corn-cobs?"
"Oh, arealhouse! He's going to make lots of money, Joe is, and get shipwrecked."
Granny shook her head, which made the little white curls bob around oddly enough.
"How you do mix up things, Charlie," said Joe, giving her a poke with his elbow. "You're a perfect harum-scarum! I don't wonder you want to live in the woods. Go look at your head: it stands out nine ways for Sunday!"
Charlie ran her fingers through her hair, her usual manner of arranging it.
"Granny, here's this little lamb fast asleep. She's grown to be one of the best babies in the world;" and Hal kissed her again.
He had such a tender, girlish heart, that any thing weak or helpless always appealed to him. Their sleek, shining Tabby had been a poor, forlorn, broken-legged kitten when he found her; and there was no end to the birds and chickens that he nursed through accidents.
But for a fortnight Dot had been improving, it mustbe confessed, being exempt from disease and broken bones.
"Poor childie! Just lay her in the bed, Hal."
There was a huge steaming dish of mush in the middle of the table; and the hungry children went at it in a vigorous manner. Some had milk, and some had molasses; and they improvised a dessert by using a little butter, sugar, and nutmeg. They spiced their meal by recounting their imaginary adventures; but Granny was observed to wipe away a few tears over the shipwreck.
"It was all make believe," said Joe sturdily. "Lots of people go to sea, and don't get wrecked."
"But I don't want you to go," Granny returned in a broken tone of voice.
"Pooh!" exclaimed Joe, with immense disdain. "Don't people meet with accidents on the land? Wasn't Steve Holder killed in the mill. And if I was on the cars in a smash-up, I couldn't swim out of that!"
Joe took a long breath, fancying that he had established his point beyond a cavil.
"But sailors never make fortunes," went on Granny hesitatingly.
"Captains do, though; and it's a jolly life. Besides, we couldn't all stay in this little shanty, unless we made nests in the chimney like the swallows; and I don't know which would tumble down first,—we or the chimney."
Charlie laughed at the idea.
"I shall stay with you always, Granny," said Hal tenderly. "And Dot, you know, will be growing into a big girl and be company for us. We'll get along nicely, never fear."
Some tears dropped unwittingly into Granny's plate, and she didn't want any more supper. It was foolish, of course. She ought to be thankful to have them all out of the way and doing for themselves. Here she was, over fifty, and had worked hard from girlhood. Some day she would be worn out.
But, in spite of all their poverty and hardship, she had been very happy with them; and theirs were by no means a forlorn-looking set of faces. Each one had a little beauty of its own; and, though they were far from being pattern children, she loved them dearly in spite of their faults and roughnesses. And in their way they loved her, though sometimes they were great torments.
And so at bed-time they all crowded round to kiss the wrinkled face, unconsciously softened by the thought of the parting that was to come somewhere along their lives. But no one guessed how Granny held little Dot in her arms that night, and prayed in her quaint, fervent fashion that she might live to see them all grown up and happy, good and prosperous men and women, and none of them straying far from the old home-nest.
I think God listened with watchful love. No one else would have made crooked paths so straight.
The vacation had come to an end, and next week the children were to go to school again. Florence counted up her small hoard; for though she did not like to sweep, or wash dishes, she was industrious in other ways. She crocheted edgings and tidies, made lamp-mats, toilet-sets, and collars, and had earned sixteen dollars. Granny would not have touched a penny of it for the world.
So Florence bought herself two pretty delaine dresses for winter wear, and begged Granny to let Miss Brown cut and fit them. Florence had a pretty, slender figure; and she was rather vain of it. Her two dresses had cost seven dollars, a pair of tolerably nice boots three and a half, a plaid shawl four, and then she had indulged in the great luxury of a pair of kid gloves.
It had come about in this wise. Mrs. Day had purchased them in New York, but they proved too small for her daughter Julia. She was owing Florence a dollar; so she said,—
"Now, if you have a mind to take these gloves, Florence, I'd let you have them for seventy-five cents. I bought them very cheap: they ask a dollar and a quarter in some stores;" and she held them up in their most tempting light.
Florence looked at them longingly.
"They are lovely kid, and such a beautiful color! Green is all the fashion, and you have a new green dress."
There was a pair of nice woollen gloves at the store for fifty cents; and although they were rather clumsy, still Florence felt they would be warmer and more useful.
"I don't know as I can spare you the dollar now," continued Mrs. Day, giving the dainty little gloves a most aggravating stretch.
"I'd like to have them," said Florence hesitatingly.
"I suppose your grandmother won't mind? Your money is your own."
Now, Mrs. Day knew that it was wrong to tempt Florence; but the gloves were useless to her, and she felt anxious to dispose of them.
"Grandmother said I might spend all my money for clothes," was the rather proud reply.
"Kid gloves always look so genteel, and are so durable. You have such a pretty hand too."
"I guess I will take them," Florence said faintly.
So Mrs. Day gave her the gloves and twenty-fivecents. Florence carried them home in secret triumph, and put them inherdrawer in Granny's big bureau. She had not told about them yet; and sometimes they were a heavier burden than you would imagine so small a pair of gloves could possibly be.
Joe had earned a little odd change from the farmers round, and bought himself a pair of new trousers and a new pair of boots; while Hal had been maid-of-all-work in doors, and head gardener out of doors.
"Just look at these potatoes!" he said in triumph to Granny. "There's a splendid binful, and it'll last all winter. And there'll be cabbage and pumpkins and marrow-squash and Lima beans, and lots of corn for the chickens. The garden has been a success this summer."
"And you've worked early and late," returned Granny in tender triumph. "There isn't such another boy in the State, I'll be bound!" And she gave him the fondest of smiles.
"But the best of all is Dot. She's actually getting fat, Granny; and she has a dimple in her cheek. Why, she'll be almost as pretty as Flossy!"
Granny gave the little one a kiss.
"She's as good as a kitten when she is well," was the rejoinder, in a loving tone.
Kit and Charlie still romped like wild deers. They had made a cave in the wood, and spent whole days there; but Charlie burned her fingers roasting a bird,and went back to potatoes and corn, that could be put in the ashes without so much risk.
The old plaid cloak had been made over for a school-dress, and Charlie thought it quite grand. Kit and Hal had to do the best they could about clothes.
"Never mind me, Granny," Hal said cheerfully; though he couldn't help thinking of his patched Sunday jacket, which was growing short in the sleeves for him.
So on Saturday the children scrubbed and scoured and swept, and made the place quite shine again. Hal arranged the flowers, and then they all drew a restful breath before the supper preparations began.
"There's Mrs. Van Wyck coming!" and Charlie flew up the lane, dashing headlong into the house, to the imminent peril of her best dress, which she had been allowed to put on for an hour or two.
"Mrs. Van Wyck!"
Granny brushed back her bobbing flaxen curls, washed Dot's face over again with the nearest white cloth, which happened to be Flossy's best handkerchief that she had been doing up for Sunday.
"Oh!" the young lady cried in dismay, and then turned to make her prettiest courtesy. Mrs. Van Wyck was very well off indeed, and lived in quite a pretentious cottage,—villa she called it; but, as she had a habit of confusing her V's and W's, Joe re-christened it the Van Wyck Willow.
"Good-afternoon, Mrs. Kenneth. How d'y do, Florence?"
Florence brought out a chair, and, with the most polite air possible, invited her to be seated.
Mrs. Van Wyck eyed her sharply.
"'Pears to me you look quite fine," she said.
Florence wore a white dress that was pretty well outgrown, and had been made from one of her mother's in the beginning. It had a good many little darns here and there, and she was wearing it for the last time. She had tied a blue ribbon in her curls, and pinned a tiny bouquet on her bosom. She looked very much dressed, but that was pretty Flossy's misfortune.
Mrs. Van Wyck gathered up her silk gown,—a great staring brocade in blue and gold, that might have been her grandmother's, it looked so ancient in style.
"I've come over on some business," she began, with an important air and a mysterious shake of the head.
Granny sat down, and took Dot upon her lap. Kit and Charlie peered out of their hiding-places, and Joe perched himself upon the window-sill.
"How do you ever manage with all this tribe?" And Mrs. Van Wyck gave each of them a scowl.
"There's a houseful," returned Granny, "but wedoget along."
"Tough scratching, I should say."
"And poor pickings the chickens might add, if they hadsuchan old hen," commented Joesoto voce. "There'd be something worse than clucking."
Hal couldn't help laughing. Mrs. Van Wyck was so ruffled and frilled, so full of ends of ribbon about the head and neck, that she did look like a setting hen disturbed in the midst of her devotions.
"Them children haven't a bit of manners," declared Mrs. Van Wyck, in sublime disregard of syntax. "Trot off, all of you but Florence: I have something to say to your grandmother."
Joe made a somerset out of the window, and placed himself in a good listening position; Hal went out and sat on the doorstep; and Charlie crawled under the table.
"I don't see how you manage to get along with such a houseful. I always did wonder at your taking 'em."
"Oh! we do pretty well," returned Granny cheerily.
"They're growing big enough to help themselves a little. Why don't you bind Joe out to some of the farmers. Such a great fellow ought to be doing something besides racing round and getting into mischief."
Joe made a series of such polite evolutions, that Hal ran to the gate to have a good laugh without being heard.
"He's going to school," said Granny innocently. "They all begin on Monday."
"Going to school?" And Mrs. Van Wyck elevatedher voice as if she thought them all deaf. "Why,Inever went to school a day after I was twelve year old, and my father was a well-to-do farmer. There's no sense in children having so much book-larnin'. It makes 'em proud and stuck up, and good for nothing.
"Oh! where's that dog? Put him out! Put him out! I can't bear dogs. And the poorer people are, the more dogs they'll keep."
Joe, the incorrigible, was quite a ventriloquist for his years and size. He had just made a tremendous ki-yi, after the fashion of the most snarling terrier dog, and a kind of scrabbling as if the animal might be under Mrs. Van Wyck's feet.
"Oh, my! Take the nasty brute away. Maybe he's full of fleas or has the mange"—
"It is only Joe," explained Florence, as soon as she could put in a word.
"I'd Joe him, if I had him here! You're a ruining of these children as I've always said; and you may thank your stars if Joe escapes the gallows. I've positively come on an errand of mercy."
"Not for Joe," declared the owner of the name with a sagacious shake of the head, while Mrs. Van Wyck paused for breath.
"Yes. Not one of them'll be worth a penny if they go on this way. Now, here's Florence, growing up in idleness"—
"She keeps pretty busy," said Granny stoutly.
"Busy! Why, you've nothing for her to do. When I was a little girl, my mother made me sit beside her, and sew patchwork; and before I was twelve year old I had finished four quilts. And she taught me the hymn,—
'Satan finds some mischief stillFor idle hands to do.'"
'Satan finds some mischief stillFor idle hands to do.'"
'Satan finds some mischief stillFor idle hands to do.'"
'Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.'"
"They always learn a verse for Sunday," said Granny deprecatingly.
"But you let 'em run wild. I've seen it all along. I was a talkin' to Miss Porter about it; and says I, 'Now, I'll do one good deed;' and the Lord knows it's needed."
Everybody listened. Joe from the outside made a pretence of picking his ears open with the handle of a broken saucepan.
"Florence is getting to be a big girl, and it's high time she learned something. As I was a sayin' to Miss Porter, 'I want just such a girl; and it will be the making of Florence Kenneth to fall into good hands.'"
"But you don't mean"—and Granny paused, aghast.
"I mean to make the child useful in her day and generation. It'll be a good place for her."
Mrs. Van Wyck nodded her head until the bows and streamers flew in every direction.
Granny opened her eyes wide in surprise.
"What do you want of her, Mrs. Van Wyck?"
Charlie peeped out from between the legs of the table to hear, her mouth wide open lest she should lose a word.
"Want of her?" screamed the visitor. "Why, to work, of course! I don't keep idle people about me, I can tell you. I want a girl to make beds, and sweep, and dust, and wash dishes, and scour knives, and scrub, and run errands, and do little chores around. It'll be the making of her; and I'm willing to do the fair thing."
Granny was struck dumb with amazement. Florence could hardly credit her ears. Hal sprang up indignantly, and Joe doubled his fists as if he were about to demolish the old house along with Mrs. Van Wyck.
"Yes. I've considered the subject well. I always sleep on a thing before I tell a single soul. And, if Florence is a good smart girl, I'll give her seventy-five cents a week and her board. For six dollars a month I could get a grown girl, who could do all my work."
Granny looked at Florence in helpless consternation; and Florence looked at Granny with overwhelming disdain.
"Well! why don't you answer?" said the visitor. She had supposed they would jump at the offer.
"I don't expect to go out doing housework, Mrs. Van Wyck," said Florence loftily.
"Hoity-toity! how grand we are! I've never been above doing my own housework; and I could buy and sell the whole bunch of you, a dozen times over."
"Florence wouldn't like it, I'm afraid," said Granny mildly.
"A fine way to bring up children, truly! You may see the day when you'll be thankful to have a home as good as my kitchen."
There was a bright red spot in Florence's cheeks.
"Mrs. Van Wyck," Florence began in a quiet, ladylike manner, although she felt inclined to be angry, "grandmother is right: I should not like it. I have no taste for housework; and I can earn more than you offer to give by doing embroidering and crocheting. Through the six weeks of vacation I earned sixteen dollars."
"Fancy work! What is the world coming to? Children brought up to despise good, honest employment."
"No, I don't despise it," amended Florence; "but I do not like it, and I think it a hard way of earning a little money. If I can do better, of course I have the right."
Granny was amazed at the spirit Florence displayed.
"You'll all be paupers on the town yet, mark my words. Flaunting round in white dresses and ribbons, and"—
She glanced around for some further vanity to include in her inventory.
"I am sure we are obliged to you," said Granny mildly. "But Florence"—
"Yes, Florence is too good to work. There's no sense in such high-flown names. I'd have called her plain Peggy. She must curl her hair, and dress herself—oh my lady, if I had you, you'd see!"
And Mrs. Van Wyck arose in great wrath, her streamers flying wildly.
"You'll remember this when you come to beggary,—refusing a good home and plenty. Your grandmother is a foolish old woman; and you're a lazy, shiftless, impudent set! I wash my hands of the whole lot."
"I'm sorry," began Granny.
"There's no use talking. I wouldn't have the girl on any account. I can get her betters any day. You'll come to no good end, I can tell you!"
With that, Mrs. Van Wyck flounced out; but at the first turn tumbled over Kit, who had rolled himself in a ball on the doorstep.
Down she went, and Joe set up a shout. Hal couldn't help laughing, and Charlie ran to pull out Kit.
"You good-for-nothing, beggarly wretches!"
While she was sputtering and scrambling about, Joe began a hideous caterwauling.
"Drat that cat! Pity I hadn't broken his neck! And my second-best bonnet!"
Kit hid himself in his grandmother's gown, sorely frightened, and a little bruised.
"It's the last time I'll ever step inside of this place. Such an awful set of children I never did see!"
To use Joe's expressive phraseology, she "slathered" right and left, her shrill voice adding to the confusion.
Granny watched the retreating figure with the utmost bewilderment.
"The mean old thing!" began Florence, half crying. "Why, I couldn't stand her temper and her scolding, and to be a common kitchen-girl!"
"She meant well, dear. In my day girls thought it no disgrace to live out."
"Wasn't it gay and festive, Granny? I believe I've burst every button, laughing; and you'll have to put a mustard plaster on my side to draw out the soreness. And oh, Kit, what a horrible yell you gave! How could you be the ruin of that second best bonnet?"
"'Twasn't me," said Kit, rubbing his eyes. "But she most squeezed the breath out of me."
"Flossy, here is your fortune, and your coach-and-four. My dear child, I hope you will not be too much elated, for you must remember"—
"'Satan finds some mischief still,' &c."
"'Satan finds some mischief still,' &c."
"'Satan finds some mischief still,' &c."
"'Satan finds some mischief still,' &c."
Joe whisked around, holding Dot's apron at full length in imitation of a streamer.
"I wonder if she really thought I would go. Scouring and scrubbing, and washing dishes. I'd do with one meal a day first."
"She is a coarse, ill-bred woman," said Hal; "not a bit like Mrs. Kinsey."
"We will not be separated just yet," exclaimed Granny, with a sigh for the time that must come.
"And I don't mean to live out," was the emphatic rejoinder of Florence.
"My dear, you mustn't be too proud," cautioned Granny.
"It isn't altogether pride. Why should I wash dishes when I can do something better?"
"That's the grit, Flossy. I'll bet on you!"
"O Joe! don't. I wish you would learn to be refined. Now, you see all Mrs. Van Wyck's money cannot make her a lady."
Joe put on a solemn face; but the next moment declared that he must keep a sharp look out, or some old sea-captain would snap him up, and set him to scrubbing decks, and holystoning the cable.
And yet they felt quite grave when the fun was over. Their merry vacation had ended, and there was no telling what a year might bring forth.
"I think I should like most of all to be a school-teacher," Florence declared.
"You'll have to wait till you're forty. Who do you s'pose is going to mind a little gal?"
"Not you; for you never mind anybody," was the severe reply.
Florence felt quite grand on the following day, attired in her new green delaine, and her "lovely" gloves. Granny was so busy with the others that she never noticed them; and Florence quieted her conscience by thinking that the money was her own, and she could do what she liked with it. She kept self generally in view, it must be admitted.
Mrs. Van Wyck's overture was destined to make quite a stir. She repeated it to her neighbors in such glowing terms that it really looked like an offer to adopt Florence; and she declaimed bitterly against the pride and the ingratitude of the whole Kenneth family.
Florence held her head loftily, and took great pains to contradict the story; and Joe became the stoutest of champions, though he teased her at home.
"But it's too bad to have her tell everybody such falsehoods; and, after all, three dollars a month would be very low wages. Why, Mary Connor gets a dollar a week for tending Mrs. Hall's baby; and she never scrubs or scours a thing!"
Truth to tell, Florence felt a good deal insulted.
But the whole five went to school pretty regularly. Hal was very studious, and Florence also, in spite of her small vanities; but Joe was incorrigible everywhere.
Florence gained courage one day to ask Mr. Fielder about the prospect of becoming a teacher. She was ambitious, and desired some kind of a position that would be ladylike.
"It's pretty hard work at first," he answered with a smile.
"But how long would I have to study?"
"Let me see—you are fourteen now: in three years you might be able to take a situation. Public schools in the city are always better for girls, for they can begin earlier in the primary department. A country school, you see, may have some troublesome urchins in it."
Florence sighed. Three years would be a long while to wait.
"I will give you all the assistance in my power," Mr. Fielder said kindly. "And I may be able to hear of something that will be to your advantage."
Florence thanked him, but somehow the prospect did not look brilliant.
Then she thought of dressmaking. Miss Brown had a pretty cottage, furnished very nicely indeed; and it was her boast that she did it all with her own hands. She kept a servant, and dressed quite elegantly; and all the ladies round went to her in their carriages. Then she had such beautiful pieces for cushions and wonderful bedquilts,—"Though I never take but the least snip of a dress," she would say with a virtuous sniff. "I have heard of people who kept a yard or two, but to my mind it's downright stealing."
There was a drawback to this picture of serene contentment. Miss Brown was an old maid, andFlorence hoped devoutly that would never be her fate. And then Miss Skinner, who went out by the day, was single also. Was it the natural result of the employment?
They did pretty well through the fall. Joe came across odd jobs, gathered stores of hickory-nuts and chestnuts; and now and then of an evening they had what he called a rousing good boil; and certainly chestnuts never tasted better. They sat round the fire, and told riddles or stories, and laughed as only healthy, happy children can. What if they were poor, and had to live in a little tumble-down shanty!
Sometimes Joe would surprise them with a somerset in the middle of the floor, or a good stand on his head in one corner.
"Joe," Granny would say solemnly, "I once knowed a man who fell that way on his head off a load of hay, and broke his back."
"Granny dear, 'knowed' is bad grammar. When you go to see Florence in her palace, you must say knew, to rhyme with blew. But your old man's back must have grown cranky with rheumatism, while mine is limber as an eel."
"He wasn't old, Joe. And in my day they never learned grammar."
"Oh, tell us about the good old times!" and Hal's head was laid in Granny's lap.
The children were never tired of hearing these tales. Days when Granny was young were like enchantment. She remembered some real witch stories, that she was sure were true; and weddings, quiltings, husking-bees, and apple-parings were full of interest. How they went out sleigh-riding, and had a dance; and how once Granny and her lover, sitting on the back seat, were jolted out, seat and all, while the horses went skimming along at a pace equal to Tam O'Shanter's. And how they had to go to a neighboring cottage, and stay ever so long before they were missed.
"There'll never be such times again," Joe would declare solemnly.
Florence would breath a little sigh, and wonder if she could ever attain to beaux and merriment, and if any one would ever quarrel about dancing with her. How happy Granny must have been!
Dot had a dreadful cold, and Granny an attack of rheumatism; but they both recovered before Christmas. Every one counted so much on this holiday. All were making mysterious preparations. Joe and Hal and Florence had their heads together; and then it was Granny and Florence, or Granny and Hal.
"I don't dare to stir out," said Joe lugubriously, "lest you may say something that I shall not hear."
Hal killed three fine young geese. Two were disposed of for a dollar apiece, and the third he brought to the kitchen in triumph.
"There's our Christmas dinner, and a beauty too!" he announced.
Hal had sold turkeys and chickens enough to buy himself a good warm winter coat.
Granny had a little extra luck. In fact, it was rather a prosperous winter with them; and there was nothing like starvation, in spite of Mrs. Van Wyck's prediction.
They all coaxed Granny to make doughnuts. Joe dropped them in the kettle, and Hal took them out with the skimmer. How good they did smell!
Kit and Charlie tumbled about on the floor, and were under everybody's feet; while Dot sat in her high chair, looking wondrous wise.
"How'll we get the stockings filled?" propounded Joe, when the supper-table had been cleared away.
They all glanced at each other in consternation.
"But where'll you hang 'em?" asked Kit after a moment or two of profound study.
"Some on the andirons, some on the door-knob, some on the kettle-spout, and the rest up chimney."
"I say, can't we have two?" was Charlie's anxious question.
"Lucky if you get one full. What a host of youngsters! O Granny! did you know that last summer I discovered that you were the old woman who lived in a shoe?"
"O Joe! don't;" and Hal raised his soft eyes reproachfully.
Granny laughed, not understanding Hal's anxiety.
"Because I had so many children?"
"Exactly; but I think you are better tempered than your namesake."
Granny's eyes twinkled at this compliment.
"It was an awful hot day, and Dot was cross enough to kill a cat with nine lives."
"But she's a little darling now," said Hal, kissing her. "I think the sand-man has been around;" and he smiled into the little face with its soft drooping eyes.
"Yes, she ought to be in bed, and Kit and Charlie. Come, children."
"I want to see what's going to be put in my stocking," whined Charlie in a very sleepy tone.
"No, you can't. March off, you small snipes, or you will find a whip there to-morrow morning."
That was Joe's peremptory order.
They had a doughnut apiece, and then went reluctantly. Charlie was very sure that she was wider awake than ever before in her life, and could not get asleep if she tried all night. Kit didn't believe that morning would ever come. Hal put on Dot's nightgown, and heard her say, "Now I lay me down to sleep;" while Joe picked up the cat, and irreverently whispered,—
"Now I lay me down to sleep,All curled up in a little heap.If I should wake before 'tis day,What do you s'pose the doctor'd say?"
"Now I lay me down to sleep,All curled up in a little heap.If I should wake before 'tis day,What do you s'pose the doctor'd say?"
"Now I lay me down to sleep,All curled up in a little heap.If I should wake before 'tis day,What do you s'pose the doctor'd say?"
"Now I lay me down to sleep,
All curled up in a little heap.
If I should wake before 'tis day,
What do you s'pose the doctor'd say?"
"O Joe!" remonstrated Granny.
"That's Tabby's prayers. Tabby is a high principled, moral, and intellectual cat. Now go to sleep, and dream of a mouse."
Tabby winked her eyes solemnly, as if she understood every word; and it's my firm belief that she did.
Then Granny, Florence, Joe, and Hal sat in profound thought until the old high clock in the corner struck nine.
"Well," said Joe, "what are we waiting for?"
Hal laughed and answered,—
"For some one to go to bed."
"What is to be done about it?"
Florence looked wise, and said presently,—
"We'll all have to go in the other room except the one who is to put something in the stockings."
"That's it. Who will begin?"
"Not I," rejoined Joe. "I don't want to be poked down into the toe."
"And I can't have my gifts crushed," declared Florence.
"Hal, you begin."
Hal was very cheerful and obliging. Granny lighted another candle, and the three retired. He disposed of his gifts, and then called Joe.
Joe made a great scrambling around. One wouldthink he had Santa Claus himself, and was squeezing him into the small stocking, sleigh, ponies, and all.
"Now, Granny, it's your turn."
Granny fumbled about a long while, until the children grew impatient. Afterward Florence found herself sorely straitened for room; but she had a bright brain, and what she could not put inside she did up in papers and pinned to the outside, giving the stockings a rather grotesque appearance, it must be confessed. There they hung in a row, swelled to dropsical proportions, and looking not unlike stumpy little Dutchmen who had been beheaded at the knees.
"Now, Granny, you must go to bed," said Joe with an air of importance. "And you must promise to lie there until you are called to-morrow morning,—honor bright!"
Granny smiled, and bobbed her flaxen curls.
"Now," exclaimed Florence, bolting the middle door so they would be sure of no interruption.
Joe went out to the wood-shed, and dragged in a huge shoe. The toe was painted red, and around the top a strip of bright yellow, ending with an immense buckle cut out of wood.
"Oh, isn't it splendid!" exclaimed Florence, holding her breath.
"That was Hal's idea, and it's too funny for any thing. Granny could crawl into it head first. If we haven't worked and conjured to keep Kit and Charlieout of the secret, then no one ever had a bit of trouble in this world."
Joe laughed until he held his sides. It was a sort of safety escape-valve with him.
"H-u-s-h!" whispered Hal. "Now, Flossy."
Florence brought a large bundle out of the closet. There were some suppressed titters, and "O's," and "Isn't it jolly?"
"Now you must tie your garters round the bedpost, put the toe of your shoes toward the door, and go to bed backward. That'll make every thing come out just right," declared Joe.
"Oh, dear! I wish it was morning!" said Hal. "I want to see the fun."
"So don't this child. I must put in some tall snoring between this and daylight."
They said good-night softly to each other, and went off to bed. Joe was so full of mischief, that he kept digging his elbows into Hal's ribs, and rolling himself in the bedclothes, until it was a relief to have him commence the promised snoring.
With the first gray streak of dawn there was a stir.
"Merry Christmas!" sang out Joe with a shout that might have been heard a mile. "Hal and Kit"—
"Can't you let a body sleep in peace?" asked Kit in an injured tone, the sound coming from vasty deeps of bedclothes.
Joe declared they always had to fish him out of bed, and that buckwheat cakes was the best bait that could be used.
"Why, it's Christmas. Hurrah! We're going to have a jolly time. What do you suppose is in your stocking?"
That roused Kit. He came out of bed on his head, and commenced putting his foot through his jacket sleeve.
"I can't find my stockings! Who's got 'em?"
"The fellow who gets up first always takes the best clothes," said Joe solemnly.
With that he made a dive into his. It was the funniest thing in the world to see Joe dress. His clothes always seemed joined together in some curious fashion; for he flung his arms and legs into them at one bound.
"Oh, dear! Don't look in my stocking, Joe. You might wait. I know you've hidden away my shoe on purpose."
With this Kit sat in the middle of the floor like a heap of rains, and began to cry.
Hal came to the rescue, and helped his little brother dress. But Joe was down long before them. He gave a whoop at the door.
"Merry Christmas!" exclaimed Florence with a laugh, glad to think she had distanced him.
"Merry Christmas! The top o' the mornin' to you,Granny! Long life and plenty of 'praties and pint.' Santa Claus has been here. My eyes!"
Hal and Kit came tumbling along; but the younger stood at the door in amaze, his mouth wide open.
"Hush for your life!"
But Kit had to make a tour regardless of his own stocking, while Joe brandished the tongs above his head as if to enforce silence.
Hal began to kindle the fire. Charlie crept out in her nightgown, with an old shawl about her, and stood transfixed with astonishment.
"Oh, my! Isn't that jolly? Doesn't Granny know a bit?"
"Not a word."
"Mrs. McFinnegan," said Joe through the chink of the door, "I have to announce that the highly esteemed and venerable Mr. Santa Claus, a great traveller and a remarkably generous man, has made a call upon you during the night. As he feared to disturb your slumbers, he left a ball of cord, a paper of pins, and a good warm night-cap."
Florence was laughing so that she could hardly use buttons or hooks. Dot gave a neglected whine from the cradle.
"Is Granny ready?" Hal asked as she came out.
"She's just putting on her cap."
Hal went in for a Christmas kiss. Granny held him to her heart in a fond embrace, and wished the best of every thing over him.
"Merry Christmas to you all!" she said as Hal escorted her out to the middle of the room.
Joe went over on his head, and then perched himself on the back of a chair. The rest all looked at Granny.
"Is this really for me?" she asked in surprise, though the great placard stared her in the face.
The children set up a shout. Kit and Charlie paused, open-mouthed, in the act of demolishing something.
"Why, I never"—
"Tumble it out," said Joe.
"This great shoe full"—
Florence handed the first package to Granny. She opened it in amaze, as if she really could not decide whether it belonged to her or not.
There was a paper pinned on it, "A Merry Christmas from Mrs. Kinsey."
A nice dark calico dress-pattern, at which Granny was so overcome that she dropped into the nearest chair.
Next a pair of gloves from Joe; a pretty, warm hood from Mrs. Howard, the clergyman's wife; a bowl of elegant cranberry sauce from another neighbor; a crocheted collar from Florence, and then with a big tug—
"Oh!" exclaimed Granny, "is it a comfortable, or what?"
A good thick plaid shawl. Just bright enough to behandsome and not too gay, and as soft as the back of a lamb.
"Where did it come from?"
Granny's voice trembled in her excitement.
"From all of us," said Florence. "I mean, Joe and Hal and me. We've been saving our money this ever so long, and Mrs. Kinsey bought it for us. O Granny!"—
But Granny had her arms around them, and was crying over heads golden and brown and black; and Hal, little chicken-heart, was sobbing and smiling together. Joe picked a big tear or two out of his eye, and began with some nonsense.
"And to keep it a secret all this time! and to make this great shoe! There never was such a Christmas before. Oh, children, I'm happier than a queen!"
"What makes you cry then, Granny?" asked Charlie. "But oh! wasn't it funny? And if it only had runners it would make a sleigh. Look at the red toe."
They kissed dozens of times, and inspected each other's gifts. Florence had made each of the boys two dainty little neckties, having begged the silk from Miss Brown. Charlie and Kit had a pair of new mittens, Joe and Hal a new shirt with a real plaited bosom, and a host of small articles devised by love, with a scarce purse. But I doubt if there was a happier household in richer homes.
It was a long while before they had tried every thing,