WHAT COUNTS.A MONOLOGUE.Betty Hollowayis a girl ten years old, and her mother is a widow with a large family whom she supports by making buttonholes. They are very poor, and Christmas is coming.
A MONOLOGUE.
Betty Hollowayis a girl ten years old, and her mother is a widow with a large family whom she supports by making buttonholes. They are very poor, and Christmas is coming.
Betty(speaks).
Yes, Christmis is a-comin’, and I feel worser and worser the more it keeps a-comin’.
Ma an’ me we had all sorts of fun planned out, ’coz I’ve been helpin’ much as I could, and we’ve been savin’ up for Christmis.
Then what did Buddy do but go an’ break his arm, and that cost lots. (Sighing.) Yes—I know—the doctor didn’t charge nuthin’, but the drug store man did, ’coz Buddy had fever and had to have medicine to stop it.
And Benny (that’s Buddy’s twin), he wasn’t goin’ to be left behind, so he broke a winder playin’ ball, and ma paid for it. And it was hard work to keep ’em from fightin’; ’coz Bud he said a broke arm was worst, and Ben he would have it a broke winder was worst—cost as much, anyhow.
(Suddenly.) Betty Holloway! What you whinin’ about? Cryin’ ’fore you’re hurt, are you? (Scornfully.) Didn’t know you wasthatkind. What did ma tell you the other day?
“’Taint what comes to us, Betty,” she said, “It’s how we take it when it comes that counts,” she said. “We can’t sit down and cry, not one of us; we’ve allgotto count for something. All of us.” My! When ma talks like that, with her eyes shinin’ and her lips smiley, it makes me think of the band goin’ by; you can’t help marchin’ in time and walkin’ straight, and you feel like you could tackle anything.
Well, sir, I’m goin’ to tackle Christmis, and I’llmake itcount, now you see. With all these children on our hands ma ’n’ me has to hustle, but we’ll never let Christmis go and nothin’ doin’.
Now, le’s see. “When you ain’t got money you got to make your know-how and your hands do instead,” ma says. That’s truethistime if it never was before. (Looks at her hands.) Ten fingers—and that’s all. (Shakes head doubtfully, then cheerily says:) Ho, you Betty! Where’s your know-how? Stir that up a bit and get to work. Well—first of all there’s the twins. They’re always playin’ store. I’ll make ’em a store. I’ve got a box the grocer gave me yesterday, and that shall have shelves in it, and a counter; and I know where to get some little bottles, and I’ve got two cardboard boxes, big ones, and I’ll make no end of things out of ’em—little boxes and scales, and sugar-scoop—’n’ lots of things. Sand shall be sugar, and plenty of things will do for spice and coffee, and such. Oh, you’ll see! It’ll be a nilligant store. I don’t b’lieve that one in the toy store is much nicer. And I can make paper bags, and—oh, what fun! Andwon’tthey be tickled!
Then, besides the store I’ll make ’em some paper soldier caps. Ma gave me some be-u-tiful paper last week; it came around a bundle of work. And some badges—I’ve got some silver paper that come ’round some chocolate once—I found it; it’ll make beauty badges. Oh, I tell you! They’ll be so fine they can hardly step. Stripes down their trousers, too. Why, I couldn’t get ’em anything that would tickle ’em more if I had a whole bag of money. And this won’t cost a cent.
Then there’s Jennie and Bess. They’re not twins, but they might just as well be. They’re just of a size, if one is older ’n the other, and they look just alike, and they want to do the same things.
’Course it’s dolls for them. I had meant to get ’em some of those dear little ones with real hair and armsand legs that move. Oh, dear! (Sighs. Then, straightening up.) Keep your whinin’ in your pocket, Betty. I’ve told you that before. I’m makin’ this Christmiscountfor a good time, and whinin’ isn’t part of a good time; so keep it still, I say.
Well—about the dolls—let’s see. Oh,Iknow. I’ll make ’em a playhouse. I’ve got lots and lots of cardboard spool boxes, and you’d be s’prised to see what dandy things they make; beds, and chairs, and sofys—why, I can make everything a doll house could want. Dolls will have to be rag ones of course, which isn’t so very stylish; but then! The house will be so fine they’ll hardly notice the dolls, I guess. So that settles it for the girls.
Then there’s the baby. He’s most three and such a dear! But sakes alive! He’s easy. Why, a little box with a string to it makes a fine wagon. And I can make him a nilligant ball out o’ bright pieces. And I’ll ask Mr. Sweeny if I may go into his planing mill and pick up some little blocks; there’s all sorts of cute-shaped ones there. Oh, baby’ll be happy.
Now, I haven’t got a tree, and I can’t get one—there’s no use talking about it—but I can get a couple or so of barrel hoops and trim ’em up with paper fringe and things, and tie the little things to ’em. They’ll look real Christmis-y hung up on the wall, and the store and playhouse can be underneath. And I’ve got a red bell I saved from last year. I can make it real pretty! And as to candy and such, the youngsters may get some at the Sunday School, and I’ll coax ’em to let me save it for ’em, and I’ll trim things up with it.
And ma (stops and looks troubled). Mamusthave something, she’s so good. Why—sir! My mother is as brave as ever a soldier was! Talk about battles! If my mother doesn’t have as hard things to do as if it was battles I would just like to know. She deserves Christmis more ’n any of ’em. But, oh, dear!What?Well, I know how to make a dear little paper-fold tray forpins, and I’ll make a big bunch of twisted tapers; they’re awful handy, and they save matches, you know. And—le’s see. Yes, I’ll make a whole bunch of paper flowers. Hooray! That’s a great idea. They won’t fade, and they’ll stay pretty better ’n the real ones. Oh, goody, goody! Won’t we have a lovely Christmis?
Mother’s right. She always is. “’Taint what comes to us, it’s how we take it that counts.”
I thought at first we couldn’t have any Christmis, and here we’re going to have a perfectly lovely one.
Me? Presents forme? Oh,Idon’t need presents. I’m going to have all the fun of makin’ ’em and some more fun seein’ the others have ’em. And when my mother looks at me with that shine in her eyes and says, “Betty, you’re my comfort,” the way she does, do you s’pose there’s any gift in the whole world could make me feel so glad?
Oh, Christmis is great, all right, but a mother likemymother—whatcounts—beats all your Christmises holler. Merry Christmis!