Christmas gold, p.884
Christmas Gold, page 884
Amy was silent from sheer amazement. Edith understood better, and she changed the subject.
“Have you any brothers or sisters, Bertie?”
“No’m,” returned Bertie cheerfully. “I guess there’s enough of us without that. I must be going now. I’m very much obliged to you.”
Edith slipped from the room as he spoke, and met him again at the door. She held out a pair of warm-looking mittens.
“These are for William John,” she said simply, “so that you can have your own. They are a pair of mine which are too big for me. I know Papa will say it is all right. Goodbye, Bertie.”
“Goodbye — and thank you,” stammered Bertie, as the door closed. Then he hastened home to William John.
That evening Doctor Forbes noticed a peculiarly thoughtful look on Edith’s face as she sat gazing into the glowing coal fire after dinner. He laid his hand on her dark curls inquiringly.
“What are you musing over?”
“There was a little boy here today,” began Edith.
“Oh, such a dear little boy,” broke in Amy eagerly from the corner, where she was playing with her kitten. “His name was Bertie Ross. He brought up the parcels, and we asked him in to get warm. He had no mittens, and his hands were almost frozen. And, oh, Papa, just think! — he said he never had any Christmas or New Year at all.”
“Poor little fellow!” said the doctor. “I’ve heard of him; a pretty hard time he has of it, I think.”
“He was so pretty, Papa. And Edie gave him her blue mittens for William John.”
“The plot deepens. Who is William John?”
“Oh, a cousin or something, didn’t he say Edie? Anyway, he is sick, and he wanted to go coasting, and Bertie gave him his mittens. And I suppose he never had any Christmas either.”
“There are plenty who haven’t,” said the doctor, taking up his paper with a sigh. “Well, girlies, you seem interested in this little fellow so, if you like, you may invite him and his cousin to take dinner with you on New Year’s night.”
“Oh, Papa!” said Edith, her eyes shining like stars.
The doctor laughed. “Write him a nice little note of invitation — you are the lady of the house, you know — and I’ll see that he gets it tomorrow.”
And this was how it came to pass that Bertie received the next day his first invitation to dine out. He read the little note through three times in order fully to take in its contents, and then went around the rest of the day in deep abstraction as though he was trying to decide some very important question. It was with the same expression that he opened the door at home in the evening. His aunt was stirring some oatmeal mush on the stove.
“Is that you, Bert?” She spoke sharply. She always spoke sharply, even when not intending it; it had grown to be a habit.
“Yes’m,” said Bertie meekly, as he hung up his cap.
“I s’pose you’ve only got one day more at the store,” said Mrs. Ross. “Sampson didn’t say anything about keeping you longer, did he?”
“No. He said he couldn’t — I asked him.”
“Well, I didn’t expect he would. You’ll have a holiday on New Year’s anyhow; whether you’ll have anything to eat or not is a different question.”
“I’ve an invitation to dinner,” said Bertie timidly, “me and William John. It’s from Doctor Forbes’s little girls — the ones that gave me the mittens.”
He handed her the little note, and Mrs. Ross stooped down and read it by the fitful gleam of light which came from the cracked stove.
“Well, you can please yourself,” she said as she handed it back, “but William John couldn’t go if he had ten invitations. He caught cold coasting yesterday. I told him he would, but he was bound to go, and now he’s laid up for a week. Listen to him barking in the bedroom there.”
“Well, then, I won’t go either,” said Bertie with a sigh, it might be of relief, or it might be of disappointment. “I wouldn’t go there all alone.”
“You’re a goose!” said his aunt. “They wouldn’t eat you. But as I said, please yourself. Anyhow, hold your tongue about it to William John, or you’ll have him crying and bawling to go too.”
The caution came too late. William John had already heard it, and when his mother went in to rub his chest with liniment, she found him with the ragged quilt over his head crying.
“Come, William John, I want to rub you.”
“I don’t want to be rubbed — g’way,” sobbed William John. “I heard you out there — you needn’t think I didn’t. Bertie’s going to Doctor Forbes’s to dinner and I can’t go.”
“Well, you’ve only yourself to thank for it,” returned his mother. “If you hadn’t persisted in going out coasting yesterday when I wanted you to stay in, you’d have been able to go to Doctor Forbes’s. Little boys who won’t do as they’re told always get into trouble. Stop crying, now. I dare say if Bertie goes they’ll send you some candy, or something.”
But William John refused to be comforted. He cried himself to sleep that night, and when Bertie went in to see him next morning, he found him sitting up in bed with his eyes red and swollen and the faded quilt drawn up around his pinched face.
“Well, William John, how are you?”
“I ain’t any better,” replied William John mournfully. “I s’pose you’ll have a great time tomorrow night, Bertie?”
“Oh, I’m not going since you can’t,” said Bertie cheerily. He thought this would comfort William John, but it had exactly the opposite effect. William John had cried until he could cry no more, but he turned around and sobbed.
“There now!” he said in tearless despair. “That’s just what I expected. I did s’pose if I couldn’t go you would, and tell me about it. You’re mean as mean can be.”
“Come now, William John, don’t be so cross. I thought you’d rather have me home, but I’ll go, if you want me to.”
“Honest, now?”
“Yes, honest. I’ll go anywhere to please you. I must be off to the store now. Goodbye.”
Thus committed, Bertie took his courage in both hands and went. The next evening at dusk found him standing at Doctor Forbes’s door with a very violently beating heart. He was carefully dressed in his well-worn best suit and a neat white collar. The frosty air had crimsoned his cheeks and his hair was curling round his face.
Caroline opened the door and showed him into the parlour, where Edith and Amy were eagerly awaiting him.
“Happy New Year, Bertie,” cried Amy. “And — but, why, where is William John?”
“He couldn’t come,” answered Bertie anxiously — he was afraid he might not be welcome without William John. “He’s real sick. He caught cold and has to stay in bed; but he wanted to come awful bad.”
“Oh, dear me! Poor William John!” said Amy in a disappointed tone. But all further remarks were cut short by the entrance of Doctor Forbes.
“How do you do?” he said, giving Bertie’s hand a hearty shake. “But where is the other little fellow my girls were expecting?”
Bertie patiently reaccounted for William John’s nonappearance.
“It’s a bad time for colds,” said the doctor, sitting down and attacking the fire. “I dare say, though, you have to run so fast these days that a cold couldn’t catch you. I suppose you’ll soon be leaving Sampson’s. He told me he didn’t need you after the holiday season was over. What are you going at next? Have you anything in view?”
Bertie shook his head sorrowfully.
“No, sir; but,” he added more cheerfully, “I guess I’ll find something if I hunt around lively. I almost always do.”
He forgot his shyness; his face flushed hopefully, and he looked straight at the doctor with his bright, earnest eyes. The doctor poked the fire energetically and looked very wise. But just then the girls came up and carried Bertie off to display their holiday gifts. And there was a fur cap and a pair of mittens for him! He wondered whether he was dreaming.
“And here’s a picture-book for William John,” said Amy, “and there is a sled out in the kitchen for him. Oh, there’s the dinner-bell. I’m awfully hungry. Papa says that is my ‘normal condition,’ but I don’t know what that means.”
As for that dinner — Bertie might sometimes have seen such a repast in delightful dreams, but certainly never out of them. It was a feast to be dated from.
When the plum pudding came on, the doctor, who had been notably silent, leaned back in his chair, placed his fingertips together, and looked critically at Bertie.
“So Mr. Sampson can’t keep you?”
Bertie’s face sobered at once. He had almost forgotten his responsibilities.
“No, sir. He says I’m too small for the heavy work.”
“Well, you are rather small — but no doubt you will grow. Boys have a queer habit of doing that. I think you know how to make yourself useful. I need a boy here to run errands and look after my horse. If you like, I’ll try you. You can live here, and go to school. I sometimes hear of places for boys in my rounds, and the first good one that will suit you, I’ll bespeak for you. How will that do?”
“Oh, sir, you are too good,” said Bertie with a choke in his voice.
“Well, that is settled,” said the doctor genially. “Come on Monday then. And perhaps we can do something for that other little chap, William, or John, or whatever his name is. Will you have some more pudding, Bertie?”
“No, thank you,” said Bertie. Pudding, indeed! He could not have eaten another mouthful after such wonderful and unexpected good fortune.
After dinner they played games, and cracked nuts, and roasted apples, until the clock struck nine; then Bertie got up to go.
“Off, are you?” said the doctor, looking up from his paper. “Well, I’ll expect you on Monday, remember.”
“Yes, sir,” said Bertie happily. He was not likely to forget.
As he went out Amy came through the hall with a red sled.
“Here is William John’s present. I’ve tied all the other things on so that they can’t fall off.”
Edith was at the door-with a parcel. “Here are some nuts and candies for William John,” she said. “And tell him we all wish him a ‘Happy New Year.’”
“Thank you,” said Bertie. “I’ve had a splendid time. I’ll tell William John. Goodnight.”
He stepped out. It was frostier than ever. The snow crackled and snapped, the stars were keen and bright, but to Bertie, running down the street with William John’s sled thumping merrily behind him, the world was aglow with rosy hope and promise. He was quite sure he could never forget this wonderful New Year.
Ida’s New Year Cake
Table of Contents
Mary Craig and Sara Reid and Josie Pye had all flocked into Ida Mitchell’s room at their boardinghouse to condole with each other because none of them was able to go home for New Year’s. Mary and Josie had been home for Christmas, so they didn’t really feel so badly off. But Ida and Sara hadn’t even that consolation.
Ida was a third-year student at the Clifton Academy; she had holidays, and nowhere, so she mournfully affirmed, to spend them. At home three brothers and a sister were down with the measles, and, as Ida had never had them, she could not go there; and the news had come too late for her to make any other arrangements.
Mary and Josie were clerks in a Clifton bookstore, and Sara was stenographer in a Clifton lawyer’s office. And they were all jolly and thoughtless and very fond of one another.
“This will be the first New Year’s I have ever spent away from home,” sighed Sara, nibbling chocolate fudge. “It does make me so blue to think of it. And not even a holiday — I’ll have to go to work just the same. Now Ida here, she doesn’t really need sympathy. She has holidays — a whole fortnight — and nothing to do but enjoy them.”
“Holidays are dismal things when you’ve nowhere to holiday,” said Ida mournfully. “The time drags horribly. But never mind, girls, I’ve a plummy bit of news for you. I’d a letter from Mother today and, bless the dear woman, she is sending me a cake — a New Year’s cake — a great big, spicy, mellow, delicious fruit cake. It will be along tomorrow and, girls, we’ll celebrate when it comes. I’ve asked everybody in the house up to my room for New Year’s Eve, and we’ll have a royal good time.”
“How splendid!” said Mary. “There’s nothing I like more than a slice of real countrified homemade fruit cake, where they don’t scrimp on eggs or butter or raisins. You’ll give me a good big piece, won’t you, Ida?”
“As much as you can eat,” promised Ida. “I can warrant Mother’s fruit cake. Yes, we’ll have a jamboree. Miss Monroe has promised to come in too. She says she has a weakness for fruit cake.”
“Oh!” breathed all the girls. Miss Monroe was their idol, whom they had to be content to worship at a distance as a general thing. She was a clever journalist, who worked on a paper, and was reputed to be writing a book. The girls felt they were highly privileged to be boarding in the same house, and counted that day lost on which they did not receive a businesslike nod or an absentminded smile from Miss Monroe. If she ever had time to speak to one of them about the weather, that fortunate one put on airs for a week. And now to think that she had actually promised to drop into Ida’s room on New Year’s Eve and eat fruit cake!
“There goes that funny little namesake of yours, Ida,” said Josie, who was sitting by the window. “She seems to be staying in town over the holidays too. Wonder why. Perhaps she doesn’t belong anywhere. She really is a most forlorn-appearing little mortal.”
There were two Ida Mitchells attending the Clifton Academy. The other Ida was a plain, quiet, pale-faced little girl of fifteen who was in the second year. Beyond that, none of the third-year Ida Mitchell’s set knew anything about her, or tried to find out.
“She must be very poor,” said Ida carelessly. “She dresses so shabbily, and she always looks so pinched and subdued. She boards in a little house out on Marlboro Road, and I pity her if she has to spend her holidays there, for a more dismal place I never saw. I was there once on the trail of a book I had lost. Going, girls? Well, don’t forget tomorrow night.”
Ida spent the next day decorating her room and watching for the arrival of her cake. It hadn’t come by teatime, and she concluded to go down to the express office and investigate. It would be dreadful if that cake didn’t turn up in time, with all the girls and Miss Monroe coming in. Ida felt that she would be mortified to death.
Inquiry at the express office discovered two things. A box had come in for Miss Ida Mitchell, Clifton; and said box had been delivered to Miss Ida Mitchell, Clifton.
“One of our clerks said he knew you personally — boarded next door to you — and he’d take it round himself,” the manager informed her.
“There must be some mistake,” said Ida in perplexity. “I don’t know any of the clerks here. Oh — why — there’s another Ida Mitchell in town! Can it be possible my cake has gone to her?”
The manager thought it very possible, and offered to send around and see. But Ida said it was on her way home and she would call herself.
At the dismal little house on Marlboro Road she was sent up three flights of stairs to the other Ida Mitchell’s small hall bedroom. The other Ida Mitchell opened the door for her. Behind her, on the table, was the cake — such a fine, big, brown cake, with raisins sticking out all over it!
“Why, how do you do, Miss Mitchell!” exclaimed the other Ida with shy pleasure. “Come in. I didn’t know you were in town. It’s real good of you to come and see me. And just see what I’ve had sent to me! Isn’t it a beauty? I was so surprised when it came — and, oh, so glad! I was feeling so blue and lonesome — as if I hadn’t a friend in the world. I — I — yes, I was crying when that cake came. It has just made the world over for me. Do sit down and I’ll cut you a piece. I’m sure you’re as fond of fruit cake as I am.”
Ida sat down in a chair, feeling bewildered and awkward. This was a nice predicament! How could she tell that other Ida that the cake didn’t belong to her? The poor thing was so delighted. And, oh, what a bare, lonely little room! The big, luxurious cake seemed to emphasize the bareness and loneliness.
“Who — who sent it to you?” she asked lamely.
“It must have been Mrs. Henderson, because there is nobody else who would,” answered the other Ida. “Two years ago I was going to school in Trenton and I boarded with her. When I left her to come to Clifton she told me she would send me a cake for Christmas. Well, I expected that cake last year — and it didn’t come. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was. You’ll think me very childish. But I was so lonely, with no home to go to like the other girls. But she sent it this year, you see. It is so nice to think that somebody has remembered me at New Year’s. It isn’t the cake itself — it’s the thought behind it. It has just made all the difference in the world. There — just sample it, Miss Mitchell.”
The other Ida cut a generous slice from the cake and passed it to her guest. Her eyes were shining and her cheeks were flushed. She was really a very sweet-looking little thing — not a bit like her usual pale, timid self.
Ida ate the cake slowly. What was she to do? She couldn’t tell the other Ida the truth about the cake. But the girls she had asked in to help eat it that very evening! And Miss Monroe! Oh, dear, it was too bad. But it couldn’t be helped. She wouldn’t blot out that light on the other Ida’s face for anything! Of course, she would find out the truth in time — probably after she had written to thank Mrs. Henderson for the cake; but meanwhile she would have enjoyed the cake, and the supposed kindness back of it would tide her over her New Year loneliness.
“It’s delicious,” said Ida heartily, swallowing her own disappointment with the cake. “I’m — I’m glad I happened to drop in as I was passing.” Ida hoped that speech didn’t come under the head of a fib.
“So am I,” said the other Ida brightly. “Oh, I’ve been so lonesome and downhearted this week. I’m so alone, you see — there isn’t anybody to care. Father died three years ago, and I don’t remember my mother at all. There is nobody but myself, and it is dreadfully lonely at times. When the Academy is open and I have my lessons to study, I don’t mind so much. But the holidays take all the courage out of me.”
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