"You might," I said, "apply for Mrs. Heney's place."
"Who is Mrs. Heney?" asked Mrs. Starkweather.
"You don't mean to say that you never heard of Mrs. Heney!" I exclaimed.
"Mrs. Heney, who is now Mrs. 'Penny' Daniels? You've missed one of our
greatest celebrities."
With that, of course, I had to tell them about Mrs. Heney, who has for
years performed a most important function in this community. Alone and
unaided she has been the poor whom we are supposed to have always with
us. If it had not been for the devoted faithfulness of Mrs. Heney at
Thanksgiving, Christmas and other times of the year, I suppose our
Woman's Aid Society and the King's Daughters would have perished
miserably of undistributed turkeys and tufted comforters. For years Mrs.
Heney filled the place most acceptably. Curbing the natural outpourings
of a rather jovial soul she could upon occasion look as deserving of
charity as any person that ever I met. But I pitied the little Heneys:
it always comes hard on the children. For weeks after every Thanksgiving
and Christmas they always wore a painfully stuffed and suffocated look.
I only came to appreciate fully what a self-sacrificing public servant
Mrs. Heney really was when I learned that she had taken the desperate
alternative of marrying "Penny" Daniels.
"So you think we might possibly aspire to the position?" laughed Mrs.
Starkweather.
Upon this I told them of the trouble in our household and asked them to
come down and help us enjoy Dr. McAlway and the goose.
When I left, after much more pleasant talk, they both came with me to
the door seeming greatly improved in spirits.
"You've given us something to live for, Mr. Grayson," said Mrs.
Starkweather.
So I walked homeward in the highest spirits, and an hour or more later
who should we see in the top of our upper field but Mr. Starkweather and
his wife floundering in the snow. They reached the lane literally
covered from top to toe with snow and both of them ruddy with the cold.
"We walked over," said Mrs. Starkweather breathlessly, "and I haven't
had so much fun in years."
Mr. Starkweather helped her over the fence. The Scotch Preacher stood
on the steps to receive them, and we all went in together.
I can't pretend to describe Harriet's dinner: the gorgeous brown goose,
and the apple sauce, and all the other things that best go with it, and
the pumpkin pie at the end--the finest, thickest, most delicious pumpkin
pie I ever ate in all my life. It melted in one's mouth and brought
visions of celestial bliss. And I wish I could have a picture of Harriet
presiding. I have never seen her happier, or more in her element. Every
time she brought in a new dish or took off a cover it was a sort of
miracle. And her coffee--but I must not and dare not elaborate.
And what great talk we had afterward!
I've known the Scotch Preacher for a long time, but I never saw him in
quite such a mood of hilarity. He and Mr. Starkweather told stories of
their boyhood--and we laughed, and laughed--Mrs. Starkweather the most
of all. Seeing her so often in her carriage, or in the dignity of her
home, I didn't think she had so much jollity in her. Finally she
discovered Harriet's cabinet organ, and nothing would do but she must
sing for us.
"None of the new-fangled ones, Clara," cried her husband: "some of the
old ones we used to know."
So she sat herself down at the organ and threw her head back and began
to sing:
"Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day----,"
Mr. Starkweather jumped up and ran over to the organ and joined in with
his deep voice. Harriet and I followed. The Scotch Preacher's wife
nodded in time with the music, and presently I saw the tears in her
eyes. As for Dr. McAlway, he sat on the edge of his chair with his hands
on his knees and wagged his shaggy head, and before we got through he,
too, joined in with his big sonorous voice:
"Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art----,"
Oh, I can't tell here--it grows late and there's work to-morrow--all the
things we did and said. They stayed until it was dark, and when Mrs.
Starkweather was ready to go, she took both of Harriet's hands in hers
and said with great earnestness:
"I haven't had such a good time at Christmas since I was a little girl.
I shall never forget it."
And the dear old Scotch Preacher, when Harriet and I had wrapped him up,
went out, saying:
"This has been a day of pleasant bread."
It has; it has. I shall not soon forget it. What a lot of kindness and
common human nature--childlike simplicity, if you will--there is in
people once you get them down together and persuade them that the things
they think serious are not serious at all.