Cousin Myra had come to spend Christmas at "The Firs," and all the
junior Osbornes were ready to stand on their heads with delight.
Darby--whose real name was Charles--did it, because he was only eight,
and at eight you have no dignity to keep up. The others, being older,
couldn't.
But the fact of Christmas itself awoke no great enthusiasm in the
hearts of the junior Osbornes. Frank voiced their opinion of it the
day after Cousin Myra had arrived. He was sitting on the table with
his hands in his pockets and a cynical sneer on his face. At least,
Frank flattered himself that it was cynical. He knew that Uncle Edgar
was said to wear a cynical sneer, and Frank admired Uncle Edgar very
much and imitated him in every possible way. But to you and me it
would have looked just as it did to Cousin Myra--a very discontented
and unbecoming scowl.
"I'm awfully glad to see you, Cousin Myra," explained Frank carefully,
"and your being here may make some things worth while. But Christmas
is just a bore--a regular bore."
That was what Uncle Edgar called things that didn't interest him, so
that Frank felt pretty sure of his word. Nevertheless, he wondered
uncomfortably what made Cousin Myra smile so queerly.
"Why, how dreadful!" she said brightly. "I thought all boys and girls
looked upon Christmas as the very best time in the year."
"We don't," said Frank gloomily. "It's just the same old thing year in
and year out. We know just exactly what is going to happen. We even
know pretty well what presents we are going to get. And Christmas Day
itself is always the same. We'll get up in the morning, and our
stockings will be full of things, and half of them we don't want. Then
there's dinner. It's always so poky. And all the uncles and aunts come
to dinner--just the same old crowd, every year, and they say just the
same things. Aunt Desda always says, 'Why, Frankie, how you have
grown!' She knows I hate to be called Frankie. And after dinner
they'll sit round and talk the rest of the day, and that's all. Yes, I
call Christmas a nuisance."
"There isn't a single bit of fun in it," said Ida discontentedly.
"Not a bit!" said the twins, both together, as they always said
things.
"There's lots of candy," said Darby stoutly. He rather liked
Christmas, although he was ashamed to say so before Frank.
Cousin Myra smothered another of those queer smiles.
"You've had too much Christmas, you Osbornes," she said seriously. "It
has palled on your taste, as all good things will if you overdo them.
Did you ever try giving Christmas to somebody else?"
The Osbornes looked at Cousin Myra doubtfully. They didn't understand.
"We always send presents to all our cousins," said Frank hesitatingly.
"That's a bore, too. They've all got so many things already it's no
end of bother to think of something new."
"That isn't what I mean," said Cousin Myra. "How much Christmas do you
suppose those little Rolands down there in the hollow have? Or Sammy
Abbott with his lame back? Or French Joe's family over the hill? If
you have too much Christmas, why don't you give some to them?"
The Osbornes looked at each other. This was a new idea.
"How could we do it?" asked Ida.
Whereupon they had a consultation. Cousin Myra explained her plan, and
the Osbornes grew enthusiastic over it. Even Frank forgot that he was
supposed to be wearing a cynical sneer.
"I move we do it, Osbornes," said he.
"If Father and Mother are willing," said Ida.
"Won't it be jolly!" exclaimed the twins.
"Well, rather," said Darby scornfully. He did not mean to be scornful.
He had heard Frank saying the same words in the same tone, and thought
it signified approval.
Cousin Myra had a talk with Father and Mother Osborne that night, and
found them heartily in sympathy with her plans.
For the next week the Osbornes were agog with excitement and interest.
At first Cousin Myra made the suggestions, but their enthusiasm soon
outstripped her, and they thought out things for themselves. Never did
a week pass so quickly. And the Osbornes had never had such fun,
either.
Christmas morning there was not a single present given or received at
"The Firs" except those which Cousin Myra and Mr. and Mrs. Osborne
gave to each other. The junior Osbornes had asked that the money which
their parents had planned to spend in presents for them be given to
them the previous week; and given it was, without a word.
The uncles and aunts arrived in due time, but not with them was the
junior Osbornes' concern. They were the guests of Mr. and Mrs.
Osborne. The junior Osbornes were having a Christmas dinner party of
their own. In the small dining room a table was spread and loaded with
good things. Ida and the twins cooked that dinner all by themselves.
To be sure, Cousin Myra had helped some, and Frank and Darby had
stoned all the raisins and helped pull the home-made candy; and all
together they had decorated the small dining room royally with
Christmas greens.
Then their guests came. First, all the little Rolands from the Hollow
arrived--seven in all, with very red, shining faces and not a word to
say for themselves, so shy were they. Then came a troop from French
Joe's--four black-eyed lads, who never knew what shyness meant. Frank
drove down to the village in the cutter and brought lame Sammy back
with him, and soon after the last guest arrived--little Tillie Mather,
who was Miss Rankin's "orphan 'sylum girl" from over the road.
Everybody knew that Miss Rankin never kept Christmas. She did not
believe in it, she said, but she did not prevent Tillie from going to
the Osbornes' dinner party.
Just at first the guests were a little stiff and unsocial; but they
soon got acquainted, and so jolly was Cousin Myra--who had her dinner
with the children in preference to the grown-ups--and so friendly the
junior Osbornes, that all stiffness vanished. What a merry dinner it
was! What peals of laughter went up, reaching to the big dining room
across the hall, where the grown-ups sat in rather solemn state. And
how those guests did eat and frankly enjoy the good things before
them! How nicely they all behaved, even to the French Joes! Myra had
secretly been a little dubious about those four mischievous-looking
lads, but their manners were quite flawless. Mrs. French Joe had been
drilling them for three days--ever since they had been invited to "de
Chrismus dinner at de beeg house."
After the merry dinner was over, the junior Osbornes brought in a
Christmas tree, loaded with presents. They had bought them with the
money that Mr. and Mrs. Osborne had meant for their own presents, and
a splendid assortment they were. All the French-Joe boys got a pair of
skates apiece, and Sammy a set of beautiful books, and Tillie was made
supremely happy with a big wax doll. Every little Roland got just what
his or her small heart had been longing for. Besides, there were nuts
and candies galore.
Then Frank hitched up his pony again, but this time into a great pung
sleigh, and the junior Osbornes took their guests for a sleigh-drive,
chaperoned by Cousin Myra. It was just dusk when they got back,
having driven the Rolands and the French Joes and Sammy and Tillie to
their respective homes.
"This has been the jolliest Christmas I ever spent," said Frank,
emphatically.
"I thought we were just going to give the others a good time, but it
was they who gave it to us," said Ida.
"Weren't the French Joes jolly?" giggled the twins. "Such cute
speeches as they would make!"
"Me and Teddy Roland are going to be chums after this," announced
Darby. "He's an inch taller than me, but I'm wider."
That night Frank and Ida and Cousin Myra had a little talk after the
smaller Osbornes had been haled off to bed.
"We're not going to stop with Christmas, Cousin Myra," said Frank, at
the end of it. "We're just going to keep on through the year. We've
never had such a delightful old Christmas before."
"You've learned the secret of happiness," said Cousin Myra gently.
And the Osbornes understood what she meant.