One afternoon the two were cosily occupying one big chair, in the
absence of Mrs. Temple, who was glad to leave her treasure so well
satisfied to stay at home, while she attended to some Christmas
shopping.
"Let's talk about Christmas," said Elinor, cuddling down by the side of
the doctor, after watching her mother out of sight.
"Isn't there a Santa Claus?" she asked.
"So I have always been told."
"There, I said so; Bill says there isn't."
"And who is Bill?"
"Oh, a friend of mine," returned Elinor, jauntily.
"I should like to know something about him."
"Oh, he's just a boy with----" she clapped her hands over her mouth,
and looked, with eyes full of laughter, at the doctor.
"What?"
"Oh, doctor, it isn't nice to make remarks about the dress of your
friends," returned the little monkey, drawing down her mouth demurely,
and looking up mischievously from under her long lashes.
"Then suppose we don't mention his dress. Tell me something else about
him."
"He has a very dirty face," said Elinor, with a little chuckle.
"He has? That is unfortunate. Why doesn't he wash it?"
"I reckon 'cause he hasn't any soap or towels."
"But he can get water easily."
"Yes; but, doctor, don't you know how horrid it is to have your face
washed, and to stand with it all dripping, 'specially in cold weather?
and if you had no towel, you know, you wouldn't want to wash your face,
either."
"Perhaps not. Well, Bill is a boy with a dirty face. Is that all? Has
he nothing else to boast of?"
"Yes; he has a sister named Gerty. I s'pose she has a dirty face, too.
I never saw her, 'cause she's got the rickets, and her grandfather has
had yaller janders; but they is about gone. I think they must be rather
pretty, don't you?"
"What?"
"Why, the yaller janders. It sounds like some sort of a flower, I
always fink of--what are the yellow fings that come in the spring--the
early ones?"
"Daffodils?"
Elinor shook her head. "Not zactly; mamma said they were about the
same."
"Oh, jonquils."
"Yes, that's it; are they anything alike?"
"Like what? Daffodils?"
"No; like yaller janders. Are yaller jonquils anything like them?"
"No. I can't say that they are."
"Have you any at your house?"
The doctor laughed--"Fortunately, no, I know of none nearer than a
hospital."
"Oh, do they grow in hospitals?"
"Sometimes."
"Will you take me there and show them to me?"
"I don't believe you would be particularly pleased to see anyone with
what Bill calls 'yaller janders.'"
"Why not?"
"Because it is not a very pleasant disease to gaze upon."
"Is it a sickness? Oh, I'm so disypointed. I fought they were flowers,
and I was so glad the old grandfather had them. That's a dreffel
disypointment," she added, after a moment's silence.
"But you have not told me about Bill," the doctor reminded her. "Where
did you meet him--at a party?"
"No-o," contemptuously. "I met him in the square. He sells vi'lets. I
reckon that's why I fought his grandfather had flowers--yaller jander
flowers.--Is bronicles flowers?"
"I never heard of them."
"Oh, dear, I s'pect that's another disease. You see it fooled me to
see Bill selling vi'lets. I kind of fought he had a big garden full,
or his grandfather had. He said his grandfather used to go out selling
flowers till sumfing got the matter with his bronicles, and they
couldn't stand the east wind."
The doctor laughed so heartily that Elinor looked quite aggrieved.
"I'll not tell you any more," she said, "if you make fun of me, and I
was going to tell you lots."
"Oh, please pardon my laughter. I'll try not to be so silly again. You
see, I sometimes laugh at nothing at all. It is a habit I have formed
from living alone."
Elinor looked at him very soberly. She wasn't quite sure whether this
was earnest or not, but his being alone seemed a sufficient excuse,
and, moreover, appealed to her sympathies, so she took hold of one of
her friend's big fingers, and held it confidingly.
"Tell me truly," she said, "do you believe in Santa Claus?"
"Most certainly. I think he is the greatest invention of any age."
"Oh, good! That sounds so certain sure. That's what Connie says. I
didn't make it up. I did make up sumfing once."
"You did? What was it?"
"A----I don't know what to call it. I'll tell you, and then you'll
know." She nestled her golden head against the doctor's shoulder, and
looked up in his face. "I was jumping in the cellar one day with Ida
Miller, and I made a tree-men-jus jump, and I said, 'Oh, Ida, I made a
jump right smite the javelin.' Don't you fink that's fine? I have said
it over lots of times, 'cause I like the way it sounds, somefing like
the Bible, you know."
"I think it is one of the most grandiloquent phrases I ever heard. You
do not know how I admire it."
"Do you, really?"
"Yes, really."
"Then, I'm glad I told you. Now, I'll tell you somefing else. It's a
secret, but Lily said I might tell you. She won't let me tell mamma.
It's about Bill. Do you want to hear it?"
"Very much."
"And you won't tell?"
"No."
"Cross your heart?"
"Yes; cross my heart."
"Then, it is this: Bill said he didn't believe there wa'n't no Santa
Claus. He said it just that way." She stopped and looked searchingly at
the doctor, but he was listening attentively.
She gave her little mirthful chuckle and went on. "Then I said, 'if
you write to him, and he brings you what you ask, I reckon you'll
believe in him,' and he said he'd be a blamed fool to do such a fing.
He said blamed fool----"
"All right, he said blamed fool."
Elinor buried her head in the doctor's sleeve and laughed silently.
Then she looked up with eyes still full of mirth. "That was so funny,"
she said.
"What was?"
"To hear you say blamed fool. Did you ever say it before?"
"Perhaps."
"Don't you like to say it? I do. I go off in the corner and say it to
Lily sometimes, just 'cause I like to hear myself. Do you do that?"
"Go off by myself and say it to Lily? I haven't any Lily."
"No, of course, but you might say it just the same to a chair--or--or
anyfing. Mamma says it's not nice for a lady to say it, and that's why
I'm doing it all I can now, 'cause I'll be a lady some day, and then I
can't. There are lots of fings that way. Anyhow, Bill said it, and I
told him he was an aggynorstic. That sounds like a dreadful word, but
it isn't, for I heard mamma call somebody that, and I asked her what it
meant, and she said it meant a person that doesn't believe. I fought
it would scare Bill, for I fink it has a scary sound, like the day of
wrath."
The doctor turned away his head, and, taking out his handkerchief,
buried his face in it, a violent fit of coughing seeming to overtake
him.
Elinor looked quite alarmed, but the doctor assured her it was only
a small matter, and though very red in the face, he resumed a grave
demeanor and asked Elinor to continue her tale.
[Illustration: "'_The Doctor turned away his head, and taking out his
handkerchief, buried his face in it_"--Page 46]
"Well," she went on, "'then Bill,' I said, 'you're an aggynorstic,'
and he stared at me so hard. 'I don't like aggynorstics,' I said, and
he said 'what'll I do about it?' And I said, 'you write to Santa Claus
just like'----Oh, my! I was just going to tell such a precious secret.
I won't, though----Anyhow, I made him promise he'd write to Santa Claus
if I'd buy vi'lets whenever I had any money in my bank. And he did
write, and now I reckon he'll find out. He's real e'cited over it."
"And where does he live?"
"Oh, back in a little street that runs skwy-eyed, Connie says, across
this. It's a horrid little street, and mamma won't let me go there, but
I know where it is."
"And where does Bill sell his violets?"
"In the square, by the fountain. He has beautiful red hair and the
loveliest freckles you ever saw. I wish I had freckles and red hair;
don't you?"
"I can't say that I do desire them greatly, and I'm sure I like you
much better as you are."
"Do you? Well, maybe you do, but I don't. Do you fink Santa Claus got
Bill's letter? I hope he did, for it seems dreadful for anyone to have
no Santa Claus and no Christmas; it makes me feel sorry inside, as if I
had eaten too many cakes. Do you fink he got it?"
"That depends upon where he mailed it."
"Why, in the post-office box, of course. The one on the corner, by the
square, that says U. S. mail on it. What makes them turn it hind part
before? Why don't they say mail us? It means the letters you put in,
of course. It's so the man with the funny little wagon will know."
The doctor frowned; then he laughed. It was such a funny translation of
the U. S. mail. But just such fantastic ideas he knew took possession
of the child. "That's all right," he said. "Uncle Sam does put things
wrong-end-foremost sometimes. You tell Bill that if he put his letter
in the box there's not the slightest doubt but that it will be
answered."
"I saw him put it in. He showed it to me, and I went with him to mail
it. He can write pretty well, for he went to school before that time;
about--about the bronicles, you know."
The doctor nodded understandingly.
"Do you believe Santa Claus will have enough turkeys to go around?
Mamma says, if he hasn't, I may send Bill and Gerty some of mine. I'm
going to try to eat a very little piece, but I like turkey, and I hope
Bill and Gerty will have a whole one to themselves, and I hope Gerty
will get a doll, and if she doesn't, I'll have to send her the one
Santa Claus brings me."
"Why would you have to?"
"Why, 'cause I wouldn't be such a piggy-wiggy as to keep two, and she
not have any. It wouldn't be nice of me, when I have Lily. Could you
have lots of fings when you knew somebody else didn't have any?"
This was a home thrust, made so truthfully and innocently that the
doctor wondered why all these years' Christmastide had not brought home
to him such a reproach. He had eaten, drunken, been comfortable and
care free, while just such opportunities had been waiting for him as
this year offered.
"Well," he said, as he took his departure, "it's all right about Santa
Claus, you tell Bill."
"And you won't tell anyone," whispered Elinor.
He assured her that the secret was safe, and went off with a very warm
feeling inside. There seemed to be an expansiveness of light in the
setting sun; a brightness about existence in general, which even cases
of "yaller janders" and weak "bronicles" could not overshadow.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]