have heard from every one of this large family—”
TALE OF THE INTERROGATION POINT
“No, you haven’t! No, you haven’t!” cried a sprightly voice, and there
appeared the queerest figure imaginable, coming apparently up from the
floor like a Jack in the box.
He seemed to be a combination of every one of them, and before he had
even spoken he seemed to be asking a question.
“Look at me. Guess who I am.”
“An Interrogation Point,” announced the Vinegar Doll.
“Yes, but an Interrogation Point asks a question. Who can answer it?”
The dolls leaned forward curiously examining this figure.
His head seemed made of suet, and he wore a hat adorned with tiny beef
croquettes about the edge of the brim. Sprays of raisins and currants
wandered over the crown, and about his neck was a necklace of allspice
with dangles of cloves, cinnamon and nutmegs.
Pepper and salt sprinkled his clothing, which seemed made from orange
and lemon peel. About his waist was a queer girdle from which wee sugar
bowls, molasses jugs and vinegar cruets jingled together, while he
tossed gay coloured apples into the air, caught them skilfully and then
disposed of them in various pockets.
With a gay nod he cried, “Can no one answer the question? Let me tell
you a little about myself, and then perhaps you can.
“You have all told how necessary you are. Let me tell you there would
never have been a mince pie without me, nor anything else worth while.
“Let me ask of you growing things, how did you happen to grow? How did
any of you happen to be? Some one had to plant the seeds. Some one had
to take care of the trees, vines and shrubs after they started to grow.
“Where there was no rain, water had to be carried. The trees and vines
had to be tended, trimmed, and cultivated. When the fruit was finally
ready, it had to be packed and shipped all over the world.
“Even after it found its way into that kitchen, what happened?
Everybody was—what—what was everybody doing? Now do tell me what this
interrogation point stands for? Think!” he pleaded.
Everybody thought. They screwed up their faces and thought some more.
They took one foot out from under them and thought. They put the other
foot under them and thought again.
What was everybody doing to get the pie ready—chopping, grinding,
baking.
Suddenly everybody beamed and chorused: “Working! Everybody was
working! You are called Work!”
“To be sure I am, and a lot of work it took to make this pie. All over
the world many, many people had many busy days.
“Can’t you just see them picking the raisins; sugaring the citron;
grinding spice; cutting the wheat; packing the oranges; taking care of
the cow; gathering the apples, and crushing them in the mill for cider?
“Oh, my dears, there is always work. Johnny Appleseed did an endless
amount of work, and see what came from it.
“The one who packed that box of tea and happened to drop a grain of
wheat therein, did a wonderful thing. That tiny grain brought us a kind
of wheat we might never have had. Can’t you just see them planting that
tiny seed? They watched it grow, tending the little sprout till it
finally came to maturity, and more grains were planted. At last there
was a wonderful crop of wheat, all due to your humble servant Work.”
[Illustration: “Best pie you ever made, my dear”]
With a sunny nod he vanished, and they looked and listened, but not
even a clank of his girdle charms did they hear.
“Well! Well!” cried Cinnamon. “Wasn’t he fine? Who would ever have
thought of him as belonging to mince pie. I fear we were all forgetting
that most important point, and glad I am he remembered to appear. And
now, my dears, the dawn is breaking, we must return.”
“But the mouse!” cried timid Allspice. “What about the mouse?”
“Oh, yes, the mouse!” chorused the audience breathlessly. “What about
the mouse?”
Cinnamon Stick said no word, but pointed a long thin finger toward the
clock.
The clock struck one (which was really half-past five), the mouse ran
down, and the chain clinkety clanked as he hopped to the floor and ran
away to his hole, and was seen no more.
His disappearance seemed a signal, and at once was heard a joyful
chorus. As the dolls sang they formed a procession, and two by two
marched back to the clock and wound their way about the spiral columns.
The Pie Crust was at the head and settled down in the pan, its cover
upheld as by an invisible hand. The dolls jumped into their places,
the cover was slowly dropping, when suddenly up popped the head of the
Vinegar Cruet.
“The Gifts!” he cried. “You forgot the Gifts!”
At that up popped every other head, crying in chorus:
“The Gifts! The Gifts! You forgot the Gifts!”
“No, I didn’t forget. They are on the way.”
As Mother and Jack watched, suddenly a red-coated, white, fur-trimmed
figure appeared. On his back was a basket piled high with candy. He
made his way to the clock, and as he stood over the pie he cried in the
jolliest of tones:
“Open your mouths and shut your eyes, and I’ll give you something to
make you wise.”
Open popped the dolls’ mouths, looking like a lot of birds, each
waiting for a worm, and all were filled to the brim with sweets.
They then nestled down close together. The top crust settled in place.
The flames flickered and died out; then all was still.
The next day was crisp and bright. Father came, and a joyous time they
all had over their gifts.
The turkey dinner was delicious, and presently the mince pie appeared
in all its glory.
Such a beautiful mince pie as it was!
Jack watched Mother cut it, and listened breathlessly for the “Ha!
Ha! Ha’s,” and the “Ho! Ho! Ho’s,” but not a sound did he hear, till
presently at the first mouthful Father cried:
“Best pie you ever made, my dear. For once you have it sweet enough!”
Jack and his mother merely nodded and smiled, but not a word said they!
THE END