KETTLE AND OTHER THINGS
Meanwhile, things had happened at Holly Lodge. The Colonel had taken
out his violin and played dreamily the old airs, von Weber's "Last
Waltz," "Love Not," and "Bygone Hours." At sixty-eight, one has many
Christmas days to look back upon. The faithful heart of Aunt Tulip in
the kitchen was touched when the delicate strains of the violin floated
upon the air.
"Ole Marse, he jes' cipherin'." Ciphering, in the negro language, means
brooding with sadness and melancholy.
But then Aunt Tulip's attention was distracted by the newcomer,
Kettle. The boy, huddled close to the fire, his hands locked around
his knees, his shining black eyes fixed on the blaze, was filled with
deep content; he was warm, he had had a good supper, and he had escaped
the dangers of the screaming steamboat. Those who had left him behind
had not been too kind to him, and he had no regrets for them. Suddenly
his enjoyment of the _dolce far niente_ was rudely interrupted by Aunt
Tulip, who herself seldom indulged in the sweet-do-nothing.
"Look a-heah, boy," she said, "I'm agoin' to give you a good washin'
and put you to bed. Boys oughter be abed by this time, so they k'yarn'
git in no mo' mischief 'twell to-morrer mornin'."
With that Kettle was ruthlessly seized, his clothes stripped off him,
and he was soused in a washtub of warm water, while Aunt Tulip, with
a scrub-brush, and soft soap of her own manufacture, scrubbed him
from head to foot, including his woolly head. Kettle, who had rather
dreaded the unusual experience, enjoyed it before he got through. Then
Aunt Tulip, putting a nightgown of her own on him, covered him up in
a little pallet she had made upon the floor of her own room, next
the kitchen, and in two minutes Kettle had passed into the dreamless
sleep of a tired little boy. Aunt Tulip began to examine the boy's
worn clothes. They were very ragged, and his shoes quite beyond help.
But clothes, however ragged, may be washed and mended. So Aunt Tulip,
who had worked hard all that day and every day, set herself the task
of having something decent for Kettle to put on Christmas morning.
She toiled at the washtub while Betty, afar off, was dancing, and
the Colonel had long since gone to his bedroom on the ground floor.
After Kettle's poor clothes were washed and ironed, they were hung
before the kitchen fire to dry, and then Aunt Tulip, getting out her
big work-basket and brass thimble and putting on her horn spectacles,
began the work of mending Kettle's rags. She patched and darned
industriously, and at last, with a sigh of profound satisfaction, she
folded up and laid upon a chair Kettle's clothes, including his jacket
and trousers, neatly washed and mended and decent. Nothing could be
done with his shoes, except to put some shoe-polish on them, and this
she did. The Christmas stars looked down kindly upon the poor negro
woman toiling for one of God's poor, and the Christmas angels wafted a
benediction upon her humble head.
When her labor was over, Aunt Tulip lay down to rest for a couple of
hours. She knew well enough when Betty would return, and the fire had
to be started up in Betty's room, and, after old Whitey had been put
in the stable, Uncle Cesar must have his hot coffee and corn pone. For
Aunt Tulip, like many of her humble sort, was a minister of kindness to
all around her.
It was six o'clock, but still the world was all inky blackness when the
wheels of the rockaway crunched before the door of Holly Lodge. The
fire in Betty's room had been stirred into a cheering blaze, and Aunt
Tulip was ready to help her out of her simple evening gown.
"I declar, Miss Betty," said Aunt Tulip, as she unhooked Betty, "how
some folks kin let a chile go as raggety as that air boy, I doan' see."
Betty's mind came back from officers and university students to Kettle.
"We must try and get him some decent clothes, Mammy," answered Betty,
Aunt Tulip having been Betty's mammy in her baby days.
"Anyhow," continued Aunt Tulip, "the boy has got sumpin' decent fur
Chris'mus mornin'. I done washed his clo'es an' mended 'em up the bes'
I could."
"And were you washing and ironing and mending all this Christmas
night?" asked Betty.
"Well," replied Aunt Tulip, "I didn't mind settin' up an' gittin' the
boy's things kinder decent. But, Miss Betty, the boy has got to have a
Chris'mus stockin'."
"Of course," cried Betty. "You can put some apples and oranges and nuts
in it."
"An' Cesar an' me kin give him a quarter apiece to'des a new pair of
shoes. His shoes ain' nothin' 'tall."
Betty dived into her dressing-table drawer and took out of her little
purse a dollar bill.
"And this is from Grandfather, for the shoes, too. He would never
forgive us if something wasn't put into the boy's stocking from him.
Now, what can I think of to give him?"
"He ain' got no collar nor cravat," said Aunt Tulip. "He would look
right nice to-morrer if he jes' had a collar and cravat."
Betty was well off in collars, and produced four. Then, unfastening
the scarlet ribbon from around her waist, she seized her needle and
thimble, and in five minutes had sewed the ribbon into a large and very
presentable cravat, and proceeded to fringe out the ends. Aunt Tulip
watched her with delighted eyes.
"Lord!" she said, "that chile will be tickled to death when he gits his
Chris'mus stockin'. An' you know, Miss Betty, I been thinkin' that boy
could be mighty useful at Holly Lodge, pickin' up chips and carryin'
the wood upstairs and huntin' up the turkeys."
"I think so, too," replied Betty, rolling up the cravat and the
collars. "If he is any good, he could save you and Uncle Cesar a great
many steps."
Presently, Betty was in her little white bed for a short nap, because
she could not think of not being up and dressed on Christmas morning,
although she had danced twenty-five miles between eight o'clock in the
evening and five in the morning. Aunt Tulip, too, took what she called
her "cat nap," and at eight o'clock on Christmas morning everything was
awake and stirring at Holly Lodge.