Down on the tow-path was a little, weather-beaten shanty that
presented a far different setting for the enactments of the coming
holiday.
Here, for six sad months, the Widow M'Carty had tried to keep the wolf
from the door, but work as she might, her efforts would hardly have
frightened an able-bodied weasel.
It was now some eight months since Michael M'Carty, broad-shouldered,
courageous, and loving, had rushed home to his snug cottage one
noon-time with the news that he had shipped as assistant engineer on
the big, new freighter, the _Go-Between_, which was to leave port that
very night.
Bridget, his wife, had smiled bravely at him through tears that the
prospect of separation called to her eyes, but went thriftily to work
to get his clothes in readiness; "Fer," said she, "there'll be no
tellin' whin they'll feel a needle again."
Michael M'Carty had followed the lakes before, and now with better
wages than ever it was no time for "complainin'." Indeed, there never
had been any time for "complainin'" in Bridget's cheery, helpful life.
Even the maternal cares which had multiplied so rapidly had not robbed
her of her girlish buoyancy, and the ninth little M'Carty, at that
moment enjoying her father's parting fondling, had been just as
welcome as the first, now a proud member of the highest "Grammar
Grade," though barely thirteen.
Michael M'Carty was ambitious for his children, and even dreamed of
sending his cleverest offspring to the New High School which he passed
each morning on his way to work. That presumptuous plan never had been
whispered to any one save his "darlin' Biddy," and they dreaded the
day when it should be made known to Granny M'Carty, whose presence at
the family hearthstone supplied all the discipline that could possibly
be needed in any fairly moral household. Granny M'Carty's rule was
like unto that of the Chinese mother-in-law, and if anything ever had
pleased her since her son brought her to his hospitable home, she had
betrayed no suspicion of the feeling.
On the occasion described Granny swayed to and fro in her chair,--the
most comfortable that the house afforded,--and wailed:
"Ochone, sorra the day! The banshee was singin' onunder the windy last
night, an' ye'll be drownded, sure; or failin' or that ye won't know
onny more than to go ashore at Chicagy an' there ye'll be murthered to
death with one of them hand-bags, worra, worra!"
If the demon of pessimism lurked by the M'Carty fireside in the person
of Granny M'Carty, that malign influence was offset by the angel of
optimism who brooded over the family circle under the name of Grandad
Rafferty.
Grandad, whose society was the only dowry that Bridget Rafferty had
brought to her husband, now interposed his sweet, quavering tones.
"Whist, Granny, don't be undoin' the b'y jist as he's leavin' Biddy
an' the childer. The blessid Virgin will fetch him back all right.
Good luck to ye, lad. Ye're a fine son to me, an' I'll mind Biddy an'
the chicks an' look after them while ye are away."
Grandad was right. He certainly would "mind" the children, for their
lightest word was law to him. He would "look after" them, and fondly,
too, but his feeble limbs never could follow the antics of the merry
little brood.
With a varied cargo of good wishes and gloomy forebodings, and with
Bridget's gold ring on his finger "for luck," Michael steamed
away,--sorrowful at leaving his dear ones, but glad that fortune
favored his honest efforts for their comfortable support.
Never had such a storm swept the lakes in spring-time as buffeted the
poor _Go-Between_, yet untried by wind and wave. Unskilful loading
interfered with a perfect ballast, and unseamanlike management left
her at the mercy of the tempest.
"WENT DOWN WITH ALL ON BOARD!"
was the head-line that greeted faithful Bridget M'Carty on the morning
of that dreadful day a week after Michael had left her, and before she
could snatch a paper her heart told her the name of the boat.
Though a tireless worker, Bridget had always depended upon Michael for
the management of their small affairs, and at first she was bewildered
by the responsibility thrust upon her. It took time to recover from
the shock of the sad news and to make plans and find work that would
put bread into twelve hungry mouths. In that time the little store of
savings was expended, for in addition to all the other troubles,
Granny M'Carty brooded herself ill, and the doctor's bill had to be
paid.
It was soon apparent that the snug little home in which Michael had
left his family must be abandoned for humbler quarters. Inexperienced
in house-hunting and feeling restricted to the lowest possible rent,
Mrs. M'Carty fell a prey to an unprincipled landlord, who induced her
to take her flock to a ramshackle abode on the tow-path which he
described as "quite habitable."
The place had not seemed so objectionable while warm weather lasted.
The passing canal-boats with their patient motive power afforded
unfailing interest to the little M'Cartys by day, and the swish of the
displaced waters lulled them to sleep at night.
Viewed objectively, the place perhaps was not without attractions. "A
real live painter" had once pitched his easel near at hand, causing a
little M'Carty to run home breathless with the information that he had
called their house "picturesque."
When Grandad Rafferty heard this compliment to their domicile, he
said,--"Picteresk is it? Well, that is a comfort!" But Granny M'Carty
refused to be deceived by empty words; "Picteresk, indade! Let them
live on that who can!"
Half-covered with snow in the freezing winter weather, the picturesque
element of the M'Carty home was lost in desolation, and on this
December day even stout-hearted Bridget was obliged to let her
feelings partake of the prevailing atmosphere.
Salt tears trickled down the poor woman's cheeks and fell into the tub
where she was "doin' out" the wash of some street-car conductors not
fortunate enough to have womenfolk of their own.
"Indeed," said Bridget with doleful humor, "that's all the salt water
these poor shirts will be getting to set their color, and oh, dear! I
wish they were Michael's."
She sank down on an upturned tub and gave way to her bitter grief as
she seldom allowed herself to do.
"Sure, it's the first Christmas since my name was M'Carty that the tub
will be upside down. The childer couldn't always spare a stocking
apiece for hanging up, but it was many a bit they found in the tub. My
pie, Mike used to be calling it.
"And now it's him that is dead, and we've not even a meal in the
pantry--no, nor pantry neither, and what'll become of us now?"
But Mrs. M'Carty soon realized that even the luxury of time to mourn
was denied the poor, and she controlled herself resolutely with the
words:
"There, ain't ye ashamed of yourself, Biddy M'Carty? As if it were not
bad enough to have the trouble in your heart without grieving about it
aloud into the bargain. Supposing the children were all dead, and
Grandad were blind, and--and Granny were took away, and yourself were
in the insane crazy asylum. Then would be time to be wasting in
weeping."
So, leaving tears for the pastime of lunatics, Bridget bravely
furbished up her philosophy and brought it into use.
To make up for lost time she applied herself to the shirts with such
vigor that the very fabric was in danger of disappearing with the
spots of dirt which she attacked. These garments must be ready as soon
as possible, for she needed the money to which their cleansing
entitled her.
She had just sent Katy and Norah out with her last piece of work. It
was not lucrative, being the washing for the little lame seamstress
who could not afford to pay much, but for whom Mrs. M'Carty, with the
generosity of the warm-hearted Irish, continued to work.
The family income was somewhat augmented by the willing efforts of
Dennis and Terence, and they were now absent in the pursuit of their
vocation, the sale of daily newspapers.
Mary and Maggie, too young to be of assistance, were quietly dressing
up Granny's stick in a bit of tattered shawl and playing that it was a
witch, at any moment liable to pounce on Granny and carry her off, the
wish, perhaps, being father to the thought. Unobserved, the little
girls were making threatening gestures behind the old lady's chair,
indicative of her impending fate. Meantime they cast fearful glances
toward the owner of the stick, the danger of momentary discovery
adding pleasurable excitement to their pastime.
Baby Ellen was asleep in her favorite resting-place, Grandad's arms.
The two younger boys were making themselves unpopular by toddling back
and forth between the living-room and the lean-to, from which latter
place came the dull rhythm of Mrs. M'Carty's scrub, scrub, scrub on
the wash-board.
An outbreak from Granny heralded the interruption of the witch drama,
and brought Bridget to the spot. The children were dodging behind
Grandad's chair, while Granny poured the vials of her wrath on their
offending heads, at the same time indulging in her favorite custom of
throwing at them the articles within her reach. Perhaps the one
compensation in the paucity of the furnishings of the M'Carty home was
the limitation on the vehicles of Granny's wrath.
"Och, them spalpeens!" she shouted as her daughter-in-law entered,
"bad 'cess to them, rampin' an' rampagin' 'round till me ears is jist
burshtin'!"
Mrs. M'Carty, feeling that some one ought to be punished, and not
thinking it quite filial to belabor her mother-in-law, caught up two
or three of her olive branches that were recklessly waving in the air,
and imprinted on them a few gentle reminders of maternal solicitude.
Howls rent the air, but these were largely for effect, for Bridget had
a whole-souled way with her in administering punishment, which left no
lasting resentment in the objects of her discipline.
Always concerned lest the correction of her grandchildren be lacking
in severity, Granny growled:
"Sthop yer whillelewin' an' phillelewin'! Ye ought to have a strap, so
ye had!"
She felt a certain satisfaction in the crisis which she had
precipitated, but it did not temper her speech, for as soon as the
children were quiet she broke forth.
"Begorra, perhaps it's a nice Christmas we'll be havin' with the
winter here with its searchin' cold, an' nothin' but this shanty with
its two rooms an' lean-to, an' half the furnitoor gone to pay rent,
an' put food in the mouths of that greedy raft of childer. An' jist
feel my roomatiz!" her voice growing more shrill with excitement, "an'
not a whole pane in the windy, but it's many a pain I have in me
bones. An' I nade linnyment this minit. An' look at him settin'
there," pointing wrathfully at Grandad Rafferty, "an' not makin'
anybody trouble!" and she paused as if to contemplate the pleasure
that would be afforded her to see Grandad making somebody a great deal
of trouble.
"An' there's my poor Michael," she went on, "drownded an the wather
an' wearin' that nice gold ring on his skellington."
"Oh, don't," moaned poor Bridget, putting up her hand as if to ward
off the blow of cruel words. But Granny, finding her ravings were
making an impression, grew more fluent.
"I don't doubt me there was the price of a bottle of linnyment in that
ring, an' more, an' ye that extravagant to be makin' him wear it when
ye knew he'd be drowned."
Bridget and Grandad were at their wit's end, as many a time before,
for words with which to soothe the old woman. Though he inwardly
resented this abuse of his daughter, Grandad tried as usual to pour
oil on the seething waters.
"Annyhow, Granny, it's a mercy it was a real gold ring, an' not one of
them chape things to be gettin' all rusty in the wather."
Granny flew into a more violent rage.
"An' are ye insinooatin', Misther Rafferty, that my son would ever
wear an old brass ring? I'd have ye know that real gold is none too
good for the poor, dear b'y to be drownded in. An' I wish ye'd stop
yer talkin', ye blatherin' omadhaun," she snapped out, and then
relapsed into sullen silence, setting her empty pipe upside down in
her mouth, a veritable picture of despair.
[Illustration: "GRANDAD WAS SPEECHLESS"]
But Granny's silence, even, could make itself felt. Grandad was
speechless. Dear old Grandad! The sun of his cheerfulness had suffered
no eclipse from the clouds of adversity that enveloped the M'Carty
family. His "Marnin', honey!" and "Avenin', shure!" sounded as
pleasantly as ever. When he had bread he ate it thankfully, and when
there was none he said that his "sthomick had a sort of full feelin'
of itsilf."
[Illustration: "'AN' ARE YE INSINOOATIN', MISTHER RAFFERTY'"]
He was a constant comfort to his daughter, but the sweetness of his
spirit was gall and wormwood to Granny. If there is one thing more
exasperating than another to a caustic temperament, it is the constant
companionship of a bland and optimistic disposition. In Granny's case
the necessity of maintaining both sides of a quarrel kept her tongue
sharpened to a piercing point.
After a moment's quiet, Mrs. M'Carty slipped the pipe out of Granny's
mouth and returned it to her filled. It was accepted, though
thanklessly. With a smile and an understanding nod to her father,
Bridget returned to her tubs.
She finished her washing and put things to rights. Then she drew from
a box where she kept a few things from Granny's prying eyes, her sorry
Christmas presents,--some pictures cut from an illustrated paper and
pasted on squares of cardboard.
"The poor darlings," she said. "I can't even be buying them trifling
presents. I must be saving every penny, for the first of the month is
coming, and the agent, bad 'cess to him, will be here to lift the
rent. An' these poor picters is all I've got for Christmas for the
biggest ones, and nothing at all for the next size, and the same for
the middlest size and the littlest ones, and never a thing for the
baby. I most wish I'd let little Patsy keep the ball he stole from the
Wilkeson boy."
The strain of the recent encounter had told on Mrs. M'Carty's usually
steady nerves, and her inability to contribute to her children's
holiday enjoyment filled her with sudden resentment.
"I suppose them Barneys up on Fifth Street will every one of them be
strutting and ballyragging 'round with gewgaws, and fixings, and such
like things. Faith, they'll need them to be making themselves look
decent, so they will. Truth, every single one of them Barneys has more
freckles than I could find on my whole nine together, if I searched
with a candle. And why can't they be having what they're after
wanting! Anybody can buy that has money."
Bridget laid the pictures back in the box.
"You can stay there," she said, closing the cover. "It will never do
to be giving something to one and nothing to the rest of them. Bedad,
I'd like to put my eye on a dollar once. It's always to be watching a
cent that makes a body short-sighted."
_Third Episode_
HERR BAUMGAeRTNER'S ESTABLISHMENT TEN O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING THE DAY
BEFORE CHRISTMAS
It was Herr Baumgaertner's habit to open his mouth almost as prudently
as his purse, but when at ten o'clock one of his clerks returned
without the amount of the bill he had been sent out to collect, the
baker lost patience.
"You cannot get dat moneys! Haf you said how I must pay my insurance,
and all der clerks in dis big store, and all der extras for Christmas?
How will I pay for dem if my moneys comes not back again? Haf you said
how I must haf it?"
The clerk explained that he had told Mr. Weiss, the debtor, all this
and that he had said he would pay, without fail, the first of the next
month.
"Next mont'!" cried the indignant baker. "He haf told me dat same
t'ing six times already! First he write he will send it next mont';
den he say, 'Soon as my interest is due I will pay;' next times, 'My
wife she is sick and you must wait yet a little while.' Go tell him I
vill haf dat moneys dis day!"
The clerk departed as he was bidden. The baker shook his head angrily.
"Ach, dose peoples! I haf no patience mit dem. In Germany Fritz Weiss
was dat honest and goot. It is all along of his wife. She must haf one
fine house, and dere girls such clot'es,--like one Baronin,--vich is
bad for dem, and for my Katrina too, ven she know of it. Bewahre, dat
my Katrina should so dress. Yet I haf die means and Fritz he haf not.
So foolish a wife he haf. Gott sei Dank! My blessed wife war nicht so.
She had always so much goot sense, and dose girls are not like my
Katrina. Nein, I haf not seen one Maedchen like mein Katrina, immer
sehr schoen und gut."
At this moment Herr Baumgaertner looked out of his office and saw his
Katrina entering the store.
"Ach, dere is mein Katrina. She makes me always glad ven I see her,"
he mused, watching her with loving eyes as she came through the store.
Katrina was a picture to delight other eyes than those of her father.
A mass of wavy, flaxen hair framed a face of rare tints of pink and
pearl. Beautiful blue eyes she had, eyes that could be trustful or
merry under their long lashes, while the sweet, smiling mouth with its
full-arched upper lip was not the least of Katrina's charms. When one
looked at her it was like beholding the vision of some bewitching,
Saxon princess.
Herr Baumgaertner was not burdened with a large family, for he had only
this one daughter, so it would seem that Katrina Baumgaertner might
have advantages denied many of her companions. She had rather unusual
advantages, for while her girl friends were learning to paint
uncertain flowers, and to entertain with equally dubious musical
accomplishments, Katrina's father had insisted that his daughter must
learn the art of the housewife.
As Katrina passed through the store she had a word or a nod of
recognition for each busy clerk, and for the customers whom she knew.
She stopped to leave a small package with Max Schaub for his little
lame August; and when George Reigel's sick Freda opened her box on
Christmas morning she was to find a doll that Miss Katrina's artful
fingers had dressed.
When Katrina's mother was alive she had taught her child, through
years of precept and example, an uncommon interpretation of the
holiday giving,--that the family and friends were not to be thought of
until many a Christmas surprise had been planned for the needy and
unexpectant. The baker himself came in for a share of the waves of
gratitude that swept toward his home at each holiday season, though
this tide of good feeling was largely due to his thoughtful daughter.
[Illustration: "AS KATRINA PASSED THROUGH THE STORE"]
Katrina felt the blessedness of giving, but just now she had other
joys, as well, to keep her heart aglow. She was at the age when most
girls have considerable liberty in their personal affairs, but this
was not the case with Katrina.
Herr Baumgaertner settled the questions of his household with the same
attention and decision that he gave to his business. Consequently his
daughter was a frequent visitor at her father's store, where she came
to consult him on the trivial as well as upon the most important
questions pertaining to their domestic concerns.
When she presented herself before Herr Baumgaertner's desk on this
morning before Christmas, he greeted her with his usual question on
such occasions:
"Was willst du, Katrinchen?"
"Something nice this time, Vater. The big snow-storm has come just in
time for Christmas, you know, and I am invited to a sleigh-ride
party to-night. I may go, may I not?"
[Illustration: "'I MAY GO, MAY I NOT?'"]
"A sleigh-ride den?" and he smiled and said, "Only once is one
young!--But who asked you to go on dat sleigh-ride?"
"Johann Hermann asked me this morning," replied Katrina, blushing a
little, "but I told him I must first ask you."
"Ach, so! Vat for a man is der Johann dat of a morning he comes to ask
you, Tochterchen? Vat does he?"
"He keeps books, Father, and he stopped on his way to his work. He
came just after you had gone this morning, and he will come at noon to
see if I may go."
"Is he son of dat Herr Frederick Hermann dat knows not so much to
stick to one job steady?"
"Oh, no, Father, he is not like that," protested Katrina, earnestly.
"He told me this morning that he meant to work hard while he was young
so that he might earn money enough to be able to rest when he is old.
He said he knew a man who had made a bank account that way, and he
meant to do it too."
"Nun, gut,--dat man he means might be me, Katrina," said Herr
Baumgaertner, with a little glance of pride at his inner man.
"He did not say it was you, Vater, but he is a good young man and I
know you will like him. And I may go?"
Herr Baumgaertner found it very hard to refuse Katrina anything, and
when he felt obliged to do so he consoled himself with the reflection:
"It causes me sorrow not to give her everyt'ings, but it is better for
her."
However, he felt that this was not the time for the discipline of
self-denial, so he gave his consent.
"Ja wohl, to-night kannst du, Katrinchen."
"Oh, thank you, thank you, Father," and she gave his arm an
affectionate squeeze as together they passed out of the office.
"Doesn't the store look fine, and how good everything smells," said
Katrina, delighting in the spicy odors. But Katrina was in a mood to
be delighted with anything.
"So much thoughts, so great work, das ist," replied her father,
looking at the exemplification of the law of supply and demand going
on steadily before them, and added, "but die trade goes well dis
year."
"That is good, and when all is sold to-night that will be sold before
the Christmas you will not forget the cakes and goodies for my poor
little ones for to-morrow, will you? I have some of my Christmas money
saved to pay for them, but I must have a great many for my money, five
times as much as I could get with it anywhere else, or I will not buy
here any more, Herr Papa," said Katrina roguishly.
"Ach, Katrina, vy t'row so goot stuff away on dose children? Dey know
not der value. I tell you it is joost one big waste."
Katrina was too wise to argue with her father even if he would have
permitted, and she knew that she would get her cakes in spite of his
grumbling. Turning she saw the table with its array of Christmas
puddings.
"Oh, what beautiful puddings!" she exclaimed. "Would they not make
such a handsome window with a bit of Christmas holly on each of them?"
"Ja, so dose puddings would make one splendit window, Liebchen," said
the baker. "So much eggs, und raisins, und currants, und spices, und
wine dey took, und six hours to cook each one. But dey will keep a
year."
"And are they all sold?" asked Katrina.
"Nein, nein, Katrina, we sell not one of dose puddings."
"Not sell them, Father! Are you going to give them away?"
"Katrina, Katrina, you remember not anyt'ings to-day. At home haf I
not said how I send out one puddings each to mein best customers, and
on die card my compliments?" and Herr Baumgaertner straightened himself
proudly.
"Oh, that is so. I had forgotten," said Katrina. "But if I were going
to give them away I would not send them to rich people who have money
to buy them. I would send them to poor people who never have such
treats."
"Katrina, you know not business. You t'ink der fisherman he put dat
worm on dat hook to feed der fish, eh? Den how come all dose fish at
night in his basket?"
Katrina never let any differences with her father stare her out of
countenance, so as he turned toward his office she followed him.
"I nearly forgot one thing I wanted, Father. May I have a cake to send
to the Widow M'Carty? She is the woman who washes for us sometimes,
you know."
"Lieber Himmel! Vy should I send to the Widow M'Carty one cake? Nein,
Katrina. Should I gif everyt'ing away? Vat mit der baskets for dose
orphan asylums yet, I am like one big Santa Clauses already."
"But Mrs. M'Carty has nine little children, Vater--"
"Maype she has, I care not. I feed not so many people's nine
children."
"Oh, Father, this will be such a sad Christmas for the poor woman. It
is not a year, yet, since her husband was drowned. And think of those
nine little M'Cartys with no dear, kind, handsome papa like
mine,"--Herr Baumgaertner's features relaxed a little,--"and you've
often told me when Grossvater Baumgaertner went to Hirschberg with you
and the little Hans that died, how that kind man--"
"Dere, dere, Katrina," broke in Herr
Baumgaertner in an unsteady voice. "Take dot cake, and I hope it will
not choke dose M'Cartys mit der strangeness of eating anyt'ing so
goot."
_Fourth Episode_