Every ill known or imagined by the pessimistic Granny had been voiced
in graphic predictions, but at last even her vocabulary of grumblings
was exhausted, and she hobbled off to her pallet,--the thump, thump,
thump of her cane beating a resentful retreat.
Grandad still sat in his corner, and Bridget left her uncomfortable
seat and dropped into Granny's vacant chair.
"Sure, it ain't much like Christmas Eve I'm thinkin'," she said,
glancing at Grandad. "There's the difference in the look of things
since Mike, me darling, is gone--him that always went into town, when
he stayed home the day before Christmas, to buy presents for me an'
the childer. I remimber, yes, I do, 'cause I aint forgot it yet, the
elligant bonnit he bought me wanst. What with feathers standing this
way an' that, I was the fine lady of all Fifth Street."
"Ye wor that," answered Grandad, looking up with a twinkle in his kind
gray eyes. "Ye wor that, Bridget, me girl, an' ye're the same this
day, fithers or no fithers."
"It's the feathers makes the bird, Daddy," sighed Bridget, but his
pleasant word softened the despairing look on her care-worn face.
"Fithers makes the birds, did ye say, Bridget?" continued Grandad.
"What kind of rasonin' is that, sure? Nivir a fither have I seen that
was not projuced by wan bird or anither. An' what difference does it
make what kind of fithers a bird has whin he's picked, tell me that?
For me taste, a bird is betther withoot fithers at all, at all."
"Ah, well," said Bridget, "it's you that have the cheery word,
Grandad, and it's good to hear, but to-night I'm that beat out I
couldn't throw a stick at Dooley if he came to the door this minit."
Mrs. M'Carty looked about the room, so scant with furniture and so
cheerless.
[Illustration: "'A MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM KATRINA BAUMGAeRTNER!'"]
"It's no use trying--" she began, but at that moment a knock that
fairly rattled the whole shanty called her to the door. It also woke
up Granny M'Carty, who thrust her head from the bedclothes and peered
into the kitchen.
"'Tis a mistake," she growled as a round package was handed to her
daughter, and a strange voice said:
"A Merry Christmas from Katrina Baumgaertner!"
"'Tis a mistake, I say," she continued, as the delivery boy
disappeared in the darkness, and Mrs. M'Carty, with hands trembling
from excitement, carried the mysterious package to the lean-to.
"Indeed, then, and it's no mistake," she whispered to herself as she
opened the package and disclosed to view a beautiful Christmas
pudding. "It's Miss Katrina, the darling, that's remembered us this
night. One, two, three," she counted, as in imagination she divided
the gift among the little M'Cartys. "Four, five, six,--sure, I must be
more sparing of my pieces,--but bless the sweet Ellen, she can't eat
any, and I'm not needing any myself,--but Grandad, and Granny, they
must have a bit;--seven, eight, nine,--it's a trifle small, to be
sure, but enough for a taste for the darlings. If Granny hadn't heard
the boy, what a fine surprise I'd have for her; but she'll be wanting
to know what the likes of me is getting for Christmas. She's that
curious, she sleeps with her other eye open just to be seeing what she
can hear. But I'll be letting her think it was a mistake, so I will."
Bang! whack! bang! another thundering noise shook the rickety door.
"I told you it was a mistake," screamed Granny. "He's come to take it
away from yez."
[Illustration: "SHE PLACED BOTH PUDDINGS IN HER APRON"]
Mrs. M'Carty's heart sank. The gift evidently was a mistake.
Concealing the pudding, divested of its wrappings, under her apron,
she hastened to the door, to be handed another package with the same
Christmas greeting from Miss Katrina Baumgaertner.
Quick-witted and anxious to deceive the keen eyes and ears of old
Granny, she placed both puddings in her apron, and with an audible
sigh and lament that "poor folks couldn't have even the things that
was give to them," she returned with renewed pleasure to her problem
in division.
"Sure," said she, "I must begin my count all over. It's Miss Katrina,
bless her sweet eyes, knew one pudding for eleven of us would be just
a bite. Now it's two puddings for eleven of us. I wish I had a
yardstick and a 'rithmetic to measure them, so I do.
"It's Christmas Eve after all," she continued, regarding with pleasure
the two plump puddings, but the sound of approaching footsteps caused
her to start again in fear that it might be as Granny had prophesied,
all a mistake. She slipped quietly to the door and reached it in time
to avert the knock which might have aroused Granny from her dozing.
"A Merry Christmas from Katrina Baumgaertner," shouted a jolly boy as
he placed a package in Mrs. M'Carty's hands. There was no mistaking
this greeting, nor the contents of the parcel.
"How many be she a-sending?" she whispered cautiously, and added by
way of explanation, "The darlings is asleep, and I wouldn't want them
to be knowing what a fine Christmas is coming for them."
"Vell, vell, ain'dt one enough?" laughed the boy as he disappeared
puddingless, leaving the bewildered Mrs. M'Carty in possession of the
third treasure.
"Now Grandad is nodding, and it's meself that's thinking there's no
telling how many more Santa Clauses is coming to the M'Carty roof
this night. I'll just take the light into the lean-to, and busy myself
with a few pieces to fold down for my ironing; and if any more
presents do be coming, they'll be taking them to the other door. Then
Granny won't be hearing what's going on at all, at all."
The removal of the light proved a wise precaution, though done in
innocence of the avalanche of puddings which was fatefully descending
upon the M'Carty household.
Greater and greater was the surprise of the widow as pudding after
pudding, and pudding after pudding was handed in, until twelve goodly
brown concoctions graced her impromptu table,--a long white
ironing-board.
"Sure, I'm that excited, I'm fit to tie up," laughed Mrs. M'Carty, as
she viewed the bounty of the unsuspecting Katrina. "Twelve puddings
for twelve of us, even one for little Ellen. It ain't such a sum as I
minded. Blessings on Miss Katrina,--may the saints have her in their
keeping,--we've a pudding apiece this Christmas. It's thankful I am,
and I'm not complaining, but I could' a' wished she'd tried a little
variety. Bedad, if there wasn't so many of them, they'd seem to be
more, so they would."
_Seventh Episode_