AFTER spending several days wondering how she could best break the news
to the children that their father was going to take them away, Mrs. Neal
decided that she would wait until the last possible moment. Then she
would tell them that their father had a Christmas present for them,
nicer than anything he had ever given them before. It was something that
couldn't be sent to them, so he wanted them to go all the way on the
cars to his new home, to see it. Then after they had guessed everything
they could think of, and were fairly hopping up and down with impatient
curiosity, she'd tell them what it was: _a new mother_!
She decided not to tell them that they were never coming back to the
Junction to live. It would be better for them to think of this return
to their father as just a visit until they were used to their new
surroundings. It would make it easier for all concerned if they could be
started off happy and pleasantly expectant. Then if Molly had grown up
to be as nice a woman as she had been a young girl, she could safely
trust the rest to her. The children would soon be loving her so much
that they wouldn't want to come back.
But Mrs. Neal had not taken into account that her news was no longer a
secret. Told to one or two friends in confidence, it had passed from lip
to lip and had been discussed in so many homes, that half the children
at the Junction knew that poor little Libby and Will'm Branfield were to
have a stepmother, before they knew it themselves. Maudie Peters told
Libby on their way home from school one day, and told it in such a tone
that she made Libby feel that having a stepmother was about the worst
calamity that could befall one. Libby denied it stoutly.
"But you _are_!" Maudie insisted. "I heard mama and Aunt Louisa talking
about it. They said they certainly felt sorry for you, and mama said
that she hoped and prayed that _her_ children would be spared such a
fate, because stepmothers are always unkind."
Libby flew home with her tearful question, positive that Grandma Neal
would say that Maudie was mistaken, but with a scared, shaky feeling in
her knees, because Maudie had been so calmly and provokingly sure.
Grandma Neal could deny only a part of Maudie's story.
"I'd like to spank that meddlesome Peters child!" she exclaimed
indignantly. "Here I've been keeping it as a grand surprise for you that
your father is going to give you a new mother for Christmas, and
thinking what a fine time you'd have going on the cars to see them, and
now Maudie has to go and tattle, and tell it in such an ugly way that
she makes it seem like something bad, instead of the nicest thing that
could happen to you. Listen, Libby!"
For Libby, at this confirmation of Maudie's tale, instead of the denial
which she hoped for, had crooked her arm over her face, and was crying
out loud into her little brown gingham sleeve, as if her heart would
break. Mrs. Neal sat down and drew the sobbing child into her lap.
"Listen, Libby!" she said again. "This lady that your father has
married, used to live here at the Junction when she was a little girl no
bigger than you. Her name was Molly Blair, and she looked something like
you--had the same color hair, and wore it in two little plaits just as
you do. Everybody liked her. She was so gentle and kind she wouldn't
have done anything to hurt any one's feelings any more than a little
white kitten would. Your father was a boy then, and he lived here, and
they went to school together and played together just as you and Walter
Gray do. He's known her all her life, and he knew very well when he
asked her to take the place of a mother to his little children that
she'd be dear and good to you. Do you think that _you_ could change so
in growing up that you could be unkind to any little child that was put
in your care?"
"No--o!" sobbed Libby.
"And neither could she!" was the emphatic answer. "You can just tell
Maudie Peters that she doesn't know what she is talking about."
Libby repeated the message next day, emphatically and defiantly, with
her chin in the air. That talk with Grandma Neal and another longer one
which followed at bedtime, helped her to see things in their right
light. Besides, several things which Grandma Neal told her made a visit
to her father seem quite desirable. It would be fine to be in a city
where there is something interesting to see every minute. She knew from
other sources that in a city you might expect a hand-organ and a monkey
to come down the street almost any day. And it would be grand to live
in a house like the one they were going to, with an up-stairs to it, and
a piano in the parlor.
But despite Mrs. Neal's efforts to set matters straight, the poison of
Maudie's suggestion had done its work. Will'm had been in the room when
Libby came home with her question, and the wild way she broke out crying
made him feel that something awful was going to happen to them. He had
never heard of a stepmother before. By some queer association of words
his baby brain confused it with a step-ladder. There was such a ladder
in the shop with a broken hinge. He was always being warned not to climb
up on it. It might fall over with him and hurt him dreadfully. Even when
everything had been explained to him, and he agreed that it would be
lovely to take that long ride on the Pullman to see poor father, who was
so lonely without his little boy, the poison of Maudie's suggestion
still stayed with him. Something, he didn't know exactly what, but
_something_ was going to fall with him and hurt him dreadfully if he
didn't look out.
It's strange how much there is to learn about persons after you once
begin to hear of them. It had been that way about Santa Claus. They had
scarcely known his name, and then all of a sudden they heard so much,
that instead of being a complete stranger he was a part of everything
they said and did and thought. Now they were learning just as fast about
stepmothers. Grandma and Uncle Neal and Miss Sally told them a great
deal; all good things. And it was surprising how much else they had
learned that wasn't good, just by the wag of somebody's head, or a shrug
of the shoulders or the pitying way some of the customers spoke to them.
When Libby came crying home from school the second time, because one of
the boys called her Cinderella, and told her she would have to sit in
the ashes and wear rags, and another one said no, she'd be like
Snow-white, and have to eat poisoned apple, Grandma Neal was so
indignant that she sent after Libby's books, saying that she would not
be back at school any more.
Next day, Libby told Will'm the rest of what the boys had said to her.
"All the stepmothers in stories are cruel like Cinderella's and
Snow-white's, and sometimes they _are_ cruel. They are always cruel when
they have a tusk." Susie Peters told her what a tusk is, and showed her
a picture of a cruel hag that had one. "It's an awful long ugly tooth
that sticks away out of the side of your mouth like a pig's."
It was a puzzle for both Libby and Will'm to know whom to believe. They
had sided with Maudie and the others in their faith in Santa Claus. How
could they tell but that Grandma and Uncle Neal might be mistaken about
their belief in stepmothers too?
Fortunately there were not many days in which to worry over the problem,
and the few that lay between the time of Libby's leaving school and
their going away, were filled with preparations for the journey. Of
course Libby and Will'm had little part in that, except to collect the
few toys they owned, and lay them beside the trunk which had been
brought down from the attic to the sitting-room.
Libby had a grand washing of doll clothes one morning, and while she was
hanging out the tiny garments on a string, stretched from one chair-back
to another, Will'm proceeded to give his old Teddy Bear a bath in the
suds which she had left in the basin. Plush does not take kindly to
soap-suds, no matter how much it needs it. It would have been far better
for poor Teddy to have started on his travels dirty, than to have become
the pitiable, bedraggled-looking object that Libby snatched from the
basin some time later, where Will'm put him to soak. It seemed as if the
soggy cotton body never would dry sufficiently to be packed in the
trunk, and Will'm would not hear to its being left behind, although it
looked so dreadful that he didn't like to touch it. So it hung by a cord
around its neck in front of the fire for two whole days, and everybody
who passed it gave the cord a twist, so that it was kept turning like a
roast on a spit.
There were more errands than usual to keep the children busy, and more
ways in which they could help. As Christmas drew nearer and nearer
somebody was needed in the shop every minute, and Mrs. Neal had her
hands full with the extra work of looking over their clothes and putting
every garment in order. Besides there was all the holiday baking to fill
the shelves in the shop as well as in her own pantry.
So the children were called upon to set the table and help wipe the
dishes. They dusted the furniture within their reach and fed the cat.
They brought in chips from the woodhouse and shelled corn by the
basketful for the old gray hens. And every day they carried the eggs
very slowly and carefully from the nests to the pantry and put them one
by one into the box of bran on the shelf. Then several mornings, all
specially scrubbed and clean-aproned for the performance, they knelt on
chairs by the kitchen table, and cut out rows and rows of little
Christmas cakes, from the sheets of smoothly rolled dough on the floury
cake boards. There were hearts and stars and cats and birds and all
sorts of queer animals. Then after the baking there were delightful
times when they hung breathlessly over the table, watching while
scallops of pink or white icing were zigzagged around the stars and
hearts, and pink eyes were put on the beasts and birds. Then of course
the bowls which held the candied icing always had to be scraped clean by
busy little fingers that went from bowl to mouth and back again, almost
as fast as a kitten could lap with its pink tongue.
Oh, those last days in the old kitchen and sitting-room behind the shop
were the best days of all, and it was good that Will'm and Libby were
kept so busy every minute that they had no time to realize that they
_were_ last days, and that they were rapidly coming to an end. It was
not until the last night that Will'm seemed to comprehend that they were
really going away the next day.
[Illustration: "Oh, rabbit _dravy_!" he cried]
He had been very busy helping get supper, for it was the kind that he
specially liked. Uncle Neal had brought in a rabbit all ready skinned
and dressed, which he had trapped that afternoon, and Will'm had gone
around the room for nearly an hour, sniffing hungrily while it sputtered
and browned in the skillet, smelling more tempting and delectable every
minute. And he had watched while Grandma Neal lifted each crisp, brown
piece up on a fork, and laid it on the hot waiting platter, and then
stirred into the skillet the things that go to the making of a delicious
cream gravy.
Suddenly in the ecstasy of anticipation Will'm was moved to throw his
arms around Grandma Neal's skirts, gathering them in about her knees in
such a violent hug that he almost upset her.
"Oh, rabbit _dravy_!" he exclaimed in a tone of such rapture that
everybody laughed. Uncle Neal, who had already taken his place at the
table, and was waiting too, with his chair tipped back on its hind legs,
reached forward and gave Will'm's cheek a playful pinch.
"It's easy to tell what _you_ think is the best tasting thing in the
world," he said teasingly. "Just the smell of it puts the smile on your
face that won't wear off."
Always when his favorite dish was on the table, Will'm passed his plate
back several times for more. To-night after the fourth ladleful Uncle
Neal hesitated. "Haven't you had about all that's good for you, kiddo?"
he asked. "Remember you're going away in the morning, and you don't want
to make yourself sick when you're starting off with just Libby to look
after you."
There was no answer for a second. Then Will'm couldn't climb out of his
chair fast enough to hide the trembling of his mouth and the gathering
of unmanly tears. He cast himself across Mrs. Neal's lap, screaming, "I
aren't going away! I won't leave my Dranma, and I won't go where
there'll never be any more good rabbit dravy!"
They quieted him after awhile, and comforted him with promises of the
time when he should come back and be their little boy again, but he did
not romp around as usual when he started to bed. He realized that when
he came again maybe the little crib-bed would be too small to hold him,
and things would never be the same again.
Libby was quiet and inwardly tearful for another reason. They were to
leave the very day on the night of which people hung up their stockings.
Would Santa Claus know of their going and follow them? Will'm would be
getting what he asked for, a ride on the Pullman, but how was she to get
her gold ring? She lay awake quite a long while, worrying about it, but
finally decided that she had been so good, so very good, that Santa
would find some way to keep his part of the bargain. She hadn't even
fussed and rebelled about going back to her father as Maudie had advised
her to do, and she had helped to persuade Will'm to accept quietly what
couldn't be helped.
The bell over the shop door went ting-a-ling many times that evening to
admit belated customers, and as she grew drowsier and drowsier it began
to sound like those other bells which would go tinkling along the Sky
Road to-morrow night. Ah, that Sky Road! She wouldn't worry, remembering
that the Christmas Angels came along that shining highway too. Maybe her
heart's desire would be brought to her by one of them!