A PADLOCKED DOOR
Mr. Huntington's lawyers assured Mr. Fairchild, who had written to find
out more definitely about the settling of Mr. Huntington's estate, that
there was practically no doubt that Jeannette Huntington Duval, being
her mother's sole heir, would inherit half of her grandfather's large
fortune, safely invested in a long list of things, as soon as certain
formalities had been observed. Further search had revealed no trace of
the lost document. Undoubtedly Mr. Huntington had destroyed it.
Perhaps, if Jeanne had known that Aunt Agatha was all but tearing the
old house to pieces in hopes of finding a certain very valuable
document, she _might_ have remembered that unusual day in March, when
she had helped her grandfather "clean house" in his safe. But, happily
for her peace of mind, she knew too little of legal matters to connect
the burned "trash" with the fact that, somehow or other, half of the
Huntington fortune was hers. No one happened to mention any missing
document.
Mr. Fairchild, however, was still keeping the secret of Jeanne's
possible fortune from everybody but his wife. He was cautious and wanted
to be absolutely certain.
"I shall _burst_," declared Mrs. Fairchild, earnestly, "if I have to
keep it much longer. Think of breaking _good_ news to Jeanne--she's had
so little."
One day, Mrs. Fairchild went alone to pay a visit to Old Captain. She
returned fairly beaming.
"I invited him to our Christmas tree," said she. "He's willing to be
Santa Claus. Barney's coming too."
Three days before Christmas, Jeanne obeyed a sudden impulse to call on
Old Captain. She had purchased a pipe for Barney and wanted to be sure
that it was just exactly right. Old Captain would know. It was Saturday.
Old Captain would surely be home, tidying his freight car and heating
water for his weekly shave.
But where _was_ Old Captain? The door of the box-car was _locked_. Such
a thing had never happened before. Locked from the outside, too. There
was a brand-new padlock.
"I guess he's doing his Christmas shopping," said Jeanne. "Or perhaps
he's _done_ it and is afraid somebody'll steal my present. I wonder if
it's a pink parasol, or some pink silk stockings. Dear Old Captain! He
thinks pink is my color, and the _pinker_ it is the better he likes it.
I do believe I'll buy him a pink necktie. But no, he'd _wear_ it.
Besides, I have that nice muffler for him. Well, it's pretty cold around
here and I'd hate to freeze to this bench, and there's no knowing when
he'll get back. Maybe Mr. Fairchild knows about pipes."
So Jeanne trudged homeward, but not, you may be sure, without a
searching glance at the beach, where the dream-chest should have
been--but wasn't.
"We're going to have our tree Christmas eve," said Mrs. Fairchild, that
evening, when the family sat before the cheerful grate fire that Jeanne
considered much pleasanter than a gas log. "But we won't take anything
off the tree itself until Christmas night. On Christmas eve we'll open
just the bundles we find _under_ the tree. That'll make our Christmas
last twice as long. Oh, I'm _so_ excited! Jeanne, you aren't _half_ as
young as I am. Roger, you stolid boy, you sedate old gentleman, why
don't you get up more enthusiasm?"
"I always get all the things I want and _then_ some," said Roger,
lazily, "so why worry?"
"You're a spoiled child," laughed Jeanne.
Mr. Fairchild, however, seemed to wear an air of pleased expectancy,
quite different from Roger's calmness.
"Having a daughter to liven things up," said Mr. Fairchild, "is a new
experience for us. You can see how well it agrees with us both. I hope,
Jeanne, you're giving me a pipe just like Barney's--nobody _ever_ gave
me one like that."
"I'm awfully sorry," said Jeanne, "but I haven't the price. That pipe
cost sixty-nine cents, and I haven't that much in all the world. You'll
have to wait till my kindergarten salary begins."
Mr. Fairchild looked at his wife, touched his breast pocket where a
paper rustled, threw back his head, and _roared_.
"How perfectly delicious!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairchild. Then _her_ merry
laugh rang out.
"What _is_ the joke?" asked Jeanne. "Can _you_ see it, Roger?"
"No, I can't--they're just havin' fun with us. But, if eleven cents
would help you any--"
Roger's clothes fitted so snugly that it was rather a difficult task to
extract the eleven pennies from his pocket; but he fished them out, one
by one.
"There, as your Captain would say, 'Them's yourn.' I hope you won't be
reckless with 'em because they're all I've got--except a quarter. You
can't have that."
"Why!" said Jeanne, who had been counting on her fingers, "this makes
just enough. I _had_ fifty-eight cents. I wonder what Uncle Charles
would have done if I'd bought _him_ a pipe. He always smoked
cigarettes--a smelly kind that I didn't like. I wouldn't have _dared_.
He'd have been polite, but he would have looked at the pipe as if--as if
it were a snail in his coffee!"
"Oh, Jeanne!" protested Mrs. Fairchild. "What a horrid thought!"
"_Isn't_ it? Now when can I buy that other pipe? Not tomorrow, because
of that school entertainment. That'll last until dark. Not the next day
morning---"
"Very late the day before Christmas," decided Mrs. Fairchild, quickly,
"I'll take you downtown in the car. Then you can take your parcels to
Bessie and Lucy and invite them to the Christmas night part of the tree,
while I'm doing a few errands. Remember, Christmas _night_, not
Christmas eve."
When the time came to do this final shopping, Jeanne was left alone to
select the pipe and to go on foot, first to Lucy's, then to Bessie's.
Mrs. Fairchild was to call for her at Bessie's.
"I may be late," said she, "but no matter how long it is, I want you to
wait for the car. It'll be dark by that time--the days are so short. You
telephoned Bessie that you were coming?"
"Yes, she'll surely be home."
"Then that's all right. Be sure to wait for the car. Good-by, dear. Have
a good time."
Jeanne paused for a moment to gaze thoughtfully after the departing
lady.
"She looks nice, she sounds nice, and she _is_ nice," said Jeanne. "I
suppose Aunt Agatha had to stay the way she was made, but as long as
there's so _much_ of her, it seems a pity they left out such a lot.
Perhaps they make folks the way they do plum puddings and don't always
get the fruit in _even_. Maybe they forgot Aunt Agatha's raisins and
most of the sugar and put extra ones in Mrs. Fairchild. Maybe I ought to
try to like Aunt Agatha better--I'm glad I made her a needle-book,
anyway, if it happens that she isn't to blame for _not_ having any
raisins. But it's nice not to have to _try_ to like Mrs. Fairchild. I'd
have to try _not_ to."
The shops were very Christmas-y and all the shoppers seemed excited and
happy and busy. There were parcels under all the arms or else there were
baskets filled with Christmas dinners. Jeanne loved it all--the
Christmas feel in the air, the Christmas shine in the faces.
Unconsciously, she loitered along the busy street after the pipe was
purchased, thinking all sorts of quaint thoughts.
"If my father and my grandfather are in the same part of heaven," said
she, "I'm sure they must be friends by now, because they both loved
me--and my mother. They'd have _lots_ of things to talk about. Perhaps
they can see me now. Perhaps they're glad that my heart is full of
Christmas. I _know_ they must be thankful for Mrs. Fairchild. But if
Mollie can see _her_ children--Oh, I _hope_ Mrs. Fairchild got their
box off in time. And I do hope that new aunt has _some_ Christmas in her
heart. All these people with bundles are just _shining_ with Christmas."
Jeanne, of course, was far from suspecting that her own bright little
face was so radiant with the holiday spirit that many a person paused
for a second glance.