There were a great many clubs in Harmony Village, but as we intend to
interest ourselves with the affairs of the young folks only, we need
not dwell upon the intellectual amusements of the elders. In summer, the
boys devoted themselves to baseball, the girls to boating, and all got
rosy, stout, and strong, in these healthful exercises. In winter,
the lads had their debating club, the lasses a dramatic ditto. At
the former, astonishing bursts of oratory were heard; at the latter,
everything was boldly attempted, from Romeo and Juliet to Mother Goose's
immortal melodies. The two clubs frequently met and mingled their
attractions in a really entertaining manner, for the speakers made good
actors, and the young actresses were most appreciative listeners to the
eloquence of each budding Demosthenes.
Great plans had been afoot for Christmas or New Year, but when the grand
catastrophe put an end to the career of one of the best “spouters,” and
caused the retirement of the favorite “singing chambermaid,” the affair
was postponed till February, when Washington's birthday was always
celebrated by the patriotic town, where the father of his country once
put on his nightcap, or took off his boots, as that ubiquitous hero
appears to have done in every part of the United States.
Meantime the boys were studying Revolutionary characters, and the girls
rehearsing such dramatic scenes as they thought most appropriate and
effective for the 22d. In both of these attempts they were much helped
by the sense and spirit of Ralph Evans, a youth of nineteen, who was
a great favorite with the young folks, not only because he was a good,
industrious fellow, who supported his grandmother, but also full of
talent, fun, and ingenuity. It was no wonder every one who really knew
him liked him, for he could turn his hand to anything, and loved to do
it. If the girls were in despair about a fire-place when acting “The
Cricket on the Hearth,” he painted one, and put a gas-log in it that
made the kettle really boil, to their great delight. If the boys found
the interest of their club flagging, Ralph would convulse them by
imitations of the “Member from Cranberry Centre,” or fire them with
speeches of famous statesmen. Charity fairs could not get on without
him, and in the store where he worked he did many an ingenious job,
which made him valued for his mechanical skill, as well as for his
energy and integrity.
Mrs. Minot liked to have him with her sons, because they also were to
paddle their own canoes by and by, and she believed that, rich or poor,
boys make better men for learning to use the talents they possess, not
merely as ornaments, but tools with which to carve their own fortunes;
and the best help toward this end is an example of faithful work, high
aims, and honest living. So Ralph came often, and in times of trouble
was a real rainy-day friend. Jack grew very fond of him during
his imprisonment, for the good youth ran in every evening to get
commissions, amuse the boy with droll accounts of the day's adventures,
or invent lifts, bed-tables, and foot-rests for the impatient invalid.
Frank found him a sure guide through the mechanical mysteries which he
loved, and spent many a useful half-hour discussing cylinders, pistons,
valves, and balance-wheels. Jill also came in for her share of care and
comfort; the poor little back lay all the easier for the air-cushion
Ralph got her, and the weary headaches found relief from the spray
atomizer, which softly distilled its scented dew on the hot forehead
till she fell asleep.
Round the beds of Jack and Jill met and mingled the schoolmates of whom
our story treats. Never, probably, did invalids have gayer times than
our two, after a week of solitary confinement; for school gossip crept
in, games could not be prevented, and Christmas secrets were concocted
in those rooms till they were regular conspirators' dens, when they were
not little Bedlams.
After the horn and bead labors were over, the stringing of pop-corn on
red, and cranberries on white, threads, came next, and Jack and Jill
often looked like a new kind of spider in the pretty webs hung about
them, till reeled off to bide their time in the Christmas closet. Paper
flowers followed, and gay garlands and bouquets blossomed, regardless of
the snow and frost without. Then there was a great scribbling of names,
verses, and notes to accompany the steadily increasing store of odd
parcels which were collected at the Minots', for gifts from every one
were to ornament the tree, and contributions poured in as the day drew
near.
But the secret which most excited the young people was the deep mystery
of certain proceedings at the Minot house. No one but Frank, Ralph,
and Mamma knew what it was, and the two boys nearly drove the others
distracted by the tantalizing way in which they hinted at joys to come,
talked strangely about birds, went measuring round with foot-rules, and
shut themselves up in the Boys' Den, as a certain large room was called.
This seemed to be the centre of operations, but beyond the fact of
the promised tree no ray of light was permitted to pass the jealously
guarded doors. Strange men with paste-pots and ladders went in,
furniture was dragged about, and all sorts of boyish lumber was sent
up garret and down cellar. Mrs. Minot was seen pondering over heaps
of green stuff, hammering was heard, singular bundles were smuggled
upstairs, flowering plants betrayed their presence by whiffs of
fragrance when the door was opened, and Mrs. Pecq was caught smiling all
by herself in a back bedroom, which usually was shut up in winter.
“They are going to have a play, after all, and that green stuff was the
curtain,” said Molly Loo, as the girls talked it over one day, when they
sat with their backs turned to one another, putting last stitches in
certain bits of work which had to be concealed from all eyes, though
it was found convenient to ask one another's taste as to the color,
materials, and sizes of these mysterious articles.
“I think it is going to be a dance. I heard the boys doing their steps
when I went in last evening to find out whether Jack liked blue or
yellow best, so I could put the bow on his pen-wiper,” declared Merry,
knitting briskly away at the last of the pair of pretty white bed-socks
she was making for Jill right under her inquisitive little nose.
“They wouldn't have a party of that kind without Jack and me. It is only
an extra nice tree, you see if it isn't,” answered Jill from behind the
pillows which made a temporary screen to hide the toilet mats she was
preparing for all her friends.
“Every one of you is wrong, and you'd better rest easy, for you won't
find out the best part of it, try as you may.” And Mrs. Pecq actually
chuckled as she, too, worked away at some bits of muslin, with her back
turned to the very unsocial-looking group.
“Well, I don't care, we've got a secret all our own, and won't ever
tell, will we?” cried Jill, falling back on the Home Missionary Society,
though it was not yet begun.
“Never!” answered the girls, and all took great comfort in the idea that
one mystery would not be cleared up, even at Christmas.
Jack gave up guessing, in despair, after he had suggested a new
dining-room where he could eat with the family, a private school
in which his lessons might go on with a tutor, or a theatre for the
production of the farces in which he delighted.
“It is going to be used to keep something in that you are very fond of,”
said Mamma, taking pity on him at last.
“Ducks?” asked Jack, with a half pleased, half puzzled air, not quite
seeing where the water was to come from.
Frank exploded at the idea, and added to the mystification by saying,--
“There will be one little duck and one great donkey in it.” Then,
fearing he had told the secret, he ran off, quacking and braying
derisively.
“It is to be used for creatures that I, too, am fond of, and you know
neither donkeys nor ducks are favorites of mine,” said Mamma, with a
demure expression, as she sat turning over old clothes for the bundles
that always went to poor neighbors, with a little store of goodies, at
this time of the year.
“I know! I know! It is to be a new ward for more sick folks, isn't it,
now?” cried Jack, with what he thought a great proof of shrewdness.
“I don't see how I could attend to many more patients till this one is
off my hands,” answered Mamma, with a queer smile, adding quickly, as if
she too was afraid of letting the cat out of the bag: “That reminds me
of a Christmas I once spent among the hospitals and poor-houses of
a great city with a good lady who, for thirty years, had made it her
mission to see that these poor little souls had one merry day. We gave
away two hundred dolls, several great boxes of candy and toys, besides
gay pictures, and new clothes to orphan children, sick babies, and
half-grown innocents. Ah, my boy, that was a day to remember all my
life, to make me doubly grateful for my blessings, and very glad to
serve the helpless and afflicted, as that dear woman did.”
The look and tone with which the last words were uttered effectually
turned Jack's thoughts from the great secret, and started another small
one, for he fell to planning what he would buy with his pocket-money to
surprise the little Pats and Biddies who were to have no Christmas tree.