"Well, I have one for you. Come in, and I'll tell you about it."
Too much amazed for words, Ann led him into the room. The missionary
opened his purse, and handed her a roll of bills.
"Why--what!" she gasped, taking it mechanically.
"Some friends of mine heard of your generous treatment of the poor
families upstairs," he went on, "and they send you this, with their
respects and best wishes for Christmas. Do just what you please with
it--it is wholly yours. No thanks," he went on, as she struggled to
speak. "It's not from me. Just enjoy it--that's all. It has done them
more good to give than it can you to receive," and before she could
speak a word he was gone.
What did the old washerwoman do?
Well, first she fell on her knees and buried her agitated face in the
bedclothes. After a while she became aware of a storm of words from her
husband, and she got up, subdued as much as possible her agitation, and
tried to answer his frantic questions.
"How much did he give you, old stupid?" he screamed; "can't you speak,
or are you struck dumb? Wake up! I just wish I could reach you! I'd
shake you till your teeth rattled!"
His vicious looks were a sign, it was evident that he only lacked the
strength to be as good as his word. Ann roused herself from her stupour
and spoke at last.
"I don't know. I'll count it." She unrolled the bills and began.
"O Lord!" she exclaimed excitedly, "here's ten-dollar bills! One,
two, three, and a twenty-that makes five--and five are
fifty-five--sixty--seventy--eighty--eighty-five--ninety--one
hundred--and two and five are seven, and two and one are ten,
twenty--twenty-five--one hundred and twenty-five! Why, I'm rich!" she
shouted. "Bless the Lord! Oh, this is the glorious Christmas Day! I knew
He'd provide. Katey! Katey!" she screamed at the door of the other room,
where the child lay asleep. "Merry Christmas to you, darlin'! Now you
can have some shoes! and a new dress! and--and--breakfast, and a regular
Christmas dinner! Oh! I believe I shall go crazy!"
But she did not. Joy seldom hurts people, and she was brought back to
everyday affairs by the querulous voice of her husband.
"Now I will have my tea, an' a new blanket, an' some tobacco--how I have
wanted a pipe!" and he went on enumerating his wants while Ann bustled
about, putting away most of her money, and once more getting ready to go
out.
"I'll run out and get some breakfast," she said, "but don't you tell a
soul about the money."
"No! they'll rob us!" shrieked the old man.
"Nonsense! I'll hide it well, but I want to keep it a secret for another
reason. Mind, Katey, don't you tell?"
"No!" said Katey, with wide eyes. "But can I truly have a new frock,
Mammy, and new shoes--and is it really Christmas?"
"It's really Christmas, darlin'," said Ann, "and you'll see what
mammy'll bring home to you, after breakfast."
The luxurious meal of sausages, potatoes, and hot tea was soon smoking
on the table, and was eagerly devoured by Katey and her father. But Ann
could not eat much. She was absent-minded, and only drank a cup of tea.
As soon as breakfast was over, she left Katey to wash the dishes, and
started out again.
She walked slowly down the street, revolving a great plan in her mind.
"Let me see," she said to herself. "They shall have a happy day for
once. I suppose John'll grumble, but the Lord has sent me this money,
and I mean to use part of it to make one good day for them."
Having settled this in her mind, she walked on more quickly, and visited
various shops in the neighbourhood. When at last she went home, her big
basket was stuffed as full as it could hold, and she carried a bundle
besides.
"Here's your tea, John," she said cheerfully, as she unpacked the
basket, "a whole pound of it, and sugar, and tobacco, and a new pipe."
"Give me some now," said the old man eagerly; "don't wait to take out
the rest of the things."
"And here's a new frock for you, Katey," old Ann went on, after making
John happy with his treasures, "a real bright one, and a pair of shoes,
and some real woollen stockings; oh! how warm you'll be!"
"Oh, how nice, Mammy!" cried Katey, jumping about. "When will you make
my frock?"
"To-morrow," answered the mother, "and you can go to school again."
"Oh, goody!" she began, but her face fell. "If only Molly Parker could
go too!"
"You wait and see," answered Ann, with a knowing look. "Who knows what
Christmas will bring to Molly Parker?"
"Now here's a nice big roast," the happy woman went on, still unpacking,
"and potatoes and turnips and cabbage and bread and butter and coffee
and--"
"What in the world! You goin' to give a party?" asked the old man
between the puffs, staring at her in wonder.
"I'll tell you just what I am going to do," said Ann firmly, bracing
herself for opposition, "and it's as good as done, so you needn't say
a word about it. I'm going to have a Christmas dinner, and I'm going to
invite every blessed soul in this house to come. They shall be warm
and full for once in their lives, please God! And, Katey," she went on
breathlessly, before the old man had sufficiently recovered from his
astonishment to speak, "go right upstairs now, and invite every one of
'em from the fathers down to Mrs. Parker's baby to come to dinner at
three o'clock; we'll have to keep fashionable hours, it's so late now;
and mind, Katey, not a word about the money. And hurry back, child, I
want you to help me."
To her surprise, the opposition from her husband was less than she
expected. The genial tobacco seemed to have quieted his nerves, and even
opened his heart. Grateful for this, Ann resolved that his pipe should
never lack tobacco while she could work.
But now the cares of dinner absorbed her. The meat and vegetables were
prepared, the pudding made, and the long table spread, though she had
to borrow every table in the house, and every dish to have enough to go
around.
At three o'clock when the guests came in, it was really a very pleasant
sight. The bright warm fire, the long table, covered with a substantial,
and, to them, a luxurious meal, all smoking hot. John, in his neatly
brushed suit, in an armchair at the foot of the table, Ann in a bustle
of hurry and welcome, and a plate and a seat for every one.
How the half-starved creatures enjoyed it; how the children stuffed and
the parents looked on with a happiness that was very near to tears; how
old John actually smiled and urged them to send back their plates again
and again, and how Ann, the washerwoman, was the life and soul of it
all, I can't half tell.
After dinner, when the poor women lodgers insisted on clearing up, and
the poor men sat down by the fire to smoke, for old John actually passed
around his beloved tobacco, Ann quietly slipped out for a few minutes,
took four large bundles from a closet under the stairs, and disappeared
upstairs. She was scarcely missed before she was back again.
Well, of course it was a great day in the house on the alley, and the
guests sat long into the twilight before the warm fire, talking of their
old homes in the fatherland, the hard winter, and prospects for work in
the spring.
When at last they returned to the chilly discomfort of their own rooms,
each family found a package containing a new warm dress and pair of
shoes for every woman and child in the family.
"And I have enough left,"' said Ann the washerwoman, to herself, when
she was reckoning up the expenses of the day, "to buy my coal and pay my
rent till spring, so I can save my old bones a bit. And sure John can't
grumble at their staying now, for it's all along of keeping them that I
had such a blessed Christmas day at all."