I lay awake for a long time thinking of things. I considered the twins
and their stockings, and grandmother's delight in the morning. Somehow I
had to think a great deal about grandmother in order to keep myself from
crying. Grandmother did not know what I was doing for her. The little
boy must be getting ready to come right now. Off in the distance I could
hear sleigh-bells, perhaps his sleigh-bells, now near, now far away, and
in the pauses between the soft throb of the organ over in the church,
and a voice singing a hymn, the one that I knew about angels and the
manger with the Child. It was very beautiful. I sighed a little,
sleepily. After all I was happy.
Then in a moment it was day, bright day, and in the next room there was
a confused murmur of voices and a hurried scamper of feet. Dick shouted
excitedly. Somebody beat a drum with a low rumble like soldiers, not as
a little boy would beat a drum, but as my father might if he were
teaching a little boy. Somebody marched pitapat about the room, and
somebody danced by the fireplace.
"Go back to your cribs," my mother cried, uneasily. "You'll get your
death of cold!"
On the chair by the side of my bed there was a stocking, with queer
knobby places, which meant oranges, and square places, which meant
candy. Right on top there was a blue velvet hat trimmed with white
feathers, and against the stocking there leant a picture-book. I looked
at them incredulously. Santa Claus had not understood! Or else he had
thought that I loved my presents better than I did my grandmother! I
kissed the hat and the picture-book twice, and then I put them sternly
back on the chair. I knew what I should do. Santa Claus would find that
I meant what I said.
"Did you like the picture-book, Rhoda?" my father inquired at the
breakfast table.
"Yes," I answered, hurriedly.
Norah smiled at me from the shelter of the kitchen door.
"How did my little frind like the hat?" she asked, in a stage whisper.
It seemed to me that there were some subjects which would not bear
talking about.
They felt my head a great many times that morning, and even looked at my
tongue.
"She acts so unlike herself," my mother said, anxiously. "You don't feel
sick anywhere, do you, Rhoda?"
"No," I replied, huskily.
Grandmother evinced a sudden interest.
"I wouldn't let her go to Evelyn's," she said.
"But I want to go!" I cried, piteously.
"There, there," my father said, in a soothing way. "Of course you may
go."
"Only you must take an iron pill first," my mother pleaded. "Just to
please mother."
She did the pill up very neatly in a raisin, so that it did not look at
all like a pill. My mother could make the most horrible things look
nice,--such as cough syrup, with little specks of jelly floating on it
like a pudding. Afterwards you might know by the taste that there had
been something wrong, but you could never tell beforehand; not even
though you might wonder at dessert being kindly offered for breakfast.
I took my pill meekly, and drank a glass of milk to please my father.
Then after much consultation they put on my cloak, and let me go. I had
the picture-book and the hat hidden under my arm as I went out the door,
but nobody noticed.
Evelyn's house was farther down the street, not quite out of sight from
our front gate, but still at a little distance. There were orphans
going in when I came up,--orphans in decorous rows of twos; each little
girl with a white apron hanging down under her cloak. They went in very
quietly, not at all as if they were excited at the prospect. I felt that
they could not know what was inside. I watched to see them dance when
they passed the parlor door, but they only stared stolidly.
"A merry Christmas to all of you," a sonorous voice cried within.
I peeped in cautiously. There he was! That was Santa Claus. He stood by
a beautiful tree at the top of the room. He had on a white fur coat, and
there was a shaggy cap on his head. He smiled at us. It almost seemed
that he smiled at me, little Rhoda Harcourt, as if he remembered the
chimney! His arms were full of dolls, but I knew at first glance that I
could never really like him. There was something about his face that
made it impossible.
"These dolls are only for good girls," he said again, in a loud voice
that had a muffled sound.
I slipped in closer. The orphans stared back at him unconcernedly. They
were sure that they were good. One, a very sleepy orphan, put her head
on her chair, and went fast to sleep in the most impolite way.
"Here, wake up!" the next orphan said, and slapped her.
She woke up and slapped her neighbor back, and was going to sleep again
when Santa Claus called her name. It was Betsy. He gave Betsy the first
doll. He was evidently quite satisfied with her behavior. I was much
surprised.
The dolls went quickly after that, all except the queen. She sat up high
on the tree, and her eyes had a frightened look, as though she did not
like orphans. Once Santa Claus took her down, but Evelyn put her back
again.
"Not that one, Frank," I heard her cry.
He turned and whispered something to her behind the tree. The branches
were very thick, but for a moment I almost thought that his face grew
different, younger and fairer, and with a gleam of triumphant laughter
about it quite unlike the Santa Claus that he had been before. Then he
changed again, and came out, with his long beard flowing and his fierce
white eyebrows frowning, to give away more dolls.
At the very end of all he picked up the queen, and called gruffly,
"Rhoda!"
I peered out of my corner at the orphans. I could not see any orphan
Rhoda among them. Just suppose that Santa Claus should mean me! He did
mean me! He beckoned with what he thought was a friendly look.
"Rhoda," Evelyn cried. "Why, you're not afraid, are you, dear?"
"No," I answered, hastily.
I do not think that she quite believed me, for she took me by the hand
and led me up to where Santa Claus stood waiting with the queen in his
arms. It was evident that he had forgotten everything, everything that I
had ever told him.
"This is for you," he said in a genial way, holding out the doll.
The queen looked at me with delighted eyes, the dear queen! but I could
not take her. I gave him the hat and the picture-book in a hurry.
"I don't want these," I said. "You know what I want. I told you up the
chimney. And you promised to bring him to me. You know that you did!"
He seemed a little astonished for a moment, and then he laughed.
"Did I?" he questioned. "What chimney was that? You see I go up so many
that sometimes I forget."
"What did you want, Rhoda?" Evelyn asked in surprise, putting her arms
around me. "Tell Evelyn."
"I want grandmother's little boy to come home," I answered, almost
crying. "The little boy who made the lilac ring. All day long she
watches for him. I don't like to see poor grandmother cry!"
There were other things which I might have said, but Evelyn stopped me
with a backward glance at the rows of orphans agog on their chairs, and
a lady or two who had come with them watching in the background. Even
Santa Claus was startled.
"A touch of tragedy," he said. "Who is this child?"
"Can't you guess?" Evelyn whispered. "What was I telling you just now!"
He looked down at me with sudden enlightenment.
"Rhoda!" he cried, uncertainly. "It's not our Rhoda? She was a baby."
"But babies grow in five years," Evelyn replied, in a laughing tone.
He stooped lower and drew me to him.
"Whatever I promised I will do," he said, emphatically. "If you wanted
the whole world I would give it to you to-day!"
He threw off the long yellow cloak that was wrapped about him and did
something to his face. In a moment he was just a man like other men, and
had me upon his shoulder. Somehow it seemed to me that I had been on his
shoulder before when the floor was farther away.
"Almost too big for the old perch," he said, with a laugh that was half
merry and half tremulous.
"Oh, don't forget her doll!" Evelyn cried.
She came a little closer to him so that she could whisper.
"I honor you for this," she said, ardently.
Then she put the queen on his other arm, and gave me the hat and
picture-book to carry. The orphans laughed a little, but Santa Claus did
not mind. He strode out into the sunshine with his heavy load, and
started up the block. The bells were ringing for service as we went
along, and the street was filled with people, but I was the only little
girl in the whole town whom Santa Claus took home. And at our parlor
window grandmother was looking out.
V