NO NEWS FOR CHRISTMAS
Almira's addition to the Corner House family was not the only happening
which came on this eventful day to fill the minds and the hearts of the
Kenway sisters.
Ruth went around with a very serious face, considering the holiday
season and all that she and Agnes and Tess and Dot had to make them
joyful. Nor was her expression of countenance made any more cheerful by
some news bluff Dr. Forsyth gave her when he stopped, while on his
afternoon round of calls, to leave four packages marked "Ruth," "Agnes,"
"Tess" and "Dot."
"Not to be opened till to-morrow, mind," said the doctor. "That's what
the wife says. Now, I must hurry on. I've got to go back to the hospital
again to-night. I've a bothersome patient there."
"Oh! Not Miss Pepperill?" Ruth cried, for the red-haired school teacher
and the matron of the hospital, her sister, were to be the guests of the
Corner House girls on the morrow.
Dr. Forsyth took off his hat again and frowned into it. "No," he said,
"not her--not now."
"Why, Doctor! what do you mean? Isn't she getting on well?"
"Well? No!" blurted out the physician. "She doesn't please me. She
doesn't get back her strength. Her nerves are jumpy. I hear that she was
considered a Tartar in the schoolroom. Is that right?"
"Ask Tommy Pinkney," smiled Ruth. "I believe she was considered strict."
"Humph! yes. Short tempered, sharp tongued, children afraid of her, eh?"
"I believe so," admitted Ruth.
"Good reason for that," said the doctor, shaking his head. "Her nerves
are worn to a frazzle. I'm not sure that it isn't a teacher's disease.
It's prevalent among 'em. The children just wear them out--if they don't
take things easily."
"But, Miss Pepperill?"
"I can't get her on her pins again," growled the doctor.
"Oh, Doctor! Can't she come over here with her sister to-morrow?"
"Yes, she'll come in my machine," said the good physician, putting on
his hat once more. "What I am talking about is her lack of improvement.
She stands still. She makes no perceptible gain. She talks about going
back to teaching, and all that. Why, she is no more fit to be a teacher
at present than I am fit to be an angel!"
Ruth smiled up at him and patted his burly shoulder. "I am not so sure
that you are not an angel, Doctor," she said.
"Yes. That's what they tell me when I've pulled 'em out of trouble by
the very scruff of their necks," growled Dr. Forsyth. "Other times, when
I am giving them bad tasting medicine, they call me anything but an
angel," and he laughed shortly.
"But now--in this case--she's not a bad patient. She can't help her
nerves. They have gotten away from her. Out of control. She's not fit to
go back to her work--and won't be for a couple of years."
"Oh!" cried Ruth, with pain. She knew what such a thing meant to the two
sisters at the hospital. It was really tragic. Mrs. Eland's salary was
small, and Miss Pepperill was not the person to wish to be a burden upon
her sister. "The poor thing!" Ruth added.
"She ought to have a year--perhaps two--away from all bothersome things,"
said Dr. Forsyth, preparing to go. "I'd like to have her go away, and
her sister with her for a time, to some quiet place, and to a more
invigorating climate. And _that_--well, we doctors can prescribe such
medicine for our rich patients only," and Dr. Forsyth went away, shaking
his head.
Ruth said nothing to the other girls about this bad report upon Miss
Pepperill's condition. They all were interested in Mrs. Eland's
sister--more for Mrs. Eland's sake, it must be confessed, than because of
any sweetness of disposition that had ever been displayed by the
red-haired school teacher.
The two women had lived very unhappy lives. Left orphans at an early
age, they were separated, and Miss Pepperill was brought up by people
who treated her none too kindly. She was trained as a teacher and had
never married; whereas Mrs. Eland was widowed young, had become a nurse,
and finally had come to be matron of the Milton Women's and Children's
Hospital in the very town where her sister taught school.
The coming together of the sisters, after Miss Pepperill was knocked
down by an automobile on the street, seemed quite a romance to the
Corner House girls, and they had been vastly interested for some weeks
in the affairs of the matron and the school teacher.
The little girls, Tess and Dot, were too much excited over what the eve
of Christmas, and the day itself should bring forth, to be much
disturbed by even Ruth's grave face.
When they ate dinner that night, in the light of the candles, it seemed
as though they ate in a fairy grotto. The big dining room was
beautifully trimmed, the lights sparkled upon the newly polished silver
and cut glass, a beautiful damask tablecloth was on the board, and the
girls in their fresh frocks and ribbons were a delight to the eye.
Dot could not keep her eyes off the open fireplace. Branches of pine had
now been set up in the yawning cavern of brick; but plenty of room had
been left for the entrance of a Santa Claus of most excellent girth.
"Dot's expecting another Santa--or a burglar--to tumble down the chimney
at any moment," laughed Agnes.
"Let us hope he won't be a plumber," said Ruth, smiling gravely.
"Another plumber's bill at Christmas would extract all the joy from our
festivities."
"Oh! What will Mr. Howbridge say when he sees the bill?" queried Agnes,
round-eyed, for she stood somewhat in awe of their very dignified
guardian.
"I don't much care what he'll say," said Ruth, recklessly. "Only I wish
he were going to be with us to-morrow as he was at Thanksgiving. But he
will not be back until long past New Year's."
Before they rose from the table the doorbell began to ring and Uncle
Rufus hobbled out to answer it and to receive mysterious packages
addressed to the various members of the family. These gifts were heaped
in the sitting room, and Tess and Dot were not even allowed a peep at
them.
Neale came over and lit up the tree, to the delight of the little girls.
The Creamer girls from next door came in to see it, and so did Margaret
and Holly Pease from down Willow Street.
Sammy Pinkney had been told he could come; but the red comforter and the
hoarse voice had not been for nothing. Mrs. Pinkney sent over word that
Sammy had such a cold that she was forced to put him to bed. He was
feverish, too; so his Christmas Eve was spent between blankets.
"Oh! I'm so sorry for Sammy," Dot said, feasting her eyes upon the
glittering tree. "I know he won't ever see anything so pretty as this."
"Not if he turns pirate, he won't," Tess agreed severely. "I think
likely his being sick is a punishment for his saying that there isn't
any Santa Claus."
The visiting little girls went home and Tess and Dot were sent off to
bed. Not that they were sleepy--oh, no, indeed! They declared that they
positively could _not_ sleep--and then were in the Land of Nod almost
before their heads touched the pillow.
Ruth kissed them both after she had heard their prayers, and then
tiptoed out of the room. Downstairs was suppressed laughter and much
running about. Agnes and Neale were beginning to tie the presents on the
tree, and to fill the stockings hung on a line across the chimney-place.
Everybody--even Uncle Rufus--had hung up a stocking for Santa Claus to
fill with goodies. It had cost infinite labor and urging to get Aunt
Sarah to put her stocking in evidence for Kris Kringle; but there it
was, a shapeless white affair with unbleached foot and top.
Mrs. MacCall's hung next--rather a natty looking black stocking, if the
truth were known--one of a pair, the mate to which had long since been
eaten by Billy Bumps, the goat.
Then came the girls' stockings in one-two-three-four order, like a
graduated course of bamboo "bells." Then followed one of Neale's golf
stockings, which he had brought because it held more than a sock, with
Linda's coarse red woollen hose and Uncle Rufus' huge gray yarn sock at
the end.
It was great fun to fill the hose and to tie the wonderfully curious
packages on the tree and heap them underneath it. Neale was to get all
his presents at the Corner House; so that added to the confusion. There
was a special corner in the sitting room where Neale's gifts had been
hidden; and there he was supposed not to look.
Then Agnes had to go into the kitchen while her presents were being
unearthed and properly hung. Last of all, Ruth retired, leaving Agnes
and Neale to hang those gifts which the Good Saint had brought the
eldest sister. Ruth was tired, for she had worked hard; so she went to
sleep and had no idea how long her sister sat up, when Neale went home,
or at what hour Mrs. MacCall locked the house and went up to bed.
Agnes and Neale had something besides the hanging of Ruth's presents to
interest them. The former found the big, old family album hidden behind
the sewing machine in the sitting room. She sat down with Neale to look
it over.