"GOD REST YE, MERRIE GENTLEMEN"
There was a whisper in the corridor, a patter of softly shod feet upon
the stair.
Even Uncle Rufus had not as yet arisen, and it was as black as pitch
outside the Corner House windows.
The old dog, Tom Jonah, rose, yawning, from his rug before the kitchen
range, walked sedately to the swinging door of the butler's pantry, and
put his nose against it. The whispering and pattering of feet was in the
front hall, but Tom Jonah's old ears were sharp.
The sounds came nearer. Tess and Dot were coming down to see what Santa
Claus had left them. Old Tom Jonah whined, put both paws to the door,
and slipped through. He bounded through the second swinging door into
the dining room just as the two smallest Corner House girls, with their
candle, entered from the hall.
"Oh, Tom Jonah!" cried Tess.
"Merry Christmas, Tom Jonah!" shouted Dot, skipping over to the
chimney-place. Then she squealed: "Oh-ee! He _did_ come, Tess! Santa
Claus has been here!"
"Well," sighed Tess, thankfully, "it's lucky Tom Jonah didn't bite him."
Dot hurried to move a chair up to the hearth, and climbed upon it to
reach her stocking. The tree was in the shadow now, and the children did
not note the packages tied to its branches.
Dot unhooked her own and her sister's stockings and then jumped down, a
bulky and "knobby" hose under each arm.
"Come on back to bed and see what's in them," proposed Tess.
"No!" gasped Dot. "I can't wait--I really can't, Tess. I just feel as
though I should faint."
She dropped right down on the floor, holding her own stocking clasped
close to her breast. There her gaze fell upon a shiny, smart-looking
go-cart, just big enough for her Alice-doll, that had been standing on
the hearth underneath the place where her stocking had hung.
"Oh! _oh!_ OH!" shrieked Dot. "I know I shall faint."
Tess was finding her own treasures; but Tess could never enjoy anything
selfishly. She must share her joy with somebody.
"Oh, Dot! Let's show the others what we've got. And Ruthie and Aggie
ought to be down, too," she urged.
"Let's take our stockings upstairs and show 'em," Dot agreed.
She piled her toys, helter skelter, into the doll wagon. "My Alice-doll
_must_ see this carriage," she murmured, and started for the door. Tess
followed with her things gathered into the lap of her robe. Tom Jonah
paced solemnly after them, and so the procession mounted the front
stairs--Dot having some difficulty with the carriage.
Ruth heard them coming and called out "Merry Christmas!" to them; but
Agnes was hard to awaken, for she had been up late. The chattering and
laughter finally aroused the beauty, and she sat up in bed, yawning to
the full capacity of her "red, red cavern with its fringe of white
pearls all around."
"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" they all shouted at
her.
"Oh--dear--me! Merry Christmas!" returned Agnes. "But why be so noisy
about it?"
"Come over here, Miss Lazybones," cried Ruth, "and see what Santa Claus
has brought the children."
"What's that?" demanded Agnes, as she hopped out of bed. "Who's going
down the back stairs?"
"Linda," said Ruth. "Can't you tell those clod-hopper shoes she wears? I
wonder if everybody in Finland wears such footgear?"
"Maybe she's going to look at _her_ stocking," Tess said. "I hope she
likes the handkerchiefs I monogrammed for her."
But before long the pungent smell of freshly ground coffee came up the
back stairway and assured the girls that the serving maid was at work.
"Why so ear--ear--ear-ly?" yawned Agnes, again. "Why! it's still
pitch-dark."
Uncle Rufus was usually the first astir in the Corner House and Linda
was not noted for early rising. But now the girls heard the stairs creak
again--this time under Mrs. MacCall's firm tread.
"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Mac!" they all shouted.
The smiling Scotchwoman came to the door with her bedroom candle in her
hand.
"Indeed, I hope 'twill be a merry ain for my fower sweethearts," she
said. "Your Mrs. Mac must have a kiss from ever' ain o' ye," and she
proceeded to take toll from the quartette.
"Ye make ma heart glad juist wi' the looks o' ye," she added. "And
there's many and many a lonely heart beside mine ma Corner House bairns
have made to rejoice. I thank God for ye, ma dearies."
Mrs. MacCall always spoke more broadly when she was moved by sentiment.
She wiped her glasses now and prepared to descend to the kitchen when
suddenly a chorus of voices broke out below the bedroom windows, in the
side yard toward Willow Street.
"Hech, now! what have we here?" cried the housekeeper, going smartly to
the window and throwing up the shade and then the sash. The sound poured
in--a full chorus of fresh young voices singing a Christmas carol.
"Cover yersel's, ma dearies," advised Mrs. MacCall, "and leesten."
"Oh, oh!" whispered Agnes, fairly hugging herself as she sat upon the
bed with her feet drawn up. "It's just as though we lived in a
castle--and had a moat and drawbridge and fiefs--"
"Oh," interposed Dot. "That's Mr. Joe Maroni strumming his guitar. I've
heard him before."
"Why!" gasped Ruth. "It's the children from Meadow Street."
She ran to the window to peer out. It was a very cold morning, and there
was only a narrow band of crimson, pink, and saffron light along the
eastern horizon.
She could easily distinguish the sturdy Italian with his guitar which he
touched so lightly in accord with the children's voices. There were
fully a dozen of the little singers--German and Italian, Jew and
Gentile--singing the praise of Christ our Lord in an old Christmas carol.
A bulky figure in the background puzzled Ruth at first; but when a
hoarse voice commanded: "Now sing de Christ-childt song--coom!
Ein--zwei--drei!" she recognized Mrs. Kranz, the proprietor of the
delicatessen store.
The lustily caroling children were some of the Maronis, Sadie Goronofski
and her half-brothers and sisters, and other children of the tenants in
the Meadow Street property from which the Corner House girls collected
rents.
"Oh, my!" murmured Agnes again. "Isn't it _great_? We ought to throw
them largesse--"
"What's that, Aggie?" demanded Dot. "It--it sounds like a kind of cheese.
Mr. Maroni sells it."
"No, no!" gasped Tess. "That's gorgonzola--I asked Maria. And--it--smells!"
"Goosey!" laughed Agnes. "Largesse is money. Rich folks used to throw it
to the poor."
"My!" observed Dot. "I guess they don't do it now. Poor folks have to
work for money."
"It's just dear of them to come and serenade us," Ruth declared. "But
it's so cold! Do call them in to get warm, Mrs. Mac."
Already the housekeeper was scurrying downstairs. She had routed out
Linda early to make coffee against this very emergency, for Mrs. MacCall
had known that the Corner House girls were to be serenaded on Christmas
morning.
The four sisters dressed hastily and ran down to greet their little
friends from Meadow Street, as well as Mrs. Kranz and Joe Maroni. The
latter had brought "the leetla padrona," as he called Ruth, his usual
offering of a basket of fruit. Mrs. Kranz kissed the Kenway girls all
around, declaring:
"Posies growing de garten in iss nodt so sveet like you kinder. Merry,
merry Christmas!"
While the carol singers drank cups of hot coffee the Corner House girls
brought forth the presents they had intended to send over to Meadow
Street later in the day, but now could give in person to each child.
The choristers went away with merry shouts just at sunrise, and then Dot
and Tess insisted that the family should troop into the dining room to
take down the rest of the stockings.
Breakfast this morning was a "movable feast" and lasted till nine
o'clock. Nobody expected to eat any luncheon; indeed, Mrs. MacCall
declared she could not take the time to prepare any.
"You bairns must tak' a 'bit in your fistie,' as we used to say, and be
patient till dinner time," she said.
Dinner was to be early. Mrs. Eland and Miss Pepperill came in the
doctor's automobile soon after noon, and Tess and Dot were at once
engaged in entertaining these guests in the sitting room.
It was a real blessing to the little Corner House girls, for it kept
them out of the dining room, where they could not keep their eyes off
the heavily laden tree, the fruit of which must not be touched until
after dinner.
Neale O'Neil had, of course, come over for his stocking and had
expressed his gratitude to his friends at the old Corner House. But, as
Ruth had been glum the day before, so Neale was silent now. Agnes became
quite angry with him and sent him home in the middle of the forenoon.
"And you needn't come to dinner, sir--_nor afterward_--if you can't have a
Christmas smile upon your face," she told him, severely.
It was while the preparations for dinner were in full progress, that
Ruth heard voices on the side porch. Rather, a voice, resonant and
commanding which said:
"Hear ye! hear ye! hear ye! I proclaim good tidings to all creatures.
Come! gather around me and list to my word. I bear gifts, frankincense
and myrrh--"
"Goodness me!" cried Agnes. "That's Seneca Sprague. And look at the
cats!"
The girls ran out upon the porch to see a tall, thin, gray-haired man,
his abundant hair sweeping his shoulders, dressed in a flapping linen
duster and with list slippers on his feet--a queer enough costume indeed
for a sharp winter's day. But Seneca Sprague was never more warmly clad
than this, and had been known to plod barefooted through snowdrifts.
"Your humble servant, Miss Ruth," said the queer old man, doffing the
straw hat and bowing low, for he held the oldest Corner House girl in
much deference. "I came to bring you good cheer and wish you a multitude
of blessings. Verily, verily, I say unto you, they that give of their
substance to the poor shall receive again a thousand fold. May your cup
of joy be full to overflowing, Miss Ruth."
"Thank you, Mr. Sprague," replied the girl, gravely, for she made it a
rule never to laugh at the "prophet," as he was called, and who people
said was demented upon religious subjects.
"Thank you for your good wishes," said Ruth. "And what have you brought
the cats?"
For Sandyface and all her progeny had come to meet the prophet and were
purring about him and otherwise showing much pleasure. Even Almira had
left her young family in the woodshed to come to meet Mr. Seneca
Sprague.
From a side pocket of his duster Seneca brought forth a packet. He broke
off a little of the pressed herb in the packet and sprinkled it on the
stoop. The cats fairly scrambled over each other for a chance to eat
some of the catnip, or to roll in it.
They did not quarrel over it. Indeed, the intoxicating qualities of
their favorite herb gave the cats quite a Christmas spirit.
Mrs. MacCall brought a shallow pan of milk and some more of the herb was
sprinkled in it by the old prophet. The kittens--Starboard, Port,
Hard-a-lee and Mainsheet--lapped this up eagerly.
"It's very kind of you to bring the catnip, Mr. Sprague," Ruth said.
"Won't you come in and taste Agnes' Christmas cake? She is getting to be
a famous cake baker."
"With pleasure," said the queer old man.
After Seneca Sprague's old hut on the river dock was burned at
Thanksgiving, and the Corner House girls had found him a room in one of
their tenements to live in, he had become a frequent visitor at the old
Corner House. Ruth would have ushered him into the sitting room where
Mrs. Eland and her sister were; but Seneca shrank from that.
"I am not a society man--nay, verily," quoth the prophet. "The sex does
not interest me."
"But it is only Mrs. Eland and her sister, who are our guests to-day for
dinner," Ruth said, as she led him into the dining room, while Agnes
sped to get the cake.
"Ha! Those Aden girls," said Seneca, referring to the hospital matron
and the red-haired school teacher by their family name. "I remember
Lemuel Aden well--their uncle. A hard man was Lemuel--a hard man."
"I believe he must have been a very wicked man," declared Agnes, coming
back with a generous slice of cake, and overhearing this. "See how he
let people think that his brother was dishonest, while _he_ pocketed
money belonging to the clients of Mrs. Eland's father. Oh! we know all
about it."
"Ah!" said Seneca again, tasting the cake. "Very delicious. I know that
you put none of the fat of the accursed swine in your cake as some of
these women around here do."
"Lard, he means," whispered Ruth, for Seneca followed the rabbinical
laws of the Jews and ate no pork.
"Lemuel Aden was a miser," the prophet announced. "He was worse than
your uncle, Peter Stower," he added bluntly. "All three of us went to
school together. They were much older than I, of course; but I came here
to the Corner House to see Peter at times. And I was here when Lem Aden
came last."
"We know about that, too," Agnes said, with some eagerness. "Did--did
Uncle Peter really turn him out, and did he wander over into Quoharie
Township, and die there in the poorhouse?"
Seneca was silent for a minute, nibbling at the cake thoughtfully. "It
comes upon my mind," he said at last, "that Peter Stower was greatly
maligned about that matter. Peter was a hard man, but he had soft spots
in him. He was a great sinner, in that he ate much meat--which is verily
against the commandment. For I say unto you--"
"But how about Mr. Lemuel Aden and Uncle Peter?" interrupted Ruth,
gently; for the old prophet was likely to switch off on some foreign
topic if not shrewdly guided in his speech.
"Ah! Lemuel Aden came back here to Milton when he was an old man. Not so
old in years, perhaps; but old in wickedness, and aged beyond his years
by his own miserliness. We had heard he was rich, but he declared he had
nothing--had lost everything in speculation; and he said all he possessed
was in the old carpetbag he brought.
"Peter Stower took him in," Seneca continued. "But Lemuel was a dirty
old man and made that colored man a lot of trouble. It was thought by
everybody that Lemuel Aden had even more wealth than Peter Stower; but
nobody ever knew of his spending a penny. Peter said he had money; and
so finally turned him out."
"How long did he stay here at the old Corner House?" asked Ruth.
"Verily he would have remained until his end; but Peter became angry
with him and threatened to hand him over to the town authorities. They
quarreled harshly--I was here at the time. The colored man must have
heard much of the quarrel, too," Seneca proceeded.
"I went away in the midst of it. Peace dwelleth with me--yea, verily. I
am not a man of wrath. Later I learned that Lemuel Aden went away
cursing Peter Stower, and he was never more seen again in Milton."
"But was he poor?" Ruth asked. "Did Uncle Peter turn him out to suffer?"
Seneca Sprague shook his head. "Nay; I would not charge that to Peter
Stower's account," he said. "It was believed by everybody, as I say,
that Lemuel had much money hidden away. Peter Stower said he knew it."
"Just the same, he died in the Quoharie poorhouse," Agnes cried,
quickly.
"He would have been cared for here in Milton by the authorities had he
asked help. Peter Stower and Lemuel Aden were both misers. It was said
of them that each had the first dollar he ever earned."
"Dear me!" Ruth said, as the old prophet concluded. "If Mr. Aden did
have money at any time, it is too bad Mrs. Eland can't find it. She and
her sister need it now, if ever they did," and she sighed, thinking of
Dr. Forsyth's report upon Miss Pepperill's condition.