The Christmas Party
Harry Pangborn came over to dinner and to spend the evening. It was a
most delightful meal, for Moselle and Althea had done their best, which
was very good indeed. But it was the talk, the banter and laughter that
lent spice to the food. Young folks are inimitable at that sort of thing.
“It certainly is mystifying,” Harry had to admit when he was told, more
in detail, what Dot had sketched to him over the telephone about the
“mistletoe” experience of Sim and Arden. “Very strange. You say there was
no more sign of other footprints than your own?”
“Not a sign,” declared Sim.
“Could you gather why Viney Tucker was in the old smokehouse?”
“Only that it was a queer whim,” said Arden, “and she is queer.”
“Yes, such a character as hers would be whimmy.” He lighted a cigarette.
Dinner was almost over.
“Is this mistletoe?” asked Dot, bringing out a branch from those her
chums had gathered. “You might know, being a bird man.”
“I should think one would need to be a ladies’ man to judge mistletoe,”
said Mr. Pangborn, with a laugh and a glance at each of the girls in
turn. Terry was downstairs for the first time since her accident.
“Not bad! Not half bad!” laughed Arden. “But do you confirm Viney’s
denial? Is it or is it not—mistletoe?”
“No, it isn’t mistletoe,” he said after an examination. “But I suppose it
will answer the same purpose. Where are you going to hang it? I should
like to know in advance.”
“_Wouldn’t_ you like to know?” mocked Dorothy.
“I must take a piece with me and put it in Granny Howe’s hair the night
of the Christmas party,” said Harry, handing back to Dot the plant she
had given him. “I shall claim the privilege on the eve of the holiday.”
“Like this?” Dot challenged with mischief in her eyes as she thrust the
clump of white berries into her own blonde hair and then ran laughing
from the room.
It was a merry little group. Mr. Pangborn said everything was in
readiness to announce to Granny, with the sanction of the head of the
State Park Commission, that at least she would have a new chance to prove
her claim.
“And about the party,” suggested Arden. “Just what are we going to do at
it?”
“We shall need some refreshments, I suppose,” said Sim. “I can get
Moselle to arrange about that. We can pack them into my car and take them
to the Hall. Only we’ll be a bit crowded in the roadster.”
“I’ll bring my car,” Harry said. “But, as there are quite a few things to
do, wouldn’t it be wise to take Dick and Betty into our confidence?”
“And let them help,” spoke Terry.
“Yes. Dick and I can get in the wood and put the chairs and other
furniture in place. I saw a table there for the food,” said Harry.
“Oh, it’s going to be just—_grand_!” murmured Sim dramatically.
“But tell Betty and Dick not to let Granny know about it,” warned Arden.
“That would spoil the surprise.”
“I’ll caution them,” Harry promised. “I’ll go see Dick at the livery
stable in the morning and also stop at the library and tell Betty. I’ve
been in there for books before.”
“What about Viney?” asked Sim. “Should she be told?”
“I’ll leave that to Dick and Betty,” said Harry. “They can use their best
judgment. I only hope she doesn’t break up the little affair. She’s very
queer, you say?”
“More than queer—vindictive,” declared Arden.
“But when she hears the big state news, things are going to ease up a
little, I think,” said Sim.
They talked over the plan, made some changes, and when Harry left that
evening all details were practically settled.
He telephoned the next day, about noon, to say that he had seen Betty and
Dick and that they were delighted with the matter. They both said, Harry
reported, that Viney must be told or she might break out into a sudden
tantrum at the last moment when she learned about it.
“She probably won’t come to the party,” Harry said. Betty had informed
him, but that would be all right, he added. The two grandchildren would
escort Mrs. Howe to the old mansion the evening of the affair, at a
predetermined hour, on pretense that it would probably be the last
Christmas she would ever see with the old house standing.
It was the day before Christmas. Dick and Harry, with the help of a
stable boy, had brought much dry wood into the old Hall. The girls had,
each one, bought some little token for Granny and something for Viney,
“in case,” Arden said, “she shows up at the last moment and starts a
fuss. We’ll have to treat her like a child.”
Betty and Dick entered into the spirit of the affair and could not say
enough in praise of the girls who had thought of it.
“Granny is going to be very happy about it all,” said Betty gratefully.
“I hope so,” said Arden. “By the way, Betty, did you ever get those old
books you were looking for in the cellar?”
“I never did. But I’m going in when the house is razed. It will be light
down there then. There may be some valuable volumes, the librarian says.”
In the days that passed between the one before Christmas and the episode
of the “mistletoe,” nothing had happened at Sycamore Hall, as far as
Arden and her chums could learn. There were no more strange
manifestations. But then no workmen were engaged in tearing the place
apart.
Dick and Betty decided not to say anything to Viney Tucker until the
afternoon of the party. Otherwise she might have too long a time to brood
over it and get some obstreperous notions busy in her old bonnet.
All the preparations were finished. Moselle had made up a delightful
picnic lunch for an evening supper, with thermos bottles of coffee and
chocolate. The things were taken to the Hall by Harry in his car, and a
hearth fire was lighted early in the afternoon to drive the chill off the
big old room.
Evening came, and after an early meal the girls and Harry went, in two
carloads, to the old Hall. Candles had been brought for illumination, and
there was quite a collection of flashlights for emergencies.
Then Arden, her chums, and Harry trooped into the place. More wood was
piled on the fire. The hour approached when Dick and Betty were to bring
in Granny Howe.
Footsteps were heard on the porch—voices—laughter.
“What in the world are you tykes up to?” Granny could be heard asking of
Betty and Dick. Her voice was jovial.
They brought in the dear old lady—into the candlelighted room, where the
roaring fire flickered on branches of holly that the girls, with a last
moment thought, had hung around the walls.
“Oh—what—what is all this?” faltered Granny as she saw the little throng
of happy, smiling faces. “What does it mean?”
“Merry Christmas, Granny! Merry Christmas!” cried the girls.
And Granny, trembling a little, took the old squat rocker before the
hearth fire while the merry throng cheered around her.
This was indeed a Christmas party!