WELCOME HODGKINS CHOOSES THE CHRISTMAS TREE
It isn't so easy as you might think to choose a Christmas tree. Many
a day early as November the seven little Mulvaneys trooped forth in
search of one. The woods belonged to Mr. Hodgkins, who by this time had
become their much loved ideal. Even Cornelia Mary had changed her mind
about the man.
"He doesn't seem half so queer when you really get acquainted with
him," she often remarked to her mother. Mrs. Brown and Sally were
delighted by the many acts of kindness he showered upon the Mulvaneys,
and their friends the Turners began to like him.
It so happened that the reason the seven children were so careful in
their choice of a tree, was because Mr. Hodgkins, the Randalls, the
Turners, Mrs. Brown, Alfred and Sally were to share in its joy. The
idea of having a Christmas tree was suggested by Mrs. Mulvaney to the
unbounded satisfaction of the children.
"Who'll speak the pieces and sing the songs?" demanded Chinky.
"All of us, of course," Hannah replied.
"Catch me speaking a piece to a tree!" sniffed Chinky. "Johnnie and
Mike and Stubbins, they can do that."
"Think you're awful smart, don't you?" began Mike, but his mother cut
him short with her slipper.
Johnnie was the boy who best knew how easily that slipper came off and
should have known better than to laugh at Mike.
"I'll paddle you next," warned Mrs. Mulvaney. "You think you're so
cunning. Be quiet, children, and we'll settle about how things is to be
done Christmas Eve. We'll have the speaking and the singing first, that
being the way it was fixed at the Christmas tree you all went to at the
church last year, though land's sake that seems ten years ago, times
has changed so much.
"We can sing some hymn tunes together, company and all, and we'll get
Sally and Alfred to speak the stylish pieces, as you might say, and
maybe they'll do what Nora and Dora did the last day of school, and
speak a Christmas catalogue together."
"Oh, ma," corrected Hannah, "you mean a dialogue."
"Take that," continued Mrs. Mulvaney, boxing Hannah's ears, "and don't
be so free with your book learning as to forget your manners to your
ma. Nora and Dora, they can speak their old catalogue," this with a
severe look at Hannah, who was rubbing her ears, "and Stubbins can
speak his piece, and Mike and Johnnie can learn new ones to keep 'em
out of mischief."
"Aw," began Mike, but he went no further as the loose slipper showed
signs of dropping off his mother's foot.
"And you said, as I remember it," went on Mrs. Mulvaney, "that a church
man did some speechifying in front of the tree. Mr. Hodgkins, he's the
man that can do that, and when he gets to the end of it we'll all clap
our hands."
"Will Thanta Clauth come netht?" inquired Stubbins, resting his chin
in both hands with his elbows upon his knees.
"Aren't you ashamed," replied Mrs. Mulvaney. "Now don't you s'pose
Santa Claus knows we can take care of ourselves this year? He better go
where they's poor folks. Moses Aaron, I'm ashamed of you."
"Well, but thay, ma, how about Chrithmuth prethenth?"
"That's where the real fun of Christmas comes in," explained Mrs.
Mulvaney; "we make presents for each other. When I was a girl at home
my sisters and I used to begin making Christmas presents for our mother
and father and aunts and uncles and cousins and for each other, way
back in the summer, and then we hid 'em till the time came."
At this point Chinky winked at his mother and nodded his head as much
as to say, "You and I know a thing or two."
"Well, Ezra Jonathan," asked his mother, "what are you making a fool of
yourself for?"
More winks and shaking of the head this time.
"Well, speak out, Ezra, and don't set there acting like a dumb idiot."
"You see, ma," stammered the boy, still trying the effect of winks, "I
thought Santa Claus he wouldn't mind putting the presents on the tree
for us if we left 'em all on the what-not where he could see 'em easy."
Stubbins caught at the suggestion. "Oh, thay, ma," he begged, "leth do
it, I tell you uth kidth like that old Thanta Clauth. He ith all right.
I don't think Chrithmuth would be half tho nithe if he couldn't thee
our tree and put thome prethents on it."
"All right," consented Mrs. Mulvaney returning Chinky's wink to the
best of her ability. Not being used to winking she had to screw up
one corner of her mouth to do it. "Now then, after Mr. Hodgkins has
his say, Chinky, I mean Ezra Jonathan, can take the presents off the
tree and give 'em to Hannah and she can read out the names and Moses
Aaron can carry the presents around and if he stubs his toes and breaks
anything, I'll warm his jacket right in front of the company. After
that'll come the Christmas dinner."
"Dinner at night?" asked Hannah.
"Yes, dinner at night," was the reply. "That's when we're going to
have Chink—Ezra's big turkey. Now ain't you glad you know manners,
and ain't you little boys glad you picked blackberries enough to pay
for our fine company tablecloth and napkins, and ain't you glad our
cellar's full of vegetables we raised ourselves? And think of the
currant jelly Hannah made that's awaiting for Christmas."
"We must pick out our tree," Johnnie broke in, "I think that one I
showed you kids last night was the best in the whole bunch."
"But I don't," objected Hannah, "it's too tall."
"And the one I got, you say is too short," pouted Mike.
"And mine was lop-sided," added Chinky.
"And I can't decide on any of them," laughed Hannah.
"Oh, I thay!" cried Stubbins, "I know a man what'll know a good
Chrithmuth tree when he theeth it."
"That's a fact," approved Mrs. Mulvaney, "trot right over and ask Mr.
Hodgkins for his advice."
Appealed to by the seven, Mr. Hodgkins went to the woods with his young
neighbours one bright December day and chose a large, perfectly shaped
spruce.
"It won't do," declared Hannah.
"Why?"
"It's too big, Mr. Hodgkins, we'd have to cut a hole through the
ceiling to make it stand in our sitting-room."
Mr. Hodgkins laughed aloud.
"It's too big," protested the seven.
Mr. Hodgkins laughed again. "I'll go over and talk to your mother about
it," said he. "We won't cut the spruce down until Christmas week so it
will be fresh and green. If I can make your mother believe this tree is
just right, we'll most surely have a Merry Christmas."
The seven were disappointed.
"I think he's crazy," sputtered Chinky on the way home.
"I know he is," grumbled Johnnie, "that tree's high as our chimney."
"Never mind," said Hannah, "ma's got some sense if he ain't. She won't
have that great big tree, don't you fret."
"That's right, ma knows what's what," added Chinky, kicking the bright
snow from his path and straightening his shoulders. "She's got a lot of
sense."