"Aunt Bettie, what are _you_ going to put in the pie? For you know
everybody must put in something to please grandfather or make him
laugh," asked Alsie, after detailing the plan to the dear old black
mammy, who had been grandmother's maid when she was a young lady in
the long years ago.
Aunt Bettie was considerably beyond sixty, but not many young "niggers"
could get around as lively as she, and no one, who had ever dined in
that household, could doubt her ability to cook the best meal ever
brought to a table.
"Nevah you min', honey--Aunt Bettie'll have somethin' fur de
occasion--it's a shame dat doctah won't let Captain Gordon hab no pie
nor nuthin', but makes him eat jest dem beat biscuits, when he likes de
soft ones so much de best. I'll be ready, chile, on de day 'fore
Christmas, so don' you worry yourse'f 'bout me."
"But you mus'n't make him anything that is bad for him, Aunt Bettie. He
can't eat the plum pudding, and other rich goodies like the rest of us,
you know, because he is too ill and the doctor won't allow it," answered
Alsie anxiously.
"I'll 'member _all_ dat," laughed Aunt Bettie reassuringly, as the child
departed from the kitchen, but a feeling of sadness came to the faithful
old soul as she recalled the festivities of the year before, when
Christmas dinner had been prepared for the whole family of children and
grandchildren, and the thought of how the dear head of the family had
enjoyed that occasion brought tears to her eyes.
* * * * *
Such conversations were being held every day, and the days were passing,
too, with astonishing rapidity, just as they always do when one is
deeply interested in some absorbing project.
Aunt Alice had been receiving, daily, numerous letters--several
containing checks--and little Alsie's correspondence had suddenly grown
to enormous proportions.
Uncle Dick came in one evening, and slipping a gold piece into his
sister's hand remarked, "_I_ can't think of a thing for that pie, Alice.
I'm sorry to be so stupid, but I'll have to ask you to take this and see
what your clever brain can do with it."
"O, Dick, it will make a grand 'plum' for the pie. I'll put it in, just
in this form, for I want all the money entrusted to me, as agent, to go
toward providing for father, comforts and luxuries, such as we might not
be able to afford under ordinary circumstances. And yet, it's almost
impossible to know exactly how to spend it just now," replied Alice.
After a little pause she added, "I believe I'll just put the gold pieces
and checks into a little box and label it, 'Fruit for the Pie.' My
biggest check may truly be termed a _peach_, and I can convert one or
two others into plums and raisins."
"I think I know of several plums that will be forthcoming if that's your
idea, sis--it's a capital one, too," answered Dick. "I confess I'm
getting quite interested in the contents myself, and two or three times
I've come near asking about the progress of the pie, before mother,
forgetting that she's to share in the great surprise."
"O, Dick, _do_ be careful, for we have arranged it all so nicely, and in
another week we'll be making up that pie, so don't spoil our plans now,
for how much more father will enjoy it if his dear little 'wifey' shares
the pleasure also. And, by the way, Dick, that reminds me of something
that must go in for mother. A few days ago, when I was sitting with
father, he directed me to get a trifling gift for mother, but with his
old-time humor he said, 'I believe the most acceptable gift that I could
make Wifey would be all the receipts of the bills that have come in, for
the little woman has worried considerably over the number and amounts. I
got in a pretty good check several days ago, but I'll not give any gifts
this year--the money must go to pay these extra expenses that have been
inevitable. I wish you'd see to it that Wifey has as big a bunch as
possible of receipted bills. It's the best I can do this year, and you
all understand.'"
"Wasn't it dear of him, Dick, and who but father would have thought of
making a joke of something, which might seem to some, only a trying
duty?"
"It just shows us again the sort of manly man father has always been;
but Alice, I had an idea that it would be a nice thing to take that
little poem father wrote to mother last Christmas--the one he presented
with his gift--and have an illuminated copy made of it for mother's gift
this Christmas. It pleased her so much at the time, and, in this form,
it could be framed prettily and hung over her bed. You remember the
lines--I have them in my pocket now."
He unfolded the sheet of paper, and handed it to Alice, who read aloud: