_Marian Willard_
It was Christmas morning--the very day when twins should be having the
merriest time in the world. But Betty and Bob were not merry at all;
they sat and looked at each other and hardly knew whether to laugh or
to cry.
“That letter is the best present we could have had, anyway,” said Betty
as she looked again at the big special-delivery stamp. “It means that
mother is out of danger and that we shall be at home in a month.”
A month before that when mother was first taken sick, the twins had
been sent to Uncle Ben’s so that their own house should be very, very
still. They had played on the big farm, had gone to school in the queer
little old schoolhouse and watched for the rural delivery postman to
bring them letters from home.
Christmas at home meant days of shopping, treats when Uncle Tom came
home from college, parties at the church and at the schoolhouse,
and Santa Claus, fat and jolly, ringing his little tinkling bells,
ting-a-ling-aling! on the street corners. Besides that, Christmas at
home meant planning for weeks ahead a gift that would bring Christmas
cheer to some little child that was poor.
“Bobby, do you remember how pleased little Johnny Granger was when you
gave him that pair of skates?”
“I guess I do! They were the first skates he had ever had! You gave his
little sister a pair of rubber boots the same year. How happy she was
with them! She wore them to school all winter whether it rained or not.
I wish we could have some kind of a Christmas this year, just to keep
from forgetting what day it is. There isn’t even snow,” and Bob looked
with disgust at the bare, brown fields that stretched away in front of
the little old farmhouse. “At home they’ve all been so worried over
mother that probably no one has had time to buy us presents.”
“Well, Bobby, mother is better and that is the best present in all the
world for us,” and Betty smiled bravely at her brother.
“I wish we could make a Christmas for somebody else,” said Bobby
slowly. “There aren’t any poor people like the Granger family up here.
Besides, we couldn’t buy anything anyway, for there aren’t any stores.
Isn’t this the strangest Christmas you ever saw?”
“Yes, Bob, it is. No place to spend money; woods full of Christmas
trees and no presents to put on them; no one who needs help; no snow
or skating or company. We are going to have a fine Christmas dinner,
though. Uncle Ben killed a pair of fat chickens yesterday.”
“And I’m going to crack butternuts right now,” said Bobby, and he
jumped up and left his twin sister to romp with Buddy, the collie, who
ran up to her and thrust his soft nose into her hand, teasing for a
game of tag.
“O Buddy, Buddy, I’ll give _you_ a Christmas present,” and Betty ran
upstairs and came flying down again with a big blue ribbon in her hand.
“There, old fellow,” she said as she tied a huge bow on Buddy’s
collar, “you are going to have a Christmas present.” As she spoke she
clapped her hands and ran for Bobby. “O, Bob, hurry up and finish your
butternuts. I think we can have a Christmas after all. Hurry! Hurry!”
Betty ran to find Uncle Ben and whisper something in his ear. She began
to do the queerest things. Up to the attic she ran and down again, her
arms full of big boxes and little ones; then down to the cellar, and up
with an armful of carrots and apples; then out to the barn, and back
with a box of corn and oats.
By that time Bobby had cracked all the butternuts for dinner and stood
with his hands in his pockets, watching his sister. “What in the world
are you doing?” he said with a grin.
Betty grinned at him. “You take the axe and go over to the upland
pasture and cut down a little Christmas tree; Uncle Ben said we could.”
“But we haven’t a thing to put on the tree.”
“We shall have something when you get back. Uncle Ben will take Mollie
and meet you and haul the tree home.”
Bob went off, wondering, and Betty began to snip up pieces of an old
gray flannel shirt of Uncle Ben’s and to rummage in the button box for
old shoe buttons.
When Bob drove in with Uncle Ben and the little tree, Betty dangled
in front of him seven gray mice by their tails of string. With shoe
buttons for eyes and bodies made of gray flannel they looked so real
that Uncle Ben jumped when he saw them.
“My land, child, those mice would fool any cat in the county!”
“Smell,” answered Betty, and she dangled her treasures under her
uncle’s nose.
“Catnip mice,” he chuckled.
“I guess I know now who your poor folks will be this year. They haven’t
a cent to their name, nor a shirt to their backs,” laughed Bobby, “but
why the tree?”
Such a busy morning as the twins had after that! Bob set up the tree
in the middle of the big barn. Betty made little bundles that were as
mysterious as any Christmas package you ever saw. Then she hung them on
the tree; a package of meat cut fine for Buddy, marked with his name in
big letters; seven catnip mice hung by their string tails for the seven
cats on the farm; four carrots tied in a bunch of hay for Mollie; four
apples tied in hay for Duke, the old gray horse; lumps of sugar in
little bundles for Buddy and Duke and Mollie.
Then Betty was puzzled. She ran to Uncle Ben. “What does a cow like
best?” she asked.
“Well, my cows like cornstalks. There is a pile back of the old barn.”
So there were bundles of cornstalks at the base of the tree. Betty tied
them in loose bunches for the cows. On the floor, too, stood a big bag
of corn for the hens.
After dinner the fun began. Everyone put on a sweater and went to the
barn, Buddy at Betty’s heels proud of his new bow. Not all the cats
could be found, but five of them came in answer to Aunt Martha’s call.
Buddy took his meat and without a single “thank you” ran to an empty
stall to eat it. The horses nodded “thank you” as they ate the sugar
and the carrots and the apples that the children held out to them.
Cats and kittens played with their catnip mice and lapped up saucers
of milk. Mother Bunch slapped the gray kitten because he tried to
steal her catnip mouse. The cows crunched their cornstalks and looked
with mild surprise at the queer antics of the kittens. Bob carried the
heavy pail of corn out to the hen yard and Betty fed the chickens which
crowded to her feet.
When the children went back to the barn with the empty pail, they
themselves had a surprise. A wild gray squirrel had stolen in at the
open door, and was sitting up on his hind legs under the Christmas
tree, eating the corn that had been spilled; and he seemed as much at
home as if he had been invited to the party.
“I guess he must be our poor family,” laughed Betty as she threw him
another handful of corn.
“Twinnies,” suddenly called a man’s voice from the yard. Only father
called like that. The twins turned, and there he stood in the door of
the barn, smiling at them. They rushed to his arms. How happy they were
to see him.
“So you youngsters had a tree for the penniless poor, did you?” he said
with a laugh.
“Well, run into the house with your father and I’ll see what this tree
will have for you,” said Uncle Tom, who stood just behind their father,
his arms loaded with bundles.
In less time than you would have thought it could be done, Uncle Tom
had the tree ready for Betty and Bob.
“We have to start for home by five o’clock, so you children had better
open your bundles right now,” said father. The twins did not need to
be told twice. Eagerly they opened the packages, gay with ribbons and
seals. There were books, snowshoes, a red silk umbrella for Betty and a
pair of skating boots for Bob; candy, a gold piece for each twin from
Uncle Tom; and best of all, a little pencil note from mother to tell
them that she was really better and to wish them a merry Christmas.
“Well,” said Bobby as the big car drove out of the yard with father and
Uncle Tom, “this hasn’t been such a queer Christmas, after all.”
[23] This story was first printed in “Youth’s Companion,” December 14,
1922. Reprinted by permission of the author and “Youth’s Companion.”