“Now we won’t leave nothin’ to chance; git up, all of ye, an’ try it.—Speak up, Sarah Maud.”
Sarah Maud’s tongue clove to the roof of her mouth.
“Quick!”
“Ma thought—it was—sech a pleasant hat that we’d—we’d better leave our short walk to home,” recited Sarah Maud, in an agony of mental effort.
This was too much for the boys. An earthquake of suppressed giggles swept all along the line.
“Oh, whatever shall I do with yer?” moaned the unhappy mother; “I s’pose I’ve got to learn it to yer!”—which she did, word for word, until Sarah Maud thought she could stand on her head and say it backwards.
“Now, Cornelius, what are you goin’ ter say ter make yerself good comp’ny?”
“Do? Me? Dunno!” said Cornelius, turning pale, with unexpected responsibility.
“Well, ye ain’t goin’ to set there like a bump on a log ’thout sayin’ a word ter pay for yer vittles, air ye? Ask Mis’ Bird how she’s feelin’ this evenin’, or if Mr. Bird’s hevin’ a busy season, or how this kind o’ weather agrees with him, or somethin’ like that.—Now we’ll make b’lieve we’ve got ter the dinner—that won’t be so hard, ’cause yer’ll have somethin’ to do—it’s awful bothersome to stan’ round an’ act stylish.—If they have napkins, Sarah Maud down to Peory may put ’em in their laps, ’n’ the rest of ye can tuck ’em in yer necks. Don’t eat with yer fingers—don’t grab no vittles off one ’nother’s plates; don’t reach out for nothin’, but wait till yer asked, ’n’ if you never git asked don’t git up and grab it.—Don’t spill nothin’ on the tablecloth, or like’s not Mis’ Bird’ll send yer away from the table—’n’ I hope she will if yer do! (Susan! keep your handkerchief in your lap where Peory can borry it if she needs it, ’n’ I hope she’ll know when she does need it, though I don’t expect it.) Now we’ll try a few things ter see how they’ll go! Mr. Clement, do you eat cramb’ry sarse?”
“Bet yer life!” cried Clem, who in the excitement of the moment had not taken in the idea exactly and had mistaken this for an ordinary bosom-of-the-family question.
“Clement McGrill Ruggles, do you mean to tell me that you’d say that to a dinner-party? I’ll give ye one more chance. Mr. Clement, will you take some of the cramb’ry?”
“Yes, marm, thank ye kindly, if you happen ter have any handy.”
“Very good, indeed! But they won’t give yer two tries tonight—yer just remember that!—Miss Peory, do you speak for white or dark meat?”
“I ain’t perticler as ter color—anything that nobody else wants will suit me,” answered Peory with her best air.
“First-rate! Nobody could speak more genteel than that. Miss Kitty, will you have hard or soft sarse with your pudden?”
“Hard or soft? Oh! A little of both, if you please, an’ I’m much obliged,” said Kitty, bowing with decided ease and grace; at which all the other Ruggleses pointed the finger of shame at her, and Peter grunted expressively, that their meaning might not be mistaken.
“You just stop your gruntin’, Peter Ruggles; that warn’t greedy, that was all right. I wish I could git it inter your heads that it ain’t so much what yer say, as the way you say it. And don’t keep starin’ cross-eyed at your necktie pin, or I’ll take it out ’n’ sew it on to Clem or Cornelius: Sarah Maud’ll keep her eye on it, ’n’ if it turns broken side out she’ll tell yer. Gracious! I shouldn’t think you’d ever seen nor worn no jool’ry in your life.—Eily, you an’ Larry’s too little to train, so you just look at the rest an’ do’s they do, ’n’ the Lord have mercy on ye ’n’ help ye to act decent! Now, is there anything more ye’d like to practice?”
“If yer tell me one more thing, I can’t set up an’ eat,” said Peter gloomily; “I’m so cram full o’ manners now I’m ready ter bust, ’thout no dinner at all.”
“Me too,” chimed in Cornelius.
“Well, I’m sorry for yer both,” rejoined Mrs. Ruggles sarcastically; “if the ’mount o’ manners yer’ve got on hand now troubles ye, you’re dreadful easy hurt! Now, Sarah Maud, after dinner, about once in so often, you must git up ’n’ say, ‘I guess we’d better be goin’;’ ’n’ if they say, ‘Oh, no, set a while longer,’ yer can set; but if they don’t say nothin’ you’ve got ter get up ’n’ go.—Now hev yer got that int’ yer head?”
“About once in so often!” Could any words in the language be fraught with more terrible and wearing uncertainty?
“Well,” answered Sarah Maud mournfully, “seems as if this whole dinner-party set right square on top o’ me! Mebbe I could manage my own manners, but to manage nine mannerses is worse ’n staying to home!”
“Oh, don’t fret,” said her mother, good-naturedly, now that the lesson was over; “I guess you’ll git along. I wouldn’t mind if folks would only say, ‘Oh, childern will be childern;’ but they won’t. They’ll say, ‘Land o’ Goodness, who fetched them childern up?’—It’s quarter past five, ’n’ yer can go now:remember ’bout the hats—don’t all talk ter once—Susan, lend yer han’k’chief ter Peory—Peter, don’t keep screwin’ yer scarf-pin—Cornelius, hold yer head up straight—Sarah Maud, don’t take yer eyes off o’ Larry, ’n’ Larry you keep holt o’ Sarah Maud ’n’ do jest as she says—’n’ whatever you do, all of yer, never forget for one second that yer mother was a McGrill.”
VI. “WHEN THE PIE WAS OPENED, THE BIRDS BEGAN TO SING!”
The children went out of the back door quietly, and were presently lost to sight, Sarah Maud slipping and stumbling along absent-mindedly, as she recited rapidly under her breath, “It was such a pleasant evenin’ ’n’ such a short walk, that we thought we’d leave our hats to home.—It was such a pleasant evenin’ ’n’ such a short walk, that we thought we’d leave our hats to home.”
Peter rang the doorbell, and presently a servant admitted them, and, whispering something in Sarah’s ear, drew her downstairs into the kitchen. The other Ruggleses stood in horror-stricken groups as the door closed behind their commanding officer; but there was no time for reflection, for a voice from above was heard, saying, “Come right up stairs, please!”
“Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do or die.”
Accordingly they walked upstairs, and Elfrida, the nurse, ushered them into a room more splendid than anything they had ever seen. But, oh woe! where was Sarah Maud! and was it Fate that Mrs. Bird should say, at once, “Did you lay your hats in the hall?” Peter felt himself elected by circumstance the head of the family, and, casting one imploring look at tongue-tied Susan, standing next him, said huskily, “It was so very pleasant—that—that”—“That we hadn’t good hats enough to go ’round,” put in little Susan, bravely, to help him out, and then froze with horror that the ill-fated words had slipped off her tongue.
However, Mrs. Bird said, pleasantly, “Of course you wouldn’t wear hats such a short distance—I forgot when I asked. Now will you come right in to Miss Carol’s room? She is so anxious to see you.”
Just then Sarah Maud came up the back stairs, so radiant with joy from her secret interview with the cook that Peter could have pinched her with a clear conscience; and Carol gave them a joyful welcome. “But where is Baby Larry?” she cried, looking over the group with searching eye. “Didn’t he come?”
“Larry! Larry!” Good gracious, where was Larry? They were all sure that he had come in with them, for Susan remembered scolding him for tripping over the door-mat. Uncle Jack went into convulsions of laughter. “Are you sure there were nine of you?” he asked, merrily.
“I think so, sir,” said Peoria, timidly; “but anyhow, there was Larry;” and she showed signs of weeping.
“Oh, well, cheer up!” cried Uncle Jack. “Probably he’s not lost—only mislaid. I’ll go and find him before you can say Jack Robinson!”
“I’ll go, too, if you please, sir,” said Sarah Maud, “for it was my place to mind him, an’ if he’s lost I can’t relish my vittles!”
The other
Ruggleses stood rooted to the floor. Was this a dinner-party, forsooth; and if so, why were such things ever spoken of as festive occasions?
Sarah Maud went out through the hall, calling, “Larry! Larry!” and without any interval of suspense a thin voice piped up from below, “Here I be!”
The truth was that Larry, being deserted by his natural guardian, dropped behind the rest, and wriggled into the hat-tree to wait for her, having no notion of walking unprotected into the jaws of a fashionable entertainment. Finding that she did not come, he tried to crawl from his refuge and call somebody, when—dark and dreadful ending to a tragic day—he found that he was too much intertwined with umbrellas and canes to move a single step. He was afraid to yell (when I have said this of Larry Ruggles I have pictured a state of helpless terror that ought to wring tears from every eye); and the sound of Sarah Maud’s beloved voice, some seconds later, was like a strain of angel music in his ears. Uncle Jack dried his tears, carried him upstairs, and soon had him in breathless fits of laughter, while Carol so made the other Ruggleses forget themselves that they were presently talking like accomplished diners-out.
Carol’s bed had been moved into the farthest corner of the room, and she was lying on the outside, dressed in a wonderful dressing-gown that looked like a fleecy cloud. Her golden hair fell in fluffy curls over her white forehead and neck, her cheeks flushed delicately, her eyes beamed with joy, and the children told their mother, afterwards, that she looked as beautiful as the angels in the picture books.
There was a great bustle behind a huge screen in another part of the room, and at half past five this was taken away, and the Christmas dinner-table stood revealed. What a wonderful sight it was to the poor little Ruggles children, who ate their sometimes scanty meals on the kitchen table! It blazed with tall colored candles, it gleamed with glass and silver, it blushed with flowers, it groaned with good things to eat; so it was not strange that the Ruggleses, forgetting altogether that their mother was a McGrill, shrieked in admiration of the fairy spectacle. But Larry’s behavior was the most disgraceful, for he stood not upon the order of his going, but went at once for a high chair that pointed unmistakably to him, climbed up like a squirrel, gave a comprehensive look at the turkey, clapped his hands in ecstasy, rested his fat arms on the table, and cried with joy, “I beat the hull lot o’ yer!” Carol laughed until she cried, giving orders, meanwhile—“Uncle Jack, please sit at the head, Sarah Maud at the foot, and that will leave four on each side; Mamma is going to help Elfrida, so that the children need not look after each other, but just have a good time.”
A sprig of holly lay by each plate, and nothing would do but each little Ruggles must leave his seat and have it pinned on by Carol, and as each course was served, one of them pleaded to take something to her. There was hurrying to and fro, I can assure you, for it is quite a difficult matter to serve a Christmas dinner on the third floor of a great city house; but if it had been necessary to carry every dish up a rope ladder the servants would gladly have done so. There were turkey and chicken, with delicious gravy and stuffing, and there were half a dozen vegetables, with cranberry jelly, and celery, and pickles; and as for the way these delicacies were served, the Ruggleses never forgot it as long as they lived.
Peter nudged Kitty, who sat next him, and said, “Look, will yer, ev’ry feller’s got his own partic’lar butter; I s’pose that’s to show you can eat that ’n’ no more. No, it ain’t either, for that pig of a Peory’s just gettin’ another helpin’!”
“Yes,” whispered Kitty, “an’ the napkins is marked with big red letters! I wonder if that’s so nobody’ll nip ’em; an’ oh, Peter, look at the pictures stickin’ right on ter the dishes! Did yee ever?”
“The plums is all took out o’ my cramb’ry sarse an’ it’s friz to a stiff jell’!” whispered Peoria, in wild excitement.
“Hi—yah! I got a wish-bone!” sang Larry, regardless of Sarah Maud’s frown; after which she asked to have his seat changed, giving as excuse that he “gen’ally set beside her, an’ would feel strange;” the true reason being that she desired to kick him gently, under the table, whenever he passed what might be termed “the McGrill line.”
“I declare to goodness,” murmured Susan, on the other side, “there’s so much to look at I can’t scarcely eat nothin’!”
“Bet yer life I can!” said Peter, who had kept one servant busily employed ever since he sat down; for, luckily, no one was asked by Uncle Jack whether he would have a second helping, but the dishes were quietly passed under their noses, and not a single Ruggles refused anything that was offered him, even unto the seventh time.
Then, when Carol and Uncle Jack perceived that more turkey was a physical impossibility, the meats were taken off and the dessert was brought in—a dessert that would have frightened a strong man after such a dinner as had preceded it. Not so the Ruggleses—for a strong man is nothing to a small boy—and they kindled to the dessert as if the turkey had been a dream and the six vegetables an optical delusion. There were plum-pudding, mince-pie, and ice-cream; and there were nuts, and raisins, and oranges. Kitty chose ice-cream, explaining that she knew it “by sight, though she hadn’t never tasted none;” but all the rest took the entire variety, without any regard to consequences.
“My dear child,” whispered Uncle Jack, as he took Carol an orange, “there is no doubt about the necessity of this feast, but I do advise you after this to have them twice a year, or quarterly perhaps, for the way these children eat is positively dangerous; I assure you I tremble for that terrible Peoria. I’m going to run races with her after dinner.”
“Never mind,” laughed Carol; “let them have enough for once; it does my heart good to see them, and they shall come oftener next year.” The feast being over, the Ruggleses lay back in their chairs languidly, like little gorged boa-constrictors, and the table was cleared in a trice. Then a door was opened into the next room, and there, in a corner facing Carol’s bed, which had been wheeled as close as possible, stood the brilliantly lighted Christmas tree, glittering with gilded walnuts and tiny silver balloons, and wreathed with snowy chains of pop-corn. The presents had been bought mostly with Carol’s story-money, and were selected after long consultations with Mrs. Bird. Each girl had a blue knitted hood, and each boy a red crocheted comforter, all made by Mamma, Carol, and Elfrida. (“Because if you buy everything, it doesn’t show so much love,” said Carol.) Then every girl had a pretty plaid dress of a different color, and every boy a warm coat of the right size. Here the useful presents stopped, and they were quite enough; but Carol had pleaded to give them something “for fun.” “I know they need the clothes,” she had said, when they were talking over the matter just after Thanksgiving, “but they don’t care much for them, after all. Now, Papa, won’t you please let me go without part of my presents this year, and give me the money they would cost, to buy something to amuse the Ruggleses?”
“You can have both,” said Mr. Bird, promptly; “is there any need of my little girl’s going without her own Christmas, I should like to know? Spend all the money you like.”
“But that isn’t the thing,” objected Carol, nestling close to her father; “it wouldn’t be mine. What is the use? Haven’t I almost everything already, and am I not the happiest girl in the world this year, with Uncle Jack and Donald at home? You know very well it is more blessed to give than to receive; so why won’t you let me do it? You never look half as happy when you are getting your presents as when you are giving us ours. Now, Papa, submit, or I shall have to be very firm and disagreeable with you!”
“Very well, your Highness, I surrender.”
“That’s a dear Papa! Now what were you going to give me? Confess!”
“A bronze figure of Santa Claus; and in the ‘little round belly that shakes when he laughs like a bowlful of jelly,’ is a wonderful clock—oh, you would never give it up if you could see it!”
“Nonsense,” laughed Carol; “as I never have to get up to breakfast, nor go to
bed, nor catch trains, I think my old clock will do very well! Now, Mamma, what were you going to give me?”
“Oh, I hadn’t decided. A few more books, and a gold thimble, and a smelling-bottle, and a music-box, perhaps.”
“Poor Carol,” laughed the child, merrily, “she can afford to give up these lovely things, for there will still be left Uncle Jack, and Donald, and Paul, and Hugh, and Uncle Rob, and Aunt Elsie, and a dozen other people to fill her Christmas stocking!”
So Carol had her way, as she generally did; but it was usually a good way, which was fortunate, under the circumstances; and Sarah Maud had a set of Miss Alcott’s books, and Peter a modest silver watch, Cornelius a tool-chest, Clement a dog-house for his lame puppy, Larry a magnificent Noah’s ark, and each of the younger girls a beautiful doll.
You can well believe that everybody was very merry and very thankful. All the family, from Mr. Bird down to the cook, said that they had never seen so much happiness in the space of three hours; but it had to end, as all things do. The candles flickered and went out, the tree was left alone with its gilded ornaments, and Mrs. Bird sent the children downstairs at half past eight, thinking that Carol looked tired.
“Now, my darling, you have done quite enough for one day,” said Mrs. Bird, getting Carol into her little nightgown. “I’m afraid you will feel worse tomorrow, and that would be a sad ending to such a charming evening.”
“Oh, wasn’t it a lovely, lovely time,” sighed Carol. “From first to last, everything was just right. I shall never forget Larry’s face when he looked at the turkey; nor Peter’s when he saw his watch; nor that sweet, sweet Kitty’s smile when she kissed her dolly; nor the tears in poor, dull Sarah Maud’s eyes when she thanked me for her books; nor—”
“But we mustn’t talk any longer about it tonight,” said Mrs. Bird, anxiously; “you are too tired, dear.”
“I am not so very tired, Mamma. I have felt well all day; not a bit of pain anywhere. Perhaps this has done me good.”
The Christmas Megapack Page 35