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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Carl and the Cotton Gin, by Sara Ware
+Bassett, Illustrated by William F. Stecher
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Carl and the Cotton Gin
+
+
+Author: Sara Ware Bassett
+
+
+
+Release Date: November 20, 2007  [eBook #23560]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CARL AND THE COTTON GIN***
+
+
+E-text prepared by La Monte H. P. Yarroll, Karen Smith-Cox of Lovington
+Jr.-Sr. High School, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustrations.
+      See 23560-h.htm or 23560-h.zip:
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/5/6/23560/23560-h/23560-h.htm)
+      or
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/5/6/23560/23560-h.zip)
+
+
+Transcriber's note:
+
+      Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
+
+      The Frontispiece is not available for this ebook.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Invention Series
+
+CARL AND THE COTTON GIN
+
+by
+
+SARA WARE BASSETT
+
+With Illustrations by William F. Stecher
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Boston
+Little, Brown, and Company
+1924
+
+Copyright, 1924,
+by Little, Brown, and Company.
+All rights reserved
+
+Published September, 1924
+
+Printed in the United States of America
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+CHAPTER                                                      PAGE
+
+    I THE MCGREGORS                                             1
+
+   II CARL TELLS A STORY                                       17
+
+  III A TRAGEDY                                                31
+
+   IV PROBLEMS                                                 45
+
+    V A TANGLE OF SURPRISES                                    60
+
+   VI THE WEB WIDENS                                           71
+
+  VII THE COMING OF THE FAIRY GODMOTHER                        79
+
+ VIII THE ROMANCE OF COTTON                                    97
+
+   IX NORTH AND SOUTH                                         112
+
+    X A LESSON IN THRIFT                                      124
+
+   XI A FAMILY CONGRESS                                       140
+
+  XII A CLUE                                                  160
+
+ XIII HAL REPEATS HIS VISIT                                   180
+
+  XIV SPINNING YARNS                                          193
+
+   XV TIDINGS                                                 219
+
+  XVI A RELUCTANT ALTRUIST                                    228
+
+ XVII AN ORDEAL                                               237
+
+XVIII THE SOLUTION OF MANY MYSTERIES                          250
+
+  XIX UNRAVELING THE SNARLS                                   259
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+"MR. CARL MCGREGOR," ANNOUNCED HE IN A STENTORIAN
+TONE                                                _Frontispiece_
+
+                                                            _Page_
+
+"THE COTTON IS SENT TO FACTORIES TO BE GINNED"        "       129
+
+"BUT THAT ISN'T OUR BASKET, MOTHER," CARL SAID. "THIS
+IS MUCH BIGGER"                                               155
+
+"I'VE HUNTED FOR YOU AND YOUR RED CAR EVER SINCE"             253
+
+
+
+
+CARL AND THE COTTON GIN
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE McGREGORS
+
+
+"Carl!"
+
+"Coming, Ma!"
+
+Mrs. McGregor waited a moment.
+
+"But you aren't coming," protested she fretfully. "You never seem to
+come when you're wanted. Drat the child! Where is he? Carl!"
+
+"Yes, Ma."
+
+"_Yes, Ma!_ _Yes, Ma!_" the woman mimicked impatiently. "It's easy
+enough to shout _Yes, Ma_; but where are you--that's what I want to
+know. You're the slowest creature on God's earth, I believe. A tortoise
+would be a race horse compared with you. What under the sun are you
+doing?"
+
+The boy entered, a good-humored grin on his face.
+
+He was thin, lanky, and blue-eyed, and a rebellious lock of tawny hair
+that curled despite all he could do waved back from his forehead. He
+might have been fourteen years old or he might have been seventeen; it
+was hard to tell whether he was an overgrown younger boy or an
+under-sized older one. Whatever his age, however, he could certainly
+boast a serene disposition, for his mother's caustic comments failed to
+ruffle his temper. Having heard them ever since babyhood he was quite
+accustomed to their acid tang; moreover, he had learned to gage them
+for what they were worth and class them along with the froth on a soda
+or the sputter of a freshly lighted match. The thing underneath was
+what mattered and he knew well that beneath the torrent of words his
+mother was the best mother on earth, so what more could a boy ask?
+
+Therefore he stood before her, whistling softly and waiting to see what
+would happen next. For something surely would happen; it always did
+when Mrs. McGregor rolled up her sleeves, and they were rolled up now,
+displaying beneath the margin of blue gingham a powerful arm
+terminating in a strong hand and slender, capable fingers.
+
+Years ago she had come to Mulberry Court with a large brood of children
+and it had been a long time before she could number one friend among
+her neighbors. The chief complaint entered against her was that she was
+not sociable, and if you were not sociable at Mulberry Court it meant
+you were lofty, uppish, considered yourself better than other folks.
+What it really meant, however, was that you did not hang out of your
+window and chatter to the inhabitant of the opposite tenement; or
+loiter in the doorway or on the sidewalk to gossip with the women who
+lived on the floors below.
+
+At the outset Mrs. McGregor had let it be understood that she had no
+time for gossip and it was this decree that had earned for her the
+stigma of not being sociable, the acme of all crimes at Mulberry Court.
+Of course she had not proclaimed her policy in so many words. No,
+indeed! Yet she might as well have done so for the business-like manner
+in which she hastened home from market and shot up the stairs published
+her philosophy more forcefully than any words could have done.
+
+"She's just too good for the rest of us," announced Mrs. O'Dowd
+sarcastically to the little circle who were wont to await her verdict
+on every newcomer to the district. "Proud and snappy and stuck-up, I
+call her. Not much of an addition to the house, if you ask my opinion."
+
+This snapshot judgment, hasty as it was, was promptly accepted by the
+other women, for was not Julie O'Dowd the social dictator of the
+community? Had she ever been known to be wrong? With one accord
+Mulberry Court turned its back on the new arrival who so flagrantly
+defied the etiquette of the place.
+
+Indeed had not Mrs. O'Dowd's baby fallen ill the seal of disapproval
+put on Mrs. McGregor might have rested on her all her days, and she and
+her entire family been completely ostracized by the neighborhood. But
+little Joey O'Dowd, the youngest of Julie's flock, was seized with
+pneumonia, and although the flock was a large one Julie was too genuine
+a mother to feel she could spare one out of her fold. Was not Joey the
+littlest of all, the pet of her household? All the motherhood in her
+revolted at the thought of losing him. Strangely enough until the
+present moment she had escaped great crises with her children. She was
+well schooled in the ways of whooping cough, measles, and chicken pox
+and could do up a cut finger with almost professional skill; but in the
+face of crucial illness she was like a warrior without weapons.
+
+Overwhelmed with terror, therefore, by the immediate calamity, she did
+in benumbed fashion everything the doctor directed and still Joey was
+no better; if anything he grew steadily worse. Motionless he lay in his
+crib, his great staring eyes giving forth no flicker of recognition.
+There was not much hope, the neighbors whispered, after they had
+tiptoed in to look at him and tiptoed out again. He was as good as
+gone. Julie could never save him in the world.
+
+The whispers, humanely muffled, did not reach the panic-stricken mother
+but she was not blind to the despairing head-shaking and these suddenly
+awakened her to the realization that according to general opinion the
+battle she was waging was a losing one. It was a terrible discovery.
+What should she do? She must do something. Wild-eyed she plunged into
+the hall, a vague impulse to seek help moving her; and it was just as
+she paused irresolute at the head of the stairs that she came face to
+face with Mrs. McGregor ascending to her fifth-floor flat.
+
+Now Mrs. McGregor was a born nurse, whose skill had been increased by
+constant practice. With a wisdom that amounted almost to genius she had
+brought her large family through many an appalling conflict and emerged
+victorious. Sickness, therefore, had no terrors for her. Instantly the
+mother in her read and interpreted the desperation in Julie's face and
+without a word she slipped through the open door into the room where
+Joey lay. One glance of her experienced eye showed that there was
+plenty to be done. The interior was close and untidy, for Mrs. O'Dowd
+in her distraction had cast aside every consideration but her baby.
+
+Mrs. McGregor stooped down over the crib.
+
+What she saw there or did not see she at least kept to herself, and
+when she straightened up it was to meet the searching gaze of her
+neighbor with a grave smile.
+
+"He's going to die," moaned Julie, wringing her hands. "He is going to
+die--my baby--and I can't help it!"
+
+Although for a long time the two women had lived beneath the same roof,
+these were the first words Mrs. O'Dowd had ever addressed to Mrs.
+McGregor.
+
+"Might I touch him?" the latter inquired gently.
+
+Like a suspicious animal Julie stiffened jealously.
+
+"I'll not hurt him," Mrs. McGregor hastened to say, not taking offense
+at the other's attitude. "I just want to raise him up so he can breathe
+better." Then she added reassuringly, "I'd not give up if I were you.
+You must keep on fighting to the very last minute. There is much we can
+do yet to make him comfortable."
+
+"What?"
+
+"We can bathe him a little for one thing, if you would heat some
+water."
+
+Dumbly Julie turned to obey.
+
+"I've a big family of my own," went on Mrs. McGregor in matter-of-fact
+fashion, "and I've seen so many children pull through when they looked
+fit to die that I've learned never to quit hoping. You'll get nowhere
+in a fight if you haven't courage."
+
+"I had courage enough at first," whispered the baby's mother in a
+shaking voice, "but I've lost my nerve now. I'm frightened--and--and
+tired."
+
+Tears came into her eyes.
+
+"Of course you are," came with quick sympathy from Mrs. McGregor. "We
+all are apt to lose our nerve when we are worn out. I don't wonder
+you're tired. You've had no sleep day or night, I'll be bound."
+
+"Not much. The neighbors were kind about offering but somehow I
+couldn't leave Joey with 'em. Besides, how can you sleep when you are
+worried half out of your mind?"
+
+"I know! I know!" nodded the other woman. "Still you can't go on
+forever without rest. Next you know you will be down sick yourself and
+then where will your baby be--to say nothing of your other children. A
+mother has got to think ahead. Now listen. Would you trust me to watch
+the baby while you curled up on the sofa and got a wink or two of
+sleep? I'll promise to call you should there be an atom of change. Do
+now! Be a sensible woman. And how would you feel about my giving the
+little chap a drop of medicine? A Scotch doctor in the old country once
+gave me a prescription that I've tried on both Timmie and Martin and it
+did 'em worlds of good at a time just like this. It might do nothing
+for your child, mind. I'm not promising it would. Still, it couldn't
+hurt him and it might cure."
+
+Julie's dulled mind caught the final word. _Cure!_ Alas, she had given
+up hope that anything in the world could do that. The reaction that
+came with the suggestion was so wonderful that it left her speechless.
+
+"Now see here," burst out Mrs. McGregor misinterpreting her silence,
+"use your common sense. Do I look as if I had come to poison your baby?
+Why, woman, I love children better than anything on earth. They're a
+precious lot of bother, there's no denying, and sometimes I get that
+impatient with one or the other of 'em I could toss him out the window.
+But for all their hectoring, and their noise, and their dirt--their
+meddling, and smashing, and mending, I'd not be without them."
+
+While speaking she had been touching the baby with a hand so yearning
+and tender that it could not be stayed. She had raised his head,
+smoothed his pillow, straightened the coverings that lay over him. It
+was amazing how quietly and deftly her hands moved. Even the child
+seemed conscious of her healing presence, for all of a sudden his wee
+fingers curled about one of hers and he smiled faintly.
+
+"See!" exclaimed Mrs. McGregor, "the baby is not afraid to trust me."
+
+"Nor am I any longer," put in Julie with eager surrender. "Do as you
+like with Joey. You know better than I."
+
+"Oh, it isn't that," the visitor protested, rising. "It is just that
+it's sometimes well not to leave a stone unturned. You might regret not
+having taken the chance. I'll slip upstairs and get the medicine. It
+won't take a minute."
+
+"If you'll be that kind."
+
+The Scotchwoman needed no second bidding. She was gone and back again
+in a twinkling, the magic green bottle in her hand.
+
+"Now if I might have a cup of hot water," said she. "I've a dropper
+here. We'll see what a spoonful of this mixture will do for the wee
+laddie. What is his name?"
+
+"Joey."
+
+Mrs. O'Dowd's eyes had brightened and they now beamed on her neighbor.
+
+"It's a nice name," replied Mrs. McGregor, beaming in turn. "I always
+liked the name of Joseph. Well, Joey boy, we'll see if we can make you
+well. Here, little fellow!"
+
+Gently she forced the liquid between the baby's lips.
+
+"Now we'll sponge him a bit, put on a fresh slip, and give him some
+air!"
+
+"But won't he----"
+
+"Catch cold? Not if he is shielded from the draught. He'll like the air
+and feel the better for it. It will help him to breathe."
+
+Noiselessly she went to work and within an hour both Joey and his
+surroundings took on a different aspect.
+
+"Now," said she to the grateful mother, "you roll up in that comforter
+and take a nap. Don't worry about the baby. I'll be right here. Will
+you trust me?"
+
+Julie hesitated.
+
+"It's not that I won't trust you," murmured she. "But you're so
+heavenly kind. Not another soul has done for me what you have and I'm a
+hundred times better acquainted with 'em, too. Of course I know they
+have all they can do without taking on the cares of others. I'm not
+blaming them. You yourself can't have much time to spare. Haven't you
+other things to do?"
+
+"Of course I have," came with curt honesty from Mrs. McGregor. "I've
+six children and they leave me little time for idling. But when I do
+take time away from 'em, I plan to take it to some purpose. Just now I
+have nothing more important to do than nurse this baby. It's my first
+job. So don't be worrying about my work. Luckily it is Saturday and
+Mary, Carl, and Timmie will look after the little tots and get the
+dinner. I told 'em to when I was there just now. Martin and Nell seldom
+give any trouble, and should James Frederick wake up, one of the boys
+is to run down and tell me."
+
+Julie placed a hand impulsively on that of the other woman.
+
+"I can never thank you," murmured she brokenly.
+
+"Oh, don't be talking of thanks," Mrs. McGregor interrupted, cutting
+her short. "My dosing may do no good and before the day is out you may
+be calling me a meddlesome old harridan. Wait and see what happens. I'm
+not one that sets much store by thanks, anyhow. After all, what does it
+amount to but a string of words? If we can cure the baby it will be all
+the thanks I want."
+
+If the sentiment the final phrase so modestly expressed was genuine
+Mrs. McGregor at least received the boon she craved, for as if by magic
+the baby began to mend that very night and before the week passed was
+out of danger and on the high road to recovery. Julie's gratitude was
+touching to see.
+
+"'Twas Mrs. McGregor saved Joey," declared she to every person she met.
+"She's as good as any doctor--better, for Joey might have died but for
+her. Should I go through life kneeling to her on my bended knees I
+never could thank her enough."
+
+Julie O'Dowd did not go through life, however, kneeling before Mrs.
+McGregor on her bended knees; but she did a more practical and
+efficacious thing. Everywhere she went she sounded the praise of her
+neighbor; talked of her kindness, her wisdom, her unselfishness, until
+not only Mulberry Court, but the area adjoining it began to view the
+gaunt, austere figure from quite a different angle. Shyly the women
+began to nod a greeting to the stranger.
+
+"It's just her way to be curt and quick," explained they to one
+another. "She doesn't mean a thing in the world by it. Julie says she's
+sharp and prickly as a chestnut burr, but with the sweetest of hearts
+inside."
+
+Indeed it was not long before Mrs. McGregor proved her right to this
+generous summary of her character. Other neighbors gained courage to
+consult her about their children and in time about their troubles in
+general.
+
+"Ask Mrs. McGregor," became the slogan of Mulberry Court. "She'll
+know."
+
+And she unfailingly did. She it was who prescribed medicines; gave
+advice; suggested plain, common-sense remedies for every variety of
+dilemma. Nevertheless she wasted no words about it. She had no time to
+fool away, she let it be known. Whatever she did had to be done with
+pitiless directness. Often her council was delivered through a crack in
+the door or even given through the door itself; and there were
+instances when it was shouted through the keyhole. But no matter where
+the words came from they were always helpful and friendly and the
+neighbors came to understand the manner accompanying them and did not
+resent it.
+
+Her children understood it too. Mary, Carl, Timmie, Martin,
+four-year-old Nell, and even wee James Frederick (whom Mrs. McGregor
+unfailingly addressed by his full name) all understood and worshipped
+their quick-tongued mother. Together with the rest of Mulberry Court
+they also had supreme faith in whatever she did and said, and were
+certain that every calamity under the sun could be set right if only
+she were consulted and her advice followed.
+
+And yet loyal as they were, there was one point on which neither Carl
+nor Mary agreed with their mother. Of course she was right--she must be
+right; wasn't she always so? Yet notwithstanding this belief they could
+not but feel that it would be a far better arrangement for them to
+leave school and go into the cotton mills where their father had worked
+for so many years. Ever so many of the boys and girls they knew worked
+there. Why should they remain in the High School struggling with
+algebra, geometry, history, Latin, English and bookkeeping when they
+might be earning money? It seemed senseless. Certainly the family
+needed money badly enough. Were there not always endless pairs of shoes
+to be bought? Caps, mittens, suits, stockings, and underclothing to
+purchase; not to mention food and groceries? And then there was the
+rent.
+
+Ah, Mary and Carl knew very well about the rent, the bills, and all the
+other worrisome things. Even Timmie, who was only nine, knew about
+them; and once Martin, aged six, had startled his elders by proclaiming
+on a sunny May morning, "This is rent day, isn't it, Ma?" in a tone of
+awe, as if the date marked some gruesome ceremony.
+
+You came to understand about rent day when toward the end of the month
+there were no pennies to be had, and you were forced to wait for the
+shoes or rubbers you needed.
+
+That rent day was a milestone to be dreaded even Nell vaguely guessed
+and when it had passed in safety all the McGregors, both big and
+little, joined in a general rejoicing.
+
+Ma was the magician who accomplished that happy miracle. Ma always
+contrived to accomplish everything, so of course she managed rent day
+along with the rest of the wonders she performed. She made no secret,
+either, of how she did it. She sewed! Yes, she sewed for a dressmaker
+who sent her marvelous dresses to embroider. For Ma was very clever
+with her needle and right out of the blue sky could make the most
+beautiful flowers and figures with colored silks. She could also do
+beading and she was teaching Mary how to do it. Already Mary could do
+quite nice embroidery and exquisite plain sewing.
+
+Ma was very proud of this.
+
+But what Mary did chiefly when she was not at school was to help with
+the housework so her mother would be free to sew. That was the
+important thing. Ma must not roughen her hands or the silks she worked
+with would be spoiled. So Mary cooked and scrubbed like a real little
+housewife; took care of the younger children and kept them quiet so
+they would not interrupt their mother.
+
+And between school hours Carl and Tim helped also. They built the
+fires, wiped the dishes, ran errands, and brought home any bits of
+discarded wood they found in the streets. In fact, there was not one
+drone in the McGregor hive. Even James Frederick had learned to lie in
+his crib and play by himself when everybody was busy.
+
+It was a happy family, the McGregors. Its members, it is true, did not
+have everything they wanted. They never expected that. Those who had
+mittens lacked new caps, and those who had caps were often forced to
+wear patched shoes and made-over stockings. Martin's reefer frequently
+did duty for Nell, and Mrs. McGregor's cape for Mary. However, all that
+did not matter. They were happy and that was the chief thing, happy in
+spite of patched clothing, coats that were outgrown, rubbers that were
+either sizes too small or dropped off at every step, and shoes that
+were common property. The little flat was sometimes hot in summer and
+cold in winter but it took more than that to dampen the McGregors'
+spirits.
+
+When they had lentil soup, how steaming and delicious it was! When meat
+stew, what a dish for the gods! And who could have asked for a greater
+treat than a thick slice of Mary's fresh bread coated over with
+molasses or peanut butter?
+
+Every month a long blue envelope containing a check from Uncle
+Frederick arrived and that, together with what Mary and her mother
+earned, kept the household going. But they seldom saw Uncle James
+Frederick Dillingham. He was always sailing to India, China, or South
+America. Sometimes letters came from him and picture postcards showing
+strange countries and people in foreign dress. But the check never
+failed to make its appearance and as it was highly important that it
+should, everybody agreed that since Uncle Frederick could not come
+himself he was almost as satisfactorily represented by this magic bit
+of blue paper. The check brought things and perhaps if Uncle Frederick
+himself had come he wouldn't. You could not tell about uncles you had
+never seen.
+
+In the meantime the blue paper kept stew in the kettle and the shelter
+of Mulberry Court above their heads, and what better service could an
+uncle render his relatives?
+
+Hence Uncle Frederick's name came to be mentioned constantly in the
+household.
+
+"Remember, Timmie, those are your Uncle Frederick Dillingham's rubber
+boots and be thankful to him for them," the boy's mother would observe
+when she brought home the purchase. Or "Uncle Frederick is presenting
+you with those stockings, Carl. See you don't forget it."
+
+And the children did not forget. Gradually their unknown uncle came to
+assume in their imagination a form that would have surprised him had he
+been suddenly confronted by it. It was that of a benevolent-faced fairy
+clad in robes of purple and ermine, and wearing on his head a crown
+resplendent with gems of myriad colors. In his hand he carried a
+scepter terminating in a star that far outshone the jewels he wore, a
+scepter all powerful to work miracles. He was the good angel of the
+McGregor home, the Aladdin to whom they owed all sorts of blessings.
+
+And yet withal Uncle James Frederick Dillingham was one and the same
+person who sailed the _Charlotte_ to India, China, South America, or
+some other ephemeral port. How paradoxical was this dual role, how
+alluring and how ridiculous!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+CARL TELLS A STORY
+
+
+It was April. Already spring was in the air. The grass in the parks was
+turning green, forsythia bloomed golden, and boys were playing marbles
+on the streets and sidewalks. Even Mulberry Court, shut in as it was,
+felt the impulse of the awakening season. The landlord came, looked
+over the premises, and after viewing the general shabbiness became
+reckless enough to order a broken windowpane to be reset, some of the
+tumble-down ceilings to be repaired, and the fire escapes and window
+frames to be repainted.
+
+Painting at Mulberry Court was a terrible ordeal. As there was not an
+inch of the place that was not crowded to the limit of its capacity,
+painting meant that milk bottles, improvised ice chests, and woodpiles
+must be put somewhere else; and where that somewhere could be was an
+enigma. Furthermore, to add to this difficulty there were the
+children--dozens of them tumbling over one another and surging in and
+out the doors, a fact that rendered painting a precarious undertaking.
+Youthful investigators examined the moist pigment; chubby fingers drew
+hieroglyphics in it; while the less curious forgot it altogether and
+carried away on their garments imprints of vermilion and black that
+transformed their otherwise dingy garments into robes of oriental
+splendor.
+
+Carl McGregor was no exception to the rule for wherever calamity lurked
+he was sure to be in its vicinity.
+
+"I'd know you'd never rest until you got a patch of red paint on
+yourself," announced his mother, surveying him as he started toward the
+door. "As, if buying you sweaters ain't enough without your leaning
+plumb up against the fire escape and stamping a whole decalcomania of
+red stripes on your back like as if you were a convict."
+
+"Is there paint on me, Ma?"
+
+"Is there? I suppose you had no notion of it."
+
+"I hadn't--honest Injun."
+
+"Well, aside from the fact that you're barred up and down neat as if
+the lines were ruled there's nothing the matter with you," returned his
+mother with a faint smile.
+
+"Oh, I'm awfully sorry, Ma. Truly I am."
+
+"Sorry? I'll be bound you are. You are always a bundle of regrets when
+it is too late to help anything. However, you need weep no tears for
+that sweater needed washing anyway. You're that rough on your clothes
+that none of 'em keep clean more than a minute. I'll get some gasoline
+and soak it out in the shed and it will be like new. Peel it off and
+give it to me."
+
+"I'm sorry, Ma," the boy repeated.
+
+"It's no great matter, sonny. Children must be children. I'm past
+expecting them to be grown-ups," his mother said kindly. "If you hadn't
+been getting into the paint you most likely would have been getting
+into something else. You have a genius for such mishaps. I'm glad it
+was no worse."
+
+Reassured, Carl grinned.
+
+"I do seem to have a good many--" he hesitated, then added,
+"misfortunes."
+
+"Misfortunes, do you call 'em? Sure that's a pretty polite word to
+apply to the things that manage to happen to you," sniffed Mrs.
+McGregor. "I suppose it was a misfortune when you tumbled underneath
+the watering cart; and a misfortune when you sat down in the wet tar! A
+misfortune when you sent the snowball through the schoolroom window; to
+say nothing of the creamcake you treated Jakie Sullivan to that
+well-nigh killed him."
+
+"I didn't know the creamcake was going to make him sick."
+
+"No; 'twas just your misfortune. You seem to attract adventures like
+that. Why, if I was to let you go into the cotton mills as you are
+always begging to do you'd have every machine there out of order in
+less than a week and yourself hashed up into little pieces into the
+bargain."
+
+She had touched upon an unlucky subject for instantly, with flaming
+face, the lad confronted her.
+
+"No, I wouldn't. I wish you would let me go into the mills, Ma. You
+might let me try it. Ever so many boys no older than I are working
+there and earning oodles of money. If we had more money we could----"
+
+"We could be having an automobile, no doubt, and going to Palm Beach
+winters," was the grim response. "Well, Palm Beach or not, you're not
+going into any mill so long as we can keep body and soul together
+without your doing it. You are going to get an education--you and Mary
+too--if it costs me my life. I'm not going to have you grow up knowing
+nothing and being nothing. Some day you'll see I was right and thank me
+for it."
+
+"I thank you now, Ma," declared Carl soberly. "But that doesn't make me
+relish Latin and history any better."
+
+"No matter if it doesn't. What you like is of no consequence," Mrs.
+McGregor announced, with a majestic sweep of her hand. "The chief thing
+is that you exercise your mind and learn how to use it. The Latin
+itself amounts to nothing. It is like boxing gloves or a punching bag,
+a thing that serves its turn to limber up your brain. It is learning to
+think that counts."
+
+Carl's face brightened.
+
+"The teacher was saying something like that just the other day,"
+asserted he eagerly. "He was telling us about some of the people who
+had done great things in the world and explaining how long and how hard
+they had to work at them. The inventors, for instance, had to think and
+think about the things they invented. It didn't just come to them all
+in a minute as I used to believe it did."
+
+Although his mother did not look up from her sewing she nodded
+encouragingly.
+
+"There was Eli Whitney," continued Carl, coming nearer. "I remembered
+about him because of the mills here. He invented the cotton gin, you
+know. Mr. Kimball told us that Whitney went through Yale and then
+started down South to be a tutor in somebody's family without any idea
+of ever being an inventor. But when he got to where he was going the
+people who had hired him had changed their minds and found somebody
+else and poor Eli Whitney was out of a job."
+
+"A shabby trick!"
+
+"Yes. Still, it was lucky for him, just the same," responded Carl,
+"because on the way down he had met the widow of General Greene and she
+was sorry for him and asked him to her house. He'd just been vaccinated
+because there was lots of smallpox in the South and he was feeling
+rotten. You know how sore your arm gets and how sick you are sometimes.
+Remember Martin? Well, anyhow, Mrs. Greene either knew what it meant to
+be vaccinated or else she was kind of ashamed of the way her part of
+the country had treated Eli Whitney. Or maybe she was just kind-hearted
+like you. Anyhow she invited Mr. Whitney to come to Savannah when she
+saw how mean he felt and the fit he threw at finding himself so far
+from home without money or a job."
+
+"Carl!"
+
+"Well, wouldn't you have thrown a fit? I think Mrs. Greene was a
+peach," went on Carl, passing serenely over the reproof. "She was
+mighty kind to take a stranger into her house when he had no friends."
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"By this time Mr. Whitney had decided to be a lawyer and while he was
+making his home at Mrs. Greene's he began to read all the law books he
+could lay hands on. Then one day Mrs. Greene busted her embroidery
+frame----"
+
+"Did _what_?"
+
+"Oh, you know, Ma," fretted Carl, at being interrupted. "She smashed
+the thing and----"
+
+"What had that to do with it?"
+
+"Everything; because, you see, Eli Whitney mended it so nicely that
+Mrs. Greene was pleased into the ground and thought he was the smartest
+person ever. His father had had a shop at home where as a boy he had
+learned to use tools. But of course Mrs. Greene didn't know that. All
+she knew was that he made a corking job of her embroidery frame and so
+one day when some Georgia gentlemen were there at dinner and were
+telling how hard it was to get the seeds out of cotton she up and said,
+'You should ask Mr. Whitney how to do it; he can do anything,' and to
+prove it she toted out her embroidery frame to show them."
+
+"Did _what_?"
+
+"Oh, say, Ma, don't keep bothering me when I'm trying to tell you a
+story," Carl complained peevishly. "You know what I mean well enough."
+
+"Much as ever," was the grim reply.
+
+The lad grinned.
+
+"Well, anyhow, the Georgia cotton men talked to Eli Whitney, explaining
+how the cotton stuck to the seeds and got all broken to bits when you
+tried to get them out; and how it took nearly a whole day to separate a
+pound of cotton fiber from the seeds. And then the cotton planters went
+on to tell how there was lots and lots of land in the South where you
+couldn't raise rice but could raise cotton if it wasn't such a chore--"
+(a warning glance from his mother caused Carl hastily to amend the
+phrase) "such a piece of work to get the seeds out. Eli Whitney
+listened to their talk and after the men had gone he thought he'd try
+to make some sort of a machine that would clear cotton of the seeds."
+
+"And did he?"
+
+"You betcha! I mean, yes, he did. Whitney was no boob." (This time Mrs.
+McGregor failed to protest; perhaps she decided it was useless.) "He
+had, as I told you, made wheels and canes and knives and nails in his
+father's workshop at home. He had even made a violin. So he wasn't at
+all fussed about trying to make a cotton gin. I guess he had a hunch he
+could do it."
+
+"A _what_?" gasped Mrs. McGregor involuntarily.
+
+"A hunch means he knew he could turn the trick."
+
+The mother shook her head ruefully.
+
+"And me almost killing myself to give you an education!" she ejaculated
+beneath her breath.
+
+"Well, anyway, Ma, slang or no slang, I'd be telling you nothing at all
+about Eli Whitney if I hadn't gone to school, so cheer up," asserted
+Carl impishly.
+
+He heard his mother laugh. Mrs. McGregor had the good old Scotch sense
+of humor and when her flashing smile came it was always a delight to
+the beholder.
+
+"You're a good boy, Carl, if you do speak the language of an orang-outang,"
+she answered. "Where you pick up such a dialect I cannot imagine."
+
+"Oh, it's easy enough to pick it up, Ma. The stunt is not to. Why, what
+I've been saying just now is nothing to what I could say if I let
+myself go. I've been holding in because of you. I could have had you so
+locoed you couldn't have understood a thing I meant if I hadn't
+been--been considerate. But I know you don't like slang so I try to cut
+it out. You may not believe it but I do try--honest, I do."
+
+"I believe you, laddie," returned his mother kindly. "It's hard, I
+know, with all the other boys talking like barbarians. Now go on about
+Mr. Whitney. Did he contrive to make the machine the Georgia gentlemen
+wanted?"
+
+"Yes, siree!" continued Carl with enthusiasm. "Mrs. Greene gave him a
+room to work in down in the basement of her house and he set right
+about the job. Unluckily he had never seen any cotton growing because
+he had always lived in the North, you know. In fact, he had never laid
+eyes on cotton at all until it was made into cloth, so of course he
+hadn't much of an idea what he was up against, and the first thing he
+had to do was to scurry round and get specimens of cotton with the
+seeds in it. It wasn't so easy to do just then, either, because it was
+not the season for cotton-gathering and he had to hunt and hunt to get
+some of the last season's crop. I believe he finally got what he needed
+from a warehouse in New Orleans. Anyhow, he got the cotton pods
+somewhere and found out better where he stood. And that reminds me, Ma,
+that the teacher told us there were ever so many different kinds of
+cotton; and that the Upland cotton, growing in the South, had green
+seeds that stuck like--like _anything_ to the white part. You could
+hardly separate the two without ruining the cotton fibers and you can
+see that as they were to be spun they must not be broken."
+
+"Mr. Whitney did have a puzzle to work out."
+
+"You've said it, Ma! He sure had," beamed Carl. "Well, he kept fussing
+round, and fussing round, and by and by he managed to get together a
+simple sort of contrivance that would do what he wanted it to. It was
+no great shakes of a machine. Any blacksmith or wheelwright could have
+made it if he had happened to think of it first. In fact, lots of other
+people did make gins like it. That is why Whitney never got rich, the
+teacher said."
+
+"But didn't he get his invention patented?" inquired Mrs. McGregor,
+laying aside the tulle she was beading.
+
+"Not until it was too late. You see, Mrs. Greene was so set up to think
+Mr. Whitney had done the deed she had predicted he would that she had
+to go blabbing all over town how clever he was. And the minute people
+heard that a cotton gin was really made that would take out the seeds
+they came begging to see the wonderful machine and find out how it
+worked; and of course Mr. Whitney had to show it off. He hadn't a
+notion people would be so low-down as to snitch his idea and go to
+making cotton gins of their own. But that's exactly what they did do
+and as soon as Mr. Whitney and Mr. Miller who was helping him got wise
+to the fact, they locked the new cotton gin up. But do you s'pose that
+did any good? Not on your life! The cotton raisers were crazy to get
+the machine because everybody needed it so badly. On the plantations
+there wasn't enough work to keep the negro slaves busy and it cost a
+lot to feed them. The planters figured that if something profitable
+could be found for them to do they would earn their keep. They
+certainly could not do this picking the seeds out of cotton because it
+took them such an age to pick enough to make a pound. The darkies could
+gather the crop all right. It had to be gathered by hand. What was
+needed was something that would take the seeds out and make it possible
+to raise and sell big quantities of cotton. So Whitney's gin exactly
+filled the bill. It was just what the whole South had been waiting for
+and if such a thing existed people were bound to have it. Naturally
+when Whitney wouldn't show it to them and locked it up, they thought he
+was almighty stingy and some of the meanest of the bunch broke into the
+place where he kept it and carried it off."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Rotten, wasn't it? They ought to have been hung; but they weren't.
+Instead, the model of the cotton gin got abroad and all the South
+started to making cotton gins until they were all over the place."
+
+"I'm afraid Mr. Whitney wasn't a very business-like man," ventured Mrs.
+McGregor.
+
+"He wasn't. Most generally inventors aren't, I guess. Still, how was he
+to know they were going to swipe his idea? Of course he and Mr. Miller
+went straight to work and tried to pick up the pieces. Mr. Whitney went
+home to New Haven and set about making cotton gins on a larger scale
+than he could make them at Mrs. Greene's; but even then he could not
+make them fast enough. And on top of all his factory burned down and
+for a while he couldn't make any gins at all. It seemed as if hard luck
+pursued him whichever way he turned."
+
+"It certainly did seem so!"
+
+"He and Mr. Miller, who had now gone in as his partner, spent no end of
+money in lawsuits, and Mr. Miller got so worn out and discouraged
+fighting the infringers that finally he died, leaving Eli Whitney to
+carry on the battle alone. And it was a battle, too, to get any
+satisfaction out of the people who were making use of his idea. I
+believe that North Carolina and Tennessee did pay him something, and
+after a while South Carolina and Georgia did. In all he received about
+ninety thousand dollars; but the lawsuits he had been compelled to go
+through to get it ate up a good slice of the receipts. Besides, some
+more had to go for the factory that got burned and other expenses. So
+he didn't get much out of the deal, I guess. But the South did. The
+Whitney gin whooped up their cotton trade in great style. Every year
+the planters grew more and more cotton because now that they could get
+the seeds out it paid to raise it, and by and by they were exporting
+millions of bales. Cotton is now one of our biggest exports, the
+teacher said. We grow billions of pounds of it and for the most part it
+is the green seed, Upland cotton, cleaned by a gin founded on Whitney's
+idea. That's why I say it does you no good to go to school," concluded
+Carl. "Whitney went through Yale college and invented his cotton gin
+before he had been out of the university a year, and what good did it
+do him, I'd like to know?"
+
+"He did a lot to help the world along, sonny."
+
+"Oh, I suppose he did," admitted the boy. "But for all that he didn't
+get the spondulics. That is why I want to go into the factory. So I can
+get some cash to help out here at home. S'pos'n we didn't have Uncle
+Frederick Dillingham or your sewing money? And anyhow, I don't want you
+to be always sewing. I want you to have pretty clothes, ride round in
+an automobile, and be a lady!"
+
+"Oh, Carlie! Can't one work for a living and still be a lady, my dear?"
+
+Carl flushed.
+
+"Of course she can, Ma. You're a lady right now. Still, I do wish you
+didn't have to make those silly dresses all the time. Well, no matter.
+You just wait until I get through school. You shall be wearing dresses
+like those and somebody else shall be sewing the beads on."
+
+A suspicious moisture gathered in Mrs. McGregor's eyes.
+
+"You're a good boy, Carl," answered she gently, "even if you do
+slaughter your mother tongue. Now be off with you. All this palaver
+about Mr. Whitney has almost made you late for school, and left me
+hardly knowing whether I am sewing frontwards or backwards. Still, it
+isn't a bad thing to have a son that knows something."
+
+It was evident from Mrs. McGregor's tone that she might have said more
+but for the stern belief that she must not flatter her children.
+Therefore to cut short the danger of such a crime she brusquely hurried
+Carl out of the kitchen, merely calling after him:
+
+"Don't forget to bring home a yeast cake to-night or you'll get no
+bread to-morrow. Put your mind on it, now. If you remembered the
+errands I ask you to do half as well as you remember about cotton gins
+and the like you'd save layers of shoe leather."
+
+It was a characteristic farewell. Mrs. McGregor would not have been
+Mrs. McGregor had she not uttered it. All this Carl understood and,
+undaunted by the words, he bent to kiss his mother on the cheek.
+
+"I suppose you wouldn't have time to stop into the Harlings on your
+way," suggested she, with a twinkle in her eye.
+
+"I was planning to stop there a minute as I went along."
+
+"I'll be bound you were. One might as well try to keep a fly out of the
+molasses as to keep you away from the Harlings. Well, since you are
+going that way anyhow, you can carry over a bowl of broth. I made it
+yesterday a-purpose. Tell Mrs. Harling it will only need to be heated
+up for herself and Grandfather Harling."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+A TRAGEDY
+
+
+It was in the corner block beyond Mulberry Court that the Harlings
+lived, and had you asked Carl McGregor or his chum Jack Sullivan who
+Hal Harling was you would have received in return for your ignorance a
+withering stare, a sigh of pity, or possibly no reply at all. Any one
+who did not know Hal Harling was either to be scorned or condoled with,
+as the case might be. Yet each boy would have found it difficult to put
+into words who and what this distinguished personage really was.
+
+Hal Harling was the embryo political boss of the district; the leader
+of the gang; the hero of every boy who lived within a radius of half a
+mile of the dingy flat on Broad Street. He was a tall, jovial-faced,
+thick-set fellow with the physique of a prize fighter and such an
+abundance of careless good humor that it bubbled contagiously from his
+round blue eyes and smiling lips. One would have said he was the last
+person in the world to take offence and indeed on first glance one
+might safely have made the assertion. But with this gay, happy-go-lucky
+disposition went a highly developed desire for fair play which at times
+suddenly converted the balmy, easy-going young autocrat into an enemy
+pitiless and terrible.
+
+Let some brute stone a kitten; torment a boy smaller than himself;
+snatch an apple from the stall of the old woman at the corner and, with
+a justice whose speed was incredible, Hal Harding descended upon the
+miscreant and pommeled into him a lesson in squareness that he did not
+soon if forget.
+
+The fact that the youthful avenger was usually on the right side
+increased, if anything, the number of street brawls he was mixed up in,
+for alas, Mulberry Court and all the outlying vicinity teemed with so
+great a multitude of injustices that he who set himself to straighten
+them out found ample provocation for continual blows. As he trod the
+narrow streets and alleys this champion of the weak encountered one
+challenge after another with the result that it was a common sight in
+the neighborhood to see Hal Harling the center of an angry scuffle.
+
+Partisanship was instant. A passer-by did not need to investigate the
+broil. Ten cases out of eleven the victim of the squabble was getting
+what was coming to him, in popular opinion.
+
+"Hal Harling was giving it to him good and plenty," a sympathetic
+observer would afterward relate. "I don't know what the fuss was about
+but I didn't interfere for I'll wager Hal was right; he usually is."
+
+Around the standard of such a personality it was inevitable that the
+inhabitants of the community, especially the male ones, should rally;
+and foremost in the ranks of admiring worshippers were Jack Sullivan
+and Carl McGregor, either one of whom would willingly have rolled up
+his own sleeves in defense of his idol. They tagged at his heels, ran
+his errands, and walked on air whenever they won his commendation. If
+he called them down it was as if they had been rolled in the dust.
+
+And yet despite the incense burned at his shrine Hal Harling kept a
+level head and an estimate of himself that was appealingly modest. In
+fact he was a very human boy with the same love of pranks and mischief
+that delighted other boys. He loved a joke dearly. It was fun, for
+example, to let an orange down on a string and dangle it before little
+Katie Callahan's window and then jerk it back out of Katie's reach when
+she snatched for it. Or it amused him to drop peppermint balls through
+the Murphy's letter box and hear the children inside the room chase
+them as they rolled about the floor. Later he saw to it that Katie got
+the orange and the Murphy youngsters the candy. All his jokes were like
+that, their playful hectoring ending in kindness. He was too
+kind-hearted to enjoy causing pain.
+
+What wonder that such a hero had his satellites?
+
+On the other hand, he had his enemies too--scores of them--for a
+justice dealer is never without opponents. As a rule these persons were
+the victims of his various avalanches of wrath, those to whom at one
+time or another he had meted out punishment and denounced as cowards.
+For the disapproval of these cravens Hal Harling did not care a button.
+He much preferred they should be numbered among his enemies rather than
+his friends and he said so frankly. Nevertheless, his mother, timid by
+nature and of a peace-loving disposition, shook her head.
+
+"You can't afford, Hal, to antagonize folks the way you do," she would
+protest. "The time may come when you'll be sorry."
+
+For answer the giant would shrug his shoulders.
+
+"I'm not afraid of anybody," he would reply proudly.
+
+The statement was not made in a spirit of bravado; rather it reflected
+the self-respect of one consciously in the right.
+
+"But you to be more careful. Such people are capable of working you
+harm."
+
+"Let them try."
+
+"But they are. They can do all sorts of underhanded things you would
+not descend to," whimpered Mrs. Harling. "It worries me all the time to
+see you so regardless."
+
+"There, there, Mother! Quit fussing about me," pleaded the big fellow
+kindly. "I'm all right and can look after myself."
+
+"I know you can when the fight is a fair one," agreed his mother. "But
+you never can tell what weapon a coward will use."
+
+Hal laughed contemptuously and, realizing that her counsel had failed
+of its aim, Mrs. Harling said no more.
+
+Up to the present the calamities she periodically predicted had not
+occurred and as those who loved her son rallied round him with
+ever-increasing loyalty, and those who disliked him kept their
+distance, she gradually ceased to protest. What was the use of wasting
+her strength on conditions she could not help? Poor soul! She needed
+every atom of energy she possessed to meet the trials that beset her
+own path.
+
+For Mrs. Harling was a helpless invalid and together with her bedridden
+father lived day after day imprisoned in the small tenement overlooking
+the rushing, hurrying world of which she was no part. Each morning
+Louise, Hal's younger sister, made tidy the house, packed up a
+luncheon, and the two started for Davis and Coulter's spinning mills
+where all day they helped to operate the busy machinery. It was a
+noisy, monotonous occupation; a stretch of dull, wearisome hours, and
+frequently the boy and girl were so tired at night they had scarcely
+energy to move. And yet they toiled at the humdrum task gratefully,
+rejoicing in their wages which not only kept body and soul together but
+provided for the feeble mother and the aged grandfather.
+
+The past winter had been a hard one in Baileyville, the manufacturing
+village where they lived. Most of the mills were running on half time
+and many of the employes had been turned away for lack of work. In
+consequence worry and uncertainty hung over everybody. Who would be the
+next to go, they speculated. One never could predict where the axe
+would fall, or be sure he might not be the victim elected to meet its
+merciless stroke.
+
+Thus far both Hal and Louise had been retained at their posts; but the
+fear that some of the older operatives who had been longer in the
+employ of the company might take precedence over them constantly
+menaced their peace of mind.
+
+Corcoran, the foreman under whom they worked, was a harsh, unreasonable
+bully who rather enjoyed his post as executioner, authority having
+exaggerated in him all the meannesses that lurked in his small,
+vindictive nature. Only the week before, Hal, enraged by his
+discourtesy and injustice to one of the women, had blurted out to his
+face a rebuke for his roughness. It was, to be sure, an unwise act and
+one that not only did the poor girl whose cause he championed little
+good but jeopardized his own position; yet to save his soul he could
+not have checked his indignation.
+
+"You shouldn't have said it," declared Louise, who had been an
+eyewitness of the encounter. "Of course I was proud of you as could be;
+and you said nothing but what Corcoran deserved. Still it isn't safe to
+do that sort of thing. It may lose you your job."
+
+"I don't care if it does," returned Hal, whose rage had not yet cooled.
+"Corcoran may fire me if he wants to. But he isn't going to bully any
+girl as he bullied Susie Mayo--not when I'm round."
+
+"But don't you see, dear; we can't afford to lose our jobs," continued
+his sister gently. "Too much depends on our keeping them. We must have
+the money."
+
+"I'm not worrying," laughed Hal with confidence. "If Corcoran should
+give me the sack I could get another place without any trouble, I'll
+bet I could."
+
+"Places are not so easy to find," asserted the more prudent Louise.
+"There are lots of men in Baileyville who have been out of work for
+months. You ought not to be in such a hurry to rush into a quarrel,
+Hal."
+
+"I was right; you say so yourself."
+
+"Yes, perhaps so. Still----"
+
+"Don't you think somebody ought to have called Corcoran down?"
+
+"Of course he was unfair and--and rude."
+
+"Rude!" interrupted her brother scornfully, "he was contemptible,
+outrageous!"
+
+"I know it. But----"
+
+"If fewer people stood for brutes there would be fewer brutes in the
+world."
+
+"It isn't our business to round Corcoran up."
+
+"It is my business to stop any man who is impolite to a woman," replied
+Hal. "Besides, Corcoran knew well enough he was wrong. You notice he
+did not put up any defense. He just walked off and has never mentioned
+the affair since."
+
+"That is what frightens me."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I'm afraid he isn't through."
+
+"Nonsense! He's through all right. He hasn't uttered a yip and it is
+now over two weeks ago that the thing happened. Quit your worrying,
+kiddie. There'll be no comeback from Corcoran."
+
+The reassuring words, so confidently spoken, did much to allay Louise's
+fears. Uneventfully the days slipped by, and with every one that passed
+the boy and girl breathed more freely. Not only were they skilled
+workers but they were earnest and ambitious to give of their best.
+Moreover they had behind them an untarnished record for faithful
+attendance at the mills. Such service, argued they, must be of value,
+and when matched against much of the grudging, incompetent labor about
+them should be of sufficient worth to keep them on Davis and Coulter's
+payroll. All they asked was fair play and to be judged on their merits.
+This demand seemed reasonable enough; but alas, the world is not always
+a just dealer and when on a Saturday morning not long before Christmas
+Louise Harling looked into her pay envelope a cry of dismay escaped
+her.
+
+The fate she had feared had overtaken her. Davis and Coulter informed
+her that after the fifteenth of the month, which fell a week hence, the
+firm would not need her services.
+
+Instantly two thoughts rushed to her mind. One was whether Hal had also
+received similar notice; and the other was that all the holiday plans
+she had so fondly cherished must now go by the boards. She would have
+no money to buy presents or a Christmas dinner. The holiday season was
+a dreadful time of year to be without a penny. Try as she would to
+conceal her disappointment her lip trembled.
+
+When Hal met her that night and they started home she could hardly
+utter a syllable. It was not alone her own trouble that depressed her.
+She longed and yet dreaded to hear what had befallen her brother. Were
+a calamity like hers to come to him then indeed had misfortune
+descended upon the Harling household. How would the invalid mother and
+the feeble old grandfather get on without money? How would medicines be
+procured? Or the rent be paid?
+
+Hal, however, was to all appearances his serene self. He talked and
+jested quite in his usual manner and if he were keeping something back
+he certainly succeeded in doing so to perfection. Perhaps, argued she,
+he had not been discharged at all. If not, why should this disgrace
+have come to her? For in a measure it was a disgrace. When you lost
+your job in the mill all Baileyville knew it and discussed the
+circumstances, weighing the justice or injustice of the act. Certainly,
+thought Louise to herself, she had toiled as faithfully as she knew
+how. Had there been fault with her work at least she was not conscious
+of it. It was mortifying, galling, to be turned away without a word of
+explanation.
+
+"What's the matter, Sis?" Hal questioned, at last noticing that his
+chatter failed to elicit its usual a gay response.
+
+Louise hesitated, shrinking from putting her tidings into words.
+
+"You look as if you'd seen a ghost, old girl," smiled her brother
+facetiously. "What's up?"
+
+"I've been--they don't want----"
+
+Hal halted, aghast.
+
+"You don't mean to say they've asked you to quit?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+The boy's eyes blazed.
+
+"It's Corcoran, the cur! He's done it to get back at me for what I said
+to him."
+
+"You think so?"
+
+"Sure!"
+
+"But why choose me? I had nothing to do with the squabble."
+
+"That's just the point. He's smart enough to know it would hit me a
+darn sight harder to have you lose your job than to lose my own,"
+blustered her brother wrathfully.
+
+"I wish I was sure it was only that."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because then I wouldn't care so much. I should know there was nothing
+the matter with my work."
+
+"Of course there isn't. You're one of the best operators they've got in
+the mill. Hines, one of the bosses, told me so only the other day."
+
+"Really?" The girl's face brightened. "Why didn't you tell me?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. Forgot it, I guess," smiled Hal. It was not his way
+to pass on compliments. Had the criticism been adverse he would have
+told it quickly enough.
+
+"Well, I'm awfully glad he said so."
+
+"Yes, it was very decent of him. Everybody knows though that you're a
+fine worker--even old Corcoran himself, I'll be bound, although he
+wouldn't admit it. You're quick, careful, prompt and never absent. What
+else do they want? Oh, Corcoran was behind this, all right. It wasn't
+your work sacked you. It was plain spite."
+
+"I'm thankful for that!" sighed Louise.
+
+"I'm not. It makes me hot," burst out Hal.
+
+"Still, it is better than losing your place because your work was so
+poor you couldn't hold the job," smiled the girl.
+
+"I can't see it that way. This is just low down and unfair."
+
+"But I don't mind that. I know I wasn't to blame."
+
+"You bet you weren't. I wish I had Corcoran here. I'd shake the
+daylights out of him."
+
+"Whose daylights are going to be shaken out now?" inquired a laughing
+voice, and the brother and sister turned to see Carl McGregor beside
+them.
+
+"Old Corcoran up at the works," snarled Hal. "He's given Louise the
+sack!"
+
+Carl did not speak. He knew only too well how genuine was this
+disaster. In the sympathetic silence that followed the three young
+persons seemed to draw closer together.
+
+"It isn't as if Loulie had done anything to deserve such a slam," Hal
+suddenly declared. "He's just taking out his spite on me and he's
+chosen this means of doing it. To light on a woman! I'd a hundred times
+rather he'd shipped me. But it's like him."
+
+Moodily the three walked on.
+
+"Of course, I must get some other place right away," Louise said
+presently, as if thinking aloud. "I don't know just what. I've never
+worked anywhere but in the mills and I have no other trade. To be
+turned away from Davis and Coulter won't be much of a recommendation
+for me either, I'm afraid."
+
+"Oh, you can get a hundred jobs," announced Hal, with a confidence he
+did not feel. "Don't you fret."
+
+"I don't know." His sister shook her head. "Scores of Baileyville girls
+are idle."
+
+The statement met with no denial. Who could combat it? It was only too
+true.
+
+"Not girls like you," Carl ventured, determined to be optimistic.
+
+"Girls exactly like me, Carlie," smiled Louise.
+
+"Oh, you won't be idle," murmured Hal.
+
+"I can't be--I simply can't. We've got to have money."
+
+Once again her companions found themselves unable to refute the
+declaration.
+
+They had turned into the main thoroughfare of the town and were
+threading their way along a sidewalk teeming with the throng of
+Saturday shoppers that is such a characteristic part of the life of a
+mill town. The street beside them was black with trucks, motor cars,
+and the congested traffic of a manufacturing center.
+
+Suddenly there was a cry from Carl.
+
+"Jove!" exclaimed he. "Look at that kid!"
+
+In his horror he put out his hand to clutch his friend's arm. But his
+fingers closed on empty air.
+
+Hal Harling was gone!
+
+What followed happened so quickly that it was more like the shiftings
+of a moving picture than an incident in real life.
+
+Hal bounded into the seething maelstrom of the street, caught up a
+little boy midway in the stream of rushing vehicles and held him aloft
+in safety.
+
+The baby had obviously been pursuing a small black puppy whose dangling
+leash told a story of escape from captivity. Making the most of his
+freedom the dog had run recklessly along and the child had dashed after
+him, too intent on recapturing his pet to heed whither the chase took
+him. It was little short of a miracle that he had not been killed and
+for his rescue from such a fate he had the quick wit of Hal Harling to
+thank.
+
+A second later all passing on the street had stopped and crowds of
+spectators surged around the young hero. Above the tense stillness
+could be heard Hal's comforting voice:
+
+"Sure we'll find your dog for you, little chap. Don't cry. You say he's
+called Midget. That's a fine name for a dog, isn't it? See! Somebody
+over there on the sidewalk has him already. We'll go and get him."
+
+As the two chubby arms closed about Hal's neck into the center of the
+crowd catapulted a frenzied nursemaid who madly rushed up to young
+Harling.
+
+"He's not hurt a mite," Hal announced, reassuringly. "I guess he ran
+away from you, didn't he?"
+
+"He was leading the dog and the leash slipped out of his hands," gasped
+the affrighted girl. "Before I'd a notion what he was going to do he
+was off after the puppy. I'm weak as a rag. If anything had happened to
+him----"
+
+"But it didn't," smiled Hal.
+
+"No, thanks to you, and to the good Lord!"
+
+Then, seizing the child in her arms, she said:
+
+"There, Billie, you see what comes of running out of the yard after
+Midget. You might have been killed but for this kind gentleman."
+
+"Indeed he might! He would have been. I saw the whole thing myself,"
+broke in a policeman who had joined the group.
+
+"I'm glad he's all right," reiterated Hal, as he gave the child into
+the maid's care.
+
+A man approached leading Midget and interest being for the moment
+diverted from himself Hal made his escape.
+
+In a doorway he spied Louise and Carl.
+
+"Oh, it was wonderful of you, Hal!" his sister murmured.
+
+"It was just lucky," Hal returned a bit gruffly. "Come on! Let's get
+out of this push. We'll be late for supper if we don't hike along."
+
+And it was characteristic of Hal Harling that this was the only
+allusion he made to the adventure.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+PROBLEMS
+
+
+Although temporarily buoyed up by the episode of the afternoon Carl
+McGregor returned home with spirits at a lower ebb than they had been
+for many a day. To be out of work was a very real tragedy in the world
+in which he lived. He knew only too well how indispensable was money
+and that the necessity of it was even greater in the Harling home than
+in his own. The Harlings, alas, had no absent Uncle Frederick to fall
+back upon. On the contrary the entire upkeep of their home and family
+fell upon the young shoulders of the boy and girl who toiled at the
+spinning mills. Now with Louise out of the race Hal would be left alone
+with all the burden, and whether he would be able to carry so heavy a
+one was a question. Undoubtedly he would not be forced to bear it for
+long. Louise would find employment--she must find it. Did not the need
+compel it? And was she not far too capable a worker to be out of a
+place? Why, scores of people would seek her help eagerly when once it
+was known her assistance was available.
+
+Sound as these arguments were, however, facts did not bear them out.
+Apparently nobody in Baileyville wished help, no matter how excellent
+its quality. Every night the report from the Harlings was the
+same--Louise could find nothing to do. Even Mrs. McGregor who was
+ordinarily able to straighten out every sort of tangle had no remedy
+for the present pitiable dilemma. The only employment it was in her
+power to secure for the girl was fine sewing and Louise, restricted by
+her factory training, could not sew. A week went by and still nothing
+presented itself. Mrs. Harling and the aged grandfather, from whom the
+calamity had been kept as long as it was possible to conceal it, at
+length took up the worry.
+
+"Whatever is going to become of us now?" bewailed each in turn.
+"Where's the food and rent coming from?"
+
+Hal fidgeted.
+
+Every day he looked more harrowed and distressed, and the smile that
+had formerly come so spontaneously came now with an effort. He had
+taken on an extra job evenings, that of delivery boy for the local
+grocer. It did not bring in much, to be sure, and it kept him on his
+feet at the end of the day when often he was too tired to stand.
+However, all these disadvantages were lost sight of in the few
+additional dollars derived from the makeshift.
+
+"Mother says you can't keep this up, old chap," remarked Carl dismally.
+"She says you will be getting tired out and sick and then where will
+you be?"
+
+"But we've got to have the cash, kid! _Got to have it_, don't you see?
+It was I who landed us in this plight and I'm the one to get us out.
+It's nobody's fault but mine."
+
+Carl sighed.
+
+"I suppose Corcoran wouldn't----"
+
+"Take Louise back if I were to humble myself," flared Hal. "Do you
+think for a moment I'd ask him? Do you imagine I'd gratify him by
+letting him know how hard he'd hit us? Not on your life! For all he
+knows the Harlings are rich as mud and don't care a hurrah for his old
+job. I want him to think that too. If he pictures me eating out of his
+hand he's mistaken."
+
+Carl looked grave.
+
+"It is all very well to be proud," affirmed he, smiling at his friend's
+characteristic attitude of mind. "But sometimes you can't afford to be
+too cocky. If, as you say, you pitched into Corcoran and were wrong----"
+
+"But I wasn't wrong," broke in Hal. "I meant every word I said; it was
+the truth and I'd say it again if I got the chance. You'd have said the
+same yourself if you'd been there. The thing that got his goat was that
+it was true."
+
+"But you can't go round telling people the truth about themselves, old
+man," observed Carl with a wisdom far beyond his years. "They won't
+stand for it."
+
+"I'll bet I would. I'd a darn sight rather a person told me straight to
+my face what he thought of me than whispered it behind my back."
+
+"That's what I'm trying to do now," grinned Carl.
+
+Young Harling's lips curved into a smile.
+
+"Why, so you are, kid," returned he. "I didn't recognize the stunt at
+first. You're a mighty white little chap, Carl. Maybe I was wrong to
+light into Corcoran as I did. Of course he is my superior and I really
+had no business to sarse him, even if he was wrong. But he is such a
+cad! It made my blood boil to hear him berate that poor little Mayo
+girl--and for something she did not do, too."
+
+"I know."
+
+"Well, if you were in this mess what would you do? Come now. Give me
+some of your sage advice."
+
+"You don't suppose you ought to go to----"
+
+"Corcoran and apologize?" interrupted Hal hotly. "No, I don't. I'd
+starve before I'd do that."
+
+"But how about your grandfather, your mother, and Louise?"
+
+"I shan't let them starve, if that's what you mean. You can bet your
+life on that," cried Hal. "If anybody goes without it will be myself."
+
+"You seem to be doing it all right."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Don't you suppose I've eyes in my head? You're thin as a rail
+already."
+
+"Huh! That's only because I've been chasing round with bundles. I was
+too fat, anyway; didn't get enough exercise at the mills."
+
+"Hal Harling!"
+
+"Straight goods, I didn't. Just stood and fed stuff into that loom from
+morning till night. You don't call that exercise, do you?"
+
+"I noticed that by night you were often all in, exercise or no
+exercise," was the dry response. "Well, you've got to go your own gait,
+I guess."
+
+"I'll bet a hat _you_ wouldn't go and bow down to Corcoran."
+
+The thrust told.
+
+"Bow down to him? I'd crack his nut!"
+
+Hal chuckled with satisfaction at his chum's loyalty.
+
+"There you are, you see!" declared he. "You are every whit as rabid as
+I am when it comes to the scratch."
+
+"I'm afraid I'm more rabid when things hit you and Louise," murmured
+Carl.
+
+The two walked on without speaking, the mind of each busy with the
+problem in hand.
+
+Carl's imagination circled every mad avenue of escape from the
+Harlings' financial crisis. If only he were rich! If only somebody
+would suddenly leave him some money! If only--his brain halted in the
+midst of its absurd gyrations.
+
+If he were not rich; if he had no fairy fortune to pass over to Hal and
+Louise, what was to hinder him from performing for them a far more
+genuine service of friendship and affection? Instead of offering them
+money that was dropped into his hand why should he not test out his
+real regard for them by earning it? Many a boy his age, aye, younger
+than he, earned money. Why should he be free of responsibility when
+Hal, who was only a few years older, was weighed down with it?
+
+Just why it had never occurred to him that if he earned money he might
+with propriety hand it over to his own hard-working mother is a
+question. Often with eyes fixed on the clouds we lose sight of the
+things just beneath our noses. Perhaps that was the explanation of
+Carl's lack of thought. Be that as it may, certain it was that he
+parted from his chum afire with the generous impulse of making a
+personal effort to reinforce the Harlings' slender income.
+
+He was only a stone's throw from home and what led him to turn the
+other way, pass into Beaver Street, and go south toward Orient Avenue
+he could not have told. Possibly he was still thrilling with newly
+awakened altruism and was not yet ready to have his roseate dreams
+disturbed. Or he may have been pondering so deeply how to put his
+impulses into action that he failed to heed just where he was going. At
+any rate before he realized it there he was in the fashionable section
+of the village, walking along between rows of bare and stately elms and
+great rambling houses glimpsed from behind high brick walls.
+
+He had not been in this part of Baileyville for months. There was
+nothing to take him there. What connection had his life with those
+fortunate lives that made leisure and luxury things to be taken for
+granted? Even now he started at finding himself in a location so
+incongruous; or rather at finding so incongruous a person as himself in
+an environment so out of harmony with his thought and station.
+
+He whirled about to start homeward and it was just at this instant that
+a trim racing car drew up beside him and a man's voice inquired
+pleasantly:
+
+"Lost your way, youngster?"
+
+Carl glanced at the speaker.
+
+He was a gray-haired, clean-shaven man, with fresh color and keen blue
+eyes. Although muffled to the chin in a raccoon coat that almost met
+the fur of his cap there was a splendid vigor about him that breathed
+health, energy, and the rewards a temperate life brings. Everything
+about him seemed clearness personified--eye, complexion, voice.
+
+"I've not lost my way, thank you, sir," Carl answered. "I just got to
+thinking and have wandered farther from home than I meant to."
+
+"Are you going back to town now?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Jump in and I'll give you a lift."
+
+Raising the fur robes invitingly the stranger reached to open the door.
+
+Carl was almost too surprised to speak.
+
+"You're very kind, sir," he contrived to stammer. "I should be glad of
+a ride. I don't often get one. Besides, I ought to have been at home
+long ago."
+
+The honesty of the reply apparently pleased the motorist for, smiling,
+he tucked the lad in and asked:
+
+"Where do you live?"
+
+"At Mulberry Court, sir."
+
+"I'm afraid I don't quite know where that is."
+
+"Very likely not. It's a little tenement house off Minton Street. Maybe
+you never were there."
+
+"I guess I never was," the man replied simply.
+
+"It's a nice place to live," continued Carl, glowing with local pride.
+"Of course it isn't like this. We've no trees. But in winter trees
+aren't much good anyway; and in summer we can go to the parks."
+
+To this philosophic observation his companion agreed with a nod and
+they sped on in silence.
+
+The vast stretches of snow, so unsightly in the city's narrow
+thoroughfares, were on every hand white and sparkling, and each little
+shrub rearing its head out of the spangled fields was laden with
+ermine.
+
+The boy drew a long breath, drinking in the crystal air.
+
+"Gee!" he burst out impulsively. "This is great. I feel cheered up
+already."
+
+The man driving the car shot him a quiet smile.
+
+"I'm glad to hear that," said he. "So you were out of spirits, were
+you?"
+
+"I was fussed within an inch of my life," owned Carl with engaging
+candor.
+
+"In wrong somewhere?"
+
+"Oh, I'm not; but my chum is."
+
+"What's the matter?"
+
+"Why, you see his sister has just been fired from Davis and Coulter's
+mills. It wasn't her fault at all, either. Her brother gave the
+foreman, Corcoran, a jawing because he got too fresh with one of the
+girls. Corcoran didn't say a word at the time but a couple of weeks
+later he took out his spite on Hal Harling's sister, Louise. I suppose
+he was mad and decided on this way to get even."
+
+"Humph!"
+
+"Maybe he thought he'd take Hal's pride down and make him come crawling
+to him on his knees to get Louise back into the mills. It is a rotten
+time to be out of work. Louise has tried and tried to get another job
+and can't land a thing. But whether she does or not, her brother isn't
+going crawling to Corcoran. He's not afraid of the old tyrant. Hal
+Harling isn't afraid of anything. Why, only the other day he tore into
+the street and saved a little runaway chap from being mashed to jelly
+under a lot of automobiles. The baby was chasing a dog and got into the
+middle of High Street before he realized it. He would certainly have
+been killed had it not been for Hal."
+
+"Whose baby was it?" questioned the man beside him in an odd voice.
+
+"Oh, I don't know. We didn't wait to see. Hal was anxious to get out of
+the crowd and we were late home anyway. So Harling gave the kid to the
+nursemaid and lit out."
+
+There was a muffled: "I see!" from his listener.
+
+"And where do you come in in all this tangle?" queried the stranger
+presently.
+
+"I? Why, you see Hal Harling is my----" a sudden reserve fell upon the
+lad. It was impossible to explain to anybody just what Hal Harling was
+to him. "I chase round with the Harlings a lot," explained he. "They
+are almost like my own family."
+
+"Oh, so that's it!"
+
+"I'd decided just now to hunt for a job and see if I couldn't make good
+the money Louise is missing. She can't seem to find a darn thing to do,
+poor kid. She's been out of work over a week now and they've got to
+have money or Mrs. Harling and Grandfather Harling will starve to
+death. Of course I'm not so much," continued Carl modestly. "But I'm
+willing to work and I'm sure I could earn something."
+
+The owner of the velvet-wheeled car did not speak at once. Then he
+remarked abruptly:
+
+"You don't go to school to-morrow, do you?"
+
+"Saturday? Not on your--no, sir."
+
+"Then you'd be free to come to my office to-morrow morning and see me,
+wouldn't you?"
+
+"Do you think you could give me a job? Sure I'd come!" ejaculated Carl
+with zest.
+
+"Good! Come to the Berwick building, Number 197 Dalby Street, to-morrow
+at ten o'clock. Give your name and--by the by, what is your name?"
+
+"Carl McGregor, sir."
+
+"A fine old Scotch name. Well, you write it on a card or a piece of
+paper and give it to the man you will find at the door. Maybe I shall
+be able to do something for you."
+
+The car rolled up to the curb and stopped.
+
+"You've been mighty kind, sir," said Carl, as he leaped out. "You've
+brought me nearly home."
+
+"Oh, I was going this way anyway," smiled the man in the fur coat. "You
+won't have far to walk now, will you?"
+
+"Only a block. I'll be home in a jiffy."
+
+"You won't forget about to-morrow."
+
+"_Forget!_"
+
+Laughing at something that evidently amused him very much the stranger
+started his engine.
+
+As for Carl, he raced home as fast as ever his feet would go. Already
+he was late for supper, a fact always annoying to his mother, who
+considered tardiness one of the most flagrant of sins. To be sure he
+was not often late, for miss what other functions he might he seldom
+missed his meals. To-night, however, the table had been cleared, the
+dishes washed, and only a saucepan of corn-meal mush, steaming on the
+back of the stove, remained as a souvenir of the feast.
+
+"For goodness' sake, Carl, wherever have you been?" asked Mrs.
+McGregor, as he entered, panting from his run up the long flights of
+stairs. "I've been worried to death about you. Go wash your hands and
+come and eat your supper right away. You know I don't like you out
+after dark."
+
+"I know it, Ma," the boy responded penitently. "I'm mighty sorry. I'd
+no idea, though, that it was so late."
+
+"Where've you been?"
+
+"To walk."
+
+"To walk? Just to walk? Mercy on us! Not just walking round for
+nothing!"
+
+"I'm afraid so, yes."
+
+"Who was with you?"
+
+"Nobody."
+
+For an instant Mrs. McGregor looked searchingly at her son.
+
+"Well, did you ever hear the like of that!" commented she, addressing
+the younger children who clustered about their brother with curiosity.
+"What set you to go walking?"
+
+"I don't know, Ma. Just a freak, I guess."
+
+"A foolish freak--worrying the whole family, delaying supper, and what
+not. Now come and eat your porridge without more delay. Mary, go bring
+the milk; and, Timmie, you fetch a clean saucer from the pantry.
+Martin, stop pestering your brother until he eats something; he'll play
+with you and Nell by and by. Such a noisy lot of bairns as you are! If
+you're not careful you'll wake James Frederick."
+
+Nevertheless, in spite of her grumbling, the mother regarded her brood
+of clamoring youngsters with affectionate pride. They were indeed a
+husky group, red-cheeked, high-spirited, and happy; their chatter, as
+she well knew, was nothing more than the normal exuberance of
+childhood.
+
+While Carl hungrily devoured his big bowlful of cereal his mother
+continued her sewing. She was working on a film of blue material
+a-glitter with silver beads that twinkled from its folds like stars.
+Every now and then little Nell, fascinated by the sparkle of the
+fabric, would start toward the corner where her mother sat in the ring
+of brilliant lamplight.
+
+Instantly one of the older brothers or sisters would intercept the
+child, catching up the wriggling mite and explaining softly:
+
+"No, dearie, no! Nell must not trouble mother. Mother's working."
+
+It was an old, oft-repeated formula which every one of the little group
+had heard from the time he had been able to toddle. Familiar, too, was
+the picture of their mother seated in the circle of light, her basket
+of gayly hued spools beside her, and a cloud of shimmering splendor
+wreathing her feet. Sometimes this glory was pink; sometimes it was
+blue, lavender, or yellow; not infrequently it was black or a smoky
+mist of gray. The children always delighted in the brighter colors,
+crowding round with eagerness whenever a new gown was brought home to
+see what hue the exciting parcel might contain.
+
+"Oh, nothing but a sleepy old gray one this time!" Timmie would bewail.
+"And gray beads, too! Do hurry up, Ma, and get it done so we can have
+something else."
+
+But let the paper disclose a brilliant blue or a red tulle and
+instantly every child clapped his hands.
+
+Exultantly they examined the scintillating jet or iridescent sequins.
+
+"Oh, this is the best yet, Ma!" Carl would cry. "It's a peach of a
+dress."
+
+Their ingenious admiration did much to transform their mother's tedious
+task into a fine art and helped her to regard it with dignity.
+Certainly its influence on the characters of her children was
+inestimable. Not alone did it answer their craving for beauty, but far
+better than this aesthetic gratification was the education it gave them
+in thoughtfulness and unselfishness. Consideration for their mother,
+restraint, independence, all emerged out of the yards of foolish gauze
+and the frivolous spangles.
+
+Therefore Mrs. McGregor sewed on serene in spirit and if, as to-night,
+her task barred her from secrets her children might amid greater
+leisure have bestowed on her, the circumstance was accepted as one of
+the unavoidable disadvantages attending constant occupation.
+
+It was regrettable she had not more time to talk with her sons and
+daughters separately. Confidences were shy and volatile things that
+could not be delivered in a hurry or hastily fitted into the chinks of
+a busy day. Confidences depended on mood and could not be regulated so
+that they would be forthcoming in the few seconds snatched between one
+duty and another.
+
+As a result it came about that after Carl had swallowed his supper,
+frolicked with the younger children and helped Mary put them to bed,
+brought in the kindlings and coal for the morning fire, it was time for
+him to tumble in between the sheets himself, and he did so without
+mentioning to his mother or any one else his adventures of the
+afternoon or his morrow's appointment with the stranger.
+
+One does not always wish to relate his affairs before five small
+brothers and sisters whose little ears drink in the story and whose
+tiny tongues are liable artlessly to repeat it.
+
+In the McGregor household there was affection and happiness; but, alas,
+there was no such thing as privacy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+A TANGLE OF SURPRISES
+
+
+Morning, to which Carl had looked forward for a moment with his mother,
+brought, alas, even more meager opportunity for imparting secrets than
+had the night before, for as was the custom of the McGregor family the
+new day was launched amid a turmoil of confusion. Hence it came about
+that although Carl made several valiant attempts to waylay his mother
+in the pantry, or corral her in her room, he was each time thwarted and
+was never able to get beyond a vague introduction to the topic so near
+his heart. At length a multitudinous list of errands to the butcher,
+grocer, and baker was handed him and there was no alternative but catch
+up his hat and coat and speed forth upon these commissions. And no
+sooner were they all fulfilled than the hour for his appointment with
+the stranger arrived and, palpitating with the interest of his mission,
+he set forth to the address to which he had been directed.
+
+It was in the down-town part of the village and so busy was he dodging
+trucks and hurrying pedestrians that he paid scant heed to anything but
+the gilt numbers that dotted the street. In and out the crowd he wove
+his way until above a doorway the magic characters he sought stared at
+him.
+
+There may have been, and probably were, signs announcing the nature of
+the business in which this mysterious friend was engaged but if so Carl
+was blind to them. All that concerned him was to find the place that
+sheltered his remarkable acquaintance and ascertain the sequel of the
+day before.
+
+Therefore he walked timidly into the hallway and seeing at the other
+end of it an oaken door panelled with ground glass that bore the
+hieroglyphics of his quest he turned the heavy brass knob and walked
+in.
+
+The room was spacious and its rich furnishings and atmosphere of
+stillness were in such marked contrast to the hubbub of the street that
+he paused on the heavy rug, abashed. There was, however, no time for
+retreat even had his courage failed him for the door behind him had no
+sooner clicked together than a boy in a gray uniform came forward. As
+he approached his eye swept with disapproval the shabby visitor and he
+said, with an edge of sharpness crisping his tone:
+
+"What can I do for you?"
+
+"I want to see a--a--gentleman," stammered Carl. "I don't know his
+name. I forgot to ask it. But he told me to come to this number to-day
+at ten o'clock and give him my name on a piece of paper. I've got it
+here somewheres."
+
+Awkwardly he searched his pockets, the waiting messenger watching his
+every movement.
+
+It was a grimy morsel of parchment that was at length produced; but the
+instant the supercilious page read the name scrawled upon it his
+attitude changed from superiority to servility.
+
+"This way, sir, if you please," said he, wheeling about.
+
+Carl followed his guide, feeling, as he tagged across the silencing
+rug, deplorably small, and painfully conscious of both his hands and
+feet. He and his conductor passed through another door, threaded
+labyrinthian aisles flanked by gaping clerks and faintly smiling
+stenographers, and came at length to a third door which the youth
+preceding him opened with a flourish.
+
+"Mr. Carl McGregor," announced he in a stentorian tone.
+
+All the blood in Carl's body rushed to his face.
+
+The room before him was small and on its warmly tinted walls a few
+pictures, some of which his school training led him to recognize as
+Rembrandt reproductions, lent charm and interest to the interior. But
+these details were of minor importance compared to the thrill he
+experienced at discovering behind a great mahogany desk the mysterious
+stranger of his motoring adventure.
+
+Yes, it was he--there could be no question about that. And yet, now
+that his hat and heavy fur coat were removed he appeared surprisingly
+slender and youthful. His eyes, too, seemed bluer, his cheeks redder,
+and his mouth more smiling.
+
+"Well, shaver, you're prompt," announced he, pointing to the clock with
+evident satisfaction.
+
+"You said ten, sir."
+
+"So I did. Nevertheless, I often say ten and get quarter past ten or
+even eleven o'clock. Sit down."
+
+He motioned toward a huge leather chair at his elbow and slipping into
+it the boy perched with anticipation on its forward edge.
+
+"Well, what about that Miss Harling we were talking of yesterday? Has
+she a position yet?"
+
+"Since last night, you mean? I don't know, sir. I haven't seen any of
+the Harlings to-day. But I hardly think so."
+
+The stranger pursed his lips.
+
+"Too bad! Too bad!" he murmured. "And you are still for helping the
+family out by taking a job, are you?"
+
+"If I can get one; yes, sir."
+
+"Just what kind of work had you in mind?"
+
+"Why--I--I--hadn't thought about it."
+
+"I suppose you go to school."
+
+"Yes, sir. That's the dickens of it. My mother makes me. I'd a great
+deal rather go into Davis and Coulter's cotton mills. Lots of boys and
+girls my age do go there, and that is where my father worked before he
+died. But Ma is hot on education. She says I've got to have one, and
+she insists on sewing at home on all sorts of fool flummeries for some
+dressmaker so I can. It's rotten of me not to be more pleased about it,
+I suppose."
+
+While Carl fumbled with his cap the man at the desk tilted back in his
+chair, regarding him narrowly.
+
+"Your school work can't leave you very much time for anything else,"
+remarked he.
+
+"Oh, yes, it does," the lad hastened to retort. "I have Saturdays
+and--and--spare hours at night. I'd even work Sundays if there was
+anything I could do."
+
+"At that rate I am afraid you would not find much time for skating or
+baseball. People have to have fresh air and exercise, you know, to keep
+well."
+
+"I don't have to play," protested Carl with great earnestness. "Anyhow
+I get heaps of exercise and fresh air doing errands. Besides, we live
+up five flights."
+
+His listener turned aside his head.
+
+"If it comes to exercise I get all I want right at home," persisted the
+boy. "I've a crew of little brothers and sisters, too, and when I'm not
+busy I help take care of them so Ma can sew. Just you try doing it once
+if you are looking for exercise. And then I wheel the baby out."
+
+There was a twinkle in the eye of the man at the desk but he said
+gravely:
+
+"Isn't it going to bother them at home if you take a position? How does
+your mother feel about it?"
+
+"I haven't had a chance to ask her," Carl blurted out with honesty.
+"All last evening she was rushing to finish that spangled thing; and
+this morning she had the kids to dress and I had errands to do. It's
+awful hard to get a chance to talk to Ma by herself. Some of the
+children are always clawing at her skirts and bothering her."
+
+"You do believe, though, in talking things over with your mother."
+
+"Sure! We always tell Ma everything if we can get a chance. So does all
+Mulberry Court, for that matter. Ma's that sort."
+
+The stranger toyed with an ivory letter-opener thoughtfully.
+
+"Now I'll tell you what we'll do," began he at last. "To-day is
+Saturday, isn't it?"
+
+Carl nodded.
+
+"Well, if your friends, the Harlings, are not straightened out by
+Monday morning I will let you begin a week from to-day as errand boy in
+this office."
+
+"Bully!" cried the delighted applicant.
+
+"If, on the other hand," continued the gentleman at the desk, speaking
+slowly and evenly, and not heeding the interruption, "Miss Harling
+finds work and the family do not need your aid, you must agree to put
+in your free time at home helping your mother as you have been doing in
+the past. Is that a bargain?"
+
+"Y-e-s."
+
+"What's the matter?"
+
+"It just seems to me we might as well settle it definitely now that I
+am to come here next week. To-day is Saturday and I don't believe
+Louise will find work before Monday morning. Of course she can't do
+anything about getting a job Sunday."
+
+Although there was a perceptible tremor of disappointment in the boy's
+voice the stranger appeared not to notice it. Rising, he put out his
+hand with a kindly smile.
+
+"I am afraid the agreement I have made with you is the best I can do at
+present," said he. "I will be true to my part of it if you will be true
+to yours. I promise you that if the Harlings' affairs do not take an
+upward turn by Monday you shall come to their rescue."
+
+"Thank you, sir."
+
+"I wouldn't worry any more about this, if I were you, sonny," concluded
+the man. "Go home and try to be satisfied. I'll keep the place for you,
+remember. It is Carl McGregor, isn't it, of----"
+
+"Mulberry Court--the top flat."
+
+"And did you tell me these friends of yours, the Harlings, lived there
+too?"
+
+"Oh, no, sir! I wish they did. The Harlings are at Number 40 Broad
+Street. It is the corner house. They took the tenement because there
+was sun, and because it entertains Grandfather and Mrs. Harling to look
+out the window. They can't ever go out and it cheers them up to have
+something to see. It costs more to live there than where we do, but Hal
+and Louise decided it was worth it."
+
+"Under the circumstances I imagine it is," assented the stranger.
+"Well, we will wish them luck."
+
+"I hope they have it!"
+
+"So do I." As he spoke the man pressed a bell in answer to which the
+uniformed page appeared.
+
+"Show this young gentleman out, Billie," said he. "Good-by, youngster!
+Good-by!"
+
+The farewell was cordial and in its cadence rang so disconcerting a
+finality that try as he might Carl could not repress a conviction that
+in spite of his suave promises his new-found friend did not really
+expect to see him again.
+
+"I guess there are folks like that," meditated he, as he walked
+dispiritedly home. "They are awful pleasant to your face and give you
+the feeling they are going to do wonders for you. But when it comes to
+the scratch they slide from under. This chap is one of that slick
+bunch, I'll bet a hat."
+
+It was not a cheering reflection and with every step lower and lower
+ebbed his hopes. It chanced that his pathway to Mulberry Court led past
+the corner of Broad Street (or if it did not really lead him there his
+subconscious mind did) and once in the vicinity what more natural than
+that he should drop in at Number 40 to pass the time of day?
+Grandfather Harling loved to have visitors. He said they cheered him
+up.
+
+But to-day neither the old gentleman nor any of the Harling family
+needed cheering. Carl found them in such high spirits that for a time
+it was difficult to get any of the group to talk coherently.
+
+"What do you suppose has happened, Carl?" cried Louise, the instant he
+was inside the door. "The most wonderful thing! You never could guess
+if you guessed forever."
+
+"If it is as hopeless as that I shan't try," laughed Carl.
+
+"But it is amazing, a miracle!" put in Mrs. Harling.
+
+"We can't understand it at all," quavered Grandfather Harling, who was
+quite as excited as the rest.
+
+"Well, what _is_ it?" the boy demanded.
+
+"You'll never believe it," laughed Louise with shining eyes. "I've had
+a letter. You couldn't guess who it's from!"
+
+She held a square white envelope high above her head.
+
+"I'm going to have it framed and hand it down to my
+great-great-grandchildren."
+
+"You might let me see it," coaxed Carl, putting out his hand.
+
+"Oh, it is far too precious to be touched. It is going to be an
+archive, an heirloom, you know."
+
+"Oh, come on and tell a chap what's happened," urged Carl, his patience
+beginning to wane.
+
+"Well, think of this! I've had a note from Mr. Coulter--not from the
+firm, understand, but from the great J. W. himself, written by his own
+hand. He says he hears that through some error my name has been dropped
+from the Davis and Coulter payroll, and he not only asks me to come
+back to the mill but sends me a cheek for double the sum that I have
+lost by being out. Can you beat that?"
+
+"Oh, Louise, how bully! I _am_ glad! But how do you suppose----"
+
+"That's exactly what we don't know. It seems like magic, doesn't it? I
+never knew before that Mr. Coulter kept such close track of what went
+on at the mills. He doesn't come there often because he is always at
+the down-town office. When he does visit the mills he simply strolls
+through them as if they belonged to somebody else rather than to
+himself. Of course he doesn't know one of the workers and I've always
+fancied he didn't care much about us. But this proves how wrong I was
+to think so. He does care, you see, and means everybody shall have a
+square deal. I shall go back Monday and work harder than ever for him.
+You will work your fingers off for such a man as that, you know."
+
+"It certainly is white of him!" Carl agreed.
+
+"It is nothing but justice," asserted Mrs. Harling proudly. "Still,
+justice isn't a common commodity in this world."
+
+"Evidently it isn't Mr. Coulter's fault if it isn't, Mother," Louise
+replied. "And isn't it nice, Carl, that I am not to go back to work
+under Mr. Corcoran. Oh, I forgot to tell you that. That is almost the
+best of all. No! I am to be in the shipping department where the work
+is lighter and the pay better. Won't Hal be tickled to death when he
+hears it? He'll be more convinced than ever that he did the right thing
+to lay Corcoran out."
+
+"I think he did. Still, it was a dangerous experiment and this should
+be a warning to him," put in Mrs. Harling. "Hal must learn to be more
+careful with his temper, his tongue, and those fists of his. If he
+isn't he is going to get into serious trouble some day."
+
+Carl, however, was not listening to Mrs. Harling's moralizing.
+
+"I wish I knew how Mr. Coulter found out about Louise," murmured he,
+half aloud.
+
+Well, this was certainly a most satisfactory termination to the
+Harlings' troubles. He was genuinely glad the affair had turned so
+fortunately. And yet in his heart lurked a vague regret. This would
+mean that probably he would never see or hear from the mysterious hero
+of the red racing car again. Could the stranger have had any knowledge
+of what was to happen and did that information account for his jaunty
+adieu? Of course such a thing was impossible. And yet how odd and
+puzzling it all was!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE WEB WIDENS
+
+
+"Wherever did you disappear to?" inquired his mother when, hungry but
+triumphant, Carl came home. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
+
+"I didn't know you wanted me this morning, Ma," the boy replied, an
+afterglow of happiness still on his face.
+
+"I didn't really want you but I wanted to know where you were. I've
+asked you time and time again when you go out to tell me where you're
+going."
+
+"I wanted to, Mother, but it was such a long story. Last night you were
+too busy to hear it; and this morning there was no chance to talk to
+you either."
+
+He heard his mother sigh.
+
+"It's a pretty kind of a life I lead if my own children can't get a
+minute to talk to me."
+
+"But you are busy, Ma. You know you are."
+
+"I certainly do. Nobody knows it better," replied the woman with a sad
+shake of her head.
+
+Carl, sensing the regret in her tone, hastened to say:
+
+"Well, at least the family is not so thick around here now as usual.
+Where is everybody?"
+
+"Mary is out with James Frederick; Timmie has gone to the park to
+coast; and Martin and Nell are at the day nursery."
+
+"Then we have it all to ourselves."
+
+"For a second or two, yes."
+
+"That's bully!"
+
+Drawing up a kitchen chair he sat down beside his mother.
+
+"It's nice to have them gone sometimes," remarked he. "The kids make
+such a racket."
+
+"They'll not always be making it," returned Mrs. McGregor philosophically.
+"And anyway, the three of them put together can never equal the
+hullabaloo you used to make when you were their age."
+
+"I'm quiet enough now," grinned Carl sheepishly.
+
+"Quiet, you call it, do you? Quiet! And you prancing home from every
+ball game with a black eye or else the clothes half torn off you!" She
+chuckled mischievously. "But you're not telling me where you've been.
+Up to some deviltry, I'll be bound, or you wouldn't be so anxious to
+get it off your conscience."
+
+"I haven't been up to any high jinks this time, Ma," protested the lad
+soberly. "You'll see when I tell you."
+
+Slowly he related his story while his mother bent over her needle,
+spangling with brilliants a gauze of azure hue. She was a wonderful
+listener, sympathetic in her intentness.
+
+When the boy had finished her hand wandered to touch his rough sleeve.
+
+"A kind deed is never amiss in the world," observed she briefly. "If we
+would but pass on to other folks the kindness people do to us the world
+would soon become a pleasanter place. I'm thankful to know Louise has
+her job back, or rather that she has a better one. She's a good girl
+and deserves it. Besides, with Christmas coming, it would be hard to be
+without money."
+
+"And Mr. Coulter--wasn't he great? And wasn't it all funny?"
+
+"Funny is hardly the word; but I'll agree that Mr. Coulter was great.
+It is always great for a big man to take on his soul the troubles of
+those needier than himself. Well, he's done a good deed this day and
+may he be the happier for it. And he will be--never fear! I wonder how
+he got wind of the trouble Louise was in? You don't suppose----" She
+halted a moment as if suddenly struck by a new thought; then she
+laughed and shrugged her shoulders, "Of course it couldn't be--how
+ridiculous! Well, anyway, it is splendid everything has come out so
+well. And now that you're here, sonny, would you mind fetching some
+coal from the shed and starting up the fire for dinner? Mary'll be back
+soon and 'twould be a nice surprise for her to find the kettle
+boiling."
+
+"So it would!" answered Carl, leaping up to do his mother's bidding.
+
+"I'm not forgetting you'd like to do a bit of coasting or skating
+to-day," Mrs. McGregor continued. "If you will fit in a few errands
+early in the afternoon I'll let you off at two o'clock for a holiday."
+
+"That will be great, Ma! But--but don't you----"
+
+"It will be all right, sonny. Tim has had his play this morning and he
+shall help the rest of the day. Hush a minute! Isn't that Mrs. O'Dowd's
+knock? Very like she's up to ask me to run down and see little Katie
+who is laid up with a sore throat. Well, I'll go but I won't be long.
+Meantime if you can lend Mary a hand dinner will be through the quicker
+and you will be off to play the earlier."
+
+Thus it happened that before two o'clock Carl McGregor was one of the
+shouting throng of boys that crowded the small pond in Davis Park. Amid
+swirling skaters and a confusion of hockey sticks he moved in and out
+the thick of the game. So intent was he upon the sport that he might
+have continued playing until dark had not a boy at his elbow suddenly
+piped:
+
+"There goes Hal Harling! Hi, Hal! Come on down!"
+
+"Harling! Harling!" cried the other boys, taking up the call.
+
+"Come on and play, Hal! You can have Sanderson's skates. He's going
+home."
+
+"Can't do it!" laughed the giant, waving his hand.
+
+"Oh, come on, old top!"
+
+"Not to-night, fellers! Got to go home."
+
+"I've got to see Harling!" Carl exclaimed, hurriedly loosening his
+skates.
+
+"You're not going, too!"
+
+"Got to. So long! Hold on, Hal! I'm coming with you."
+
+Scrambling up the bank, Carl overtook his friend.
+
+"Hullo, Carlie! What struck you to quit?" asked he unceremoniously.
+
+"Time I was getting home. Besides, I wanted to see you."
+
+A smile passed between them.
+
+"To tell the truth, I hoped I'd spy you somewhere, kid. I've got great
+news! Corcoran has been fired! What do you know about that?"
+
+"Corcoran!"
+
+"The old man himself--no other!"
+
+"Jove! Why, I thought you said he'd been at the mills all his life."
+
+"So he has."
+
+"But--but--to fire him now!"
+
+"Well, he hasn't actually been fired," amended young Harling, "but so
+far as I'm concerned it amounts to the same thing. He's been
+transferred to another department and he isn't to be a boss any more,
+poor old chap!"
+
+"But aren't you glad?" questioned Carl with surprise.
+
+"Why, yes, in some ways," returned Hal thoughtfully. "Yes, of course
+I'm glad not to have him sarsing the girls and pestering me. Still, I'm
+sort of sorry for him."
+
+"_Sorry?_"
+
+Hal nodded.
+
+"But I thought you----"
+
+"I know! I know! I'm not saying he wasn't an awful old screw. But
+somehow I don't believe he meant to be so flinty-hearted. You see, he
+came and talked to me to-day--talked like a regular human being. You
+could have knocked me over. It seems--a funny thing--that kid I picked
+up out of the street the other day was his."
+
+"Corcoran's kid!"
+
+"Yep! Can you beat it? Of course I hadn't a notion who the little tike
+belonged to; but even if I had I should have done the same thing. You
+wouldn't let a kid like that be run over no matter who his father was."
+
+"But--but--Corcoran!" gasped Carl. "How did he know it was you who
+rescued his baby?"
+
+"Somebody told him. He said it cut him up terribly because of the way
+he'd treated Louise."
+
+"Served him right."
+
+"Maybe! But he was cut up, poor old cuss! You'd have been sorry for him
+yourself, if you'd heard him. He isn't all brute by any means. Why,
+when he spoke about his little boy----"
+
+"But Louise!"
+
+"I know. It was a low-down trick and he said so himself. But he
+declared it was an ill wind that blew nobody good, and he hinted that
+maybe in consequence of the trouble she would be better off than if it
+hadn't happened."
+
+Carl bit his tongue to keep it silent. How he longed to impart to his
+chum the good tidings that would greet him when he reached home! But he
+must not spoil Louise's pleasure by telling the story of her good luck
+for her.
+
+"Oh, somehow things do seem to come round right if you wait long
+enough," mumbled he.
+
+"So mother says," echoed Hal moodily. "But you get almighty sick of
+waiting sometimes. Even knowing you were right doesn't put pennies in
+your pocket." He laughed with a touch of bitterness.
+
+Again Carl was tempted to break the silence and reveal the wonderful
+secret, and again he clamped his lips together.
+
+Hal would hear the tidings soon enough now and his spirits would soar
+the higher because of the depths to which they had descended. It was
+always so. This broad range of mood was one of his chief charms.
+
+Ah, how well he knew his friend and how accurately did he forecast what
+would happen!
+
+It was not five minutes after the two parted at the corner before Hal
+Harling came leaping up the McGregors' stairway and gave a loud knock
+at their door.
+
+"Oh, you old tight-jaw!" announced he, when on entering, he beheld Carl
+grinning at him from across the room. "You might have put me out of my
+misery."
+
+The boy laughed.
+
+"It wasn't my secret! I'd have been a cur to butt in on Louise's fun."
+
+"So you would!"
+
+Quietly Mrs. McGregor glanced up from the sea of delicate blue gauze
+foaming about her.
+
+"A ready tongue is a gift of silver, but a silent one is a treasure of
+pure gold," observed she quaintly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE COMING OF THE FAIRY GODMOTHER
+
+
+With the Harlings safely out of their difficulties Christmas, as Carl
+jestingly observed, was free to approach and approach it did with a
+speed incredible of belief. A big blizzard a week before it, which
+transformed the suburban districts into a wonderland of beauty, merely
+worked havoc however in Baileyville, causing muddy streets and slippery
+pavements, and wrecking the skating in the park.
+
+"Snow doesn't seem to be made for cities," remarked Mrs. McGregor in
+reply to Carl's lamentations. "It is an old-fashioned institution that
+belongs to the past. Here in town there is neither a place for it nor
+does it do an atom of good to anybody unless it is the unemployed who
+hail the work it brings."
+
+"I hate the snow," wailed Timmie. "It isn't snow, anyway; it's just
+slush."
+
+"Ah, laddie, you should see one of the snowstorms of the old country!"
+protested his Scotch mother reminiscently. "Then you would not say you
+hated the snow. It turned everything it touched white as a Tartary
+lamb."
+
+"What's a Tartary lamb, Mother?" inquired Tim with interest.
+
+"A Tartary lamb? Ask your big brother; he goes to school."
+
+"I never heard of a Tartary lamb, Ma," flushed Carl.
+
+"Mary had a little lamb," began Nell, who had caught the phrase.
+
+"So she did, darling," laughed her mother as she picked up the child
+and kissed her, "and its fleece was white as snow, too, for the song
+says so; but it wasn't a Tartary lamb, dearie. It was just a common
+one."
+
+"What is a Tartary lamb, anyway, Ma?" Mary demanded.
+
+Mrs. McGregor paused to put a length of silk into her needle.
+
+"Long ago," began she, "before there were ships and trains, to say
+nothing of automobiles and aeroplanes people had to stay at home in the
+places where they happened to be born. Of course they could go by coach
+or on horseback to a near-by city, but they could not go far; nor
+indeed did they think of going because they did not know there was
+anywhere to go. Nobody did any traveling in those days and as a result
+there were no maps or travel books to set you thinking you must pack up
+your traps to-morrow and start for some place you never had seen. But
+by and by the compass was invented, larger and better ships came to be
+built, and men got the idea the world was round instead of flat (as
+they had at one time supposed), a discovery that comforted vastly the
+timid souls who had always been afraid of falling off the edge of it.
+Therefore, when it was at last proved that should you sail far, far
+away your ship, instead of dropping off into space, would circle the
+great ball we live on and come home again, some of those who were
+brave, adventurous, and had money enough set out on voyages to see what
+there was to be seen in other lands than those they had been brought up
+in. Frenchmen thought it would be a grand thing to discover new
+countries for France; Englishmen wanted new territory for England. So
+it was all over the world. Thus this one and that one began to travel."
+
+"Just as Columbus came to America, Ma," put in Tim.
+
+"Exactly, dear," nodded his mother. "Now you can imagine what a hero
+such a traveler became; how people admired his daring; and how half of
+them wished they were going with him and the other half rejoiced that
+they weren't. And when he came back there was great excitement to hear
+where he had been and what he had seen! Every word he spoke was passed
+from mouth to mouth, each person who repeated it adding to the story
+until it grew like a snowball. And as was inevitable the more raptly
+the populace listened the more marvelous became the stories."
+
+"Like Jack Murphy when he gets home from the circus," put in Tim.
+
+"Yes, very much like Jack Murphy, I am afraid; only sometimes these
+travelers really believed the tales they told. Sometimes the stories
+had been passed on to them by the natives of the strange countries they
+visited, and how could they know that all which was told them was not
+true? Such a tale was the legend of the Tartary lamb."
+
+"Tell it to us, Mother," urged Mary.
+
+"Well, it actually isn't much of a story, my dear. You see, when the
+travelers from England, France, and other western countries went to the
+East for the first time, they saw cotton growing, or if they did not
+really see it, they heard there was such a thing. Now cotton was
+entirely new to the voyagers and it seemed unbelievable that such a
+plant could be. Some of the eastern natives told the visitors that in
+each pod grew a little lamb with soft, white fleece. Orientals were
+very ignorant in those days. The Tartars went even farther and said the
+lamb bent the stalk he lived on down to the ground and ate all the food
+within reach; and when he had nibbled up all the grass and roots around
+him he died, and then it was that people took his fleece and twisted it
+into thread, which was woven into garments. Thus the legend became
+established and the belief in the Tartary lamb became so firm that for
+several hundred years people even in England thought that in the Far
+East there grew this wonderful plant with a vegetable lamb sprouting
+from the top of it."
+
+"How silly of them!" sniffed Carl.
+
+"No sillier than lots of the things we now believe, probably," replied
+his mother. "Aren't we constantly discovering how mistaken some of our
+cherished beliefs were? That is what progress is. We learn continually
+to cast aside outgrown notions and adopt wiser and better ones. So it
+was in the past. The world was very young in those days, you must
+remember, and people did not know so much about it as we do now. And
+even we, with all our wisdom, are going to be laughed at years hence,
+precisely as you are laughing now about those who believed the story of
+the Tartary lamb. Men are going to say: '_Think of those poor, stupid
+old things back in nineteen hundred and twenty-three who believed
+so-and-so! How could they have done it?_'"
+
+Carl was silent.
+
+"When you consider this you will understand how it was that the eager
+readers of the past devoured with wide-open eyes the tale-telling of
+Sir John Mandeville; and should you ever read that ancient story, as I
+hope you will sometime, you will be less surprised to hear that even he
+declared that he had seen cotton growing and that when the pod of the
+plant was cut open inside it was a little creature like a lamb. The
+natives of the East ate both the fruit of the plant and the wee beast,
+he explained. In fact he said he had eaten the thing himself."
+
+"Why, the very idea!" gasped Mary.
+
+"What a lie!" Carl burst out.
+
+"I'm afraid Sir John was either not very truthful or he had a great
+imagination," smiled Mrs. McGregor. "Still, you see, he was not alone
+in his belief about the Tartary lamb. So many other people believed the
+yarn that he probably thought he was telling the truth. And as for
+eating it--well, he just had a strain of Jack Murphy in him. Besides,
+there were no schools in 1322 to teach Sir John Mandeville better. And
+anyway, who was to contradict the fable? Sir John had been to the East
+and the other people hadn't. Why shouldn't they believe what he and
+other travelers told them?"
+
+"He did sort of have them, didn't he?" grinned Carl.
+
+"How long was it before the public stopped believing such a ridiculous
+story?" demanded Mary.
+
+"About three hundred years," answered her mother. "In the meantime much
+traveling had been done by the peoples of all nations and learning had
+made great strides. Scientific men began to whisper there could be no
+such thing as the lamb of the Tartars; it was not possible. Cotton was
+merely a plant. You can imagine what discussions such an assertion as
+that raised. The public had come to like the notion of the Tartary lamb
+and did not wish to give it up; besides, if the story were all a myth,
+it put the travelers who had told it in a very bad light, and shook the
+confidence of readers in some of the other tales they had published.
+Science always upsets us. None of us like to be jolted out of the
+beliefs we have been brought up with and exchange them for others, no
+matter how good the new ones are. So it was in sixteen hundred. The
+populace resented having the Tartary lamb taken away from them."
+
+Mrs. McGregor laughed.
+
+"It was a pity Sir John Mandeville and the rest did not live long
+enough to learn how mistaken they had been," mused Mary.
+
+"Poor old Sir John! I guess it was as well for him that he didn't, for
+in his day he was, you see, quite a celebrity. He might not have
+relished living to see his fame evaporate. At least he had the courage
+to make a trip to a strange and distant land, and for that we should
+respect him since it took nerve to travel in those days. Moreover he
+did his part and was a link in a civilization that went on after he was
+gone. So the history of the world is built up. Each generation builds
+on the blunders of the one before it--or should."
+
+"How queer it makes you feel; and how small!" Mary reflected.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Well, it just seems as if we didn't count for much," sighed the girl.
+
+"On the contrary, dear child, we count for a great deal," instantly
+retorted her mother. "Each one of us can have a share in the vast plan
+of the universe and help carry it forward."
+
+"How, Mother?"
+
+"By doing all we can during our lifetime to make the world better," was
+the answer. "Good men and good women make a good world, don't they? And
+the better the world the farther ahead will be its civilization.
+Progress is not all in wonderful discoveries of science, in fine
+architecture, or in great books; much of it lies in the peoples of the
+globe learning to live peacefully together and help one another.
+Kindness to our neighbor, therefore, helps civilization. It cannot
+avoid doing so if we live it on a large enough scale."
+
+"I never thought of that before," meditated Carl.
+
+"But you can see it is so, laddie," responded his mother. "A lack of
+kindness and fairness in nations causes wars, and wars put the world
+backward. It is in the peaceful times that nations grow. You know
+yourself that you cannot build up anything when somebody else is
+waiting to knock it down the minute you have it finished. Under such
+conditions it hardly seems worth while to build at all. So it is with
+nations the world over. When they are snarling jealously at one
+another's heels, and coveting what the other possesses, how can
+progress be made?"
+
+"I suppose when they get mad they forget about the work of the world,"
+Tim announced.
+
+"That is just the trouble," agreed his mother. "Engrossed in their own
+little squabbles, they lose sight of the splendid big thing they were
+put here to do. In other words they forget their job, which is to make
+the world and themselves better."
+
+Slowly she glanced from one earnest face into another.
+
+"Well, I've read you quite a sermon, haven't I?" smiled she. "And it
+was all because of the Tartary lamb. Now suppose we talk of something
+else--Christmas. It will be here now before we know it. What shall we
+do this year? Shall it be a tree? Or shall we hang our stockings, go
+without a tree, and put the money into a Christmas dinner?"
+
+Inquiringly she studied her children's faces.
+
+"I suppose a tree does cost quite a lot before you are through with
+it," reflected the prudent Mary.
+
+"And we have the municipal tree in the park, anyway," Carl put in in an
+attempt to be optimistic.
+
+"But that tree isn't ours, our very own tree," Tim began to wail.
+
+"It is lots bigger than any tree we could have, Timmie," asserted his
+older brother. "And think of the lights! They are all electric. We
+couldn't have lights like those here at home."
+
+"I know," grieved Tim. "But it isn't our tree--just ours--in our
+house."
+
+"A Christmas tree costs ever so much money, Timmie," Mary explained
+gently. "Mother can't buy us a tree always and a dinner, too."
+
+"Oh, I could manage a small tree, perhaps," interrupted Mrs. McGregor,
+touched at seeing the child so disappointed. "There are little ones at
+the market."
+
+"But I don't want a little one," objected Tim stubbornly. "I want a
+big, big Christmas tree."
+
+"Big as the ceiling--big as Mulberry Court," interrupted Martin,
+extending his chubby arms to their full length.
+
+"I wants a big tree, too," lisped Nell.
+
+Mrs. McGregor sighed to herself. Evidently it was not going to be as
+easy to coax her flock away from their established traditions as she
+had at first supposed. Each year she had made a stupendous effort to
+keep Christmas after the old fashion; and each season the ceremony,
+before it was over, made appalling inroads on her slender purse. This
+time it had been her plan to curtail expenses and put what was spent
+into the more substantial and lasting things. But now as she glanced
+about her her heart misgave her. Even Carl and Mary, valiantly as they
+fought for economy, and grown up though they were, could not altogether
+conceal the fact that they were disappointed; and as for the younger
+children, they were on the brink of tears.
+
+"Well, we won't decide to-day," announced their mother diplomatically.
+"We will think it over until to-morrow. By that time perhaps some way
+can be found----"
+
+A knock at the door interrupted her.
+
+"Run to the door like a good boy, Timmie," said she. "Very likely it's
+the boy from the corner grocery with the bundles of wood I ordered."
+
+Tim rose with importance. Visitors to the fifth floor of Mulberry Court
+were so few that to admit even so prosaic a one as the grocer's boy
+never ceased to thrill him.
+
+To-day, however, it was not the grocer's boy who stood peering at him
+from the dim hallway. In fact, it was no one he had ever seen before. A
+little old man stood there, a man with ruddy cheeks, a stern mouth, and
+blue eyes whose sharpness was softened by a moist, far-away expression.
+From beneath a nautical blue cap strayed a wisp or two of white hair.
+Otherwise, he was buttoned to his chin in a great coat, fastened with
+imposing brass buttons, dulled by much fingering.
+
+Apprehensive at the sight, Tim backed into the room. Brass buttons, in
+his limited experience, meant either firemen or policemen and either of
+these dignitaries was equally terrifying.
+
+"You don't know your Uncle Frederick, do you, sonny?" observed the
+stranger.
+
+The voice, more than the words, brought Mrs. McGregor to her feet in an
+instant, and what a rush she made for the door! Gauze, spangles,
+scissors, and spool flew in all directions and the children, deciding
+that some unprecedented evil had befallen, stampeded after her.
+
+Open-mouthed, they watched, while in the arms of the little old
+gentleman she laughed, cried, and uttered broken nothings quite
+unintelligible to anybody.
+
+"Who ever would have thought to see you, Frederick!" gasped she at
+last, as wiping her eyes on the corner of her apron she dragged her
+visitor into the room. "Children, come here one by one and speak to
+your Uncle James Frederick Dillingham. This is Carl, the oldest one--a
+good boy as ever lived (if he is always tearing his clothes). The next
+is Mary; she's going on thirteen and is quite a little housekeeper even
+now. Timmie, who let you in, is nine. And here are Martin and Nell--the
+mites! James Frederick is asleep but when you see him you'll see the
+finest baby you ever set your two eyes on. Kiss your uncle, children.
+You know it's him you have to thank for many, many things."
+
+Slowly the children advanced, wonder (and if the truth must be told) no
+small measure of chagrin in their crestfallen countenances.
+
+Was this apparition the fairy prince of their imaginings--this little
+gray man with his long coat and oilskin bundle? Why, he might be Mike
+Carrigan, the butcher; or Davie Ryan, the proprietor of the fruit
+stand, for anything his appearance denoted. Their dreams were in the
+dust. Still, youth is hopeful and they did not quite let go the
+expectation that when the long coat that disguised him had been removed
+and the magic bundle opened Uncle Frederick Dillingham would issue
+forth in a garb startling, resplendent, and more in accordance with
+their mental pictures of him. But to their profound disappointment,
+when the great coat was tossed aside, it concealed no ermine-robed
+hero; nor was there crown or scepter in the bundle. Instead there stood
+in their midst a very plain, kindly little man arrayed in a shiny suit
+of blue serge that was almost shabby. The buttons, to be sure, had
+anchors on them; but they were dim, lusterless old anchors that looked
+as if they had been sunk in the depths of the sea until their golden
+glory had been tarnished by the washings of a million waves.
+
+Nell eyed him and at length began to cry.
+
+"Policeman!" she whimpered, hiding her face in her mother's skirt.
+
+"Hush, girlie! Don't be silly," protested Mrs. McGregor hurriedly.
+"Your uncle is no policeman, though he may get one if you don't stop
+that noise."
+
+At that the little old man laughed a hearty, ringing laugh, so good to
+hear that in spite of themselves the whole family joined in it. After
+that, everything was easy. Uncle James Frederick Dillingham tucked his
+coat, cap, and bundle away in a corner and allowed his sister to seat
+him in the rocking-chair before the stove.
+
+"Put another shovelful of coal on the fire, Carl," said she briskly.
+"And Mary, do you slip out to the market and fetch home a beefsteak and
+some onions. You were ever fond of a steak smothered in onions,
+Frederick. Timmie, you shall set the table with a place for your uncle
+Frederick at the head, remember. And Nell, trot to the shed, darling,
+and bring mother a nice lot of potatoes. Go softly so not to waken
+James Frederick."
+
+Promptly her host sprang to obey her.
+
+"Well, well, Brother," murmured she, "I've scarcely got my breath yet.
+I never was so surprised in all my born days as to see you standing
+there on the mat! Wherever did you come from? We've not heard from you
+for weeks and I had begun to fear something might have gone amiss."
+
+Captain Dillingham patted her hand with his horny one.
+
+"We had a long trip home, Nellie, because of strong head winds,"
+explained he. "Then, too, there were ports to stop at and cargo to
+unload. Add to this a fracas with the engine and you'll readily
+understand why I had only scant time for letter writing. I never was
+any too good at it, at best, you know."
+
+"Men never are," returned Mrs. McGregor cheerily over her shoulder as
+she hustled out of the pantry with a clean tablecloth. "But it matters
+not now; the ship is safe in port and you are here in time for
+Christmas--a miracle that's never happened before in all my memory."
+
+"But----," began her brother doubtfully.
+
+"But what? Surely you're not going to say you are putting straight off
+to-morrow for India or some other heathen spot! No shipowners would be
+so heartless as to ask you to do that. Besides, very like the
+_Charlotte_ must need repairing after such a stiff trip. Oughtn't her
+seams to be caulked or something?"
+
+Captain Dillingham's eyes twinkled and the corners of his mouth curved
+upward.
+
+"You're quite knowing in nautical matters, Nellie," observed he with
+amusement. "Aye, the _Charlotte_ will have to lay to and be
+overhauled some. She had a tough voyage. Still, she don't mind it much.
+She's a thoroughbred that takes what comes without whimpering. That's
+the lady of her. I never have to offer excuses or apologies for
+her--no, siree! Tell her what you want done and you can count on her
+doing it every time."
+
+"I'm sorry you didn't have a better voyage home," ventured his sister.
+
+"Oh, the voyage was all right enough. You can't expect a marble floor
+to sail on in December. Indeed a trip such as that would be almost too
+tame for me. I like the kick of the sea. Still, heavy winds that hold
+you back all the way over as these held us, are trying. You make but
+slow progress against them. Nevertheless the _Charlotte_ put up a
+stiff fight and don't you forget it."
+
+"Had you any storms this trip?"
+
+"Storms? Oh, I believe we did strike a gale or two, now I come to think
+of it. I recall there was a nasty typhoon in the Indian Ocean that kept
+us busy for a while. But such happenings are all in the day's work and
+after they are over are forgotten."
+
+Carl, busy at his task of slicing the bread, gasped. Gales and
+typhoons! And the Indian Ocean to boot! And his uncle mentioned them
+all as if they were no more than flies on the wall. He had seen the
+Indian Ocean on the map--an area of blue edged about with patches of
+pink, green, and yellow; but he certainly had never expected to meet in
+the flesh anybody who had sailed its waters.
+
+Uncle Frederick Dillingham suddenly began to take on in his eyes an
+aspect quite new; an aspect so alluring that when contrasted with the
+myth of purple and ermine the latter tradition shriveled into something
+very minor in importance. Was not the master of a ship a far more
+intriguing character than a dull old king who did nothing but sit on a
+crimson velvet throne and wave a scepter?
+
+"You'll have much to tell us, Frederick," declared Mrs. McGregor,
+putting the potatoes into the oven. "The children know little of
+foreign lands. Nor do I know as much of them as I would. 'Twill be
+grand to hear where you've been and what you've seen."
+
+"Did you go to China, Uncle Frederick?" Carl inquired timidly.
+
+"Aye! And to India and Japan, laddie."
+
+The boy's eyes glowed with excitement.
+
+"Oh, wouldn't I like to sail on a big ship to some place that was
+different from Mulberry Court!" cried he.
+
+"The places I've been in lately were certainly different from Mulberry
+Court!" sighed Captain Dillingham. "And perhaps had you seen them you
+would be as glad as I am to be at Mulberry Court."
+
+"Maybe! I'd like a peep at something else, though."
+
+"Maybe some day you'll be having it," returned the sea captain
+jocosely. "Who knows! I may be taking you to India with me when you're
+older."
+
+"_Frederick!_" came from Mrs. McGregor in a horrified tone.
+
+"You wouldn't like to see the shaver starting off for India, Nellie?
+And why not?" laughed her brother. "India is a fine country. Besides,
+traveling the world is a great way to study its geography. I'll be
+willing to wager, now, that not one of these older children, though
+they have been to school since they were knee high, could tell me
+offhand where the Suez Canal is."
+
+Consternation greeted the assertion and there was dead silence.
+
+"There! What did I tell you?" returned Captain Dillingham triumphantly.
+"And should I try them on the Bay of Biscay or the Ganges it would be
+no better."
+
+The stillness was oppressive.
+
+"Aren't there--didn't I read somewhere that there are crocodiles in the
+Ganges?" Carl managed to stammer.
+
+His uncle chuckled.
+
+"There's hope for you, son," he answered. "To know there are crocodiles
+in the Ganges is something. Perhaps I shall make a tourist of you yet.
+But you will have to know a little more about this globe of ours before
+I can do it, I'm afraid."
+
+"I hate geography," announced Tim, who had been listening and now with
+disconcerting frankness proclaimed his aversion in no uncertain terms.
+"All it is is little squares of color."
+
+Captain Dillingham glanced toward his sister and met her wry smile.
+
+"That's what books do for you," acclaimed he. "They make the romance of
+the Orient nothing but patchwork." Then to Tim he continued, "I can
+teach you better geography than that, laddie. Countries aren't just
+little pieces of pink, yellow, or blue paper laid together. They are
+people, rivers, mountains; tea, sugar, and cotton; ivory, elephants,
+and carved temples."
+
+The children had drawn closer around his knee.
+
+"Tell us about the elephants," pleaded Tim, with shining eyes.
+
+"There, you see! You are begging already for a lesson in
+geography--much as you dislike it!" teased his uncle.
+
+"There can be no geography lessons now," objected Mrs. McGregor. "The
+steak is done and mustn't be spoiled with waiting. Show your uncle
+where to sit, Mary. And, Timmie, bring the salt. It's been forgotten.
+You'll have to bring a chair from my room, Martin. Remember James
+Frederick and go on your toes."
+
+"Now, Frederick," smiled his sister mischievously, "admit that even in
+India you've seen nothing better than this beefsteak."
+
+"'Twill take no coaxing to make me admit that, my dear," returned
+Captain Dillingham. "Not all the sultans of the east could produce a
+dish as royal as this one."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE ROMANCE OF COTTON
+
+
+From the moment of Uncle James Frederick Dillingham's arrival there
+began for the McGregor children an era of delight. The newly found
+relative, they soon discovered, was not only all they had pictured, but
+more--far more!
+
+He did not, it is true, actually live at Mulberry Court, for because of
+the crowded conditions of the McGregor home he took a room near-by;
+nevertheless he might as well have lived there for he only used his own
+room to sleep in and stow away his luggage. Each morning just before
+breakfast his step would be heard on the stairs and off would race the
+children in merry rivalry to see who would reach the door first and
+have the honor of admitting him. Once inside the cosy kitchen he made
+it his headquarters and it did not take long to find out that he was a
+valuable asset there.
+
+For example who could fry fish so deliciously as he? And who could make
+such chowder? And as for washing dishes and wiping them he was quicker
+than any of the young folks. To behold an officer in gold braid
+presiding at the dishpan at first caused a protest from Mrs. McGregor;
+but when the little old man asserted that it was a treat to be inside a
+home and handle a mop and soap-shaker what could one say? So he mixed
+the foaming suds and dabbled in them up to his elbows, and when his
+sister witnessed the general frolic into which his leadership suddenly
+transformed the dishwashing she no longer objected. The center of an
+admiring group of youngsters Uncle Frederick scrubbed pots and pans
+until they shone like mirrors, and all to a chain of the most wonderful
+stories.
+
+What marvel that there were quarrels as to who should help him and
+actual bribes offered for the coveted pleasure? The children's chatter
+never tired him. On the contrary he was in his element when they
+swarmed about his chair and perched on his knee. As for his namesake,
+James Frederick, there was not another such baby to be found in all the
+world, he declared. Often he would sit with the little fellow in his
+arms, crooning to him fragments of old sea chanties whose refrains were
+haunting to hear. Or he wheeled the baby out with as much pride as if
+he were treading the decks of the _Charlotte_.
+
+To see him one would have imagined that he had always lived at Mulberry
+Court. How naturally, for example, he wandered into the market,
+bringing back with him mysterious bundles which on being opened
+disclosed lamb chops, sweet potatoes, and oranges. And what a feast big
+and little McGregors had when such parcels made their advent in the
+kitchen! Or he would venture into the shopping district and appear with
+his pockets bulging with rubbers, mittens, and caps. Oh, there never
+was such an uncle! His purse seemed lined with gold; or if it were not
+lined with this precious metal at least the supply of pennies it
+contained was unending.
+
+And not only was there one of these shiny pennies for each child in the
+family but before long the train of benefactions lengthened until there
+was scarce a boy or girl to be found in all Mulberry Court who did not
+have tucked away in his mitten a golden disc with the shining face of
+Abraham Lincoln upon it. So it was that he became uncle not alone to
+the wee McGregors but to the community as well.
+
+Now of course it followed that such a visitor could not be more than a
+short cycle of hours in the neighborhood without making the
+acquaintance of the Harlings, and running in to amuse the shut-ins with
+his tales of foreign lands. For he was a rare story-teller, was Uncle
+Frederick. Never was there a better. And with running here and running
+there was it to be wondered at that he found himself as busy if not
+busier than he had been when aboard the _Charlotte_--a very lucky thing
+too, for he confided that he always got fidgety for his ship if he was
+idle when on shore.
+
+Now he had no chance to become nervous or fretful. Much travel had
+rendered it easy for him to establish contacts with persons. In
+consequence all types of human beings interested him and with a charm
+quite his own he swept aside the preliminaries and by simple and direct
+methods made straight for the hearts of those he met. He reached them,
+too--there was no doubt about that. Had he chosen he could have
+astounded Mulberry Court with all he knew about Julie O'Dowd, the
+Murphys, and the Sullivans. Why, he even knew all about Davis and
+Coulter's mills before he had been in Baileyville twenty-four hours!
+
+Now this delightful relative could not but increase in the community
+the prestige of the McGregor family. To have a connection so popular,
+traveled, and prosperous--a man of rank, and adorned with brass
+buttons, what a luster all this shed over the inhabitants of the fifth
+floor of Mulberry Court! Carl, Mary, Tim, Martin, were no longer rated
+as little street Arabs; suddenly they became the nieces, nephews
+(probably the heirs) of Captain James Frederick Dillingham who
+commanded the _Charlotte_ and had sailed to every port under the sun.
+How the neighbors gossiped, congratulating themselves that they had
+discovered Mrs. McGregor's virtues in time to be included in her circle
+of acquaintances! Oh, they had always known she was a lady! Wasn't her
+ancestry stamped upon her very face?
+
+As for the Captain himself, his career, when contrasted with the
+humdrum life of Mulberry Court, was like that of a returned Columbus.
+How could he fail to be enveloped in a halo of fascination? For
+Mulberry Court was dingy and dull. Probably not one of its toiling
+throng was destined ever to see much beyond the city's muddy streets,
+crowded sidewalks, cheap shops, and seething tenements. But at least,
+even right here in Baileyville, it was possible to glimpse through
+other eyes the wonders denied them.
+
+Therefore when Captain Dillingham came to call one did the next best
+thing to really going to India--one went there by proxy and saw in
+imagination white-turbaned natives, resplendent temples, sun-flooded
+tropics arched by turquoise skies. Even the Murphys could do that, and
+without it costing them a cent, either. The Captain told Julie O'Dowd
+stories of China while she ironed Joey's dresses, and the tediousness
+of the task was forgotten in the enchantment of the tale. As for
+Grandfather Harling, after the stranger's first visit he strained his
+ears for a second, and when with a cheery "Ahoy!" the knob turned and
+the small gray man entered, it seemed as if the very sunlight came with
+him. And Mrs. Harling welcomed his coming too for even the men's talk
+of cargoes, commerce, shipping, and stevedores had its lure for her.
+
+In fact, all the neighborhood agreed that the dapper little captain
+"had a way with him."
+
+"Why, he could actually talk about dried codfish, I do believe, and
+make you think there was nothing on earth like it!" exclaimed Julie
+O'Dowd to Mrs. Murphy. "I never saw such a man! And so kind withal.
+Simple as a child, too. You don't catch him prating about his doings.
+Why, Mike Sullivan who went once to New York talked more about it than
+does this critter all his circlings of the globe."
+
+Aye, the Captain was modest. Everybody agreed to that. Nevertheless he
+certainly had at his tongue's end an astonishing amount of information
+which came hither when occasion arose for him to use it.
+
+Carl had an illustration of that one day when he chanced to drop a
+remark about the Tartary lamb.
+
+"Tartary lamb, eh!" commented his uncle, catching up the phrase
+quickly. "And how, pray, did you hear of the Tartary lamb?"
+
+"Mother told us."
+
+"A funny idea, wasn't it?" Uncle Frederick spoke as if Tartary lambs
+were topics of everyday conversation. "And yet no stranger than some of
+the notions we hold now, I imagine. We do not know all there is to be
+known ourselves--not by a good sight--even though we do think ourselves
+very up-to-date. With all the learning the ages have rolled up handed
+to us in a bundle we should blush were we not better informed than poor
+Sir John Mandeville, who had no books to speak of. Had he been able to
+read Herodotus, for example, he would then have learned from that Greek
+writer who lived so many centuries ago that there was in India a wild
+tree having for its fruit fleeces finer than those of sheep; and that
+the natives spun cloth out of them and made clothing for themselves.
+Herodotus tells many other interesting facts about cotton and its uses,
+too. A present, he remarks, sent to the king of Egypt, was packed in
+cotton so that it would not get broken. That sounds natural, doesn't
+it? He even makes our clever inventor, Eli Whitney, appear unoriginal
+by describing a Greek machine that separated cotton seeds from the
+fiber."
+
+"Then the cotton gin wasn't new, after all," frowned Carl.
+
+"The idea of it was not new, no; but the device Whitney and his friend
+Mr. Miller produced was a fresh method for getting this age-old result.
+Up to 1760 the same primitive ginning machine was used in England as
+had been used in India for many, many years. Think of that! But as
+civilization grew and people not only wove more cloth but made an
+increasing variety of kinds the demand for material to make it
+increased. And old Herodotus is by no means the only early historian to
+mention cotton. Other writers went into even more details than he,
+describing the plant, its leaves and blossoms, and telling how it was
+set out in rows. Apparently as long ago as 519 B.C. the Persians were
+spinning and weaving cloth and dyeing it all sorts of colors, using for
+the purpose the leaves and roots of tropical plants. It therefore
+followed that when the officers of Emperor Alexander's army returned
+from the East they brought back to Greece tales of the cotton plant,
+and Greeks and Romans alike began to use the material for awnings much
+as we do now."
+
+"How funny!" smiled Carl. "I'll bet they were glad to have something to
+shade them from the sun. I shouldn't relish spending the summer in
+Greece or Italy."
+
+"I guess you wouldn't. Baileyville may be hot in July but it is nothing
+to what Rome must have been. The stone seats of the Forum were like
+stove covers; and because the rich old Romans enjoyed comfort quite as
+much as anybody else, lengths of cotton cloth were stretched across
+certain parts of the structure to shade it. Even your friend Julius
+Caesar was not so toughened by battle that he fancied having the hot sun
+beat down on his head; he therefore ordered a screening of cloth to be
+extended from the top of his house to that of the Capitoline Hill so
+when he rode hither he could be cool and sheltered. Oh, the Romans knew
+a good thing when they saw it--never fear! In the meantime Greeks and
+Romans alike were using the newly discovered material for tents, sails,
+and gay-colored coverlets."
+
+"Didn't cotton grow in any other country beside India, Uncle
+Frederick?" interrogated Mary.
+
+"We do not really know about that," was her uncle's reply. "Certainly
+it was found in other places--Egypt, Africa, Mexico, and America; but
+whether it was native to these lands or had been transplanted to them
+it is impossible to say. We do know, however, that the ancient
+Egyptians depended chiefly on flax for their cloth and imported cotton
+from other countries, so although the plant did grow there they could
+not have had much of it. The little they had was cultivated, I believe,
+almost entirely as a shrub and used merely for decoration."
+
+"But loads of cotton come from Egypt now," declared Carl. "The teacher
+told us so."
+
+"Indeed it does," nodded Captain Dillingham. "I have brought many a
+bale of it back in my ship, so I know."
+
+"Really!" ejaculated his listeners.
+
+"Yes; Egypt, India, and the United States are the great
+cotton-producing countries of the world. India comes first on the list;
+then we ourselves, with our vast southern crops; then Egypt. And it is
+because India raises such great quantities of cotton and is obliged to
+ship it to England for manufacture afterward buying it back again--that
+Gandhi and his followers who are eager for India to be independent of
+England are raising little patches of cotton, weaving their own cloth
+on hand looms, and refusing to purchase that of English make. It
+certainly seems fair enough that the wealth derived from this crop
+should remain in India and not be spent for things the people of India
+do not like. However, all that is too big a question for you and me."
+
+"Did you ever see cotton growing, Uncle Frederick?" asked Tim, who had
+drawn near.
+
+"Oh, often, sonny. As a general thing the plant is like a Christmas
+tree in shape. The perennial plants, or those that come up every year,
+frequently grow to be six or eight feet tall; but the annual ones
+remain little three or four-foot bushes. Still each grows into pyramid
+form, having the wider branches at the bottom. The leaves are not
+unlike the lilac; and there is a deep, cup-shaped pod having points
+that turn up like fingers and hold the cotton in tightly. But no matter
+whether perennial or annual, the cotton plant must have a hot, humid
+climate to thrive, and if the land is not naturally moist it must be
+irrigated as it is in Egypt."
+
+"I thought things like cotton just grew wild, Uncle Frederick," said
+Tim.
+
+"No, indeed," laughed his uncle. "You cannot gather big crops of
+anything unless you are willing to work for them. The Lord does not
+mean to make life too easy for us. He gives us all these things and
+then He has done His part; we must do the rest. The world is a place of
+opportunities, that is all. If we are too lazy to take them, or too
+stupid, it is our own fault. Many a man gets nowhere because he fails
+to grasp this idea. So, sonny, you do not get your cotton all grown for
+you, and with the seeds picked out. You are given the root and if you
+wish a big cotton crop you must plant seeds, or better yet set out
+cuttings, cultivate and care for the plants. Every minute your mind
+must be on the thing you are trying to raise. You must watch, for
+instance, for pests of insects; diseases that will spoil your plants;
+blights caused by fungi; and above all for sudden changes in the
+weather. Should it turn scorching hot just when your cotton shoots are
+up and beginning to spread their roots the result will be fatal. Or an
+early frost will work ruin. Sometimes, you know, we have a spell of hot
+weather in the late winter that fools the growing things into thinking
+spring has come, and the poor misguided plants begin to put out their
+leaves. Then, like a mischievous joker, old Winter comes back and nips
+the trusting little creatures. Cotton doesn't fancy that sort of joke.
+Nor does it like too much wet weather, for then the cotton gets damp
+and sodden and cannot be picked. Should it be gathered in this
+condition it would mold and mildew, and become a wreck."
+
+"It sounds to me as if cotton raising was pretty hard work," sighed
+Tim.
+
+"Oh, no harder than are most other things, Timmie," returned Uncle
+Frederick. "Generally speaking cotton plants sail along safely enough
+unless a pest attacks them. That is their greatest menace. When a pest
+descends on the crop the grower does lose courage, I can tell you. It
+is queer to think what damage a crowd of tiny insects can do, isn't it?
+Some of them will bore through the pods as if in pure spite and spoil
+the cotton fiber at the time it is just beginning to form--a detestable
+trick! Others, fattening on the tender green leaves near the top of the
+plant, will turn into caterpillars, creep down the stalk, and devour
+every leaf as they go along. This leaves the roots of the plant
+unprotected from the sun and speedily every particle of moisture on
+which the growth is so dependent is dried up. So the plants shrivel and
+die. Then there are beetles, locusts, grasshoppers, and all the rest of
+the army of trouble-makers who wait to steal a march on the unwatchful
+planter. All these rebels must be kept their distance if you would
+harvest a big cotton crop."
+
+"I guess I never would have any cotton," remarked the disheartened Tim.
+
+"Oh, yes, you would, son," laughed his uncle. "Surely you wouldn't let
+yourself be beaten by a lot of bugs and worms, would you? Should you
+live in a climate where cotton could be raised you would pitch in,
+fight the pests, and be as proud of your snowy field as many another
+man is. For when the pods are ready for gathering there is no prettier
+sight. It is like a huge bowl of popcorn."
+
+"I'd like to see a cotton field," ventured Mary.
+
+"You'd have to go to India, the southern part of your own country,
+Australia, Brazil, Egypt, or the South Sea Islands then," Captain
+Dillingham responded. "That is, if you wanted to see the best of
+it--that which is strongest of fiber."
+
+"But isn't cotton all alike?" queried the girl, with parted lips.
+
+"No, indeed, child! There are many different kinds of cotton. Some have
+seeds of one color, some of another; some seeds come out easily, some
+do not; some cotton is strong fibered, some is weak and snaps at a
+touch; some has long fibers and some short. Each variety has its name
+and is peculiar to a given country."
+
+"Oh!" came in chorus from his audience.
+
+"For instance, the most delicate or fine quality of thread is produced
+from the Sea Island cotton, and usually this type is quite expensive;
+it has so many seeds and they take up so much room in the pod that
+after they have been removed only a small quantity of cotton remains
+and that makes it costly. Almost every other kind gives more lint (or
+picked cotton) than does this variety. The Egyptian cotton is somewhat
+on this same order. India, China, Arabia, Persia, Asia Minor, Africa,
+and the Coromandel Coast all have a common type of plant which probably
+first grew in the latter place and was transplanted from there to the
+other countries.
+
+"In Cuba a sort of cotton vine is found that has very large pods and a
+great number of seeds. Some of the fibers of this plant are long and
+some short. It is not a very good kind of cotton to cultivate because
+the long fibers get tangled up with the seeds and often break when
+being separated. Moreover the short fibers are all mixed in with the
+long.
+
+"This gives you some notion of the different species of cotton. Were I
+to tell you of all the kinds you would be tired hearing about them. I
+myself get interested because I carry so much cotton in my ship--bales
+upon bales of it. Sometimes I take cotton out from America to countries
+that either do not have any, or do not have as much as they want;
+sometimes I bring back here varieties that we cannot raise in the
+South."
+
+"What kind of cotton do we raise in the United States?" Mary asked.
+
+"The bulk of our cotton is long-stapled and is called Georgian Upland,"
+was the response. "The whole plant is rough and hairy--leaf, branch,
+and pod. Some persons think that originally it came from Mexico.
+However that may be, here it is, and although we raise some little of
+other sorts we have far more of this than anything else. We can thank
+it, too, for much of the wealth of this country of ours for Texas,
+Georgia, Alabama, North and South Carolina, Mississippi, Louisiana and
+Arkansas are all big cotton-growing States. Florida, Tennessee, Indian
+Territory, Missouri, Virginia, Kentucky, Kansas, and Oklahoma also lie
+in the cotton belt and ship substantial crops."
+
+The little man rose.
+
+"I could go on talking cotton forever," jested he. "Think of a sacred
+cotton tree often as high as twenty feet, growing along the coast of
+the Indian Ocean, the cotton from which is used only for weaving cloth
+for the turbans of Hindoo priests! And think of still another
+exquisitely fine Indian cotton called Dacca cotton that is spun and
+woven into fragile oriental muslins and Madras Long Cloth. It almost
+makes your mouth water to grow cotton, doesn't it?"
+
+"Well, at least you can go and see it grown, Uncle Frederick, and that
+is more than we can do," piped Tim.
+
+"True, sonny," nodded the captain. "But still you who stay at home and
+do not see it grown have your share in its benefits. You wear, use, and
+eat cotton products."
+
+"How?" questioned the wondering Tim.
+
+"Don't you have cotton cloth for clothing, bedding, and no end of other
+comforts? Of course you do."
+
+"But--eating cotton----" faltered Tim. "I don't do that."
+
+"There are medicines made from the cotton root; cottonseed oil for
+cooking and to use on salads, you may not be aware, comes from the
+meaty kernel inside the cotton seed."
+
+"I didn't know that," Tim answered.
+
+"Oh, cotton has many by-products," returned his uncle. "The lint that
+cannot be used for spinning is made into cotton wadding to pad quilts,
+skirts, and coat linings; and cotton waste is excellent for cleaning
+machinery. Ripe cotton fiber furnishes an almost pure cellulose, too."
+
+"Cotton certainly seems to do its part in the world," Mary murmured
+thoughtfully. "But I'm not sure," added she, with a mischievous little
+smile, "that I know just what cellulose is."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+NORTH AND SOUTH
+
+
+"Where do you and the _Charlotte_ go when you leave here, Frederick?"
+his sister inquired as the family sat at breakfast the next morning.
+
+"New Orleans, I suppose; we touch there for a cargo of cotton," was the
+reply.
+
+"Then you'll see the crop gathered, won't you, Uncle Frederick?" Mary
+put in.
+
+"Hardly that, lassie," replied her uncle kindly. "All the work will be
+done before I arrive. However, I shall not mind that for I have seen
+southern cotton fields in their prime before now."
+
+"It grows everywhere in the South, doesn't it?" Mary ventured.
+
+"One could hardly say that, my dear," Captain Dillingham responded with
+a mild shake of his head. "On the contrary the cotton belt of the
+United States is comparatively small considering the vast crops it
+yields."
+
+"Why don't they make it bigger and plant more cotton?" questioned Tim.
+
+"Cotton, as I told you, sonny, has its own ideas as to where it will
+grow. Let it be planted farther north than forty-five degrees and it
+will only thrive under glass; or try to cultivate it farther south than
+the thirty-five degree line and it will also balk. This, you see,
+leaves a rather narrow zone that answers its demands in the way of
+temperature and soil. For the kind of soil cotton likes has to be
+considered also. If the land is too sandy the moisture will soon dry up
+and the plants shrivel; or if there is an undue proportion of clay the
+excess moisture will not drain off and the plants will run to wood and
+leaves. Therefore you have the problem of getting the right proportions
+of clay, loam and sand in a climate where the temperature holds
+practically even."
+
+"Why, I shouldn't think any spot on earth would fill that bill,"
+grinned Carl.
+
+"We do succeed in getting just such areas, however," returned Captain
+Dillingham. "North and South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Louisiana,
+Texas, Arkansas, Florida, Tennessee, Indian Territory, Missouri,
+Virginia, Kentucky, Kansas, and Oklahoma all contrive to answer the
+requirements to a greater or less degree. These States boast soils that
+are blends of clay, sand, and loam in the desired proportions; and
+while some of them are better than others both soil and temperature are
+such that cotton can be grown in them. Given these two assets the rest
+of the conundrum is up to the planter."
+
+"I should think most of it was answered for him when he has these two
+important factors," Mrs. McGregor asserted.
+
+"But to have climate and land is not enough," protested her brother.
+"Once he possesses the land the owner must take care of it. It cannot
+be allowed to run out but must be plowed up, fertilized, and the crop
+tended like any other farm product. Before cotton growers realized
+this, not much attention was paid to these laws and in consequence the
+crop of many a southern plantation suffered. Now cotton-raising is done
+far more scientifically. The old stalks are gathered and destroyed; the
+land is plowed and fertilized, and afterward seed-planting machines go
+up and down the rows, scattering five or six seeds into each hole, with
+a space of not more than a foot between the holes. Then the seeds are
+covered over lightly and left to sprout."
+
+"How long is it before they come up?" interrogated Carl.
+
+"About ten or twelve days," was the reply. "A couple of days later the
+first leaf appears and then trouble begins. April sees the Carolina
+planters thinning their shoots in order to have sturdy plants from
+which to select the ones eventually allowed to grow. States farther
+south get at the task earlier. After the thinning process is over the
+plants are hilled up like potatoes and the spaces between the rows,
+where the last season's crop previously grew, is plowed to keep the
+soil open and free for drainage. Men afterward travel through the open
+rows hoeing up the loose soil and heaping it around the young plants to
+strengthen and protect them; then, since nothing more can be done
+immediately everybody takes a rest and waits."
+
+"Then what happens?" piped Tim.
+
+"Oh, after a time the same process is repeated. The earth by this time
+has become crusted over and must be opened up again; the hauling, too,
+takes place once more. Hauling is the name given to bedding up the
+plants with loose earth. Often there are four or five _haulings_. By
+July the plants have grown sufficiently to show which one in each hill
+is to be the most thrifty and this one is left to grow while the other
+shoots are pulled up. After that, given sunny days and occasional light
+showers, the crop should prosper. Should there, however, be too much
+heat, or too great a quantity of rain, things will not move so
+successfully."
+
+"How long does cotton have to grow before it is ready for picking?"
+asked Carl.
+
+"The plants bloom approximately the middle of June--sometimes earlier,
+sometimes later, according to the climates of the various States. Two
+months after that the crop is ready to be gathered. You must not,
+however, run away with the notion that cotton-picking is a hurried
+process. Often it goes on from the end of August until into November or
+December. It is a long-drawn-out, tedious, monotonous task. Whole
+families join in the harvesting for since there is always some low and
+some tall cotton (some annual and some perennial varieties) the
+children can share with their elders in the work and thus earn quite a
+sum of money. In fact, in the old days before child labor laws
+protected the kiddies, and while cotton-picking was done by slaves,
+many a poor little mite toiled cruelly long in the fields. Even the
+older negroes were driven with whips and compelled to keep at work
+until utterly exhausted."
+
+His audience gasped.
+
+"Yes," nodded their uncle, "I am afraid that urged forward by the
+desire to garner a big crop before rain should fall and spoil it, the
+cotton growers practiced much cruelty. No doubt, too, the same tyranny
+reigned in India. Wherever work must be done by hand and labor is cheap
+and plentiful, human beings come to be classed to a great extent as
+machines. Plantation owners become so interested in the money they are
+to make that they forget everything else. Of course labor was never as
+cheap in our Southern States even during slave days as in India and
+therefore until the advent of the cotton gin cotton was not one of our
+valuable crops."
+
+"You mean because the seeds had to be picked out by hand?" Carl said.
+
+"Yes. There was, to be sure, the primitive kind of gin resorted to in
+India for cleaning certain black-seed varieties. Two kinds of this
+black-seed, or long-stapled cotton, grew in the Sea Islands and along
+the coast from Delaware to Georgia; but it could not be made to thrive
+away from the moist ocean climate. Hence on inland plantations a
+different and more vigorous variety of plant (one having green seeds
+and short staples) was propagated. This kind was known as Upland
+cotton. It was a troublesome product for the planters, I assure you,
+for its many seeds clung so tightly to the lint that it was almost out
+of the question to remove them. The simple little gin copied from India
+and successfully used on the black seed variety was entirely
+impracticable on this Upland growth since it tore the fibers all to
+bits."
+
+"They did need a cotton gin, didn't they!" Carl ejaculated.
+
+"Very badly, indeed," agreed Captain Dillingham. "Well, the only
+substitute for machinery was fingers; and when I tell you that it often
+took an entire day to get out of a three-pound batch of cotton a pound
+or so that was clear of seeds you will understand what a slow process
+it was."
+
+"At that rate I shouldn't think it would have paid anybody to raise
+cotton," sniffed Carl.
+
+"It didn't," returned his uncle. "Moreover it rendered the product very
+expensive, for it required a great number of slaves to clean any
+considerable quantity of cotton. I often think of the toil and misery
+that went into the cotton-growing of those slavery days. After working
+for a long stretch of hours in the blazing sun the negroes came in at
+night worn out. But were they allowed to rest? Perhaps some of them who
+had considerate owners were; but many, many others less fortunate were
+set to picking out seeds and lest they fall asleep at their task
+overseers prodded them with whips."
+
+"Gee!"
+
+"That was slavery, son," declared Captain Dillingham. "Do you wonder
+that Abraham Lincoln thought it would be worth even a war to rid this
+country of such an evil? Understand, I am not condemning all slave
+owners. Undoubtedly there were kind and humane ones just as there are
+to this day employers who are fair with their help. But urged on by
+commercial greed the temptation of the planters was to force the slaves
+to do more than was right, and as a result a great deal of cruelty was
+practiced. Had the primitive method of picking cotton by hand continued
+it is probable that slavery might have died a natural death without
+recourse to war, for many of the Southerners were reaching a point
+where the returns from cotton and tobacco were not sufficient to feed
+the army of slaves that swarmed over the plantations. To use a common
+phrase the slaves were eating their heads off. It was just at this
+juncture, however, that Eli Whitney came along with his cotton gin and
+in a twinkling the South became revolutionized and the problem of the
+legion of idle, profitless slaves was settled. They would now be idle
+and profitless no longer. Vast quantities of cotton could henceforth be
+planted and the negroes could cultivate and gather it. With Eli
+Whitney's gin to do the slow and hindering part of the process
+cotton-raising could be made a paying industry."
+
+"Mr. Whitney bobbed up in the very nick of time, didn't he?" smiled
+Mary.
+
+"For the financial prosperity of the South he did," her uncle
+responded. "But to the welfare of the negroes his advent was a fatal
+stroke. Slaves immediately were more in demand than they ever had been
+before. No mechanical device could take their place. Cotton must be
+planted, cultivated, and harvested by hand and the larger the cotton
+fields became, the harder the slaves were worked. The cotton crop
+became the staple product of the South. Many a Southerner who took up
+arms against the Union did so because he honestly believed that to free
+the slaves would mean the economic ruin of his section of the country."
+
+"I never thought of that side of the question before," Mrs. McGregor
+murmured thoughtfully.
+
+"Nor I," rejoined Carl.
+
+"Nevertheless it is a fact none of us here in the North should forget,"
+continued Captain Dillingham. "To the southern planter our point of
+view appeared unfair and grossly one-sided. It was easy enough for the
+North to say the slaves should be freed. They had no cotton fields and
+their prosperity was not dependent on the negroes. But to let the
+slaves go meant ruin for the South. It was not alone, you see, that
+their owners wished the profit derived from buying and selling them;
+they needed them to work. Never had the South had such an opportunity
+to coin wealth as that now opening. What wonder its residents were
+angry at having this dazzling prospect for fortune-making snatched
+away? Remember and take these facts into consideration when you think
+harshly of those who took up arms to defend slavery."
+
+There was an instant's pause.
+
+"Of course, however, none of this justifies slavery or makes it more
+right. The entire principle of it was wrong; it was un-Christian,
+unjust, and cruel, and the only honorable thing to do was to bring it
+to an end in this country. But that is another story altogether. What
+we are talking about now is the cotton itself; and to get a big view of
+this subject it is well to consider what was happening in the world
+just at this time, and why cotton was such a desirable commodity.
+
+"Over across the ocean James Watts's steam engine, combined with the
+flying shuttle of John Kay, the spinning jenny of Hargreaves, the
+water-frame of Arkwright, and the self-acting loom of Crompton, was
+working as great a revolution in England's cloth-making industry as Eli
+Whitney's cotton gin had done in the South. In other words the hand
+loom had been supplanted by the more modern device of the steam-driven
+spinning mill. This meant that in future cloth would no longer be made
+in small quantities in the homes, women of the families spinning the
+thread and weaving it whenever they could steal a bit of time from
+other household duties. No! Cloth was to be made in factories on a much
+larger scale, and sold to the public."
+
+"No wonder the fact set everybody to raising cotton!" declared Mrs.
+McGregor.
+
+"No wonder indeed!" nodded her brother. "From a vintage so small that
+even President Jefferson scarcely knew America had a cotton crop at all
+this product of the South leaped forward by bounds. The year preceding
+Eli Whitney's invention the United States exported less than one
+hundred and forty thousand bales; but the year afterward the shipment
+had soared to nearly half a million. The following year it was a
+million and a half; the year after that six million."
+
+"Gee whizz!" commented Carl. "That was some record, wasn't it?"
+
+"Rather!" agreed his uncle.
+
+"How much do we export now, Uncle Frederick?" Mary asked.
+
+"From nine to twelve million bales of five-hundred pounds each are
+raised annually in the South," returned Captain Dillingham. "Of this
+about ninety per cent. is Upland cotton, the green seeds of which have
+to be taken out by a gin similar to the one Eli Whitney invented.
+Approximately about half this vast crop is exported."
+
+"I had no idea we raised so much cotton," mused Carl.
+
+"We raise quantities of it, son," Uncle Frederick said. "Now you can
+understand better why the South was so resentful at being compelled to
+free the slaves. With cotton so much in demand the prices of slaves had
+greatly increased. The planters had untold wealth almost within their
+grasp. It was all very well for the North to assert that slavery was a
+barbarous practise. Who was to tend the cotton fields when the slaves
+were gone?"
+
+"The South did have something on its side, didn't it?" Mary ventured.
+
+"A great deal, when once you put yourself in the Southerner's place. We
+in the North are liable to emphasize only the cruelty of slavery and
+are often unable to understand how enlightened and Christian men could
+keep slaves and fight to keep them. You see there were reasons."
+
+Mary nodded.
+
+"Of course, as I said before, all the cotton-raising in the world could
+not make the thing right. It was wrong from start to finish.
+Nevertheless it does explain why some of our people felt the freeing of
+the slaves so unjust and such a blow to their prosperity that they
+threatened secession from the Union."
+
+"And it was because Abraham Lincoln would not allow them to secede that
+the war was fought!" announced Carl triumphantly.
+
+"Precisely! You cannot allow part of a country to rise up and walk out
+any more than you can let some of the wheels of a watch announce they
+are not going to turn any more," laughed his uncle. "It requires every
+part to make the watch go; and it takes the united strength of a people
+to make a nation. North and South were all beloved children of one
+land, and Abraham Lincoln, like the father of a big family, was not
+going to let any of the household break away from the organization to
+which it belonged. It meant a struggle to do the two things
+necessary--free the slaves and preserve the Union; but quarrels are
+sometimes necessary in families. After they are over there is a more
+perfect understanding. So it has been with this one. Both sides paid a
+fearful price but as a result we now have _one nation, indivisible,
+with liberty and justice for all_."
+
+"That's the oath of allegiance!" cried Carl, Mary, and Tim in chorus,
+as they leaped to their feet and stood at salute.
+
+"We say it at school every morning," continued Tim, "but I never knew
+before what it meant."
+
+"You will know better now, won't you?" Captain Dillingham replied.
+"Every time you say those words remember the brave men of the South who
+really believed they had a right to establish a government of their own
+and protect the prosperity of their part of this great land. If you do
+this you will learn to honor both sides alike, each of which fought so
+devotedly for the cause he cherished. And now that the war is over the
+entire country has the South to thank for one of its greatest sources
+of wealth--cotton. The South raises it; the North, with its many mills,
+transforms the raw product into a finished commodity. How is that for
+team work? Could there be better proof of how vitally each section
+needs the other?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+A LESSON IN THRIFT
+
+
+That evening Carl resumed the cotton-raising subject by idly remarking,
+"I suppose since the invention of the cotton gin and the abolition of
+slavery most of the drudgery connected with the cotton industry has
+disappeared."
+
+His uncle smiled.
+
+"Hardly that, I am afraid, sonny," replied he. "Even under the best
+possible conditions the cultivation and gathering of the cotton crop
+entails drudgery. This cannot be helped. In the first place cotton
+demands steady heat to make it grow; and you know what it means to work
+all day in the broiling sun. Of course the negroes are to a certain
+degree accustomed to this; and moreover they belong to a race that
+finds hot weather less hard to bear than do many other persons.
+Nevertheless heat is heat, and say what you may, a hot sun pouring down
+on one's head does not make for comfort. In addition there is the
+monotony of the harvesting. As I told you before, this has to be done
+by hand--there is no escape from that; and since it must be, the
+dullness of the task is an unavoidable evil."
+
+Carl mused thoughtfully for a moment.
+
+"I don't see," observed he presently, "that after all the negroes are
+much better off than they were in slave days."
+
+"Oh, yes, they are," Captain Dillingham instantly responded. "Remember
+they now receive wages; their hours of work have also been shortened
+and regulated; and overseers have become more humane and now invent
+little ways of breaking the monotony and making the time pass more
+pleasantly."
+
+"How?"
+
+"Oh, there are various things that can be done to achieve this end.
+Sometimes fresh buttermilk or some other refreshing drink is passed
+down the rows; or on a cool day hot coffee is served. Any little change
+such as singing or whistling interrupts the sleepy effect of one
+continual process and shifts the mood and spirits of those toiling into
+another groove. This is very beneficial. All our students of industrial
+methods will tell you that the worst flaw of our present system is the
+effect monotony has on the minds of those constantly subjected to it.
+Performing without deviation the same mechanical act day after day
+deadens the brain and even, in certain cases, produces insanity. It
+also kills ambition and creates hopeless, indifferent persons.
+Therefore, made wiser by psychology we realize the importance of
+stirring the mind out of a fixed rut, or rather a stupidity that verges
+on somnambulism, and keeping it alert and active. Sheep growers, for
+example, try in every way to divert the minds of their shepherds lest
+the continual watching of a slowly moving flock paralyze their minds
+and get them _locoed_."
+
+"Really?"
+
+"Your mother will tell you that. That is why a shepherd's pipe is such
+a splendid thing. To pick out a tune and listen to it starts the mind
+out of its trance and promotes mental exercise. It does what gymnastics
+do for the body."
+
+"But all our factories keep men at a single task," Carl objected.
+
+"You mean the piece-work system? Aye, I know," nodded his uncle. "And
+as we grow wiser, and come to care more for our fellows, we begin to
+wonder whether so much specializing is as fine a notion as we at first
+thought it. It makes for efficiency, for without question a man who
+does just one thing over and over becomes expert at his particular job;
+but does he not in time, because of his very expertness, lapse into a
+machine whose hands move automatically and whose mind is idle? Such a
+result is fatal both to his intellect and his will. He becomes passive
+until at length all initiative is destroyed. For many years the colored
+people of the South reaped precisely this harvest of mental inertia.
+Now, thank heaven, they are rousing out of the lethargy that has been
+their inheritance and their brains are getting to work. It will,
+however, take years, perhaps generations, for some of them to work up
+to a normal mental activity and intelligence; but if they persist
+results will surely come. Many of them have already shaken off their
+intellectual fetters so that not only are their bodies free but their
+minds are also. That is why I feel that all our citizens should do
+everything in their power to help them, and try and make up to them for
+the injustices they have suffered. It is not enough to take them out of
+physical slavery; we should break the chains of their mental
+imprisonment as well by giving them schools, trades, and such other
+training as is within their mental scope."
+
+"I'm afraid I never thought of the negroes that way," confessed Carl.
+
+"A great many persons older than you do not," Captain Dillingham
+returned kindly. "But when you do think of them from that angle you
+cannot but honor the more highly those colored persons who have
+achieved positions of importance. There are now in our country colored
+lawyers, doctors, teachers, poets, and writers. Who can tell what their
+background has been or measure the mental exertion that has brought
+them where they are to-day? Wherever we meet them we should give them a
+hand up. We owe it to them because of our own greater opportunity."
+
+The little man stopped to light his pipe.
+
+"Now see where talking about picking cotton has led me," grumbled he
+whimsically. "A pretty distance I've wandered from my subject! Well,
+you mustn't touch me off on the topic of the colored race again. I have
+seen many abuses of the negroes in my day, both on shipboard and
+ashore, and the subject turns me hot. Just how the evils of
+cotton-gathering are to be avoided I do not know. We must wait, I fear,
+until some clever individual bobs up with a scheme that does away with
+hand harvesting of cotton. In the meantime the only remedy left us is
+to vary the work of the men and women who toil at it as much as is
+possible."
+
+"I wish, Uncle Frederick, you would tell us just how the cotton is
+gathered," said Mary, who had joined the group.
+
+Captain Dillingham flashed the girl one of his rare smiles.
+
+"I don't know, my dear, just how much more there is to tell," declared
+he. "Of course, if you have ever picked currants or blackberries you
+will realize something of the constant bending and stooping that goes
+with the industry and will understand how hard it is on the back. Then
+there is the continual standing, a tiresome business at best. Besides,
+mechanically as the task is rated, it is not such an easy one after
+all, for the cotton fibers stick firmly to the inside of the pods and
+as a result the unskilled person who tries to detach them in a hurry
+will probably succeed only in extricating a bare half of what is
+inside. And like as not he will break the fibers he does get out so
+that their value will be sadly decreased. The trade has its tricks, you
+see. Furthermore an amateur generally has fragments of husks and leaves
+scattered through his cotton, all of which have to be removed and make
+extra work later on."
+
+"Then cotton-gathering is not really such brainless work as it might
+be, is it, Uncle Frederick," Mary asserted.
+
+"Oh, it requires a knack that comes through practice," conceded her
+uncle quickly. "As soon as the pods crack open and show white it is a
+sign the workers must be on hand for the picking, and early in the
+morning they assemble that they may have a long day to work while the
+sun is on the crop. For as I told you there can be no cotton-harvesting
+without sun to dry off the night's moisture. The moment a bag or basket
+is filled it is emptied into something larger and the picker starts
+afresh. Before evening comes and the dew falls, the day's crop is
+hurried under cover that it may not absorb any dampness. Here it is
+packed into receptacles banded with the owner's name or private mark,
+and made ready to be carried to the ginning factory."
+
+"Don't the planters have their own cotton gins?" queried Carl in
+surprise.
+
+[Illustration: "The cotton is sent to factories to be ginned."
+_Page_ 129.]
+
+"Oh no, son! That would be an unnecessary and expensive luxury. Just as
+corn is sent to the miller to be ground, so the cotton is sent to
+factories to be ginned, weighed, and baled for shipment. You see the
+cotton grown on any one plantation and cultivated under uniform
+conditions will be practically of the same ripeness and weight; it will
+also be, in all probability, of the same variety. This fact is
+important when ginning and selling it, and greatly increases its value.
+Such conditions, however, do not always prevail for there are districts
+(and also countries) where small cotton farms exist whose output is not
+large enough to make an entire bale. In such cases the product of
+several farms has to be combined and this makes a bale mixed in
+quality. This is true of part of the cotton that comes from India.
+There many of the natives, owing to lack of commercial and industrial
+enterprise, raise small batches of cotton. Often it takes a great many
+of these little lots to make up a bale."
+
+"Do the natives of India take the seeds out of their own cotton?" asked
+Mary.
+
+"Some of them do, using the primitive gins so long known in India. The
+Chinese also gin much of their own cotton by amateur gins. But it goes
+without saying that much of the cotton fiber is broken by these
+methods. For the more perfect the gin the less loss results. Even with
+our best machinery however, a certain amount of injury is done which
+cannot be avoided."
+
+"Then Eli Whitney's gin isn't so perfect," ventured Carl.
+
+"Its method is as perfect a one as we have," answered Captain
+Dillingham, "and up to date nothing better has been found. Those
+handling large quantities of cotton are almighty thankful to have
+anything as good, I can tell you. In India, China, and oriental
+countries, though, where the lots are small the people, as I say, still
+cling to their primitive foot gins. Here in America we have several
+types of gin all made on the same general principle but differing
+slightly as to detail. Some of these are better than others. By this I
+mean some are less brutal and cause a smaller degree of waste. Indeed I
+believe Whitney's own gin and those of its kind known as saw gins are
+considered to do the most damage to the fiber. This sort of gin
+consists of a series of circular saws set into a revolving shaft in
+such a way that the cotton fed into the machine is separated from its
+seeds in an incredibly short space of time. Afterward a whirling brush
+cleans the saws of the fiber clinging to them. It is an effectual
+system but a merciless one and is best adapted to short staple cotton
+which is strong and does not snarl. The best gins use only long, smooth
+blades to clear the cotton and it follows that these do the fiber far
+less injury."
+
+"How does a ginning factory look, Uncle Frederick?" Carl inquired.
+
+"You mean the inside? I never went through but one. I was waiting for a
+cargo at Norfolk once and as there happened to be a ginning plant near
+where I was staying I visited it. Generally peaking I suppose they are
+pretty much alike. The cotton is brought to them, as I said, in clearly
+marked, or branded bags or baskets, and is tossed from the wagons
+directly into hoppers. Afterward the contents of the hoppers is loaded
+into freight elevators and shot to one of the upper stories of the
+factory, there to be piled up and await its turn for ginning.
+
+"When the time comes to gin that particular batch it is heaped into a
+hopper and borne to the gins below by means of traveling racks."
+
+"How many gins are there to a factory?" questioned Mary.
+
+"That depends on the size of the factory and the amount of work brought
+there to be done," was the reply. "A fair-sized factory in a busy
+district will have half-a-dozen gins or more; and when you know that
+one gin will clean from three hundred to three hundred and fifty pounds
+of cotton an hour you will see that it will take a pretty big supply to
+keep such a lot of machinery moving. There is a separate hopper for
+each gin and if the supply fed into it comes too fast it can be stopped
+and switched to other gins. Once in the clutch of the relentless knives
+the cotton is shredded apart and the seeds drop out and fall into a
+traveling basket. From this basket they are forced through a tube to an
+oil mill which usually stands in another part of the grounds."
+
+"Cottonseed oil!" murmured Mary, recognizing an old friend. "We often
+use it to fry things. It's good on lettuce, too. But somehow I never
+thought that it was really made from the seeds of cotton."
+
+"We often accept terms without thinking much about them, don't we?"
+Captain Dillingham agreed. "But cottonseed oil is a genuine by-product
+of cotton."
+
+"What is a by-product?" smiled Mary ingenuously.
+
+"A by-product is something made from the leavings," put in Carl without
+hesitation. "Hash is a by-product of corned beef."
+
+A laugh greeted the assertion.
+
+"Technically speaking a by-product is something that is turned to
+account from what would otherwise have been waste. Every person who
+manufactures on a large scale tries to think what he can do with what
+is left after he has made the thing he started out to make. This he
+does for two reasons: first he wishes to turn back into money every
+ounce of material for which he has paid; secondly he desires to get rid
+of stuff which would otherwise accumulate and (if not combustible)
+force him into the added expense of carting it away. In other words he
+seeks to convert his waste into an asset instead of a liability.
+Therefore all big producers tax their brains to invent things that can
+be made from their waste, and such commodities are called by-products.
+Many of these things require no ingenuity for frequently they are
+articles much needed in other trades. Masons, for example, are only too
+thankful to have the hair taken from tanned leather to hold their
+plaster together; and those who dry and salt fish can easily turn the
+fish skins into glue. The by-products of great packing houses and
+tanneries are legion. Often such dealers will have at hand such a
+supply of usable stuff that they will establish other factories where
+their unused materials can be converted into cash. The sale of these
+products often increases very materially the profits of a business.
+Such a product is cottonseed oil. As millions more seeds mature each
+year than can possibly be used for planting why not turn them to
+account? Often there are from sixty-five to seventy-five pounds of
+seeds to a hundred pounds of cotton. Think how rapidly they would
+accumulate if something could not be done with them. During the war
+when we were unable to get olive oil from Italy and fats of all kinds
+were scarce we were thankful enough to fall back on the cottonseed oil
+made in our own country. At the oil mills machines are ready to clean
+the cotton seeds of lint, hull them, separate hull from kernel, and
+press the oil from the kernel itself. This oil is then bottled,
+labelled, and shipped for sale, making quite an independent little
+industry, you see. What is left of the crushed kernels is removed from
+the hydraulic presses and is remolded into small cakes to be used
+for----" he paused, glancing quizzically toward Carl and Mary.
+
+"For what?" the boy asked.
+
+"Guess!"
+
+"I've not the most remote idea," Carl returned.
+
+"Nor I!" echoed Mary.
+
+"For cattle to eat," went on Captain Dillingham, completing his
+unfinished sentence.
+
+"Even the hulls," he continued, "are, I believe, utilized in some way;
+and as I previously told you the lint which clings to the seeds is
+passed through a second sort of gin, gathered into a bundle, and
+afterward put through a carding engine which combs it out and prepares
+it so it can be made into wadding for coverlids, quilted linings, and
+quilted petticoats. All the gins then collect whatever material is left
+and this, being absolutely too poor for any other purpose, is sold as
+cotton waste to be used for cleaning machinery and polishing brass and
+nickel trimmings. Were we individuals half as thrifty as are
+manufacturers in salvaging the odds and ends that come our way we might
+save ourselves many a penny. Every year we Americans throw away enough
+food and wearing apparel to maintain a small army. We are, alas, a very
+wasteful people and are constantly becoming more so. Our ancestors used
+to lay aside buttons, string, papers, scraps of cloth and use them
+again. They made over clothing, fashioned rag rugs, conserved
+everything they could lay hands on. Their attics were museums where
+were horded every sort of object against the time when it might be
+needed. But do we follow their example? No, indeed! In fact, we go to
+the other extreme and hurry out of the house, either to a junk dealer
+or a rummage sale, everything we cannot find immediate use for. To a
+certain extent our mode of living has forced us to this course. Most of
+us reside in cramped city quarters where there are no spacious attics
+in which to garner up articles against a rainy day. Modern apartment
+dwellers boast neither attic nor cellar, to say nothing of a farmer's
+barn loft. Moreover, we all must scramble so fast to earn our daily
+bread that we have no time to make over the old; it is cheaper, we
+reason, to purchase new than to fuss with remodelling. Neither are
+materials what they were in the old days. Few of the fine old silks and
+woolens that would wear for a generation are to be had at present. Also
+we have more money than our forebears and this has much to do with our
+wholesale wastefulness. With plenty of everything at hand, why save?
+And the policy the individual is following on a small scale the nation
+is adopting on a much vaster one. We are using up our forests, our
+mines, all our resources with no thought of the morrow. We ought to
+stop and think about this before it is too late but I doubt if we ever
+will."
+
+Captain Dillingham paused.
+
+"There is such a thing," he added, "as people and nations being too
+prosperous for their own good. But to return to the cotton gin. The
+cotton, having been cleared of its seeds, is now known as lint, and
+this is bundled together until enough of it is collected to be properly
+baled for the spinning mills."
+
+"What is _proper baling_?" inquired Carl.
+
+"Why, the rough baling simply gathers the cotton together into a big
+bundle."
+
+"Well, what's the matter with that?"
+
+"Nothing--so far as it goes," laughed the Captain. "I should be sorry,
+however, to see many such bales coming aboard my ship."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Well, you know what cotton is," answered Uncle Frederick. "After it
+has been picked to pieces in the gins it comes out a nice, white,
+fluffy mass that takes up no end of room. Were it to be transported in
+this condition a few hundred pounds of it would fill a ship or freight
+car and cost the owner so much that it would not be worth his while to
+transport it. Moreover, it would be bothersome to handle when it
+arrived at the spinning mills. Therefore before cotton is shipped it
+has to be reduced in bulk so that it will not take up so much space."
+
+"But how can it be, Uncle Frederick? asked Mary, open-eyed.
+
+"What do you do when you wish to make some soft material into a small
+parcel, my dear?"
+
+"Oh, roll it up--squeeze it together," was the instant response.
+
+"Well, there you have your answer!" responded Uncle Frederick. "Balers
+treat cotton lint in the same fashion; only, as they are not strong
+enough to accomplish this end with their hands, they resort to powerful
+machines, or compressors, to carry out the process for them. By means
+of enormous pressure they crush down the billowing lint until four feet
+of it can be reduced to a thickness of not more than seven inches."
+
+"I wouldn't want to fall into that machine! chuckled Carl.
+
+"There wouldn't be much left of you if you should, I can assure you of
+that," Captain Dillingham said. "Cotton, however, does not raise any
+such protest. It is pressed and pressed and pressed, and while still in
+the presses iron bands are put round it to hold it so it can be
+compactly transported. An American bale of some five hundred pounds
+will usually have six or seven of these iron bands round it. Certain of
+these bales are merely rough ones; others are cylindrical. I believe
+the latter sort are more generally preferred. To make them the cotton
+is gradually pressed and rolled by powerful presses until a bale four
+feet long and about two feet through is obtained. These cylindrical
+bales weigh a trifle less than the others--about four hundred and
+twenty-six pounds--and because they have been pressed so hard they keep
+in place without either iron bands or cloth covers. When they arrive at
+the mills the cotton from them can be unrolled and much more easily fed
+into the machines. If they are covered it is merely to keep them
+clean."
+
+"Do all bales of cotton have to weigh the same?" inquired Carl.
+
+"You mean is there a standardized weight for all bales?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"No, there is no universal standard for bales of cotton. The bales from
+different countries differ quite considerably. For example a Brazilian
+bale usually weighs only from a hundred and seventy-five to two hundred
+and twenty pounds; the Turkish from two hundred and fifty to three
+hundred and twenty-five pounds; those coming from India do better,
+averaging about three hundred and ninety pounds. Should you handle this
+imported cotton you would notice that the bales from India are very
+heavily banded, often as many as thirteen bands encircling them. This
+is partly because the long staple of this variety of cotton must not be
+injured by heavy pressure, and partly because they have not in India
+the excellent facilities for compressing lint that we have here. The
+Egyptian bales are the largest transported; they run as high as seven
+hundred pounds and have about eleven bands to hold them."
+
+"It must be a stunt to get them aboard ship," grinned Carl.
+
+"I've taken my turn at the job," responded the captain drily. "We swing
+them down into the hold by means of cranes and have now learned to land
+them quite neatly. Nevertheless, even though they are only bundles of
+cotton wool I should not fancy having one of them drop on my head,"
+concluded he with a twinkle.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+A FAMILY CONGRESS
+
+
+Meantime while the McGregors discussed cotton and the sunny southern
+fields in which it grew, Christmas was approaching and Baileyville,
+shrouded in wintry whiteness, began to feel the pulse of the coming
+holiday. Shop windows along the main street were gay with holly and
+scarlet. Every alluring object was displayed to entice purchasers and
+such objects as were not alluring were made to appear so by a garnish
+of ribbon or flashing tinsel. There were Christmas carpet sweepers,
+Christmas teakettles, Christmas coal hods and how surprised and
+embarrassed they must have been to find themselves dragged out of their
+modest corners and, arrayed in splendor, set forth before the public
+gaze. Nothing was too mundane to be transformed by the holiday's magic
+into a thing mystic and unreal. Even such a prosaic article as a
+washtub, borrowing luster from the season's witchery and in shining
+blue dress became a thing to covet and dream about.
+
+Then there was the army of foolish trifles that owed their existence
+merely to the season's glamor and would have had no excuse for being at
+a time when the purchaser's head was level and his judgment sane. And
+in addition to all these there were the scores upon scores of gifts
+useful, fascinating, desirable, but beyond range of possibility at any
+ordinary period of the year.
+
+Oh, it was a time to keep one's balance, the Christmas holidays! The
+very stones of the streets glistened golden and the crisp air breathed
+enchantment. If one's nerves were not frayed and on edge he jostled his
+neighbor with a smile and took his share of jostling in good part. Was
+not every man a brother; and did not a great throbbing kindliness
+emanate from all humanity?
+
+It seemed so to Carl McGregor as the wonderful day of days drew near;
+and so also it seemed to all the wee McGregors. They were on tiptoe
+with excitement and could hardly be made to stand still long enough to
+have their neckties tied or their pinafores buttoned.
+
+"Have you children decided yet what you want to do?" questioned their
+mother one morning, as she struggled to hold the wriggling Tim until
+his hair could be made presentable for school. "Christmas is but a week
+away now and we must come to some decision as to our plans. We can't
+have everything, you know. Shall it be a turkey and no tree? Or shall
+it be a tree and no turkey? And if it is a tree shall it be a big or a
+little one? We must vote on all these questions."
+
+"I want ice-teem," lisped Nell.
+
+"Mercy on us!" ejaculated Mrs. McGregor, in consternation, as this
+fresh avenue for outlay presented itself. "Nell is for ice cream and a
+tree too."
+
+"And turkey!" went on the little one imperturbably. "Me wants turkey!"
+
+"Ice-treem! Ice-treem!" cooed James Frederick.
+
+The mother's face clouded. A tree, turkey, ice cream and presents were
+far beyond the range of the family purse.
+
+"I'd rather have stockings and turkey," Mary declared.
+
+"And cranberry sauce and nuts," put in Tim.
+
+"And celery and sweet potatoes," added Carl. "A real dinner, Mother."
+
+"Would you rather do that than have the tree?"
+
+Silence greeted the question.
+
+Into every mind flashed the picture of a tree towering to the ceiling
+and a-glitter with lights and ornaments. Even Carl, despite his
+fourteen years, could not entirely banish the vision. But the dinner,
+the dinner! After all the tree would only be a thing to look at; food
+could be eaten and enjoyed, and Carl was a healthy boy at an age when
+he was possessed of a particularly healthy appetite. Tempting as was
+the tree the aroma of browned turkey rose in his nostrils.
+
+"I vote for turkey," announced he at last.
+
+"No tree? No Christmas tree?" murmured Martin, his lip quivering.
+
+"You have a tree at kindergarten, silly, and so does Nell," declared
+the elder brother quickly.
+
+"'Tain't like having it here--our really own tree," bewailed Martin.
+
+"Couldn't we have a simpler dinner, Mother, and manage to get a tree?"
+interrogated Mary. "It is fun to trim it and the little children love
+it so."
+
+"Girls always like things that look pretty," piped Tim in disdain.
+
+"And all boys care about is to eat and eat," Mary shot out with equal
+scorn.
+
+Hidden away in a corner behind his newspaper Captain Dillingham
+chuckled. He was vastly amused by this family congress.
+
+Meantime Mrs. McGregor, in order to avert the battle she saw rising,
+said, "Suppose we put it to vote. Are you ready for the question?"
+
+"Yes!" responded her flock in chorus.
+
+"All right. Shall it be presents and turkey, or presents and a tree?"
+
+"I want mince pie," proclaimed Martin flatly.
+
+"But we are not talking of pie, dear," answered his mother patiently.
+"It is the turkey we're voting on."
+
+"I want turkey _and_ a tree _and_ presents _and_ ice-teem _and_ pie!"
+Nell asserted shamelessly.
+
+"Stockings and turkey, Ma! Stockings and turkey!" shouted Carl.
+
+"Listen, dears!" began their mother. "As I told you before we can't
+have everything. I wish we could but we just plain can't, so that ends
+it. Therefore we must choose what we think we will get the most
+pleasure out of. Now who is for turkey? Raise your hands!"
+
+Every hand came up.
+
+"And who is for a tree?"
+
+Again every hand was raised.
+
+Helplessly Mrs. McGregor sank back into her chair.
+
+"Oh, dear," sighed she. "Don't you see we are getting nowhere? I told
+you only a minute ago we couldn't have both."
+
+Uncle Frederick came out from behind his paper.
+
+"See here, you young savages," began he, laughing good-humoredly,
+"listen to me! If you do not get down to business and use some sense,
+Christmas will be here and you will have nothing at all."
+
+A wail ascended from Nell and Martin.
+
+"Your mother can give you either turkey or a tree; but she can't give
+you both. In my opinion she is almighty good to do so much."
+
+He saw the children flush uncomfortably. Carl dropped his eyes and Mary
+slipped a hand into her mother's.
+
+"Now instead of clamoring at her like a lot of ungrateful little brutes
+and wanting the whole earth, why don't you show her you are grateful
+for what she's doing?" went on Captain Dillingham in a sharper tone.
+
+"Oh, it's all right, Frederick," interrupted Mrs. McGregor hurriedly.
+"I don't want----"
+
+The captain, however, was not to be stopped.
+
+"Your mother is ready to give you turkey _or_ a tree. How many are for
+turkey?"
+
+Carl and Tim raised their hands.
+
+"And who is for the tree?"
+
+Instantly Mary, Martin, and Nell raised their hands.
+
+"It is the tree, as I see it," acclaimed he.
+
+"But it isn't fair," Tim objected. "James Frederick didn't vote."
+
+At this everybody laughed and whatever tension there was vanished.
+
+"Oh, James Frederick would vote for the tree," Mary said. "He is so
+little he couldn't eat turkey if we had it, could he, Mother?"
+
+"I'm afraid he couldn't," smiled her mother. "He hasn't teeth enough."
+
+"Then it is a tree! A tree!" cried Martin exultantly.
+
+"Wait!" Captain Dillingham put up his hand. "We haven't finished with
+this matter yet. You've got your tree from your mother; now I can give
+you a turkey if you decide you want me to. But first you are to listen
+to what I have to say. A Christmas tree and a turkey mean a great deal
+for one family to have in these days when so many people are having so
+little. The O'Dowds, for example, are to have neither a Christmas
+dinner nor a tree; I happen to know that. Joey has been sick and there
+are doctor's bills to pay. Beside that, Mr. O'Dowd has been out of work
+and has no money to spend this year."
+
+The little McGregors regarded their uncle with solemn faces.
+
+"Oh, dear!" breathed Mary sympathetically.
+
+Carl scowled soberly; then his face glowed with a sudden idea.
+
+"Couldn't we----" he hesitated awkwardly.
+
+"Oh, Uncle Frederick, if you _were_ really going to buy a turkey,
+couldn't we give it to them?" flashed Mary, smiling toward her brother.
+"Would you mind giving it away to somebody else? You see, if you were
+going to buy it anyway----" she regarded her uncle timidly, "we could
+have something else for dinner, couldn't we, Mother? Perhaps corn
+chowder. We all like that. And maybe we could have a pudding and some
+nuts."
+
+"Bully, Mary! I'm with you!" Carl rejoined.
+
+"I'd like to do that, too," agreed Martin. "I wouldn't mind so much
+about the turkey if we had the tree."
+
+"What do you say, Tim?" inquired Captain Dillingham.
+
+"I don't see why we should give our turkey to somebody else," grumbled
+Tim sullenly. "We never have one all the year--never! You know we
+don't, Mother."
+
+"No, dear; I'm afraid we don't," Mrs. McGregor said.
+
+"Then why should we give ours away," went on Tim in an argumentative
+tone. "Don't we want turkey as much as the O'Dowds, I'd like to know?"
+
+"Oh, Timmie!"
+
+"Don't be such a pig, Tim," cut in Carl with brotherly directness. "If
+we were hard up, wouldn't you like somebody to send you something for
+Christmas?"
+
+Tim colored, his brother's question bringing home to him uncomfortable
+possibilities.
+
+"We could have such fun doing it, Timmie," coaxed Mary. "Think how we
+could trim up the basket, and what a surprise it would be! Why, it
+would make no end of sport."
+
+Tim's expression softened.
+
+Instantly Mrs. McGregor, who was quick to interpret her children's
+moods, saw the battle was won.
+
+"We can plan together what shall go into the basket," said she briskly.
+"Each of us might contribute the thing he likes best."
+
+"The turkey shall be mine!" Uncle Frederick declared.
+
+"I choose cranberry sauce!" Carl announced.
+
+"Celery! Oh, could I put in celery, Mother?" Mary inquired. "The tops
+are so pretty and I love it so!"
+
+Her mother nodded.
+
+"Somebody must give the plain things so I will donate potatoes, squash,
+and onions," she said.
+
+"Don't forget nuts! We must have nuts and raisins," Mary added.
+
+"I'd like to give those," Tim whispered.
+
+"You shall, son."
+
+A friendly little glance passed between the boy and his mother.
+
+"Pie! I want pie!" asserted Nell, who although too young to understand
+what was going on, nevertheless grasped the notion that food was the
+prevailing topic and plunged into the subject with enthusiasm.
+
+"Bless your heart, dearie, you shall have pie!" laughed her mother.
+"I'll make a couple of apple pies and they shall be your present."
+
+"There ought to be candy. Please let me send candy! May I?" begged
+Martin for whom the world held only two articles really worth
+while--candy and ice cream.
+
+There was general merriment at this suggestion.
+
+"Precious little candy would ever get to anybody else if you had the
+giving of it, Martie," teased Mary.
+
+"Yes, Martin shall give the candy," Mrs. McGregor consented.
+
+"We'll paste his mouth up before he goes to buy it," Carl drawled.
+
+"Don't you s'pose I could keep from eating it if once I set out to?"
+scowled Martin defiantly.
+
+"No, I don't!"
+
+"Well, I could, so now!" The boy drew himself up proudly.
+
+"James Frederick ought to send something, Mother," reminded the
+care-taking Mary. "We don't want him left out."
+
+"Oh, we mustn't leave out the baby!" agreed Captain Dillingham. "He and
+I will get together and talk the matter over. There are still several
+things needed."
+
+"Oh, it will be splendid!" cried Mary, clapping her hands. "Do get a
+real big turkey, won't you, Uncle Frederick? And we'll trim it up with
+a necklace of cranberries the way they do in the market."
+
+"Huh! There you go again," sniffed Tim. "All girls seem to think of is
+necklaces and bows of ribbon."
+
+Mary smiled brightly.
+
+"What's the harm in making it pretty if you can just as well?" asked
+she. "I do love pretty things. Why, I believe I could eat stewed whale
+if it was on a pretty dish."
+
+"I couldn't; I'd hate whale," responded the stolid Timothy.
+
+"Oh, I didn't mean I'd really eat whale, silly," explained Mary.
+
+"Then what did you say you would for?"
+
+"Mary was just imagining, dear," put in Mrs. McGregor, coming to the
+rescue.
+
+"She is always imagining," glowered Tim. "Only the other day she was
+trying to make me imagine my salt fish was chicken."
+
+"I'll bet she didn't succeed," taunted Carl.
+
+"Not on your life she didn't!" was the instant answer. "I know salt
+fish when I see it."
+
+"No matter, dear," soothed Mrs. McGregor, affectionately touching her
+daughter's arm. "If her imagining Mary can convert salt fish into
+chicken it is an asset that will stand her in good stead all through
+life. And if you, Tim, prefer to keep your salt fish just salt fish,
+why you have a perfect right to do so. I will say, however, that the
+person who has the power to make believe has an invaluable gift. Many's
+the time I've made believe and it has helped me over more than one hard
+spot. We all have to masquerade to a greater or less degree. It is
+simply meeting life with imagination and seeing in the humdrum
+something that associates it with finer and more beautiful things." For
+a moment she was silent; then she added in her quick, businesslike
+accents, "And now to this dinner! There must be a basket to hold it, of
+course."
+
+"A big market basket, Mother, lined with red paper. Do line it with
+red," pleaded Mary.
+
+"It shall be lined with red, little lady! And trimmed with holly, too!"
+replied Uncle Frederick. "I will undertake to furnish both decorations
+along with the turkey."
+
+"Why not put in Santa Claus napkins? I saw some paper ones the other
+day and they were tremendously festive," suggested Mrs. McGregor.
+
+"I think the best plan is for us all to go together and buy the
+dinner," the Captain suddenly announced.
+
+Shouts of approval greeted the plan.
+
+"But the baby!" demurred his sister.
+
+"We can wheel James Frederick in the carriage and take turns staying
+outside the shops with him," said Carl.
+
+"And if we have the carriage we can bring home our stuff in it," put in
+Tim.
+
+"Poor baby! How would you like to have a big ten-pound turkey piled on
+top of you?" questioned Mary indignantly.
+
+"Oh, James Frederick won't mind," Tim responded comfortably. "And
+anyhow, he's got to do his bit toward making other people happy. As far
+as I can see he isn't denying himself anything, for he couldn't eat a
+turkey if it was set right under his nose. So it's his part to tote
+home the parcels in his flivver; he seems to be the only member of the
+family that has one."
+
+Thus it was agreed and on the day before Christmas it would have done
+one good to witness the cavalcade of McGregors issuing forth on their
+altruistic pilgrimage. First went Mary, leading Nell by the hand; then
+Carl with Martin's mitten firmly clutched in his. Next came Mrs.
+McGregor with Tim, and bringing up at the rear was Uncle Frederick
+wheeling his namesake, the baby. What a tour it was! Certainly there
+never had been such a turkey as the one the reckless captain bought--a
+turkey so plump of breast, so white of skin, so golden of claw! Why, it
+was a king of birds! And then the shining coral of the cranberries, the
+satin gleam of the onions, the warm brown of the potatoes! As for the
+celery--its delicate green and faint canary tips were as good as a
+bouquet of flowers. Just to view its crispness was to make the mouth
+water. And the nuts, raisins, candy, oranges! Once in their vicinity
+Captain Dillingham cast aside all caution and wildly purchased one
+dainty after another. He seemed to have gone quite mad and it was not
+until his sister very positively informed him that not another bundle
+could be carried that he consented to be dragged away from the counters
+of sweet-meats.
+
+Then staggering beneath their load of whity-brown parcels, the family
+hastened out to the baby carriage where Mary stood guarding James
+Frederick.
+
+"Put the turkey down near his feet," cried she excitedly, as she lifted
+the baby in order to make more room. "The other things can be packed in
+round him."
+
+"But he'll be stifled!" objected Mrs. McGregor.
+
+"Oh, no, he won't, Ma!" contradicted Tim. "He'll probably be uncomfortable.
+Christmas comes but once a year, though, so he ought to be able to survive
+being cramped."
+
+"Oh, James Frederick is perfectly used to having his coupe turned into
+an express wagon, Mother," Carl explained. "Don't worry about him.
+Often he rides home from down-town buried a foot deep in bundles. All
+that fusses me is whether the carriage will stand the strain. If it
+should part in the middle and the front wheels go off on an independent
+route it would be----"
+
+"Both inconvenient and embarrassing," concluded Captain Dillingham with
+a laugh.
+
+Fortunately, however, James Frederick's chariot was staunchly
+constructed and reached Mulberry Court without mishap, its precious
+contents--including the patient owner of the vehicle--being borne
+triumphantly aloft to the McGregor flat. Once upstairs the basket,
+scarlet paper, and holly were produced, and Mary with deft fingers went
+to work to fashion a receptacle worthy of the bounties with which the
+O'Dowds were to be surprised. At last into this garish hamper were
+packed the viands and afterward a card bearing holiday greetings was
+tied to the handle with a flaring red bow.
+
+"Now the worst task is to come," declared Mrs. McGregor, "and that is
+to land the present at Julie's door without being caught. They are
+proud people, the O'Dowds, and I wouldn't for worlds have them know
+from whom the dinner comes. Timmie is not strong enough to take it and
+Carl is too clumsy. Should he start to run away, like as not he would
+stumble and bring all Mulberry Court to see what the racket was."
+
+"Why can't I carry it?" inquired Captain Dillingham.
+
+"You! One sight of your gold buttons would be enough, Frederick.
+Besides, you're none too agile in making a getaway."
+
+"I fancy some boy could be found to leave it if I paid him," suggested
+the captain.
+
+"The very thing! There's a score of 'em on the street. Fetch in the
+fastest runner you see, Timmie. No matter whether you know him or not.
+In fact, get one you don't know. 'Twill be all the better."
+
+Away sped Tim only to return an instant later with a grimy, Italian
+youngster at his heels.
+
+Captain Dillingham explained the errand.
+
+At the sight of the gleaming quarter of a dollar the Italian grinned.
+He would leave a bomb or a live ox at anybody's door for a quarter,
+affirmed he with an ingratiating smile.
+
+Therefore the precious basket was entrusted to him and to judge by the
+scampering that followed its thud before the O'Dowds' door he was quite
+as fleet of foot as Tim had asserted.
+
+"Wouldn't you like to see their faces when they find it?" whispered
+Carl who, with Mary, was hanging over the banister, straining his ears
+for every sound.
+
+There was not, however, much to hear.
+
+After the furious knock somebody ventured into the hall. Then Julie's
+voice, high-pitched with excitement and consternation, exclaimed,
+"Mercy on us!" With that she dragged the basket into her abode and
+banged the door.
+
+It was a brief drama but one entirely satisfying to the McGregors. Over
+and over again did Carl and Mary enact the scene to the intense delight
+of the family.
+
+"Now mind, should Mrs. O'Dowd come up here with questions, you are to
+be careful what you say," cautioned their mother. "There's to be no
+hinting, winking, or smirking. Should Julie say anything, leave it to
+your uncle or me to answer. All the fun would be spoiled if you gave
+the secret away."
+
+"Oh, yes," agreed Carl. "The sport is to keep folks guessing."
+
+But no sooner were the words out of his mouth is than there was a
+rapping at the hall door.
+
+"Oh, Ma! I'll bet that is Mrs. O'Dowd now!" gasped Mary.
+
+"It can't be! She'd not track us down so quick as this," replied Mrs.
+McGregor, flustered and half rising.
+
+"Most likely it's the Christmas tree, Mother," Tim suggested. "They
+promised to send it early this afternoon."
+
+Again came the knock.
+
+"I'm half afraid to open the door lest it be Julie," faltered Mrs.
+McGregor. "Be still a minute, all of you, till I think what I'll say to
+her."
+
+But when, amid a tense hush, the door was finally opened, neither Julie
+O'Dowd nor the watched-for Christmas tree was on the threshold. Instead
+they saw a holly-decked basket so exactly a replica of the one they had
+given away that a cry of disappointment greeted it.
+
+"She's sent it back!" cried Mary.
+
+[Illustration: "But that isn't our basket, Mother," Carl said. "This
+is much bigger." _Page_ 155.]
+
+"She was offended and wouldn't take it!" murmured Mrs. McGregor. "I
+feared as much."
+
+"But that isn't our basket, Mother," Carl said. "This is much bigger.
+Besides, we had no apples or candy bags in the one we sent."
+
+Critically studying the gift, the family clustered around.
+
+"It isn't our basket, Mother," Mary presently asserted. "See, this one
+is red."
+
+"There must be some mistake, then," Mrs. McGregor declared. "They've
+left it at the wrong place."
+
+"But our name is on it!" cried Tim.
+
+"Where? Where?" What a bumping of heads there was as everybody bent to
+read the card.
+
+"Yes, our name is on it plain as day!" replied Mrs. McGregor with a
+puzzled expression. Then, inspired by a solution of the mystery, she
+wheeled round on her brother.
+
+"How much do you know about this, Frederick?"
+
+"Not a thing, Nellie--I give you my word! Dearly as I should have liked
+to send you such a gift, my purse wasn't quite good for it," flushed
+the captain.
+
+"And what wonder, with all you've spent this day," returned his sister
+quickly. "Then we'll count you out. But where could it have come from?"
+
+"We don't need to leave it in the hall until we find out, do we,
+Mother?" Mary ventured mischievously.
+
+"No, I suppose we don't," was the retort. "Timmie, you and Carl drag it
+indoors. Don't try to lift it, for you'll only be straining yourselves
+and maybe drop it. Let's get it into the kitchen. There may be some
+clue when we have a better light."
+
+But examine it as they would, no hint as to the mysterious sender could
+be found.
+
+"I guess he believes with Carl that the sport of giving a present is to
+keep the other person guessing," Tim remarked wickedly.
+
+A general laugh at Carl's expense greeted the observation.
+
+"Hush!" cautioned Mrs. McGregor. "There's somebody in the hall."
+
+"He won't get away this time," Carl cried, springing up and throwing
+open the door.
+
+"Good heavens, man! You nearly knocked me down!" cried Hal Harling,
+amazed by the suddenness of his welcome. "What's the matter with you?
+Trying to trap a burglar?" Then, glancing at the object about which the
+household were clustering, he added, "Jove! Have you got one, too?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Why, just now somebody left a basket exactly like this at our flat. I
+thought maybe you folks had something to do with it and came straight
+over here to see. But you seem to be favored by a similar gift. They
+are alike as two peas. Who sent them?"
+
+"That is precisely what we want to know," Carl replied.
+
+"You've no idea?"
+
+"Not the most remote."
+
+"Hasn't Captain Dillingham?"
+
+"I'm not guilty, if that is what you mean," the sea captain answered.
+
+"Straight goods?" Hal insisted.
+
+"Hang, die, and choke to death!" laughed the little old man.
+
+"But--but--somebody sent the thing!" blustered Hal. "Why, there is
+everything on earth in it. Food enough to last a week. And ours has a
+shawl for my mother and some felt slippers for my grandfather in the
+bottom. And there are gloves for Louise and me. It came from somebody
+who knew all about us. It was no haphazard present."
+
+"Can you beat it!" murmured Carl. "Whoever do you suppose----"
+
+"I can't suppose. We thought it was you," announced Hal. "There's a
+knock at the door. Shall I go?"
+
+Leaping forward he turned the knob, and in came Mrs. O'Dowd.
+
+"I've had the most wonderful basket sent me that ever----" began she;
+then her eye fell upon the hamper in the center of the floor. "Glory be
+to goodness!" she ejaculated. "Wherever did you get that?"
+
+"We don't know," Carl answered.
+
+"And we've one just like it and can't find out who sent us ours," put
+in Hal Harling.
+
+"Well, I thought for sure as you were the folks that sent me mine,"
+declared Julie. "But if they are being scattered broadcast and you are
+getting one yourselves I reckon it is safe to say you don't know much
+about where mine came from. Well, all I can say is may the sender of
+them have a blessed Christmas. Owing to O'Dowd being out of work, we
+were to have a pretty slim celebration this year. The children were
+like to get nothing at all. And then just when I was trying to comfort
+myself with thinking how glad I should be that Joey was well, and that
+we all had our health even if we did lack a turkey and the fixings,
+along comes this windfall. Why, it is as if the heavens opened and
+dropped it straight down at our door. It does you good to know there
+are kind hearts in the world, doesn't it?"
+
+One and all the McGregors smiled. If they wanted thanks for the
+self-denial they had practised they certainly had them in the gratitude
+that beamed from Julie's face.
+
+"Well, it will be a royal Christmas for all of us, won't it?" went on
+the little woman, bustling out. "I must hurry back downstairs. The
+children are that crazy they are like to eat the turkey raw, claws,
+neck and feathers!"
+
+"I'll come with you, Mrs. O'Dowd," said Hal. "Good-by, and a Merry
+Christmas, everybody."
+
+"I'm mighty glad we sent that dinner to the O'Dowd's!" commented Carl
+soberly, when the door was shut and the McGregors were alone. "I'd be
+glad we did it even if we had no dinner of our own," he added, his eyes
+alight with a grave happiness.
+
+"And I, too," whispered Tim.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+A CLUE
+
+
+The next morning, fluttering excitedly round a Christmas tree spangled
+with tinsel and aglow with lights, the McGregors received their
+presents; and not they alone, for Julie O'Dowd, with her five
+youngsters, swelled the party, together with the Murphys and the
+Sullivans from the floors below. There was popcorn for everybody and
+satiny striped candy, and from the mysterious basket an orange for each
+guest was produced.
+
+"When we have so much ourselves it would be wrong to keep it all," Mrs.
+McGregor had asserted; and her household fully agreed with her.
+Therefore the neighbors were summoned in to share in the festivity.
+
+And after the visitors had trailed down the long stairway, shouting
+back their pleasure and gratitude, the wonderful dinner the hamper
+contained was prepared, and what a delightful ceremonial that was! Did
+ever any such tantalizing aroma drift upon the air as ascended from the
+browning turkey? Or did ever potatoes so fill their jackets to
+bursting? As for the celery--it was like ivory; and the cranberry jelly
+as transparent and glowing as a huge ruby. And, oh, the browning crust
+of the mince pies! So many hungry little McGregors swarmed round the
+stove it was a marvel some of them were not burned to death on hot
+stove covers or the oven door. One could scarcely baste the turkey
+without falling over two or three of them.
+
+However, nobody was scalded or blistered and when at length the great
+bronzed bird was borne from the oven a procession of exultant children
+followed in the wake of the huge platter, every one of them shouting
+for the wishbone or a drumstick.
+
+"Was the creature a centipede he would hardly have drumsticks to
+satisfy you!" laughed their mother. "Who ever saw such a lot of
+cannibals! Was anybody to hear your hubbub they'd think you had never
+had a mouthful to eat in all your lives. I don't believe your uncle
+ever saw worse heathen in the South Sea Islands."
+
+Nevertheless, in spite of her caustic comment, it was plain that the
+mother was enjoying her children's pleasure and that Uncle Frederick
+was enjoying it too.
+
+"Well," went on Mrs. McGregor, "if you do not get filled up to-day it
+will be your own fault. I shall put no check on anybody. You may eat
+all you'll hold."
+
+Profiting by this spacious permission the McGregors fell to and what a
+feast they had! Never had they dreamed of such a meal. Even Carl and
+Martin, whose capacity appeared to be limitless, were at length forced
+to confess that for once in their lives they had had enough; as for Tim
+he sank back in his chair almost in tears because he could not find
+room for another mouthful.
+
+"I couldn't squeeze down a single 'nother thing if I was paid for it,"
+wailed he. "And I did so want a second helping of pudding! Why didn't
+you stop me, Ma, when I started out on that giant sweet potato?"
+
+His mother shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"You must learn to make your own choices," said she. "Perhaps 'twill
+teach you next time not to covet all you see. And now, before we begin
+to clear up, I want to make sure you are all content. There must be no
+regrets. I don't want to hear to-morrow that you wish you had had
+so-and-so. So think well before the food is whisked into the pantry.
+Has everybody had enough?"
+
+A chorus of muffled groans arose.
+
+"What do you think we are, Ma?" Tim managed to murmur.
+
+"Indeed I don't know," was the grim retort. "I've often wondered. So
+you think you couldn't eat a morsel more?"
+
+"_Think!_ We know we couldn't," gasped Carl.
+
+"Then sit still a second, all of you, till I take a good look at you!"
+commanded their mother. "That I should live to see the day when I would
+dish up a meal without some amongst you yammering for another helping!
+I'm almost tempted to take an affidavit with your signatures in black
+and white and preserve it in the family Bible."
+
+With arms akimbo she viewed her grinning flock.
+
+"Well, since you're beyond urging, we may as well turn to the dishes--that
+is, if anybody can stagger up and help."
+
+Reaching over she began to remove the food from the table.
+
+Mary sprang to aid her.
+
+"Let me carry the things into the pantry," Tim said. "Maybe if I walk
+round some it will shake down what I've eaten."
+
+"Are you laying to eat another course?" derided Carl.
+
+"Aw, quit it!" growled Tim. "I'll bet I haven't made way with any more
+than you have. Here, fork over that pie! I'll put it in the closet."
+
+"Can we trust you with it?" called Captain Dillingham.
+
+Tim put up his hand.
+
+"Say, I wouldn't touch that pie if you were to go down on your knees
+and beg me to," Tim declared. "Millions wouldn't hire me!"
+
+"Give it to him, Carl; he sounds perfectly safe," asserted the lad's
+mother. "And put those apples and figs away, too, dear, if you are
+going into the pantry. Mary, you and Carl pile the dishes. What an army
+of them there are! I believe we have out every plate we own. Martin, do
+take the babies into the next room where they will be out from under
+foot. And watch that Nell doesn't eat the candles off the tree. She's
+always thinking they are candy, the witch!"
+
+"You must let me help," urged Uncle Frederick, rolling up his sleeves.
+
+"Oh, you must not work to-day, Frederick," his sister protested. "It is
+a holiday and you are on shore leave. Besides, it never seems right to
+me to see the captain of a ship working."
+
+"Oh, the captain of a ship knows the galley quite as well as the
+bridge," responded Uncle Frederick. Seizing a towel he stationed
+himself beside Mary who was elbow deep in the dishpan. "All hands to
+the pumps!" cried he sharply.
+
+It was a ringing command and instantly Tim and Carl leaped forward to
+obey it.
+
+What a dish-wiping team the three made!
+
+Mary could scarcely wash fast enough to keep up with them.
+
+In the meantime Mrs. McGregor was here, there, and everywhere, putting
+to rights the disordered house; and so effectual was her touch that by
+the time the last plate was on the shelf tranquillity reigned and
+except for lurking candy bags and stray bits of red ribbon it almost
+seemed as if there had never been such an event as a Christmas party.
+
+"Now why can't we all go over to the Harlings, Ma?" Carl inquired.
+"They will be through their dinner by this time. Hal asked if we
+couldn't come."
+
+"But not all of us!" objected Mrs. McGregor. "Why, we're a caravan!"
+
+"Nobody minds caravans on Christmas," pleaded Carl. "Grandfather
+Harling would love to see the children. We haven't had them there for
+ever so long."
+
+"I suppose we might go. It isn't very far," his mother meditated.
+
+"Oh, do let's!" Tim put in. "I'll wheel James Frederick."
+
+"You? You couldn't wheel anything, so full are you of turkey and plum
+pudding! If you get there yourself you will be doing well," was the
+curt retort. "However, if you all want to go, I'll not hinder you.
+Scurry and get your caps, coats, and mittens."
+
+Off flew the youngsters in every direction; off, too, flew Mrs.
+McGregor with Nell and Martin at her heels and the baby in her arms.
+
+Owing to excitement and the general holiday confusion it was some time
+before there were two rubbers, two mittens, a cap, coat, and muffler
+for everybody; on the very brink of departure a full equipment for
+Martin could not be found and to his unbounded delight he was compelled
+to set forth in one arctic and one rubber boot--a novel combination
+that greatly heightened his pleasure in the trip and made him the envy
+of all his younger brothers and sisters. Whether his satisfaction would
+have outlived a long journey is uncertain for the rubber boot proved to
+be not only too large but treacherously leaky. Notwithstanding the
+fact, however, he was a sufficiently good sport to make the best of his
+unfortunate bargain and clatter up the long, dim flights that led to
+the Harlings' suite with as much spirit as the rest.
+
+And oh, such a welcome as the family received when they did arrive!
+
+It would have warmed the heart to see the little ones rush to
+Grandfather Harling, clinging round him like a swarm of bees and
+clamoring for a story. And a story they got--and not only one but two,
+three, for Grandfather was a rare story-teller and a great lover of
+children. Meantime the elders gossiped together, their chief topic of
+speculation being the sender of the wonderful Christmas dinners.
+
+"If you hadn't got one, Carl, I should almost be tempted to think old
+Corcoran had sent ours to ease his conscience," Hal announced. "But of
+course he wouldn't have been stretching his philanthropy so far as
+Mulberry Court, I'm afraid."
+
+"Oh, I'm sure the dinner couldn't have come from Mr. Corcoran," put in
+Louise quickly. "It wouldn't be a bit like him to tie the nuts up with
+fancy ribbon, and tuck in the presents. No, somebody sent that dinner
+who really cared, and took pains to have it pretty and tempting. Mr.
+Corcoran might order us a dinner at the market but he never would have
+packed the basket himself as--as--Mr. X did."
+
+"Well, all I can say is that Mr. X, whoever he is, is a corker; and may
+he live long and prosper!" Hal declared.
+
+"He will prosper," murmured Mrs. Harling in her soft voice. "Such a man
+cannot help it."
+
+"I do wish, though, we knew who he is, don't you?" Mary asked. "I'd
+just like to thank him."
+
+"I fancy Mr. X is not the sort that covets thanks," her mother replied.
+"Some people take their pleasure in doing a kind deed. I imagine
+Louise's Mr. X is one of that sort."
+
+So they talked on, until suddenly glancing out of the window, Mrs.
+McGregor exclaimed in consternation, "Why, it is snowing!"
+
+Sure enough! A thick smother of flakes whirled down into the deserted
+streets and cutting short Grandfather Harling's story, the visitors
+bundled themselves into their wraps.
+
+"I hope the children won't take cold," said Mrs. Harling anxiously.
+
+"Take cold? Mercy, no! They are tough as nuts, every soul of them,"
+answered their mother. "Having no automobiles they gain it in their
+health. Poverty has its blessings--I'll say that! Now, Carl, you hold
+onto Nell and don't let her down on all fours; she is such a fat little
+blunderbuss! And Mary, keep Martin in the path if you can, or he will
+lose that huge rubber boot. Uncle Frederick is going to wheel the baby.
+And remember, Tim, there are to be no snowballs or snow down anybody's
+neck. You will have plenty of time for that sort of fun to-morrow, if
+you call it fun. And, children, do try to go down the stairs quietly.
+Don't forget there are other people on earth besides yourselves. A
+Merry Christmas, everybody!"
+
+"And three cheers for Mr. X!" Hal added boyishly.
+
+"Hal Harling, don't you dare set this brood of mine cheering in the
+hallway! They'll raise the roof," ejaculated Mrs. McGregor, putting up
+a warning finger. "Not but what I'd gladly cheer the person who sent
+those dinners; but we mustn't do it here."
+
+"Well, it was a jim-dandy dinner, anyway," chuckled Hal. "We'll be
+eating that turkey for days. It was big as an ostrich!"
+
+"Maybe you drew an ostrich by mistake," grinned Carl. "Who knows?"
+
+Oh, it would have taken hearts less merry than these to be dampened by
+the storm! Home plodded the McGregors, shouting gaily amid the piling
+drifts.
+
+"My, it is going to be a real blizzard!" Mrs. McGregor predicted.
+"Every tree and bush is laden already."
+
+"The little shrubs in the park look like cotton bushes," replied Uncle
+Frederick over his shoulder. "Look, youngsters! You were asking about
+cotton when it is ripe. That is much the way it looks." He motioned
+toward the vista of bending foliage.
+
+"How pretty it is!" said Mary.
+
+"And in reality cotton is prettier by far, for there is always the blue
+of the sky, the gold of the sunshine, and the green of the country. It
+is as if one had a snowstorm in summer."
+
+There was little opportunity for further talk for the trodden snow
+narrowed into a ribbon and the walkers were obliged to thread the
+drifts single file. At last, however, Mulberry Court came into view and
+with a stamping of feet and a brushing of caps and coats the family
+were within its welcoming portals. Then James Frederick was dug out of
+his carriage, shaken, and borne crowing and rosy up the stairs.
+
+The flat proved to be warm and comfortable and while Mary lighted the
+lamps her mother poked up the fire and sprinkled on more coal.
+
+"Now let's sit down everybody and have a nice, jolly evening," said she
+when the outer garments were all stowed away. "Come, Carl, draw up the
+rocker for Uncle Frederick. And, Timmie, there's room for you here
+beside me. What's the matter, laddie?"
+
+For answer Tim glanced at the steely blue hands of the clock now
+pointing to six.
+
+"Aren't we going to have any supper?" questioned he in an aggrieved
+tone.
+
+"Supper!" exploded his mother. "Surely you are not looking for anything
+more to eat to-day. You yourself declared only a little while ago that
+you couldn't eat another morsel."
+
+"It wasn't a little while ago; it was hours," Tim affirmed. "We've been
+to walk since then and I'm hungry."
+
+"Hungry! Did you ever hear the likes! Hungry! And the bairn swallowing
+down turkey until I expected every second he would have apoplexy!"
+
+"I'm hungry, too," rejoined Carl with shame-faced candor.
+
+"So am I!" piped Martin.
+
+"Well, I never saw your match!" cried their mother, holding up her
+hands. "One would think you were cobras, anacondas, or something else
+out of the zoo. Still, I don't see as I can let you starve. If you're
+hungry there's the pantry with its shelves groaning aloud with food.
+Run in and help yourselves."
+
+Her family needed no second bidding. Above everything else they loved a
+meal where all superfluous accessories such as knives, forks, and
+napkins were done away with, and where there was no one at one's elbow
+to caution or demand the time-worn "pleases" and "thank you's." To
+forage in the pantry unrestrained was like being let loose in the vales
+of Arcadia. One after another they emerged, bearing in their hands the
+spoils most attracting their fancy.
+
+"You're not going to devour that whole cross section of squash pie, are
+you, Tim?" asked Mary, aghast.
+
+"Sure I am," retorted the unabashed Timothy. "That is, unless you want
+part of it."
+
+"Of course I don't. But I should think you'd die!"
+
+"I don't expect to die," returned her imperturbable brother. "And if I
+do I'll at least have had one everlasting good feed."
+
+"Tim!" expostulated his horrified mother.
+
+"Well, I will have," repeated the boy. "And anyhow, I don't believe
+I've eaten so much more than other folks. I notice you don't mention
+little Carlie here. He's worried down some food to-day, and like as not
+Hal Harling has, too. What's more, I'll bet a hat Hal won't go
+supperless to bed."
+
+At that moment a rap came at the door and Mary sprang forward to admit
+the very young gentleman in question.
+
+"You see, I'm returning your call on schedule time," grinned he,
+shaking the snow from his outer garments. "I can't stay but a moment;
+but I had to come and tell you what's happened. What do you think of
+that?" Diving into his pocket he held forth a handsome watch and chain.
+
+"Who've you been robbing?" drawled Carl.
+
+"I don't wonder you say so, kid. Can you beat it? Did you ever see such
+a beauty?"
+
+"But--but--Hal, where on earth did you get a thing like that?"
+
+"Well may you ask, kid! Think of me hitched to a gold watch! Oh, it's
+mine all right. Have a look inside the back cover. There's my name, you
+see, in perfectly good English."
+
+"Where _did_ you get it, Hal?" demanded Mrs. McGregor, as the
+gift traveled from one admiring hand to another.
+
+"You'd never guess, any of you. It came from my worst enemy." The big
+fellow threw back his head and laughed a ringing laugh.
+
+"But that tells us nothing. You have a million enemies," blurted out
+Carl.
+
+"It certainly is from our friends we learn the truth," Hal replied with
+cheerfulness. "You're not a flatterer, are you, Carlie?"
+
+"But I can't imagine who should present you with a gold watch," Carl
+mused, ignoring the comment.
+
+"Oh, you're not half bright to-day. What's the matter with you?"
+hectored Hal, who was enjoying the sensation he had created.
+
+"He's eaten too much turkey," Tim piped.
+
+"I guess that's it," agreed young Harling. "Come, gather your wits
+together. Louise guessed the conundrum. You ought to be as smart as she
+is."
+
+Vaguely Carl studied his friend's face.
+
+"Of course it couldn't be from Corcoran," ventured he, as if thinking
+aimlessly.
+
+"And why not?"
+
+"Why, because--why Corcoran wouldn't--why should Corcoran give you a
+present like that?"
+
+"The very words I said myself!"
+
+"Do you mean to say it _was_ Corcoran?"
+
+"Well, it wasn't from Corcoran himself. But he had the buying of it.
+The watch came from the Corcoran kid and Midget, the dog."
+
+"Oh!" Carl gasped, a wave of understanding flooding his face. "It was
+because of what you did that day. I'd almost forgotten."
+
+"So had I. Corcoran thanked me up at the works some time afterward; you
+remember I told you about it. Well, I thought that was the end of the
+matter," Hal explained. "But evidently the Corcorans thought they
+wouldn't leave it there. So--" with a flourish he held up the gift.
+
+"Oh, Hal, I think that was splendid of them," Mrs. McGregor declared.
+"You deserve it, too. Carl said you might have been killed that day."
+
+"Nonsense! That's Carlie's yellow journalism. He told you a great yarn,
+I've no doubt. You ought to be on one of the daily papers, kid."
+
+"But you did take an awful chance, you know you did," insisted Carl
+stoutly.
+
+"Oh, you have to take a chance now and then to put a little spice into
+life. It was no great stunt I did," Hal protested. "I just happened to
+do it before anybody else did, that's all."
+
+"I guess that's your way of putting it, laddie," Mrs. McGregor said
+with an affectionate smile. "Well, we're certainly glad you have the
+watch. It will be fine and useful. Just see you do not get it smashed
+to bits in some of the scraps you are mixed up in."
+
+"Do you think I am going to stand dumb as an oyster and let somebody
+land a blow over my vest pocket hard enough to smash that watch, Mrs.
+McGregor?" interrogated the giant. "Pray, where would I be while he was
+doing it?"
+
+"Gentlemen with gold watches should keep out of the prize ring," put in
+Uncle Frederick mischievously.
+
+"Oh, sir, one has to have a watch to call time on the other feller,"
+Hal retorted.
+
+"Put it on and let's see how you look, Hal," Tim begged.
+
+"Yes, do!" echoed Mary.
+
+"All right, I'll dress up in it since you say the word," answered Hal,
+with an impish grimace. "You may as well see me in it and get used to
+the sight; then you won't be taking me for an alderman when you meet me
+on the street."
+
+He slipped the chain through his buttonhole and the watch into his
+pocket.
+
+"Don't I look for all the world like the Lord Mayor of London or one of
+the Common Council?"
+
+"You look like an old sport," Carl asserted, giving his chum a blow on
+the chest.
+
+Harling accepted the knock much as a kitten might have accepted a
+caress.
+
+"Just for that I've half a mind not to tell you the rest of what I came
+for," grinned he. "I've something else to say that will set your hair
+on end. But you're that rude that you don't deserve to be told it."
+
+"Oh, what is it, Hal?" Mary cried.
+
+"Another secret!" Tim ejaculated.
+
+"It isn't exactly a secret," Hal said. "It's a clue."
+
+"A clue! To what, for pity's sake?" Carl murmured.
+
+"You are thick, to-night--no mistake!" laughed Hal. "Why, what have we
+been arguing over all day--twisting and turning this way and that? What
+have we been speculating over until our brains are weak? Tell me that?"
+
+"You haven't a clue about the Christmas baskets!" gasped Mrs. McGregor.
+
+"I've a theory," nodded Hal, with tantalizing solemnity.
+
+"Tell us! Tell us!" cried a chorus of voices.
+
+"It's only a theory, remember, and it doesn't hitch up in every
+detail," went on Hal, quite serious now. "But it is worth considering."
+
+"Tell us!"
+
+"Well, it isn't much of a story, so don't get your hopes up. But the
+fact is that when we emptied our basket I turned it upside down----"
+
+"Because you were still hungry!" cut in Carl.
+
+"Exactly! How well you read me. Yes, being still famished, I thought
+I'd see if some last morsel of food did not lurk under the papers. So I
+emptied out everything and what should I find scrawled in pencil across
+the bottom of the basket but the word 'Coulter.'"
+
+"_Coulter!_" shouted the McGregors in disappointed accents.
+
+"What has that to do with it?" Carl demanded.
+
+"Why"--Hal looked crestfallen--"why, Mr. Coulter of Davis and Coulter
+is one of my bosses, isn't he?"
+
+"Y-e-s, I suppose he is. But he isn't mine. The two baskets were
+exactly alike and must have come from the same person; and certainly
+Mr. Coulter wouldn't send us a basket. Oh, you'll have to guess again,
+Sherlock Holmes," concluded Carl with a shrug.
+
+"Your father used to work for Mr. Coulter at the mill," Mrs. McGregor
+put in in a subdued voice.
+
+"But Dad died two years ago and Mr. Coulter never has troubled to send
+us anything before. Why should he begin now?" Carl argued.
+
+"Did you examine our basket?" It was Captain Dillingham who spoke.
+
+"No, but we can. It's out in the pantry. Run and fetch it, Martin,
+that's a good boy. I'm willing to bet a hat, though, ours has no
+'Coulter' written on it. Yours got scrawled on somehow at the market.
+The name doesn't mean anything. Here's Martin now. Get out your
+glasses, you old detective, and look and see what you can find. If you
+can find Coulter on our basket, I'll eat my head," Carl hazarded with
+confidence.
+
+"You hear him, witnesses," Hal said, holding up an impressive finger.
+
+Then taking the basket from Martin, he inverted it.
+
+"Will you never acknowledge, oh, you unbeliever, that I am wiser than
+you?" he presently jeered. "Come! Look at the thing yourself over here
+under the lamp. If that word isn't 'Coulter' I'll eat both your head
+and mine."
+
+"Jove! It _is_ Coulter!" was all Carl could stammer.
+
+"What did I tell you!"
+
+"But why should Mr. Coulter send a Christmas basket to us?" speculated
+Carl in an awed whisper.
+
+"I'm not telling you why. I've not got as far as that," Hal answered.
+"All I said was that the name, Coulter, was written on both baskets and
+that the natural conclusion is that Mr. Coulter was their sender."
+
+"I don't believe it. Why, it would be ridiculous," Carl protested. "Mr.
+Coulter probably never so much as heard of us in all his life. Why
+should he? I'm sure we don't know him."
+
+"I'm afraid your theory isn't quite sound, Hal," rejoined Mrs.
+McGregor. "While it is possible that for some reason of his own Mr.
+Coulter, for whom you work, may have sent you a Christmas basket there
+is not one shred of anything to link him up with us. Mr. McGregor, it
+is true, was in Davis and Coulter's employ many years; but he was only
+one of many hundred workmen and scarcely knew old Mr. Coulter by sight.
+Since the old gentleman has died and the son has come into the firm the
+last thread that bound us to the company has been snapped. Old Mr.
+Coulter is gone, and McGregor, with his twenty-five years of service in
+the mills, is forgotten. As for this young John Coulter who has taken
+his father's place--I've never set eyes on him."
+
+"But why should the name be on each of the baskets?" Hal insisted,
+still unwilling to surrender the idea he cherished.
+
+"Ask the market man, laddie. It's a question for him. My notion is that
+in the rush somebody put it there by mistake," replied Carl's mother.
+"The marvel isn't that Coulter was written on the baskets; the marvel
+is that some word in Choctaw or Egyptian wasn't on 'em. Why, if you'd
+seen those clerks down at the store going round as if their heads were
+clean off their bodies you wouldn't wonder queer things were written on
+the hampers we got. I'm amazed they arrived at all."
+
+"But somebody sent them," Hal affirmed.
+
+"I'll join you there! Somebody sent them," nodded Mrs. McGregor. "Up to
+that point your arguments are perfectly logical. Those baskets never
+came of themselves. But as for Mr. John Coulter being their giver--why,
+you are mad as a March hare to think it for a moment. What would he be
+doing with all his college education and his years of study in Europe
+sending the likes of us Christmas presents? He has plenty of presents
+to give in his own family, I guess."
+
+"Well, maybe you're right and the name only happened," Hal conceded.
+"Still, it's queer, isn't it? Queer that the name should be Coulter, I
+mean."
+
+"It's a coincidence for you because you chance to work for him; but to
+us it means nothing."
+
+"Yes, I can see that now," Hal agreed. "Then I guess there is nothing
+left before going home but to see Carlie carry out his little wager."
+
+"My wager?" Carl repeated.
+
+"You were going to eat your head if the name of Coulter was on the
+bottom of this basket, remember."
+
+"Oh!" Carl grinned a sickly grin.
+
+"Going to default?"
+
+"No, not default--merely postpone the ceremony," Carl declared.
+
+"Oh, you old crawler! Well, if you are going to put off the show I must
+be getting home or Mother will think I have been waylaid and my watch
+stolen. So long, everybody, and pleasant dreams." Then thrusting his
+face back into the room through the narrowing crack of the door, he
+added with elfish leer, "Just the same, I still think that Coulter had
+something to do with those baskets."
+
+Before a protest could be raised the door banged and he was gone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+HAL REPEATS HIS VISIT
+
+
+Whoever the mysterious Mr. X was he succeeded in keeping his identity a
+secret much better than did the donors of the O'Dowd's Christmas
+dinner. A secret when shared by too many becomes no secret at all and
+so, alas, it proved in this case. And yet no deliberate prattling
+divulged the story. Its betrayal was purely accidental.
+
+On the morning following the holiday, which, by the way, chanced to be
+Sunday, Mrs. O'Dowd came up to borrow the McGregor's can opener. In
+Mulberry Court somebody was always borrowing. An inventory of each
+family's possessions gradually became public property, so that all the
+neighbors knew exactly where to turn for anything needed. In fact, the
+residents of the house so planned their purchases that they would not
+overlap what the dwelling already contained. Nobody thought, for
+example, of buying a washing machine since the Murphys had one; nor did
+any one see cause for investing in a wringer, when a perfectly good one
+was owned by the McGregors. Even such small things as egg beaters,
+double boilers, and ice picks, all had an established place of
+residence and were used in a community spirit. All day long from
+morning until night little boys and girls trailed up and down the long
+flights of stairs either to borrow or to return to their rightful
+owners articles that had been a-visiting. It almost required a card
+catalogue to keep track of where one's things were.
+
+"Do you know who has the egg beater?" Mrs. McGregor would interrogate
+on a baking day.
+
+And some of the children whose function it was to procure or carry
+hence the egg beater generally recalled its whereabouts.
+
+"It's down to Murphys', Ma," Martin would shout. "Don't you remember
+that Thursday she was making custard?"
+
+Oh, yes; Mrs. McGregor did recollect. It flashed into her mind at the
+time that with eggs so high the Murphys might well do without custard.
+Nevertheless, she had not said so. One did not venture to criticize
+one's neighbors--even if the gossip connected with the various
+borrowings did entail first-hand information concerning their affairs.
+For by common consent it was not Mulberry Court etiquette to borrow
+without stating exactly the service required of the article in
+question. When, for instance, you sent an emissary to ask for the
+O'Dowds' ironing board you said:
+
+"Can Ma take the ironing board so she can iron out Mary's dress 'cause
+she's got to have her white one clean to speak a piece in at school."
+
+Then the O'Dowds knew exactly why the ironing board was needed and just
+how necessary it was to have it, and not only did they promptly deliver
+it up, but the next time you met them they inquired how Mary got on
+speaking her piece and whether she was frightened or not. In this way a
+friendly interest was created.
+
+To have borrowed the ironing board and not have detailed the
+accompanying facts would have been a heinous crime and would have
+exempted any person from loaning it. Under such circumstances it would
+have been perfectly excusable to send back word by the messenger:
+
+"Mrs. O'Dowd is sorry but she is using the ironing board herself
+to-day."
+
+But when Mary was to speak a piece, that was quite a different matter.
+
+Mulberry Court had a pride in its tenants.
+
+Mary McGregor certainly must not appear in a dress that had not been
+freshly ironed. Why, the people on the street would think Mulberry
+Court bereft of all sense of propriety! No, indeed. Mary McGregor must
+make a fitting showing if the whole house had to turn to to achieve the
+desired result. And if by any chance her family could not iron her
+dress, why somebody else must. Mulberry Court would make a proper
+showing no matter at what personal sacrifice.
+
+And the same self-respecting spirit came to the fore on all great
+occasions. When the Sullivan's baby was christened was not Mrs.
+Sullivan arrayed in Mrs. McGregor's bonnet, Mrs. O'Dowd's coat, and
+Mrs. Murphy's skirt, that she might make a truly genteel impression?
+There was the dignity of Mulberry Court to be maintained.
+
+Thus it followed that borrowing was no unusual act and therefore when
+on Sunday morning Mrs. O'Dowd presented herself at the McGregor's door
+and announced that she was going to have a chowder of canned corn for
+dinner and wanted the can opener, beyond a conversation as to the
+nourishment corn chowder contained; the brand of canned goods one
+bought; the price of it per can; the quantity of milk required and the
+price of that milk per quart, nothing further was said, unless it was,
+perhaps, to mention the crackers and inquire whether the O'Dowds used
+pilot biscuit or oysterettes. But of course the can opener was not
+denied and while Mary went to fetch it and Mrs. McGregor continued
+cutting Nell's hair Mrs. O'Dowd, with arms akimbo, reviewed the
+pleasures of the day before and compared Christmas dinners.
+
+"Such a feast as we had," declared she. "Such turkey! It melted in your
+mouth and ran down your throat almost before you had the chance to
+taste it. And the sweet potatoes! You'd believe, actually, they were
+just dug up out of the ground! Had you sweet potatoes in your basket,
+Martin?"
+
+"Sure we had!" returned the small boy, not to be outdone.
+
+"And then the celery! It was that handsome it was fit to be set on a
+bonnet--I'm telling you the truth."
+
+"Mary gave the celery," lisped Nell.
+
+"Hush!" Martin cried. "You weren't to tell that."
+
+"I didn't tell what I gave. Ma told me not to and I haven't," announced
+wee Nell proudly.
+
+"But you're not to tell what anybody gave," Martin commanded. "I
+haven't told a thing, have I, Ma?" concluded he in triumph.
+
+"Hush, Martin, hush!" cautioned his mother quickly. "Pay no heed to
+them, Mrs. O'Dowd; sure after the holiday they hardly know what they're
+saying."
+
+"But--but----" Mrs. O'Dowd glanced keenly about, viewing the guilty
+faces and the indignant looks the older children centered on the two
+small culprits. She was a quick-witted woman and instantly put two and
+two together.
+
+"So it was Mary sent the celery, was it?" repeated she. "And who, pray,
+bought the turkey?" The temptation the question presented was too great
+for the youthful conspirators.
+
+"Uncle Fwedewic! Uncle Fwedewic!" cried Nell and Martin in a breath.
+
+"He bought it wiz his very own money," Nell went on to explain before
+she could be stopped.
+
+Oh, the game was all up now! Of what use was it to pretend anything
+after that? Martin heaved a sigh of delight. For days the secret had
+trembled on his tongue, making life uncomfortable and unnatural.
+Constitutionally it was his habit to let slip from that artless member
+anything that lurked at its tip and as a result he held secrets in
+abhorrence. Now the truth was out and he for one was glad it was. He
+would no longer be dreading an encounter with the O'Dowds or be under
+the trying necessity of acting a part.
+
+"The candy was mine," he announced calmly. "I gave it and Uncle
+Frederick paid the man."
+
+Julie ventured over the threshold.
+
+"So it's you we have to thank for our dinner!" she exclaimed.
+
+"You don't have us to _thank_," put in Mrs. McGregor quickly.
+
+"But you surely wouldn't have me be taking a dinner like that and not
+thanking you for it," said Julie. "And neither O'Dowd nor I had an
+inkling! Think of our coming up here Christmas morning and all of you
+keeping so mum!"
+
+"We'd have kept mum longer, if it hadn't been for Nell and Martin,"
+Carl asserted. "I don't see why they couldn't shut up, Ma."
+
+"A secret's no easy treasure to have in one's possession," Mrs. O'Dowd
+put in quickly. "And you must remember they are but mites--Nell and
+Martin. Indeed, in my opinion, it's a miracle they didn't blurt it out
+long before this. You wouldn't get a child of mine to hold his peace
+any such while; neither the big ones nor the little could do it. Well,
+well! It was a happy day you gave us and you certainly deserved the
+dinner you got yourselves. And you had no notion when you sent ours you
+were to have one of your own."
+
+"No! When it came we thought for a moment you had sent our present
+back," Carl explained.
+
+"In other words, you were going without your dinner to give it to us,"
+commented Julie.
+
+"We had our tree," Mary interrupted. "We didn't need both things."
+
+"It's few would have done what you did," Julie remarked quietly.
+"O'Dowd and I will not be forgetting it, either."
+
+Tears came into the eyes of the little woman and as if words failed her
+she wheeled about and disappeared down the dim hallway.
+
+"At least, she was not put out by our doing it," commented Mrs.
+McGregor, after her neighbor had gone. "I feared some she might be. But
+evidently she accepted the gift just as we meant it. So that's settled!
+Now if we could only find out where our own dinner came from and say as
+much to its giver, I'd be entirely content. I've taxed my brain until
+my head is fair aching and still I'm no nearer having an idea where
+that basket of ours came from than the man in the moon."
+
+"I guess you will just have to rate it as coming from the fairies,"
+smiled her brother, "and let the matter rest there; that is, unless Hal
+Harling gets another inspiration."
+
+"Another inspiration! Sure the inspiration he had wasn't worth much,"
+sniffed Mrs. McGregor. "Unless he can provide a better one than that I
+sha'n't be listening to him."
+
+"You may as well not be slandering him, for here he is now," Carl
+cried, jumping up to admit his chum whose footfall he had heard on the
+stairs.
+
+"I'm not slandering him," Mrs. McGregor continued, imperturbably
+greeting the visitor. "In fact, what I've said about him I'd as lief
+say to his face. I'm telling them, laddie," said she, turning brightly
+to Hal, "that I have scant opinion of you as a detective."
+
+The big fellow laughed good-humoredly.
+
+"They are not putting me on the Scotland Yard force yet, I must own,"
+he admitted. "But how do you know that I won't track down Mr. X yet?
+Give me time. No great mystery can be solved all in a minute."
+
+"I've let you sleep on it and so far as I can see you are no better off
+this morning than you were last night," was the crisp retort.
+
+"I'm not, and that's the truth," Hal returned, pulling off his coat.
+"I'm simply going to bury the matter the way a dog buries a bone, and
+then some day I'll dig it up and go to work at it again."
+
+"I guess that's as good a scheme as any," Captain Dillingham declared.
+"Sometimes if you do not fuss at a riddle it solves itself. Come, sit
+down and talk to us while Nell gets her hair cut. It may help to keep
+her quiet."
+
+The child, seated on the table and muffled to her neck in her mother's
+apron, brightened.
+
+"Tell story," commanded she. "Hal tell story."
+
+"I? Not on your life!" protested the big fellow in consternation. "I
+never told a story in all my days. Your uncle Frederick will tell you
+one."
+
+"Uncle Frederick will do nothing of the sort," growled the captain, as
+he puffed contentedly at his pipe. "It's Hal who is going to tell the
+story. He is going to explain to us exactly what they do with the bales
+of cotton when they reach the mill."
+
+"That? Oh, I can tell you that, all right, for I see it done from
+morning to night, year in and year out. But I don't call that a story,
+do you?"
+
+"It will be a story to us, no matter what it is to you, for remember
+that although I have often loaded cotton and carried it hither and
+thither round the world I've never seen what became of it after we
+thumped it down on the dock."
+
+"Haven't you? That's funny!" smiled Hal. "And yet after all I don't
+know as it is, either. How should you know what is done with it? I
+shouldn't have if I hadn't happened to spend my days at Davis and
+Coulter's. Well, then, as soon as we get the bales we first weigh them
+and make a record of each. Then they are opened up and the matted
+material is spread out so the coarsest of the dirt, such as leaves,
+sand, stems, and bits of dry pods will be loosened and fall out. To
+accomplish this we have opening machines of various kinds with beaters,
+fans, and rollers and by these methods the cotton is cleaned and
+pressed into a flat sheet or lap. Afterward we start in to mix the
+varieties in the different bales."
+
+"What for?" questioned Carl.
+
+"Oh, because to get good results you have to have a blend of
+varieties," Hal explained.
+
+"But isn't cotton cotton?" inquired Mary.
+
+"Not a bit it isn't," grinned young Harling. "Some cotton is far and
+away better than another. Often it has had better care, better weather,
+or better soil; or maybe it has grown more evenly and therefore has
+less unripe stuff mixed in with it. Or perhaps it was a finer, more
+highly cultivated kind in the first place. There are a score of
+explanations. Anyhow it is better, and because it is we do not use it
+all by itself. Instead we use it to grade up some that is less fine in
+quality. After the bales have been classified we take a little of this
+and a little of that until we have struck a good average. It goes
+without saying that we never mix two extremes, or put the best and the
+worst together. That wouldn't do at all. We aim to produce a mean
+between these two qualities. All this mixing is not, however, done by
+hand, as you might think to hear me talk. No, indeed! We have
+bale-breakers or cotton-pullers to do the work. We simply put several
+sheets or laps of different quality cotton one on top of another and
+then let the spikes of the machines tear it into fragments and mix it
+up."
+
+"Oh!" Mary murmured.
+
+"Afterward comes the scutching," went on Hal, "which is really only a
+continuation of the same process although the scutching machine makes
+the laps of cotton of more even thickness. Next we card the material to
+find out where we stand. It is brushed or combed out--whichever you
+prefer to call it, and the remaining dirt and short, unripe fibers are
+removed. This leaves the real thing, and the machine gathers it up and
+twists it into a sort of rope about an inch in diameter called a
+sliver."
+
+"What a funny name!" Tim remarked.
+
+"I suppose it is when you stop to think of it," Hal answered. "Well,
+anyhow, that's what a sliver is. In some mills they draw the cotton out
+into these long strands and double together four or eight slivers
+before they are carded. The carding lengthens or stretches them to the
+size of one and therefore you get a greater uniformity of size. Beside
+that, all the crossed or snarled fibers are arranged so that they lie
+out straight and smooth, and when this is done the material is ready
+for the bobbin and fly frames."
+
+"And what, for goodness' sake, might those be?" demanded Captain
+Dillingham.
+
+"I certainly am a great hero coming here and knowing so much," Hal
+answered with amusement. "I think you will understand them better, sir,
+if you forget what they're called and remember only what they do. They
+actually combine three processes: slubbing, intermediate, and roving,
+and their aim is to draw the sliver out until it is thinner, more
+uniform, and cleaner for spinning. Surely that is simple enough. The
+spinning is done on a mule or a ring frame--sometimes the one is
+preferred, sometimes the other. Generally speaking, the thread from one
+of these machines is what is used for weaving purposes. Sometimes,
+though, it happens that an order comes for a crackajack fine yarn of
+the best possible quality and then another combing or carding process
+follows which takes out everything shorter than fibers of a specified
+length. As a result about seventeen per cent. of waste is thrown out,
+as great a percentage as in all the other processes put together.
+Naturally it is a pretty expensive operation and it makes the yarn thus
+turned out high in price."
+
+"I suppose such yarn goes only into the finest quality goods," observed
+Captain Dillingham.
+
+"Exactly!" was Hal's answer.
+
+"It all sounds simple as rolling off a log," Carl affirmed.
+
+"If it seems so to you, just you think back over the problem Arkwright
+and some of the other inventors, the fruit of whose labors we are now
+reaping, had to solve," put in Uncle Frederick. "Even I, who am
+ignorant as an Egyptian mummy concerning cotton manufacture, can
+appreciate to some extent what they were up against. You must remember
+that no material is stronger than its weakest part. You have, for
+instance, a thin place in a string; it matters not how strong that
+string may be in other spots; pull it taut and it will snap. The thick
+places do not help make the string strong as a whole. So it is with
+thread. You have to draw it out until every portion of it is as strong
+as every other--a pretty little conundrum! It is the drawing, twisting,
+and doubling which makes the thread first uniform and then strong. Try
+working-out devices that shall do all these things--devices that shall
+twist and then double without untwisting, for example. You'll find it
+worse than a three-ringed circus."
+
+"That's right, sir!" Hal agreed heartily. "I remember when I first went
+into the mills how puzzled I was at seeing the bobbins whirling in
+opposite directions. It seemed as if one was simply undoing what
+another had done. I thought they all ought to turn the same way. It was
+months before I got through my head what they were up to."
+
+"I hadn't thought of the twisting and doubling part," Carl murmured.
+
+"You decide with that thrown in maybe the answer to the puzzle isn't so
+easy, eh?" responded Hal with a teasing smile.
+
+"I might have to ponder over it," Carl confessed suavely.
+
+"Ponder! I guess you would. What's more, you'd have a good smart
+headache before you were through your _pondering_, I'll bet!" jeered
+Hal, tweaking his chum's hair.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+SPINNING YARNS
+
+
+All good things, alas, come to an end and the McGregor's Christmas
+holidays were no exception to this immutable law. A day arrived when
+Carl, Mary and Tim were obliged to return to school, and following
+swift on the heels of this dire occasion came a yet more lamentable one
+when Uncle Frederick Dillingham was forced to go back to his ship and
+sail for China. The latter calamity entirely overshadowed the former
+and was a very real blow not only to Mulberry Court, where the captain
+had become an object of universal pride and affection, but also to the
+Harling family who had come to depend on his daily visits for cheer and
+sunshine.
+
+"I don't see why somebody else can't sail your ship to China, Uncle
+Frederick, and let you stay here," wailed Mary.
+
+"Somebody else sail my ship!" gasped the captain, every syllable of the
+phrase echoing consternation. "Why, my dear child, I would no more turn
+the command of the _Charlotte_ over to another person than you would
+exchange your mother for somebody else's. The _Charlotte_ kind of
+belongs to me, don't you see? She is my--well, I reckon I can't just
+explain what she is. All I can say is that where she goes I go--if I am
+alive."
+
+"But--but the sea is so terrible," objected the timid Mary. "So
+dangerous."
+
+For answer Captain Dillingham burst into a peal of laughter.
+
+"Dangerous? Why, lassie, there isn't a quarter a part the danger on the
+water there is on land. I have come nearer to being killed right here
+in Baileyville than ever I have while cruising in mid-ocean. Folks take
+their lives in their hands every time they cross a city street. Then,
+too, aren't there high buildings to topple over; flagpoles to snap
+asunder, signs to blow down; chimneys to shower their bricks on your
+head; not to mention the death-dealing currents that come through
+telegraph and telephone wires? Add to this threatening collection trees
+and snow-slides and slippery pavements and you have quite a list of
+horrors. Danger! Why, the land is nothing but maelstrom of catastrophes
+compared with which the serenity of the open sea, with nothing but its
+moon and stars overhead, is an oasis of safety. Of course there are
+certain things you must be on your guard against while on the
+water--fogs, icebergs and gales. But where can you find a spot under
+God's heaven entirely free from the possibilities of mishap of some
+sort? I'd a hundred times rather take the risks the sea holds than run
+my chances on land. Besides, aren't we a city, same as you? Just
+because we are afloat and you can boast the solid ground under your
+feet is it a sign we are not citizens with laws and duties? with the
+wireless singing its messages to us wherever we go we certainly are not
+cut off from the rest of the world."
+
+For a moment he paused to catch his breath.
+
+"No, siree!" continued he. "We folks on shipboard simply belong to a
+floating republic, that's all. It's our country same as this is yours,
+and we love it quite as much as you do."
+
+"I never thought of the ocean that way," Mary returned with a
+thoughtful smile. "It's always seemed to me a big, big place without
+any--any streets or----"
+
+"But we have streets, lassie," cried her uncle, instantly catching her
+up. "Regular avenues they are. Travel 'em and you'll meet the passing
+same as you would were you to drive along a boulevard. They are the
+ocean highways, the latitudes and longitudes found to be the best paths
+between given countries. In some cases the way chosen is shorter; or
+maybe experience has proved it to be freer from fog or icebergs.
+Anyhow, it has become an accepted thoroughfare and is as familiar to
+seafaring men as if it had been smoothed down with a steam roller and
+had a signpost set to mark it. Never think, child, of the ocean as a
+lonely, uncharted waste of water. It is a nice quiet place with as much
+sociability on it as a man wants. You don't, to be sure, rub elbows
+with your neighbors as you do ashore; but on the other hand you don't
+have to put up with their racket. Pleasant as it is to be on land the
+hum of it gets on my nerves in time, and I am always thankful to be
+back aboard ship."
+
+"We'll miss you dreadfully, Frederick," his sister remarked.
+
+"But remember I'll be putting in at various ports off and on," returned
+the captain, "and be mailing you letters, postals and trinkets of one
+sort and another. Moreover, you're all going to write to me, I
+hope--even Martin. For if there's any one thing a sailor man looks
+forward to it's the mail that awaits him in a foreign port. I must own
+that with all the virtues the sea possesses the landlubber has the best
+of us on mail service. Rural free delivery is one blessing we can't
+boast. No blue-coated postmen come sauntering down our watery streets
+to drop letters and papers into our boxes. We have to call for these
+ourselves same as you might have to go to a post-office here ashore if
+the government wasn't as thoughtful and generous as it is. Our
+post-offices are sometimes pretty far apart, too, and I'm driven to
+confess we don't always get our mail as often as we'd like. That's one
+of the outs of seafaring. So when we do touch shore and go looking for
+letters it is disappointing not to find any. Don't forget that. After
+I'm gone you will get busy with your school, and your sewing, and your
+fun, and you will not think so often about Uncle Frederick." He put up
+a warning hand to stay the protest of his listeners. "You won't mean
+to," continued he kindly, "but you'll do it all the same. It's human
+nature."
+
+This sinister prediction, however, did not prove true.
+
+For days after Captain Dillingham said good-by to Baileyville, Mulberry
+Court, the Harlings and the McGregors were inconsolable.
+
+"The house isn't the same with Uncle Frederick gone, is it, Mother?"
+commented Mary.
+
+"No, it isn't. We miss him very much."
+
+"I should say we did! Such a lot of things happen all the time that I
+want to tell him," Carl broke in. "Why, only this morning the teacher
+gave me a book to look up something and the first page I opened to had
+a lot about foreign trade. A month ago I wouldn't have cast my eye over
+it a second time but now, because of Uncle Frederick, that sort of
+thing interests me. So I read along down the left-hand column and what
+should it be about but the first spinning mills! I wished Uncle
+Frederick could have read it."
+
+"You must write him about it," flashed Mary. "What did it say, Carl?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know," her brother answered awkwardly. "I'm not sure that
+I can remember exactly. I wasn't learning it to recite."
+
+"But you read it, didn't you?"
+
+"Sure I did, Miss Schoolmarm!"
+
+"Then you must remember some of it," Mary persisted.
+
+"Oh, I remember scraps of it. It said at the outset that nobody really
+knew when people began to spin. Most likely they got the idea from
+pulling out fibers of cotton or wool long as they could make them with
+their fingers, and then twisting the stuff together into larger and
+longer threads. As they could do this better if they had the end
+fastened to something, they got the notion of using a stick or some
+sort of spool or spindle to wind the thread up on as they made it. They
+would go walking round with a mass of material under one arm and this
+crude spindle with the thread on it under the other. The book said that
+even now in certain foreign countries there were peasants who did this.
+It was during the reign of Henry VII that spindles and distaffs first
+appeared in England. Afterward people improved on the idea and made
+spinning wheels. The people of India had had these long before, so you
+see they weren't really new; but they were new to England. To judge
+from the book they weren't any great shakes of spinning wheels; still
+they were better than nothing. Later on the English got finer ones such
+as were used in Savoy and these not only had a spindle but a flyer and
+bobbin. It was most likely these Saxony wheels that started inventors
+trying to make something that would be better yet."
+
+Holding the plug he was whittling for his double-runner up to the
+light, Carl halted.
+
+"I think you've done pretty well, son," remarked his mother over the
+top of her sewing.
+
+"I think so too," Carl returned with unaffected candor. "I had no idea
+when I started that I could remember so much. I guess it was because I
+was interested in the story and wasn't trying to learn it. When you
+think you're learning things, you get to saying them over and over
+until by and by what little sense there is in 'em seems to evaporate.
+At least, that's the way it is with me. If I could just read and not
+keep thinking that I was trying to learn I'd get on twice as well. Even
+this page of stuff would have _looked_ different if I'd been going to
+learn it. You see, you never have the chance to learn what you want to
+at school; it's always what they pick out for you. Naturally you don't
+care as much about it as you would if it was what you'd chosen
+yourself."
+
+Mrs. McGregor could not resist smiling in sympathy with this philosophy
+of education, novel as it was.
+
+"Now what the teacher sent me to look up in that book," went on Carl,
+"was some old foreign treaty. Of course I read it over because she made
+me. But do I remember a line of it? Nix! I told her what the book said
+as fast as I could, so to get it off my soul before I forgot it. I
+don't see what she cared about it for anyway, for it didn't seem to
+hitch up to anything. But this spinning business hitched right up to
+Uncle Frederick, Hal Harling and what we've been talking about. I don't
+see why Miss Dewey couldn't have let me alone to learn about that."
+
+"Probably she didn't dream you were interested in it," said Mary. "How
+should she, pray?"
+
+"I know it. I suppose she didn't," answered Carl with fairness. "She
+certainly is no mind reader; and I didn't mention it."
+
+"Then don't go blaming poor Miss Dewey," Mary retorted. "Besides, what
+kind of a school would she have if every child in it refused to learn
+anything but what he cared about. She would have fifty kids all going
+fifty different ways."
+
+Carl sighed. Plainly the flaws of the educational system were too many
+for him. Nevertheless he attempted a modest defense of his theory.
+
+"No, she wouldn't," contradicted he. "Some of 'em don't want to learn
+anything anyhow, and since they have to they are as well pleased to
+learn one thing as another. Billie Tarbox, for instance, hasn't any
+preferences; he just hates all highbrow stuff alike. And the Murphys
+and Jack Sullivan wouldn't care a hurrah what they learned. All Jack
+wants to do when he grows up is to run a steam roller and if he can do
+that he'll be perfectly satisfied."
+
+"But he'll have to learn something before he can," observed Mrs.
+McGregor.
+
+"No, he won't, Ma. Mike Finnerty who lives in his block runs one and he
+doesn't know a thing," Carl replied simply.
+
+"On the contrary, I think you'll find Mr. Michael Finnerty knows much
+more than you give him credit for," retorted Mrs. McGregor. "He
+probably knows more than he himself realizes. He may not have learned
+about engines out of books; but if not he has learned about them from
+actual contact with them. All learning does not come from between book
+covers, sonny. Experience is a wonderful teacher. Books simply give us
+the same result without making us stumble along to learn everything
+ourselves. They are somebody else's experience done up in a little
+bundle and handed to us as a shorter cut. Mr. Michael Finnerty has had
+to take the long way round to get his education, that is all. For
+education is nothing but a training which enables us to live and be
+useful to others; and if when we're through we can't do that all the
+book learning in the world isn't going to be worth much to us."
+
+"Why, Mother, I thought you were terribly keen on schools," ejaculated
+Mary, aghast.
+
+"So I am, my dear. A fine mind thoroughly trained is a glorious tool;
+but far too often people forget that it is simply a tool. Just
+sharpening and polishing it and never turning it to account for other
+people isn't what it was made for. Learn all you can so you will be
+able to help the world along the better. But don't just soak up and
+soak up what books tell you and then store it away in your head like so
+much old lumber."
+
+"But what can you do with what you read, Ma?" Carl questioned, laying
+down his whittling and facing his mother.
+
+"Precisely what you have been doing this morning, for one thing," was
+the quiet answer. "Pass it on to somebody else who hasn't read it. Mary
+and I, for example, hadn't read about England and the early spinning
+wheels. We hadn't the time to; nor had we the book. You've managed to
+tell us quite a lot."
+
+"Maybe I could tell you some more, if you wanted me to," said Carl,
+urged on by altruistic impulse.
+
+"Of course we do," his mother replied.
+
+Carl took a long breath and considered thoughtfully.
+
+"Well, what knocked me was that at first the English government didn't
+want any cotton cloth made," began he.
+
+"Why not? I should think they would have been delighted!" Mary put in.
+
+"Oh, the English made a lot of woolen goods, and they had a hunch that
+cotton cloth might cut into the trade for wool and fustians. So
+Parliament passed a law placing a five-pound fine on any of the British
+who wore things made of colored calico. As the restriction also covered
+the use of painted, dyed or stenciled cottons it knocked out all these
+products for hangings, bedspreads, or coverings."
+
+"How horrid of them!" said Mary indignantly.
+
+"They were darned afraid of their trade being interfered with, you
+see," explained her brother. "I believe you could use an all blue
+calico and of course there was no objection to making cotton cloth into
+underclothes; also you were allowed to use a cloth woven of cotton and
+wool. But you mustn't wear any pretty figured cotton dresses. When the
+people heard that they kind of rose up, and when the government found
+out they wouldn't stand for such a law, in 1736, after amending it,
+they made another one letting folks wear any kind of decorated cloth
+they had a mind to, so long as its warp was entirely of linen yarn.
+This provided England with a market for her flax. But once the law was
+passed the delighted manufacturers began to turn out colored cloth by
+the bushelful, making any amount more than they could sell just because
+they were allowed to. This led to another difficulty--where were they
+going to get enough linen warp? The cottagers who worked at home with
+their little spinning wheels could not begin to turn out the supply
+that was needed, and weavers of cloth went traveling everywhere over
+England buying up all the linen thread people would sell and begging
+for more. And not only did they want linen warp but they wanted it
+stronger and coarser so they could weave heavier cloth. Now the
+spinning wheels only turned out single thread. What was to be done?"
+
+"Well, what was to be done?" echoed Mary.
+
+"It was trying to find an answer to all this weaving muddle that set
+John Kay to inventing his flying shuttle," replied Carl. "Until then it
+had taken two people to send the heavy shuttles with the warp on them
+across the looms. His new flying shuttle did the same work with only
+one person to operate it. You'd think that an improvement in weaving,
+wouldn't you; and you'd have the right, if you worked out the idea, to
+believe the weavers would be pleased?"
+
+"Certainly," returned his mother.
+
+"Well, instead of being pleased, the workmen were crazy," Carl
+announced.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because they were such blockheads they were afraid Kay's invention was
+going to put them out of their jobs. In fact, they got so soured on
+poor old Kay that his life was actually in danger and he had to get out
+of England. There's gratitude for you!" concluded the boy with a shrug.
+
+"But later on they learned better, I suppose, and sent for him to come
+back," Mary suggested. "That's the way people always do."
+
+"These people didn't," was Carl's grim retort. "Not on your tin-type!
+They never got Kay back again in spite of all he'd done for them.
+Instead, he died somewhere abroad without receiving much of anything
+for his invention. Wouldn't that make you hot? In the meantime, about
+1738, a chap called Lewis Paul got out a double set of rollers that
+would draw out thread and twist it--a stunt previously done by hand. So
+it went. Here and there men all over England, knowing the need of
+better spinning devices, went to it to see what they could do. John
+Wyatt, who, like Paul, was a Birmingham native, tried spinning by means
+of rollers; and for ever so long it was a question whether it was he or
+Paul who should be credited with the invention of the roller and flyer
+machine. After twenty years I believe Paul was granted the patent. In
+point of fact, though, Arkwright thirty years before had tried to get a
+patent on spinning by rollers, and no doubt both Lewis Paul and John
+Wyatt got the suggestion from him. Anyhow, the idea spread like
+wildfire and immediately no end of people went to work fussing with
+rollers, flyers, and spindles. As a result, many small things were
+added to improve the spinning contrivances in use at the time. Then in
+1764, or thereabouts, along came James Hargreaves, a Lancashire
+Englishman, with a machine that would spin eleven threads at once."
+
+His listeners gave a little gasp.
+
+"That was some stride ahead, wasn't it?" commented Carl, as proudly as
+if he himself had done the deed. "Yes, siree! Hargreaves's spinning
+jenny was a big step forward. And as usual it raised a row. When he got
+it all perfected five years later and went to take out a patent on it,
+his right to it was questioned and his life made miserable. But,
+anyhow, people couldn't say he built on Arkwright or Paul, for whether
+they liked it or not they had to admit his idea was quite new. His
+jenny only spun cloth rovings, however. The rovings had to be prepared
+first; that is, the cotton had to be carded and given its first twist.
+After that Hargreaves was ready for it and could lengthen, twist, and
+spin into yarn eleven threads of it."
+
+"I hope the ungrateful workmen did not get after him as they did after
+John Kay," Mary murmured.
+
+"They did! At least, although they did not drive him out of England
+they drove him out of Lancashire. So he went to Nottingham; and after
+arming himself with his patent he and a Mr. James built a spinning mill
+there, one of the first to be built in England."
+
+"That must have made his fortune and repaid him for all his hard
+labor," remarked Mrs. McGregor, as she held up a violet cloud of
+spangled tulle and examined it critically.
+
+"The book said he didn't make much money," Carl announced. "He wasn't
+as poor as John Kay and did not die in want; but he certainly never
+became rich."
+
+"I suppose now that they had spinning factories England was satisfied,"
+said Mary.
+
+"Satisfied?" repeated Carl with scorn. "Satisfied because there was one
+little measly spinning factory? You bet your life people weren't
+satisfied! To be sure some of the hardest of the inventing was done.
+But don't for a minute imagine you are through with Richard Arkwright.
+He was still on the job."
+
+"You told us about him before."
+
+"Trying to get a patent on spinning by rollers? Yes, I did. Well, he
+was still alive and of course when everybody was talking about spinning
+he couldn't help hearing the gossip even if he did happen to be a
+barber. In fact while he traveled round buying and selling hair for
+wigs he must have met no end of people and talked with them, so I guess
+he heard more of the news of the day than did lots of other men.
+Barbers always seem to be sociable chaps. He was quite a mechanic, too,
+in his way; machinery had always interested him."
+
+"In spite of his making wigs and toupees for ladies and gentlemen?"
+laughed Mrs. McGregor mischievously.
+
+"Sure, Ma! He had been born in Lancashire just as Hargreaves had and so
+he probably was particularly interested in Hargreaves. When anybody
+from your own part of the world does anything smart you always are all
+ears about it, you know. So Arkwright found out all he could by
+gossiping about Hargreaves's spinning jenny, and no one was quicker to
+see what such an invention would mean to England than he. The idea was
+almost like a magnet to him. He hunted up Mr. Highs, who had
+experimented a lot with spinning machinery, and talked with him; he
+also met John Kay, who at one time had helped Highs. And because he was
+such an intelligent listener and seemed to understand machinery so well
+these men babbled to him about their hobby. Having heard all they had
+to say Arkwright went off by himself and set quietly to work to try out
+on a small scale certain notions of his own. These notions had to do
+with spinning cotton by drawing rollers, and they worked perfectly.
+That was enough for him. He announced his success, got his patent, was
+knighted by the crown, and became rich. How's that for a yarn? Isn't it
+like the story of Puss-In-Boots?"
+
+"It is certainly magical," declared Mrs. McGregor, who had dropped her
+work in her absorption. "I am glad, too, to know there was one inventor
+who prospered."
+
+"I am afraid he was the only one--at least of those interested in
+spinning," replied Carl gravely.
+
+"All the others both before and after him lost out so far as money
+went."
+
+"Who did come after Arkwright?" queried Mary.
+
+"Crompton--Samuel Crompton," was the prompt reply. "He was a little boy
+when Arkwright was tooting round the country trading hair and wigs. The
+two men may even have happened to see one another somewhere. That
+wouldn't be impossible, you know. Anyway, during the time that
+Arkwright was fighting the right to his roller patent; going into
+partnership with rich men who could finance his schemes; and building
+his chain of mills at Nottingham, Cromford, and Matlock, Crompton was
+growing up. As some of these mills were worked by horse power and some
+by water power, the name of 'water frame' clung to Arkwright's
+invention. Crompton, like everybody else who lived at the time, saw the
+rivalry between Hargreaves's jenny and Arkwright's water frame. It was
+of course silly that there should have been rivalry, for the two
+machines did quite different sorts of work. Arkwright's water frame was
+better for making the warp and long threads of cloth; and Hargreaves's
+jenny turned out better weft, or the kind of thread that went from side
+to side. It was only a matter of the sort of thread you needed,
+understand."
+
+"Then they certainly needn't have been jealous of one another,"
+commented Mrs. McGregor.
+
+"Fortunately in time they found that out and realized that each loom
+had its advantages; to-day both are used--one for one purpose, one for
+another. But no matter how many enemies Arkwright had everybody,
+whether they liked him or not, was compelled to admit that he gave the
+spinning industry a tremendous boost and did more toward starting our
+present factory idea than did any one else. Not only was he a tireless
+worker, but he was quick as a flash to see what was needed. Maybe he
+wasn't any too scrupulous whose property he took; but at least he took
+the things he seized more for the public good than his own, I really
+believe. For instance, there was Lewis Paul's carding engine; he
+introduced that into Lancashire and added to it a stripping comb, or
+doffer, that made it about fifty per cent. better than it ever had been
+before. That is what he did to everything he touched. He swooped down
+on any machine he saw and then proceeded to improve it. It didn't
+matter to him who it belonged to. Of course you can't do that, even if
+you are an inventor," grinned Carl. "Naturally it got Arkwright in
+wrong and he was given some pretty hard names. Still he did a lot of
+good for all that. And, anyway, whatever he was, I take my hat off to
+him because he began to study writing, spelling, and arithmetic when he
+was fifty years old. That gets me!"
+
+"Poor soul! He probably had no chance for an education when he was
+younger," remarked Mrs. McGregor.
+
+"No, he hadn't. But picture it! Jove! If I had gone that long without
+books, and had been able to invent all sorts of things into the
+bargain, darned if I wouldn't have stuck it out," Carl said.
+
+"But you told us Arkwright became rich and was knighted," replied Mrs.
+McGregor. "No doubt this resulted in his meeting educated people,
+gentlemen and ladies, in whose company he felt ashamed, uncomfortable,
+and at a disadvantage."
+
+"I'd feel that way, wouldn't you?" nodded Mary. "I do feel so even when
+I am with Uncle Frederick, and my teacher, and--and you, Mother."
+
+"Don't include me, dear," protested her mother sadly. "Alas, I know
+little enough. But it does help you to understand how that poor,
+hard-working Richard Arkwright suffered. Often, I'll wager, he was
+angry at himself for his lack of education even though it was not his
+fault. I don't wonder, snubbed as he probably was at times, that he
+determined he would learn something."
+
+"His hard-earned education did not do him much good, Mother, for he
+died when he was sixty," said Carl.
+
+"Well, at least he lived long enough to see his success," Mary put in
+brightly.
+
+"He was luckier than Crompton," replied her brother.
+
+"Oh, tell us about Crompton. Do you remember anything about him?" Mary
+inquired.
+
+"Crompton was one of the most important of the spinning inventors,"
+continued Carl. "But he did not set out to be an inventor any more than
+Arkwright did. To be sure he wasn't a barber or anything as ordinary as
+that. He was a musician, a person of quite another sort, you see. His
+family were better bred and started him out with a good education--the
+very thing Arkwright lacked. Crompton might easily have mixed with the
+class Arkwright wanted to mix with but he wasn't as good a mixer.
+Instead of gossiping with everybody he met, as Arkwright had done,
+Crompton kept by himself and lived quietly at home with his mother."
+
+"A sensible lad!" Mrs. McGregor whispered.
+
+"Maybe," grinned her son. "Still, it made people call Crompton
+unsociable. I guess, though, most geniuses are that. They always seem
+to be so in books; and Crompton certainly was a genius. He hadn't an
+ounce of brain for business but he had no end of ideas; and it was
+those that got him on in life. For you see, although the Cromptons were
+what Ma would call 'gentle people', they were not rich. They were
+comfortably off, though, and if the father had not died when the
+children were small they might have been very well off indeed. As it
+was, Mrs. Crompton had to help out the finances by carding, spinning,
+and weaving cloth at home when her other work was done. Ever so many
+other women did it, so it was considered an all right thing to do.
+Since Kay's flying shuttle had made it possible to spin more stuff the
+weavers, as I told you, were scouring the country for all the warp and
+weft they could lay hands on, so everybody who could spin thread was
+sure of a market. The prices offered, and the difficulties the weavers
+were having to get material enough, were common talk at every English
+cottage fireside. So of course it wasn't strange that Mrs. Crompton,
+along with the rest of her neighbors, heard this gossip and also heard
+about Hargreaves's spinning jenny. Now Samuel helped his mother to spin
+evenings when he wasn't playing at the village theater and she decided
+it would be nice to get one of these spinning jennies for him to use.
+So she did, and it wasn't long before he could not only use it, but
+could turn out weft enough for cloth to clothe the whole Crompton
+family."
+
+"Then I don't see but the Cromptons were nicely taken care of," Mary
+announced.
+
+"That wasn't the point, smartie!" her brother objected. "Of course they
+were well enough off themselves, but the village of Bolton where they
+lived was strong on its muslins and quilt materials and what the people
+wanted was to be able to spin fine muslins such as were imported into
+England from India and China. If such goods could be made by uneducated
+Orientals why should not people as clever and ingenious as the English
+make them?"
+
+"Why, indeed?"
+
+"They couldn't do it; I don't know why," answered Carl. "They just
+could not contrive to draw fine enough thread. Of course Samuel
+Crompton had always seen the Bolton goods since he was a little boy and
+so knew as well as did everybody else in the town what a wonderful
+thing it would be if finer thread could be made. So after his mother
+got her spinning jenny for him he began to fuss round with it simply to
+find out whether he could make it any better or not. He experimented
+five years and at the end of that time he had made a 'muslin wheel'
+that was something like Arkwright's water frame and something like
+Hargreaves's jenny and yet wasn't like either of those things.
+Therefore, as a joke, it was called a 'mule.'"
+
+"Oh, I'm awfully glad he made it!" ejaculated the sympathetic Mary.
+"Five years was such a long time to work. Wasn't it splendid of him!"
+
+"Other people, I'm sorry to say, were not of your opinion," Carl
+replied. "As I said before, the spinners and weavers were a crazy,
+jealous lot. You remember how they treated Kay and Hargreaves? Well,
+they hadn't improved any and were still just as mad at spinning
+inventions and spinning inventors as they were before. Everything that
+did away with hand labor was, they argued, an enemy and was going to
+put them out of business."
+
+"But how could they expect they were going to stop the progress of the
+world?" asked Mrs. McGregor.
+
+"They didn't think it was progress; they were just that stupid,"
+returned Carl. "And I guess even if they had thought so it would have
+been the same. They were determined to use nothing that reduced the
+number of hand workers. So they set themselves to take out their
+vengeance on all spinning machinery, and in order to put an end to it
+mobs of workers went about smashing to atoms every spinning jenny they
+could find that had more than twenty spindles."
+
+"How nasty!" breathed Mary.
+
+"How stupid!" rejoined her mother.
+
+"Now, of course, Samuel Crompton wasn't going to have his new 'muslin
+wheel' smashed to bits so he did not tell anybody what he had invented.
+He simply took the thing to pieces and hid the parts round his
+workroom. Some of them he put in the ceiling, some he tucked away under
+the floor."
+
+"Bully for him!" Mary cried. "It was a regular kid trick."
+
+"I know it," agreed Carl. "He wasn't really a kid, though, because he
+was twenty-seven years old at the time and was married and his wife had
+just come to live at the big Crompton homestead. Well, after a little
+while, things settled down and then Samuel Crompton dragged out the
+parts of his hidden muslin wheel, put them together, and he and the
+lady he had married went to work making the finest and strongest yarn
+they could. Such fine thread had never before been made in all England
+and you better believe when it began to appear it created a stir.
+Everybody in Bolton went round trying to find out where it came from
+and after the tidings spread about that the Cromptons were the people
+who were producing the mysterious yarn, the town swelled with pride.
+How was the thread made? That was the next question!"
+
+"And the Cromptons didn't tell, of course."
+
+"That's where you're wrong, Mary Ann! I wish they hadn't; but they
+did."
+
+"That was a pity," interrupted Mrs. McGregor.
+
+"You'd have thought they would have been wise enough not to, wouldn't
+you?" Carl observed. "But I told you Samuel Crompton had no great head
+for business. He was trusting and decent, just the way Eli Whitney was.
+He had no idea people would steal his invention. So when the mill
+owners and factory folks came surging to his house, he not only let
+them see the loom but even allowed some of them to try it when they
+wrote out a promise or pledged their word that they would pay him for
+the privilege."
+
+Mrs. McGregor shook her head.
+
+"I'm afraid," said she, "that was all he ever heard of the money."
+
+"Of course it was, Ma! Evidently you know more about human nature than
+poor Crompton did. He was utterly amazed when they wouldn't pay up. And
+when there were others mean enough to hide in the room over his
+workshop, bore holes in the floor, and spy down at the magic machine,
+all was lost."
+
+"He held no patent, then?"
+
+"He hadn't one thing to protect him. The sharks just came down on him,
+grabbed his idea, and walked away with it unmolested," answered Carl.
+
+"Oh, that was pitiful--pitiful!" exclaimed Mrs. McGregor, laying aside
+her work.
+
+"It was a darn shame!" echoed her son.
+
+"And the Cromptons never got any money at all?" asked Mary.
+
+"Not then, anyhow."
+
+"Well, at least Mr. Crompton had the joy of doing what he set out to
+do--nobody could take that satisfaction away from him," mused Mrs.
+McGregor.
+
+"Yes, but would that have consoled you for finding that people were so
+low-down?" answered Carl with scorn. "I'll bet that one fact
+disappointed him more than the loss of the money. It would me."
+
+"Greed, I regret to say, sonny, is at the bottom of most of the evils
+of the world," retorted his mother sadly. "What finally became of the
+Cromptons?"
+
+"Oh, the whole thing got on Crompton's nerves and he moved to another
+town where he buried himself," Carl answered. "After a while, though,
+he came back to Bolton because he needed money and opened a little
+factory there. It ran along for almost ten years, doing business on a
+small scale. Imagine it! Then in 1800 some Manchester manufacturers
+(who had probably got rich on his invention and whose consciences
+troubled them most likely) collected a purse for him that his mill
+might be enlarged. By this time as a result of various improvements
+Crompton's idea had expanded until one of his looms had as many as
+three hundred and sixty spindles, and another had two hundred and
+twenty."
+
+"And years before the spinners had destroyed those that boasted more
+than twenty," commented Mary thoughtfully.
+
+"I know it! Ironic, wasn't it? Poor old Crompton! He just didn't seem
+to have any luck," asserted Carl.
+
+"It wasn't want of luck, my dear, so much as want of wisdom--the wit to
+grasp opportunity when it came," contradicted his mother.
+
+"You mean 'there is a tide in the affairs of men', Ma, and all that?"
+Carl grinned. "Who says I don't know Shakespeare when I meet him?
+Anyhow, I guess Bill was right; he certainly was in this case. Even the
+money the English government later collected and presented to Crompton
+got dribbled away and lost in various unfortunate enterprises. Crompton
+got poorer and poorer, and if it hadn't been that friends took care of
+him he might almost have starved."
+
+"And did his star never rise again?" inquired Mrs. McGregor.
+
+"Never! He just died in poverty and left other people to grow rich on
+what he had done."
+
+"That is the world, I am afraid," was Mrs. McGregor's observation.
+"Still he had given humanity a hand up and done a great service to his
+generation. That knowledge was better than all the fortunes he could
+have possessed."
+
+"But he might so easily have had both, Ma," returned the practical
+Carl. "I call the help to humanity slim comfort when you've been
+cheated out of what should have been yours. I shouldn't even have been
+grateful had I been Crompton for the fine monument they set up to his
+memory long after he was dead. What they ought to have done was to
+treat him square while he was alive to enjoy it."
+
+"See that as you go through life you do not forget your own philosophy,
+my son," cautioned his mother.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+TIDINGS
+
+
+The following week brought a letter from Uncle Frederick and very
+important the McGregors felt when they took it, adorned with its
+English stamp, from the mail box in the hall. Mulberry Court did not
+receive so many letters that the arrival of one was a routine affair.
+No, indeed! When a real letter came to any of its residents the fact
+was remarked upon by the recipient with a casualness calculated to veil
+the pride he or she experienced.
+
+Mrs. O'Dowd, for example, in passing through the hall would call
+carelessly to one of her neighbors:
+
+"I've just had a letter from my sister Jane in Fall River. Plague the
+girl! What can she be writing to me about?"
+
+Nevertheless, in spite of this ungracious observation Mrs. O'Dowd was
+much pleased to be seen with the letter and overhear her friends
+whispering among themselves:
+
+"Julie O'Dowd had a letter from Jane to-day. It was in a blue envelope
+and looked like quite a thick one. What do you suppose the girl had to
+say? Most likely Julie will tell us by and by."
+
+And sure enough! The prediction was a true prophecy, for before the day
+was out Julie had made an errand to every flat in the house and before
+leaving had read to each family extracts from the letter, interspersing
+the paragraphs with a running line of comment concerning Jane and her
+history since babyhood. By evening the letter had become blurred and
+dingy with much handling and Julie could recite it from beginning to
+end.
+
+Yet for all the interest evoked by Julie's letters and the other rare
+epistles that found their way into Mulberry Court these missives came
+after all only from American cities which lay within a radius of a
+hundred miles of Baileyville. They had not traveled far, any more than
+had the persons to whom they were addressed. They were not letters
+written on thin foreign paper and bearing unfamiliar postmarks and the
+fascinating stamps of other nations. Only the McGregors could boast
+such splendor as that.
+
+Realizing this, Mrs. McGregor would have been short of human if she had
+not been a wee bit self-conscious and forced to suppress from her voice
+the satisfaction that echoed in it when she observed in off-hand
+fashion:
+
+"Oh, by the way, I had a letter to-day from my brother who is in
+China."
+
+China! It was a name to conjure with. What a medley of visions it
+brought to the imagination!
+
+And if you could not go to China, as none of Mulberry Court ever
+expected to do, think of having a relative who did! And if you were not
+blessed with such an illustrious connection why the next best thing was
+to know some one who was. Even to know some one who had a brother in
+China and who sent home letters from that magic realm imparted a
+certain glory.
+
+There was no denying the McGregors' foreign correspondence lent
+prestige to Mulberry Court. Perhaps a Manila postmark was cut out and
+bestowed on Mrs. Murphy, who tucked it away in a cracked cup and
+displayed it on occasions to a visitor; or maybe the letter heading
+from a Genoa hotel was given to Mrs. O'Dowd and furnished her with
+conversation for a week. In outbursts of great generosity stamps or
+postcards were donated to especially favored individuals.
+
+Hence when on this particular morning the postman pressed Mrs.
+McGregor's bell and she hastened down four flights to open her mail-box
+a head protruded from almost every door as she made her way back
+upstairs and there was ample opportunity for her to observe to
+interested spectators, "I seem to have a letter from England. Judging
+from the postmark, my brother must be in Liverpool."
+
+In this case the admiration with which the name was repeated might not
+have found so ringing an echo in Mrs. McGregor's voice. She had been to
+Liverpool. For all that, however, she maintained a dignified front and
+bore the letter upstairs, sinking with delight into the first chair
+that blocked her path when she arrived and calling to her children:
+
+"I've a letter from your Uncle Frederick, Timmie. Think of that! It
+comes all the way from Liverpool with King George neat as a pin smiling
+out of the corner of it. Yes, you may take the envelope, Carl, but
+don't let the baby be fingering and tearing it. Show Martin the King's
+picture. He's old enough now to learn how he looks. Mercy on us! What a
+ream your Uncle Frederick has written. One would think it was a book! I
+never knew him to write such a long letter in all my life. I hope he
+isn't sick. Don't hang over my shoulder, Mary; it makes me nervous. And
+don't let Nell come climbing up into my lap while I'm reading. Go to
+Mary, like a good girl, darling; mother's reading a letter that came
+all the way from England."
+
+Thus did Mrs. McGregor preface the perusal of the document she held in
+her hand. But when she had spread out the voluminous sheets and was
+preparing to read them she was again interrupted:
+
+"Now, Timmie, don't you and Carl start quarreling the first thing about
+the stamp. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Who had the last one?
+Carl? Then this one goes to you and there must be no more bickering
+about it. If there is I shall keep it myself. One would think you boys
+were a pair of Kilkenny cats the way you squabble with each other! Now
+are you going to be quiet and listen to what Uncle Frederick has to say
+or are you not? Then don't let me hear another yip out of either of
+you."
+
+Instantly the room was so still you could have heard a pin drop and to
+an accompaniment of crisply crackling paper Mrs. McGregor began:
+
+    LIVERPOOL, January 29, 1924.
+
+    DEAR SISTER NELLIE--,
+
+    Well, here I am in England with the Atlantic rolling between me and
+    Baileyville. We had a splendid voyage with the sea as smooth as the
+    top of your sewing-machine. (Ain't that like your Uncle Frederick
+    to joke about the ocean! He's crossed it that number of times it's
+    no more to him than the pond in the park. Well, I'm glad he had a
+    smooth trip, anyway.)
+
+    At Liverpool, where we docked, we ran into our first trouble, for
+    there was a longshoremen's strike on and not a soul could he found
+    to unload our cargo or lend a hand in loading us up again. For
+    three days we were tied plumb to the wharf with nothing to do but
+    twirl our thumbs. So having business at Manchester I decided to go
+    up there and stay with a Scotchman who was my first mate years ago.
+    (Now wasn't that nice!) Old Barney turned the town inside out he
+    was so glad to see me (I'll wager he was!) and among other things
+    took me through some big cotton mills where a nephew of his was
+    working. For the benefit of the children I'm going to write a bit
+    about them. I could not but wish on top of what we all talked about
+    that they might have been with me to see how wonderful the spinning
+    machinery is. Were it actually alive it could not work with more
+    brains. (Your Uncle Frederick always will have his joke!)
+
+    Indeed, the man who took us about told me that the self-acting mule
+    of to-day, founded on the invention of Crompton, is a product of
+    hundreds of minds and I can well believe it. It isn't the principle
+    that is new, for apparently no one has ever improved on Crompton's
+    idea; but since that time this machinist and that has added his bit
+    to make the device more perfect. (Now ain't you glad you read about
+    Crompton, Carl? This letter would have been Greek to you if you
+    hadn't.) We saw mules as long as a hundred and twenty feet, and
+    from nine to ten feet wide carrying some twelve or thirteen hundred
+    spindles, and turning out about two yards of thread in a quarter of
+    a minute. How is that? And all this clicking, humming, whirling
+    machinery was operated by a man and a couple of boys. Carl, Tim and
+    I could have run the thing had we known how.
+
+    (Your Uncle Frederick don't forget you boys, you see!)
+
+    They told me it was Richard Roberts, a Manchester man, who in 1830
+    improved the self-acting mule and brought it to its present state
+    of practical working order. I take off my hat to him and to those
+    on whose ideas he built up this marvelous invention. The thing does
+    everything but talk, and maybe it's as well off without doing that.
+    Lots of folks would be.
+
+    (I must read Julie O'Dowd that; it will make her laugh. It sounds
+    so like your uncle you'd think him in the room this minute.)
+
+    It draws out the carded cotton, puts in the necessary twist, and
+    spins the thread, easy as rolling off a log, levers, wheels,
+    springs, and a friction clutch all doing their part. I couldn't
+    help thinking if each of us humans played his role as well, and did
+    the thing given him to do as faithfully, how much better a world we
+    should have. We don't begin to pull together for a result the way
+    those wheels and pulleys did. Instead, each of us goes his own way
+    never cooperating with his neighbor and in consequence we have a
+    helter-skelter universe. (How true that is!)
+
+    Nevertheless in spite of us--not because of us--the world advances.
+    I sometimes wonder how it does it. Crompton, for instance, would
+    scarcely have recognized his old mule that gave subsequent
+    inventors their inspiration. Nor would Arkwright know his water
+    frame could he see what has happened to it. (Mark you, Carl, how he
+    speaks of Arkwright. All that would slide off you hadn't you read
+    that book!)
+
+    Of course there is a lot of rivalry between English and American
+    spinning machinery and I found that some of the mills here have
+    both.
+
+    The reeling of the yarn after it is spun is done chiefly by women.
+    I do not mean they make it up into skeins by hand; they operate the
+    machinery that winds it; also that which makes it up into packages
+    for the market. This process is also interesting to see. Strings
+    are put in to separate the laps of the yarn; cardboards hold it in
+    place; it is pressed flat; the bundle is tied; and the paper
+    wrapper bearing the name of the manufacturer as well as any printed
+    advertising he wishes to circulate, is whisked about it.
+
+    I was a little surprised to find they made no spool cotton on any
+    of these machines. Up to date no machine has been invented that
+    will directly spin thread strong enough for sewing. All that has to
+    be a separate process and therefore the yarn is taken to other
+    machines where it is drawn finer and where several of the fine
+    threads can be twisted into one. The spinners know just how many
+    fine threads to put together to get certain sizes of cotton. To
+    make number twelve, for example, they put together four strands of
+    what is called 48's that have been doubled, or perhaps 50's, since
+    the twist contracts the yarn.
+
+    After this has been twisted the proper number of times the thread
+    is passed over flannel-covered boards to be cleaned. Next it
+    travels through a small, round hole something like the eye of a
+    needle so that any knots or rough places can be detected. If the
+    threads are found to be strong and without flaws two to half a
+    dozen of them are put together in a loose skein and they are
+    twisted in a doubling machine. Afterward the thread is polished,
+    cleaned, and run off on spools or bobbins. That is the road
+    Mother's spools of cotton have to travel before they get to her.
+    How seldom we think of this or are grateful for it!
+
+    There are in addition other ways of preparing cottons for
+    embroidery, crocheting, or knitting, not to mention methods used to
+    finish cotton yarn so that it will look like woolen, linen, or silk
+    fiber. Because cotton is a cheaper material than any of these it is
+    often mixed with them to produce cheaper goods. You would be amazed
+    to see how ingenious manufacturers have become in turning out such
+    imitations. Cotton, for example, is mercerized by passing it very
+    rapidly through a gassing machine not unlike the flame of a Bunsen
+    burner. Here all the fuzz protruding from it is burned away, and
+    when polished and finished it looks so much like silk you would
+    have trouble in telling whether it was or not. This sort of yarn is
+    used to make imitation silk stockings and many other articles.
+
+    Now I have told you quite a story, haven't I? And no doubt I have
+    wasted good ink and paper doing it, for I presume Hal Harling could
+    have told you the same thing quite as well if not a deal better.
+    You read him this document and ask him to fill in the gaps. But at
+    least even if Hal can improve on my tale I have demonstrated one
+    thing and that is that I have remembered you whenever I have seen
+    anything I thought you would be interested in.
+
+    I send much love to each of the family. Tell Mary, Carl, and Tim to
+    take good care of Mother and the babies. Be sure to greet for me
+    the Harlings, O'Dowds, Murphys, and all the neighbors at Mulberry
+    Court. We leave Liverpool for the Mediterranean next week and I
+    will write you from Gibraltar or Naples. In the meantime do not
+    forget the good ship _Charlotte_ or your affectionate
+
+    FREDERICK.
+
+"As if we could forget him!" whispered Mrs. McGregor, folding up the
+many sheets and replacing them in their envelope. "It isn't all
+children have the kind uncle you have. Carl, maybe you'd like to be
+stepping over to the Harlings with this letter. Grandfather Harling
+would delight to read it, I know. The days are long ones for him and
+I'm sure he must miss your Uncle Frederick dropping in to bring him the
+news."
+
+Only too ready to comply with her request Carl rose.
+
+"You can leave the letter until they all have seen it; then Hal or
+Louise can bring it back. I want Mrs. O'Dowd to have it next. She's
+mentioned by name in it and it will please her to read the words
+herself."
+
+Thus did Mulberry Court share its blessings!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+A RELUCTANT ALTRUIST
+
+
+As spring came and Carl was more out of doors playing ball and tramping
+the open country his watchful eyes were continually scanning passing
+motors for a possible glimpse of the mysterious red racing car and its
+genial owner. The boy had never forgotten this delightful stranger or
+quite abandoned the hope that he might sometime see him again. But,
+alas, day succeeded day and never did any of the fleeting vehicles his
+glance followed contain the person he sought. Neither was the search
+for the sender of the Christmas baskets rewarded.
+
+Spasmodically since mid-winter the Harlings and McGregors had cudgeled
+their brains to discover this elusive good fairy until at length,
+exhausted by fruitless effort, they agreed to inter Louise's
+philanthropic Mr. X in a nameless grave. Despite that fact, however, he
+was not forgotten and tender thoughts clustered about his memory.
+
+In the meantime May followed on April's heels and presently June, with
+her greenery and wealth of roses arrived, and then the startling
+tidings buzzed through Baileyville that Mr. John Coulter was to be
+married. The news thrilled young and old alike for was not young Mr.
+Coulter the junior partner of Davis and Coulter; and was not Davis and
+Coulter the heart and soul of Baileyville? Davis and Coulter meant the
+mills and the mills meant the town itself. Without them there would
+have been no village at all. Boys and girls, men and women toiled year
+in and year out in the factories as their fathers and mothers, often
+their grandfathers and grandmothers had done before them. If you were
+not connected with Davis and Coulter's you were not of Baileyville's
+aristocracy.
+
+Hence it followed that the prospective marriage of Mr. John Coulter
+could not but be an event concerning which the entire community
+gossiped with eager and kindly interest. The lady was from New York,
+people said, and Mr. John had met her while doing war work in France.
+Both of them had large fortunes. But the fact that appealed to the
+villagers far more than this was the intelligence that the wedding was
+to take place at the old Coulter homestead and be followed by a fete to
+which all the mill people and their families were to be invited. How
+exciting that was! And how exultant were those whose connection with
+the mills insured them a card to this mammoth festivity!
+
+Rumor whispered there were to be gigantic tents with games and dancing;
+bands of music; fireworks; and every imaginable dainty to eat. Some
+even went so far as to assert there would be boats on the miniature
+lake and a Punch and Judy show. Oh, it was to be a fete indeed!
+
+For weeks the town talked of nothing else; and as Carl McGregor
+listened to these stories his regrets at not being numbered among Davis
+and Coulter's elect waxed keener and keener. One did not enjoy being
+left out of a function of such magnitude, a party to which everybody
+else was going. Not only did it make you feel lonely and stranded but
+it mortified you to be obliged to own you were not of the happy band
+included in so magnificent a celebration.
+
+"Now if you'd only have let me take a job at the mills as I wanted to,
+Ma, we might have been going to Mr. Coulter's party along with the rest
+of the world," Carl bemoaned. "I always told you I ought to go into
+those mills the way the other fellows do. But you wouldn't hear to it.
+Now see what's come of it. We are left high and dry. I'll bet we are
+the only people in Baileyville who are not invited to that party.
+Everybody is to be there. If even one member of a family works at the
+mill that lets in the bunch."
+
+"Like the garden parties great families used to give their tenants in
+the old country," Mrs. McGregor murmured reminiscently.
+
+"I don't know about the old country," replied Carl ungraciously, "but
+that is what Mr. Coulter is going to do--ask whole families. Gee, but
+it makes me sore!"
+
+"If your father had lived we would have been there," said the boy's
+mother sadly. "Your father used to be very good friends with old Mr.
+Coulter and he would have seen to it that none of this household was
+left out. But Mr. John we never knew. He was always away
+studying--first at school, then at college, and then in Europe. Later
+he started in to be a lawyer in New York and but for the war and his
+father's death he'd most likely be doing that now. But when the old
+gentleman died Mr. John gave up everything else and came home to take
+his place in the firm as his father had wished he should. Folks say
+that in spite of not caring much for the mills at first he has
+persisted at his job until he has become genuinely interested in them.
+I honor him for it, too, for a business life wasn't his real choice. Of
+course being away so much as he has he is little known among the mill
+people yet; but evidently he means to settle down here and is anxious
+to get better acquainted. This wedding party shows that."
+
+"Well, there are some he won't get acquainted with," lamented Carl.
+
+"If you mean us I reckon he can worry along without," Mrs. McGregor
+retorted, with a twinkle in her eye. "He's managed to up to now."
+
+"We're just as good as anybody else," her son blazed.
+
+"Undoubtedly we are," was the good-humored answer. "Nevertheless we
+won't be missed in a crowd like that."
+
+"Don't you _want_ to go to the party, Ma?"
+
+"Why, to tell the truth, I haven't had time to think much about it,
+sonny--that is, not to be disappointed. I'm not pretending, though,
+that so many parties come my way that a fine one such as this wouldn't
+be a treat. I can't remember the day I've been to anything of the
+sort. It's a quarter of a century or more, certainly--not since I was
+a girl and went to the balls the gentry gave in Scotland."
+
+"Oh, I do so wish we were going to Mr. Coulter's," Carl repeated.
+
+"I'll not deny I'd like to," confessed his mother a bit wistfully.
+"Still, were we to go what a stew we'd be in! It would mean days of
+washing and ironing; new neckties and maybe shoes for you boys; and
+hair ribbons and folderols for Mary and Nell. Before we were all
+properly equipped it would cost a pretty penny. We'd have no right to
+go without looking decent and being a credit to your father and to Mr.
+Coulter who was good enough to ask us. So, you see, there are
+advantages in everything. If we are not invited we shall have none of
+the trouble and expense of it," concluded the woman philosophically.
+
+"I wouldn't mind the trouble, Mother," burst out Carl. "I wouldn't
+even care if I didn't have new shoes. Why, I'd go in my bathing suit."
+
+Nodding her head his mother regarded him with withering censure.
+
+"Yes, I believe you would," she agreed, "I believe you would--if you
+were permitted. But how lucky it is you have a mother. Without me
+you'd be disgracing your name, Mr. Coulter, Baileyville, and Mulberry
+Court."
+
+Carl grinned in sickly fashion.
+
+"I'd be having the time of my life!" announced he, undaunted.
+
+"Going to an affair like that in your bathing suit, you mean? I'm not
+so sure about that. You are always begging to be allowed to wear that
+costume or grumbling because you cannot wear it. Once, I recall, you
+actually suggested wearing it to church on a hot Sunday. I'm sorely
+tempted sometime to let you have your way and see what would come of
+it. Think, for instance, of your sailing into Mr. John Coulter's
+wedding party in a get-up like that. You'd be ducked in the pond in a
+second."
+
+"I'd be ready for it," was the provoking answer.
+
+"Well, you aren't going to the Coulter party, as it happens, so
+there'll be no question of what you'll wear," returned Mrs. McGregor
+grimly.
+
+"I know I'm not; but you don't have to rub it in, Ma," Carl answered.
+
+"I didn't mean to rub it in, dear," was the gentle response. "I was
+merely stating facts. Maybe it's as well, too, that we're not going
+ourselves, for with the Sullivans, Murphys, and O'Dowds all invited
+we'll have as much as we can do to get them all creditably rigged out.
+I shall let Julie wear my black skirt--it just fits her; and Mrs.
+Sullivan my best hat. My waist Mrs. Murphy shall take if I can get it
+washed in time. Most likely, too, the O'Dowds will need your clothes
+and Timmie's."
+
+"Need my clothes!" Carl shouted.
+
+"Certainly. Julie can't hope to provide things for all that big family
+to appear in at once. Somebody will have to turn to and lend a helping
+hand."
+
+"But what'll I do while the O'Dowd boys wear my clothes?" wailed Carl.
+
+"Why, you can stay in the house. It won't hurt either you or Tim to
+take an afternoon of rest," came stoically from his mother.
+
+"But I don't want to take an afternoon of rest," Carl protested
+wrathfully. "Not on that day of all others. I'm going up to Coulters
+to hang round outside and watch the fun. If I'm not invited I can at
+least do that."
+
+"Carl McGregor! You'll do nothing of the sort. Hang round outside,
+indeed! Haven't you any pride at all? If you're not asked to the
+party I should hope you'd have the good taste to keep out of the way of
+it. Hang round outside! You ought to be ashamed even to suggest such a
+thing," said Mrs. McGregor with scorn. "No, you'll do no lingering on
+the outskirts of Mr. John's reception, you can make up your mind to
+that. You'll stay politely at home as the rest of us plan to do and
+keep under cover so folks won't be asking you why you're not up at
+Coulters. I've some regard for the family dignity if you haven't. And
+since you'll be at home anyway, you may as well take the chance to do a
+kindly deed and let Frankie O'Dowd wear your clothes. You don't want to
+grow up to be selfish."
+
+"My pants will be miles too long for that O'Dowd kid," responded the
+unwilling altruist grudgingly.
+
+"Oh, his mother can baste them up so they'll do for one afternoon," was
+the serene answer.
+
+"Huh! I don't envy Frank going to that party with two thicknesses of
+trousers on his legs," Carl declared. "If it's a hot day he'll melt."
+
+"Beggars cannot be choosers," Mrs. McGregor asserted. "Likely Frankie
+will be that tickled to go to the lawn party that he won't care what he
+has on any more than you would. You'd go quicker than a wink in
+basted-up trousers if you got the chance."
+
+"You bet I would! Why, I'd go in--in--in _anything_!" was the fervent
+affirmation. "Somehow, Ma, it just seems as if I couldn't give up the
+idea of going. I feel as if something _must_ happen so we'd get asked."
+
+"Why, Carl--you silly boy! You don't mean to say you are actually
+cherishing the thought you may be invited yet?" his mother exclaimed
+incredulously. "Put it out of your head, son, like a sensible lad.
+There isn't a chance of it, dear. The invitations were sent out last
+week and had you been going to get one you would have received it days
+ago. There'll be no more people asked now."
+
+"There might be--some might have been forgotten by mistake. Or the
+invitation might have got stuck in the letter box and delayed."
+
+"I'm afraid not, Carlie!" his mother said gently. "Mark my words, all
+the invitations there are going to be to that garden party have gone
+out. There won't be any more. The folks that haven't had theirs already
+won't have none and if you're wise you will face that fact and give up
+thinking about Mr. Coulter and his wedding."
+
+The corners of Carl's mouth drooped but he stubbornly insisted:
+
+"Well, anyhow, Ma, don't you tell Frankie O'Dowd he can have my clothes
+until the very last minute, will you? Promise me that."
+
+"Aye! I'll not mention the clothes yet awhile. I'll wait at least a day
+or two. Most likely Julie or the Murphys will be up by that time and
+ask for 'em."
+
+And with this scanty comfort Carl was obliged to be content.
+
+Even the concession that he would be allowed to wear his bathing suit
+while at home was but feeble consolation. What did it matter what he
+wore if he couldn't go to the Coulter fete?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+AN ORDEAL
+
+
+As the date for the Coulters' fete approached the weather was
+breathlessly scanned in practically every home in Baileyville and
+throbbing hearts almost ceased to beat lest the day be stormy or too
+cold to wear the finery that awaited the great occasion. Could one have
+taken off the roofs of the houses between his thumb and forefinger as
+he would lift the cover off a sugar-bowl, what a bewildering array of
+freshly starched muslins, clean shirts and collars, shining shoes, and
+rose-encircled hats would have met his gaze!
+
+Carl McGregor had spoken truly when he had affirmed to his mother that
+everybody in the town was going to the wedding festival. All
+Baileyville was on tiptoe with excitement. The schools were to be
+closed for the afternoon, not alone to do Mr. Coulter honor, but
+because it was quite evident that no children would be found in their
+seats on the great day.
+
+"We McGregors would be the only kids in the whole place, I bet, if they
+did have school," declared Carl gloomily. "You see, Ma, it's just as I
+told you--everybody's going to the Coulters'."
+
+"I should think, hating school as you do, you'd be thankful to have a
+holiday," commented Mary.
+
+"Ordinarily I would," was the prompt reply. "But what good is this
+holiday going to do me, I'd like to know, with Frankie O'Dowd wearing
+all my clothes, and Mother forbidding me to go out of the house in my
+bathing suit?"
+
+"Well, at least you won't have to study," said his optimistic sister,
+making an effort to comfort her morose companion.
+
+"I might as well study; it would take up my mind," fretted Carl. "I've
+nothing better to do."
+
+His ill humor was so tragic that in spite of herself Mary laughed.
+
+"Well, you needn't grin so over it, Miss Superiority, or go pretending
+you don't wish you could go to the lawn party."
+
+"Of course I'd love to go," Mary confessed honestly. "But if we can't I
+don't see any use in mourning about it and talking of nothing else."
+
+"I _have_ to talk about it. I think of it every minute."
+
+"Put it out of your head."
+
+"I can't."
+
+"Nonsense! You don't try. Why don't you set about doing something and
+forget it instead of sitting round mooning and working yourself all up?
+You can run down and get the mail right now. There's the bell. Maybe
+it's a letter from Uncle Frederick."
+
+Welcoming the diversion her brother rose with alacrity. He was in a
+mood when any excitement, no matter how trivial, was a boon. Down the
+stairs he ran only to return a second later with a square white
+envelope in his hand.
+
+"Is it from Uncle Frederick?" queried Mary eagerly.
+
+"Nope!"
+
+"Oh, I'm sorry, we haven't heard from him for ever so long. I do hope
+nothing's the matter. Who is the letter from?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+Something in the reticence of the reply caused the girl to glance up.
+
+"I'll take it in to Mother," volunteered she, holding out her hand.
+
+"It isn't for Mother," Carl answered slowly.
+
+"Not for Mother? How funny! None of the rest of us ever have letters.
+Who is it for?"
+
+"It happens to be mine."
+
+"Carl!" Dismay and apprehension vibrated in the word.
+
+"Yes, it's mine," her brother repeated. His obvious attempt to carry
+off the episode in jaunty fashion failed, however, and it was evident
+by his tense tones that he echoed Mary's alarm.
+
+"But who on earth can be writing to you?" demanded his sister.
+
+"I--I--don't know." The boy fingered the envelope with uneasiness. Mary
+came nearer.
+
+"Carl, what have you been up to now?" asked she. "That looks like the
+teacher's writing. Aren't you going to be promoted or what is the
+matter?"
+
+"How do I know until I read the thing?" snapped Carl.
+
+"You're not in any scrape?"
+
+"Not that I know of."
+
+"Honestly?"
+
+"I tell you I can't think of any. On my honor I can't."
+
+"Oh, well then, it's probably about your work. Most likely you're
+behind the class in something and Miss Dewey wants to see you. Why
+don't you buck up and find out what she has to say?"
+
+"I'm going to in a minute."
+
+"You're afraid to open that letter. You've done something at school you
+don't want Mother and me to know about."
+
+"I tell you I haven't."
+
+"Then why, for pity's sake, don't you read what Miss Dewey has written
+instead of looking at the note as if it was a bomb? Maybe she's
+inviting you to supper. She does ask the boys sometimes."
+
+This possibility was so encouraging that the startled expression in the
+lad's eyes gave place to a serener light. Perhaps after all the
+missive did not portend the calamity that a note from school usually
+did. Maybe his algebra was all right and he had not flunked his Latin.
+The fates may have graciously intervened.
+
+Courageously he tore open the envelope; then a sharp cry came from his
+lips.
+
+"Hurrah!" he cried. "Mother! Mother! Where are you?"
+
+"Here, dear, in my room. Is anything the matter?"
+
+Carl rushed off unceremoniously, leaving the mystified Mary alone in
+the middle of the kitchen.
+
+"Oh, Ma," he panted, "what do you suppose? We're going, after
+all--every one of us! Think of it! We're going!"
+
+"Going where? Have you taken leave of your senses, sonny? What are you
+talking about, pray?"
+
+"We're going to the Coulters', Ma," asserted Carl, waving the white
+envelope above his head in a frenzy of delight. "Look! Here's the bid.
+And across the bottom of the paper Mr. Coulter himself has written to
+say that he's sorry the invitation has been so delayed and he hopes my
+mother and all of us--even the baby--will come. Gee!"
+
+Quite exhausted, Carl dropped into a chair.
+
+"But why should Mr. Coulter send this invitation to you?"
+
+"I don't know, I'm sure. Maybe Hal Harling or somebody told him how
+disappointed I was at not being asked," returned Carl serenely.
+
+"Mercy! I hope not," ejaculated his horrified mother.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Why, it would be almost like asking Mr. Coulter for an invitation."
+
+"He wouldn't care, I guess," came comfortably from Carl. "There's
+plenty of room and there'll be food enough so a few people more or less
+wouldn't bother him."
+
+"But I wouldn't think of going to a party, or letting you, if you had
+demanded in so many words to be invited," returned Mrs. McGregor with a
+toss of her head.
+
+"You don't mean to say, Ma, that you're thinking of not going," her son
+gasped.
+
+"I certainly shall not stir a step to Mr. Coulter's until I find out
+how we happened to receive this remarkable invitation."
+
+"Ma!"
+
+"I sha'n't," repeated his mother. "Why, the bare idea of your trying to
+get a card to that wedding reception!"
+
+"I didn't try to, Mother; honest, I didn't," protested Carl. "I didn't
+ask anybody to do a thing for me. I was only fooling when I said that.
+Of course Hal Harling knows well enough that I've been crazy to go. He
+and Louise couldn't help seeing how sore I was about it. But I never
+said anything else."
+
+"I'm thankful to hear that. One never knows what you will do."
+
+Mrs. McGregor gave a sigh of relief and taking the card examined it.
+
+"Perhaps," she presently observed in a gentler tone, "this invitation
+has nothing to do with you. It may be possible that young Mr. Coulter
+remembered how long your father worked in the mills and thought it
+would be nice to ask us because of that. If so, it was very thoughtful
+of him. And most likely the card was sent to you because he happened to
+have heard your name. Goodness knows, with the messes you're in, I
+should think all the town might be aware of it."
+
+"And you'll go, Ma?" In his eagerness Carl brushed aside the
+unflattering picture his mother's words presented.
+
+"If I find it's a bona fide invitation and not some of your concocting
+I'll go--not otherwise. It would be ungrateful to snub Mr. John if he
+is trying to be kind. But the thing that makes me doubtful is that the
+envelope should be addressed to you. Why wasn't the invitation sent to
+me? I am the head of the family--or at least I attempt to be," amended
+she with an upward curve of her lips.
+
+"Oh, who cares, Ma, who the invitation was addressed to?" cut in Carl
+impatiently. "The main thing is that it's come and we are going to the
+party. I'd go had it been sent to James Frederick. What does it matter?
+Say, Ma, isn't it lucky you hadn't loaned our clothes? We'll need 'em
+ourselves now."
+
+"When is the wedding?" Mary asked.
+
+"Do you mean to say you don't even know?" inquired her brother with
+scorn.
+
+"I've forgotten."
+
+"You have! Then you are the only person in Baileyville who has," was
+the sarcastic rejoinder. "Well, if you must know, it's the day after
+to-day."
+
+"It will be a scramble to get ready, won't it, Mother?" commented the
+practical Mary.
+
+"There certainly will be a lot to do," Mrs. McGregor agreed. "However,
+I guess we can manage if everybody will turn to."
+
+"I'll help," announced Carl in a burst of magnanimousness. "I'll wash
+and iron all my own clothes."
+
+"I'd like a peep at the shirt you washed and ironed," taunted Mary in
+derision.
+
+"I fancy a peep would be enough," put in her mother, laughing. "No,
+son, your talent does not lie in washing or ironing. But you can take
+care of the youngsters while Mary and I do it. And, Mary, we'll have to
+get a bunch of fresh flowers for your best hat; those pink daisies are
+too faded to wear. We'll get a new hair ribbon, too. And I must have
+some other lace in the neck of my silk waist and----"
+
+"Oh, if you're going to talk ribbon, artificial flowers, and all that
+rot I'm going over to Harlings," announced Carl, rising.
+
+"Indeed you're not," objected his mother. "You're going to get out the
+blacking bottle and start cleaning and polishing the shoes. There'll be
+seven pairs to get ready and I want a fine shine on every one of them."
+
+"But what's the use of doing it now? They'll get all dusty again before
+the day after to-morrow," Carl grumbled.
+
+"Not if they're put away," came in even accents from his mother. "We'll
+just have to wear slippers, sneakers and things until Tuesday. I guess
+we can get along. We can't go leaving everything until the last minute
+or we shall be all up in a heap. We must begin directly to get things
+done. I shall braid your hair, Mary, and Nell's right away, so it will
+be well crimped. And Timmie, you and Carl and Martin have all got to
+have baths. Yes, you have, whether you like it or not. If you don't you
+can't go. That's all there is about that, so stop fussing. Carl, you
+put some kettles of water on the stove to heat. You boys must be
+scrubbed whether the rest of us are or not. You need it most. And Mary,
+run like a good girl and see if you can hunt up a clean pair of
+stockings for everybody--stockings without too many holes. Mercy on us!
+I wish Mr. Coulter had given us a little more notice--indeed I do!"
+
+"I don't see who's going to know, in that push, whether I've had a bath
+or not," persisted the argumentative Tim.
+
+"You don't? Have you happened to get a glimpse of that ebony ring round
+your neck?" interrogated his mother significantly. "Anybody who saw
+that would have some notion."
+
+"I hate a bath!"
+
+"You look it."
+
+"Oh, shut up, Timmie," cautioned Carl in an undertone. "Don't go rowing
+at Ma now. If you do she may get her back up and not take you to the
+party at all. I hate to be scrubbed within an inch of my life as much
+as you do, but I'm not saying so to-day. I'd be boiled in oil sooner
+than not go to this party. Besides, your neck is black. I'll bet it
+will take sapolio to get it clean. But don't go yammering about it.
+Just hop and do as Ma tells you. It's the only way."
+
+Heeding the wisdom of his elder brother Tim ceased further protests and
+_hopped_.
+
+Indeed the hopping became very spirited and general during the short
+interval that preceded the wedding day. And when at last that glorious
+morning dawned cloudless and fair, what a scarlet, shining, spotless
+cavalcade of McGregors its radiant light shone upon!
+
+First there was Mrs. McGregor, hot but triumphant in a petticoat that
+crackled like brittle ice beneath her black alpaca skirt and a pair of
+white cotton gloves at the fingers of which she was continually
+tugging. Both her hat and Mary's gleamed ebon under a recent coat of
+blacking--so recent that they entertained some concern lest it trickle
+down their heated faces in disfiguring rivulets. Mary's white dress
+rustled as crisply as did her mother's petticoat and her hair, crimped
+and ironed until it was fuzzy as a bushman's, drifted out behind her, a
+hempen whirlwind. New flowers on her hat and accompanying pink
+streamers afforded her tranquil satisfaction as did also the string of
+coral beads Uncle Frederick had once sent from Naples, a gift worn only
+on very special occasions.
+
+As for the boys, every hair of their heads had been plastered securely
+into place, and blistered with scrubbing, they stood wretched but
+hopeful in a row waiting with patience the moment when clean shirts,
+creased trousers, and sparkling boots might be forgotten in the
+delights the Coulter party promised.
+
+Even Nell and the baby looked unnatural and reflected the general
+discomfort and self-consciousness.
+
+The getting-ready had been a fatiguing ordeal and everybody's nerves
+were at the breaking point. Systematically Mrs. McGregor had proceeded
+with the process, beginning with the eldest of the family, and as each
+work of art was completed it was set aside much as a frosted cake is
+set away to cool, and the next victim was summoned.
+
+In the meantime those who had been _finished_, motionless in chairs,
+were allowed the entertainment of watching each succeeding martyr put
+through his round of torture. Yet diverting as this had been, the
+waiting had been tedious, particularly for those who stood at the head
+of the line.
+
+Now, the rite over, everybody drew a long breath and struggled to
+forget past miseries. Therefore when Hal and Louise Harling, who were
+to augment the procession, arrived, every cloud was put to flight and
+the delegation set forth in the highest of spirits.
+
+"What a pity it is Uncle Frederick Dillingham isn't here!" commented
+Mrs. McGregor, as they went along. "And what a shame, too, that
+Grandfather Harling and your mother, Louise, cannot see this day! It
+would furnish them with something to talk of for weeks."
+
+"Hal and I will tell them all about it," returned the girl brightly.
+"Isn't it splendid you all could go? Poor Carl was so disappointed when
+he thought he was to be out of it."
+
+"I know he was," nodded the lad's mother. "In fact, it worried me not a
+little lest it was because he made his disappointment so evident that
+we got invited. I was afraid some well-meaning person might have taken
+pity on him and begged him a card. Had not you and Hal declared you had
+nothing to do with our being asked, I should not have stirred a peg to
+the party, let Carl plead as he might. But now I feel more comfortable
+about our going, although I must confess it puzzles me why the
+invitation was sent to him instead of to me. It certainly seems a
+little funny. However, it may have been an accident. Of course Mr.
+Coulter has had a lot to think of and might well be forgiven one
+mistake. It isn't likely he could remember my husband's name. He was
+pretty good to think of us at all."
+
+"They say at the mills that Mr. John is very friendly and has ever so
+many plans afoot for the workers. There is even talk of a recreation
+building being put up on the factory grounds."
+
+"Not much like his father, who wouldn't spend a cent he didn't have
+to," mused Mrs. McGregor.
+
+"No. Mr. John is different; everybody says so. Besides, he is younger
+and belongs to a generation with other ideas."
+
+"Better ideas, I hope. If children didn't improve on their fathers
+where would the world be?" Then suddenly cutting short her
+philosophical meditations Mrs. McGregor called imperatively:
+
+"Timmie, stop chasing those butterflies this minute. Do you want to
+spoil the shine on your shoes before you even get to the party? You'll
+have your collar ruined if you gallop round and get so hot. Come back
+here and walk beside me. I'm resolved to land you all at Mr. Coulter's
+looking like human beings, whatever happens afterward. Then if you
+prefer to smooch your face with dirt and rumple up your hair, I can't
+help it. But you shall stay clean until you're inside the gate."
+
+Glaring for a moment on her subjects with subduing ferocity Mrs.
+McGregor drew herself up and moved majestically in at the entrance of
+the Coulter mansion.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+THE SOLUTION OF MANY MYSTERIES
+
+
+Once inside the magic portal of the great estate, however, Mrs.
+McGregor's task became increasingly difficult. What a bewildering scene
+it was! The green lawns, terraced down to the lake, were dotted with
+tents and from each one floated out tantalizing hints of the delights
+within. The strains of a band and the laughter of dancers drifted
+forth from one; waiters with heavily laden trays passed in and out of
+another; around still a third swarmed children and one glimpsed through
+the open doorway a marionette show. Under a gay red umbrella at the
+edge of the garden women, fluttering like multi-hued butterflies,
+ladled lemonade from giant punch-bowls.
+
+Oh, a wonderland of myriad delights beckoned in every direction and it
+was only by dint of extreme severity that Mrs. McGregor succeeded in
+keeping her little army in formation and preventing its neatly ranged
+ranks from becoming lost in the surrounding hubbub.
+
+"You're not to stir a step from this spot until I tell you you may,"
+commanded she. "The very notion of your all racing off to enjoy
+yourselves before you have so much as said a word of thanks to Mr.
+Coulter who asked you here! Where are your manners? Are you forgetting
+so quick that it is his wedding day? Aren't you going to wish him joy
+as is proper to do when he has taken all this trouble to give you a
+good time?"
+
+Her tone was withering in its rebuke and as if hypnotized by its
+cadence the wriggling children thronging in her wake stood motionless.
+
+"In my day folks were grateful for what was done for them and expected
+to say _thank you_ to their elders. Now there seems to be no such thing
+as politeness among youngsters. But to-day, whether you will or no,
+before you do anything else we are going to hunt up Mr. John and his
+bride and every one of you is to thank him for asking you to his party.
+And Tim, you and Mary and Carl are to repeat the speech I taught you. I
+pray you've not forgotten it already. You hope he and his wife will
+have many days as happy as this one. Remember and don't get mixed up
+and say the wrong thing."
+
+With this final caution Mrs. McGregor wheeled about and marshalled the
+miniature procession following her into a vast, rose-garlanded tent at
+the right of the entrance. Two aisles roped off with laurel divided it,
+and throngs of people were moving down one of these and returning by
+the other. In the far distance one could see a canopy of green, a
+figure misty in white tulle, and a bevy of bridesmaids in pink, blue,
+yellow, and lavender.
+
+"This seems to be the right place," whispered Mrs. McGregor. "We'll
+fall right in behind this man and woman. Now mind your manners, all of
+you. Poor though we are, we can be polite without it costing us a cent.
+Timmie, you keep close at my heels with Mary. I've got all I can do to
+handle the baby and Nell. Carl, see that you don't squeeze Martin's
+hand too tight and get him peevish. Take hold of him gently. And don't
+one of you dare to push. We must expect to move along slowly and wait
+our turn. Yes, I know it's hot. But there'll be lemonade and ice cream
+by and by. I guess you can stand the heat for a little while. What is
+it, Tim? Your boots hurt? Nonsense! They're the same boots you always
+wear, aren't they? Were you racing round playing ball in them it's
+little notice you'd be taking of them, I reckon. Don't be silly and get
+sulky now or next time I shall leave you at home."
+
+To an accompaniment of these and similar admonitions the McGregor host
+proceeded on its way along with the other guests.
+
+Then at last when the receiving party was well in sight and Mrs.
+McGregor and her family were making a decorous approach the anxious
+mother was horrified to see Carl, forgetful of all else, rush from the
+line and racing up to Mr. John Coulter, seize both his hands.
+
+"Oh!" cried the boy, in a voice so shrill with ecstasy that its accents
+penetrated to every corner of the great tent, "Oh, Mr. Coulter, I never
+dreamed it was you! Why didn't you tell me who you were? I'm so glad to
+see you again! I thought I never would. I've hunted and hunted for you
+and your red car ever since."
+
+[Illustration: "I've hunted for you and your red car ever since."
+_Page_ 253.]
+
+Plainly Mr. John Coulter, instead of being offended by this unexpected
+onslaught, was delighted for he beamed down on the excited lad, shook
+both his hands heartily, and laughed so the ring of it echoed all
+about.
+
+"So you didn't guess the riddle, little chap," Mrs. McGregor heard him
+say. "Well, I didn't mean you should."
+
+"And to think it was you!" Carl was still murmuring, as if in a trance.
+"Just to think it was you! Of course you were the one who got Louise
+her new place."
+
+"Guilty."
+
+"Gee, but it was white of you! She's right here behind my mother." Then
+inspired by sudden understanding he added, "And the Christmas dinners
+came from you, too."
+
+"Come, come, youngster, this is no moment to be confronting me with all
+my crimes," the blushing bridegroom protested. "Here's Mrs. Coulter
+just married to me--what is she going to think if you tell her how many
+conspiracies I have been mixed up in? This, Marion, is one of my very
+good friends, Carl McGregor. His father was for many years in our mills
+and if I mistake not here is his whole family coming up to speak to
+us."
+
+"Indeed we are, sir," declared Mrs. McGregor, making a quaint English
+curtsy, "and it's scandalized enough I am to see my boy here racing at
+you as if he was a wild beast and forgetting all the etiquette I've
+taught him. He had a nice speech ready to say but where it is now
+heaven only knows!"
+
+"I'd far rather he said to me what he did," asserted Mr. Coulter. "You
+see, Carl and I are old friends."
+
+"I don't see," replied the mystified mother, "but no doubt you are,
+since you tell me so. I myself had no idea the lad know you from Adam."
+
+"And I hadn't either, Mother. Gee, but it is rich! To think I went
+riding with you that day, Mr. Coulter, and speeled off all that guff,
+and you never so much as raised an eyelash!"
+
+"Carl!" ejaculated his despairing parent.
+
+"Well, I hope this is not to be the end of our acquaintance,
+youngster," Mr. Coulter returned, passing over Mrs. McGregor's rebuke.
+"Come and see Mrs. Coulter and me some day. And remember that if you
+ever wish to enter the mills I will make a place for you."
+
+"That's bully of you, sir!"
+
+"Carl!" Mrs. McGregor was dumb with consternation. "The very idea of
+your speaking to Mr. Coulter like that!" declared she, when at last she
+could catch her breath. "Come away before you say anything more to
+disgrace the family. There's others waiting to give him their good
+wishes and you seem to have forgotten all about yours, although
+goodness knows you were drilled and drilled on the speech you were to
+make. Yes, Mrs. Coulter, these are my children--all six of them. The
+baby's name? James Frederick, after his uncle. And this is Mary, and
+Timmie, and Martin, and Nell. The oldest ones had nice things ready to
+say to you but Carl has knocked 'em clean out of their heads. I hope
+you'll not lay it up against us. No, marm, this tall boy and girl don't
+belong to me, but I'm that fond of 'em I wish they did. They are our
+neighbors, Hal and Louise Harling."
+
+Instantly Mr. Coulter reached forward and greeted the young people.
+
+"The new job is going well?" he asked, addressing Louise.
+
+"Oh, I'm so happy in it, Mr. Coulter."
+
+"That's good! And you, Harling?"
+
+"I'm getting on splendidly, sir."
+
+"Excellent! There'll be a raise coming to you next month--quite a
+substantial one. We've been looking you up."
+
+"Oh, sir, how can I----"
+
+"There, there! We mustn't stop to talk about it now. If you must thank
+somebody for it thank this young scoundrel here. It was he put me up to
+it."
+
+There was time for nothing further. Swept onward by crowds that surged
+behind, the McGregors, like chips on the crest of a mammoth wave, were
+borne forward and out of the tent.
+
+In the open air Mrs. McGregor wiped her perspiring brow.
+
+"Now," began she, turning accusingly on her son, "perhaps you will be
+so good as to tell us what all this is about. How came you to know Mr.
+John Coulter well enough to be treating him like a long-lost brother?
+And what had you to do with Hal and Louise and the Coulter mills? I
+feel as if I were going crazy! One minute you don't even know Mr.
+Coulter by sight and the next he is sending us a Christmas dinner and
+you are fairly falling on his neck."
+
+Carl shook with laughter.
+
+"Oh, Mother, it's all so rich--so perfectly corking!" he cried. "You
+couldn't half appreciate it if I told you."
+
+"I could try," came curtly from Mrs. McGregor.
+
+But her son did not heed her.
+
+"To think of that being Mr. John Coulter," chuckled he. "And, oh, the
+things I said to him! I tremble to recall them. I told him Corcoran was
+a low-down skunk, I know that. And I gushed on a lot about Hal and
+Louise. I only wish I could remember what I did say. Jove! He must have
+split his sides laughing."
+
+"When? When did you do all this?" interrogated the lad's mother
+impatiently.
+
+"Oh, when was it?" ruminated Carl, struggling to collect his scattered
+wits. "It seems ages and ages ago that all that happened. It was before
+Christmas, I'm certain of that."
+
+"And you went riding with Mr. Coulter? I heard you saying something
+about it."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You actually went to ride with him?"
+
+"I sure did!"
+
+"Well, all I can say is I should like to know when all these miracles
+took place," repeated Carl's mother. "Where was I, and why wasn't I
+told? You might at least have mentioned it at home."
+
+"I know it, Ma," apologized Carl with disarming frankness. "I did try
+twice to tell you but the chance never seemed to come right; and by and
+by it got to be so long ago that I forgot all about it."
+
+"Forgot you went motoring with Mr. John Coulter?" Mrs. McGregor spoke
+with incredulity.
+
+"You see I didn't know at the time that it was Mr. John Coulter, Ma."
+
+"I don't see! I don't understand anything about it," repeated the woman
+helplessly.
+
+"Well, you will by and by. It is a long story--too long to tell now.
+When we get home you shall hear it from beginning to end. But now----
+Gee whizz! There goes Martin making for the pond! I'll head him off."
+
+Away went Carl across the velvet lawn and with an unsatisfied air Mrs.
+McGregor wheeled about to collect Nell and Tim, who were already
+tugging at her skirts. She felt as if the events of the past half-hour
+were a dream. Carl, her harum-scarum son, the catastrophe worker of the
+family, was the acknowledged friend of Mr. John Coulter, one of the
+richest and most revered citizens of Baileyville. And more than that he
+appeared to possess the influence to have men removed from their jobs
+and discharged employees reinstated in lost positions. He even had
+power to have people's salaries raised. Would wonders never cease?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+UNRAVELING THE SNARLS
+
+
+How late the McGregors sat up talking that night it would have been
+alarming to confess. It was so late that the streets became silent and
+deserted and conversation had to be conducted in whispers lest it
+arouse the O'Dowds, Sullivans, and Murphys.
+
+And what tense, eager whispers they were!
+
+Mrs. McGregor, her bonnet still in her lap, sat on the edge of a chair
+too engrossed to so much as think of the shrimp pink tulle dress she
+had planned to finish before she went to bed that night; nor did she,
+in her usual methodical manner, take time to slip out of her best skirt
+or put away her company shoes and gloves. She was far too excited for
+that.
+
+Happy, tumbled, and nodding the babies had been put to sleep and
+afterward their elders, joined by Hal and Louise Harling, huddled in
+the kitchen, closed the doors, and talked and talked. Every detail of
+Carl's amazing story had to be told over and over again that his
+listeners might enjoy to the full the marvel and humor of each
+successive event. Everything was clear as crystal now--Corcoran's
+transfer, Louise's reinstatement, Hal's increasing salary, the
+Christmas dinners. Even the conundrum of the watch remained an enigma
+no longer.
+
+"It was, of course, Mr. Coulter who told Corcoran about your rescuing
+his baby," Carl explained to his chum. "I remember that I happened to
+mention the accident to him."
+
+Hal nodded.
+
+"But the thing I don't understand," he said with a puzzled air, "is how
+you could go to that office looking for a job and never so much as
+suspect who Mr. Coulter was. There must have been signs up with the
+firm's name on them."
+
+"I suppose there were," Carl answered. "I don't know about that. You
+see, I was too rattled and wrought up to notice much of anything.
+Besides, I was some scared. It was such a swell joint and that bell-boy
+(or whatever you call him) was so lofty and elegant that it froze the
+blood in my veins. More than that I was crazy to get a position and was
+so darned afraid they wouldn't take me that I wasn't thinking of
+anything else."
+
+"You're a bully little pal, Carl," Hal remarked, placing an
+affectionate hand on the younger boy's shoulder.
+
+"Pooh! I did no more than you'd have done for me if I'd been in a
+hole," replied Carl modestly. "You'd move heaven and earth to help us
+if we needed you."
+
+"You've said it, youngster!"
+
+"Then what is there so remarkable in my trying to do the same for you
+and Louise?"
+
+"It was splendid of you, Carlie," whispered Louise.
+
+"Oh, I didn't do much," was the gruff retort. "As it happened, I didn't
+really do anything. But I wanted to--you can bank on that."
+
+"Evidently you convinced Mr. Coulter of the sincerity of your good
+intentions," grinned Hal.
+
+"Mr. Coulter! Gee! Every time I think of him I have to laugh. Picture
+my having the nerve to go reforming his mill for him and complaining of
+his employees! And fancy me parading into his private office asking him
+for work! Had I known what I was doing I should have been petrified
+with fear." Smothered laughter convulsed the boys frame. "Well, as Ma
+says, ignorance is bliss and fools rush in where angels fear to tread."
+
+"I guess Mr. Coulter sized up the situation all right," mused Hal.
+
+"Oh, he knew; he understood the whole thing. He told me so to-day,"
+Carl responded quickly. "He's live wire enough not to let a joke slip
+past him. He had his fun out of the affair and don't you think he
+didn't. What's more, he didn't mean ever to let me find out what a boob
+I'd been. He was just going to keep the secret to himself. Then this
+wedding party came along and he happened to think we might like to
+come. So he took a chance and sent the bid."
+
+"And that explains why the invitation came to you," reflected Mrs.
+McGregor.
+
+"That's it, Ma. You have your little son Carlie to thank for your card
+to the spree," the lad responded impishly. "I'll be getting you into
+high society some day if you're good."
+
+"If you don't get us all into jail or some other place before then
+we'll be lucky," came brusquely from his mother.
+
+"Now isn't that gratitude for you?" growled Carl with mock indignation.
+"Here I take my mother and all her family to a perfectly good party and
+this is all the thanks I get for it."
+
+"Yes, this happened to be a perfectly good party," agreed Mrs. McGregor
+mischievously. "But it might have ended in some scrape or other and
+like as not it would another time. One never can be sure where your
+adventures will bring up."
+
+"Well, Ma, Mr. Coulter appreciates me if you don't."
+
+"Apparently he does--up to date. Just you take care that you go on
+deserving his good opinion."
+
+"I mean to," Carl flashed. "Say, folks, sha'n't we have something to
+write Uncle Frederick now? I'll bet it will take ten sheets of paper to
+retail the whole thing; and then he won't really have any idea of what
+happened. None of you ever can. You just ought to have been there and
+seen the play."
+
+"It's as good as a play--as good as any moving picture, in my opinion,"
+Louise ventured.
+
+"What wouldn't I have given to be under the seat of that car and
+listened when you were laying out poor old Cork!" Hal ejaculated.
+
+"I laid him fine and flat," acknowledged Carl with candor.
+
+"Events have proved you did. Poor Cork! Still, Corks float, you know,
+and he has. He isn't dead yet by any means," jested Hal. "In fact, he
+told me only a day or two ago that he liked his new job much better
+than he did the old one so I guess nobody need waste pity on him."
+
+"I'm afraid he wasn't punished much, after all," sniffed Mrs. McGregor.
+
+"Oh, he's had it borne in upon him that he was a brute, Ma; don't you
+fret," declared Carl. "Mr. Coulter never does things by halves. When he
+starts in he finishes up a job in bang-up style. Corcoran's learned his
+lesson; and if he has that is all that is necessary."
+
+A clock struck softly.
+
+"Hal Harling! Do you realize it is twelve o'clock?" Louise exclaimed in
+dismay. "We must go home this minute. The very idea of our staying here
+and keeping the McGregors up until this hour! I'd no idea it was so
+late. Why, you may be robbed of your precious Corcoran watch if you
+don't hurry home out of the lonely streets. Good-night, everybody! And
+blessings on you, Carlie! You've been a trump. I'm going to begin
+to-morrow and work harder than ever for Mr. John Coulter."
+
+"Here's to him!" Carl began. But a restraining hand was clapped over
+his mouth.
+
+"Carl! Carl! For mercy's sake, remember that it's twelve o'clock and
+everybody's abed and asleep. Don't go cheering for Mr. Coulter now. You
+can go out in the field and do it to-morrow."
+
+"I'm afraid I'll be too busy to-morrow."
+
+"And what'll you be doing to-morrow, pray, that's of so much
+importance?"
+
+"Why, I'll have to be deciding whether I want to go to college, or go
+to sea with Uncle Frederick; or go into Mr. Coulter's mills," was the
+teasing answer. "I seem to have three careers open to me. Maybe I'll
+have to toss up a penny to find out which I'd better take. Will you
+lend me the penny, Ma?"
+
+"Indeed I won't," snapped his mother wrathfully. "Three careers! Humph!
+Still I'm not saying that if you could go into the mills with Mr.
+Coulter to stand behind you you might not make your fortune. But
+there's time enough to decide that later. We needn't argue it at
+twelve o'clock at night."
+
+
+
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