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diff --git a/28110-h/28110-h.htm b/28110-h/28110-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..97e8386 --- /dev/null +++ b/28110-h/28110-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1882 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Jimsy, The Christmas Kid, by Leona Dalrymple. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jimsy, by Leona Dalrymple + +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: Jimsy + The Christmas Kid + +Author: Leona Dalrymple + +Illustrator: Charles Guischard + +Release Date: February 18, 2009 [EBook #28110] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JIMSY *** + + + + +Produced by Annie McGuire + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>Jimsy</h1> + +<h1>The Christmas Kid</h1> + +<h3>By</h3> + +<h2>Leona Dalrymple</h2> + +<h4>Author of "The Lovable Meddler," "Diane</h4> + +<h4>of the Green Van," "Uncle Noah's</h4> + +<h4>Christmas Party," etc.</h4> + +<h3>Decorations by</h3> + +<h2>Charles Guischard</h2> + +<h3>New York</h3> + +<h3>Robert M. McBride & Company</h3> + +<h3>1915</h3> + +<h4>Copyright, 1915, by</h4> + +<h4>Robert M. McBride & Co.</h4> + +<h4>Published October, 1915</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='right'>CHAPTER</td><td align='left'></td><td align='right'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>I</td><td align='left'><a href="#I"><b>The Invasion</b></a></td><td align='right'>9</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II</td><td align='left'><a href="#II"><b>The Biscuit Link</b></a></td><td align='right'>19</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III</td><td align='left'><a href="#III"><b>The Chain Grows</b></a></td><td align='right'>27</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV</td><td align='left'><a href="#IV"><b>The Chain Clanks</b></a></td><td align='right'>38</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V</td><td align='left'><a href="#V"><b>The Proving</b></a></td><td align='right'>46</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI</td><td align='left'><a href="#VI"><b>The Triumph</b></a></td><td align='right'>51</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII</td><td align='left'><a href="#VII"><b>The Downfall</b></a></td><td align='right'>55</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII</td><td align='left'><a href="#VIII"><b>The Chain is Locked</b></a></td><td align='right'>61</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Jimsy" id="Jimsy"></a>Jimsy</h2> + +<h2>The Christmas Kid</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_001.jpg" width="300" height="45" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + +<h3>THE INVASION</h3> + +<p>His name was Jimsy and he took it for granted that you liked him. That +made things difficult from the very start—that and the fact that he +arrived in the village two days before Christmas strung to such a +holiday pitch of expectation that, if you were a respectable, +bewhiskered first citizen like Jimsy's host, you felt the cut-and-dried +dignity of a season which unflinching thrift had taught you to pare of +all its glittering non-essentials, threatened by his bubbling air of +faith in something wonderful to happen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> + +<p>He had arrived at twilight, just as the first citizen was about to read +his evening paper, and he had made a great deal of noise, yelling back +at old Austin White, whose sleigh had conveyed him from the station to +the house, a "S'long, Uncle!" pregnant with the friendliness of a +conversational ride. He had scraped away his snow-heels with a somewhat +sustained noise, born perhaps of shyness, and now, as he stood in the +center of the prim, old-fashioned room, a thin, eager youngster not too +warmly clad for the bite of the New England wind, Abner Sawyer felt with +a sense of shock that this city urchin whom Judith had promised to +"Christmas," detracted, in some ridiculous manner, from the +respectability of the room. He was an inharmonious note in its staid +preciseness. Moreover, it was evident from the frank friendliness of his +dark, gray eyes that he was perniciously of that type who frolic through +a frosty, first-citizen aura of informality and give and accept +friendship as a matter of course.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/ill_002.jpg" width="200" height="77" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"What—what is your name?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> asked the first citizen, peering over his +spectacles. He wished that Judith's Christmas protégé was not so thin +and a trifle larger.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 144px;"> +<img src="images/ill_003.jpg" width="144" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Jimsy," answered the boy. "An' Specks, he's me chum; he goes to Mister +Middleton's, next door."</p> + +<p>Specks and Jimsy! The first citizen helplessly cleared his throat and +summoned Judith.</p> + +<p>She came in a spotless apron no whiter than her hair. She was +spare—Aunt Judith Sawyer—spare and patient as the wife of a provident +man may well be who sees no need for servants, and her primness was of a +gentler, vaguer sort than that of Abner Sawyer. Jimsy glanced up into +her sweet, tired face and his eager eyes claimed her with a bewildering +smile of welcome. Then because Jimsy's experience with clean aprons and +trimly parted hair was negligible almost to the point of non-existence, +it became instantly imperative that he should polish the toe of one worn +shoe with the sole of the other and study the result and Aunt Judith +with furtive interest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Judith," said the first citizen, not wholly at his ease, +"Mr.—er—ah—Mr. Jimsy has arrived."</p> + +<p>Jimsy snickered.</p> + +<p>"Naw, naw, nix!" he said. "Jimsy's the handle. I'm a stray, I am. Hain't +got no folks. Mom Dorgan says ye have to have folks to have a +bunch-name. I'm the Christmas kid."</p> + +<p>"To be sure you are," said Aunt Judith gently, "to be sure. And where +are your things?"</p> + +<p>Jimsy's thin little face reddened.</p> + +<p>"Hain't only got one rig," he mumbled, "an' that warn't fitten to wear. +Mom Dorgan borried these duds fur me. She—she's awful good that way +when she's sober."</p> + +<p>There was wistful eagerness in his face to do his best by the one friend +who helped him.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 134px;"> +<img src="images/ill_004.jpg" width="134" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Quite unconscious of the scandalized flutter in this quiet room whose +oval portraits of ancestral Sawyers might well have tumbled down at the +notion of any one being anything but sober, the boy moved closer to the +fire as if the ride had chilled him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 133px;"> +<img src="images/ill_005.jpg" width="133" height="200" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Gee!" he said with a long, quivering breath, "ain't that a fire, now, +ain't it!" and because his keen young eyes could not somehow be evaded, +Abner Sawyer accepted the responsibility of the reply and said hastily +that it was. Then feeling his dignity imperilled in the presence of +Judith, though why he could not for the life of him explain, he moved +forward a chair for the Christmas guest and returned to his paper.</p> + +<p>Aunt Judith went back to a region of tinkling china and humming kettle. +The room became quiet enough for any one to read, but the first citizen +somehow could not read. He was ridiculously conscious of that tense +little figure by the fire with the disturbingly friendly eyes. How on +earth could a boy be noisy who was absolutely quiet? Yet his very +presence seemed to clamor—the clamor of an inherent sociability +repressed with difficulty.</p> + +<p>Jimsy glanced at the checkerboard window beyond which snowy hills lay +beneath a sunset afterglow.</p> + +<p>"Gee whiz!" he burst forth. "<i>Ain't</i> the snow white!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>The first citizen jumped—much as one may jump when he has waited in +nerve-racking suspense for a pistol shot. The boy had done exactly what +he had expected him to do—broken that sacred ante-prandial hour with +the Lindon <i>Evening News</i> which Judith had not broken this twenty years.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 130px;"> +<img src="images/ill_006.jpg" width="130" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Snow," he said discouragingly, for all he had determined to ignore the +remark, "snow is always white."</p> + +<p>Jimsy shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Naw," he said. "N'York snow's gray an' dirty. Specks said the snow we +seen on the hills from the train winder was Christmas card snow, and +with that the minister he up an' tells Specks an' me 'bout reg'lar +old-fashioned country Christmases, fire like this an' Christmas trees +an'—an' sleigh-bells an' gifts an' wreaths an' skatin' an' +holly—Gee—"</p> + +<p>"That," said Abner Sawyer with cold finality, "will be quite enough."</p> + +<p>"Sure," agreed Jimsy. "A Christmas like that 'snuff fur any kid."</p> + +<p>Irritably conscious that his reproof had been misinterpreted, the first +citizen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> riveted his gaze upon the Lindon <i>Evening News</i>. But he could +not read. Jimsy's irreverent air of friendliness was not the only +disturbing factor in his Christmasing. Jimsy, plainly, was cherishing +expectations.</p> + +<p>Conscious-driven, Abner Sawyer laid aside his paper.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 118px;"> +<img src="images/ill_007.jpg" width="118" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"James," he began primly, "I must take this occasion to inform you that +Mrs. Sawyer and I spend Christmas quietly—very quietly. We have never +had a Christmas tree, and personally I consider that holly is most +suitable and decorative where Nature planted it. Christmas," finished +Mr. Sawyer, slightly disconcerted by Jimsy's attentive stare, "Christmas +is merely a day and a dinner. Let the frivolous make of it an orgy of +sentimentality if they will."</p> + +<p>Jimsy's face fell.</p> + +<p>"Gee!" he said, "your Christmas ain't just an extra Sunday, is it?"</p> + +<p>Shocked, Abner Sawyer glinted over the tops of his glasses.</p> + +<p>"No," he said with an effort, "it—it is somewhat different."</p> + +<p>"How's it different?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I"—the first citizen froze—"I hardly know."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/ill_008.jpg" width="120" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"What d'ye have that ye don't have Sundays?"</p> + +<p>"I—I believe it's turkey," conceded Mr. Sawyer desperately, and feeling +his dignity hopelessly compromised by a dialogue of such pronounced +informality, returned to his paper.</p> + +<p>"Gee!" said Jimsy, with a sigh of relief, "that's mos' enuff itself to +make a Christmas. Hain't never tasted turkey." He was silent a minute, +in which the clock ticked loudly. It was purple now beyond the +old-fashioned panes and the lamp seemed brighter. Jimsy's shrill young +voice broke the quiet, as it would, of course, be sure to do.</p> + +<p>"Say," he said kindly, "don't you worry none about that there Christmas +tree an' no holly. We'll have a thump-walloper of a day, anyhow!"</p> + +<p>It is conceivable that Abner Sawyer's experience with thump-wallopers +had been limited. There was something in the boy's words, however, that +brought his gaze over the top of his spectacles again and over his +paper. It was disconcerting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> to note that Jimsy still bristled with +faith and friendliness and cheerful expectation.</p> + +<p>"My remark," he said coldly, "about the absence of a tree and holly was +a statement—not an apology."</p> + +<p>"Don't get ye," admitted Jimsy. "Come again." And there was danger of a +mutual dead-lock of comprehension. Aunt Judith saved the day. Arriving +in the doorway with a flutter, she said that supper was ready and that +James had better wash his face and hands. And James, who was Jimsy, +meeting Aunt Judith's gentle eyes, turned scarlet, and stumbling to his +feet, he stepped, en route, upon the stately toe of Lindon's pride.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/ill_009.jpg" width="200" height="82" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Gee!" he burst forth contritely. "I'm awful sorry, honest Injun I am. +Spoiled yer shine, didn't I? An' it was a beaut, too!"</p> + +<p>Could even a first citizen rebuke such eager apology? Better to stay +within the certain shelter of a chilling silence.</p> + +<p>Abner Sawyer rose, but even as he did so his world of law and order +seemed to rock in chaos about his feet. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> was going out to supper—and +he had not read a single line in the Lindon <i>Evening News</i>!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 127px;"> +<img src="images/ill_010.jpg" width="127" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_011.jpg" width="300" height="82" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<h3>THE BISCUIT LINK</h3> + +<p>It was at supper that the terrible realization came to Abner Sawyer that +Jimsy liked everything and <i>every one</i> rather too well. He liked the ham +and he liked the biscuits, he accepted alarming quantities of marmalade +with utter confidence in his digestion; his round eyes swept every nook +of the prim old room and marveled at old-fashioned china and silver that +might have come over in the <i>Mayflower</i>, and then again might not, and +he continued irreverently unaware that the first citizen was president +of the Lindon Bank and therefore not a person to be liked +indiscriminately by urchins. Thanks to something in Aunt Judith's eyes, +furtively concessional to boyhood, Jimsy had mislaid what little +constraint and shyness he had had at first. His at-homeness might be +gauged at a glance by the way he gazed at the biscuits.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dear me," said Aunt Judith, glancing from Jimsy to the biscuits to see +which most threatened the other, "I—I scarcely think—I hardly know. +Abner?"</p> + +<p>Time, Abner, now to impress this urchin once for all with a show of +power in terms he can understand!</p> + +<p>Mr. Sawyer settled the trivial question of biscuits with dignity.</p> + +<p>"James," he said. "You may have just <i>one</i> more biscuit."</p> + +<p>And Aunt Judith nodded:</p> + +<p>"Just as you say, my dear!" as she had been nodding effasively for +thirty years.</p> + +<p>Jimsy's eyes were very grateful and it came over the first citizen with +sickening conviction that Jimsy, misinterpreting again, had regarded the +biscuit as an overture instead of a show of power. Ridiculous indeed to +have thrown about your neck the unwelcome chain of a boy's regard and +then unintentionally to cement that chain—by a biscuit!</p> + +<p>Abner Sawyer departed hastily for his lamp, his fire and his paper.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/ill_012.jpg" width="200" height="55" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Jimsy followed Aunt Judith to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> kitchen and here, in the shining +quiet of an old-fashioned kitchen whose spotless rows of pans and its +rocker by the window reflected nothing of first citizenship, the +memory-making mystery of child and woman in a homely setting drew taut +an age-old chord of sympathy. Out of the hum of the kettle and the +fire-shadows of the grate it came, out of the winter wind that rattled +the checkerpaned windows—that eternal something that is only given to +women to understand. Jimsy did not know why Aunt Judith smiled or why +the smile made his throat hurt a little. He only knew by her eyes that +she liked him and that was enough.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Judith," he blurted, "lemme—aw, lemme wipe your dishes."</p> + +<p>But Aunt Judith, with the wisdom of women, knew that the best-behaved +china is perversely given to leaping without warning out of the hands of +any boy, to his utter consternation, and she patted him on the back.</p> + +<p>"Bless your heart, Jimsy," she said, "there are so few I can do them +myself in no time."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 102px;"> +<img src="images/ill_013.jpg" width="102" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Jimsy!—not James! Jimsy felt that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> he must do something for Aunt Judith +Sawyer or his throat would burst. So finding one leg at liberty, he +furtively kicked the leg of the stove and hurt his toe, even as his eyes +fell upon a depleted stock of kindlings in the wood-box.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 123px;"> +<img src="images/ill_014.jpg" width="123" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Well, then," he burst out in a glow of good-will, "lemme—lemme take +Uncle Ab's job to-night an' get the wood."</p> + +<p>Aunt Judith's horrified glance made him redden uncomfortably.</p> + +<p>"Jimsy," she whispered hurriedly, "you—you must never—never call Mr. +Sawyer—Uncle Ab. Nobody does."</p> + +<p>"But," mumbled the boy, "ye—ye said folks call ye Aunt Judith, +an'—an'—"</p> + +<p>"It—it's different," faltered Aunt Judith. "I—I'm nobody in +particular. Mr. Sawyer's a bank president, Jimsy, and I—I always get +the wood myself." She opened the door and pointed to a woodpile +glimmering out of the darkness with a rim of snow. "The kindlings are +split and piled in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> the shed. And hurry, child. The wind's sharp."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 132px;"> +<img src="images/ill_015.jpg" width="132" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Jimsy set forth with a noisy whistle. When presently he returned with an +armful of kindlings, his eyes were shining. And holding the door ajar, +he coaxed into the warmth of Aunt Judith's kitchen a shivering dog, +little and lame and thin.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Judith," he shrilled, dropping his kindlings into the box with a +clatter, "look! He was out there under the woodpile, shiverin,' an' he +won't go away. He's a stray, too, like I was afore Mom Dorgan gave me a +bed with her kids." He patted the dog's head. "Gee, watch him duck, poor +mutt! That's cause he's been walloped so much. Aunt Judith," he blurted, +his gray eyes ablaze with pleading, "can't ye maybe jus' let him sleep +behind the stove? He's so sort of shivery I—I feel awful sorry fur +him."</p> + +<p>"No, no, no!" said Aunt Judith in distress. "I can't. I can't, indeed. +Mr. Sawyer—"</p> + +<p>"JAMES!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/ill_016.jpg" width="200" height="57" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Aunt Judith and Jimsy jumped. The first citizen stood in the doorway, +the Lindon <i>Evening News</i> in his hand, still unread. Nor could he have +explained why, save that a boy's absence may, queerly enough, be as +clamorous as his presence. With the biscuit still upon his mind, Abner +Sawyer felt impelled to discipline.</p> + +<p>"Put the dog out!"</p> + +<p>Jimsy stood his ground. He was used to that. And Abner Sawyer wondered +with a feeling of intense annoyance what there was about this ragged, +noisy child that injected drama into incident. There was a tenseness in +the silence of the trio and the cringing dog.</p> + +<p>"Aw, have a heart!" pleaded Jimsy finally, and there was faith and +optimism in his steady glance.</p> + +<p>Abner Sawyer cleared his throat and looked away. He wondered why he felt +defensive.</p> + +<p>"I am fully equipped with the organ you mention," he said drily. "Put +the dog out."</p> + +<p>Jimsy reluctantly obeyed, and as the door closed upon the shivering +little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> waif who scratched and whined at the door of his lost Paradise, +Jimsy's face, sharpened by disappointment, seemed suddenly thinner and +less boyish. Bent upon making the best of things, he reached for his +cap.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said casually, "guess I'll go out and look the burg over."</p> + +<p>It was queer how Jimsy's conversation seemed to bristle with verbal +shocks. Aunt Judith gasped. Mr. Sawyer fixed a stern eye upon the clock.</p> + +<p>"It is eight o'clock," he said in what seemed to Jimsy's puzzled +comprehension a midnight tone of voice; "you will go to bed."</p> + +<p>Dumfounded, Jimsy followed Aunt Judith up to bed. Here in a great, +old-fashioned bedroom he forgot everything in an eager contemplation of +a whirling, feathery background to his window.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Judith," he called excitedly, "it's snowin'. Gee, that's +Christmasy, ain't it! I don't mind the snow at all s'long's I got a bed +cinched." His eager face lengthened. "Wisht Stump had a bed," he +finished wistfully.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 112px;"> +<img src="images/ill_017.jpg" width="112" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Stump?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I jus' called him Stump, Aunt Judith, 'cause he didn't have no tail." +Aunt Judith's eyes were sympathetic.</p> + +<p>But an embarrassing difficulty arose about Jimsy's bed attire which +drove Stump for a time from his mind. It was solved by a night-shirt of +first-citizen primness, which trailed upon the carpet and made him +snigger self-consciously behind his hand until he heard Aunt Judith's +step again beyond the door, when he vaulted into bed, shivering +luxuriously in the chill softness of unaccustomed linen.... And then +Aunt Judith blew out the lamp and tucked him in with hands so tremulous +and gentle that his throat troubled him again, and he lay very still. +Meeting her eyes, he suddenly buried his face in the pillow with a gulp +and a sob, and clung to her hand. Aunt Judith, shaking, caught him +wildly in her arms, cried very hard, and kissed him good-night. Jimsy, +Stump and Aunt Judith Sawyer knew variously the meaning of starvation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_018.jpg" width="300" height="86" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<h3>THE CHAIN GROWS</h3> + +<p>The house grew very still. Jimsy, awaking after a time with the start of +unfamiliar surroundings, heard the rattle of wind and snow against his +window. A tree brushed monotonously against the panes—then through the +sounds of winter storm came an unmistakable whimper and a howl. The boy +sat up. Stump! Huddled likely against the door in an agony of faith. +Jimsy thought of a winter night before Mom Dorgan had taken him in, and +shivered. The howl came again. Rising, Jimsy opened his door on a crack +and peered cautiously through it. The hallway was dimly alight from a +lamp, set, for safety's sake, within a pewter bowl. The house of Sawyer +slept. Gathering his train in his hand, Jimsy hurried through the hall +and down the stairs to the lower floor, quite dark now,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> save for barred +patches of window framing ghostly landscapes. A gust of wind and snow +whirled in as he unbarred the kitchen door. Then something with an +ingratiating waggle pushed gladly against his feet. Five seconds later +Jimsy and Stump were on their way upstairs.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 134px;"> +<img src="images/ill_019.jpg" width="134" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Excitement exacted its toll. Jimsy halted at the second turn in the +upper hall, his scalp feeling very queer. The lamp had gone out, +probably in the draft from the kitchen door, and he had lost his room! +Whispering desperate admonitions to the wriggling dog beneath his arm, +Jimsy went on tiptoed hunt until, finding a window, a turn and a door +that seemed familiar, he heaved a great sigh of relief and turned the +knob. As he pushed back the door, a flood of light and warmth fanned +out, and Jimsy, tangling his feet in his train as only a small boy +could, fell headlong into the room, propelling Stump, who yelped with +fright, at the very feet of Abner Sawyer.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my Gosh!" yelled Jimsy wildly. "Pinched!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 130px;"> +<img src="images/ill_020.jpg" width="130" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Outraged, the first citizen rose from a bench beside a table and a lamp, +and Jimsy, scrambling to his feet, a ridiculous figure of apology and +dismay in his billowing train and sagging shoulders, saw that Mr. Sawyer +held in his hand a plane and a piece of wood and that the room in which +he stood was a work-shop perfect in equipment.</p> + +<p>"What," demanded Mr. Sawyer in a terrible voice, "what does this mean? +That dog—"</p> + +<p>But Jimsy had not heard.</p> + +<p>"Lordy," he breathed, "what a thump-walloper of a shop! Whisht Jack +Sweeny could see this. My, wouldn't his good eye open! Whatcha makin'?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Sawyer reddened as any man may whose weakness has been unexpectedly +detected by a boy in an acre of night-shirt.</p> + +<p>"No one," he began icily, "<i>no</i> one—not even Mrs. Sawyer presumes to +come beyond that threshold"—he broke off and frowned impatiently, +feeling his power of aloofness threatened by something in Jimsy's eager +stare which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> claimed a kinship of interest.... There was an alarming +suggestion of intimacy anyway in a midnight scene with a tailless dog, a +boy clad in your own night-shirt—and an inferential person with an eye +by the name of Sweeny.... Why did a ridiculous frozen sense of guilt +impede his tongue now when rebuke was imperative?... Why on earth had a +look of relief and understanding supplanted the puzzled friendliness of +Jimsy's supper-time stare?... So might a dog look who had waggled in +friendly perplexity at the foot of a flawless statue only to find that +the statue held in its hand a lowly but perfectly comprehensible bone +... and the dog's attitude of course toward the flawless statue would +never be quite the same—nor—</p> + +<p>"James," said the first citizen hoarsely, "go to bed!"</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/ill_021.jpg" width="120" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Aw," said James softly, "make it Jimsy. Aunt Judith did. I ain't no +stiff wit' spinach an' buttons chasin' newsies off the porch."</p> + +<p>"Jimsy!" said the first citizen faintly, and felt his world rock about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +him again. For fate and Jimsy, it was very plain, had filed the word +away with the biscuit.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_022.jpg" width="300" height="78" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Jimsy's grin was radiant. Upset, Mr. Sawyer turned back to his bench +with Jimsy at his heels.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lordy, Lordy," breathed the boy in an ecstasy of admiration. +"Makin' a Christmas present fur Aunt Judith on the sly, ain't ye? Won't +she jus' open her eyes! <i>I</i> bet! And polishin' the wood yerself. Gee!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Sawyer cleared his throat.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Sawyer and I," said he, "do—not—exchange—gifts—at Christmas. +This cabinet is for my private office at the bank."</p> + +<p>Jimsy's face fell.</p> + +<p>"Aw," he said gently, "seems like ye'd orta give her sumthin' fur +Christmas. She's so awful good.... B'long to the union?"</p> + +<p>"I—I beg your pardon?"</p> + +<p>"Carpenters' union. Jack Sweeny does."</p> + +<p>The first citizen froze.</p> + +<p>"Carpentering with me," he explained stiffly, "is a fad—not an +occupation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> or a necessity. I," he added "am President of the Lindon +Bank."</p> + +<p>Jimsy's glance was sympathetic. It regretted the world's gain of a bank +president at the expense of a better carpenter.</p> + +<p>"I kin plane," he pleaded eagerly. "Honest Injun, I kin. I kin whittle +too, like ol' Scratch. Lemme plane this—"</p> + +<p>"I thank you," began Mr. Sawyer coldly, with unfortunate selection of +words, "but—" His voice faltered under Jimsy's shining gaze. For, +reading in the formal repudiation a vote of thanks, Jimsy had seized a +plane and set to work.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_023.jpg" width="300" height="87" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The shavings flew. The clock ticked loudly in the quiet. Outside a +winter blizzard was sweeping in white fury from the hills. Stump +crouched silently in a corner, his head upon his paws. And Abner +Sawyer, returning to his work in helpless indecision, felt his privacy +and his dignity forever compromised by a boy and a dog. He knew of +course that a small boy, scantily clad, should not be planing furiously +on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> bench beside him at midnight with a sociable gleam in his +eye—yet—something—a terrible conviction perhaps that if he spoke at +all his voice would be hoarse and uncertain and his poise threatened by +the paralyzing sense of apology which welled strangely up within him in +Jimsy's presence, tied his tongue. The minutes ticked loudly on and the +shavings flew.... And Jimsy would misinterpret whatever he said in terms +of sentimentality. He always did.... The clock struck one.... Abner +Sawyer rose.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 124px;"> +<img src="images/ill_024.jpg" width="124" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"James—Jimsy," he said, and his voice was hoarse and uncertain as he +knew it would be, "you must go to bed."</p> + +<p>Jimsy looked up sympathetically.</p> + +<p>"Got a cold?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Frog in your throat?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>Jimsy resigned his plane with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"Golly," he laughed, "we'd catch it, wouldn't we—me and you—if Aunt +Judith knew!"</p> + +<p>Then he glanced at Stump and said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> nothing at all. And quite suddenly +conscience told Abner Sawyer that he could not accept without giving. +Jimsy had helped him willingly and he had accepted—why he could not for +the life of him remember, save that it had something to do with his +throat and his poise. It did entail obligation of a sort, however, and +he was a just man. Abner Sawyer did not look at Stump. He blew out the +light.</p> + +<p>In silence the two passed out and closed the door. The episodic +irregularities of the evening beginning with the Lindon <i>Evening News</i> +had reached unheard of climax. A mongrel dog was asleep in the warmth of +the sanctum.</p> + +<p>Abner Sawyer had a strangling sense of another link to his biscuit-riven +chain and passed his hand over his forehead in a dazed and weary way.</p> + +<p>"Abner," said Aunt Judith nervously at breakfast, "you—you don't think +this once we—could have—a—a Christmas tree for Jimsy?"</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 131px;"> +<img src="images/ill_025.jpg" width="131" height="200" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Certainly not!" said Mr. Sawyer coldly.</p> + +<p>Aunt Judith's hand trembled a little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> as she poured the coffee and the +first citizen waited so long for her usual reply that he thought +impatiently it would never come. It came at last—quietly.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_026.jpg" width="300" height="75" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Just as you—say, Abner." But the final word was lost in an outraged +yell from somewhere near the woodpile.</p> + +<p>"It—it must be Jimsy," said Aunt Judith hurriedly. "He—he was up so +early I gave him his breakfast. He's shoveling the snow from the +walks—"</p> + +<p>"Gwan!" came a muffled roar. "Say that again and I'll bust yer face +good." Sounds of battle and vilifying repartee speedily upset the Sawyer +breakfast. Abner Sawyer pushed back his chair and strode hastily to the +kitchen window. He saw concentric circles of fists and snow and a +yapping dog. He could not know that the defensive section of the +maelstrom was Specks, the Christmas urchin next door, or that Jimsy and +Specks settled every controversy under Heaven in a fashion of their own.</p> + +<p>The first citizen flung up the window.</p> + +<p>"James!" he said in a terrible voice.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<p>The concentric circles wavered—then whirled dizzily on.</p> + +<p>"James!" Too much conventional horror and dignity there to pierce the +elemental.</p> + +<p>"<i>Jimsy!</i>" There was sharp informality now that meant business. Jimsy +upset his freckled antagonist in the snow and wheeled.</p> + +<p>"Mister Sawyer," he yelled indignantly, "he went an' said ye was an ol' +crab—an' a miser—an' a skinflint—an'—an' a stiff—an' I blacked his +eye fur him an' tol' him he lied. An' he went an' said ye didn't have no +heart or ye wouldn't let Aunt Judith carry in the wood an' do all the +work an' never git no new clothes—"</p> + +<p>"Yi! Yi! Yi! Yi!" derided Specks. "Boney Middleton tol' me—Boney +Middleton tol' me. You won't have no tree or nuthin'."</p> + +<p>"Didn't I tell ye 'bout the biscuit?" demanded Jimsy fiercely. "An' +about Stump sleepin' in the work-shop, didn't I? Hain't that enuff? +Hain't he good to boys an' dogs? I—I don't want no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> Christmas tree, ye +big stiff. I'm goin' to have turkey—"</p> + +<p>But Abner Sawyer had closed the window with a bang. Although he did not +look at Aunt Judith he knew that her face was white.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/ill_027.jpg" width="200" height="187" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_028.jpg" width="300" height="120" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<h3>THE CHAIN CLANKS</h3> + +<p>It was the day before Christmas that the Village Conscience telephoned +the Lindon Bank.</p> + +<p>"I felt that I must call you up, Mr. Sawyer," she said firmly, "and tell +you that the boy you have with you over Christmas is going around from +door to door, ringing the bell and—<i>begging</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Begging!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I shouldn't call it <i>just</i> that—but—well, saying 'Merry +Christmas!' rather hopefully."</p> + +<p>Feeling rather sick, Abner Sawyer formally thanked his informer and rang +off. Glancing out of his office window he saw with a shock that instead +of Austin White, who usually drove him home at night, Jimsy and Peggy, +the old Sawyer mare, were waiting beneath a snow-ridged elm with the +sleigh. Jimsy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> caught his eye, smiled warmly and waved, and because +Abner Sawyer did not know what else to do, he stiffly returned the +salute and reached for his hat, irritably conscious that sufficient +sleep and food had already left their marks upon his guest. Jimsy's +cheeks above the old-fashioned tippet Aunt Judith had wound about his +throat were smooth and ruddy.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Judith didn't want me to come," explained Jimsy, "but I tol' her +how Gink Gunnigan often let me drive his truck an' I guess I coaxed so +hard she had to.... Unc—Mister Sawyer, it—it's nearly Chris'mus eve!"</p> + +<p>Abner Sawyer climbed in without a word. Peggy flew off with a jingle of +bells through the village, through the woods, through a Christmas eve +twilight dotted now with homely squares of light shining jewel-wise +among the snowy trees.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 137px;"> +<img src="images/ill_029.jpg" width="137" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Jimsy!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir?"</p> + +<p>"A lady telephoned that you'd been—<i>begging</i>—from door to door."</p> + +<p>Jimsy hung his head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I—I only rung some door-bells an' said 'Merry Chris'mus.'"</p> + +<p>"You expected and received—money?"</p> + +<p>"Y-e-e-e-e-es, sir."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>Silence.</p> + +<p>"Jimsy, I insist upon an explanation."</p> + +<p>Jimsy gulped and faced Abner Sawyer, his eyes blazing with heartbroken +disappointment through tear-wet lashes.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Ab," he choked, "it—it was a Chris'mus s'prise fur you an' Aunt +Judith." A great tear rolled slowly down upon the tippet. "I—I seen a +book on fancy carpenterin' an' I—I didn't have no money an'—an' a +thimble. It ain't silver, but it's 'mos' as good." And then Jimsy lost +his moorings with a sob and cried his heart out upon the sleeve of Abner +Sawyer. "I—I got the book buttoned under my coat," he blurted after a +while, "an', Uncle Ab, I'm awful sorry 'bout the door-bells. All the +fellus do it home—"</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_030.jpg" width="300" height="90" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Abner Sawyer would have been less<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> than human if the boy's tragedy had +not touched him.</p> + +<p>"Why," he asked huskily, "why did you wish to give me a Christmas +present?"</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 95px;"> +<img src="images/ill_031.jpg" width="95" height="200" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Because," cried Jimsy passionately, "yer so awful good to me an' Stump, +an' so's Aunt Judith. An' I thought mebbe ye'd never had nobuddy ever +give ye a present an' mean it like I did or—"</p> + +<p>"Or what, Jimsy?"</p> + +<p>"Ye'd feel diffrunt 'bout Christmas."</p> + +<p>The first citizen took the reins himself, tucked Jimsy in beneath the +fur robe and drove home in silence, conscious only that the world was +awry and he hated the Village Conscience. Nor was he quite himself even +after supper was done and Jimsy, a little tearful still in his +disappointment, safe in bed.</p> + +<p>"Abner—" began Aunt Judith from her chair by the fire.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" said Mr. Sawyer coldly. He wished Judith would not talk. She +rarely did. He was tired and upset and probing desperately within for +some remnant of the cold complacence of a week ago.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The minister was here to-day. He—he told me how Mrs. Dorgan took Jimsy +in from the street. She—drinks. He—hasn't—a real—home. The minister +would like—to—to find one for him."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 110px;"> +<img src="images/ill_032.jpg" width="110" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Jimsy again! He must fling away his chain now or feel it clank.</p> + +<p>"That," said Abner Sawyer resentfully, "is of no interest to me."</p> + +<p>There was pitiful, hard-wrung bravery in Aunt Judith's face. Only a +passionate surge of feeling could have swept away the silence and +repression of the years. Only a woman's emotion, wild and maternal for +all its starving, inevitable as the law of God, could have leaped a +barrier so fixed and unrelenting.</p> + +<p>"Abner," she said desperately. "I—I want to keep Jimsy. I—I can't +<i>bear</i> to see him go—"</p> + +<p>"Judith!" There was more in the single word of course than Aunt Judith +could know. There was an unread paper and a biscuit, a tailless dog +invading sanctity, a yelling boy by a woodpile, and now the memory of a +twilight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> ride and the tears of a choking lad upon his sleeve, an +irritating record of moments of weakness which it behooved a first +citizen to stamp out of his life forever. Aunt Judith read in his face +an inexorable death-sentence of her hope and rose, trembling.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 128px;"> +<img src="images/ill_033.jpg" width="128" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"You are a hard, cold man!" she said, very white. "And the house is so +lonely I hate it!... I <i>hate</i> it!" quivered Aunt Judith with a long +shuddering sob; "there's no one to love in it—no one! And everything +Specks said to Jimsy was true!"</p> + +<p>And then, crying and shaking, she was gone, and Abner Sawyer went with +stumbling feet to the privacy of his work-shop, his face death-white. +The pompous illusions of his little world were tumbling to ruins about +him.</p> + +<p>He had said with frequent unction that he was a "hard" man, interpreting +that phrase liberally in terms of thrift, economy and substantial common +sense, and his world, through the mouth of an urchin, had flung back to +him the galling words—<i>miser</i> and <i>skinflint</i>! They had fawned to his +face and flouted his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> back, gossiping of servants and made-over gowns +and kindlings. Up and down the quiet work-shop walked Abner Sawyer, +clinging in an agony of humiliation to the loyalty of a little +urchin.... It was all he had, he told himself fiercely, all he had! +Jimsy alone saw him as he was and liked him.... No heart!... No +Christmas tree!... No one in the house to love.... He must prove then to +Specks—to Jimsy—to Judith—to the Middletons—to all Lindon—</p> + +<p>Turning with hot anger in his heart, he saw a book upon his work-bench; +and picking it up, Abner Sawyer faced the pitiful fiasco of Jimsy's +Christmas gift. With a great lump in his throat and his eyes wet he +glanced at the fly-leaf.</p> + +<p>"To Uncle Ab," it said, "from Jimsy. Chrismus gretings."</p> + +<p>The door clicked as it had clicked the night before and the night +before.</p> + +<p>"Unc—Mister Sawyer," said Jimsy sleepily. "I 'mos' forgot to come, I +was so awful tired an' sleepy.... Ain't—ain't sick, are ye, Uncle Ab? +Yer face is awful queer."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I—I don't know," said the first citizen hoarsely. "I—I think I am. Go +to bed, Jimsy, and—thank—you—for the book."</p> + +<p>Jimsy went back to bed. He did not know—nor did Aunt Judith or Abner +Sawyer that presently he was the sole keeper of the house save Stump +snoring in the kitchen. For Abner Sawyer was furtively driving Peggy +into a village that knew him only by repute and Aunt Judith, having +slipped away in white defiance to Cousin Lemuel's down the road, was +driving into Lindon with the surreptitious savings of many years in the +old-fashioned pocket of her gown.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 158px;"> +<img src="images/ill_034.jpg" width="158" height="200" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_035.jpg" width="300" height="84" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + +<h3>THE PROVING</h3> + +<p>The clock struck six. It was Christmas morning! Jimsy awoke with the +thought of turkey uppermost in his mind, to find Aunt Judith by his bed, +a wonderful look of Christmas, he thought, in her gentle face.</p> + +<p>"Dress quickly, Jimsy," she whispered, "and don't make a sound—not a +sound! I'll wait outside by the door. It—it's a Christmas secret that +nobody but you and I must know."</p> + +<p>Jimsy tumbled into his clothes and opened the door.</p> + +<p>"W-w-w-w-what is it, Aunt Judith?" he whispered.</p> + +<p>But for answer Aunt Judith only hurried him in a flutter to the +sewing-room, safe this many a year from the measured tread of +first-citizen feet, and closed the door.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Aunt Judith!" gulped the boy. "Aunt Judith!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + +<p>A Christmas tree winked and rainbowed glory in a window by the eaves, +everything beneath its tinselled branches that the heart of boy could +wish. The radiance in Jimsy's eyes brought Aunt Judith to her knees +beside him, her sweet, tired eyes wet with tears of pleasure.</p> + +<p>"You like it, Jimsy?" she whispered. "You're sure you like it, dear?"</p> + +<p>Jimsy buried his face on Aunt Judith's shoulder with a strangled sob of +excitement and delight.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Judith," he blurted, "I—I can't 'mos' tell ye what I think."</p> + +<p>Aunt Judith's arms clung tightly to him.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Lemuel helped me," she whispered. "The house was dark and Mr. +Sawyer in bed. There wasn't even a light in the work-shop. We tiptoed up +and down the back-stairs. You mustn't breathe a word of it, Jimsy! Not a +word! It's for you and me."</p> + +<p>Jimsy sighed.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 126px;"> +<img src="images/ill_036.jpg" width="126" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Whisht," he said, "whisht Uncle Ab believed in Chris'mus."</p> + +<p>Aunt Judith kissed him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Bless your heart, Jimsy," she said bravely. "So do I."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 126px;"> +<img src="images/ill_037.jpg" width="126" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>But even bewildering hours with gifts and trees must come to an end, and +presently Aunt Judith and Jimsy went down hand in hand to attend to the +fire and breakfast.... And the opening of the sitting-room door froze +Aunt Judith Sawyer to the threshold, her face whitely unbelieving. +Something was wrong with the primness of the sitting-room—something in +evergreen and tinsel and a hundred candles that showered Christmas from +its boughs—something was wrong with Abner Sawyer—up and waiting by the +window, his face twisted into a faint and sickly smile of apology.</p> + +<p>For now that he was in the very heart of his "proving" he did not know +what on earth to do. Dignity?... It was hopelessly out of the question. +With a monument to his midnight guilt blazing there in the corner—with +Christmas wreaths hung in the windows to confound the Middletons—he +must face the music. Feeling very foolish, he cleared his throat and +essayed to speak,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> paralyzed into silence again by the unexpected +evolution of a hoarse croak so horribly un-first-citizen that it +frightened him.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 119px;"> +<img src="images/ill_038.jpg" width="119" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Jimsy broke the staring silence.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Ab," he quivered, "ye never—ye never went an' done all that fur +me!"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know," said Abner Sawyer, swallowing very hard. "I—I think +I did."</p> + +<p>"When," faltered Aunt Judith from the doorway, "did you—do it?"</p> + +<p>"It must have been after midnight. I came in very quietly. The ride was +long—I went to Matsville. You must have been in bed asleep—"</p> + +<p>Jimsy embarked upon a handspring of celebration.</p> + +<p>"Two trees!" he shouted, caution quite forgotten in his wild excitement, +"two suits of clothes—two everything! Oh, my gosh, Specks ain't in it. +I'm the Christmas kid!" and then in a panic he was on his feet again, +his face hot and red. "Aunt Judith," he exclaimed, almost crying, "I'm +awfully sorry—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> + +<p>Aunt Judith's tremulous laugh seemed tears and silver.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, dear. It's all right now. Abner," she swallowed bravely, +"one of—one of Jimsy's Christmas trees is in the sewing-room. I—I'd +like you to see it."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 210px;"> +<img src="images/ill_039.jpg" width="210" height="300" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_040.jpg" width="300" height="84" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<h3>THE TRIUMPH</h3> + +<p>Specks reviewed the Christmas tree in the sitting-room after breakfast +and looked upset. It was bigger than his own.</p> + +<p>"Got one downstairs, too," crowed Jimsy. "Uncle Ab," he added, "he sort +o' wanted it to be awful Christmasy through the whole house, an'—an' +Jiminy Crickets, Specks, it is!"</p> + +<p>"Uncle Ab—who's Uncle Ab?"</p> + +<p>"Uncle Ab Sawyer." Jimsy bristled. "What ye got to say about it?"</p> + +<p>"Nuthin'."</p> + +<p>"Did <i>you</i> get <i>two</i> trees, Specks?"</p> + +<p>"Naw. Hain't many folks did, I guess. 'Tain't nuthin' to crow about, +anyway."</p> + +<p>"Huh! Thought ye said the Middletons was more Christmasy'n us."</p> + +<p>"I didn't."</p> + +<p>"Ye did."</p> + +<p>"I didn't."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ye did, too, and I walloped ye fur it. I'll wallop ye again if ye say +ye didn't."</p> + +<p>"Jimsy!" Aunt Judith's gentle voice put an end to controversy. An +armistice was pledged.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 124px;"> +<img src="images/ill_041.jpg" width="124" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Did ye get skates, Specks?"</p> + +<p>"Nope."</p> + +<p>"Gosh, I'm sorry fur that. I got two pairs. Mebbe—Aunt Judith?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Jimsy?"</p> + +<p>"Would ye mebbe mind me givin' Specks a pair o' skates? Mr. Middleton he +ain't so Christmasy as you an' Uncle Ab—"</p> + +<p>Specks swallowed hard and accepted this and the skates. But he could not +forbear at least one shaft of triumph.</p> + +<p>"I got a sled, Jimsy!"</p> + +<p>"Huh!" said Jimsy. "So did I. Two of 'em."</p> + +<p>It was too much. The street urchin in Specks came to the fore in a +mighty wave of envy.</p> + +<p>"Gawd!" he gulped.</p> + +<p>Jimsy glowered.</p> + +<p>"Hey!" he whispered fiercely "Hain't ye got no decency?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>Specks blushed apology and departed.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 124px;"> +<img src="images/ill_042.jpg" width="124" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Later, Jimsy reviewed the Sawyer turkey with a reverential glisten in +his eye.</p> + +<p>"Specks!" he yelled from the kitchen window. "Yi, Specksy!"</p> + +<p>"What d'ye want?"</p> + +<p>"Come over an' see the turkey."</p> + +<p>"Y'ain't got two, have ye?" demanded Specks with suspicion.</p> + +<p>"Naw," said Jimsy. "One's enuff. This un's bigger'n the turkey Pete +Googan raffled off last Christmas eve."</p> + +<p>So Specks returned to envy—for the house of Sawyer had outdone the +house of Middleton once more—and Jimsy in a glow of noisy delight led +him to rows of pies and a barrel of ruddy apples—to celery and +tarts—to fruit cake and cranberries and simmering vegetables—in short +to every home-keeping kitchen device for filling a country house with +the odor of Christmas and the promise of good cheer. The Sawyer kitchen +to-day was a wonderful place of shine and spice. Even Aunt Judith felt +the nameless something in the air, for her cheeks were faintly pink and +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> hand that smoothed her snowy apron trembled ever so little. +Christmas had not come so this many a year.</p> + +<p>But Specks departed this time with a furtive air of triumph.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Middleton ain't no stiff," he announced. "<i>He's</i> goin' out on the +hill coastin' with me this afternoon—"</p> + +<p>"S-s-s-s-h!" whispered Jimsy fiercely. "D'ye want Aunt Judith to hear +ye? I git awful sick o' wallopin' you, Specks, but lemme hear ye say +that again an' I'll baste ye good."</p> + +<p>The kitchen door swung back. Specks paled, as well he might. The first +citizen stood in the doorway, his mouth set.</p> + +<p>"Jimsy," he said, clearing his throat. "Get your sled, my boy. We'd +better try it out before dinner."</p> + +<p>It was a challenge to the Middletons, of course, but afterwards, in a +wild moment of panic, Abner Sawyer felt that he would have retracted at +any cost had it not been for the wonderful glow in Jimsy's face. He felt +a little sick.... God help him, he liked Jimsy! He wanted to please +him!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_043.jpg" width="300" height="87" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<h3>THE DOWNFALL</h3> + +<p>The Lindon hill was full of watchers. That in itself was disconcerting. +Wild spirits gather in the snow on Christmas morning. And it was, of +course, like Jimsy to fling himself suddenly upon his sled with a whoop +and go flying down the hill through the snow fleet, yelling wildly, but +Abner Sawyer wished he had made his début a trifle less conspicuously. +For it brought all eyes to Abner Sawyer himself standing stiffly upon +the hill-top not quite sure of his ground. A neighbor or so eyed him in +polite surprise and nodded; a child fastened round eyes upon his silk +hat and he wished he had left it at home. But Christmas was no more +Christmas than Sunday was Sunday without this formal head-piece, and +besides, it had been his sole concession to the horrified stir of +dignity within him when Jimsy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> had appeared upon the walk beside him +dragging his sled. What on earth was he doing here anyway in the rough +and tumble sport of a Christmas morning!</p> + +<p>Yells of greeting followed Jimsy's meteoric flight down the hillside. +Everybody seemed to know and like him, and Jimsy, as ever, was noisily +responsive. Yes, he was more a part of this village of Lindon than the +first citizen himself standing aloof upon the hill-top, and the first +citizen had spent his life in Lindon. Abner Sawyer felt hurt and alone. +He had slipped in an unwary moment from his wound-proof armor of +conscious superiority and in this world of friends outside it, there was +more room for Jimsy than there was for him. Small comfort, after all, +the solitude of greatness!</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 111px;"> +<img src="images/ill_044.jpg" width="111" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>The first citizen frowned impatiently. What was it all about, anyway, he +wondered hopelessly. Did he want to be one of that yelling, shoving, +jostling crowd? Surely not! His dignity rose in revolt at the very +thought of it. Did he hunger for Jimsy's supreme gift of adaptability? +Why should this fierce<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> new hunger for one friendly, honest, +heart-warming smile of liking and welcome gnaw at his heart?... Why—God +help him!—why was he a stranger in his own town?</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_045.jpg" width="300" height="71" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"The world is all wrong," said Abner Sawyer, a little white; "I am not +myself." And for a wild moment his sore heart flamed again at Jimsy's +revolutionizing intrusion into the quiet smugness of his life.</p> + +<p>Jimsy's quick, eager little smile of greeting as he came up the hill +again warmed the pang away—it was so full of good-fellowship and +understanding.</p> + +<p>"Ever go belly-whopper, Uncle Ab?" he demanded radiantly.</p> + +<p>"I—I scarcely think so," said the first citizen.</p> + +<p>"I—I don't like to belly-whop down the hill with you standin' up here +alone," said Jimsy shyly. "Why don't ye go down just once with me, Uncle +Ab? Then if ye like it, we'll just have one thump-walloper of a time!"</p> + +<p>"No, no, Jimsy," said the first citizen. "I—I can't do that—" and then +for the first time he met the amused<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> eyes of Hiram Middleton and +Specks.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_046.jpg" width="300" height="77" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>So they had followed to the hill—incredulous and curious! A wave of +anger swept Abner Sawyer into indiscretion.</p> + +<p>"I—I'll go with you once, Jimsy," he said, and Jimsy's round little +face glowed.</p> + +<p>So the first citizen seated himself stiffly on the sled behind Jimsy, +wondering what on earth to do with his legs. They seemed to have +lengthened mysteriously and they looked astonishingly thin. Jimsy gave a +wild Indian whoop of warning and the sled hurtled off down the hill, +with the first citizen, unbelievably stiff-legged and frightened, +clinging to his hat.</p> + +<p>His emotions were panoramic. There was panic first at his lost +dignity—then wonder at their speed, but most of all his legs bothered +him—his legs and his hat. He wished Jimsy would quit yelling. Yet for +all he tried he could not bring himself to say so.</p> + +<p>"Ki-yi-yi-yi-whoop!" sang Jimsy, steering. Abner Sawyer gulped. +Everybody on the hill, of course, was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> staring; his coat-tails were +flying dizzily behind him. There would be a scandal and the directors +of the Lindon Bank might even meet and call him to account. Small +blame to them. Abner Sawyer mentally sketched a caricature of +himself—coat-tails, legs and all—and Heaven help him!—lost his hat. +He emitted a feeble croak of dismay. Jimsy looking back steered into a +snow-bank and dumped the president of the Lindon Bank out upon the hill.</p> + +<p>"Gosh Almighty, Uncle Ab," he yelled, "I'm awful sorry. I seen your lid +go—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Jimsy," said the first citizen, sitting up, "never +mind—I—I really shouldn't have worn such a wind-catcher to—to +belly-whop in—"</p> + +<p>He sat very stiff amid the ruins of the snow-bank. Jimsy grinned.</p> + +<p>"Ye ain't really done no belly-whoppin' yet," he said.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 119px;"> +<img src="images/ill_047.jpg" width="119" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>And now for the first time Abner Sawyer realized that everybody on the +hill had come running at Jimsy's yell to see if he was hurt.... One was +brushing him off ... another had rescued his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> hat with a horrible +un-first-citizen dent in it and a lump of snow on the brim ... and they +weren't shocked ... they weren't laughing.... Why on earth should there +be friendliness now in their gaze when he had seemed so far away from +them standing up there on the hill? No scandalized amazement here at the +downfall of Lindon's pride ... he was somehow closer to them all.</p> + +<p>It was Aunt Polly Magee, the self-appointed mother of the village, who +finally stood the first citizen upon his feet and brushed the snow from +his back.</p> + +<p>"Dear me," she said, "that was a spill. When ye went down ye seemed +'mos' as leggy as a spider. Next time ye go coastin', Ab, ye'd better +not wear your Sunday hat. 'Tain't no better'n a kite when it comes to +wind."</p> + +<p>Abner Sawyer's smile was vague and apologetic, but there was a fierce, +wild joy in his heart that he didn't try to understand. He was glad he +had lost his hat—he was glad he had fallen into the snow-bank—and he +was glad Aunt Polly Magee had called him Ab for the first time in thirty +years!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_048.jpg" width="300" height="82" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE CHAIN IS LOCKED</h3> + +<p>Like a rainbow blur fled the Sawyer Christmas, punctuated with the yells +and bangs of boyhood. From dawn to bed it was a triumph.</p> + +<p>"Jimsy," said the first citizen at dusk, "has it—has it been what you'd +call a—a walloper-thump—"</p> + +<p>"Thump-walloper," corrected Jimsy.</p> + +<p>"Thump-walloper of a day?"</p> + +<p>Jimsy's reply was ecstatic.</p> + +<p>"I 'mos' always forget," he added ruefully. "Aunt Judith said I mustn't +call ye Uncle Ab. Which d'ye like best, Uncle Ab? Mister Sawyer or Uncle +Ab?"</p> + +<p>"I—I think," said the first citizen with a gulp, "that I like Uncle Ab +a little better."</p> + +<p>"So do I," said Jimsy.</p> + +<p>With a wind-beaten flutter of wings, Jimsy's Christmas fled at +midnight.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> Dawn grayed bleakly over the Sawyer home, and there came an +hour when Peggy waited to carry Jimsy to the station. Nervous and +irritable—why he did not know save that time was crowding and he must +deliver Jimsy to the minister in time for the 8.32, Abner Sawyer strode +resolutely to the kitchen door. But he did not summon Jimsy. Instead he +turned a little white.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 116px;"> +<img src="images/ill_049.jpg" width="116" height="150" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>It was a common enough sight—a woman clinging to a child and +crying—but Abner Sawyer was conscious of a swelling mutiny in his +throat and a blur to his vision.</p> + +<p>"Do-o-o-on't cry, Aunt Judith!" gulped Jimsy courageously. "I'll be as +good as I know how. An' you'll be awful good to Stump, won't ye, Aunt +Judith? He's lame an'—an' he's had a fierce life."</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes—"</p> + +<p>"An' tell Uncle Austin White I sent him good-by."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Jimsy."</p> + +<p>"An'—an' write me every week 'bout ol' Peggy an' Uncle Ab an'—an' you, +Aunt Judith. Don't forget—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Everything, dear!"</p> + +<p>"Go-o-o-oby, Aunt Judith!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jimsy! Jimsy!"</p> + +<p>Abner Sawyer fled to his wagon with his hands upon his ears. It was the +wildest sobbing he had ever heard. When Jimsy came, at last, looking +very red and swollen, the first citizen was staring straight ahead.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_050.jpg" width="300" height="72" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Peggy finished at the station almost neck and neck with the train. The +minister spoke to Mr. Sawyer and rushed Jimsy up the steps. A bell +clanged. There was much noise and puffing and the train was under way. +Jimsy, wildly remembering his good-by to Uncle Ab, flung up the train +window and waved a frantic hand.</p> + +<p>Then something happened.</p> + +<p>A shaking hand touched the baggage-master.</p> + +<p>"Stop the train!" said Abner Sawyer harshly. He was deathly white. +"It—it is important. I will pay if necessary."</p> + +<p>It was unprecedented, but, thoroughly rural in his taste for sensation, +the baggage-master leaped to the bottom step<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> of the nearest car and +spoke to a brakeman. The brakeman glanced at the first citizen with +respect. There was a hissing noise and a jerk. When the train rumbled to +a stop again under the startled eyes of Lindon, Abner Sawyer was already +striding up the aisle. With the intelligent eyes of the young minister +upon him, he snatched Jimsy roughly from the seat, carried him down the +aisle—down the steps—and over the platform to Peggy.</p> + +<p>"W-what is it, Uncle Ab?" faltered the boy. "Did I—did I forget +something?"</p> + +<p>Abner Sawyer felt the boy's warm young cheek against his face and a +great lump welled up in his throat. Something hot stung his eyes. The +clasp of his arms tightened.</p> + +<p>"Jimsy," he said huskily, "you said I ought to give Aunt Judith a +Christmas present, and I'm going to give her—<i>you</i>!"</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Jimsy, by Leona Dalrymple + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JIMSY *** + +***** This file should be named 28110-h.htm or 28110-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/1/1/28110/ + +Produced by Annie McGuire + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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