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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69068 ***

Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_
and bold text by =equal signs=.




THE COUNTRY CHRISTMAS




Works of

Frances Margaret Fox

[Illustration]


  Farmer Brown and the Birds              $.50
  The Little Giant's Neighbours            .50
  Mother Nature's Little Ones              .50
  Betty of Old Mackinaw                    .50
  Brother Billy                            .50
  How Christmas Came to the Mulvaneys      .50
  The Country Christmas                    .50
  Little Lady Marjorie                    1.50


  L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
  New England Building,       Boston, Mass.

[Illustration: CHOOSING THE CHRISTMAS TREE.

  (_See page 99_)]




  Cosy Corner Series

  THE COUNTRY
  CHRISTMAS

  By
  Frances Margaret Fox

  Author of
  "Farmer Brown and the Birds," "Little Lady
  Marjorie," "Betty of Old Mackinaw," "How Christmas
  Came to the Mulvaneys," etc.

  _Illustrated by_
  Etheldred B. Barry

  [Illustration]


  _Boston_

  [Illustration]

  _L. C. Page & Company_

  [Illustration]

  _1907_




  _Copyright, 1907_
  BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
  (INCORPORATED)

  _All rights reserved_


  First Impression, June, 1907


  _COLONIAL PRESS_
  _Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
  Boston, U. S. A._




[Illustration: CONTENTS]


  CHAPTER                                              PAGE

     I. HOPE FOR THE MULVANEYS                            1

    II. SALLY BROWN'S NEW IDEA                           11

   III. HOUSE-HUNTING                                    18

    IV. TOM MAKES A SUGGESTION                           28

     V. SOMETHING HAPPENED                               35

    VI. HOW STUBBINS WENT TO SEE MR. HODGKINS            46

   VII. PIGS IN THE ATTIC                                54

  VIII. STUBBINS AND CHINKY LEARN THEIR NAMES            63

    IX. HANNAH'S PINK DRESS                              69

     X. THE HOME THAT WAS LOST ON CHRISTMAS DAY          77

    XI. MRS. MULVANEY'S AIR CASTLE                       86

   XII. WELCOME HODGKINS CHOOSES THE CHRISTMAS TREE      93

  XIII. ON THE TRAIL OF SANTA CLAUS                     101

   XIV. THE HOME THAT WAS FOUND ON CHRISTMAS DAY        107




[Illustration: ILLVSTRATIONS]


                                                       PAGE

  CHOOSING THE CHRISTMAS TREE (_See page 99_) _Frontispiece_

  "'HE PUT ON ONE OF HER NEW DRESSES'"                    7

  "POINTING TO A DILAPIDATED WEATHER-BEATEN
  STRUCTURE ALMOST HIDDEN FROM VIEW"                     19

  "WHEREUPON HE WAS TAKEN IN HAND"                       42

  "THEN BEGAN A WILD RIDE"                               52

  "A CLEANER IF NOT A BETTER BOY"                        59

  "JOINED HER FAMILY BENEATH AN APPLE-TREE"              73

  "LAUGHING SOFTLY AS SHE ROCKED"                        90

  "THE NEXT DAY CHINKY SHARPENED HIS HATCHET"           103

  "THE SEVEN STOOD IN A ROW"                            107




THE COUNTRY CHRISTMAS




CHAPTER I

HOPE FOR THE MULVANEYS


Sally Brown remembered the Mulvaneys. It was no wonder the child talked
of them at first; but, when she had lived in the country two months,
her mother and brother Alfred begged her to change the subject.

"Give us a rest," was Alfred's repeated command.

"Really, Sally," her mother remonstrated one morning, "what is the
use of thinking of the Mulvaneys all the time? If it did any good I
wouldn't say a word, but you only make us uncomfortable without helping
them in the least."

"Well, mamma," was the reply, "you see I can't help hoping."

"Hoping," mocked Alfred, "hoping for what, I'd like to know?"

"If your name was Chinky Mulvaney you'd guess quick enough," was
Sally's retort. "I am hoping the Mulvaneys will get out of the city
same as we did."

"Hoping won't get them out," said Alfred.

"Maybe it won't and maybe it will," Sally remarked. "I notice that when
you hope for things hard enough, you're pretty sure to get them. That
is," she added, "if you do some squirming too. Don't you know, Alfred,
you can help things happen if you try. I've discovered there's more'n
one way of hoping."

Mrs. Brown was ready to go out. "Sally, my child," was her parting
advice, "hope all you wish, but please don't mention the Mulvaneys to
Alfred or me for one week."

"She'd never live," Alfred said, as he grabbed his cap and followed his
mother.

Sally flew to the kitchen. "I can talk to you about the Mulvaneys,
can't I, Mrs. Turner? Now I am ready to wash the dishes. Alfred's gone
to the post-office, and mamma has gone to sew for Mrs. Reuben Smith;
that's why I didn't get out here sooner; I had to see them off. Mamma
says,—what do you think?—that I mustn't say Mulvaney to her for a
week. I can talk to you, though, can't I?"

"Indeed you may," laughed Mrs. Isaac Turner. "I feel as if I had known
the Mulvaneys all my life. Talk about them, of course you may. Is Mrs.
Mulvaney a nice looking woman?"

"Dear me, no," laughed Sally, playing with the soapsuds in the dishpan.
"She's about as unpretty as any one you ever saw. She's cross as a
bear, too, but who wouldn't be? Just 'magine, Mrs. Turner, if you lived
in a horrid little pig-pen house, and you had seven acting children
and your Mr. Mulvaney was dead, and you had to take in washing? I do
wish they could come out in the country. I wish they could live in this
very village. Why, Mrs. Turner, they are the most discouraging children
you ever saw. There's Hannah and Chinky and Nora and Dora and Mike and
Johnnie and Stubbins, and they all look worse'n they act."

"Yes," agreed Mrs. Turner, "I know them every one, Sally, just as well
as if I had seen their photographs. Hannah is tall and thin; Chinky is
red-headed and freckled; Mike is full of mischief; and Johnnie's always
getting into trouble; and Stubbins is a terror. Now why do you want
such a family turned loose in our pretty village?"

"Don't laugh, Mrs. Turner, because it is dreadful for children not
to have better things. They live down by the railroad tracks and the
river, in mud and dirt. I think it is worse for them because they have
always lived there, and they don't know anything different. They are
not so very bad yet, but you just wait and see what'll happen if they
stay there."

"How is it, Sally, that you like such children?"

"Because," was the instant response, "I got acquainted with them. I've
discovered that you're pretty sure to like every one if you only get
well enough acquainted. I never knew how good Mrs. Mulvaney was until
mamma was taken to the hospital, and Mrs. Mulvaney took me and Alfred
in. Of course she was cross and everything, but I'll never forget
how good she was to us, nor how she cried for joy,—that's what mamma
said,—because they had a gay Christmas for once in their lives. She
was glad mamma and Alfred and I could come here to live, too; and now
I'll tell you something, Mrs. Turner. I'm not the only one that's
hoping. This is exactly what Mrs. Mulvaney said when we talked it over.
'We'll put for the country, too, Sally, if we ever get a chance!' So
you see, she wants to come."

Nothing more was said about the Mulvaneys for a week, which doesn't
mean that Sally forgot them. It happened this way: Alfred brought a
letter from the post-office that Saturday morning addressed to Mrs.
Elizabeth Brown, and as Mrs. Elizabeth Brown was away all day, the
children passed their spare time wondering about its contents. At night
their curiosity was satisfied. A farmer's daughter needed the help of a
dressmaker for two weeks. Better than that she wrote, "Come as soon as
possible, and bring both your children. They can walk to school every
day with my brother."

"That lets me out," declared Alfred; "but you may go, Sally, just the
same." To show how little he cared, Alfred whistled "Yankee Doodle."

"Perhaps Mr. Turner would give you a vacation," suggested Sally.

"Wouldn't ask him," was the reply. "When they take a feller to work
for his board in a grocery store after school hours, and to do chores
around the house, he's got to tend to business or lose his job."

Alfred sometimes put on airs. Sally always felt humiliated when her
brother talked about working for his board, and how fortunate it was
that one of his mother's children happened to be a boy. "What if we'd
both been girls?" he used to ask in tones of scorn. Instead of feeling
sorry for Alfred, when she and her mother were driven to the Randall
farm, Sally envied him because of his importance at home.

"How do you like it out there?" asked the boy at recess a few days
later.

[Illustration: "'HE PUT ON ONE OF HER NEW DRESSES'"]

"The only thing I don't like," was the reply, "is coming to school with
Tom Randall. I am glad he isn't my brother. He's the worst tease I
ever saw. Why Alfred, you are a perfect angel beside of him. He made
Cornelia Mary cry last night, and she's sixteen."

"Who's Cornelia Mary?"

"She's his sister. He put on one of her new dresses mamma is making,
and said he was going to wear it out to milk the cows."

"Did he do it?" inquired Alfred.

"No, his mother made him take it off. He's fourteen and he thinks he
knows it all."

"The boys all like him, Sally. If girls weren't so silly they wouldn't
have so much trouble."

"You needn't think that bothers me," laughed Sally, "because I want to
tell you about the Randalls. They're the nicest people ever, all but
Tom. They live in a great big white house with green blinds and wide
verandas. It must be lovely in the summer. You ought to see their cows
and their horses and their chickens, and when I say chickens I mean
everything with feathers; pigeons, ducks, and geese, turkeys, and even
guinea hens. Oh, but it's nice. I can't begin to tell you. Cornelia
Randall is the sweetest girl you ever saw, too. She told me to call
her Cornelia Mary except when I go visiting her school next summer,
then I must say 'Miss Randall,' to set the country children a good
example."

"Is she going to be a school teacher?"

"Yes, Alfred, and she says she can hardly wait for summer. She's passed
her examination and got her certificate, and she's going to teach over
in the Hodgkins district. Tom declares he'll visit her school and make
speeches to the children. It would be just like him, and she couldn't
put him out either, if she tried. Cornelia Mary says sometimes she
wishes she was an only child."

"Nice and selfish," suggested Alfred.

"You never lived with Tom Randall," observed Sally. "There he comes
now, and don't you dare tell what I told you."

"Won't I though?"

"Oh, no, you won't, Alfred. Wait a minute," she called, "I want to tell
you something. I'm still hoping about the Mulvaneys; they would have
such a good time in the country!"




CHAPTER II

SALLY BROWN'S NEW IDEA


The following Saturday Tom Randall heard some news.

"You can't guess the latest!" he shouted, as he ran up the stairs three
steps at a time, reaching the door of the sewing-room out of breath,
and beaming with smiles.

"It must be something good," ventured Sally, forgetting to pull basting
threads in her eagerness to hear more.

Cornelia Mary looked doubtfully at her brother. "Well, what is it?" she
asked.

"Get your camphor bottle ready. I'm going to let you down easy, but you
had better be prepared. Corny, your school's gone. You won't teach in
the Hodgkins district this year, I can tell you right now."

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I said."

"Did the schoolhouse burn up?"

"Worse'n that."

"Have they hired another teacher?"

"Worse yet."

"Come, Tom, tell us," besought Mrs. Brown.

"He's fooling!" declared Sally.

"No, sir, I mean what I say," insisted Tom. "Corny's school has gone,
bag and baggage."

"Well, how could it?" demanded Cornelia Mary.

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know how it could be so cruel,"
he said, "but maybe it didn't like to have you for a teacher. Fact is,
it's gone. The Beans and the Kilpatricks have got work in the sugar
factory, and they moved to town. There goes your A Class and your B
Class and—"

"Well, the Chart Class isn't gone," interrupted Cornelia Mary, laughing
in spite of herself at Tom's antics. "You can have a school if there's
only one child in the whole district and little Willie Jessup begins
this summer. Poor little fellow, he'll be lonesome."

"No, little Willie won't be lonesome," mocked Tom, "because little
Willie's going too. I tell you, Corny, your school's gone. Cheer up,
you've got me left. I'll be home all summer. Never mind the Hodgkins
district, let it go."

"You go away," retorted Cornelia Mary, struggling with tears, "you're a
comfort, aren't you?"

"It was my painful duty, Corny, to tell you before the neighbours did
and this is all the thanks I get, just 'go away.' What an ungrateful
world it is. Never mind, Corny, if you ever need a friend, you come
back to your sweet brother. He'll forgive you."

"Will you go away!" repeated Cornelia Mary.

"Oh, yes," was the reply, "I mustn't stay in a damp place for fear of
rheumatism. Better get up your umbrella, Sally," and Tom went away
whistling.

Cornelia Mary did cry, at least she cried until Sally Brown appeared to
be very much excited about something.

"What is the matter?" asked Mrs. Brown, while Cornelia Mary wiped her
eyes and stared.

"Why—why the Mulvaneys!" exclaimed Sally. "Why can't they move out
here and go to school?"

"Who are the Mulvaneys?" asked Cornelia Mary.

"Well, they're the Mulvaneys," Sally insisted, "and—"

"Can it be," interrupted Mrs. Brown, "that Sally has never mentioned
them to you?"

"Never," replied Cornelia Mary. "Do tell me about them."

"You, mamma, you will tell it so much better than I could."

"It is a dismal story," began Mrs. Brown, "and one I would gladly have
forgotten."

"Why Mamma Brown!"

"Don't misunderstand me, Sally; I shall never forget Mrs. Mulvaney's
kindness, but as I have said a dozen times, we cannot help the family
and there is no use in continually dwelling upon their misery."

"Only I can't help hoping," murmured Sally. "Go on, mamma."

When the story was finished, Cornelia Mary turned to Sally with a
puzzled look on her face.

"How do you think we could get that family into the Hodgkins district?"
she asked. "What would they do? I mean, where would they live, and what
could Mrs. Mulvaney do to earn their bread and butter, I'd like to
know?"

"Couldn't she take in washing?" demanded Sally.

Cornelia Mary shook her head. "I'm afraid not in the country."

"Oh, but she could," Sally declared. "Mrs. Turner says she could
get more washing to do in the village than five women could manage,
especially when the summer boarders are there. Mrs. Turner says too
she's even wondered why some one doesn't start a laundry."

"But that's in the village and wouldn't help my school any."

"Maybe that's true," agreed Sally, "but couldn't they live in the
country, and couldn't Chinky and Hannah go after the washings and take
them home? The worst trouble is finding a place for the Mulvaneys to
live. There isn't a house they could get in the village."

"How do you know?" asked Mrs. Brown.

Sally smiled. "Oh, Mrs. Turner and I went house-hunting only last
Saturday. We thought maybe we could find a cheap little house, but
we couldn't on account of the new sugar factory. Houses are scarce
and rents are high. We found out a few things. That's the way I do my
hoping, mamma."

"Would they come?" inquired Cornelia Mary, growing interested.

"Come!" echoed Sally, "they'd come flying!"

"Yes, they would," agreed her mother. "There's no doubt of it. But how
could we manage, Cornelia Mary? Where could they get a house, and how
could they furnish it?"

"Of course they would have to bring their furniture," suggested
Cornelia Mary.

"But they haven't anything worth mentioning, even if they could afford
the expense. I doubt if Mrs. Mulvaney ever had money enough ahead to
buy tickets for the whole family, and their clothes are unthinkable.
No, it is hopeless."

"Don't say that, Mrs. Brown, on account of my school. If there is a
way to get them here, Sally and I must do it. Father will help us, I
know. Come on, Sally, we'll go and find him. If what Tom says is true,
and I'm sure it is because I heard something about it last week, why,
there'll be three houses empty and perhaps we may be able to get one of
them cheap."

"You never can tell until you try," added Sally.




CHAPTER III

HOUSE-HUNTING


The Beans, the Kilpatricks, and the Jessups might as well have taken
their houses with them so far as the Mulvaneys were concerned. Mr.
Bean's father and mother were to live in their vacant house. The
Kilpatrick home was rented to an old couple related to the Beans, while
the residence of the Jessups was to be torn down.

Cornelia Mary and Sally drove slowly homeward after their first
experience in country house-hunting.

"Now what do you think?" inquired Cornelia Mary, giving the reins an
impatient jerk.

"I think—" began Sally, "well, I think we got left."

That remark made the girls laugh. Having laughed the prospect seemed
less dismal.

[Illustration: "POINTING TO A DILAPIDATED WEATHER-BEATEN STRUCTURE
ALMOST HIDDEN FROM VIEW"]

"Wasn't it too bad about the Jessup house?" Cornelia Mary resumed. "It
was so tumbled down the rent couldn't be much and they might have got
along somehow. Was it a great deal worse than the house they live in?"

"Worse," echoed Sally, "it was sixty hundred times better. Why, the
Mulvaneys live in a little bit of a black old shanty—" Sally stopped
suddenly, then exclaimed in excited tones, "A house! A house! Whoa!"

"A house?" questioned Cornelia Mary, looking into the sky as if
expecting to see it drop from the clouds.

"Right there!" continued Sally, pointing to a dilapidated
weather-beaten structure almost hidden from view by overgrown bushes
and old weed stalks.

"Giddap," laughed Cornelia Mary, "trot along. Why, Sally, you gave me
such a start. I am sure I know now how Columbus felt when the mariners
shouted land."

"But it's a house," insisted Sally, "and no one is living in it. Whoa,
horse! Make him stop, Cornelia Mary, I want to get out. Who owns that
house and why is it empty?"

"All right, whoa, Bess! Climb out, Sally, you shall see the house, that
is if you can reach it without tearing your dress. Wait a minute while
I tie the horse to this tree."

"But it's deserted!" Sally exclaimed, "and the windows are all boarded
up; we can't see much. Who owns it? Let's go for the key?"

"No one will ever live in that house again," declared Cornelia Mary.
"To begin with, it's the oldest house in the country and the man who
built it lived in it for a long time. Then he built a new house and
his hired man lived here. After that a great many different families
rented it; then for years it was empty. One time a crazy man, whose
folks owned the mill, broke in the house and said he was going to stay
there until he died. The owner said let him have his own way as he was
harmless, and if the family would supply his wants he might have the
house rent free."

"And did he live here all alone way back from the road?" asked Sally,
gazing curiously about the place.

"Yes, and they say he was happier than he ever was in his life before;
he kept chickens and pigs and had gardens—why, Sally, there is a
regular wild flower garden here every summer to this day, and the man's
been dead since long before I was born."

"And hasn't anybody lived here since?" asked Sally.

"Of course not."

"Why?"

Cornelia Mary shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, folks are queer about some
things, Sally. I wouldn't stay all night in this house for anything,
myself, not for anything."

"Why not?"

"Well, don't you see, the old fellow was crazy, and sometimes he used
to sing and howl all night long."

"But, Cornelia Mary, he's dead now, and this is a good, big house. It
would be a palace for the Mulvaneys. Who owns it?"

"The same man who allowed the poor old lunatic to have it for a home.
He's queer, too. I never said anything but 'good morning,' or 'how do
you do' to him in my life."

"Where does he live?"

"Oh, just a little way from here around the next corner on the Bay
Shore road."

"What's his name?"

"Welcome Hodgkins."

"Oh, he's the Hodgkins district, is he?"

"No," laughed Cornelia, "not exactly, although his ancestors gave
the district its name. I tell you he's a queer old fellow—the only
Hodgkins left in the country. I really shouldn't like to call on him,
but we'll do it if you think the Mulvaneys would live here, and if
you'll do the talking."

"Well, come on then," said Sally.

"Oh, Sally, but my heart is set on teaching school this summer; I do
hope they'll come. Yes, I'll go with you to see Mr. Hodgkins. We'll
walk. He has the best farm in the country but I tell you he's queer;
nobody ever goes to see him. He lives in that large white house
straight ahead."

"But, Cornelia Mary, the blinds are all closed. I don't believe he's at
home."

"That's nothing, Sally, he lives alone in the back of his house. I told
you he was queer."

"Where's his wife?"

"Dead, years ago."

"Glad to see you, come in," said Mr. Hodgkins, opening wide his kitchen
door, at the girls' timid knock.

The man's eyes were so kind and he smiled so pleasantly Sally liked him.

"We've come on an important errand, Mr. Hodgkins," she began. "It's
about Cornelia's school. Unless you will help us, Cornelia Mary can't
teach school this summer."

"Indeed?" questioned Mr. Hodgkins. "I shall certainly be pleased to do
all in my power to assist the young lady."

Sally told him the story of the Mulvaneys. When she finished speaking
there was silence for a moment. "Guess he is queer," thought Sally. Mr.
Hodgkins's first remark was unsatisfactory, to say the least.

"Oom—um—I dunno," he murmured.

"Is it about the rent?" Sally inquired.

"Ooom—um," replied Mr. Hodgkins.

"Unless you wanted too much money," continued the child, "I think she
could manage it. She has to pay rent where they live now."

At that Welcome Hodgkins found his voice. "It's the children," he
confessed. "They could have the house and welcome, but I can't say as I
relish having the young savages raising Cain on my farm."

"It seems to me they could be trained," faltered Sally.

Something in her tone troubled Welcome Hodgkins. "Come with me and see
the house," he suggested, "and we'll consider the matter."

For the first time in years spring sunshine streamed across the
threshold of the lonely dwelling among the bushes. Once more the old
rooms echoed a childish voice and footsteps from the outside world.

"It's not a bad sort of a house after all," remarked the owner, having
lighted the lamp he carried. "Musty and damp now to be sure, but it's
roomy and might easily be repaired. Well, I dunno, let them come and if
they misbehave, we'll train them."

"Mr. Hodgkins, you're an awful nice man, and Mrs. Mulvaney'll say so
too, when she gets my letter."

"I don't know how to thank you," added Cornelia Mary.

"Well, children, here's the key. I'll unboard the windows any time you
give the word. I'm thinking, Miss Cornelia Mary, that you and I will
have our hands full this summer. Good day."

"Isn't he a nice man?" whispered Sally, as Welcome Hodgkins sauntered
homeward.

"Oom—um—I dunno," was the response. "I still think he's queer."




CHAPTER IV

TOM MAKES A SUGGESTION


Every one in the Randall family became interested in the fortunes of
the Mulvaneys. Even the hired man offered his services in getting the
house ready for the new tenants.

"Like enough a little fresh paint'd be a good thing," he remarked.

"Fresh paint," repeated Tom, "yes, sir, that's just the thing to
furnish a house with. If I couldn't have but one piece of furniture,
I'd take fresh paint. I wouldn't say give me a bed, or a table, or a
chair, or a small article like a kitchen stove; no, sir, I'd say, fresh
paint for me, if you please, fresh paint or nothing."

"Tom, you are the most consoling mortal," interrupted Cornelia Mary.
"We completely forgot about the furniture."

"Jake didn't, though; he knew that as long as the Mulvaneys had fresh
paint they'd be all right. Now, who'll give the paint? Corny, you ought
to do it, because think of the salary you'll earn teaching that school."

"Hold on, young man," said Mr. Randall, "Jake's idea is good, and I'll
donate all the paint he'll put on."

"Father has a lot left from painting the barn," Cornelia Mary whispered
to Mrs. Brown.

"They may have our old kitchen stove, too," added Mrs. Randall. "It's
a nice little stove, but we've had no use for it since we bought the
range, and it's in the woodshed covered with rust. I should be glad to
get it out of the way."

Without warning Tom stood on his head and waved his feet in the air.

"Tom Randall, what possesses you?" asked his mother, giving the pillows
on the sitting-room couch a vigorous shake.

"I wish to speak in meeting," explained Tom. "It's no circus
performance. Cheer up, Corny, I'll teach the Mulvaneys how to raise
their feet instead of their hands when they have to ask questions in
school."

"I'll give you a new lesson in shingling if you try it," observed
his father, laughing with the rest of the family at the change of
expression on Tom's face.

"I was about to make a suggestion," Tom continued. "Now don't giggle,
Corny and Sally, I'm serious. I say let's go furniture-hunting all
through the country."

"Oh, Tom, you dear!" exclaimed Cornelia Mary. "The very thing! I
suppose every one of our neighbours has old furniture in their
woodsheds and attics they would be glad to get rid of."

Sally clapped her hands and tried to speak. She had barely time to open
her mouth before Cornelia Mary had finished a request.

"Oh, Tom, will you go with us? We'll hitch Bess to the lumber wagon and
you drive. Will you?"

Tom considered a moment, as became his dignity, before replying. "I'll
go on one condition. If mother and father and Mrs. Brown will let us
all stay home from school, we'll begin to-morrow morning."

"Oh, let them," begged Cornelia Mary, "do say yes."

Permission was given, to the great surprise of Master Tom.

"But he's such a tease," objected Sally.

"You're only half-acquainted with Tom," declared his sister. "He has
streaks of real goodness, and when he says he'll help, he always does
it."

Bess must have thought picnics had begun early when Tom, Cornelia Mary,
and Sally scrambled into the lumber wagon the following morning. They
laughed so much, and acted so generally foolish, the old horse turned
her head several times, as if she couldn't understand the occasion for
such hilarity.

"We must ask for left over rolls of wall paper," suggested Cornelia
Mary. "Jake and father promised to open the house to-day. They are
going to put up the stove and build a fire. Mother says that old crazy
man was neat as wax, and that the relatives left the house in perfect
order after the funeral."

"How many rooms in the shebang?" questioned Tom.

"Let me think; there's a sitting-room, a bedroom, a dining-room, and
a kitchen downstairs. I think Mr. Hodgkins said there were three rooms
upstairs, didn't he, Sally?"

"Yes, three rooms, and kind of an attic over the kitchen. Oh, what will
the Mulvaneys think? They have only two little rooms and a place above
for the children to sleep, where they live, and the children were never
in a decent house in their lives. They are not used to furniture, let
me tell you. They didn't own but one real bed."

The first donation was a what-not, given by Mrs. George Saunders.

"That thing'll be a comfort," commented Tom.

"It'll help fix up the sitting-room," commented Cornelia Mary.

"What's it for?" asked Sally.

"To stand in the corner," was the reply. "You're supposed to put pretty
things on the shelves."

"Hope nobody'll give us another," faltered Sally.

Deacon Trowbridge happened to be thinking of buying new furniture.
He was glad to help load his old lounge, two arm-chairs, and a
marble-topped table upon the lumber wagon.

"Furniture's picking up," remarked Tom as he drove on.

Before the day was done the old horse was resting her feet in the barn,
while the Randall family, including grandfather and the hired man were
examining second-hand furniture in the woodshed.

"I wouldn't have believed it possible," said Mrs. Brown.

"Nor I," Mrs. Randall added. "Do you see the lace curtains! And if
there isn't Mrs. Moses Pendleton's old sewing-machine! I didn't suppose
she'd give a thing. How did it happen, Cornelia Mary?"

"You see, mamma, I knew that woman had two machines because I was there
the day the new one was brought home, and I suppose she guessed what I
was thinking about when Sally told the story."

"Oh, but I'm getting sick of telling that old story," laughed Sally.
"I'll be glad when we get through collecting furniture."

The hired man kept his word. With a great deal of advice and more or
less help from the children, he painted, papered, and got the house in
order inside and out. Many of the neighbours assisted with the work of
settling, then went home to ransack their attics afresh to supply newly
discovered needs.

In the village Mrs. Isaac Turner used her influence. Through her
efforts a barrel of flour and a box of groceries found their way to the
Mulvaney pantry. Tubs and a wash-boiler were purchased by the future
school teacher. Inspired by her example Tom made a wash-bench. It was
a good one, too, strong and heavy. Mrs. Brown bought the material and
Sally hemmed towels. Mrs. Randall provided sheets while Mr. Randall
gave a generous load of wood.

At last, when all was ready, Sally wrote to Mrs. Mulvaney.




CHAPTER V

SOMETHING HAPPENED


It would be hard to say who was more surprised by Sally's letter, the
postman or Mrs. Mulvaney. Both stared doubtfully at the envelope, the
postman appearing unwilling to leave the letter, while Mrs. Mulvaney
was equally uncertain of her right to it. The children were out. When
the postman was gone their mother put a stick of wood in the kitchen
stove, poked the clothes in the boiler, glanced at the wash-tubs, then
went in the Other Room.

"Well, I never!" she remarked, turning the envelope over and over
before opening it. "I wonder what Mulvaney would think!"

Three times while Mrs. Mulvaney was reading the letter she opened and
closed her mouth without uttering a sound. The fourth time she managed
to say, "Well I never!" At last she returned to the wash-boiler and
poked the clothes so vigorously it is a wonder she didn't punch holes
through them. Next she made an attack on the wash-tub. She flipped,
flapped, and jerked the clothes over the board, pounded on the soap,
and worked with such energy Johnnie didn't dare enter the kitchen. He
always peeped in the window before venturing further.

"She'd spank us," he murmured, running to warn his brothers and sisters
to "keep back."

It was well that he did so. His mother was in no mood to be trifled
with. In the shortest possible time the washing was finished and hung
on the line.

"Now then," said Mrs. Mulvaney, going in the Other Room and searching
under the bed for an old stocking which she dragged forth quickly,
"we'll see."

"More in it than I thought," she went on, pouring the contents in
her lap, then rapidly counting the money. "Eight tickets! It won't
take long to find out what they'll cost. I'll go to the Grand Central
Station and price them. Where's my good skirt?"

The garment was easily found. It was on the floor in the corner with
soiled clothes and various other articles. Mrs. Mulvaney slipped it
over her working-dress unmindful of apron strings sticking through the
placket hole in the back.

"Now my bonnet," she continued. Mrs. Mulvaney owned a bonnet, but where
to look for it was perplexing. She found it under the bed, then twisted
her hair in a tighter knot before putting it on. Finding her shawl was
a harder matter, until Mrs. Mulvaney recalled having placed it over the
dishpan in which the bread was rising, or trying to rise.

"Now I'm ready; I wonder where the young ones are? Hannah, Hannah
Mulvaney?" she called from the kitchen door, "step lively, you're all
to come in this minute."

Obedience was a shining virtue in the Mulvaney family. The children
came.

"Why, ma," protested Mike, "you ain't going to leave us, I hope."

By way of reply Mrs. Mulvaney jerked Mike through the doorway, knocking
him against Johnnie with such force the little fellow sat down in the
dishpan containing the uncovered bread dough.

"Don't stir out of this house while I'm gone," commanded Mrs. Mulvaney,
sailing away without looking behind, which was a fortunate thing for
Johnnie. Before his mother's return he had scraped off most of the
dough from his trousers, with the help of the twins.

"Kind o' sthicky, ain't it?" commented Stubbins, tasting of the dough.
"Thay! I'd give a thent to know where ma went."

"Maybe she ain't never coming back," suggested Hannah, after a long
silence.

"Yes she is; look alive, kids," shouted Chinky, "she's coming like the
fire engine. Watch out!"

"I bet she's been after a policeman, and we'll all get took to jail,"
whispered Johnnie, looking for a place to hide and finding none.

When Mrs. Mulvaney returned she said nothing at first, and the children
were too frightened by her behaviour to dare speak. They didn't know
what to think as they watched their mother count eight green slips
of paper which she afterward pinned inside her dress. The next
astonishing performance was the writing of a postal card which the
woman straightway mailed.

"Whath going to happen?" questioned Stubbins. No one knew.

"My thaketh!" was a later exclamation from Stubbins. "My thaketh alive!
Here cometh the thecond-hand man with ma!"

Even his errand was a mystery to the seven, as before he was invited
in, the children were turned out.

That night when Chinky carried the washing home, he told the customer
that it was the last work his mother would ever do for her.

"Why?" demanded the woman.

"Can't prove it by me," was the reply, "I dunno no more about it'n you
do."

The next morning the second-hand man called at eight, and carried away
the stove, the wash-boiler, the tubs, Mrs. Mulvaney's bed and bureau,
the few chairs, in fact everything that he could possibly sell. By this
time the children were absolutely terrified.

"We're going to move!" announced their mother. "What's more, we're
going to have a ride on the cars. You must all wash up and I'll tidy
your hair. Then we'll get ready to start. We ain't got a trunk to pack
things in, but we've got pa's satchel. Eight of us ought to carry
what's left here in our hands."

"How'll we take all the clothes that was give to us Christmas?" asked
Hannah.

"You'll wear 'em," was the reply. "You ain't got but three dresses to
your name, and if you can't get 'em all on, you ain't good for much.
Thin as you be, I don't know but you'll hold more clothes than just
your own. We'll see."

Mrs. Mulvaney began on poor Stubbins. He was plump and given to
stumbling anyway, but by the time his mother had squeezed him into two
suits and three overcoats of various sizes, he could scarcely wiggle,
nor could he bend his arms.

"I'll tie up a little bundle of stuff for you to carry in one hand,"
said Mrs. Mulvaney, "and you can take the clothes-stick in the other.
It's too good to leave behind. Now don't you stir," she continued,
"until the others are ready."

"Well, ma," grumbled Stubbins, "I couldn't sthir if I wanted to. I
sthick out all around ith like a pig. I thay! I'm too warm!"

Mike laughed at Stubbins, so Mrs. Mulvaney chose him for the next
victim. He quickly felt and looked like his little brother.

"You can take the kerosene can in one hand, and the dishpan in the
other," said Mrs. Mulvaney. Then Mike felt worse than Stubbins, but
protest was useless. He had to carry the kerosene can and the old
dishpan.

Johnnie looked too pleased, whereupon he was taken in hand,—"rigged
out," as his mother said. "You can carry the wash-board," she went on,
"it's almost as good as new; I don't care what the second-hand man had
to say."

"Oh, ma," besought Johnnie, "let Chinky carry the wash-board, he's
bigger. I might fall and break it."

Mrs. Mulvaney was so in the habit of spanking Johnnie she began as
usual, before she thought how well padded he was.

"Thay, ma, you'll have to thlap him," advised Stubbins. "He ith only
got hith fathe."

"Lucky for once," chuckled Mike. Even Mrs. Mulvaney laughed.

[Illustration]

In the meantime Hannah made clothes-racks of Nora and Dora. Fearing she
might have to carry the rusty tin pails herself, she asked her mother
what she wished to put in them for the twins to take.

"Provisions," was the reply, "you can pack up the bread and whatever's
left in the cupboards. Get your own extra clothes on right lively now.
You're to carry pa's picture. The frame ain't heavy and you know how to
be careful."

"Maybe I better take the pails an' you carry the picture," objected
Hannah. "I'm afraid I might spoil it. It's all I can do to manage my
arms on 'count of so many sleeves."

"I'll take the picture," offered Chinky, trying to evade the mop,
broom, clothes-line, pole, and clothes-pin basket his mother thrust
upon him.

"You'll carry what I say," declared Mrs. Mulvaney, putting on all the
garments she owned. Then she packed Mr. Mulvaney's old satchel so full
the sides burst.

"I can tie it up," said she, tearing a strip from a ragged blanket for
the purpose. "I'll have to carry pa's satchel and make these quilts and
things into a bundle. There now! there are two of your pa's old coats.
Who'll take 'em? Can't carry 'em, you say, got your hands full? I'll
fix it, Chinky, you can wear one and Hannah can wear the other. Hold
still and I'll button them around you. They're just short enough so
they won't drag."

"Look here, ma?" offered Chinky, "you roll 'em up in a tight bundle and
I guess I can carry 'em after all."

"I thought you could manage," agreed Mrs. Mulvaney. "You see we're
going where I may get some time to do fancy work, and I'm thinking of
making rugs of pa's old coats to remember him by."

"Oh, ma, look at us!" wailed Hannah when the procession was ready to
start. "Have we got to go looking like this?"

"I don't see no other way and you needn't feel bad, Hannah, because we
don't look stylish. You may be a school teacher some day," predicted
her mother. "Fact is we're all going to have a chance to be folks, and
if I was you young ones, I'd try and forget what we look like now, and
think hard about how fine we'll look next time we go on the cars with
our trunks and umbrells and land knows what; and when we all get set
down in the Grand Central Station to wait for the cars, I'll tell you
where we're going and all about it."

"Thaketh alive, ma! it don't theem ath if I could ever get there with
tho many thingth on, and thay! but you look—"

"You start your boots," interrupted the mother of Stubbins, "or you'll
feel worse'n you look."




CHAPTER VI

HOW STUBBINS WENT TO SEE MR. HODGKINS


Tom Randall, Cornelia Mary, and Sally met the Mulvaneys with a lumber
wagon. In spite of all Cornelia Mary could do to prevent such actions,
Tom fairly shouted when he saw the family lifted from the train by
the grinning brakeman, while Sally's face was the colour of a poppy
as she went forward to greet her friends. It wasn't easy to claim the
Mulvaneys in the presence of the amused passengers, whose faces filled
the car windows. It was a relief to hear the engine whistle and see the
train start.

"We're going right straight to your house," Sally told Mrs. Mulvaney.
"Mamma is there this morning waiting for you. Why won't the children
talk? What's the matter? Have they lost their tongues?"

"They never was on the cars before," explained Mrs. Mulvaney, "and
they behaved real well. They act kind of bashful now." Whereupon the
seven looked foolish, and wouldn't speak to Sally. Even Stubbins was
dumb.

"This is your new teacher," Sally continued by way of introducing the
family, "and that boy on the front seat is her brother Tom. Climb in,
children. Where will you sit, Mrs. Mulvaney?"

"I'll just hist myself on to the front seat with the boy," was the
reply, and that must have been the reason Tom drove home by way of
Park's Corner instead of through the village.

"Why, Tom," remonstrated Cornelia Mary, "it's three miles farther the
road you've started on!"

"Want to give your school a chance to see the country," was the
response. "Geddap, geddap!"

"This spring air won't hurt anybody," Sally put in. "Oh, Hannah, isn't
it lovely? Aren't you ever going to talk again, Hannah?"

Not a word from Hannah. Stubbins was the first to find his voice. "Oh,
pigth, pigth, thop the horthe!" he cried. "Thay, boy, I want to thee
the pigth!"

"Whoa!" said Tom. "Didn't you ever see pigs before, Stubbins?"

"Yeth, but I never thaw pigth in the country, did I?"

"Do you like pigs?"

"I geth I do! Are they pigth where we are going?"

"Giddap," repeated Tom, pulling at the reins, and then turning so that
he could look at Stubbins he said this:

"Pigs? Why, I should say yes! Look here, Stubbins, there are so many
pigs in the country they run wild—wild, I say, and if any little kid
is a pig catcher all he's got to do is catch a pig and keep it if he
can. You can even take pigs to school here, ride 'em right into the
schoolhouse if the door's open."

Stubbins glanced inquiringly at Cornelia Mary, but she and Sally were
busy talking with Mike and Johnnie, while Chinky and Hannah were busy
listening to them. Mrs. Mulvaney was thinking, and paid no attention to
Tom's nonsense.

"Thay, boy," suggested Stubbins, "leth thop the horthe and go back and
get thome pigth now."

"Haven't time," was the reply, "plenty of wild pigs all through the
country; you'll want something to do when you get home."

During the rest of the drive, Stubbins hugged his bundle and dreamed of
pigs, and after a few minutes' silence Tom entertained Mrs. Mulvaney
with stories of the house in which she was to live.

"I wouldn't stay in that house over night for one thousand dollars!" he
remarked.

"Land sake, why not?" asked the woman.

In low tones lest Cornelia Mary should overhear, Tom did his best to
scare Mrs. Mulvaney. He told nothing but the truth, but he handled the
truth in such a way Mrs. Mulvaney felt cold chills going up and down
her back in spite of all the clothes she had on. At last she spoke.

"Now that's enough, young man," she said, "and if I ever catch you
telling my young ones any of that stuff, I'll shake some sense into
you. You'll be more rattled-headed than you are now, if I ever lay
hands on you."

"Giddap," remarked Tom, astonished for once in his life.

If Heaven had opened to receive the Mulvaneys, they could scarcely have
been more pleased than when the new home was reached.

Early in the afternoon Stubbins slipped away from the family and went
in search of wild pigs. Tom was right. Back of the house was a field
of small pigs. Stubbins gave a shout of joy and started in pursuit. He
caught a little pig easily, and carried it, kicking and squealing, to
his new home.

The family were in the sitting-room and didn't hear Stubbins when
he carried the pig through the kitchen, the dining-room, and up the
stairs. Into the attic over the kitchen he thrust the pig, then
returned to the field for another. In less than an hour, five pigs were
in that attic and Stubbins was happy.

"Now I think I thaw a nithe big pig thomewhere," he remarked, climbing
a fence, and looking carefully over the fields of his neighbour.
Welcome Hodgkins. Sure enough! Beyond the field in which he caught the
five was one big pig. Away flew Stubbins. It wouldn't be so easy to
get that pig home because it was too big to carry.

"Come, pig, pig, pig," called Stubbins, "nithe piggie, come pig."

The nice pig looked up, and said, "Ooof—oof—oof! Ugh—ugh—ugh!"

Stubbins ventured nearer, but the pig took alarm and trotted grunting
across the field. The pig had four legs and Stubbins only two rather
uncertain ones; nevertheless, after rather an exciting chase, the pig
was caught.

"Now, mithter, how will I get you home? Hold sthill; here, I geth I'll
have to get on and ride the way that boy thed. Geddap over to the gate.
Hold sthill till I get hold of your ear. Wait, I thay!"

The pig wouldn't wait, and Stubbins wouldn't let go. Clinging to the
creature's ears, he somehow managed to scramble on its back. Then began
a wild ride.

"I didn't know a pig could go tho fatht," gasped Stubbins, hanging on
for dear life, while the pig squealed and squealed and squealed. "Why,
thay! What you trying to do, pig?" grumbled Stubbins, as the animal
began rubbing him against the fence corner. "Oh, I thay, get out of
thith!"

The pig got out, but he made straight for the barnyard where Welcome
Hodgkins was feeding the chickens. There was a scattering of poultry
as the pig dashed beneath a wagon in the middle of the yard, landing
Stubbins—bump—swish! on his back in the mud.

[Illustration]

"Sthop the pig," cried Stubbins, struggling to his feet, "sthop my pig
I thay!"

"See here, youngster, that's my pig!" declared Welcome Hodgkins. "Who
are you, anyway, and what are you trying to do with my pig?"

"I'm Thubbinth, and I wath taking the pig to my houthe. I didn't know
it wath your pig, and I didn't come to thee you, tho there!"




CHAPTER VII

PIGS IN THE ATTIC


Stubbins Mulvaney was naturally honest. Mr. Welcome Hodgkins was kind.
So it came about that when the man talked pleasantly to the muddy boy
about the rights of farmers and the ownership of pigs in particular,
the child grew red in the face and looked uncomfortable.

"Thay!" he burst out, "I geth I thole five pigth. That boy thed pigth
wath wild, tho I took thome home. I put 'em up sthairth, where they'd
keep thafe. Do you th'pothe they wath your pigth?"

"Of course they were my pigs," replied the man, "and you must take them
carefully back to the field. Wait a minute! If you go to your mother
all covered with mud I'll warrant you'll get spanked."

"Thath nothing," was the reply, "ma ith uthed to mud and if I get
thpanked I ith uthed to that, tho ith all right. Thay! I like pigs. Do
you care if I thee you feed your pigth?"

"Certainly you may, and I'll tell you what, youngster," said Mr.
Hodgkins, "I believe you're a pretty good boy. After you put the five
pigs where they belong, you come over and have a talk with me, will
you?"

"Yeth, thir," and Stubbins left the barnyard fast as he could go,
except by riding a pig bareback.

In the meantime the five pigs in the attic had been playing Pussy
Wants a Corner, or Tag, or some other game that kept their twenty feet
continually pattering. Sally noticed them first.

"Hush, everybody," she cautioned. "I thought I heard something go
trot—trot—trot right here in the house."

Sure enough. When the children stopped their merry chatter, the sound
of many feet could not be mistaken.

"Stubbins is up to something," said Mrs. Mulvaney. "Go call him,
Hannah."

The child obeyed, but no Stubbins responded inside or outside of the
house.

"It ain't Stubbins," declared Hannah, her eyes wide with fear. "What
can it be?"

Mrs. Mulvaney, Cornelia Mary, and Sally remembered the stories they had
heard, stories that had kept the house empty so many years.

"It must—must be imagination," declared Cornelia Mary, whose lower
teeth seemed trying to break her upper teeth.

"We've all got ears," remonstrated Chinky.

"It's Stubbins," insisted Mrs. Mulvaney, "and I'll give it to him for
being so smart and not answering Hannah."

Upstairs went Mrs. Mulvaney, but she came down faster than she went
up. "It beats all," she declared, "there ain't nobody in the house but
us—and do you hear that noise again? I ain't afraid, but when I opened
the attic door I heard some one cough, and then he laughed, though it
sounded more like a squeal."

"Listen, now," faltered Sally, "hear that trot—trot—trot, again?"

Being a woman of action, Mrs. Mulvaney lighted a lamp. "I'm going in
that attic and look around," said she. "I don't care if you all come
along."

"I ain't afraid," bragged Chinky.

"Hold your tongue," said his mother, leading the way toward the attic.

Neither Cornelia Mary nor Sally could have spoken had they tried. Their
jaws wouldn't work. As for their knees, one minute they were stiff as
the joints of a Dutch doll, the next the poor girls could scarcely
stand. Johnnie was whimpering. Hannah and the twins clung together.
Only Mike and Chinky pretended not to be afraid, as Mrs. Mulvaney
climbed steadily upward. By the attic door she paused, surrounded by
her followers.

"Trot—trot—trot—patter—patter—patter," a shuffling sound, then all
was still.

"Open the door, Chinky, and step in," whispered Mrs. Mulvaney.

"You go first, ma, 'cause you got the light," begged Chinky. Mrs.
Mulvaney boxed his ears, and as the sound was repeated in the attic, it
didn't make it easier for Chinky to open the door. His mother pushed
him in.

"Now what do you see?" she said.

"Nothing," chattered the boy, his very freckles growing pale beneath
the lamp light.

It happened that the pigs were hiding behind a box back of the chimney.
One gave a little thin squeal just as the light was blown out. Another
said "Oof—oof!" Mike and Chinky bolted down the stairs. They thought
the pig said, "Boo—boo!" only of course they didn't know they fled
from the voice of a pig.

When Stubbins reached home the house was still. The family were
shivering in the sitting-room, talking in whispers.

"Let's keep still and see what Stubbins says," suggested Sally. "Why,
he's going upstairs!"

Mrs. Mulvaney and the children ran into the dining-room, but scarcely
had they crossed the threshold before the pigs began to squeal, and
Stubbins was heard shouting:

"Hold sthill, pig, hold sthill! Thay! Wait! Ith tho dark you make me
bump my head."

"I'll bump your head," called Mrs. Mulvaney. "What are you doing with
pigs in this nice, new house, you bad boy?"

[Illustration: "A CLEANER IF NOT A BETTER BOY."]

"Oh, ma, don't sthpank me, I thought they wath wild pigth, and I put
'em here tho they'd be thafe, but I thed I'd take 'em back."

After much squealing and kicking the five pigs were caught and carried
to the field by Hannah, Chinky, Nora, Dora and Johnnie. Stubbins was
needed in the kitchen where he was given what you might call a double
spanking; one for taking the pigs, the second for scaring his mother.

The spanking finished, Stubbins was asked to tell about his meeting
with Welcome Hodgkins. The child repeated every word. Mrs. Mulvaney
listened quietly until her young son confessed that he said his mother
was used to dirt. Then she spanked him until the dishes rattled in the
cupboard. After that Mrs. Mulvaney put different clothes on Stubbins,
scrubbed his hands and face until the skin was raw, brushed his hair so
hard his head swam, and sent him a cleaner if not a better boy, to call
on Welcome Hodgkins.

"You can't be folks unless you keep looking decent," declared Mrs.
Mulvaney, "and don't you ever let me know of your telling the
neighbours that your mother's used to dirt, or I may put you in the
boiler and boil you clean next time."

That is the way Mr. Hodgkins was led to believe that Mrs. Mulvaney was
an uncommonly neat woman, the day he and Stubbins became friends.




CHAPTER VIII

STUBBINS AND CHINKY LEARN THEIR NAMES


Little by little Mrs. Mulvaney remembered her old country home. Little
by little the springtime breezes, sweet and fresh, smoothed the
wrinkles from her brow, and softened her voice.

"Thay, ma," declared Stubbins one Sunday morning, when the birds were
singing from every swaying branch, and the green world seemed bursting
with joy, "Thay, do you know I think you're motht ath pretty ath
Mitheth Brown, and Mr. Hodgkinth he thay—"

Here Hannah put in a few words. "Ma, I do wish you had a best dress. We
live in such a nice house and everything, I wish—"

"Go on, Stubbins," interrupted Mrs. Mulvaney, "what did Mr. Hodgkins
say?"

"He thay he thinkth I've got a awful nithe ma."

"Pshaw, now, what makes him think so?"

"Well, he thay that ever thinthe he thed he'd give uth milk, if we'd
come after it, he can't help but notithe that uth kidth ith alwayth
clean when we come over there, and he thay it sthpeakth well for our
ma."

"There now, is that all he says?"

"Oh, no, he thay he likth to have uth live here. He thed he wath afraid
uth kidth would be a nuithanth and he ith 'greeably thurprithed. He
thayth we do what he tellth uth to and he thinkth we'll all be farmerth
we learn thingth tho quick. I think we're pretty nithe kidth mythelf."

"You are improving," admitted Mrs. Mulvaney. "What does Mr. Hodgkins
think of our garden?"

"Oh, he thayth he thinkth ith fine. He thayth the way our ma keepth
tho many kidth bithy ith wonderful. He thays too when he theeth the
clotheth on the line after you hang them up, they ith tho white, ith
like thnow, and he thay no wonder you get work to do. I thed uth kidth
help a lot."

"Stubbins," questioned Mrs. Mulvaney with a curious look in her eyes as
she gazed over the broad fields and orchards belonging to Mr. Welcome
Hodgkins, "What does he say when you young ones tell him that I'm—that
I'm apt to be cross, and that you get all the spankings you deserve,
hey?"

Stubbins laughed. "Thay, ma, do you th'pothe uth kidth ever tell about
our lickunth? Well, I geth not! You mutht think we're thilly! But thay,
ma, thereth one thing Mithter Hodgkinth thay he can't understand?"

"Well, what is it?"

"He thayth he thinkth ith queer a thivilithed woman like you couldn't
get nameth for all of uth kidth. He thayth Thubbinth ithn't a name and
he thay how did I come by it?"

Mrs. Mulvaney caught Stubbins by the shoulders and shook him. "You
simpleton!" said she, "why didn't you know enough to tell him your real
name slipped your memory, that your folks called you Stubbins when you
were little because you were always stubbing your unlucky toes."

"Why, ma!" protested Hannah, "He never was named; you know Stubbins is
the only name he's got."

Mrs. Mulvaney threw her slipper at Hannah. "You know a lot, don't you,
Miss? Now listen, all of you. Johnnie, Mike, come here. You seem to
have forgotten this boy's name."

"He ain't never had no name," declared Johnnie, dodging behind Chinky
to escape the spanking he seemed to expect when his mother looked at
him as she did at that moment.

"You donkeys!" exclaimed Mrs. Mulvaney. "Dust out your ears now and
you'll hear something. Stubbins's real name is Moses Aaron Mulvaney. Do
you hear, Stubbins? Your meetin'-house name is Moses. When you start
school, your name is Moses. When a man asks who you are, answer Moses.
Do you understand?"

"Oh, oh," wailed Stubbins, "Oh, thaketh alive, my name ith Motheth! Oh,
thay, ma, I don't want Motheth for my name. Motheth, Motheth, Motheth!"

"Oh, ma," besought Hannah, "think up another. Don't let's have that for
his name. Let's call him Willie or—"

"Hannah," insisted Mrs. Mulvaney, "that boy's name is Moses Aaron
Mulvaney. You can't change names. Maybe now you'd like to be called
Aribella or Fiddle-de-dee, but you're Hannah and he's Moses!"

"Oh. Motheth, Motheth, Motheth!" grumbled Stubbins. "Oh, thaketh alive,
Motheth!"

"What's Chink's name, ma?" demanded Mike, with a gleeful grin which
lasted but a minute, owing to a pinch from Chinky which changed the
expression of his face. "Ouw—" he began.

"Shut up!" warned Chinky, "don't you know enough to keep your mouth
shut?"

"Yeth," said Stubbins, "if I've got to be Motheth, who ith he?"

"Don't you remember?" asked Mrs. Mulvaney, "why, Chinky's name is Ezra
Jonathan."

"Ezra Jonathan!" groaned Chinky, his red hair and freckles looking
startled. "Oh, ma!"

"The idea of trying to be folks and not knowing your own names. I guess
you'll remember 'em now, Moses Aaron and Ezra Jonathan. Not's I care
what Mr. Hodgkins thinks, 'cause it's none of his business what your
names are. But just the same you want to do everything you can to keep
on the right side of him on account of our living in his house. You
make yourselves useful to him and don't never be sassy or he might turn
us out. Mind that. You show him what a comfort children can be, don't
never do what he don't want you to, and always do what he tells you to."

Five children cheerfully promised to do as their mother advised, but
poor Chinky and Stubbins simply grunted an assent, followed a minute
later by two exclamations.

"Ezra Jonathan!"

"Oh, Motheth!"




CHAPTER IX

HANNAH'S PINK DRESS


Summer came, and the Mulvaneys prospered. Their garden grew and the
neglected fruit-trees flourished. Mr. Hodgkins gave Stubbins two pigs,
and the twins were given a flock of hens, whereupon Chinky earned some
money, bought two turkeys, and by the time three of the hens were ready
to set, his turkeys did the same thing; and the curious part of it is
that each one of the eggs hatched, and every little chicken and little
turkey lived.

Often when Chinky was tired of weeding the garden or hoeing corn,
he sat upon the fence and counted the money he hoped to possess in
the autumn when he took his turkeys to market. If his mother saw him
wasting his time, he was obliged to continue his thinking while he
worked.

"Ma's getting so she won't let a feller stop to wink," Johnnie
grumbled one morning, when he was Chairman of the Committee on Potato
Bugs.

"She's a regular general," added Chinky, hoeing corn with all his
might, "and you young ones'll get cured of being so lazy."

"Lazy, is it?" retorted Mike. "You go look at the front yard, mister,
and say lazy if you dare, and you ain't afraid of getting your nose
punched."

"That's what," agreed Johnnie, "the minute we get home from school,
it's 'have you done this,' and 'have you done that,' and 'start your
boots!'"

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Johnnie Mulvaney!" began Hannah,
but she stopped for a minute because seeing her open mouth, Mike threw
a potato bug into the cavern.

"You horrid boy," she sputtered, "I'd make you work harder'n ma does if
I could, and you'll be sorry next week when I ain't here!"

"Why, thay, Hannah, where you going?" asked Stubbins.

"I'm going away, and you boys'll have to make the beds and tidy up,
and wash the dishes, and I'm glad of it. Wish I was never coming back.
You're such a ungrateful set."

At the end of this speech Hannah was so pelted with potato bugs she
fled from the field. The next day the little girl left home to earn
fifty cents a week for two months helping in Mrs. Randall's kitchen.

As a matter of fact the Randalls had all the help they needed, but from
the first day of school, Cornelia Mary had taken a fancy to Hannah,
and had begged her mother to give the child a chance to learn how
their neighbours lived. So, while Hannah washed dishes for fifty cents
a week, she learned how to wash dishes properly. When she helped set
the table and get the meals, she saw how such things should be done.
When she made the beds with Cornelia Mary, she began to understand how
sheets were used.

As the days went by, even the five little Mulvaneys who met Hannah
in school every day, noticed a change in their sister. She outgrew
her rude way of speaking, and looked and acted like a different girl.
She kept her hair combed prettily, proud of the bright ribbons given
her by Cornelia Mary. She learned to sew on buttons, and to keep her
clothes in order.

"Straight, plain dresses aren't meant for thin little girls," observed
Mrs. Randall, "so we'll make over some of Cornelia Mary's old ones for
Hannah."

The first Sunday Hannah wore one of the new dresses she blossomed out
like a full blown rose.

"Run home and show your mother, child," said Mrs. Randall.

"Well, I never!" exclaimed Mrs. Mulvaney, as the pink blossom joined
her family beneath an apple-tree. "If she don't look like a posy with
the pink bow on her hair, and such a splendiferous dress. Well, there
now! I suppose you won't never want to come back to live with your poor
old ma."

"Won't I, though?" For the first time in her life Hannah Mulvaney threw
both arms around her mother's neck, giving her a regular bear hug.

At that moment Welcome Hodgkins was returning across the fields to his
lonely home. "A happy family," he muttered, knocking blooms from the
clover with his stick.

[Illustration]

"When are you coming home, Hannah?" asked Chinky. "It's awful lonesome
without you."

"Well I geth it ith," added Stubbins.

"I'm going to stay three weeks more," Hannah replied, "and, oh, ma,
does table clothing cost much?"

"There's some that's dear, and some that ain't,—why?"

"Can't we buy some, ma, and do things the way other folks do?"

Mrs. Mulvaney sighed. "When I was a girl at home," she said, "we had
things right, and after I married your pa I tried to do as my mother
did, but children, it was no use. Your pa was out of work so much, and
his health wasn't good,"—Mrs. Mulvaney never referred to the fact
that Mr. Mulvaney was a drunkard,—"and somehow I got discouraged, and
I ain't brought you young ones up right. Now I feel glad and thankful
we've got enough to eat and wear and a good house to live in, but it's
too late for tablecloths."

"Why?"

"Because, Hannah, Stubbins wouldn't know no more how to act up against
a tablecloth than one of his own pigs."

"We could learn," ventured Chinky.

Hannah took courage. "Listen, ma," said she, "Miss Randall says she
never saw such bright children as we are. She says it's 'mazing the
way we learn, only she hopes that when Stubbins gets old enough to go
to school he won't keep his pockets loaded full of frogs and toads,
the way he does now. Well, if we can learn geography and figures and
history things and birds, why can't we learn tablecloths?"

Mrs. Mulvaney shook her head. "You have to be born to tablecloths,"
said she.

"Hannah wasn't born to big, wide, pink dresses and bows on her hair,"
announced Chinky, "but look at her, ma, you'd think she'd worn 'em all
her life. Not as you need to think you're so smart, Hannah, but I'm
talking about tablecloths and being like other folks. Guess I use my
eyes when I take home washings, and go after 'em."

"Now, ma, look here. Let's vote about it with grass. All that wants
to be pigs and never know nothing go and put a long blade of grass in
ma's lap. All what wants to learn manners, put a little, teenty, weenty
piece of grass in her lap."

The voting began before Mrs. Mulvaney had time to say a word.

"It's for tablecloths and manners," said Mrs. Mulvaney, pretending that
the bits of grass were too small to be seen. "And if we use tablecloths
the first one that spills anything may get his head knocked off."

Mrs. Mulvaney had seen her neighbour go home across the fields. Turning
to Hannah she changed the subject. "Since you're all dressed up," she
said, "I suppose you wouldn't mind going over to Mr. Hodgkins's on an
errand. I bet he'd like a loaf of gingerbread. I made some yesterday
for the boys. Now remember, Hannah, be nice and polite, and you, too,
Stubbins, for you can go along seeing's you are all fixed up for
Sunday. That man could turn us out of our good home if he wanted to,
and you young ones must get on the right side of him. Mind that."




CHAPTER X

THE HOME THAT WAS LOST ON CHRISTMAS DAY


"What is going to happen?" asked Hannah pausing at Mr. Hodgkins's front
gate and speaking to Stubbins. "I guess he's going to have company. The
front door's open, and the window's open, and the side door's open!
What shall we do, Stubbins?"

"Do what ma thed, and give him the cake, and leth get a look at the
company."

"Shall we go to the front door or the back door?"

"Leth go to the front door, and get a look at hith houthe, too."

One glance at the long, gloomy hall and Hannah turned away. "You can
stay there and knock if you want to," she said, "but it's too lonesome
for me. I am going to the kitchen door."

"Well, thay, wait, tho I am too. There he ith, Hannah, ther ith
Mithter Hodgkinth thanding by the well."

"What's he looking at?"

The man greeted the children with a smile. "Good morning," he said,
"come here and see my brother."

"Why, thath a mud turtle," exclaimed Stubbins, plainly disappointed in
the brother. "Thath a mud turtle 'cauth Mith Randall thed tho."

"Now, watch," continued Mr. Hodgkins. "You see, children, this old mud
turtle is going on about his business just as all the creatures around
here are doing, only he moves a little slowly, to be sure. Now I am
going to give this brown hen over here a touch with my stick and you'll
see what will happen."

"It'll thquawk!" predicted Stubbins, and he was right. The brown hen
made herself heard all over the yard as she flew away.

"Made the feathers fly, didn't she?" laughed the man. "Now we'll see
what the mud turtle will do. I won't hit him a bit harder than I did
the hen."

A knock on the mud turtle's back; he stopped crawling and in went his
head.

"You'd think he was killed!" Hannah exclaimed.

"Well, he ith a queer one," commented Stubbins.

"Now you know why I call the mud turtle my brother," declared Mr.
Hodgkins. "Most people are like hens. When something strikes them hard
they make a big fuss about it, and after they flutter around a while
they go about their business exactly as they did before. I'm like the
mud turtle. I crawled into my shell, and now they say I'm a queer one,
as Stubbins says of the turtle."

Hannah turned red. How did Mr. Hodgkins know that the neighbours called
him queer, and why was he a friendless man?

"Did something strike you hard, Mr. Hodgkins?" she asked, in tones of
sympathy.

"I should like to tell you and your little brother about it if you care
to listen," was the reply. "You children seem like old friends. I've
stayed so long in my shell I seem to have forgotten who my friends
were, and I once had plenty of them. I suppose I have myself to thank,
but do you know I don't suppose there's any one left in the world who
ever gives me a kindly thought."

Hannah suddenly remembered her errand. "Ain't there, though?" she
cried. "Didn't ma go and bake this gingerbread yesterday for you, and
don't she say you're the best man that ever breathed?"

"Yeth, thath what," added Stubbins.

Mr. Hodgkins looked pleased. "Did she do that for me?" he asked, taking
the gingerbread from Hannah, "well, your mother is a good woman."

"Thath what," assented Stubbins, "and uth kidth are nithe kidth too."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," chided Hannah, but the three
laughed and the sunlight danced among the leaves. It was a bright
Sunday.

"To-day," began Mr. Hodgkins, "I have opened my house for the first
time in many a long year. Come with me and see what a big pleasant home
I used to have."

"Ain't you got it now?" demanded Stubbins.

"No," was the response, "I have the house, my boy, but the home was
lost one Christmas day."

"Lotht your home on Chrithmuth?" questioned the child.

"Come, I will show you a room that the sunlight has never shone upon
since that same Christmas."

Silently the children followed Mr. Hodgkins in the house, through the
kitchen, into the hall.

"This was my home when I was a boy," he went on, "and here I brought my
wife before my father and mother died. We'll go in the parlour first
and I'll show you a picture. You see, I've opened the parlour."

By this time even Stubbins was speechless with wonder, and clung to
Hannah as though he feared to lose her in the strange man's house.
Everything in the parlour was covered with dust. In spite of the
feeling of awe that stole over her, Hannah noticed the good furniture
and all that the room contained.

"Here's the picture, children," said Mr. Hodgkins, opening an album.

Without speaking, Hannah and Stubbins gazed at the photograph.

"They were mine," said the man, softly, "my little girl, my little boy,
and their mother."

It seemed to Hannah that if her life had depended upon it, she could
not have said a word.

"Come," suggested Mr. Hodgkins at last, as he closed the door and
left the parlour, closely followed by the children. "This was our
sitting-room," he continued, pausing before a locked door. "This is the
first time in ten years that I have ever turned the key."

Hannah's impulse was to run, but when the door was opened she felt
as if her feet were growing into the floor. As for Stubbins his eyes
came so near popping out of his head they really ached for an hour
afterward. What the children saw was a Christmas tree yellow with age.
It was a pitiful sight and belonged in a darkened room where Santa
Claus might not stumble upon it.

"We'll have some air and light," said Mr. Hodgkins, raising the shades
and opening the windows.

The tree looked ghastly in the sunshine as it stood revealed with all
its faded, dusty trimmings. Here and there among the branches were
children's treasures, a small china doll, a tin horn, a drum and a
calico elephant. Beside the tree were two small rocking-chairs and on
the floor were books.

"Oh, dear," whispered Hannah.

"There, child," sympathized Mr. Hodgkins, "I didn't bring you in here
to make you sad, but this is my secret, and I thought if you could see
this room perhaps we might be better friends. I thought perhaps you
would understand your queer neighbour."

"How did it happen?" asked the child, crossing the threshold and
standing near the tree, still clinging to Stubbins.

"This room is just as we left it that Christmas Day. We drove to a
neighbour's in the afternoon, and while there our little ones went on
the ice to play and were drowned. I came into the house before their
mother, and the first thing I did was to close this door. The piano
was left open just as you see it now. We sang a Christmas hymn that
morning. Two months later the children's mother died, and I was left
alone.

"All this our neighbours know, but Hannah and Stubbins, no one ever
knew we had a Christmas tree. At first I couldn't take it down nor
touch a thing and so the months went by, and at last the years, until
like the turtle I have crawled more and more into my shell."

"Oh, dear, dear!" repeated Hannah, no longer trying to keep back the
tears.

"Don't cry, Hannah, don't cry, or I shall be sorry you know my secret.
Now we'll shut the room again and forget it."

"Don't—don't shut the room up again, Mr. Hodgkins. I wouldn't, if I
were you," declared Hannah. "Do you know what I'd do?" she continued,
brushing away the tears and speaking earnestly.

"No, what would you do?"

"I'd take away the tree, and then I'd clean the room and use it."

"I've often thought of it, Hannah, but some way I can't do it; and here
the old tree stands just as we left it. It's no use, and yet—see here,
children, tell your mother I'll give her five dollars if she'll come
over to-morrow when I've gone to town, and—and tend to this room. You
may come with her and go all over the house if you choose."

"And then," agreed Hannah, "you and us'll go visiting. Sometimes you
come over to our house to see us in our sitting-room, and next day or
the next we'll all come over here and visit you in your sitting-room,
and we'll be folks. And Mr. Hodgkins, don't you think you're the only
man that's had to get along without Christmases, because us kids never
had a Christmas in our lives until last year."

"You mean you never had a Christmas tree before, don't you, Hannah?"

"No, I mean we never had a Christmas. We never even knew folks had
trees in their houses until now, but you just wait! This year we're
going to have one of our own."

"Yeth, and I geth you better come and help uth get it ready," put in
Stubbins, "becauthe you know about the way to fixth 'em."

"Thank you," said Mr. Hodgkins, "I'll think about it."




CHAPTER XI

MRS. MULVANEY'S AIR CASTLE


When Mrs. Mulvaney saw the Christmas tree she shook her head. "I'm glad
you're with me, Chinky," she began, "I'd hate to be here alone, and
what's more, I hate to touch that tree. Poor man! To think how he's
missed his folks and him so good. I'd no more take any money for doing
a neighbourly act like this than I'd fly."

"Well, ma," observed Chinky, "I'd rather see you with the money than
trying to fly with wings. Only think how you'd look! I bet your feet'd
drag."

"Young man, if you'd use your eyes more and your tongue less, why then
instead of making fun of your poor old mother you'd be learning a
lesson from this tree before we take it out."

"What'd I learn?"

"You'd learn how Christmas trees is trimmed. I think we ought to take
pattern by this so's we'd know how to get up our own."

"Sure enough, ma, I'll run home and get a pencil and a piece of paper
and I'll draw that tree just as it stands, so we'll know where to hook
up the strings of pop-corn, and the paper trimmings, and have a tree
that is a tree."

Chinky was gone but a short time and soon finished three remarkable
sketches which he put in his pocket for future use.

"We'll have a Christmas this year that'll make up for lost time," said
Mrs. Mulvaney, smiling at Chinky through clouds of dust. "I believe we
shall have to take everything in this room out-doors if we ever expect
to get this place clean. How it all comes back to me the way my mother
used to do things. We better shut up the piano, though I don't know so
much about this kind as I do about another."

"You used to call your wash-board a piano, didn't you, ma?" Chinky
remarked.

"So I did, and that ain't saying's I liked the music of it, either,
still, who knows but our Hannah'll be learning to play this—I mean,
to play a sure enough piano some day. And Chinky, how'd you like to go
to college?"

"Why, Ma Mulvaney!"

"Well, how'd you like it?"

"Not for me, ma, I'm going to raise hens and turkeys, and I don't want
to take on any more schooling than I have to. What I'm going to be is a
rich farmer. Hannah, she can go to college," and Chinky grinned.

"I shouldn't be a mite surprised," added Mrs. Mulvaney, "if it all
happens."

"What's getting into you, ma?" asked the boy. "You're talking just like
Sally Brown. I know she thinks that smarty brother of hers'll be the
President of the United States."

"Hoping," agreed Mrs. Mulvaney, wiping the dust from two little rockers
that she decided would fit Nora and Dora, "hoping is just as Sally
Brown says; it won't do one mite of harm, and I hope to see my seven
children amounting to something in the world. My! This is a pleasant
room. Just see the view from the bay-window. That poor man, to be
living here all alone! What are you laughing at, Chinky?"

"Well, ma, let me tell you. The other night Stubbins and I were
over here helping Mr. Hodgkins feed the pigs,—you know he has about
twenty-five,—and of course Stubbins he loves the pigs. Well, Mr.
Hodgkins said 'Stubbins, you'd better come over here, and live with me.
I'll give you all the pigs if you will,' but Stubbins wouldn't do it;
he said, 'even with the pigth it would be too lonethome."

"And Mr. Hodgkins," inquired Mrs. Mulvaney, putting the tin horn in a
box, and wondering if Mike would ever have a chance to blow it, "what
did he say?"

"Oh, nothing much, he laughed and said something about our being lucky
kids, and he didn't blame Stubbins for wanting to stay with his ma."

Mrs. Mulvaney, with her back to Chinky, nodded her head and squinted
her eyes curiously, then turned a big rocking-chair around and sat down
for a moment.

"Well, ma, thinking of buying the chair, are you?"

"Why, Chinky?"

"Because anybody'd think you was in a store picking out chairs to take
home the way you try 'em all. Which are you going to keep?"

[Illustration]

"All of 'em, like enough, since you're so bright," admitted the woman,
laughing softly as she rocked. "And now say, you get to work and no
more fooling. We'll make a bonfire of that tree. That poor man to be
coming home from town this noon, and no family here to meet him and
no dinner ready. Come, Chinky, fly around and we'll get his dinner,
pudding and all before we leave. What if we was all dead and 'twas your
pa?"

Mr. Hodgkins was surprised and pleased when he reached home. Not for
years had any one taken the least interest in him. With the coming of
the Mulvaneys he began to realize what he had missed. It was pleasant
to be on friendly terms with one's neighbours. He was glad the children
liked to visit him. They were good children, too; never made him any
trouble and were always well behaved. He wondered why Sally Brown had
called them quarrelsome, and why she had said Mrs. Mulvaney was cross.

Mr. Hodgkins never saw the little shanty in the city down by the
railroad-tracks and the river, where the seven children were packed in
like sardines. He never knew how hard was Mrs. Mulvaney's life when she
washed clothes from morning until night, merely to keep the seven from
starving, so of course he didn't realize that after a few months in the
country, a great change had come over the family. At last they were
folks.

While Mr. Hodgkins ate his dinner that day, the Mulvaneys gathered for
the first time in their lives around a tablecloth, and if the cloth
happened to be one of the new sheets folded in half what difference did
it make?

"We've got to begin to practise putting on style without losing no
more time," declared Mrs. Mulvaney, "and, Chinky, you tell Hannah to
ask Sally Brown to come over first chance she gets, and show you young
ones table manners. You've got to learn 'em. I may want to ask company
in to tea before long, and we don't want no pigs to the table. Watch
out, there, Stubbins, you've got your elbow in the butter. If you want
something you can't reach, don't climb up on the table after it, that
ain't manners. Take your fork and reach over for it this way, do you
see?"

"Thay, ma, what if I wath after thyrup! Th'pothe I could hook into that
with a fork? Oh, ouw, oh, thay, don't thlap me again. Oh, ouw, thay!
I'll be good, I'll be good!"




CHAPTER XII

WELCOME HODGKINS CHOOSES THE CHRISTMAS TREE


It isn't so easy as you might think to choose a Christmas tree. Many
a day early as November the seven little Mulvaneys trooped forth in
search of one. The woods belonged to Mr. Hodgkins, who by this time had
become their much loved ideal. Even Cornelia Mary had changed her mind
about the man.

"He doesn't seem half so queer when you really get acquainted with
him," she often remarked to her mother. Mrs. Brown and Sally were
delighted by the many acts of kindness he showered upon the Mulvaneys,
and their friends the Turners began to like him.

It so happened that the reason the seven children were so careful in
their choice of a tree, was because Mr. Hodgkins, the Randalls, the
Turners, Mrs. Brown, Alfred and Sally were to share in its joy. The
idea of having a Christmas tree was suggested by Mrs. Mulvaney to the
unbounded satisfaction of the children.

"Who'll speak the pieces and sing the songs?" demanded Chinky.

"All of us, of course," Hannah replied.

"Catch me speaking a piece to a tree!" sniffed Chinky. "Johnnie and
Mike and Stubbins, they can do that."

"Think you're awful smart, don't you?" began Mike, but his mother cut
him short with her slipper.

Johnnie was the boy who best knew how easily that slipper came off and
should have known better than to laugh at Mike.

"I'll paddle you next," warned Mrs. Mulvaney. "You think you're so
cunning. Be quiet, children, and we'll settle about how things is to be
done Christmas Eve. We'll have the speaking and the singing first, that
being the way it was fixed at the Christmas tree you all went to at the
church last year, though land's sake that seems ten years ago, times
has changed so much.

"We can sing some hymn tunes together, company and all, and we'll get
Sally and Alfred to speak the stylish pieces, as you might say, and
maybe they'll do what Nora and Dora did the last day of school, and
speak a Christmas catalogue together."

"Oh, ma," corrected Hannah, "you mean a dialogue."

"Take that," continued Mrs. Mulvaney, boxing Hannah's ears, "and don't
be so free with your book learning as to forget your manners to your
ma. Nora and Dora, they can speak their old catalogue," this with a
severe look at Hannah, who was rubbing her ears, "and Stubbins can
speak his piece, and Mike and Johnnie can learn new ones to keep 'em
out of mischief."

"Aw," began Mike, but he went no further as the loose slipper showed
signs of dropping off his mother's foot.

"And you said, as I remember it," went on Mrs. Mulvaney, "that a church
man did some speechifying in front of the tree. Mr. Hodgkins, he's the
man that can do that, and when he gets to the end of it we'll all clap
our hands."

"Will Thanta Clauth come netht?" inquired Stubbins, resting his chin
in both hands with his elbows upon his knees.

"Aren't you ashamed," replied Mrs. Mulvaney. "Now don't you s'pose
Santa Claus knows we can take care of ourselves this year? He better go
where they's poor folks. Moses Aaron, I'm ashamed of you."

"Well, but thay, ma, how about Chrithmuth prethenth?"

"That's where the real fun of Christmas comes in," explained Mrs.
Mulvaney; "we make presents for each other. When I was a girl at home
my sisters and I used to begin making Christmas presents for our mother
and father and aunts and uncles and cousins and for each other, way
back in the summer, and then we hid 'em till the time came."

At this point Chinky winked at his mother and nodded his head as much
as to say, "You and I know a thing or two."

"Well, Ezra Jonathan," asked his mother, "what are you making a fool of
yourself for?"

More winks and shaking of the head this time.

"Well, speak out, Ezra, and don't set there acting like a dumb idiot."

"You see, ma," stammered the boy, still trying the effect of winks, "I
thought Santa Claus he wouldn't mind putting the presents on the tree
for us if we left 'em all on the what-not where he could see 'em easy."

Stubbins caught at the suggestion. "Oh, thay, ma," he begged, "leth do
it, I tell you uth kidth like that old Thanta Clauth. He ith all right.
I don't think Chrithmuth would be half tho nithe if he couldn't thee
our tree and put thome prethents on it."

"All right," consented Mrs. Mulvaney returning Chinky's wink to the
best of her ability. Not being used to winking she had to screw up
one corner of her mouth to do it. "Now then, after Mr. Hodgkins has
his say, Chinky, I mean Ezra Jonathan, can take the presents off the
tree and give 'em to Hannah and she can read out the names and Moses
Aaron can carry the presents around and if he stubs his toes and breaks
anything, I'll warm his jacket right in front of the company. After
that'll come the Christmas dinner."

"Dinner at night?" asked Hannah.

"Yes, dinner at night," was the reply. "That's when we're going to
have Chink—Ezra's big turkey. Now ain't you glad you know manners,
and ain't you little boys glad you picked blackberries enough to pay
for our fine company tablecloth and napkins, and ain't you glad our
cellar's full of vegetables we raised ourselves? And think of the
currant jelly Hannah made that's awaiting for Christmas."

"We must pick out our tree," Johnnie broke in, "I think that one I
showed you kids last night was the best in the whole bunch."

"But I don't," objected Hannah, "it's too tall."

"And the one I got, you say is too short," pouted Mike.

"And mine was lop-sided," added Chinky.

"And I can't decide on any of them," laughed Hannah.

"Oh, I thay!" cried Stubbins, "I know a man what'll know a good
Chrithmuth tree when he theeth it."

"That's a fact," approved Mrs. Mulvaney, "trot right over and ask Mr.
Hodgkins for his advice."

Appealed to by the seven, Mr. Hodgkins went to the woods with his young
neighbours one bright December day and chose a large, perfectly shaped
spruce.

"It won't do," declared Hannah.

"Why?"

"It's too big, Mr. Hodgkins, we'd have to cut a hole through the
ceiling to make it stand in our sitting-room."

Mr. Hodgkins laughed aloud.

"It's too big," protested the seven.

Mr. Hodgkins laughed again. "I'll go over and talk to your mother about
it," said he. "We won't cut the spruce down until Christmas week so it
will be fresh and green. If I can make your mother believe this tree is
just right, we'll most surely have a Merry Christmas."

The seven were disappointed.

"I think he's crazy," sputtered Chinky on the way home.

"I know he is," grumbled Johnnie, "that tree's high as our chimney."

"Never mind," said Hannah, "ma's got some sense if he ain't. She won't
have that great big tree, don't you fret."

"That's right, ma knows what's what," added Chinky, kicking the bright
snow from his path and straightening his shoulders. "She's got a lot of
sense."




CHAPTER XIII

ON THE TRAIL OF SANTA CLAUS


Mrs. Mulvaney failed the seven.

"What do you think, anyway?" whispered Chinky when the children were
gathered in Hannah's room at bed-time. "What ails ma?"

Hannah shook her head gloomily. "Does anybody know?" she asked.

"Not me," declared Mike. "How'll we ever get such a whoppering tree in
the house? She won't even go to look at it."

"Nope," added Johnnie, "ma said first thing that if Mr. Hodgkins
thought it was right, it was right, and since he's been over here to
talk to her about it you dassn't hardly say tree."

"She—she's getting a new dress made," offered Nora.

"Yes," agreed Dora, "and she says this—this Christmas party is
something we won't never forget."

"I bet we won't, if we have that tree," grumbled Chinky. "We might as
well begin chopping holes through the floor and the roof, and I don't
know but we'll have to cut a little chunk out of the clouds to make
room for our Christmas tree."

"Oh, thay," put in Stubbins, "make the hole in the floor big, Chinky,
tho we can look down and thee Thanta Clauth."

"That shows how much little kids know," explained Chinky. "You'll have
to get out on the roof, Stubbins, to see Santa Claus, because I suppose
when he catches sight of so much tree sticking through the roof he'll
think it's the whole thing and he'll hang all the presents up on top of
the house."

This speech was greeted by laughter so loud Mrs. Mulvaney opened the
stair door and spoke.

"If you young ones don't get in bed inside of five minutes," said
she, "you'll be sorry. Now I don't want to hear another sound. How do
you suppose I can sew up your Christmas clothes if you make such an
uproar?"

The next day Chinky sharpened his hatchet on Mr. Randall's grindstone.
In the afternoon, accompanied by his brothers and sisters he went to
the woods to cut down the tree.

[Illustration]

"Now you all want to stand back far enough," cautioned Chinky, "so as
to give me enough room to swing my arms."

"Let me chop some," begged Mike.

"Me, too," added Johnnie.

"Look a-here," declared Chinky. "No little shavers allowed on this job.
You ought to be glad to have a chance to see me do the chopping."

"Oh, thay," cried Stubbins when the children reached the edge of the
woods. "Who'th took our tree? Ith gone."

"It's that Randall kid," sputtered Chinky, scarcely able to believe
his eyes. "Look at the stump, will you, all hacked to pieces—he said
he bet he knew more about cutting down trees than me. That looks like
it! I'll fix him. Come on, don't stand here like ninnies looking at the
place where our tree stood."

"Leth—leth tell Mithter Hodgkinth," sobbed Stubbins.

"All right," assented the angry brother, "and then I'll give Smarty
Randall a taste of my fist."

"Your tree is gone!" repeated Mr. Hodgkins when the seven burst upon
him. "Well, there! I know who took it!"

"Who?" demanded Mike.

"Santa Claus, sir, the rascal! I thought that tree he brought in looked
extremely familiar!"

"What tree?" asked Stubbins.

"You come in my sitting-room and see, children."

"It's our tree, sure enough," said Johnnie, "and did he put it up, too?"

"You better believe he did, and what's more, you look in this closet."

Mr. Hodgkins opened a door, allowing the children one brief glimpse of
Christmas packages, dolls, books, sleds, and toys of all kinds.

"Oh, oh, oh!" cried the seven.

"They are all for you and every one who comes to the Christmas party,"
declared the man. "Santa Claus says this house is the place for your
party because it's bigger than yours and he brought these presents
ahead of time because he is so busy he was afraid he might miss us on
Christmas Eve."

"Aw," began Chinky, but checked himself and laughed. "Won't it be
jolly," said he, "that is if you don't mind."

"Oh, I'm delighted," insisted Mr. Hodgkins, "only I've asked the
minister to come and"—

"The minister," groaned Chinky, "what did you go and invite him for?"

"That's all right," interrupted Hannah. "You ought to have the minister
to a Christmas tree, don't you remember?"

"It was like this, children," said Mr. Hodgkins. "Your mother said I
was to make the speech, but I persuaded her that the minister could do
it better."

"Bother the minister," whispered Mike.

"I thay tho, too," echoed Stubbins.

[Illustration: "THE SEVEN STOOD IN A ROW"]




CHAPTER XIV

THE HOME THAT WAS FOUND ON CHRISTMAS DAY


Gaily passed the week before Christmas. Every one was busy, every one
was happy. Mrs. Mulvaney swept and dusted the house of Welcome Hodgkins
from top to bottom. Not a corner escaped her broom.

In the sitting-room the Christmas tree glittered and shone. Frost
sparkled on the windows, while outside in the winter sunshine sang the
chickadees.

Early Christmas Eve the company arrived, smiling and joyous. Mrs.
Mulvaney greeted them in her new gown. The seven stood in a row to
welcome Sally and Alfred. The little girls' dresses and the boys'
waists were made from the same piece of bright pink chambray, whereat
Tom Randall grinned and punched Cornelia Mary.

Everything passed off as Mrs. Mulvaney planned. Stubbins spoke his
piece beautifully, the singing was good, and the dialogues were
perfect. Mr. and Mrs. Isaac Turner, Mr. and Mrs. Randall, and Sally's
mother, having no other part on the program, clapped their hands
vigorously at the close of each performance.

Finally, at a signal from Mrs. Mulvaney, the minister rose. "Friends,"
said he, "my presence here to-night shall no longer be a mystery to
you. If Mrs. Mulvaney and Mr. Hodgkins will please step forward, we
will give these seven fatherless children a Christmas present."

Stubbins bent forward with his mouth open, and listened in amazement
while the minister married his mother to Welcome Hodgkins. He was the
first to speak at the close of the ceremony.

"Well, thay! that wath a thurprithe, but ith a good one."

Every one seemed to agree with Stubbins, and for awhile the Christmas
tree was entirely forgotten. Poor Chinky was so astonished and dazed,
he could scarcely cut the gifts from the tree when reminded of his
duty. At last his mother brought him to his senses by a more or less
gentle shake.

"Well, ma," laughed Chinky, "it's you, ain't it? I almost didn't know
you for a minute."

"Don't you be sassy," chided his mother, "or you'll get something
besides Christmas presents right here in front of your second pa and
the company."

Chinky didn't look a bit alarmed, and in the midst of fun and
excitement did his part in the distribution of the gifts.

At the dinner-table Stubbins snuggled close beside his new father.
"Well," said he, and all the children agreed with him, "I thay this ith
thertainly a Merry Chrithmuth!"


THE END.




COSY CORNER SERIES


 It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall contain
 only the very highest and purest literature,—stories that shall not
 only appeal to the children themselves, but be appreciated by all
 those who feel with them in their joys and sorrows.

 The numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known artists, and
 each volume has a separate attractive cover design.

  Each 1 vol., 16mo, cloth . . . $0.50


_By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON_


=The Little Colonel=. (Trade Mark.)

The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its heroine is a small
girl, who is known as the Little Colonel, on account of her fancied
resemblance to an old-school Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and
old family are famous in the region.


=The Giant Scissors=.

This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in France. Joyce is a
great friend of the Little Colonel, and in later volumes shares with
her the delightful experiences of the "House Party" and the "Holidays."


=Two Little Knights of Kentucky=.

WHO WERE THE LITTLE COLONEL'S NEIGHBORS.

In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an old friend, but
with added grace and charm. She is not, however, the central figure of
the story, that place being taken by the "two little knights."


=Mildred's Inheritance=.

A delightful little story of a lonely English girl who comes to America
and is befriended by a sympathetic American family who are attracted by
her beautiful speaking voice. By means of this one gift she is enabled
to help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the use of her eyes, and
thus finally her life becomes a busy, happy one.


=Cicely and Other Stories for Girls=.

The readers of Mrs. Johnston's charming juveniles will be glad to learn
of the issue of this volume for young people.


=Aunt 'Liza's Hero and Other Stories=.

A collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal to all
boys and most girls.


=Big Brother=.

A story of two boys. The devotion and care of Steven, himself a small
boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of the simple tale.


=Ole Mammy's Torment=.

"Ole Mammy's Torment" has been fitly called "a classic of Southern
life." It relates the haps and mishaps of a small negro lad, and tells
how he was led by love and kindness to a knowledge of the right.


=The Story of Dago=.

In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, a pet monkey,
owned jointly by two brothers. Dago tells his own story, and the
account of his haps and mishaps is both interesting and amusing.


=The Quilt That Jack Built=.

A pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how it changed
the course of his life many years after it was accomplished.


=Flip's Islands of Providence=.

A story of a boy's life battle, his early defeat, and his final
triumph, well worth the reading.


_By EDITH ROBINSON_


=A Little Puritan's First Christmas=.

A Story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how Christmas was invented
by Betty Sewall, a typical child of the Puritans, aided by her brother
Sam.


=A Little Daughter of Liberty=.

The author introduces this story as follows:

"One ride is memorable in the early history of the American Revolution,
the well-known ride of Paul Revere. Equally deserving of commendation
is another ride,—the ride of Anthony Severn,—which was no less
historic in its action or memorable in its consequences."


=A Loyal Little Maid=.

A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary days, in which the
child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, renders important services to George
Washington.


=A Little Puritan Rebel=.

This is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time when the
gallant Sir Harry Vane was governor of Massachusetts.


=A Little Puritan Pioneer=.

The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settlement at
Charlestown.


=A Little Puritan Bound Girl=.

A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great interest to
youthful readers.


=A Little Puritan Cavalier=.

The story of a "Little Puritan Cavalier" who tried with all his boyish
enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and ideals of the dead Crusaders.


=A Puritan Knight Errant=.

The story tells of a young lad in Colonial times who endeavored to
carry out the high ideals of the knights of olden days.


_By OUIDA_ (_Louise de la Ramée_)


=A Dog of Flanders=: A CHRISTMAS STORY.

Too well and favorably known to require description.


=The Nurnberg Stove=.

This beautiful story has never before been published at a popular price.


_By FRANCES MARGARET FOX_


=The Little Giant's Neighbours=.

A charming nature story of a "little giant" whose neighbours were the
creatures of the field and garden.


=Farmer Brown and the Birds=.

A little story which teaches children that the birds are man's best
friends.


=Betty of Old Mackinaw=.

A charming story of child-life, appealing especially to the little
readers who like stories of "real people."


=Brother Billy=.

The story of Betty's brother, and some further adventures of Betty
herself.


=Mother Nature's Little Ones=.

Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or "childhood,"
of the little creatures out-of-doors.


=How Christmas Came to the Mulvaneys=.

A bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children, with an
unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. The wonderful never-to-be
forgotten Christmas that came to them is the climax of a series of
exciting incidents.


_By MISS MULOCK_


=The Little Lame Prince=.

A delightful story of a little boy who has many adventures by means of
the magic gifts of his fairy godmother.


=Adventures of a Brownie=.

The story of a household elf who torments the cook and gardener, but is
a constant joy and delight to the children who love and trust him.


=His Little Mother=.

Miss Mulock's short stories for children are a constant source of
delight to them, and "His Little Mother," in this new and attractive
dress, will be welcomed by hosts of youthful readers.


=Little Sunshine's Holiday=.

An attractive story of a summer outing. "Little Sunshine" is another
of those beautiful child-characters for which Miss Mulock is so justly
famous.


_By MARSHALL SAUNDERS_


=For His Country=.

A sweet and graceful story of a little boy who loved his country;
written with that charm which has endeared Miss Saunders to hosts of
readers.


=Nita, the Story of an Irish Setter=.

In this touching little book, Miss Saunders shows how dear to her heart
are all of God's dumb creatures.


=Alpatok, the Story of an Eskimo Dog=.

Alpatok, an Eskimo dog from the far north, was stolen from his master
and left to starve in a strange city, but was befriended and cared for,
until he was able to return to his owner.


_By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE_


=The Farrier's Dog and His Fellow=.

This story, written by the gifted young Southern woman, will appeal to
all that is best in the natures of the many admirers of her graceful
and piquant style.


=The Fortunes of the Fellow=.

Those who read and enjoyed the pathos and charm of "The Farrier's Dog
and His Fellow" will welcome the further account of the adventures of
Baydaw and the Fellow at the home of the kindly smith.


=The Best of Friends=.

This continues the experiences of the Farrier's dog and his Fellow,
written in Miss Dromgoole's well-known charming style.


=Down in Dixie=.

A fascinating story for boys and girls, of a family of Alabama children
who move to Florida and grow up in the South.


_By MARIAN W. WILDMAN_


=Loyalty Island=.

An account of the adventures of four children and their pet dog on
an island, and how they cleared their brother from the suspicion of
dishonesty.


=Theodore and Theodora=.

This is a story of the exploits and mishaps of two mischievous twins,
and continues the adventures of the interesting group of children in
"Loyalty Island."




Transcriber's Notes.

1. Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical
errors.

2. Retained non-standard spellings as printed.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69068 ***