When The Yule Log Burns Part 5

Now Muggs, though he carried upon his shoulder a ridiculous pair of elfin skates, was much too small a boy, his brother thought, to embark upon the ice, wherefore he stood like a sentinel upon the sh.o.r.e and drummed and ate incessantly, until an orange catapulted from an overcrowded pocket, when he pursued it with a roar.

The peal of the village town-clock striking twelve came all too soon, but homing was no task with a turkey at the end. Muggs, still wrapped in mysterious silence, knew the very spot where Christmas odors began to permeate the frosty air and redoubled the speed in his drumming arm, but when after a vigorous scrubbing his glistening eye fell upon the holly-bright table and an enormous turkey by the Doctor's plate, only a frosty menace in Mike's eye, it seemed, restrained another blood-curdling shriek of delight. There was paralyzing apology in his eyes as Mike's lips formed the soundless threat--"Mom Murphy!"

"He's holdin' himself in," said Annie, "Mister Muggs, give me the drum!

Ye'll not crowd into the chair with that upon your shoulder!"

It seemed that Mister Muggs would. He began to swell. He began to drum.

He carried his point and crammed himself and his drum into his chair at the table. He did not speak. Neither, from that time on, did he permit any lapse in his industry. What Muggs did, from drum to drum-sticks, he did well.

Muggs ate turkey and mashed turnips. Muggs ate potatoes, cranberry sauce, boiled onions, and quite a little celery. He glinted ahead at a pie on the sideboard, seemed to make hurried structural calculations, and pushed his plate again toward the turkey. Aunt Ellen looked at the Doctor and the Doctor looked at Muggs.

"If the child eats any more," said Annie bluntly from the kitchen door, "he must have a pill. 'Tis enough for him to drum away the peace of the Christmas day without stuffin' himself that hard and round ye fear for his b.u.t.tons. An' to my mind, if he'd talk more and eat less, he'd not be in such danger o' burstin'."

Mike looked slightly agitated.

"Muggs," said the Doctor firmly, "it comes to this. More turkey--one pill. No turkey--no pill."

Muggs exhibited a capacity for instant decision. With stubby forefinger rigid, he shoved his plate a little closer to the turkey.

IV

The Log at Twilight

There was a straw-ride in the farm sleigh after dinner, a story or two by the Yule log when the twilight closed in and Annie had lit the Christmas candles on the tree, and then as the boys were romping in a game of Roger's the Doctor slipped away to his study for a quiet hour with a book. His lamp was barely lighted and the book upon his knee when the door opened and Jim stood before him, his face so white and strained that the Doctor laid aside his book, thinking instantly, of course, that here again was too much turkey.

Jim hung his head, one toe burrowing in the carpet.

"Doctor John!" he burst forth hoa.r.s.ely.

"Yes?"

Jim gulped.

"I--I been in _jail_!"

The Doctor looked once at Jim's face, quivering in an agony of shame, and hastily wiped his gla.s.ses. In the quiet came the laughter of romping boys.

"Why," said the Doctor very gently, "did you tell me?"

Something in the kindly voice opened the flood-gates of a boy's sore heart. Jim's mouth quivered piteously, then he broke down and hid his face behind his elbow, sobbing wildly.

"I wanta be square," he cried pa.s.sionately, "I wanta be square like you've been to us, an'--an Luke said ye might not want a jail-bird here for Christmas. I--stole--coal--for mom--"

It was the old tale, one boy caught, paying for the petty thievery of the score who ran away. The Doctor heard the mumbled tale to the end and cleared his throat.

"And so," he said slowly, "you wanted to be square. That's the finest thing I've heard this Christmas day. Wanted to be square. Well, well!"

His hand was on Jim's shoulder now. "Jim, I wonder if you could come back to me next Christmas and tell me you'd been absolutely straight--"

"Here!" said Jim in a choking whisper, his eyes blazing through his tears, "again--for _Christmas_!"

Somewhere on a snowy page a Christmas angel wrote: "One boy saved by the spirit of a country Christmas!"

"Here," repeated the Doctor, "again--for Christmas." He opened the door. "Run along, now, Jim," he said kindly, "or the boys will miss you."

Jim's final words were very queer.

"Doctor John," he blurted, "I--I'm a goin' to send poor little Muggs."

The Doctor was devoutly hoping that Muggs had never been in jail for stealing food or drums, when Muggs himself appeared clinging desperately to the hand of Mike. He seemed on the verge of a lachrymose explosion.

Mike's face was very red but it was also very hopeful.

"Jim said to tell ye," he mumbled. "She ain't never had no Christmas an'

the minister he said the order was all boys an'--an' she cried, so Mom said bring her anyway in my ol' suit--you'd never know, an'--an'--an'--Oh, my gos.h.!.+" finished Mike tragically, "Muggs is a girl.

Her--her name's C-c-c-c-clara!"

The Doctor jumped. So did Muggs. The lachrymose explosion came and the drum slipped down from the shoulder of Muggs with a clatter.

"Don't wanta go home!" came the heartbroken wail, "don't wanta go home.

Mom Murphy'll git me."

"I--I tol' her," explained Mike uncomfortably, "that she mustn't open her mouth once--jus' act deaf an' dumb or you'd guess maybe an' send her home an' Mom Murphy'd git her. An'--an'--she must take a drum like a boy--"

Literal Muggs! Heaven alone knew by what other blood-thirsty threats than Mom Murphy Mike had encompa.s.sed the stony silence and frenzied drumming of the little sister who had never had a Christmas.

"But why," burst forth the despairing Doctor. "In heaven's name--why--Muggs?"

"She makes such awful faces," said Mike apologetically. "Mom don't know what makes her that way." And then as Muggs was at the climax of one of the spasms that had won her her name, the Doctor suddenly lifted her in gentle arms and tossed her to the ceiling.

"Poor, poor little kiddy!" he said huskily. "What a price she's paid for her Christmas."

But Muggs had forgotten the price. Though it had been a hard day the Doctor's eyes were kind and twinkly. Muggs buried her flushed and tearful little face on his shoulder with a sigh of content. He saw now that one knot of ribbon on the tousled, sunny curls would have told the story, then he glanced at the bagging suit and opened the door. Muggs went forth upon the Doctor's shoulder.

"Asher," cried the Doctor, "hitch old Polly to the sleigh and telephone Sam Remsen that he can oblige me for once and open his store."

"Ye--ye ain't goin' to send her home, are ye?" faltered Mike.

"I'm going," cried the Doctor, "to buy Clara Muggs a dress and a doll.

It's her night."

The boys cheered.