Ben Pepper Part 48

"Now tell me," at last said the old lady, when the talk ran a bit low, "what can I do with the boys? And that girl--" she glanced to the end of the room, where Elvira, despite her disappointment at not being at Joel's table, was comforting herself as best she might by giving undivided attention to a chicken wing, which she held in both fingers.

"You better send them to school," said Mr. St. John, quickly. "And just as soon as you can get them there."

"Will the mother allow it?" asked the old lady, brightening up.

"Will she allow it? My dear madam," the minister straightened up and forgot how afraid of her he was, when she sat, a formidable figure in the little mountain church of a summer Sunday, and how very much he had disliked her, albeit her generous contributions whenever the plate went around--and now he smiled broadly, "if you could only have seen her when that box--"

"Never mind that," said Madam Van Ruypen, abruptly, and waving her hand with authority. "The question is, Will she allow me to send these children to school?"

"I think there's no doubt about it," said Mr. St. John, determined to find his own way to tell the story as he wanted it to appear. "Well, as I was saying, that cabin--why, we didn't any of us know what that poor woman was suffering. I blame myself," his head dropped and he drummed on the table with his fingers.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed the old lady, "you're not to blame." Then she added, with a remembrance of the summers spent in the mountain nook, "I'm sure I should have known."

"My dear madam," exclaimed the young minister, very much shocked to think that in the face of all her generosity he should have thrust a question for reproach, "you have been so very good, and have saved them all."

"Perhaps so," said the old lady, grimly. "But it wouldn't have been a bad idea if it had happened earlier, I'm thinking."

"But just think, if it hadn't gone to them just when it did," continued the young minister, determined to have the benefaction receive its full measure of appreciation. "Why, that poor mother was hurrying down to tell the selectman she could do nothing more,--the children were starving, and he must take them to the poorhouse,--when she met John Bramble, the expressman, you know, with the box in his cart."

Madam Van Ruypen laid down her fork and made a violent effort to get her handkerchief out of the velvet and jet bag that dangled from her waist.

As for Polly and the others, they never thought of eating, but listened, with their eyes fastened on the young minister's face.

"I never supposed it was as bad as that," said the old lady, brokenly; at last, with her fingers on her handkerchief, beginning to feel a little bit better.

"Nor did any of us," said Mr. St. John. "Why, John Bramble hasn't got over it yet. And I don't know that he ever will. Well, the misery is over now, thanks to you."

"All the thanks necessary to be expressed," said Madam Van Ruypen, quite recovering herself and laying a hand on Ben's arm, to pull him forward into notice, "are due to this lad here."

Ben slunk back covered with confusion, and wished for nothing quite so much as to roll under the table quite out of sight. Seeing which Jasper spoke up: "Oh, it would be fine to have them go to school, wouldn't it?"

and diverted attention so that it gave Ben time to breathe freely once more.

"Yes, indeed," said the minister; "it would be the making of them. And then that would give you a chance to have Luke and Matilda and Jane come down for a visit, maybe," and he laughed--he couldn't help it--at the face before him.

"I think not," said the old lady, dryly. "At least for a spell, until I get a little rested from Elvira," and then they all laughed. But the main thing was settled: the mountain children were to go to school.

Ben could hardly believe his ears; and he forgot to eat his dinner, while he gazed across the room where Matthew and Mark were placidly engaged at that pleasing occupation at a table with Joel and a whole company of other boys. Matthew had finally been induced to have his red tippet taken off, but insisted on keeping it across the back of his chair, where in the intervals of the dinner he could now and then feel of it. "Oh!" Ben gave a long sigh of satisfaction.

"What's the matter?" cried Madam Van Ruypen, turning off from the young minister; then she glanced at Ben's full plate. "This lad would rather look out for those boys than to eat his dinner," she said, which made Ben feel so ashamed again that he picked up his knife and fork and, with a very red face, plied them briskly.

Well, at last, as everything must have an ending sometime, that delightful dinner drew to a close. And then Grandpapa, who sat at the table of honor in the centre of the s.p.a.cious apartment, with Phronsie at his side, rose and made them all a little speech, and said that although the Christmas this year came a little late, it found them all very happy, as, please G.o.d, the sick one was well, and they had so many new friends to make good cheer with them. And he wished every one the very merriest of all Merry Christmases!

And then there was a great burst of music out in the hall, and a big orchestra, cleverly concealed in a thicket of palms and ferns, struck up their liveliest march. And all the company, Grandpapa and Phronsie, of course, leading the way, set forth in a procession that finally wound up in the big playroom to circle around the Christmas tree, still under its white cloud.

And then, in the beautiful rose-colored light streaming from the long lines of candles in their red shades, the choir boys from St. Stephen's marched in and around the white-enfolded tree, singing their beautiful carol.

Pip, clinging to Ben's hand, started forward, entranced, his little pasty-colored face looking keen and alight. And as the choir boys sang on and on, Madam Van Ruypen found herself strangely drawn to it. "I must ask Mr. King who that boy is," she said to herself.

But she didn't have a chance to hear any recital that evening. Dear me, who could expect it, with a Christmas-tree party in full blast! And then the tree was unveiled, to stand forth in all its glory. Oh, such a brilliant sight! And they all took hold of hands, forming in a big, big circle, and marched around it a couple of times.

And then, a smart jingling of sleigh bells was heard.

"Oh, he's coming! he's coming!" screamed Phronsie, clapping her hands and dancing, little d.i.c.k doing the same.

"Who?" It was Elvira who picked Phronsie's little muslin sleeve.

"Santa Claus," said Phronsie, turning a happy face with dewy eyes. "He is! He is coming!" and she danced harder than ever.

"Who's Santa Claus?" demanded Elvira, but n.o.body heard her, for the jingling sleigh bells suddenly paused, and in he popped, the old saint himself, right through the window!

Now, although Miss Mary Taylor was there, n.o.body thought to ask her where Mr. Hamilton Dyce was, except when Phronsie piped out, "I want him," and ran up to Miss Taylor, who blushed and looked prettier than ever. But after the presents had all been given out and Santa Claus had bowed and disappeared to get into his sleigh and drive off with his reindeer, Mr. Hamilton Dyce made his appearance in the midst of the festivities, wiping his forehead and looking very hot, but smiling all over his face.

At sight of him Phronsie dropped Grandpapa's hand, and ran up to him. "I wanted you," she said, "and you didn't come."

"But I'm here now, Phronsie," said Mr. Dyce, swinging her to his shoulder.

"Yes, you are here now," repeated Phronsie, folding her hands in great satisfaction, and surveying the company from her high perch. "But you didn't see Santa Claus," and she gave a little sigh.

"Oh, well, I saw him out there," Mr. Dyce bobbed his head toward the hall.

"Did you?" cried Phronsie, in great delight; "and wasn't he a nice Santa Claus?" She bent down to gaze into the face beneath her, whose cheek she patted.

"I'm glad you liked him," said Mr. Dyce, laughing.

"And did he get into his sleigh?" cried Phronsie, in great excitement.

"I heard the bells. Oh, I should so very much like to see him once drive off."

"Oh, I didn't see him get into his sleigh, Phronsie," said Mr. Dyce.

"Didn't you?" said Phronsie, much disappointed.

"Well, now we ought to go over and see what Grandpapa wants," said Mr.

Dyce, catching sight of the old gentleman's face.

"And there are such a many presents for you," said Phronsie, in a happy little tone, and patting the broad back.

"You don't say so!" cried Mr. Dyce.

"Yes, oh, such a many; do hurry and get them," gurgled Phronsie, as off he pranced with her on his shoulder.

Presents? Well, if Mr. Hamilton Dyce had many, what can be said of the gifts that had been rained down on all sides for every one else in the big room! And the best of it all was that each one seemed to think that nothing ever could be happier, as a selection of gifts, and that no Santa Claus who would understand them better, could by any means have visited them.

"But I like this best," said Matthew, and he laid his hand on the red woollen tippet.

Ben and he happened to be alone in a corner. "Do you, though?" said Ben, his eyes lighting.

"Yes, I've always wanted one," said Matthew.