Part 16 (2/2)
”Well, it warn't much trouble fer her to do it,” explained Mammy, fearful that she might be giving the young man too much encouragement.
”What she done said was that she ain't never noticed whether you is much of a hand fer victuals or not.”
”Well, I can tell you he is,” laughed Dee. ”He is almost as good a hand as the Tuckers.”
CHAPTER XVI.
CHRISTMAS EVE AT BRACKEN.
”Do all of you want to go to-morrow morning with Page and me to play Santa Claus to our poor neighbours?” asked Father at supper.
”Yes! Yes!” they chorused.
”I feel bad about all these little nigs who know I bring them the things and so they don't believe in Santa Claus at all. I always think that belief in Santa Claus is one of the perquisites of childhood. Sometimes I have been tempted to dress up and play Santy for them, but I believe they would know me. Docallison is seen too often to have any mystery about him.”
”I have it! I have it!” and Dum clapped her hands in glee at the idea that had come to her. ”Let's dress Zebedee up and let him go and give the kiddies their things.”
”Good!” exclaimed Father. ”Will you do it, Tucker?”
”Sure I will, if Page will do something I ask her.”
”What?”
”I want you to recite your sonnet that Tweedles tell me you published in _Nods and Becks_. They have not been able to find their copies in the maelstrom of their trunks. I think from what they say of it, it might inspire me to act Santa Claus with great spirit.”
”Sonnet! What sonnet?” asked Father.
”You don't mean you have not shown it to your father!” tweedled the twins.
”Well, Father is so particular about poetry--somehow--I--I--”
”Why, daughter!”
”You know you are! You can't abide mediocre verse.”
”Well, that's so,” he confessed, ”but you might let me be the judge.”
And so I recited my sonnet, which I will repeat to save the reader the trouble of turning back so many pages to refresh her memory.
”Pan may be dead, but Santa Claus remains, And once a year, he riseth in his might.
Oft have I heard, in silences of night, Tinkling of bells and clink of reindeer chains As o'er the roofs he sped through his domains, When youthful eyes had given up the fight To glimpse for once the rotund, jolly wight, Who in a trusting world unchallenged reigns.
Last and the greatest of all G.o.ds is he, Who suffereth little children and is kind; And when I've rounded out my earthly span And face at last the Ancient Mystery, I hope somewhere in Heaven I shall find Rest on the bosom of that good old man.”
When I finished, Father sat so still that I just knew he thought it was trash. I could hardly raise my eyes to see, I was so afraid he was laughing at me. Father, while being the kindest and most lenient man in the world, was very strict about literature and demanded the best. I finally did get my eyes to behave and look up at him and to my amazement I found his were full of tears. He held out his arms to me and I flew to them, thereby upsetting a plate of Sally Lunn m.u.f.fins that bow-legged Bill was just bringing into the dining room. Zebedee caught them, however, before they touched the ground, so no harm was done.
”Page! You monkey!” was all Father could say, but I knew he liked my sonnet and I was very happy. He told me afterwards when we were alone that he liked it a lot and how I must work to do more and more verse. If I felt like writing, to write, no matter what was to pay.
<script>