Part 19 (1/2)

”Nevertheless, I hope you will come again soon, and I wish success to the pudding,” Norah said, following her visitor to the door.

Being off the beaten track of trade, the rush at the shop was over before Christmas Eve, and Marion and Norah, leaving Susanna in charge, went down town on a lark, as Norah said, and came home loaded with holly and mistletoe.

It was after their late dinner and Norah was putting up the last bit of holly, when Mammy Belle came in. ”Miss Norah, honey, kin you trim a Chris'mus tree?” she asked.

”Why, yes, I have trimmed many a one.”

”I done promise James Mandeville he should have one, for him an' his papa in the mawnin',--Ma.r.s.e Tom's comin' home; but look like I ain't got good sense, and I seed Miss Maimie do it las' year.” Mammy Belle's tone was despairing.

”Never mind, we'll do it for you. I might have thought of it, only I have been so busy,” said Norah. ”Don't you want to go, Marion?”

Marion was more than ready for anything so in keeping with the night, and gathering up some unused holly and a box of ornaments for the tree, they accompanied Mammy Belie to the small house, half a block distant on Pleasant Street.

It was a tiny place, quite simply and tastefully furnished, but betraying in many trifling ways the absence of the mistress. James Mandeville was fast asleep in his crib upstairs, where Mammy Belle conducted them to peep at him.

”I hope Miss Maimie won't mind our doing this,” Norah whispered, as they went down again.

”I don't believe she will,” Marion answered, moving about the tiny parlor, changing the position of a table here, a chair there, till the whole room had taken on a new look. The tree in the corner by the window bore melancholy witness to Mammy Belle's lack of ability in that line, but under Norah's fingers it began at once to revive.

They were in the midst of the dressing, Mammy Belle looking on in delight, when there was a ring at the door, and of all persons, who should it be but Mr. Goodman with a large package under his arm!

”It is a horse for that little rascal,” he explained, puffing and embarra.s.sed.

”Come in and see our tree, Mr. Goodman,” called Norah.

The old man stood in the doorway. ”I have been stumbling round trying to find this place for half an hour,” he growled. ”I took this thing to the shop, but you weren't there, and that Susan woman tried to direct me where to go.”

”Ought you to go about by yourself at night?” Marion asked. ”Won't you come in and wait for us? We are nearly through.”

”And do look at this beautiful horse!” cried Norah, unwrapping a stately animal with flowing mane and tail. ”Won't James Mandeville rejoice? Jack will be nowhere.”

”I suppose boys like horses,” said the old man, accepting the chair Mammy Belle brought forward, and evidently not indifferent to the admiration his gift excited.

The tree tr.i.m.m.i.n.g went on, and presently returning to his usual att.i.tude of mind, Mr. Goodman remarked that there was a sinful waste of money at this time of year.

”That is true,” said Norah, pausing to study the effect of a paper angel in tinsel, ”but also there is the money that _might_ be spent to make people happy, and isn't.”

”Come, Norah, really, we must not stay any longer. You have done quite enough,” Marion was saying, partly in the wish to cut off a possible argument, when the front door opened with a startling suddenness, and a young man with a bag in his hand stepped into the hall and faced the scene in the parlor,--the gay Christmas tree, the holly; Norah standing on a chair, with her laughing face over her shoulder; Marion, tall and stately, by the fireplace; and grim-looking Giant Despair in the chair of state.

”Why, Ma.r.s.e Tom,” gasped Mammy Belle, ”I done spect you in de mawnin'.”

It was Marion who made the explanations,--their friends.h.i.+p for James Mandeville and Mammy Belle's difficulty with the tree, and she did it with a gracious charm of manner that was irresistible.

Mr. Norton's boyish yet careworn face flushed. ”You are very kind to my little boy,” he said. ”I wish his mother were here to thank you.”

”Why, Norton, is that you?” exclaimed Giant Despair, waking up. ”Do you mean to tell me that James Mandeville is your boy? Upon my word!”

”It is fortunate you know Mr. Norton, for now you can testify to our good intentions in invading his house, Mr. Goodman,” said Norah, laughing.