Part 17 (2/2)

The little girl acquiesced. ”It's all ready to light.”

”S'pose those Dutchman's young ones brought some things over to put on,”

ventured the biggest brother, shaking the popper violently to hide his concern.

The little girl sighed heavily. ”Everybody's sent presents but the Swedes and us,” she said, and there was a telltale break in her voice.

”The Swedes and us won't have much on,” declared the biggest brother, dryly. ”That fire scooped up our Christmas gifts. The only people around here that can make presents this year were smart enough to backfire.” He gave the popper such a shake that the lid swung up and let a shower of kernels fall over the stove.

”The Dutch girls said this morning,” began the little girl, ”that their new house is better 'n ours. And they said that every one of 'em is going to have two presents off the tree to-night. And--and--I know it's true, too, because I saw the teacher write their names on the packages.”

She paused a moment. ”They're all big packages,” she added mournfully.

”I am glad,” said her mother, ”that some one is to receive presents to-night, even if we do not.”

”And where _you're_ goin' to s.h.i.+ne,” broke in the biggest brother, giving the little girl a squeeze, ”is in the program. You'll play that new tune you learned on the fiddle, and you'll speak your piece; and they'll all be as jealous as kingdom come. As for presents, well, you've been gettin' 'em straight for ten years; so you c'n afford to skip the eleventh.” He got up to empty the popper in the pan.

The little girl did not reply at once. When she burst forth at last, her eyes were full and her breast was heaving. ”It's our first school tree,”

she cried; ”and here I'll be the only girl that won't have her name called, except for an old orange or a bag of candy.” Then she hurriedly left the kitchen.

”Poor baby!” said her mother when she was gone. She disposed of the stringing of the pop-corn to the biggest brother and began to pick over a quart of wheat that was to be their supper. Having finished and put it on to boil, she turned to the roasting of some barley for the next morning's coffee.

”I wish we'd a-got her a little trinket for to-night,” said the biggest brother, ”even if it'd a-been only worth ten cents.” He took out his pipe and filled it from a handful of corn-silk in his jumper pocket.

”_I'd_ be tickled to death,” he added, ”if I could have a plug of tobacco.”

”And I a sack of flour,” said his mother. ”We'll have the last in biscuits for to-day's dinner. I suppose I shouldn't have used it up for a week more, because we had white biscuits only last Sunday. But it is Christmas day; I can't resist giving you boys something a little extra.

I've kept enough flour out, though, to thicken gravies with. Now, if we only had plenty of potatoes.”

”When it gets nearer spring, we c'n eat the inside of the potatoes and save the peelin's for plantin'.”

”Oh, I thought of that long ago,” laughed his mother; ”I've got half a sack of peelings here behind the stove where they won't freeze.”

”The meat's gettin' low, ma. There's only a hunk or two left in the barrel, and I just noticed, when I was gettin' the coal, that that pig in there on the rafters is dwindlin' fast. I guess another cow'll have to go. Might as well, anyway. Hay won't more 'n last the horses.”

They were interrupted by the eldest and the youngest brothers, who came in, stamping the snow from their boots and swinging their arms.

”Gee! it's cold!” cried the youngest, keeping in a far corner, out of way of the warmth from the stove, and thumping his toes alternately as he moved in a circle. ”Sloughs are frozen to the bottom. Didn't catch a thing, and had to use the ax to chop out the traps every place we'd set.”

Dinner was eaten in silence that Christmas day. The family could not help contrasting the meal with those served on former like occasions.

Since nearly all the turkeys and chickens had perished in the fire, and what few remained were being kept over for the following year, no plump fowl lay, s.h.i.+ns in air, before the eldest brother. A small piece of baked pork held the place of honor, surrounded by the never-absent dish of boiled wheat, the plate of precious white biscuits, and some sweetened corn-bread. When dinner was over, the big brothers tramped off to the chain of sloughs, taking with them the violin and the corn their mother had strung so that the latter could be put on the tree that afternoon. The little girl and her mother cleared the table and then sat down to unravel some old wristlets and from them knit new heels and toes into the big brothers' stockings.

The little girl was very quiet and thoughtful. Her mouth drooped mournfully, her eyes were wistful. She spoke to her mother only in answer, and then in monosyllables. Her mother, as she watched her, felt that the little girl's unhappiness was the last bitter touch to her own grief, and she was glad when the child put on her dried leggings, her cap and coat, preparatory to spending an hour in her own room, where there was no fire.

The mother heard no sound from the other part of the house until the middle of the short afternoon. Then she caught the notes of a song. A moment later the little girl came running into the kitchen, her eyes dancing, and went running out again, carrying a sheet of brown wrapping-paper and a long piece of white string. No more sounds came from her room. When she came out at suppertime, dressed for the evening's entertainment, she was her usual cheerful self, much to the mystification of her compa.s.sionate mother and the big brothers.

There was a false ring of gladness in the sleigh-bells that night as they came jingling from the stable. For what right have sleigh-bells to ring when every pocket is flat and when there is no lumpy flour-sack hidden from sight under the hay in the pung bottom? So the eldest and the youngest brothers, their mother and the little girl, took their places in the low box and let the biggest brother cover them with a feather-tick, without any of the gay laughter and banter that marked the pleasure-rides of former years. Then the biggest brother, only his eyes showing from his head-wrappings, sprang to his seat behind the horses and sent the team briskly forward with the storm toward the huge bonfire of cottonwood logs that had been lighted close to the school-house on the farther edge of the farthest slough.

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