Part 22 (1/2)
XVI
MISTER TALL PINE'S CHRISTMAS TREE
”Mammy, I wanter telephone Santy Claus,” fretted Willis, seeking excuse to leave the nursery.
”Nor, he done gone erway fum home ter hunt up whar de good chilluns stays at,” as she moved about putting the room to rights; ”you an' Ma'y Van fix dat lit'le Chrismus tree ov'r yond'r fur Ma'y Van's dolls, an' you be ole man Sandy.”
”I got ter telephone Santy Claus about little Leonora--he don't know she's come,” insisted Willis.
”I dunno whut's de rees'n--he brung her hisse'f dis mawnin',” still moving briskly about.
”I got to telephone Santy what to bring her,” he persisted.
”Dat baby ain' got her eyes op'n yit.”
”Yes, she has, Mammy,” and Mary Van crossed the room and looked into Phyllis's face, ”they're big brown ones, 'caus I went over to Uncle Hugh's house and looked at 'em good m'self.”
”Well, I doan keer nuthin' tall 'bout dat, Sandy Claus say she too lit'le fur him ter fool wid yit.”
Mary Van turned to Willis, ”Less us fix this tree for little Leonora.”
”No, I'm got to telephone to Santy Claus.” He clung to the k.n.o.b of the locked door.
”Well, ef yer 'bleege ter pa.s.s er wurd wid 'im, holl'r up de chimbly--he settin' up dar lis'nin' ter see ef you'se er good boy.”
”No, I want to go downstairs and see my mama!” and he kicked violently against the door.
Instead of coercing him, Phyllis took her seat by the fire, and placing her elbows upon her knees, spoke with her face towards the chimney: ”Suh?”
pausing a moment to listen; ”yas, suh--yas, suh, dat's Willis, but he ain'
no bad chile,--yas, suh, dat's him kickin' 'gainst de do', but he jes'
playin' foot ball wid hit--nor, suh, Willis ain' bad, he's de bes' boy in dis town.”
Immediately both children were climbing into her lap asking and answering their own questions. ”Lawdy mussy 'pon me! Set down like fokes--whut's dem lit'le cheers fur?” They, however, seated themselves upon the rug, and pulled her down with them so as to be more convenient for further chimney discourse.
”Mammy, did he say he was going to bring my drum, an' billy goat wagon, an'--”
”An' my dolly with long hair that can talk, an' my--”
”He say,” she interrupted quietly, ”he gwine bring yer all dem things you done writ erbout, ef yer be's good chillun. De speshul news he giv' me den, is 'bout de beastes; an' creeters' Crismus tree. He say Tall Pine gwine be de Crismus tree, an' Mist'r Race Hoss gwine read out de names on de pres'nts.”
”Mammy, can Mist'r Race Hoss climb up Tall Pine Tree?”
”Whut he hatt'r clime hit fur? Ain't Mist'r Wile Cat dar ter scale de tree an' ain' Doct'r p.e.c.k.e.rwood settin' up dar wid his doct'r sissors, jes'
waitin' ter clip de strings?”
”But Mister Wild Cat might eat up Doctor p.e.c.k.e.rwood,” said Mary Van, distrustfully.
”Honey, Mist'r Wile Cat's like er heap er slick fokes in de woel--he'll wurk pow'ful good an' squar' long es he know fokes watchin' 'im. All de beastes an' creeturs come ter de tree--an' I tell yer dar wus er Crismus gif' fur all de good ones.”