Part 3 (1/2)
”Doesn't the store look fine, and how good everything smells,” said Katrina, delighting in the spicy odors. But Katrina was in a mood to be delighted with anything.
”So much thoughts, so great work, das ist,” replied her father, looking at the exemplification of the law of supply and demand going on steadily before them, and added, ”but die trade goes well dis year.”
”That is good, and when all is sold to-night that will be sold before the Christmas you will not forget the cakes and goodies for my poor little ones for to-morrow, will you? I have some of my Christmas money saved to pay for them, but I must have a great many for my money, five times as much as I could get with it anywhere else, or I will not buy here any more, Herr Papa,” said Katrina roguishly.
”Ach, Katrina, vy t'row so goot stuff away on dose children? Dey know not der value. I tell you it is joost one big waste.”
Katrina was too wise to argue with her father even if he would have permitted, and she knew that she would get her cakes in spite of his grumbling. Turning she saw the table with its array of Christmas puddings.
”Oh, what beautiful puddings!” she exclaimed. ”Would they not make such a handsome window with a bit of Christmas holly on each of them?”
”Ja, so dose puddings would make one splendit window, Liebchen,” said the baker. ”So much eggs, und raisins, und currants, und spices, und wine dey took, und six hours to cook each one. But dey will keep a year.”
”And are they all sold?” asked Katrina.
”Nein, nein, Katrina, we sell not one of dose puddings.”
”Not sell them, Father! Are you going to give them away?”
”Katrina, Katrina, you remember not anyt'ings to-day. At home haf I not said how I send out one puddings each to mein best customers, and on die card my compliments?” and Herr Baumgartner straightened himself proudly.
”Oh, that is so. I had forgotten,” said Katrina. ”But if I were going to give them away I would not send them to rich people who have money to buy them. I would send them to poor people who never have such treats.”
”Katrina, you know not business. You t'ink der fisherman he put dat worm on dat hook to feed der fish, eh? Den how come all dose fish at night in his basket?”
Katrina never let any differences with her father stare her out of countenance, so as he turned toward his office she followed him.
”I nearly forgot one thing I wanted, Father. May I have a cake to send to the Widow M'Carty? She is the woman who washes for us sometimes, you know.”
”Lieber Himmel! Vy should I send to the Widow M'Carty one cake? Nein, Katrina. Should I gif everyt'ing away? Vat mit der baskets for dose orphan asylums yet, I am like one big Santa Clauses already.”
”But Mrs. M'Carty has nine little children, Vater--”
”Maype she has, I care not. I feed not so many people's nine children.”
”Oh, Father, this will be such a sad Christmas for the poor woman. It is not a year, yet, since her husband was drowned. And think of those nine little M'Cartys with no dear, kind, handsome papa like mine,”--Herr Baumgartner's features relaxed a little,--”and you've often told me when Grossvater Baumgartner went to Hirschberg with you and the little Hans that died, how that kind man--”
”Dere, dere, Katrina,” broke in Herr
Baumgartner in an unsteady voice. ”Take dot cake, and I hope it will not choke dose M'Cartys mit der strangeness of eating anyt'ing so goot.”
_Fourth Episode_
WIDOW M'CARTY'S ABODE SIX O'CLOCK ON CHRISTMAS EVE
Despite the many mechanical operations performed upon the family clock by the little M'Cartys, it ticked away the minutes, and the hours, and the days faithfully. Even on this special Christmas Eve when the fortunes of its owners seemed at their very lowest ebb, it did not so much as moderate its voice or slacken its movements. When the hour arrived that its long hand should point straight upward and its short hand straight downward, the bells of the city began to ring, and the whistles of the city began to blow, announcing, with much clamor and discordance, that another day of labor was ended.
At the shriek of the first whistle Grandad Rafferty, who sat by the fire with baby Ellen on his knee, looked up at the clock and nodded to it approvingly.