Part 6 (1/2)
”Gott in Himmel! Donner und Blitzen!” he thundered in tones that had not been heard in that store since the baker had discovered salt instead of sugar on a large batch of cinnamon kuchen.
The alarmed clerks stared at the baker in consternation. Two or three of the new ones retreated to the door, but the braver hurried to their irate employer, who stood glowering like a thunder-cloud and pointing to a certain round object reposing innocently on a table.
”Der Teufel! Was meint das? Das geht nicht,” shrieked the baker, who was apt, under excitement, to fall into his native tongue. ”Who has not his pudding got? Wo ist dat Hans Kleinhardt?”
The head clerk could not be found, and as none of the other clerks knew aught of the Christmas pudding scheme, the direst misunderstanding ensued. In the midst of the excitement the front door opened and Katrina rushed in, her cheeks aglow and her enthusiasm beautiful to behold were there no puddings in the case.
”Oh, Father, I ran in--” she began, then stopped suddenly. A glance at her father told her that some dreadful thing had happened to disturb the peaceful serenity that usually pervaded Herr Baumgartner's establishment. The baker turned to her.
”Vat did you do mit dose Christmas puddings, already?”
”Why, Father,” answered Katrina, ”I wrapped them up and put them on the table by the door, just as you told me to, before I went to the sleigh-ride. They must be here somewhere.”
A vigorous search for the puddings ensued, but it was a fruitless quest.
After a little, when the baker had calmed down somewhat, Katrina ventured to tell her errand.
”I came in to see if the Widow M'Carty's cake had been sent to her, and if it hasn't, the sleigh-ride party is here and we will drive down and take it to her.”
”Dat cake? I know nodings about it. Did any von send the Widow M'Carty her cake?” turning to the clerks.
”The Widow M'Carty's cake!” cried all the clerks in unison. ”Why, I sent it to her!”
”The Widow M'Carty's cake!” chorused twelve highly excited drivers.
”Why, I took it to her!”
”Mein Gott! Mein Gott!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the baker as the fate of his puddings dawned upon him. ”Twelve cakes to the Widow M'Carty, und day was all puddings!”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”'TWELVE CAKES TO THE WIDOW M'CARTY!'”]
_Eighth Episode_
WIDOW M'CARTY'S ABODE TEN-O'CLOCK ON CHRISTMAS EVE
Great is the mission of the plum pudding to elevate and refine. Poor Mrs. M'Carty, who had been too tired even to throw a stick at the Dooleys, and had meant only to wait for the return of the children to seek her much-shared bed, now began to bethink herself of active preparations for the unexpected festivities of the morrow.
The fire was encouraged to bestir itself, a kettle of water was put on to heat, and pails and scrubbing-brush were brought from the lean-to.
At this juncture the returned sightseers burst into the room, Katy and Norah both talking at once. Terence and Denny were not far behind in their utterances, and though perhaps more coherent, were certainly not less enthusiastic. It was well that the eloquence of tongues spoke in their wonder-filled eyes, for otherwise no mere mortal could have interpreted the steadily rising tones and varied inflections which were excitedly mingled in a Babel of sounds.
The sc.r.a.ping of snow and the confusion attendant upon their sudden entrance filled Mrs. M'Carty with new alarm, but she collected her wits enough to whisper with desperate vehemence, while she waved her scrubbing-cloth wildly:
”Whist now, will you, and mind that I don't hear another word out of your heads, or you'll be waking up Granny, for upon my soul, her eyes ain't been shut more than this blessed two minutes. I hope to goodness you won't be disturbing her, for I be just going to do up her cap for the Christmas. Now off with yourselves to bed, and not another word out of your heads to-night, till to-morrow. Och, Katy dear! What would you be telling me that for again? Sure you've repeated it three times, not counting the twice of Terence's. Now, now, boys, will you mind your mother, and go to bed like good children, and be getting up bright and early with Christmas morning faces on you?”
The boys obeyed and were soon deep in dreams in which ”cops” were selling newspapers out in the cold, and newsboys were in Huyler's warming their feet while ladies in fluffy furs treated them to candy and ice-cream.
The widow bestowed a grateful look on the two lads asleep in the bunk which had been built in the little jog between the kitchen and lean-to. Then she tiptoed past them into the inner room where she found Katy and Norah whispering excitedly and with no prospect of cessation until their mother's voice reminded them of their promise to be quiet.