Ethel Calvert Phillips

“ The living-rooms were spacious and cool, the bedrooms sunny and airy. A big attic, meant for play on rainy days, crowned the top of the house, and there each child had a place for the treasures that would otherwise have been strewn from one end to the other of Robin Hill, or have been banished altogether. Sticks, stones, weeds, cocoons, acorns, “Anything that can’t walk, swim, or fly,” was Miss Martin’s decree. “Live-stock must go into the barn.”
So out in the barn lived Snowball and Nig, the white and the black rabbits given Sammy by Dr. Wolfe. ”

“ Polly carried a white rabbit and a big picture-book off into her special corner. Sammy, skillfully performing on horn and drum simultaneously, woke echoes in the attic. Toy trains ran merrily round and round. Fire engines dashed bravely in every direction. It seemed as if Santa Claus’s pack must be empty. But no, there he stood holding a baby doll in long white dress and little white cap, a baby doll who stretched out her arms as if asking some one to come and hold her, please. ”

“ To-day, after dinner, at which Roger did not appear, Lydia, with arms about Mary Ellen and Polly, visited the pets, and listened to all the hopes and plans of her friends, not, however, without telling a few of her own.
Tom, growing brown and rosy and more boyish every day, led her to the swing lately put up in the woodshed, and gave her a swing in his finest style, running under and back in a manly fashion that he much admired. ”

“ First of all she told the good news over and over to Miss Martin, and Mary Ellen, and Nurse Norrie, and Sammy, and all the rest of them. Miss Martin wasn’t a bit surprised. She almost acted as if she had known it all along.
“The saints bless us! It’s no trouble you’ll be making any one, the way you keep yourself clean,” was all Nurse Norrie said.
But Mary Ellen and Polly and Sammy were as excited and interested as Lydia could wish. Their tongues flew and their heads wagged up and down, and if Lydia couldn’t answer all the questions they asked her, they answered them themselves. ”

“ Naps followed such early rising as a matter of course, and Lydia, after a peep, came tiptoeing out on the porch as softly as could be for fear of wakening him. Her ill-humor had vanished, and she listened to her mother’s directions with not a cloud on her face.
“Go up the village road and take the first turn,” said Mother in a whisper. “Walk along until you come to something that doesn’t look one bit like a shoemaker’s shop. You will know it by the flowers, and by the trademark over the door. The shoemaker’s name is Mr. Jolly.”
So Lydia skipped up the road with her old shoes under her arm. ”

“ For there stood an Indian, wearing a real deerskin over his shoulders, and with real deerskin leggings that ended in gay beaded moccasins. On his head was a gorgeous feather head-dress, and in his hands he carried a bow and arrow. His face was ornamented with spots and stripes and splashes of red and yellow and blue paint. He was not a very fierce-looking warrior, for he was grinning from ear to ear, and when the girls saw that smile, they knew.
“Sammy!” said Lydia and Polly and Mary Ellen in a breath. ”

“ Lydia was rocking Lucy Locket to sleep when Nurse Norrie came into the room.
“Friend Morris has sent for you, Lydia,” said she. “Alexander is waiting outside.”
Nurse Norrie looked carefully at Lydia’s face and hands.
“You’re as clean as a pin,” said she. “It would be well if others were more like you.” And she rapped gently upon Sammy’s head as she passed. Sammy looked up with a grin.
“I don’t care,” said he with Christmas daring. “I don’t want to be clean. It’s sissy.” ”

“ And he stepped straight over to Luley and Lena and put the pussies into their outstretched arms. How did he know that that was what they wanted? Perhaps because they had been looking so longingly at them ever since he came into the room. But then how did he know that Mary Ellen wanted a paint-box and a Red Cross doll, and Sammy a Noah’s Ark and a drum and a horn? It was really wonderful how Santa Claus could tell exactly what each one wanted. There was little Tom who longed to play with dolls, but who couldn’t bear it when the big boys laughed and called him “a girl.” ”

“ Mrs. Blake came into the room, and then, instead of saying anything about little cakes for Mary Ellen, “You tell her, Mother,” said Mr. Blake. “You tell her.”
“Oh, Friend Morris,” said Mrs. Blake, “you tell Lydia, won’t you?”
So Friend Morris came forward, and she was smiling as she had smiled all afternoon.
“Friend Lydia,” said she, “last night thee asked a present of Santa Claus, and to-day the present is given thee. Here are a good father and a good mother who will love thee well, and in turn they will have the love of a good little daughter. ”

“ How fascinating to be a different color every day!
So, one afternoon, when Sammy and Mary Ellen walked down from Robin Hill to play with Lydia, whose ankle was well now, the first thing to be talked over was the story of the rug woman.
“She lives in a little house all by herself, with three hens and a pig. Friend Deborah told me. And her hands are bright blue. And she dyes the rags and makes them into rugs. We have one, and so has Friend Morris, and Friend Morris is going to have two more.” ”

“ Over the door on a nail hung a pair of baby’s pale-blue kid shoes, the cobbler’s trademark, and as for the flowers—Lydia wished her own little garden-bed looked one quarter as well. For gorgeous masses of scarlet and white bloom covered the carriage roof, flowered in the coachman’s box, and grew in little window-boxes cunningly fastened on the doors. ”

“ Blake’s lap as, refreshed by his nap, he sat reading the newspaper, “Mr. Jolly knows you. He says you are nice. Who is ‘she’?”
“She?” repeated the puzzled Mr. Blake. “You will have to tell me something more about her before I can answer that question, I’m afraid. Is it a puzzle?”
“She has been in bed for twenty years, and never touched a foot to the floor, and she can’t bear the sound of the hammer,” explained Lydia in an excited burst.
“Oh, that’s Mrs. Jolly,” said Mr. Blake. “She has something the matter with her back and can’t walk. Mr. Jolly and I are old friends. He’s a good fellow.” ”

“ Jolly soothingly. “I’ll take you to a nice place, Robin Hill. I guess they’ll make room for you somehow. This little girl will tell you how nice it is there. Won’t you?”
“Are there any boys?” asked Roger anxiously. “I won’t go if there are.”
“But they are nice boys,” said Lydia, eager for the good name of her special friends, Sammy and Tom. “They wouldn’t hurt you for anything. They are lots of fun to play with. And you will like Miss Martin, she is so good to you.” ”

“ Ten little boys in blue-striped blouses and dark-blue neckties, ten little girls in blue-checked aprons and dark-blue hair-ribbons fixed their eyes on the big folding doors and thought the time for them to open would never come.
All day long excitement had reigned supreme in the Children’s Home, a roomy comfortable house set on the very edge of the big city, and where were gathered the motherless and fatherless children who found love and care under its hospitable roof. ”

“ During the first weeks of spring planting, Miss Martin was overwhelmed with promises of peas and beans and radishes for the Robin Hill table. Sammy and Polly and Mary Ellen had a scheme whereby, if their crops were as successful as they hoped, they would sell their produce to the village grocer, and with the proceeds make an interesting purchase.
“We’ll buy a piano,” said Polly.
“A gold chain for Miss Martin,” said Mary Ellen.
“A hand-organ,” said Sammy, in a burst of inspiration, “and travel all over, taking pennies in a hat. We’ll be rich.” And Sammy smacked his lips at the thought. ”

“ Father, and Alexander, and Deborah, and Friend Morris when I took her a bunch of flowers before supper, and the postman when I met him on the road. The postman said he thought I looked older, I’d been away so long. Do you, Mother?”
“No, I can’t say that I do,” said honest Mrs. Blake. “Perhaps he meant taller. You do grow like a weed.”
“No, he said older,” insisted Lydia, twirling the curtain cord as she spoke. “It must have been a joke. The postman is a very joking man, Mother. Anyway, I like to be missed. I like everybody to miss me every minute I’m away. ”

“ He looked kindly at Gwen, motioned Lame Wolf to hang Seaborn on a near-by tree, where his own papoose swung in the shade, and then called to his little girl, Winonah, peeping shyly round the wigwam. She took Gwen by the hand and led her off to see her dolls.”
“Dolls?” said Polly and Lydia together. “Do little Indian girls have dolls?”
“Certainly they do. These dolls were made of deerskin, with painted face, beads for eyes, and one had a fine crop of horsehair and another one of feathers. Each doll had its cradle, too, and Gwen and the chief’s little daughter played happily together. ”

“ Lydia and Mary Ellen and Sammy never knew how Mr. Blake laughed when he heard the story. He himself went to see the rug woman, and his visit was so satisfactory that when he left, the rug woman held out her hand, purple this time, and invited him to come again.
“You are a gentleman, sir,” said she, “and you have more than paid for what I lost. Bring your little girl the next time you come.” ”

“ Every day thee is to go for a ride—”
But Friend Morris got no farther, for Lydia lurched forward in Father’s arms and caught her round the neck.
“I love thee, Friend Morris,” she whispered, “and I love thy medicine. And I will lend thee Lucy Locket for a whole day, and give thee three green candies for good luck beside.”
“I thank thee, little Quaker,” answered Friend Morris with a laugh, straightening her cap and patting Lydia’s cheek. “Now, Alexander has a lump of sugar for thee to give Maggie, and then he will take thee for a ride.” ”

“ In the first place, Mary Ellen and Sammy had been asked to spend the afternoon to keep Lydia company, because Father and Mother and Friend Morris were invited out to spend the day. Friend Deborah, who had gone about her work all morning with her head tied up in a handkerchief, had at last been forced to go to bed “to favor the faceache,” as she said. Alexander, to keep the house quiet and give the children a good time, had planned a drive, but no sooner had he fastened the last strap in Maggie’s harness than word came that the black colt had jumped the pasture bars and was running away. ”

“ Lydia gently lifted off the rabbit’s head and peeped inside. He was filled with red and green and white candies.
“You may think these are candies, Princess,” said Dr. Wolfe with a twinkle in his eye, “but they are far more than that. They are magic pellets, an offering of your devoted slave. The red pellets will make you brave if your ankle gives you pain. The white ones will keep you happy and cheerful so long as you have to lie still. And the green ones are for good luck. ”

“ Lydia followed, and found Mother at work in the kitchen, briskly beating eggs in a big yellow bowl and taking peeps now and then into the oven which gave out savory smells whenever the door was opened.
“Will it be pie and ice cream to-night, Mother?” asked Lydia, remembering the words of Mary Ellen.
“No,” said Mrs. Blake with a laugh; “Indian pudding to-night.”
“That’s what Sammy would like,” said Lydia, sniffing hungrily. “He’s going to shoot Indians or be an Indian chief when he grows up. He doesn’t know which.” ”

“ Wolfe?”
“I’m afraid!” sobbed Lydia. “It’s Red Riding Hood’s wolf. I’m afraid!”
“Lydia,” said Father impatiently, “you are talking nonsense. Dr. Wolfe is an old friend of Friend Morris. He is as kind as he can be, and very fond of little girls.”
“Yes, fond of eating them,” thought Lydia.
She didn’t say this aloud, but she buried her head in her pillow and refused to listen to any pleasant things about Dr. Wolfe. He was Red Riding Hood’s wolf, and she wouldn’t see him, and her ankle hurt, and she was the most miserable little girl in the world. ”

“ Gwen knew they must be in an Indian camp, for she saw many wigwams, and horses tethered about them. Already, groups of Indian squaws were at work, scraping animal skins and trimming leggings and moccasins with bright-colored beads. Little girls were going to and fro, carrying wood and water. Little brown boys ran past, with bows and arrows in their hands, off for a day’s play. Gwen was glad to see her friend, Lame Wolf, limping toward her. He said, ‘Eat! Come!’ and led the way back into the wigwam where the old squaw gave Gwen a bowl of soup. ”

“ Each ring of the doorbell brought chattering groups to hang over the banisters, each sound of wheels on the driveway was the signal for excited faces to be pressed against the window-pane and for round eyes to try in vain to bore through the paper wrappings of mysterious bundles whisked out of sight all too soon. ”

“ There were no children in sight, but Miss Martin was watching for them on the broad veranda, and she came forward to help them out of the cart.
“So this is Roger,” said she, smiling and holding out her arms to the forlorn child, who willingly crept into their comfortable shelter. “Your father has just telephoned me, Lydia, so I know all about him. You will find the children in the barn, I think.” And Miss Martin carried Roger off for the bath and the nap that the tired, dusty little boy needed sorely. ”

“ And in a twinkling he was up the steps and sitting at the side of Lydia’s bed.
“How did you get such a bump on your head?” said he. “It’s as handsome a one as ever I saw, and I’ve seen a good many.”
“I fell downstairs last night,” answered Lydia, feeling her “handsome bump” with fresh pleasure, and glad to tell her story. “I hurt my head and my ankle. I can’t walk.”
“Then I’m the very man for you,” returned the old gentleman cheerfully, “for I’m a tinker. I tinker people—their heads, and their arms, and their legs. ”

“ Miss Martin said you could give a present that wouldn’t go in a stocking. And I will give you back the baby doll.”
Santa Claus thought for a moment, and then he tightened his hold upon the little girl looking so anxiously into his face.
“Now, Lydia,” said he, “I’ll tell you just how it is. I don’t carry that kind of a present around in my bag with me, but I’ll try to get it for you if you are willing to wait a little while for it. You keep the baby doll. Take good care of her, and I’ll go to work and see what I can do for you. How will that be?” ”

“ And I wasn’t put to bed yesterday like you.” And with a flourish of his spoon, Roger placidly finished his supper, while the crestfallen Lydia slipped away to console herself with Lucy Locket, who never “answered back.”
“It is good for her, I suppose,” said Mrs. Blake, who, with Mr. Blake, was an amused spectator of this scene. “I am afraid we were making her selfish. It isn’t well for a child to grow up alone. And they love each other dearly. Roger follows Lydia about like her shadow.” ”