Patricia Part 12

"Mebbe next time, Miss P'tricia," Sarah's tone was strictly of the "I-told-you-so" order, "yo' won't go 'vitin' a whole tribe o' young uns, widout resultin' any one."

Patricia, walking the room with the screaming Totty, came to a sudden halt before Archibald, lying face down on the floor. "If you'll stop crying I'll let Custard come up," she said.

"Who's Custard?" Archibald rolled over on his back to consider the matter.

"My dog."

"Where is he?"

"Downstairs--in the kitchen."

"Does he like boys?"

"Not when they cry."

Archibald rubbed his eyes. "I'm not crying now."

But at that moment, Custard, who considered that he had been kept in the background quite long enough, came upstairs on his own account. As Sarah said, he seemed "ter sense the situation," for he trotted about making friends, lapping the tears from Tommy's face, and standing up on his hind legs to let Totty pat his head.

Sarah promptly took advantage of the lull to whisk the boys off to the bath-room; half an hour later, all five children, well wrapped in shawls and blankets, were gathered about the fire in Patricia's room for the hanging of the Christmas stockings.

That ceremony over, Sarah pounced on Tommy and Archibald, carrying them off to bed in Miss Kirby's room. "An' mercy knows what Miss Julia done say when she find yo' here," she muttered, tucking them in snugly.

Archibald sat up in bed. "I want--Custard!"

"Yo' go 'long ter sleep, young sir," Sarah expostulated. "What yo' think Ma.r.s.e Santa Clause goin' say ter such goin's-on?"

"I want Custard!"

"Let him have him, Sarah!" Patricia exclaimed.

"Miss P'tricia! 'Low that onery dog on yo' aunt's bed!"

Patricia let the insult to her pet pa.s.s.

"_On_ it, _in_ it, _under_ it, if it'll keep him quiet!"

Sarah lifted Custard in far from respectful fas.h.i.+on, dropping him, an astonished, but entirely acquiescent heap, between Archibald and Tommy.

Lydia, already asleep, was disposed of in Patricia's bed, and Norma and Totty settled comfortably on the wide lounge.

"An' now, honey," Sarah said, "I's goin' get you and Miss Nell yo'

supper."

They went downstairs, where Sarah made Patricia and Nell comfortable at a small table drawn up before the sitting-room fire.

"But what are you going to fill those stockings with, Pat?" Nell asked, after Sarah had left them alone.

"I can manage all right for the girls; I've loads of toys stowed away up garret. I've always had heaps of things given me, but if I could get out-of-doors, and had something alive to play with, I'd let the other things go every time. I am a bit puzzled about Archibald's and Tommy's."

"I'll run home and get some of the little boys' toys," Nell offered.

When supper was over, while Patricia went, as she called it, "shopping up garret," Nell made a hurried trip home and back.

"There," she exclaimed, coming in breathless, her head and shoulders white with snow, "will these do?" She laid a toy engine, a trumpet, a tin sword, and a small box of lead soldiers on the table.

"Beautifully!" Patricia was placing a small jointed doll in the top of Norma's stocking. "This is going to be about the realest Christmas I've ever had."

"It's going to be a mighty sad one for a lot of people."

All the fun and laughter vanished from Patricia's gray eyes. She looked about the pleasant, homelike room, with its tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs of evergreen and holly, and a swift, sharp, realizing sense of what was going on down at the hotel came to her. For a moment the girl's lips quivered and the hand that held Tommy's empty stocking trembled. "But, Nell," she said slowly, "I am sure--oh, I know they would want their children to have their Christmas. It would be too dreadful, afterwards--if they could remember nothing but--sadness and--sorrow. O Nell, I wonder if there were any children hurt?"

"I don't know," Nell answered. "Let's--not talk about it, Patricia.

Shall I put the trumpet in Archibald's stocking?"

"I suppose so, he's larger than Tommy. I don't know what Aunt Julia will do if he wakes up early and starts to blowing it. Poor Aunt Julia! She's got a lot of surprises coming her way." Patricia stuffed out the toe of Lydia's stocking with the regulation nuts and raisins. "There," she said, a moment later, "I reckon these are ready to hang up again."

They tiptoed upstairs softly; the children were all sleeping quietly, and even Custard barely opened the corner of one eye at Patricia's coming.

Custard was having the time of his life. Hitherto, beds had been strictly forbidden ground with Custard; and just what could have brought about this most delightful state of affairs was quite beyond his powers of imagination, but he was wisely wasting no time in idle speculation.

Patricia stroked him a bit dubiously. "I am afraid Aunt Julia will rebel at this, old fellow; but Archibald's got fast hold of you, and I simply can't risk waking him up."

"I must go now, Pat," Nell said, as they went downstairs again; "I told Papa I'd be back soon."

"Somehow," she added, as she and Patricia stood a moment on the front steps, "I can't make it seem like Christmas eve--not even with your five stockings, Pat."

Patricia looked out at the white whirl of snow; the street seemed deserted, but here and there, where a blind had been left undrawn, a light shone out.

Then, from the house next door, came the sound of a Christmas carol:

"Hark! the herald angels sing Glory to the new-born King."

Clearly, joyously, through the still, snow-laden air, sounded the words--

"Risen with healing in His wings, Light and life to all He brings.

Hail, the Sun of Righteousness!

Hail, the heaven-born Prince of Peace!"

Patricia drew a long breath. "But it _is_ Christmas eve, Nell. And, O Nell, at least _we_ didn't have any one there--on the express."

"N-no," Nell said gravely, "still--"

"Maybe it won't be exactly a 'merry Christmas'," Patricia began--"Nell, listen!"

From upstairs came a prolonged wail.