“Thank you,” said the abstracted messenger, gravely lifting his hat and looking squarely through Mrs. Grant into unknown regions. When he had gone Mrs. Grant went in and sat down, laughing in a sort of hysterical way.
“I wonder if it is all right. Could Cornelia really have told him? She must, I suppose, but it is enough to take one’s breath.”
Mrs. Grant and Cornelia Millar were cousins, and had once been the closest of friends, but that was years ago, before some spiteful reports and ill-natured gossip had come between them, making only a little rift at first that soon widened into a chasm of coldness and alienation. Therefore this invitation surprised Mrs. Grant greatly.
Miss Cornelia was a maiden lady of certain years, with a comfortable bank account and a handsome, old-fashioned house on the hill behind the village. She always boarded the schoolteachers and looked after them maternally; she was an active church worker and a tower of strength to struggling ministers and their families.
“If Cornelia has seen fit at last to hold out the hand of reconciliation I’m glad enough to take it. Dear knows, I’ve wanted to make up often enough, but I didn’t think she ever would. We’ve both of us got too much pride and stubbornness. It’s the Turner blood in us that does it. The Turners were all so set. But I mean to do my part now she has done hers.”
And Mrs. Grant made a final attack on the dishes with a beaming face.
When the little Grants came home and heard the news, Teddy stood on his head to express his delight, the twins kissed each other, and Mary Alice and Gordon danced around the kitchen.
Keith thought himself too big to betray any joy over a Christmas dinner, but he whistled while doing the chores until the bare welkin in the yard rang, and Teddy, in spite of unheard of misdemeanours, was not collared off into the porch once.
When the young teacher got home from school that evening he found the yellow house full of all sorts of delectable odours. Miss Cornelia herself was concocting mince pies after the famous family recipe, while her ancient and faithful handmaiden, Hannah, was straining into moulds the cranberry jelly. The open pantry door revealed a tempting array of Christmas delicacies.
“Did you call and invite the Smithsons up to dinner as I told you?” asked Miss Cornelia anxiously.
“Yes,” was the dreamy response as he glided through the kitchen and vanished into the hall.
Miss Cornelia crimped the edges of her pies delicately with a relieved air. “I made certain he’d forget it,” she said. “You just have to watch him as if he were a mere child. Didn’t I catch him yesterday starting off to school in his carpet slippers? And in spite of me he got away today in that ridiculous summer hat. You’d better set that jelly in the out-pantry to cool, Hannah; it looks good. We’ll give those poor little Smithsons a feast for once in their lives if they never get another.”
At this juncture the hall door flew open and Mr. Palmer appeared on the threshold. He seemed considerably agitated and for once his eyes had lost their look of space-searching.
“Miss Millar, I am afraid I did make a mistake this morning — it has just dawned on me. I am almost sure that I called at Mrs. Grant’s and invited her and her family instead of the Smithsons. And she said they would come.”
Miss Cornelia’s face was a study.
“Mr. Palmer,” she said, flourishing her crimping fork tragically, “do you mean to say you went and invited Linda Grant here tomorrow? Linda Grant, of all women in this world!”
“I did,” said the teacher with penitent wretchedness. “It was very careless of me — I am very sorry. What can I do? I’ll go down and tell them I made a mistake if you like.”
“You can’t do that,” groaned Miss Cornelia, sitting down and wrinkling up her forehead in dire perplexity. “It would never do in the world. For pity’s sake, let me think for a minute.”
Miss Cornelia did think — to good purpose evidently, for her forehead smoothed out as her meditations proceeded and her face brightened. Then she got up briskly. “Well, you’ve done it and no mistake. I don’t know that I’m sorry, either. Anyhow, we’ll leave it as it is. But you must go straight down now and invite the Smithsons too. And for pity’s sake, don’t make any more mistakes.”
When he had gone Miss Cornelia opened her heart to Hannah. “I never could have done it myself — never; the Turner is too strong in me. But I’m glad it is done. I’ve been wanting for years to make up with Linda. And now the chance has come, thanks to that blessed blundering boy, I mean to make the most of it. Mind, Hannah, you never whisper a word about its being a mistake. Linda must never know. Poor Linda! She’s had a hard time. Hannah, we must make some more pies, and I must go straight down to the store and get some more Santa Claus stuff; I’ve only got enough to go around the Smithsons.”
When Mrs. Grant and her family arrived at the yellow house next morning Miss Cornelia herself ran out bareheaded to meet them. The two women shook hands a little stiffly and then a rill of long-repressed affection trickled out from some secret spring in Miss Cornelia’s heart and she kissed her new-found old friend tenderly. Linda returned the kiss warmly, and both felt that the old-time friendship was theirs again.
The little Smithsons all came and they and the little Grants sat down on the long bright dining room to a dinner that made history in their small lives, and was eaten over again in happy dreams for months.
How those children did eat! And how beaming Miss Cornelia and grim-faced, softhearted Hannah and even the absentminded teacher himself enjoyed watching them!
After dinner Miss Cornelia distributed among the delighted little souls the presents she had bought for them, and then turned them loose in the big shining kitchen to have a taffy pull — and they had it to their hearts’ content! And as for the shocking, taffyfied state into which they got their own rosy faces and that once immaculate domain — well, as Miss Cornelia and Hannah never said one word about it, neither will I.
The four women enjoyed the afternoon in their own way, and the schoolteacher buried himself in algebra to his own great satisfaction.
When her guests went home in the starlit December dusk, Miss Cornelia walked part of the way with them and had a long confidential talk with Mrs. Grant. When she returned it was to find Hannah groaning in and over the kitchen and the schoolteacher dreamily trying to clean some molasses off his boots with the kitchen hairbrush. Long-suffering Miss Cornelia rescued her property and despatched Mr. Palmer into the woodshed to find the shoebrush. Then she sat down and laughed.
“Hannah, what will become of that boy yet? There’s no counting on what he’ll do next. I don’t know how he’ll ever get through the world, I’m sure, but I’ll look after him while he’s here at least. I owe him a huge debt of gratitude for this Christmas blunder. What an awful mess this place is in! But, Hannah, did you ever in the world see anything so delightful as that little Tommy Smithson stuffing himself with plum cake, not to mention Teddy Grant? It did me good just to see them.”
The Unforgotten One
It was Christmas Eve, but there was no frost, or snow, or sparkle. It was a green Christmas, and the night was mild and dim, with hazy starlight. A little wind was laughing freakishly among the firs around Ingleside and rustling among the sere grasses along the garden walks. It was more like a night in early spring or late fall than in December; but it was Christmas Eve, and there was a light in every window of Ingleside, the glow breaking out through the whispering darkness like a flame-red blossom swung against the background of the evergreens; for the children were coming home for the Christmas reunion, as they always came — Fritz and Margaret and Laddie