Back at School with the Tucker Twins

CHAPTER XVII

SANTA CLAUS

"Well, what on earth are you schemers going to dress me in?" demanded Zebedee at breakfast the next morning. "I have no idea of playing Santa Claus unless I am properly attired."

"Oh, we stayed awake half the night planning a costume for you. You are going to be beautiful, you vain, conceited piece!" exclaimed Dee. "Dr. Allison has a red dressing gown – "

"I knew I would be the goat," said Father ruefully. "My red dressing gown is only ten years old, Tucker, so do be easy on it."

"Oh, we won't hurt it, Doctor," insisted Dum. "We are going to sew imitation ermine all around the bottom and front and sleeves, – and his whiskers – "

"Yes, do tell me about my whiskers! That is the most important factor in a Santa Claus costume."

"They are to be the flap off of an old white muff I had when I was a kid. Mammy Susan is digging it out of the old chest in the attic now."

"And your embonpoint is to be a down cushion out of the library," put in Dee.

"And your hat – my red silk toboggan cap with some of Page's tippet, that matches the muff, sewed in for hair!" from Dum.

"Your boots – Father's duck-hunting rubber ones!"

"Well, among you I reckon I'll be dressed in great shape. I fancy I had better get ready."

"Just as soon as we sew on the ermine."

We got to work, all hands at once, and sewed on the imitation ermine, made of bands of canton flannel with artistically arranged smuts at irregular intervals spotted around it, giving it very much the appearance of ermine.

We adjourned to the library so Mammy Susan could begin on the dining room for Christmas dinner, which was the one great function of the year with Mammy. The table must be set with great precision with all the silver and cut glass that Bracken boasted, which was not any great amount. The best table cloth made its appearance on this occasion, a wonderful heavy damask that had been sent to my mother from England, with napkins to match that would easily have served for table cloths on ordinary occasions. Mammy always kept this linen wrapped in blue tissue paper, and after almost twenty years of use on grand occasions, it was still as beautiful as the day my mother received it as a bridal present.

The library had been one great swirl of tissue paper and red ribbon and Christmas seals, something new for Bracken, as Father and I never thought of doing up our presents to each other at all. But the Tuckers spent almost as much on the things to wrap up the presents with, as they did on the presents, so Zebedee said. With the help of Blanche, who carefully saved every inch of ribbon or string, every piece of paper, no matter how rumpled or torn, and all the Christmas seals, I got the place cleared out enough for us to get to work on Santa Claus' costume.

Father was oblivious to everything as he could not get his nose out of the wonderful book Mr. Tucker and the twins had given him. It was about 4,000 pages of poetry, every well known poem that ever was written almost, with every form of index. He was feverishly looking for half remembered poems of long ago and would hail with delight every now and then something entirely forgotten.

"Listen to this, Tucker! By Jove, I haven't seen this since I used to recite it at school:

Father had arisen from his chaise longue and was declaiming like a school boy. We applauded him violently. I loved to see him so happy and so carefree. He usually had so many sick and poor people to bother him, but on this day, thanks in part to his foresight in saving up the Santa Claus act for Christmas morning, he had not been sent for, and he hoped the day would pass in idleness.

It took two down cushions to give Zebedee's embonpoint the proper "bowl full of jelly" contour. The red dressing gown was snugly belted in around it, and, having been considerably turned up before we sewed on the imitation ermine, it reached in graceful folds to the top of the hunting boots. The beard was a masterpiece and was kept in place by a bit of elastic fastened in the back. We made a moustache out of the little tails on the old tippet and he was forced to submit to surgeon's plaster to hold that on.

"But s'pose I give a Tucker sneeze! This contraption certainly does tickle my nose;" and forthwith Santa Claus did explode into a regular Tucker sneeze, thereby bursting his belt and unpinning his tum-tum so that much of the work had to be done over.

"Now, Zebedee, stop!" commanded Dum. "You know perfectly well you do not have to sneeze so loud."

"All right, Miss Plympton," teased the offender, and gave another sneeze.

"We might just as well wait until he gets through," sighed Dee. "It always takes at least three to satisfy a Tucker."

So we waited until the third and last explosion shook the house and then pinned on the down pillows again and put his belt back in place. The toboggan cap with the tippet sewed in for hair gave the proper finishing touch, and Zebedee stood forth as lovable and charming a Santy as one could find.

"Well, we can 'glimpse for once the rotund, jolly wight,'" quoted Wink. "I almost wish I were a little nig so I could experience the sensations they will have when they see you driving up to the cabin, Mr. Tucker."

"Now for the 'bundle of toys he had flung on his back'," and Dum hung over his shoulder a laundry bag stuffed full of lumpy, bumpy stockings.

Putting the things in a stocking was a plan Zebedee had suggested, – one they use in the cities for Christmas. A mate to the stocking must be put in the toe and that means that each child gets a pair of stockings as well as its share of candy, nuts, toys, etc.

"I bet Aunt Keziah will be pleased with this thing of bringing stockings, too. It will save the old woman lots of darning," said Father, who looked up from his poetry book to admire our handiwork.

Dum was putting the finishing touches to Zebedee's countenance. I did not think he needed paint as his cheeks were rosy enough, but Dum loved to fix up people's faces and black their eyebrows, and Zebedee liked nothing better than being fixed up.

"It gives you the feeling that you can make as big a monkey of yourself as you want to, if you just are disguised a little," and our Santa Claus bristled his great white moustache and patted his down pillows approvingly.

Mammy Susan and Blanche and bow-legged Bill were called in to see old Santy, and great was their delight and joy.

"Lord!" said Bill. "If'n he don' look jis' lak a picture er Santy I seed one time whin I was on de steamboat on de Mississip."

"Aw, you allus got ter tell 'bout dat time you went a trabblin' on a boat. I low you wa'nt nothin' but a low lived roustabout at best," said Mammy Susan, anxious to keep Bill in his place, which, in her estimation, was way in the back.

"You is sho mo' natural than life, Mr. Tucker. The infantry of the area of this vicinity should elevate theyselves and denounce you as blessed. 'As much as you have done the least of my little ones you have kep' my remandments.'"

Mammy accepted the effusions of Blanche with perfect composure. Bill looked at her with admiration in his rolling stewed-prune eyes. I would have been glad of Santa Claus' beard to laugh behind. Zebedee took advantage of it, but the rest of us had to keep straight faces until the coloured contingent took their departure.

"Hitch Peg to the cutter!" called Father to Bill. "I am afraid there will be too much hilarity for the colt, Tucker, otherwise I'd give you the pleasure of driving him this brisk morning."

"Drive! Do you think I could drive anything around this protuberance?" he laughed, patting his make-up. "Why, I can't reach the buttons on my own waistcoat. Page will have to drive me."

"But then they'll all of them know you are not Santa Claus if they see me."

"Nonsense, daughter! They'll think he is Santa Claus if you are along. The only Christmas they have ever had has come through us, and they will just think we have invited Santy here to amuse them. I think we can trust Mr. Tucker to act the part. I am going to beg off and stay home with my book," and the dear man sank back in his chaise longue and buried his nose once more in his four thousand pages of poetry.

So I drove Zebedee, and the girls and Wink went with Jo Winn and the New York cousin in a great old double sleigh that must have been in the Winn family as long as our family coach had been in ours.

Father put down his beloved book long enough to see us off, and then with a great sigh of content, mixed with relief, sank back on his cushions and resumed his search for old favourites.

What a merry crowd we were! Zebedee cracked his whip and

Old Peg did not know exactly what to make of all her new names, but like the intelligent beast she was, she divined that it meant to go as fast as she could, so she snow-dusted Jo Winn's team until they had to drop back a few yards. If it had not been for me, I think Zebedee's turn out would have fooled any one inclined to believe in St. Nick. Of course Peg did not look much like eight tiny reindeer, but then, he might have left his reindeer team in the Antarctic Circle and picked up a mere horse for the rest of the journey, which would have been a most thoughtful thing for our beloved Saint to have done.

The little pickaninnies were on the lookout for Docallison, and as we neared Aunt Keziah's cabin a shout went up from the bushes where some of the little boys were hiding, watching the bend in the road. The window was black with expectant faces and Zebedee said he thought their smiles were more beautiful than any Christmas wreaths he had ever seen. You remember that Aunt Keziah was the neighbourhood "Tender," that is, she looked after all the children whose mothers were away in service. She was quite an institution and Father said did much to lower the death rate of her race. She raised a healthy crowd of children and as a rule they turned out to be a mannerly lot as well.

"Perliteness is cheap an' a smile don' cos' no mo'n a frown," she would say, "an' you kin sho' buy mo' wif it if you is a tradin' wif white fo'ks."

Certainly there were smiles to spare that Christmas morning and politeness to burn. The children, fourteen in all, came tumbling out of the cabin when the boys in the bushes gave warning of our approach. They thought it was Docallison until we were upon them, and then such a shouting and scrambling as was never seen. One of the strangest things that ever happened was that Aunt Keziah herself believed in Santa Claus and no power on earth could shake her faith in him.

"'Cose I b'lieves in him! If'n I ain't nebber seed him befo' what dat got to do wif it? I ain't nebber yit laid eyes on Gawd an' de blessed Sabior but I b'lieves; an' now I done seed Santy Claus wif my own eyes. What's mo', he done brung me gif's wif his own han'. De preacher ub a Sunday done said dat Gawd would gib me honey an' de honey com', an' I will git gold, yea, fin' gold, – but I ain't nebber foun' none yit, an' all de honey dis here ole nigger done tas'ed fer yars an' yars is some bum'le bee honey what de chillun foun' in de woods. Cose I ain't a blamin' uf de Almighty, – I reckon he'll do fer me someday whin he gits to it, but so fer I done ebby thing fer myse'. – But Santy here he done foun' me and is a doin' fer me now," and the old woman munched her chocolate marshmallows, that seemed designed especially for her toothless state, and pulled around her lean old shoulders the nice warm shawl that Santa Claus had drawn from his bursting pack.

The cabin, boasting only two rooms and a low attic where the male "boders" slept, was full to overflowing when all of us piled in, but we were anxious to see how the little darkeys took Santa Claus and if they really believed in him. They did, every last one of them. There was not a doubting Thomas among them. With no incredulity to overcome, Zebedee's task was a simple one. He told his cheerful and kindly lies with much gusto, to the delight of all his listeners, black and white.

"Well, children, I thought I would never get here! I had so many places to go. I was coming last night down your chimney, which is the proper way to come after you are all asleep at night, but my reindeer got so tired I had to put them in a stable way up at Richmond and get down here just the best I could, and then borrow a horse from Docallison and get Miss Page to drive me over here. By the way, Docallison sent his kindest regards to all of you, – " Here some of the little nigs made bobbing curtseys and the ones who did not got soundly smacked by Aunt Keziah. "He couldn't come this morning but he thought you wouldn't mind since I was coming."

At that, Little Minnie, who was one of the charity orphans Aunt Keziah was raising, began to blubber:

"I ain't gwine take no castor ile from Santy. Docallison done tell me he gwine gib me a pinny if I tak castor ile."

"Why, if I didn't almost forget!" exclaimed the ever-ready Zebedee. "I have a whole dime here for a little girl who was to take castor oil," and he began a frantic search for his pockets but the down pillows and dressing gown were too much for him and Wink came to his relief with the necessary coin. "Now you must promise to take your medicine right away."

"But I ain't sick now!" wailed the little girl, clutching her dime. "I means whin I do git sick."

"Now listen to that there lil' orphant Minnie!" exclaimed Aunt Keziah. "What cause she got to worrit about ile whin she ain't got ache or pain?"

"But I'se thinkin' 'bout what I'se gonter git whin I done gits through a stuffin'," wailed Minnie. "I lows thin I gotter take ile."

"Well, you've got your dime now and if you get sick you must take the oil," laughed Zebedee.

"But Docallison gibs me a pinny. I ain't got no use fer a dime. Aunt Keziah won't let chilluns spen' nothin' but pinnies!"

So Wink had to go through his pockets for the desired penny before little Orphan Minnie would be comforted. Aunt Keziah stood by with a tolerant smile on her wrinkled old face. It was a well known fact that the old woman spoiled all the little charity children, the ones she took for nothing, while she made the "bo'ders" toe the line and walk chalk.

The twins she was raising, Milly Jourdan's twins, whom she had so euphoniously named Postle Peter and Pistle Paul, emboldened by the success of Minnie, now set up a whine for pennies, too, but Aunt Keziah knocked their heads together without ceremony.

"You Postle Peter! You Pistle Paul! I'll learn you some manners, you lim's er Satan. Ain't you got sinse ernuf to know Santy Claus didn't come way down here from North 'Merica jis' ter listen ter yo' gabble? As fer gittin' pinnies fer a takin' castor ile, – you know jis' as well as I do that you lick de spoon ev'y chanct you git, you is dat fon' of ile. De ve'y las' time Docallison was here he done sayed you mak him sick to his stomach a guzzlin' ile de way you done."

The old woman's tirade caused a general laugh, and Tweedles and I were really uneasy for fear Santy would shake off his bowl full of jelly he roared so loud. Wink found some more pennies which he surreptitiously handed to the crestfallen twins.

"Here, Pistle Peter and Postle Paul! Here's some pennies for you, to make up for your names," he whispered to the grinning little nigs.

CHAPTER XVIII

CHRISTMAS FOR SALLY WINN

There were other cabins to visit and we had to tear ourselves away from Aunt Keziah's. Mr. Kent took many photographs of Santa Claus with the little darkeys crowding around him.

"This will be a gold mine to me," he averred. "I can see myself filling pages of advertising matter with illustrations from this morning."

Everywhere we went, Santa Claus was hailed with delight. We left many packages at many cabins and finally ended up at Sally Winn's. This was at Dee's instigation. Indeed it was a kindly thought that took us there. Poor Sally had been exercising unwonted self-control in not sending for Father at midnight on Christmas Eve. Jo said she had felt all kinds of flutterations but had submitted to a dose of the "pink medicine," and that, with the comfort she had derived from a hot water bottle, had tided her through the night. Then she had felt it incumbent upon her to get up and make waffles for breakfast because of the guest from New York.

We had some gifts for Sally tied up in the Tucker's best style, with sheets on sheets of tissue paper, yards and yards of red and green ribbon, and dozens and dozens of Christmas seals. Mammy Susan had been growing a citronella slip for her and it had reached quite a pretentious size and begun to branch out like the parent plant.

Sally's delight was really pathetic to see. She, poor woman, had very little of interest in her life, so little that she had to make a real pleasure and excitement over her "spells." A visit from Santa Claus was almost as much fun to her as a visit from the Angel Gabriel would have been, and the sleigh bells were only next in cheer to the last trump. Sally, you will remember, was our neighbour at Milton who spent her life trying to die.

Our coming was a great surprise to her. Any pleasure that happened to come her way always took her unawares. She was certainly one of the Mrs. Gummidges of this world and was "a poor lone lorn critter" if I ever saw one. She was a grateful soul and was profuse in her thanks for the gifts. I had never seen her more enthusiastic although Father and I had never missed a Christmas in giving her some nice present. I verily believe it was the festive wrappings that appealed to her.

Of course Mr. Tucker took her by storm. He acted Santa Claus just as he had at Aunt Keziah's and Sally, I know, regretted that her education kept her from joining ranks with the believers.

"Did you ever see anybody look so like himself? I have never seen a Santa Claus before that did not have on an ugly false face – hideous painted things that wouldn't fool a chicken," Sally began with her accustomed volubility. "I can't quite make up my mind that you are not Santy – "

"Well, don't make up your mind to any such treason. I am Santy!"

"Well, Santy or not, I am mighty glad to see all of you. Now you must try some of my eggnog and fruit cake. Dr. Allison says my fruit cake is the best he ever tasted and that it is so well mixed that it is as digestible as sponge cake. My eggnog, too, can't be beat, – made of pure cream and eggs that are so fresh they were warm when I broke them. I waited for those finest Dominickers to get off their nests before I made it. 'Tain't strong of liquor and won't hurt a baby. Jo, bring my best Bohemian glasses. You'll find them on the tray in the dining room all set out on the sideboard. Here's my cake and I am proud to cut it for such company.

"Dr. Allison says he likes the looks of my cake. He says it looks like chewing tobacco, it is so nice and black and fruity, and that it tastes better than it looks. You can't trust all cooks with their fruit cake because it is so dark-like that dirt don't show in it and sometimes things that don't belong there get in it. I remember one time over at Mrs. Purdy's (of course I don't mean to be gossiping about her now that she is dead and gone) – but she cut a cake with all the airs and graces of a good cake-maker, which she never was, and what should I find in my piece – just one piece, mind you – but a shoe button and a bent pin. I just thought to myself: 'Well, if that's what I found, God in Heaven knows what I didn't find.' Now there ain't a thing in my cake but the best ingredients, and I'll wager nobody will ever find anything in my cooking foreign to the human digestion."

We were certain of it, but Sally did not give us time to express our confidence. She plunged into a stream of eloquence concerning her Dominickers and their superior brand of eggs, as she ladled out the eggnog as smooth as a baby's cheek and as fluffy as a summer cloud.

"There are some that hold that a white Leghorn's eggs are more delicate than any other kind, but I say there is a richness about an old-fashioned Dominicker's eggs that nothing can come up to. What do you want with an egg being too delicate, anyhow? Of course, for Angel's Food they might be best, but I have never seen anything that an egg laid by a Leghorn will do that a Dominicker's won't do just as well. Of course nobody wants a duck egg or a goose egg for anything short of ginger bread, – they are coarse! Now a hard boiled guinea egg is my favourite of all eggs. I think a nice hot guinea egg, boiled until it is mealy – it takes a good half hour – and then mashed up with good batter bread made of the fresh meal, ground over at Macy's mill, provided the batter bread is made the right way, – none of your batter bread raised with baking powders, but my kind, raised with eggs and plenty of them, well beaten and baked quickly, – I do say that there is no breakfast better."

The strangest thing about Sally Winn was that she longed for company, not for the good she might get out of it but just so she could pour forth her soul in conversation. We might just as well have been dumb for all she got from us, but all the time we were eating her truly wonderful cake and drinking her eggnog that even she could not praise according to its deserts, she regaled us with a stream of conversation that made our heads swim.

"I understand poor Jo better now," whispered Dee to me. "How can he ever talk? No wonder! He gets out of the habit at home and can't get in it when he goes away."

"Tell Mammy Susan I have got a good starting of rose geranium for her. I would have sent it over by Jo this morning but I was so afraid it might be too cold for it. It looks like Mammy Susan has all the luck with citronella and I have luck with rose geranium. My bush is so big it looks like I'll have to get Jo's watering tub from the barn to plant it in. It has long out-grown its pot. I certainly do like to have plenty of healthy rose geranium on hand when I make apple jelly. Nothing gives it the flavour that a leaf of rose geranium will, – just pour the boiling jelly over a leaf – one to each glass."

"That sounds fine!" exclaimed Santa Claus. "I don't think I ever tasted it."

"Wait a minute! I am going to fix one up for you to take back to Richmond and next summer when I make my jelly, I'll make some for you. It comes in mighty handy for sudden company." Sally bustled off and came back bearing a tumbler of jelly that would have taken a prize at any fair in the world, I feel sure.

"Here it is!" she panted. "Jo is that fond of it that I sometimes hate to think of leaving him because I don't know who will ever make it to suit him."

"But are you thinking of leaving him?" questioned Mr. Tucker.