Read Ebook: Harper's Round Table December 17 1895 by Various

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Ebook has 544 lines and 40026 words, and 11 pages

"Now what to do I did not know; but looking towards the ship, which was some three miles out to sea, I saw a puff of smoke, and I knew they were firing one of the big guns as a signal to call back the other boats, so I lifted up my hands and waved them; then as the report came I bent down low, and all of my men did the same. This time the chief himself fell on his knees! But what will you suppose I saw also? The big chest that I had started out to get! It was rolling up in the surf near the beach. At once I began to make motions as if I were hauling something in with a rope, and told four of my crew to go fetch the chest from the sea. When they plunged in and brought it out the savages looked scared to death. And breaking it open, what do you suppose it contained? Why, beads and knives and trinkets, a big brass crown--in fact, a complete trader's outfit, enough to have bought fifty slaves and more. That settled it. The king would have given me the heads of half his people.

"Well, to make it short, we were feasted and treated, and I am afraid prayed to for two days. I kept a flag flying from a tree-top; the trees are not tall, but I knew they could see it from the ship, and yesterday they managed to land three boats with more presents for my black friends, and took us off. But I really believe that it was your 'Merry Xmas' pin-cushion that saved our lives. Make me another, tell me the name of the kitten, and whether you are having good coasting; and take lots of love and kisses for all.

"From your loving brother, "ROB."

And this is the story of a rather unusual Christmas day, and explains the reason why Bobby Seymour was given the title of "Envoy Extraordinary to his Majesty King Matagoolah, Ruler of the Majubas."

THE FREYS' CHRISTMAS PARTY.

BY RUTH McENERY STUART.

There was a great sensation in the old Coppenole house three days before Christmas.

The Freys, who lived on the third floor, were going to give a Christmas dinner party, and all the other tenants were invited.

Such a thing had never happened before, and, as Miss Penny told her canary-birds while she filled their seed-cup, it was "like a clap of thunder out of a clear sky."

The Frey family, consisting of a widow and her brood of half a dozen children, were as poor as any of the tenants in the old building, for wasn't the mother earning a scant living as a beginner in newspaper work? Didn't the Frey children do every bit of the house-work, not to mention little outside industries by which the older ones earned small incomes? Didn't Meg send soft gingerbread to the Christian Woman's Exchange twice a week, and Ethel find time, with all her studies, to paint butterflies on Swiss aprons for fairs or f?tes?

Didn't everybody know that Conrad, now but thirteen, was a regular solicitor for orders for Christmas trees, palmetto palms, and gray moss from the woods for decorative uses on holiday occasions?

The idea of people in such circumstances as these giving dinner parties! It was almost incredible, but it was true, for tiny notes of invitation tied with rose-colored ribbons had been flying over the building all the afternoon. The Frey twins, Felix and F?licie, both barefoot, had carried one to each door.

The old Professor who lived in the room next the Frey kitchen got one, and Miss Penny, who occupied the room beyond. So did Mademoiselle Guyosa, who made paper flowers, and the mysterious little woman of the last, worst room in the house--a tiny figure whose face none of her neighbors had even seen, but who had given her name to the baker and milkman as "Mamzelle St. John."

And there were others. Madame Coraline, the fortune-teller, who rented the hall room on the second floor, was perhaps more surprised at her invitation than any of the rest. No one ever asked her anywhere. Even the veiled ladies who sometimes visited her darkened chamber always tiptoed up the steps as if they were half ashamed of going there.

The twins had a time getting her to come to the door to receive the invitation, and after vainly rapping several times, had finally brought a parasol and hammered upon the horseshoe tacked upon the door, until at last it opened just about an inch. And then she was invited.

But indeed it is time to be telling how the party originated.

It had been the habit of the Frey children, since they could remember, to save up spare coins all the year for a special fund which they called "Christmas Money."

The old fashion of spending these small amounts in presents for one another had long ago given place to the better one--more in the Christmas spirit--of using it to brighten the day for some one less blessed than themselves.

It is true that on the Christmas before the one of this story they had broken the rule, or only strained it, perhaps, to buy a little stove for their mother's room.

But a rule that would not stretch enough to take in such a home need would be a poor one indeed.

This year they had had numerous schemes, but somehow none had seemed to appeal to the stockholders in the Christmas firm, and so they had finally called a meeting on the subject.

"If we knew what we could do, Meg?" said Ethel.

Conrad was a true-hearted fellow, but he was full of mischief.

"Shame on you, Buddy!" said Meg, who was thoroughly serious. "Can't you be in earnest for just a minute?"

"I am in earnest, Meg. I think your scheme is bully--if it could be worked; but the Professor wouldn't take our money any more'n we'd take his."

"Neither would any of them." This was Ethel's first real objection.

"Who's goin' to offer 'em money?" rejoined Meg.

"Twouldn't do at all," Meg replied. "The idea! Who'd enjoy the finest Christmas dinner in the world by his lone self, with nothin' but a lookin'-glass to look into and holler 'Merry Christmas' to?"

Conrad laughed. "Well, the Professor's little cracked glass wouldn't be much of a comfort to a hungry fellow. It gives you two mouths!"

Conrad was nothing if not facetious.

"Invite! Who? What? When? How? Where?"

Such was the chorus that greeted Meg's astounding proposition.

"And we haven't a whole table-cloth to our names, Meg Frey, and you know it!" It was Ethel who spoke again.

"And what's that got to do with it, Sisty? We ain't goin' to eat the cloth. Besides, can't we set the dish-mats over the holes? 'Twouldn't be the first time."

"But Meg, dearie, you surely are not proposing to invite company to dine in the kitchen, are you? And who'd cook the dinner, not to mention buying it?"

"Well, now, listen, Sisty dear. The dinner that's in my mind isn't a society-column dinner like those Momsy writes about, and those we are goin' to invite don't wear out much table-linen at home. And they cook their own dinners, too, most of 'em--exceptin' when they eat 'em in the French market, with a Chinaman on one side of 'em and an Indian on the other.

Ethel's eyes for the first time sparkled with interest, but she kept silent, and Meg continued:

"An' us'll wait on the table!"

"Yes, us'll wait on the table!" cried the twins.

"But," added Felix, in a moment, "you mustn't invite Miss Penny, Meg,'cause if you do F'lissy an' me'll be thest shore to disgrace the party a-laughin'. She looks thest ezzac'ly like a canary-bird, an' Buddy has tooken her off till we thest die a-laughin' every time we see her. I think she's raised canaries till she's a sort o' half-canary herself. Don't let's invite her, Sisty."

"And don't you think Miss Penny would enjoy a slice of Christmas turkey as well as the rest of us, Felix?"

"No; I fink she ought to eat canary-seed and fish-bone," chirped in Dorothea.

Dorothea was only five, and this from her was so funny that even Meg laughed.

"An' Buddy says he knows she sleeps perched on the towel-rack, 'cause they ain't a sign of a bed in her room."

The three youngest were fairly choking with laughter now. But the older ones had soon grown quite serious in consulting about all the details of the matter, and even making out a conditional list of guests.

When they came to the fortune-teller, both Ethel and Conrad hesitated, but Meg, true to her first impulse, had soon put down opposition by a single argument.

"Accordin' to that," said Conrad, "the whole crowd ought to have a dizzy good time, for they're about as fine a job lot of lonesomes as I ever struck. And as for beauty! 'Vell, my y'ung vriends, how you was to-morrow?'" he continued, thrusting his thumbs into his armholes and strutting in imitation of the old Professor.

"I ain't a-goin' to give my money to no such a ugly ol' party," cried Felix. "I want pretty little girls with curls an' wreafs on to my party."

"An' me, too. I want a organ-grinder to the party that gets my half o' our seventy cents," echoed F?licie.

Meg was indeed having a hard time of it.

"You see, Conrad"--the use of that name meant reproof from Meg--"you see, Conrad, this all comes from your makin' fun of everybody. But of course we can get an organ-grinder if the little ones want him."

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