THAT INTERESTIN’ BOY
HE sat upon the window-sill and jingled ninety cents. There came
along another boy, who said, “How are you, Pence? You’re goin’ out
a-Christmassin’, I guess, among the Dutch, to buy some gifts.” The
other spoke: “No—not exactly much. I am in luck, this year, I am.
I haven’t any bills. My sister’s sick, and can’t expect no presents but
her pills. My brother Ben’s in Canada, away upon the wing. Of
course, you know he can’t suppose I’ll buy him anything. My mother
pulled my hair, last night, until she made me squall. Of course she
knows that she’s gone up for anything at all.” “But there’s your father,”
said his friend. “Well,—yes—I really thought that I was stuck on the
old man, and that he had me caught, and I was kinder looking round
to hunt him up a pipe; but then, this very mornin’ he hit me such a
wipe! That fixed his Christmas goose for him, and took away his joy.
Now all this money’s goin’ to a good and clever boy, to buy him lots of
pea-nuts and candy, I’ll engage—with caramels; and that good boy is
just my size and age.”