II.
Not growing better at the hospital, Ellie begged to be taken home. Rather than live apart from those she loved, she strove to be content to remain alone day after day, propped up by an inverted chair upon a wretched bed. Or, when she felt stronger, with the aid of a pair of rude crutches, she would drag herself to the window to watch patiently for the return of the dear bread-winners, whose toil she would so willingly have shared.
There, in a little stuffy room, upon the top floor of the old house, she spent the long, sultry summer; there she remained when autumn came; there the approaching Christmas holidays were likely to find her.
How was it, then, that Ellie was generally cheery and blithe? Perhaps her mother's prayer each morning, as she bade her good-bye to go to work, had most to do with it. "May Jesus and His Blessed Mother watch over you, mavourneen!" the good woman would say, with a sigh at the necessity for leaving her.
Frequently, when the child could have wept for loneliness, the words would keep echoing in her heart. She was a well-disposed little creature, and those hours spent alone often brought serious thoughts, which molded and beautified her character. But Ellie was a thoroughly natural child: there was none of the story-book goodness about her. She was keenly interested in everything that went on. She thought there was no one like mother, but it was Katy who represented the world to her,—the world of McNaughton's store, with its brightness and beautiful wares, and its ever-changing crowd of handsomely costumed ladies intent upon the pleasures of shopping. Any scrap of news which one fagged out little cashgirl brought home at the close of the day was eagerly listened to by the other; who found her enforced idleness so irksome.
Katy had a great deal to narrate at the close of the day upon which our story opened. Sitting upon the foot of Ellie's bed, she told how she upset the pyramid of note-paper; and what trouble she would have been in, but for the kind lady who so promptly came to the rescue. To Ellie's quick imagination the story had all the charm of a fairy tale. And when, at the close, her sister placed in her hands the orange and the tiny box wherein lay the rose, still quite fresh and fragrant, her face beamed with delight; and Katy went to bed very happy, feeling herself more than repaid for having treasured them so carefully.
The next morning, when Katy reached the store, she found everybody in a state of pleasurable excitement over the opening of the holiday goods; for it wanted but three weeks to Christmas. At the end of the stationery counter, where the pyramid of note-paper had been, an immense stack of dolls was now attractively displayed. The little cashgirl stood before it, lost in admiration. There were little dolls and big ones; dolls with blue eyes, and others with brown; some with light hair, and some with dark; bebee Jumeau and bebee Brue; rubber dolls, and rag dolls with papier-mache faces.
"How lovely they are!" she murmured to herself, including even the plainest and least among them in her appreciation of the gorgeous company. "Don't I wish Ellie could see them!" she continued. "I'll have to count them, so as to tell her how many there are; for I don't believe that by herself she could imagine such a lot of dolls together."
Katy and Ellie had never had a doll in their lives,—that is, a real boughten one, as they called those not of home manufacture.
The kind salesgirl who had sent the orange to Ellie, from her post behind the counter, noticed the child's wonderment.
"Will you look at Cash!" she said to a companion. Katy was oblivious of them, however. After watching her a few moments, Julia called out:
"Well, Cash, which do you like best?"
The little girl looked the dolls over again with much deliberation; and finally, pointing to a good-sized one, with golden hair and large eyes, said:
"This."
"Oh, one of those ninety-seven cent dolls!" responded Julia. "They are handsome for the price. Sawdust bodies, to be sure; but what fine heads?—red cheeks, splendid eyes, and hair that will comb out as well as that of some costlier ones, I'll be bound."
"Ninety-seven cents!" repeated Katy, with a sigh. It was an unattainable sum, as far as she was concerned. The salesgirl remarked the sigh.
"Say, Cash, why don't you buy it?" she urged. "Your mother'll let you keep part of your wages for yourself Christmas week, won't she? And you wouldn't get such another bargain in a doll if you hunted a year and a day. You'd better speak for it quick, though; for when the rush of trade comes, there's no knowing how long the lot will last."
Katy shook her head. "I wouldn't want to buy a Christmas present for myself," she answered. "But I was wishing—only there is really no use in wishing; still, just supposing there was—I was thinking if I could only get that doll for Ellie, how happy she would be. You know she has to be alone so much, and she gets awful blue sometimes; though she won't let on, 'cause it would fret mother. But the doll would be great company for her. We've neither of us ever had one."
She continued to gaze longingly at the rosy beauty, while the salesgirl meditatively dusted the show-case.
"Stop! I'll tell you how you can manage to get it," Julia said, suddenly. "It's the rule of this store that on Christmas Eve, after all the customers are gone, each employee may choose as a present from the firm some article worth a quarter of his or her wages for the week. Let's see: you're paid three dollars, aren't you?"
Katy nodded.
"That would count for seventy-five cents on the doll; then all you would have to put to it would be twenty-two cents. Couldn't you do that somehow?"
"Yes!" cried Katy, delighted. "Sometimes I run errands for a dressmaker who lives in the block below us, and she gives me pennies, or once in a while a nickel. And when my aunt's husband comes to see us—he's a widder man and sorter rich; he drives a truck,—well, when he comes 'casionally, he gives each of us children as much as ten cents; and I guess he'll be round about Christmas time. Oh, yes, I'm almost sure I can make up the twenty-two cents!"
"But, then, when the doll is yours, won't you hate to give it away?" queried Julia; for Katy already began to assume an air of possession.
"Oh, not to Ellie! And, you know, she'll be sure to let me hold it sometimes" was the ingenuous reply.
The quick tears sprang to the salesgirl's eyes, and she turned abruptly away, to arrange some dolls upon the shelves behind her.
"After all, love is better than riches," she reflected, as the picture of the crippled child in the humble home arose in her mind, and she gave a sidelong glance at Katy's thin face and shabby dress.
"You will be sure to save this very doll for me, won't you?" pleaded the child.
"I can't put it aside for you," she explained, "because the floor-walker would not allow that; but I'll arrange so you will have one of the lot, never fear."
"But I want this one," declared Katy.
"My goodness gracious, you foolish midget! They're all as much alike as rows of peas in a pod," exclaimed her friend, a trifle impatiently.
"No," insisted the little girl. "All the others have red painted buckles on their shoes, but this doll has blue buckles; and I'm sure Ellie would prefer blue buckles, 'cause we've often talked about it when we played choosing what we'd like best."
"Well, well!" laughed Julia. "All right, Katy: I'll save it, if I can."
Satisfied by this promise, the child ran away; for customers began to come in, and to loiter would be to lessen her chance of gaining the treasure which to herself she already called Ellie's.
McNaughton & Co. did a great business within the next two weeks; the employees were "fearfully rushed," as they expressed it. Katy had no opportunity for further conversation with the sociable attendant at the end of the stationery counter, now given over to toys, upon the subject oftenest in her thoughts. She had been transferred to another department; but every day she took occasion to go around and look at the doll, to make sure that it was still there; and the kindly salesgirl always found time to give her an encouraging nod and a smile.
One afternoon, however, a few days before Christmas, when Julia returned from her lunch she met Katy, who was crying bitterly. The cause of her distress was soon told. A new girl had been put at the counter that morning; she knew nothing about Katy's doll, and now, as luck would have it, was just in the act of selling it to a big, bluff-looking man, who said he wanted it for his little daughter.
Julia rushed to her post. The man was upon the point of paying for the doll, and had decided that he would take the parcel with him.
"Have you seen the brown-eyed dolls?" she interposed, pleasantly. The other girl scowled at the interference with 'her sale,' but she persisted. "The brown-eyed ones are considered the most desirable."
"Are they?" the man hesitated. "Well, I believe I'll take one, then, instead of this. My little maid likes brown eyes."
Katy's doll was saved. The child, in a fever of suspense, had watched the transaction from behind a pile of dry-goods. Now she turned toward her friend a face bright with gratitude, as she hurried away in response to the imperative call of "Cash."
When Julia recovered from her flurry, she explained matters to her associate. The girl's ill-humor quickly vanished once she understood the situation, and she willingly agreed to help retain the doll if possible.