“There, Charles Pitt,” declared Aunt Stanshy the next morning at the breakfast-table, “I like that style of a club ever so much. It tells you something.”
“Yes,” said Charlie, “I know a lot more than I did.”
“I want you to have a good time in your club, but when it is all play and nothing else, it aint just the thing.”
“Yes, aunty,” said the now matured and venerable Charlie. “And we’re going to have something else.”
“What is it?”
He only winked and looked wise as an owl at midnight.
December was now hurrying away. The winter weeks followed one another rapidly, and at last Charlie heard Mr. Walton say in church something about a Christmas festival.
“Christmas is coming!” was Charlie’s silent response.
What a Christmas it was! Two nights previous to it the club had an entertainment in behalf of missions, as Miss Barry had suggested. Dressed as that benevolent individual, Santa Claus, different members of the club stepped forward and gave an account of Christmas in Germany, Christmas in Russia, Christmas in Italy, and Christmas in Australia. The boys were curious to see how much money they had made.
“Twenty dollars!” declared Sid, who counted the funds.