“No party! Just think of it!” said Susie. “’Twon’t seem like Christmas.”
“And the captain,” said Robbie, who was fond of giving the captain his title, “isn’t coming back till the day school begins. He never did such a thing before, and I think it’s real mean!”
“Great old holidays!” said Lizzie.
“I’m mad!” said Susie, who, by-the-by, was the eldest of them all.
“So are we all of us!” said the others in chorus.
Just then Mrs. Tutchy came into the room with Baby in her arms, and in Baby’s arms was a funny, broken-nosed doll.
Baby was the sweetest, dearest little thing that ever played “patty-cake” or said “goo.”
Her eyes were so blue that you thought of violets, blue-bells, and summer skies, the moment you saw them, and then gave it up, for there was nothing quite as blue as they were, and her silken hair lay all over her pretty, round head in tiny rings just the size and color of mamma’s wedding-ring.
Mrs. Tutchy looked both surprised and sad when she saw eight frowns and pouts—perhaps I should say seven, as wee Maud’s almost disappeared when she looked up at her mother—instead of eight smiles.
But she pretended not to notice the sixteen unlovely things, and said, in a pleasant voice, “Baby is ready for a ride. I have wrapped her up warmly. Get her hood, Susie, and, Willie and Robbie, fasten her little wagon on your new sled. You may all go for a walk—I don’t remember such a fine 24th of December for years—but I shall expect you home in an hour, and whatever you do, take good care of Baby.”