Then there’s Jennie and Bess. They’re not twins, but they might just as well be. They’re just of a size, if one is older ’n the other, and they look just alike, and they want to do the same things.
’Course it’s dolls for them. I had meant to get ’em some of those dear little ones with real hair and arms and legs that move. Oh, dear! (Sighs. Then, straightening up.) Keep your whinin’ in your pocket, Betty. I’ve told you that before. I’m makin’ this Christmis count for a good time, and whinin’ isn’t part of a good time; so keep it still, I say.
Well—about the dolls—let’s see. Oh, I know. I’ll make ’em a playhouse. I’ve got lots and lots of cardboard spool boxes, and you’d be s’prised to see what dandy things they make; beds, and chairs, and sofys—why, I can make everything a doll house could want. Dolls will have to be rag ones of course, which isn’t so very stylish; but then! The house will be so fine they’ll hardly notice the dolls, I guess. So that settles it for the girls.
Then there’s the baby. He’s most three and such a dear! But sakes alive! He’s easy. Why, a little box with a string to it makes a fine wagon. And I can make him a nilligant ball out o’ bright pieces. And I’ll ask Mr. Sweeny if I may go into his planing mill and pick up some little blocks; there’s all sorts of cute-shaped ones there. Oh, baby’ll be happy.
Now, I haven’t got a tree, and I can’t get one—there’s no use talking about it—but I can get a couple or so of barrel hoops and trim ’em up with paper fringe and things, and tie the little things to ’em. They’ll look real Christmis-y hung up on the wall, and the store and playhouse can be underneath. And I’ve got a red bell I saved from last year. I can make it real pretty! And as to candy and such, the youngsters may get some at the Sunday School, and I’ll coax ’em to let me save it for ’em, and I’ll trim things up with it.
And ma (stops and looks troubled). Ma must have something, she’s so good. Why—sir! My mother is as brave as ever a soldier was! Talk about battles! If my mother doesn’t have as hard things to do as if it was battles I would just like to know. She deserves Christmis more ’n any of ’em. But, oh, dear! What? Well, I know how to make a dear little paper-fold tray for pins, and I’ll make a big bunch of twisted tapers; they’re awful handy, and they save matches, you know. And—le’s see. Yes, I’ll make a whole bunch of paper flowers. Hooray! That’s a great idea. They won’t fade, and they’ll stay pretty better ’n the real ones. Oh, goody, goody! Won’t we have a lovely Christmis?
Mother’s right. She always is. “’Taint what comes to us, it’s how we take it that counts.”
I thought at first we couldn’t have any Christmis, and here we’re going to have a perfectly lovely one.
Me? Presents for me? Oh, I don’t need presents. I’m going to have all the fun of makin’ ’em and some more fun seein’ the others have ’em. And when my mother looks at me with that shine in her eyes and says, “Betty, you’re my comfort,” the way she does, do you s’pose there’s any gift in the whole world could make me feel so glad?
Oh, Christmis is great, all right, but a mother like my mother—what counts—beats all your Christmises holler. Merry Christmis!