“It’s the very happiest Christmas now,” she laughed, “’thout you ’twasn’t half so nice. Did dear Santa Claus bring you, too?”
“You can never guess,” Elisabeth Shawe answered, the delight in her voice vibrating like a bell. “It was some one far better and kinder than Santa Claus, though you and I, darling, have much to thank that old man for, and we’ll bless him all our days. Listen, sweet.”
For a moment the woman bent close to whisper in the rosy ear, then, as if she realized that the men who had been so tender to her child had earned a right to share in the new-found happiness, she told the story aloud. She spoke very simply so the little hearer might understand,—indeed, it was meant chiefest for her,—but the others crowding near were not denied a glimpse of the great joy the morning had brought into three lives.
“Not daddy,” Betty screamed, as the full truth dawned upon her, “not my very own, own daddy!”
She didn’t wait for an answer but ran swiftly to Shawe, who was standing just behind, and threw herself into his arms.
“Oh! you won’t be a far-away daddy ever any more, will you?” she cried.
“Never any more,” he answered brokenly, then he gathered her close to his breast and kissed her.
The men looked on shy-eyed and silent in the presence of that boundless content. Who could say anything? Who could speak? Betty’s laughter, as her father released his hold and she slipped to the floor, acted like magic upon them all; in a moment a deafening hubbub filled the room. After it had subsided a little the Kid, who had served as master of ceremonies on several occasions, assumed the leadership; though he was the youngest of them, he knew how things were managed out in the great world. Therefore he escorted Mrs. Shawe to the seat of honor with his very best company manner,—and there never was a manner like it anywhere, so his comrades heartily declared, and I’m quite sure they were right!
The great barrel-chair which Jerome usually occupied was drawn up to the centre of the hearth, and as soon as her mother was seated Betty brought all her new treasures and displayed them with great pride, while the men nudged one another slyly as the former owners were recognized; no matter how hard they tried to appear unconscious, a quirk of pleasure, or a I-mustn’t-appear-as-if-I-had-ever-seen-that-before look was a sure indication when all other signs failed. And Betty always found them out, shouting gleefully at each discovery, while her mother smiled in gratitude, no less pleased than the little one. Well, why shouldn’t they be glad, too, to give all that pleasure? Somehow there was such a cosey, comfortable feeling about it they felt good all over, and they couldn’t keep quiet,—that was too much to expect! So the old room rang again and again with their mirth.
“Sing to us now, dear, my little own,” Elisabeth Shawe said, when the gifts had been duly admired, “sing the old song about this blessed day.”