The day before Christmas came, and with it the party at Brook Farm was augmented by the arrival of Mrs. Ellison, a younger sister of Mr. Wharton’s, her husband and baby, a beautiful child of about a year old. There was great joy at the arrival of “Aunt Fanny,” who was very lively, and always ready to enter with glee into the frolics and sports of the children.
As they were sitting at the dinner table that day, Mr. Wharton said:
“I have received certain information that Santa Claus himself is to visit us to-night, and bring his gifts in person. He desires me to inform the children, that all packages to be entrusted to his care must be handed into my study, labelled and directed, before six o’clock this evening.”
Many were the wonders and speculations as to the nature and appearance of the expected Santa Claus; but they were suddenly interrupted by Robert, who exclaimed:
“Why, who comes here up the lane? It’s old cousin Betty, I do declare, in her old green gig set on runners.”
“I thought cousin Betty would hardly let Christmas go by without making her appearance,” said Mrs. Wharton; “I have thought two or three times to-day that she might come along before night.”
“Cousin Betty” was a distant relation of Mrs. Wharton’s, a lonely old body, who lodged with a relative in a village about ten miles distant from Brook Farm. She was very eccentric—so much so, that she was by some thought crazy; but Mrs. Wharton was of opinion that cousin Betty had never possessed sufficient mind to subject her to such a calamity. She was more silly than crazy, very good-natured, very inquisitive as to the affairs of others, and very communicative as to her own.
In a few minutes cousin Betty had received a hearty welcome, and was seated by the bright fire, asking and answering questions with the utmost rapidity.
“I’ve been looking for you, cousin Betty,” said Mrs. Wharton.
“Have! What made you?”