The Little Red Chimney Part 10

Dr. Prue was aggrieved. There was no telling how many telephone calls had been unanswered.

Margaret Elizabeth laughed. "You are absolutely untrustworthy, Uncle Bob. Hereafter I shall carry a latch key."

"By the way, who was that young man who brought you home?" the doctor asked.

"His name is Reynolds. He is a stranger here. I have met him once or twice." This casual explanation was accompanied by side glances which indicated to Uncle Bob that there was more in it than appeared on the surface.

Margaret Elizabeth had been extremely reserved upon the subject of the Candy Man. Uncle Bob had not heard a word of it till now, when, beside the Little Red Chimney hearth, supper having been cleared away, and Dr.

Prue resting with a book on the office lounge, she told him the whole story.

"You don't say so! That beats anything I ever heard. Well, I said it would come out all right, didn't I?" Margaret Elizabeth's narrative was punctured, as Mrs. Partington would have said, with many exclamations such as these.

"I own you were right. It isn't as bad as it seemed. He is really very gentlemanly and nice. Still, it is a bit awkward too," she added thoughtfully.

It is possible she was thinking of Mrs. Gerrard Pennington at the moment.

CHAPTER TEN

_In which the Little Red Chimney keeps Festival, and the Candy Man receives an unexpected Invitation._

The Candy Man, letting himself in at his lodging house, one gloomy Sunday afternoon, stumbled upon a deputation of pigeons, in a state of fluttering impatience.

"She said to wait, and we thought you were never, never coming!" was their chorus.

"Never is a long day," said the Candy Man. "What will you have?"

It appeared they were the bearers of a missive which read briefly and to the point: "Her ladyship requests the pleasure of the Candy Man's presence at the Pigeons' Christmas Tree, at four o'clock this afternoon."

It had seemed to the Candy Man that he was altogether outside the holiday world, that for him Christmas had ended with his visit to the hospital that afternoon. He had ventured to send a basket of fruit to his fellow lodgers, the invalid professor and his wife, and had played Santa Claus to two or three newsboys who frequented the Y.M.C.A. corner and to the small Malones, and the state of his exchequer scarcely warranted anything more. The social calendar in the morning paper overflowed with festivities for the week, and he had pleased his fancy by picturing Miss Bentley, radiant and lovely, in the midst of them. He, the lonely Candy Man, without the pale, could yet enjoy her pleasure in imagination. And lo! this lonely Candy Man was bidden to a tree on Christmas Eve, by her ladyship. He could not believe his eyes.

"It takes you a long time to read it," said Virginia. "You'd better come. It's late."

Dark was beginning to fall outside, but the Little Red Chimney room was full of firelight when the Candy Man was ushered in, in the wake of the children, by cordial Uncle Bob. It was a frolicsome, magical light that played about a row of red stockings hanging from the shelf above it; that advanced to the farthest corner and then retreated; that coaxed and dared the unlighted Christmas tree by the piano to wake up and do its part; that gleamed in Miss Bentley's hair as she seated the pigeons in a semicircle on the rug.

Was it the magic of the firelight, or the absence of the grey hat, or the blue frock with its deep white collar, or, or--The Candy Man got no further with his questions, for just then Margaret Elizabeth turned and gave him her hand, explaining that they were so much stiller when they sat on the floor. She added that it was very good of him to come--a purely conventional and entirely inaccurate statement. He was also instructed to sit on the sofa with Uncle Bob.

"And now," began Miss Bentley, standing with her back to the row of red stockings and looking into the upturned faces, "we are going to be rather quiet, for this, you know, is both Christmas Eve and Sunday.

First, we'll sing 'While Shepherds Watched,' very softly."

She sat down at the piano and struck a few chords, then her voice rose, clear and sweet, the pigeons following her lead, a bit quaveringly at first, but doing wonderfully well considering they were not song birds.

"She's been training them for weeks," Uncle Bob whispered.

After this came "Stille Nacht," and Uncle Bob joined in, and then the Candy Man, and presently the entrance of Dr. Prue was proclaimed by a vigorous alto. The effect was most gratifying to the performers, and from the piano Margaret Elizabeth murmured, "Very good."

When the singing was over she took her seat on a low ottoman in the midst of the children, who drew closer. "Next," she said, patting the hand Virginia slipped within her arm, "comes the story, which on Christmas Eve everybody should either hear or read for himself."

Stillness fell on the Little Red Chimney room, the pigeons listened in breathless absorption, while, forgetting herself and her audience, her hands loosely clasped on her knees, Margaret Elizabeth began the story which, as often as it may be told, yet throbs with tenderness and wonder. As she went on her eyes grew dark and deep, and in her face shone something more than the sweetness and charm hitherto so endearing.

Was it a prophecy? A glimpse into the unsounded heart of her?

Dr. Prue shaded her eyes with her hand; Uncle Bob wiped his gla.s.ses; the Candy Man's soul was stirred within him, but he gave no sign.

"And they brought gifts, gold, frankincense and myrrh, to the little Child in the manger; so now in keeping his birthday, we give each other gifts and are happy because of the wonderful night so long ago," ended Margaret Elizabeth.

After that it was no longer still in the Little Red Chimney room. Uncle Bob set the tree alight, and her ladyship distributed the red stockings.

n.o.body was left out, not even the Candy Man, or Nancy and Jenny hovering in the background.

Upon occasions like the Pigeons' Christmas Tree we long to linger, but they are evanescent. The Candy Man must see the children home after a few brief words with Miss Bentley.

"The Fairy G.o.dmother Society must have been organised, and my name entered among its beneficiaries," he told her.

"I am glad if you liked it," she replied. "I thought you would.

To-morrow I am going to Pennington Park to stay till after New Year's, but Christmas Eve belonged by rights to the Little Red Chimney." She smiled, and the Candy Man nodded understandingly.

This much in the midst of the chatter that accompanied the putting on of small coats and leggings.

"And I may hope that I am forgiven?" he had a chance to add as she gave him her hand at parting.

Miss Bentley's eyes twinkled. "It will do no harm to hope," she told him.

The Candy Man, his red stocking protruding from his overcoat pocket, conducted the noisy flock to their homes, then turning southward he walked on and on toward the edge of the town. As is fitting on Christmas Eve, a fine snow had begun to fall, sifting silently over everything, transforming even the ugly and pitiful with a mantle of beauty.

The Candy Man, striding on through the night, felt an unreasoning joy as he thought of Margaret Elizabeth telling the story with the firelight on her face. The world seemed throbbing with expectancy. Who could tell what splendid event awaited its near fulfilment?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

_In which a radical change of atmosphere is at once noticed; which shows how Miss Bentley repents of a too coming-on disposition, and lends an ear to the advantages of wealth._

The Christmas fire was not cold upon the hearth of the Little Red Chimney before Miss Bentley was whisked away to other scenes, into an atmosphere so different that of necessity things took on another aspect.

Mrs. Gerrard Pennington found intense satisfaction in her niece's social success. Given every advantage, she pointed out, one could never tell how a girl would take, and d.i.c.k had brought up his daughter in such an odd way. Yet in spite of everything, even this awkward arrangement of living in two places, Margaret Elizabeth was popular beyond her fondest hopes.

There were not wanting those who remarked that it would be a marvel if she were not spoiled. Probably they were right, and Margaret Elizabeth, at the flood tide of her social career, courted, feted, the kingdoms of this world at her feet, was in danger.

"And who sent this?" Mrs. Pennington demanded.

It was Christmas Day, and "this" was an Indian basket of holly and mistletoe, conspicuous, among many costly floral offerings, by its simplicity. The card which accompanied it read, "To her Ladyship, from the Candy Man," but this Mrs. Pennington had not seen.

"Oh," answered her niece, "I don't know how to tell you who he is. He is a stranger here--a Mr. Reynolds. I met him at Mr. Knight's, where you remember I went to get some material for my paper for the Tuesday Club."

This was all true, and, unaccompanied by a heightened colour, might have allayed her aunt's lurking suspicions, born of that unexplained interview in the park with some one who was not Augustus.