Chapter IX

by Kate Douglas Wiggin

　　IX"That's a bargain and here's my hand on it," cried Dick. "Now, what doyou say to letting me be Santa Claus? Come on in and let's look atJohn Trimble. He'd make a splendid Job or Jeremiah, but I wouldn't lethim spoil a Christmas festival!"

　　"Do let Dick take the part, father,"—and Mrs. Todd's tone was mostingratiating. "John's terrible dull and bashful anyway, an' mebbe he'dhave a pain he couldn't stan' jest when he's givin' out the presents.An' Dick is always so amusin'."

　　Deacon Todd led the way into the improvised dressing-room. He hadremoved John's gala costume in order to apply the mustard faithfullyand he lay in a crumpled heap in the corner. The plaster itselfadorned a stool near by.

　　"Now, John! John! That plaster won't do you no good on the stool. Itain't the stool that needs drawin'; it's your stomach," argued Mrs.Todd.

　　"I'm drawed pretty nigh to death a'ready," moaned John. "I'm rore,that's what I am,—rore! An' I won't be Santa Claus neither. I want togo home."

　　"Wrop him up and get him into your sleigh, father, and take him home;then come right back. Bed's the place for him. Keep that hotflat-iron on his stomach, if he'd rather have it than the mustard.Men-folks are such cowards. I'll dress Dick while you're gone. Mebbeit's a Providence!"

　　On the whole, Dick agreed with Mrs. Todd as he stood ready to make hisentrance. The School Committee was in the church and he had had muchto do with its members in former days. The Select-men of the villagewere present, and he had made their acquaintance once, in an executivesession. The deacons were all there and the pillars of the church andthe choir and the organist—a spinster who had actively disapprovedwhen he had put beans in the melodeon one Sunday. Yes, it was best tomeet them in a body on a festive occasion like this, when the rigorsof the village point of view were relaxed. It would relieve him ofseveral dozen private visits of apology, and altogether he felt thathis courage would have wavered had he not been disguised as anotherperson altogether: a popular favorite; a fat jolly, rollickingdispenser of bounties to the general public. When he finally discardedhis costume, would it not be easier, too, to meet his father firstbefore the church full of people and have the solemn hour with himalone, later at night? Yes, as Mrs. Todd said, "Mebbe 'twas aProvidence!"

　　There was never such a merry Christmas festival in the Orthodox churchof Beulah; everybody was of one mind as to that. There was a momentaryfear that John Trimble, a pillar of prohibition, might have imbibedhard cider; so gay, so nimble, so mirth-provoking was Santa Claus.When was John Trimble ever known to unbend sufficiently to romp up theside aisle jingling his sleigh bells, and leap over a front pewstuffed with presents, to gain the vantage-ground he needed for thedistribution of his pack? The wing pews on one side of the pulpit hadbeen floored over and the Christmas Tree stood there, triumphant inbeauty, while the gifts strewed the green-covered platform at itsfeet.

　　How gay, how audacious, how witty was Santa Claus! How the village hadalways misjudged John Trimble, and how completely had John Trimblehitherto obscured his light under a bushel. In his own proper personchildren avoided him, but they crowded about this Santa Claus,encircling his legs, gurgling with joy when they were lifted to hisshoulder, their laughter ringing through the church at his drollantics. A sense of mystery grew when he opened a pack on the pulpitstairs, a pack unfamiliar in its outward aspect to the Committee onEntertainment. Every girl had a little doll dressed in fashionableattire, and every boy a brilliantly colored, splendidly noisy, tintrumpet; but hanging to every toy by a red ribbon was Mrs. Larrabee'sChristmas card; her despised one about the "folks back home."

　　HANDS THAT TREMBLED, AS EVERYBODY COULD SEE