The Middle Moffat (14 page)

"Will
that
be the brockated bag?" panted Joe.

"Wait and see," replied Jane with such an air of confidence that any doubts that Joe and Rufus might have had were cast immediately to the winds. By the time they reached home, the brocaded bag was again the beautiful teasing vision they all had had.

Mama was in the kitchen so they unwrapped the green package in the little green-and-white parlor with eager fingers. They would not have been surprised had the blue calico changed into a brocaded bag on the way home. However, the blue calico was still blue calico, though it was obvious from Jane's joyful spirits that she would have this transformed into the other lovely thing in no time.

During the next few days, Jane worked hard on the bag. She cut it out and sewed it up, every stitch by hand. She embroidered "mama" on one side of it with the white embroidery thread. On the other, she embroidered a daisy. When she finished it, she held it up and surveyed it with satisfaction. The brocaded bag! She saw it flash and sparkle and gleam with different shining colors. It was the very bag she had seen in the big store window in town.

In excitement she called Joe and Rufus in to see the finished bag. She dangled it before them, walked mincingly with it on her arm as elegant ladies do, thinking perhaps she looked like Mrs. Stokes.

"Is
that
a brockated bag?" they asked wonderingly.

"Yes!" said Jane. "Isn't it lovely?" And she walked up to the mirror to look at herself with the pretty thing. Her eyes fell on the bag. What they saw there was a very plain blue calico bag with a crooked MAMA embroidered on one side and a humped-back daisy on the other. She looked down at the real bag hanging on her arm. The fair vision of the brocaded bag vanished completely and forever. She fell silent. The boys said nothing. After all, they had never seen a brocaded bag. In a while Jane said thoughtfully, "It will be good to keep buttons in."

They wrapped it up and made a card for it, "To Mama, with love from Joe, Rufus, and Jane," and hid it where Mama would not be able to find it.

At last it was Christmas Eve. The four Moffats were making decorations for the tree, angels of gold and silver paper, baskets for candy and cookies, chains of colored paper, cornucopias for popcorn. The kitchen table was quite covered with scraps of paper and sticky with flour-and-water paste, which Rufus had dabbed around by mistake. Sylvie had shown him how to make the chains of circles of bright paper. It was true that all of his chains were not linked together properly. His chain broke into short separate links that hung aimlessly from the whole. However, Sylvie said this did not matter in the slightest. Sylvie and Mama were going to help Santa Claus out by having the tree trimmed before he came, late tonight. At present they were busy making the spiced Santa Claus cookies for the tree. How good they did smell!

"It is time now to hang your stockings," said Mama.

The four of them, even Sylvie, tore off to their rooms to find stockings that didn't have any holes in them so none of the good things would fall out of the heel or toe. They tacked these onto the wainscoting behind the kitchen stove, right handy for Santa Claus.

Now there was really nothing to do but go to bed. Rufus and Janey went first. They stripped off their clothes before the kitchen fire. They put on their outing flannel bed-socks and nightclothes and raced noisily up the stairs to bed.

But not to sleep! Not yet! They talked and laughed, smothering their giggles under the bedclothes. They whispered, "What do you think Santy Claus will bring us?"

"Let's stay awake all night and watch for Santy Claus," said Rufus.

"What are Mama and Sylvie so mysterious about?" Jane asked.

"What do you think Santy will bring?" Rufus asked this for the hundredth time, although there was really little doubt in his mind. Had he not written Santa Claus the same letter every night for a week, telling him to bring a real live pony, even showing by drawings exactly what he meant? Goodness knows how many of these letters had found their way to Santa Claus. So many probably that Rufus had grown rather worried at the last, and varied his letter to read,

Dear Santy,
Please bring me a live pony.
ONE is plenty.

Rufus

"Goodness," he chuckled, "if Santy brought a pony for every letter I wrote!...But I guess he'll know better than that."

In spite of themselves, they began to grow sleepy. Then Joe came to bed and talked for a while, but soon Joey and Rufus became quiet, and Jane knew they were asleep. Jane stayed awake, however. Her chilblains itched her. But she wasn't thinking about them so much. She was thinking about Rufus and that pony he expected.

He certainly does want that pony,
she thought.
He wants that pony harder than I have ever wanted anything.

And this year he was so positive that Santa would bring one. Nevertheless, Jane had a sinking feeling in her stomach that Christmas morning would come and there just would not be a pony for Rufus. What should she do? His disappointment would be more than she could bear. "Something oughter be done," she worried, "but what?"

Just then Sylvie came upstairs and climbed into bed.

"Asleep, Janekin?" she asked softly.

Jane didn't answer, pretending to be asleep. There was no use troubling Sylvie about this pony business, too. After a while she could tell from Sylvie's breathing that she was asleep. For a long time Jane lay there. Supposing she stayed awake this year and listened for Santa Claus? A word in his ear about the pony might work wonders. Other years she had meant to do this, but somehow morning had always come and the stockings had been filled as by magic and she would realize that she had gone to sleep and missed Santa Claus after all. He had come in the middle of the night. This year would be different though. She would stay awake—yes, she would.

She listened to all the night noises: the frost making the windowpanes creak; Mama calling Catherine-the-cat; Mama turning the key in the latch, winding the clock, shaking down the kitchen fire and the fire in the parlor. Finally she heard Mama drop first one shoe and then the other with a soft thud to the floor, and she knew that Mama, too, was in bed.

Now all she had to do was to listen for Santa Claus. Surely he would be here soon. It must be very late—midnight, probably. She would stay awake and stay awake.... She would say to him, "Please, Santy, a pony for Rufus..." The first thing she would hear would be the sleigh bells and the reindeer's hooves on the roof....She must stay awake and...

In telling Nancy about this night later, Jane was positive she had stayed awake. Positive that just as the clock in the sitting room downstairs struck twelve, Santa Claus had stood beside her bed and gently turned her over. His frosty beard had even brushed her cheek. And he had whispered something in her ear. But just as she was about to speak to him, he had vanished and the sleigh bells tinkled off in the distance.

She sat up in bed. Sylvie was sleeping peacefully. Santa Claus had gone. Of that she was sure. Oh, why had he not waited for her to speak? Softly she crept out of bed, felt her way past the chiffonier into the hall, and stole down the creaking stairs to the kitchen. She was grateful for the faint light that shone from the kitchen stove. Finding the matches, she struck one. Catherine-the-cat's eyes shone green and examined her with keen disapproval. Paying no attention to her, Jane glanced swiftly behind the stove. There the four stockings hung, bulging now. Yes, that proved it. Santa had been here just now and had come to her side to give her some message.

She glanced around the room and peeked into the little parlor, where the Christmas tree was shining. There was no pony about. That was certain. She tiptoed to the back window and pressed her face against the pane. The moon shone over the white snow, making a light almost as bright as day. If there had been a pony out there, she would know it. There just wasn't any pony and there was no use hoping for it any longer. That was why Santa had come to her bedside. He knew she was awake and waiting and he had a good reason for not bringing the pony, and that's what he had wanted to tell her. What was the reason? She thought for a moment. Then she knew. She lit another match, found a piece of brown wrapping paper and a pencil. Crouching on the floor near the stove she wrote,

Dear Rufus,
All the ponies are at the war.

Your friend,
Santy Claus

She tucked this note in the top of Rufus's stocking and went back to bed. Shivering, she pressed her cold self against Sylvie and fell sound asleep.

The next thing she knew, Sylvie was shaking her and shaking her and screaming, "Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas!" Jane jumped out of bed, pulled a blanket around her, danced wildly out of the room screaming, "Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas!" Mama gave them each a sweet hug and a kiss and said, "Merry Christmas, everybody." The whole house echoed, and Catherine-the-cat chased her tail for the first time in five and a half years.

They grabbed their stockings and raced back to bed with them, for the house was still bitterly cold. A sudden yell from Rufus interrupted everything.

"Whoops!" he shouted. "Whoops! Listen to this! Ma! Ma! Listen! I've had a letter from Santy Claus."

Rufus jumped out of bed and tore through the house like a cyclone, the others following him.

"Listen to this," he said again, when they were finally collected before the kitchen fire. "'Dear Rufus,' it says. 'Dear Rufus, All the ponies are at the war,' and it's signed, 'Your friend, Santy Claus'! Imagine a letter from Santy Claus himself!"