your name?” asked Caroline.
“Robert Ross, ma’am.”
“Oh, you’re Mrs. Ross’s nephew then,” said Caroline, breaking eggs into her cake-bowl, and whisking them deftly round. “And you’re Sampson’s errand boy just now? My goodness,” as the boy spread his blue hands over the fire, “where are your mittens, child? You’re never out without mittens a day like this!”
“I lent them to William John — he hadn’t any,” faltered Bertie. He did not know but that the lady might consider it a grave crime to be mittenless.
“No mittens!” exclaimed Amy in dismay. “Why, I have three pairs. And who is William John?”
“He is my cousin,” said Bertie. “And he’s awful sickly. He wanted to go out to play, and he hadn’t any mittens, so I lent him mine. I didn’t miss them — much.”
“What kind of a Christmas did you have?”
“We didn’t have any.”
“No Christmas!” said Amy, quite overcome. “Oh, well, I suppose you are going to have a good time on New Year’s instead.”
Bertie shook his head.
“No’m, I guess not. We never have it different from other times.”
Amy was silent from sheer amazement. Edith understood better, and she changed the subject.
“Have you any brothers or sisters, Bertie?”
“No’m,” returned Bertie cheerfully. “I guess there’s enough of us without that. I must be going now. I’m very much obliged to you.”
Edith slipped from the room as he spoke, and met him again at the door. She held out a pair of warm-looking mittens.
“These are for William John,” she said simply, “so that you can have your own. They are a pair of mine which are too big for me. I know Papa will say it is all right. Goodbye, Bertie.”
“Goodbye — and thank you,” stammered Bertie, as the door closed. Then he hastened home to William John.
That evening Doctor Forbes noticed a peculiarly thoughtful look on Edith’s face as she sat gazing into the glowing coal fire after dinner. He laid his hand on her dark curls inquiringly.
“What are you musing over?”
“There was a little boy here today,” began Edith.
“Oh, such a dear little boy,” broke in Amy eagerly from the corner, where she was playing with her kitten. “His name was Bertie Ross. He brought up the parcels, and we asked him in to get warm. He had no mittens, and his hands were almost frozen. And, oh, Papa, just think! — he said he never had any Christmas or New Year at all.”
“Poor little fellow!” said the doctor. “I’ve heard of him; a pretty hard time he has of it, I think.”
“He was so pretty, Papa. And Edie gave him her blue mittens for William John.”
“The plot deepens. Who is William John?”
“Oh, a cousin or something, didn’t he say Edie? Anyway, he is sick, and he wanted to go coasting, and Bertie gave him his mittens. And I suppose he never had any Christmas either.”
“There are plenty who haven’t,” said the doctor, taking up his paper with a sigh. “Well, girlies, you seem interested in this little fellow so, if you like, you may invite him and his cousin to take dinner with you on New Year’s night.”
“Oh, Papa!” said Edith, her eyes shining like stars.
The doctor laughed. “Write him a nice little note of invitation — you are the lady of the house, you know — and I’ll see that he gets it tomorrow.”
And this was how it came to pass that Bertie received the next day his first invitation to dine out. He read the little note through three times in order fully to take in its contents, and then went around the rest of the day in deep abstraction as though he was trying to decide some very important question. It was with the same expression that he opened the door at home in the evening. His aunt was stirring some oatmeal mush on the stove.
“Is that you, Bert?” She spoke sharply. She always spoke sharply, even when not intending it; it had grown to be a habit.
“Yes’m,” said Bertie meekly, as he hung up his cap.
“I s’pose you’ve only got one day more at the store,” said Mrs. Ross. “Sampson didn’t say anything about keeping you longer, did he?”
“No. He said he couldn’t — I asked him.”
“Well, I didn’t expect he would. You’ll have a holiday on New Year’s anyhow; whether you’ll have anything to eat or not is a different question.”
“I’ve an invitation to dinner,” said Bertie timidly, “me and William John. It’s from Doctor Forbes’s little girls — the ones that gave me the mittens.”
He handed her the little note, and Mrs. Ross stooped down and read it by the fitful gleam of light which came from the cracked stove.
“Well, you can please yourself,” she said as she handed it back, “but William John couldn’t go if he had ten invitations. He caught cold coasting yesterday. I told him he would, but he was bound to go, and now he’s laid up for a week. Listen to him barking in the bedroom there.”
“Well, then, I won’t go either,” said Bertie with a sigh, it might be of relief, or it might be of disappointment. “I wouldn’t go there all alone.”
“You’re a goose!” said his aunt. “They wouldn’t eat you. But as I said, please yourself. Anyhow, hold your tongue about it to William John, or you’ll have him crying and bawling to go too.”
The caution came too late. William John had already heard it, and when his mother went in to rub his chest with liniment, she found him with the ragged quilt over his head crying.
“Come, William John, I want to rub you.”
“I don’t want to be rubbed — g’way,” sobbed William John. “I heard you out there — you needn’t think I didn’t. Bertie’s going to Doctor Forbes’s to dinner and I can’t go.”
“Well, you’ve only yourself to thank for it,” returned his mother. “If you hadn’t persisted in going out coasting yesterday when I wanted you to stay in, you’d have been able to go to Doctor Forbes’s. Little boys who won’t do as they’re told always get into trouble. Stop crying, now. I dare say if Bertie goes they’ll send you some candy, or something.”
But William John refused to be comforted. He cried himself to sleep that night, and when Bertie went in to see him next morning, he found him sitting up in bed with his eyes red and swollen and the faded quilt drawn up around his pinched face.
“Well, William John, how are you?”
“I ain’t any better,” replied
