exactly the opposite effect. William John had cried until he could cry no more, but he turned around and sobbed.
“There now!” he said in tearless despair. “That’s just what I expected. I did s’pose if I couldn’t go you would, and tell me about it. You’re mean as mean can be.”
“Come now, William John, don’t be so cross. I thought you’d rather have me home, but I’ll go, if you want me to.”
“Honest, now?”
“Yes, honest. I’ll go anywhere to please you. I must be off to the store now. Goodbye.”
Thus committed, Bertie took his courage in both hands and went. The next evening at dusk found him standing at Doctor Forbes’s door with a very violently beating heart. He was carefully dressed in his well-worn best suit and a neat white collar. The frosty air had crimsoned his cheeks and his hair was curling round his face.
Caroline opened the door and showed him into the parlour, where Edith and Amy were eagerly awaiting him.
“Happy New Year, Bertie,” cried Amy. “And — but, why, where is William John?”
“He couldn’t come,” answered Bertie anxiously — he was afraid he might not be welcome without William John. “He’s real sick. He caught cold and has to stay in bed; but he wanted to come awful bad.”
“Oh, dear me! Poor William John!” said Amy in a disappointed tone. But all further remarks were cut short by the entrance of Doctor Forbes.
“How do you do?” he said, giving Bertie’s hand a hearty shake. “But where is the other little fellow my girls were expecting?”
Bertie patiently reaccounted for William John’s nonappearance.
“It’s a bad time for colds,” said the doctor, sitting down and attacking the fire. “I dare say, though, you have to run so fast these days that a cold couldn’t catch you. I suppose you’ll soon be leaving Sampson’s. He told me he didn’t need you after the holiday season was over. What are you going at next? Have you anything in view?”
Bertie shook his head sorrowfully.
“No, sir; but,” he added more cheerfully, “I guess I’ll find something if I hunt around lively. I almost always do.”
He forgot his shyness; his face flushed hopefully, and he looked straight at the doctor with his bright, earnest eyes. The doctor poked the fire energetically and looked very wise. But just then the girls came up and carried Bertie off to display their holiday gifts. And there was a fur cap and a pair of mittens for him! He wondered whether he was dreaming.
“And here’s a picture-book for William John,” said Amy, “and there is a sled out in the kitchen for him. Oh, there’s the dinner-bell. I’m awfully hungry. Papa says that is my ‘normal condition,’ but I don’t know what that means.”
As for that dinner — Bertie might sometimes have seen such a repast in delightful dreams, but certainly never out of them. It was a feast to be dated from.
When the plum pudding came on, the doctor, who had been notably silent, leaned back in his chair, placed his fingertips together, and looked critically at Bertie.
“So Mr. Sampson can’t keep you?”
Bertie’s face sobered at once. He had almost forgotten his responsibilities.
“No, sir. He says I’m too small for the heavy work.”
“Well, you are rather small — but no doubt you will grow. Boys have a queer habit of doing that. I think you know how to make yourself useful. I need a boy here to run errands and look after my horse. If you like, I’ll try you. You can live here, and go to school. I sometimes hear of places for boys in my rounds, and the first good one that will suit you, I’ll bespeak for you. How will that do?”
“Oh, sir, you are too good,” said Bertie with a choke in his voice.
“Well, that is settled,” said the doctor genially. “Come on Monday then. And perhaps we can do something for that other little chap, William, or John, or whatever his name is. Will you have some more pudding, Bertie?”
“No, thank you,” said Bertie. Pudding, indeed! He could not have eaten another mouthful after such wonderful and unexpected good fortune.
After dinner they played games, and cracked nuts, and roasted apples, until the clock struck nine; then Bertie got up to go.
“Off, are you?” said the doctor, looking up from his paper. “Well, I’ll expect you on Monday, remember.”
“Yes, sir,” said Bertie happily. He was not likely to forget.
As he went out Amy came through the hall with a red sled.
“Here is William John’s present. I’ve tied all the other things on so that they can’t fall off.”
Edith was at the door-with a parcel. “Here are some nuts and candies for William John,” she said. “And tell him we all wish him a ‘Happy New Year.’”
“Thank you,” said Bertie. “I’ve had a splendid time. I’ll tell William John. Goodnight.”
He stepped out. It was frostier than ever. The snow crackled and snapped, the stars were keen and bright, but to Bertie, running down the street with William John’s sled thumping merrily behind him, the world was aglow with rosy hope and promise. He was quite sure he could never forget this wonderful New Year.
Ida’s New Year Cake
Mary Craig and Sara Reid and Josie Pye had all flocked into Ida Mitchell’s room at their boardinghouse to condole with each other because none of them was able to go home for New Year’s. Mary and Josie had been home for Christmas, so they didn’t really feel so badly off. But Ida and Sara hadn’t even that consolation.
Ida was a third-year student at the Clifton Academy; she had holidays, and nowhere, so she mournfully affirmed, to spend them. At home three brothers and a sister were down with the measles, and, as Ida had never had them, she could not go there; and the news had come too late for her to make any other arrangements.
Mary and Josie were clerks in a Clifton bookstore, and Sara was stenographer in a Clifton lawyer’s office. And they were all jolly and thoughtless and very fond of one another.
“This will be the first New Year’s I have ever spent away from home,” sighed Sara, nibbling chocolate fudge. “It does make me so blue to think of it. And not even a holiday — I’ll have to go to work just the same. Now Ida here, she doesn’t really need sympathy. She has holidays — a whole fortnight — and nothing to do but enjoy them.”
“Holidays are dismal things when you’ve nowhere to holiday,” said Ida mournfully. “The time drags horribly. But never mind, girls, I’ve a plummy bit of news for you. I’d a letter from Mother today and, bless the dear woman, she is sending me a cake — a New Year’s cake — a great big, spicy, mellow, delicious fruit cake.
