Chapter VII: Into Tropic Climes

The tinkle of the bells on the Christmas tree was silvery in tone, and there was nothing about the sound to frighten even Dot. But it was mysterious, and Mrs. MacCall approached the door of the dining-room with some hesitation.

She had only recently left the room with the arrangements completed for Christmas morning when the youngsters should first run down to look at the present-laden tree, and exclaim in “Ohs!” and “Ahs!” at the sight.

She could imagine nothing that would cause the tree to sway and thus make the silvery bells tinkle. There was no window open which would create a draft and so wag the branches back and forth. What could be the cause of the bells’ ringing?

She turned the knob of the door and pushed it open a tiny bit. There was no light in the room, although the tree was strung with electric bulbs of rainbow hues. Instead of an open fireplace now, as there once had been, there was a gas log under the old mantelpiece. But this was turned off. The steam-heating plant in the cellar warmed the house sufficiently and the logs were used only in the fall and spring before and after Uncle Rufus and Neale started the heater.

Mrs. MacCall’s finger searched for the button on the wall just inside the door which would light all the lamps in the room. And just then she heard a muffled thumping sound, and the bells all rang again!

“Slosh!” ejaculated the housekeeper. “’Tis ghosties, sure enough!”

She did not mean that, of course. She was just puzzled. But she knew, in spite of the darkness, that there was something moving under the Christmas tree where the rug had been turned back for the framework, which held the tree, to stand.

“Who is it?” demanded Aunt Sarah from above.

“I’m nae so sure ’tis not Sammy Pinkney,” grumbled the housekeeper. “He’s always up to something. To be sure! I was right,” she added, for now she had pressed the electric light button and the whole room was ablaze with light.

The thing under the tree jumped again and the bells once more jingled. The housekeeper stepped forward in wonder. Was it another big cat? Or—or——

“For the land’s sake!” gasped Mrs. MacCall. “I knew I was right. Nobody but that dratted Sammy would have brought in a rabbit and tied it to that tree. And there’s a Christmas card tied to the creature’s neck.”

She had to laugh, however. It was not a cat, but a big Belgian hare—the biggest Mike Donlan had in his pen. And the price of it had simply wiped out Sammy’s bank account!

He had scrawled on a mistletoe bepictured card the following:

“Fore Tes and Dot, from there fathefull frend S. P.”

Mrs. MacCall had not the heart to say anything about it when she went upstairs again, after having confined the Belgian hare in the sink closet in the kitchen, out of which he was not likely to gnaw his way before morning. The “Christmas bells” had ceased ringing, and so the two little girls went back to sleep without learning of their unexpected present until the proper time.

But a lot of fun was had over that gift of Sammy’s. Neale and Uncle Rufus made a proper pen for the Belgian hare in one end of the goat shed where Billy Bumps chewed his cud in lonely glory.

“Billy won’t eat him up, and maybe the two will become good friends,” said Neale.

“What won’t that boy think of next?” gasped Agnes, weak from laughter.

What Mrs. Pinkney said about it when she learned the nature of her son’s “nice present” to Tess and Dot, was plenty! And how Sammy’s father laughed!

“I can’t understand,” said the worried Mrs. Pinkney, “how that boy comes to do such ridiculous things. I know I never had such ideas when I was a child and I don’t believe you did.”

“No, I never did,” her husband chuckled. “I own up that Sammy has inventive traits—and others—that he does not come by, by heredity.”

“Say, Mom!” said Sammy thoughtfully.

“What is it, you strange boy?” sighed his mother.

“Didn’t you have a chance to see me before I was born?”

“Goodness! No,” gasped Mrs. Pinkney.

“Then I guess you must have ‘bought a pig in a poke’ and that’s something Mrs. MacCall says is awful silly to do. You ought to have been more careful when you was picking out a boy to last.”

Of course, Christmas was a great day in and about the old Corner House. Although the older girls could not, as usual, visit their tenants in a poor part of the town and take them presents, Neale drove the little girls over there in the automobile and Mrs. Kranz, the “delicatessen lady,” and the girls’ very good friend, undertook to distribute the gifts to the needy.

Uncle Rufus’s daughter, Petunia Blossom, and her large family, came in for a generous share of the good will that spilled out of the Corner House.

Neale O’Neil’s good friend, Mr. Con Murphy, the cobbler, with whom the boy still lived, was not forgotten, and included in his list of presents was a fine green ribbon which Neale soberly produced and proceeded to tie around the fat neck of the perennial pig that occupied a clean sty in Mr. Murphy’s back yard. For the old cobbler was always very fond of “the gintleman that pays the rint,” which was his name for the pig.

Agnes tried to be as merry as her condition would allow. And on Christmas afternoon her school friends came in, and they had a little party.

“Aggie is managing to inject considerable pep into these proceedings, in spite of her lack of strength,” Neale remarked to Ruth.

The news that the Corner House girls were going South for two months or so, was now general knowledge; so the young folks when they departed bade the Kenways good-by. It was positive that Agnes’ face grew longer and longer during this proceeding, and when they had all gone she suddenly looked at Neale, gulped, grabbed him by both shoulders and shook him a bit, sobbing:

“You horrid boy! How can you be so cheerful, Neale O’Neil, when I’m go-going so—so far away?”

“Crackey, Aggie!” he exclaimed, “I thought you wanted to go!”

“I—I do! But Ruth is going to have Luke along, while you—you——”

“Hold on, Aggie! Don’t turn on the sprinkler,” he begged. “I’d thought of that. You bet I have been thinking about it every minute. And—and——Oh, you wait!”

He dashed away, and she did not see him again during Christmas day. But Mr. Howbridge was surprised to receive a visit from Neale O’Neil, whose affairs were in his care while Mr. O’Neil was in Alaska.

“What’s the matter now, Neale?” asked the old bachelor guardian. “What’s gone wrong?”

“Nothing, sir. Nothing yet, I mean. But something is bound to go wrong if you and those girls go off to the West Indies without making a provision that you have not thought of.”

“Yes? Is that so? I thought I had arranged for almost everything. Will you please tell me what you have discovered missing in the arrangements Hedden and I have made?” and the lawyer smiled grimly.

“First of all, I want you to look at that report, Mr. Howbridge,” said Neale respectfully, handing Mr. Howbridge a report from the principal of his school.

“Humph! Yes! I had already observed it. And I must say, Neale, that your standing does you credit.”

“Thank you, sir,” the young fellow said, glowing at this praise. “And I am away ahead in my classes. I can keep up all right if I chance to be out of school for a few weeks. I can show you——”

“What’s this? What’s this?” demanded the lawyer.

“Yes, sir, that’s just what I mean!” cried Neale O’Neil, rushing on. “I have just got to go with you all, Mr. Howbridge. I couldn’t bear to be left behind. And—and Agnes couldn’t bear it either.”

“Ah-ha!” cried the lawyer. “Sits the wind in that quarter? Then that is the explanation of the note I got this very day from our surprising Sister Agnes.”

“What’s that?” demanded Neale, amazed.

“She says here,” Mr. Howbridge said, reading the note which was written in Agnes’ unmistakable hand, but rather shakily, “that she thinks she doesn’t want to go with the party, but would rather go back to school and catch up with her class. And she needs the voyage just as much as Ruth does.”

“The blessed kid!” exploded Neale O’Neil, his face very red.

“Quite so, Neale,” said the lawyer soberly, and laying a hand upon the boy’s sleeve. “That is exactly what our Agnes is—‘a blessed kid.’ Don’t forget it. She is an impulsive, loving, _blessed_ girl.”

“Yes, sir,” gulped Neale.

“Never forget it,” repeated Mr. Howbridge. “But I want to tell you that I had already favorably considered taking you along. I think I can make use of you down there. Goodness! I can’t be expected to look out for four girls without any help at all, can I?”

This matter being satisfactorily settled, there was nothing left to do but to pack their trunks and otherwise prepare for the voyage into tropic climes, as Agnes, having suddenly recovered all her gayety, expressed it.

The new year came in with an old-fashioned snowstorm and Agnes and Ruth began to cough again. Mr. Howbridge looked grave, but Dr. Forsyth prophesied that the coughs would wear off as soon as the afflicted girls got into the belt of steady, warm weather.

On the third of January they started. Mrs. MacCall was red-eyed and Linda was really not fit to be seen! Old Uncle Rufus was as mournful as could be, but tried to show some cheerfulness.

Sammy, having observed certain weddings in the neighborhood, tied a number of old shoes on the back of the automobile for luck and was restrained with difficulty from throwing rice all over the Corner House girls as they left home.

Mr. Howbridge had taken Luke Shepard’s advice, and had booked passage on the steamship _Horridole_ from the port of Boston. Luke met them with Professor Keeps and his outfit at the dock. It was a gay party indeed that went aboard and sought their reservations among the best staterooms on the boat.

“Dear me!” sighed Agnes ecstatically, and now quite her pleasure-loving self, “it is so nice to be wealthy. If we should ever be poor again, Ruth, I know I should be the hatefulest thing in skirts.”

“Why, Aggie! Don’t talk that way.”

“It is the truth,” said the flyaway sister. “Nothing poor or mean can ever satisfy me again. I sometimes think I shall have to marry a millionaire, or else I shall make my husband very miserable.”

“You won’t have to worry about that yet,” laughed Ruth, but she flushed very prettily and looked at Luke, who was out of earshot.