Friday, December 19.

This morning, as Rose was sweeping the pavement in front of our house, she was accosted by a small boy with ruddy cheeks and a red cap.

“Is he dead?” asked the small boy, his head interrogatively to one side, a half-expectant, half-wistful light in his twinkling blue eyes.

“Dead?” says Rose, with a little skip. “Who?”

“Why, him,” specified the small boy, ungrammatically insistent. “The little chap which used to sit in the winder and watch us play. I haven’t seen him for three days.”

“Of course he ain’t dead,” answered Rose, indignantly, for, with all her faults, she is very fond of Robin. “Ah guess he can stay in bed if he wan’ster without askin’ you! Shoo! get along!” and she swished viciously at the boy with her broom.

“Then give him this,” cried the red-capped one, hopping nimbly to safety in the gutter; and rolled a great golden orange to her feet. “I bought it with my own pennies to eat in school; but I’d rather he had it,—as long as he isn’t dead.” And he walked whistling down the street.

It was Robin’s “chum” John, to be sure,—and how Bobsie did enjoy that orange!

“It isn’t everybody who has such good friends as me,” he remarked with gusto, between unctuous sucks. “There’s Mrs. Burroughs, who sends over chairs an’ things just when you least expect it; and Francis, who wants me to have ’em (she said I might count him); an’ Georgie, even if we do fight sometimes; an’ my chum John. It’s pleasant to have people love you, isn’t it, Ellie dear?—and very comforting, too.”

In one instance, certainly, the comfort seems to be mutual. Mrs. Burroughs has run in to see Robin several times this last week. They laugh and chatter away together in the jolliest fashion. Indeed, it is quite delightful to hear them; for Bobs has not a particle of shyness with his new friend, while she seems to find an almost painful pleasure in his society. The more we see her, the sweeter we think her; and there was not a dissenting voice when Ernie declared this evening that “Mrs. Burroughs is next door to an angel.”
Saturday, December 20.

Rose left us this afternoon with many protestations of affectionate regard.—

“If ever you wan’ me, jus’ call upon me, Mis’ Graham,” she said to mother. “Ah’m ready to come back any time, at $18 a mont’, and no questions arst.”

I must say it seemed rather nice to have the kitchen to ourselves, the closet shelves all tidy and ship-shape, and clean sash curtains in the windows.

I was to get my first dinner alone, for poor little Robin had had a wretched night, and been in so much pain during the day that we had finally decided to send for the doctor. He was expected at any moment, and mother had to be ready to receive him.

The potatoes were bubbling pleasantly away on the hottest part of the stove, the steak was salted and peppered on the gridiron, ready for broiling, and I had just run in to the dining-room to take a last survey of the table before sitting down to cut up the oranges, when there sounded a tap-tap on the window-pane, and looking up, I saw Hazard’s anxious face peering in at me.

Naturally I ran to the basement door to let him in.

“Is anything the matter, Haze?” I asked,—for he has a latchkey, and it seemed odd that he should tap at the window.

“Hush, Elizabeth,” he answered. “I don’t want ’em to know that I’m home just yet.” And he preceded me into the dining-room, threw his cap upon a chair, sat despairingly down on it, and buried his head in his arms across the chair-back.

“What has happened, Hazard?” I asked, anxiously.

Haze swallowed hard, looked up, and then let his head drop down on his arm again.

“Do answer me, Haze,” I urged. “What is the matter? You aren’t dismissed, are you?”

“Not this time,” returned Haze, unsteadily, “but, from our point of view, it’s all the same as if I were.” And then, in an ashamed and broken voice, the poor boy started in to tell his story.

It seems that he was sent by Mr. Bridges this morning to collect a small debt for the firm. Haze got the money without any trouble, and started at a clip down the office stairs, because the elevator was several flights up, and he wanted to break the record, so to speak, and accomplish his errand in such short time that Mr. Bridges, whose special hobby is promptitude, would be forced to notice and commend him. When he reached the curb there was no car in sight, and Hazard happened to remember that he had not counted his money. Of course he knew that it must be all right, for the firm he was dealing with is perfectly trustworthy and reputable. However, to make sure, Haze thrust his hand into his coat pocket, drew out the little wad of bills, and proceeded to verify them.—There were two tens, a two, and three ones, in all twenty-five dollars, which was the correct sum.

Haze stood with the money in his hand, thinking how nice it would be to have that amount to spend on Christmas, till presently a down-town car came bowling along, Haze thrust the bills hurriedly into the outside pocket of his overcoat, and swung on.

There was a fine-looking, white-bearded old gentleman standing on the back platform. He caught Haze by the arm, and steadied him.

“Young blood will have its way,” he remarked, in admiring reproof. “Some forty years ago I swung aboard the cars in just such style myself.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s all right,” says Haze, never stopping to think that it must have been stage coaches the old gentleman swung aboard.

“Pleasant weather,” remarked Hazard’s new friend, presently. “Crisp, but not too keen. I see you are like myself, and prefer the view from the back platform here, to the stuffy atmosphere within. Oh, the poetry of a great city!” he observed again. “There’s romance here as fine and true as any hid away amid the snowcapped hills and sheltered valleys of my native state. Judging from your physiognomy, my boy, you are of the fibre to appreciate all that. The brow of a scholar, above the ardent eyes of a poet!”

“Thank you, sir,” says Hazey again, blushing a bit, and thinking, I haven’t a doubt, what a nice, appreciative old gentleman he had run across. “I do like to watch the city, and listen to its hum. It’s like wheels within a wheel. If you can keep your place, and pace, all right;—otherwise——”

“Otherwise,” concluded the old gentleman, his eyes fixed abstractedly upon the guard, who had walked the length of the car, and was fumbling with the door handle,—“Otherwise, it is what one might call—bum!”

And then, much to the surprise of Hazard, he hopped lightly to the step, swung himself off the car with a really amazing agility for one of his years, and disappeared among the throng.

Haze was still staring blankly after him when he felt a touch upon his shoulder. “Fare, please,” said the guard.

Haze felt in his overcoat pocket for the nickel, and turned pale. The wad of bills was gone! He had been robbed.

“And the worst of it is,” added Hazard, “that I shall have to make good out of my salary. That means I won’t be able to pay another cent to the family for eight weeks, Elizabeth. And I’d planned what I was going to give you all for Christmas,—and—and Mr. Bridges called me a calf before the entire office! I can stand most things,” concluded poor Hazey, with an angry sort of gulp, “but not, not an ’ninsult!”

Of course I comforted him as well as I could, and told him I would break the matter to mother. But, oh! it took all my courage, I can tell you, when she came down a few moments later, white-faced, and so tired-looking, after her interview with the doctor.

There was no use waiting, however, till after dinner. We should have to wash the dishes then, and she would want to return to Robin. So I began as cheerfully as I could, and mother listened, half as if she had expected it.

“Who could ever suppose that three dollars a week would seem so much?” she said, at last. “Well, we can’t have any Christmas spree, that’s all. I’m sorry, dears, but I do not dare draw anything from the bank. There is only $300 left,—and we may need it all, later.”

Somehow, in the back of my brain I have half a suspicion what mother fears we may need that money for. But I am not going to ask her and make sure. I haven’t the courage, that’s all.

“Mother!” protested Ernie, who had come down to the kitchen in time to hear mother’s last words. “No Christmas spree! What will Robin think?”

“There, there,” said mother, almost harshly. “It can’t be helped, Ernestine. Get the blue dish for the potatoes, and then ring the gong. We mustn’t keep Miss Brown waiting.”

So dinner was served; but though Miss Brown was really very nice, and said that everything was “delicious,” and she thought we should find the new régime a real improvement on the old, I could not feel much pleasure in her praise.

“Shall I tell you something?” asked Ernie, unexpectedly, as she set a dish of milk for Rosebud on the hearth, after the table was cleared and Miss Brown had gone upstairs. “Well, Uncle George is a devil. There!”

“Ernie,” said mother, turning in the doorway with Robin’s tray, which she was about to carry to the nursery, “I don’t wish you to speak that way. It is not right. Uncle George has been a good friend to us, according to his lights, and in this instance the fault is entirely with Hazard. He was foolish and careless, and we cannot expect an exception to be made in his case. It was against my wishes that he took a position,—now it lies with himself to make the best of it, and to try to overcome those faults of character which prevent his being the comfort and support to me that I have a right to expect.”

Poor Hazey, who was helping dry the dishes, blushed to the roots of his hair, and dropped a cup and smashed it.

Oh, dear! I do feel so sorry for everybody! That big splash is a tear;—and to-night there just don’t seem to be any roses, so there!
Monday, December 22.

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