<h2><SPAN name="IX" id="IX"></SPAN>IX</h2>
<p>"That's a bargain and here's my hand on it," cried Dick. "Now, what do
you say to letting me be Santa Claus? Come on in and let's look at
John Trimble. He'd make a splendid Job or Jeremiah, but I wouldn't let
him spoil a Christmas festival!"</p>
<p>"Do let Dick take the part, father,"—and Mrs. Todd's tone was most
ingratiating. "John's terrible dull and bashful anyway, an' mebbe he'd
have a pain he<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></SPAN></span> couldn't stan' jest when he's givin' out the presents.
An' Dick is always so amusin'."</p>
<p>Deacon Todd led the way into the improvised dressing-room. He had
removed John's gala costume in order to apply the mustard faithfully
and he lay in a crumpled heap in the corner. The plaster itself
adorned a stool near by.</p>
<p>"Now, John! John! That plaster won't do you no good on the stool. It
ain't the stool that needs drawin'; it's your stomach," argued Mrs.
Todd.</p>
<p>"I'm drawed pretty nigh to death a'ready," moaned John. "I'm rore,
that's what I am,—rore! An' I won't be Santa Claus neither. I want to
go home."</p>
<p>"Wrop him up and get him into your sleigh, father, and take him home;
then come right back. Bed's the place for him.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></SPAN></span> Keep that hot
flat-iron on his stomach, if he'd rather have it than the mustard.
Men-folks are such cowards. I'll dress Dick while you're gone. Mebbe
it's a Providence!"</p>
<p>On the whole, Dick agreed with Mrs. Todd as he stood ready to make his
entrance. The School Committee was in the church and he had had much
to do with its members in former days. The Select-men of the village
were present, and he had made their acquaintance once, in an executive
session. The deacons were all there and the pillars of the church and
the choir and the organist—a spinster who had actively disapproved
when he had put beans in the melodeon one Sunday. Yes, it was best to
meet them in a body on a festive occasion like this, when the rigors
of the village point of view were relaxed.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></SPAN></span> It would relieve him of
several dozen private visits of apology, and altogether he felt that
his courage would have wavered had he not been disguised as another
person altogether: a popular favorite; a fat jolly, rollicking
dispenser of bounties to the general public. When he finally discarded
his costume, would it not be easier, too, to meet his father first
before the church full of people and have the solemn hour with him
alone, later at night? Yes, as Mrs. Todd said, "Mebbe 'twas a
Providence!"</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>There was never such a merry Christmas festival in the Orthodox church
of Beulah; everybody was of one mind as to that. There was a momentary
fear that John Trimble, a pillar of prohibition, might have imbibed
hard cider; so gay, so<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></SPAN></span> nimble, so mirth-provoking was Santa Claus.
When was John Trimble ever known to unbend sufficiently to romp up the
side aisle jingling his sleigh bells, and leap over a front pew
stuffed with presents, to gain the vantage-ground he needed for the
distribution of his pack? The wing pews on one side of the pulpit had
been floored over and the Christmas Tree stood there, triumphant in
beauty, while the gifts strewed the green-covered platform at its
feet.</p>
<p>How gay, how audacious, how witty was Santa Claus! How the village had
always misjudged John Trimble, and how completely had John Trimble
hitherto obscured his light under a bushel. In his own proper person
children avoided him, but they crowded about this Santa Claus,
encircling his legs, gurgling with joy when<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></SPAN></span> they were lifted to his
shoulder, their laughter ringing through the church at his droll
antics. A sense of mystery grew when he opened a pack on the pulpit
stairs, a pack unfamiliar in its outward aspect to the Committee on
Entertainment. Every girl had a little doll dressed in fashionable
attire, and every boy a brilliantly colored, splendidly noisy, tin
trumpet; but hanging to every toy by a red ribbon was Mrs. Larrabee's
Christmas card; her despised one about the "folks back home."</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/image_126.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="550" alt="HANDS THAT TREMBLED, AS EVERYBODY COULD SEE" title="HANDS THAT TREMBLED, AS EVERYBODY COULD SEE" /> <span class="caption">HANDS THAT TREMBLED, AS EVERYBODY COULD SEE</span></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>The publishers' check to the minister's wife had been accompanied by a
dozen complimentary copies, but these had been sent to Reba's Western
friends and relations; and although the card was on many a
marble-topped table in Beulah, it had not been bought by all the
inhabitants, by any means. Fifteen cents would purchase something
useful, and Beulah did not contain many Crœsuses. Still, here the
cards were,—enough of them for everybody,—with a linen handkerchief
for every woman and every man in the meeting-house, and a dozen more
sticking out of the pack, as the people in the front pews could
plainly see. Modest gifts, but plenty of them, and nobody knew from
whence they came! There was a buzzing in the church, a buzzing that
grew louder and more persistent when Santa Claus threw a lace scarf
around Mrs. Larrabee's shoulders and approached her husband with a
fine beaver collar in his hands: hands that trembled, as everybody
could see, when he buttoned the piece of fur around the old minister's
neck.</p>
<p>And the minister? He had been half in, and half out of, a puzzling
dream for ten<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></SPAN></span> minutes, and when those hands of Santa Claus touched
him, his flesh quivered. They reminded him of baby fingers that had
crept around his neck years ago when he patiently walked the parsonage
floor at night with his ailing child in his arms. Every drop of blood
in his veins called out for answer. He looked above the white cotton
beard and mustache to a pair of dark eyes; merry, mischievous, yet
tender and soft; at a brown wavy lock escaping from the home-made wig.
Then those who were near heard a weak voice say, "My son!" and those
who were far away observed Santa Claus tear off his wig and beard,
heard him cry, "Father!"—and, as Mrs. Todd said afterwards, saw him
"fall on to the minister's neck right there before the whole caboodle,
an' cling to him for all the world like an engaged couple,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></SPAN></span> only they
wouldn't 'a' made so free in public."</p>
<p>No ice but would have thawed in such an atmosphere! Grown-up Beulah
forgot how much trouble Dick Larrabee had caused in other days, and
the children had found a friend for all time. The extraordinary number
of dolls, trumpets, handkerchiefs, and Christmas cards circulating in
the meeting-house raised the temperature considerably, and induced a
general feeling that if Dick Larrabee had really ever been a bit wild
and reckless, he had evidently reformed, and prospered, besides.</p>
<p>Yes, no one but a kind and omniscient Providence could have so
beautifully arranged Dick Larrabee's homecoming, and so wisely
superintended his complete reinstatement in the good graces of Beulah
village. A few maiden ladies felt that he<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></SPAN></span> had been a trifle immodest
in embracing, and especially in kissing, his father in front of the
congregation; venturing the conviction that kissing, an indecorous
custom in any event, was especially lamentable in public.</p>
<p>"Pity Letty Boynton missed this evenin'," said Mrs. Todd. "Her an'
Dick allers had a fancy for each other, so I've heard, though I don't
know how true. Clarissa Perry might jest as well have stayed with the
twins as not, for her niece that spoke a piece forgot 'bout half of it
an' Clarissa was in a cold sweat every minute. Then the niece had a
fit o' cryin', she was so ashamed at failin', an' Clarissa had to take
her home. So they both missed the tree, an' Letty might 'a' been here
as well as not an' got her handkerchief an' her card. I sent John
Trimble's<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></SPAN></span> to him by the doctor, but he didn't take no notice, Isaac
said, for the doctor was liftin' off the hot flat-iron an' puttin'
turpentine on the spot where I'd had my mustard.—Anyway, if John had
to have the colic he couldn't 'a' chosen a better time, an' if he gets
over it, I shall be real glad he had it; for nobody ever seen sech a
Santa Claus as Dick Larrabee made, an' there never was, an' never will
be, sech a lively, an' amusin' an' free-an'-easy evenin' in the
Orthodox church."</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/image_132.jpg" width-obs="500" height-obs="317" alt="Decorative_Image" title="Decorative_Image" /> </div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG class="img1" src="images/image_133.jpg" width-obs="500" height-obs="337" alt="Illustration" title="" /> </div>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />