Dorothy Dales Queer Holidays | Page 5

"hobby," and he had already fitted up
the cellar with all sorts of wires and attachments for regulating the
household affairs, such as turning on the heat by touching a button in
the stable where the hired man, John, had his quarters, and lighting the
gas in the coal-cellar by touching a button at the cook's elbow; in fact,
Nat really did arrange a number of most convenient contrivances, but
the family, all except Joe and Roger, thought his talent misapplied.
They insisted he ought to study "railroading."
"Or laying pipes," Ned would tell him when Nat pointed out some
improvement in the miniature telephone system.
But Joe and Roger loved to watch their big cousin make the sparks and
turn on the signals, the latter task always being assigned to Roger, who
had a very small engine of his own to practice on.
"Come on, boys," said Nat to the youngsters, when, dinner being over,
Major Dale and his sister, Mrs. White, went to "figure out Christmas

secrets," and Dorothy turned to the piano to put in her time until the
hour for going out again, "come on, and we'll rig up something."
Instantly both little fellows were at Nat's heels, through the back hall to
the cellar-way, where Nat stopped to don his overalls, for he always
insisted that the first principle of true mechanics was "good, stout
overalls."
Nor were the clothes protectors unbecoming to Nat. In fact, he looked
the ideal workman, except he was not exactly of the muscular build,
being decidedly tall, and having such a crop of light, bushy hair.
"I'll show you how to make gas," said Nat as his two young cousins
waited impatiently to hear the program announced. "We can produce a
very superior article by the mere use of bark from a white birch tree,
and a common clay pipe. You cut the bark up into little pieces with a
pair of scissors, fill the bowl of the pipe, and then make a cover or plug
for the bowl by using clay or a mixture of salt, ashes and water. Stick
the bowl of the pipe in the stove or furnace like this," and he opened the
door of the big heater; "the fire causes the birchbark to give off a gas, it
comes up into the pipestem, and can be lighted at the end, thus--"
"What was that?" interrupted Joe. "A wagon outside?"
"Might be," admitted Nat, "but what's that got to do with making
birchbark gas?"
"I thought I heard some one call," apologized Joe, again taking his
place in front of the heater.
"There is some one calling," declared little Roger. "I just heard them."
"Well, I guess we had better give up the gas business," said Nat
impatiently, "and you kids might as well go out and interview the night
air." And with this he threw down the long-stemmed pipe, which broke
into a dozen pieces. Then, while the younger boys made their way back
to the kitchen, Nat started for the yard.

"My, it's cold!" he could not help exclaiming as he stepped out into the
clear, frosty air.
Then he brushed against something.
"It's a wonder you wouldn't knock me down!" came a voice, struggling
between cold and laughter.
"Tavia!" he gasped, recognizing the tones in spite of the chattering
teeth and the forced laughter.
"Yes, it's yours truly, Nat. And for gracious' sake, do let me in. What
isn't frozen is paralyzed."
"Where in the world did you come from?" asked the astonished boy as
he led the way to the side door.
"From some place too dark for the earth and too cold for--any other
place. I think, it must have been Mars," Tavia finished, "and Mrs. Mars
forgot to light the lamps."
"But there was no train," remarked Nat, waiting for some one from
within to open the door in answer to his hasty knock.
"As if I didn't know that, Mr. White," replied Tavia saucily. "Do you
suppose I am the kind of girl who rides in a dump-cart in preference to
taking a red plush seat in a train?"
By this time the commotion had been heard, and the door was opened
by almost the entire family.
"Mercy sakes!" exclaimed Dorothy, dragging Tavia in bodily.
"No mercy about it," objected Tavia, giving Dorothy a peremptory hug.
"I'm simply dead and buried, without insurance. Frozen stiff, and
disjointed in every limb. Why, I rode here in a dump-cart!"
"Let the girl sit down," interrupted Major Dale, who left his armchair to
welcome Tavia. "My, but you are cold! No, don't go too near the fire.

Sit here on the couch. Children, run off and fetch a hot drink," he added,
for he saw that Tavia was indeed too cold to be safe