The Little Mixer | Page 4

sat
panting on the top step of the Josephs' back porch. Immediately Nellie
produced a string of amethyst colored beads from her coat pocket, with
the announcement that she would say her prayers while resting.

"What kind of beads are those?" asked Hannah.
"Rosary beads, 'course," responded Nellie. "Hannah, you don't know
anything."
"I do, too."
"Huh! you didn't even know about the Mother o' God until I told you."
"I reckon I thought God was an orphan," Hannah pleaded in
extenuation. "But, what about God's papa?" she demanded with sudden
inspiration. "You're so smarty, tell me about that!"
"Oh, God didn't have to have a father," Nellie answered easily.
"Everything is free in Heaven; so He didn't have to have a father to
work for Him when He was little."
"Then why did He have to have a mama?"
"To tell Him what to do, 'course. You know how 'tis. If you ask your
papa anything, don't he always say, 'Go ask your mama'?"
Hannah had noticed this shifting of masculine responsibility more than
once. "That's so," she acquiesced. Then a terrible thought struck her. "I
don't want to go to Heaven! I don't want to go anywhere unless my
papa can go too."
Nellie's nimble Irish wits were ready. "I just said God didn't need any
papa. 'Course our papas will go to Heaven, 'cause that's the only place
they can quit working. Didn't I hear my papa say one time he hoped
he'd get a little rest in Heaven, 'cause he never got any on this earth?"
"But, you have to die before you can get to Heaven," sighed Hannah.
Virginia, who had been maintaining a most dignified silence, looked as
if she must speak or explode. "No you don't. Heaven begins here and
now," she recited. "If you are good, you are well and happy, and that's
Heaven."

"'Tisn't," scoffed Nellie. "Do you see any angels flying 'round in this
here yard? I don't."
Hannah rather took to Virginia's argument, and resolved to have
conversation with her some time, undampened by Nellie's skepticism.
If there could be feasting on the joys of Heaven here and now, Hannah
had every intention of being at the banquet table. At the present
moment, however, the rosary beads were of fascinating interest; she
must hold them in her own hands, and watch the play of purple lights
upon the snow as she flashed them in the sun. Questions about the
crucifix, she found, brought on an embarrassing silence. Nellie looked
at Virginia. Virginia looked at Nellie. Then the two excused themselves
for a whispered colloquy at the other end of the yard. When they
returned, Virginia acted as spokesman, fixing Nellie with an
unrelenting eye.
"That is Jesus nailed to the cross, Hannah. Some very wicked people
did it."
There was nothing exciting in this to Hannah; wicked people were
doing wicked things the world over, all the time. The statement fell flat,
and Nellie, disappointed at the lack of dramatic effect, broke treaty. "I
'spect the Jews did it," she said.
"They did not!" Hannah's voice trembled. "The Jews are nice people;
they wouldn't do a wicked thing like that!"
Virginia put an arm across Hannah's shoulders. "Now see what you've
done," she snapped at Nellie.
"Oh, I 'spect the Irish helped them," Nellie added magnanimously. "My
papa says the Irish are into every thing."
Not having to bear the ignominy alone Hannah was comforted. "What
makes you say prayers on the beads?" she asked.
"'Cause I want Santy to bring me a doll to-night. I wrote him 'bout
sixteen letters, and I'm going to say my rosary a dozen times to-day."

To-morrow was Christmas Day! Hannah's face fell. All her sorrows
returned with a rush. "Have you got any more of those beads?" she
asked.
"Yes, but they wouldn't do you any good," Nellie answered with quick
understanding. "You're not a Catholic."
"Couldn't I be one?"
"Not unless you're baptized with holy water. The priest does it."
The leaven had begun to work.
"What did your mama say about asking Santa Claus to come?" Virginia
inquired, with a quick glance toward the beads.
Hannah shook her head, speechless. She compressed her lips into a
tight line with an effort at self-control, but two large tears rolled down
her cheeks and splashed on her scarlet coat. Again Virginia placed an
arm protectingly across Hannah's shoulder.
Nellie's bright blue eyes grew soft with pity. "I tell you what," she
exclaimed. "I'll baptize Hannah, then she'll be a Gentile, and Santa
Claus will come, no matter what. And when your mama sees how nice
it is, she won't care."
"But, you said a priest has to baptize anybody," objected Virginia.
"He does 'less it's a time of danger and you can't get any priest.