The Little Mixer | Page 6

asleep.
Nellie's in bed like a little angel, bless 'er heart, but them divilish b'ys
do be a-snoopin' into ivery crack 'n' corner!"
Mrs. Joseph unlocked a closet under the stairs, and loaded Bridget's
arm's with heavy and bulky parcels.
"Shure, an' 'tis a sad Chris'mus we'll be havin', savin' the childer. Mr.
Timmy, him that's old Missis Halloran's youngest, but old enough to
know better, he ups an' runs away to-day an' marries a Protestant gir-rl.
An' if ye'll open y'r windy the bit av a crack, ye'll hear the poor old lady
this minit, wailin' like a banshee."
"But Mr. Timothy is such a nice young man, he must have married a
lovely girl, Bridget," said Rose.
"Shure, an' that may be, but she is a Protestant, Missis Joseph. She runs
away fr'm her folks, an' he runs away fr'm his, an' they get married by a
justice o' peace. An' no peace will come o' such doin', Lord 've mercy
on their souls!"
"Oh, poor Grandma Halloran!"
"Poor lovers," said Eli, when Bridget had gone. "I'll wager they had the
very deuce of a time with both sides."
No sooner had they settled themselves again than the door knocker

sounded. Eli admitted Mr. Jackson, the Christian Science practitioner.
"I have only a minute," he said. "I just dropped by to leave a doll my
wife dressed for your little girl. We chose one that we thought looked
like Hannah."
"Oh, but that is kind of you!" Rose looked her gratitude. "Mrs.
Lawrence has told me how busy both you and your wife always
are--and to take time to think of our little girl----!"
"I had intended to give it to her myself," Mr. Jackson continued, "but
after her talk with me to-day I decided she would enjoy it more if I
asked Santa Claus to bring it." His eyes twinkled reminiscently. "She
called me up by telephone and asked me to give Santa Claus a
treatment--she seemed to think that he would pass her by. I could
assure her that he wouldn't, as I had already seen the doll. Hannah is a
wonderful child."
"We think so," smiled Eli. "I am sure we thank you, and wish you the
very merriest Christmas."
"It will be a happy Christmas for me," he answered. "I am going to the
station to meet my father and mother. Some years ago they felt
estranged from me--they are both staunch Presbyterians of the old
school and it nearly broke their hearts when I went into Christian
Science work. But they are beginning to look more tolerantly upon my
calling, and they are on their way now to spend Christmas with us. You
can guess how happy that makes me. 'Peace on earth, good will to
men'--it is a wonder-working thought."
"It is indeed," Eli agreed heartily.
When the door had closed upon their visitor, Rose and Eli stood staring
at each other rather foolishly. She was the first to speak: "Is there no
end to the fight between the old and the new generation?"
"We are just beginning the scrap with our new generation," he said.
"She called him up and asked for Christian Science help! I wonder

what else that little monkey has been up to?"
They soon found out. Carrying the doll Mr. Jackson had brought, Rose
tiptoed after Eli into the nursery and gradually turned on the light. The
first object to meet their eyes was Hannah's stocking, hanging
precariously to a pin driven into the mantel. Pinned to the wall were
several messages, neatly printed in pencil, which told their own tale:
Deer Santy--Nellie babtized me. Holy wotter. Hannah.
Deer Santy--I want things in my stockin. Hannah.
Deer Santy Claws--Ime a jentile. Nellie babtize me. Ime a jentile
cath-lic C. S. Hannah.
Deer Santy--Bring me any nice things you got left. With love Hannah.
Deer Santy--Don't let my Mama and my Papa get mad bout you.
Hannah.
Eli began to chortle, and Hannah stirred in her sleep, throwing both
chubby arms over her head. Clutched tightly in her left hand they saw a
rosary of amethyst colored beads.
Rose snapped off the light and pushed Eli out into the hall. He sat down
on the stairs and laughed until he cried. "The dog-gone little mixer!" he
chuckled. "A Gentile Catholic Christian Scientist is she? And if she has
ever happened to hear anything about Mahomet, believe me, she's
sleeping with her feet toward Mecca right now!"
Rose was weeping silently over the message: "Don't let my Mama my
Papa get mad bout you." She touched her husband on the shoulder, "Eli,
what shall we do about it?"
"Do?" He stood up and set his jaw determinedly. "You spoke just now
of the fight between the old and the new generations: