Chapter VIII: Where Is Neale O'neil?

Christmas Day wore away toward evening. A number of the young friends of the Corner House girls ran in to bring gifts and to wish Ruth and Agnes and Tess and Dot a Merry Christmas. Many of them, too, stayed for a moment to speak to Mrs. Eland and Miss Pepperill. The interest aroused by the recently performed play at the Opera House for the benefit of the Women's and Children's Hospital had awakened interest likewise in "the little gray lady" and her sister.

"I never was so popular before with the school children of Milton," the latter said, rather tartly. "I'd better be run down by an automobile about once a year."

"Oh, that would be dreadful!" Tess exclaimed.

"It is a shame you don't know who it was that ran you down. He could be made to pay something," Ruth remarked.

"My goodness! Get money that I hadn't earned!" cried the school teacher.

"I should say you'd earned it--and earned it mighty hard," said Mrs. MacCall, who happened to hear this.

"It wouldn't be my fortune," said Miss Pepperill, lying back wearily in her chair. "And I don't see how I can go back to those awful youngsters after New Year."

"Sh!" begged Mrs. Eland.

"Oh, my! is our Tess an awful youngster?" asked Dot, bluntly.

"She is a dear!" declared Mrs. Eland, quickly.

"Theresa is an exception," admitted Miss Pepperill. "But I certainly have some little tikes in my room."

"Oh, I know," said Dot. "Like Sammy Pinkney."

"Sammy's sick abed," Tess said, coming into the room in time to hear his name mentioned. "I went over and asked his mother about him. The doctor won't say what it is yet; but he's out of his head."

"Poor Sammy!" said Agnes. "Falling down our chimney yesterday was too much for him. He's an unfortunate little chap after all."

"Oh, my!" Dot observed, "if he is sick and dies, he'll never get to be a pirate, will he?"

"Hear that child!" murmured Miss Pepperill, eyeing Dot as though she were a strange specimen indeed.

"Don't speak so, Dottie," admonished Tess. "That would be dreadful!"

"What? Dreadful if he didn't get to be a pirate?" Agnes asked lightly.

But Tess was serious. "I don't believe Sammy Pinkney is _fit_ to die," she declared.

"For pity's sake!" exclaimed Miss Pepperill. "She talks like her grandmother. I never heard such a child as you are, Theresa. But perhaps you are right about Sammy. He's one awful trial."

"But his mother was crying," said Tess, softly.

Nobody said anything more to the tender-hearted little girl; but Dot brought her the nicest piece of "Christmas" candy in the dish--a long, curly, striped piece, and Agnes hugged her.

Ruth was worried a little about the dinner arrangements. The meal was almost ready to serve, but Neale O'Neil had not come over from Mr. Con Murphy's, where he lived.

"You were cross with him, Agnes, and he won't come back," she said accusingly to the beauty. "And Mrs. MacCall won't wait."

"Oh, he wouldn't disappoint us!" declared Agnes. "He knows we depend on him. Why, half our fun will be spoiled--"

"He evidently isn't coming to dinner."

At that moment Uncle Rufus came to announce that all was ready, and he tucked a twist of paper into Agnes' hand.

"Oh, Ruthie! look here!" the second sister said. "Read this."

The oldest Corner House girl saw it was the handwriting of their boy friend.

"'Don't worry. Santa Claus will appear according to schedule.' Oh! that is all right, then," Ruth said. "He's not coming till after we get through."

"Well! I think that's too mean of him," cried Agnes.

But Ruth was somewhat relieved. They went in to dinner, a quiet, but really happy party.

The old dining room looked lovely, and the lighted tree in the corner was a brilliant spectacle. Ruth's idea of lighting the room completely by candles proved a good one. The soft glow of the wax-lights over the ancient silver and sparkling cut-glass was attractive.

Mrs. MacCall presided, as always. The girls would not hear to her only directing the dinner from the kitchen. Aunt Sarah Maltby, in her best black silk and ivory lace, seemed to have imbibed a share of the holiday spirit, for once at least. She was quite talkative and gracious at the other end of the table.

Without Neale O'Neil, Ruth found that the table could be much better balanced. Mrs. Eland sat between Tess and Dot on one side of the long board, while Miss Pepperill's place was between the two older Corner House girls.

Uncle Rufus came in chuckling toward the close of the meal and whispered something to Ruth. Almost immediately she excused Tess and Dot to run up for their dolls. The presents were to be taken off the tree and there might be some for the Alice-doll and Tess' most treasured doll, too.

When the little folks returned something had disturbed the green boughs in the chimney-place. Dot had only begun to eye that place of mystery with growing curiosity, when there was a shaking of the branches, two mighty thumps upon the brick hearth, and pushing through the greenery came Santa Claus himself.

"Merry Christmas! And the best of iv'rything to ye!" cried the good saint jovially.

"Oh, my!" gasped Dot. "Is--is it the _really truly_ Santa Claus?"

"I don't believe that Santa is Irish," whispered Tess. "This is just in fun!" But she could not imagine, any more than did Dot, who it was behind the mask and great paunch that disguised the Santa Claus.

They all hailed him merrily, however. Even Miss Pepperill and Aunt Sarah entered into the play to a degree. Santa Claus went to the tree and they all sat along the opposite side of the cleared table, facing him. With many a quip and jest he brought the packages and presented them to those whose names were written on the wrappers. At one place quite a little pile of presents were gathered, all addressed to Neale O'Neil.

"Oh, dear me!" sighed Tess, almost overcome with joy, yet thinking of the absent one. "If Neale were only here! I do so want to see how he likes his presents."

But Neale did not come. The two little girls finally tripped up to bed with their arms full. Then the party broke up and the masquerading Santa Claus took off his paunch and false face in the kitchen.

"Shure I promised the lad I'd do it for him," said Mr. Con Murphy, accepting a piece of Agnes' cake and sitting down to enjoy it. "No, he's not mad wid yez. Shure not!"

"But why didn't he come to dinner?" demanded Agnes, quickly.

"He ain't here," said the cobbler, quietly. "He's gone away."

"Do you mean he's gone away from your house?" asked Ruth, curiously, for Agnes was too much surprised to speak.

"Shure, he's gone away from Milton entirely," said the little Irishman.

"What for?" demanded both girls together.

"Begorra! he didn't say, now," said Mr. Murphy, slowly. "Come to think of ut, he niver told me. But I knowed the letter puzzled him."

"What letter?" asked Ruth.

"He never told me he got a letter," cried Agnes, much put out.

"It was there last evening when he got home. The postman brought it jest before supper," said Mr. Murphy, reflectively. "Ye, see, Neale was over here all the evening and shure, he didn't see the letter till he come home."

"Oh!" was the chorused exclamation.

"I see he was troubled in his mind this mornin'," said the cobbler. "'What's atin' on yer mind, lad?' says I to him. But niver a wor'rd did he reply to me till afther he'd been over here and come back again. Then he came downstairs with his bist clo'es on and his bag in his hand."

"For pity's sake!" wailed Agnes, "where has he gone?"

"He didn't say," returned the old Irishman, shaking his head. "Neale can be as tight-mouthed as a clam--so he can."

"But he did not go off without saying a word to you?" cried Ruth.

"No, not so. He says: 'Con, I've gotter go. 'Tis me duty. I hate mesilf for going; but I'd hate meself worse if I didn't go.' Now! kin ye make head nor tail of that? For shure, I can't," finished the cobbler.

The two Corner House girls stared at each other. Neither of them could see into this mystery any deeper than did Mr. Con Murphy.