Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch. Alice Hegan Rice
voices in different keys and regardless of time, but with a genuine enthusiasm that was in itself a blessing. When they had sung through the three stanzas Mrs. Wiggs began the lesson.
"What did we study 'bout last Sunday?" she asked.
No response, save a smothered giggle from two of the little girls.
"Don't you all remember what the Lord give Moses up on the mountain?"
A hand went up in the corner, and an eager voice cried:
"Yas'm, I know! Lord give Moses ten tallers, an' he duveled 'em."
Before Mrs. Wiggs could enter into an argument concerning this new version of sacred history, she was hit in the eye with a paper wad. It was aimed at Billy, but when he dodged she became the victim. This caused some delay, for she had to bathe the injured member, and during the interval the Sunday-school became riotous.
"Mith Wiggs, make Tommy thop thpittin' terbaccer juice in my hat!"
"Miss Wiggs, I know who hit you!"
"Teacher, kin I git a drink?"
It was not until Mrs. Wiggs, with a stocking tied over her eye, emerged from the bedroom and again took command that order was restored.
"Where is Bethlehem?" she began, reading from an old lesson-paper.
"You kin search me!" promptly answered Chris.
She ignored his remark, and passed to the next, who said, half doubtfully:
"Ain't it in Alabama?"
"No, it's in the Holy Land," she said.
A sudden commotion arose in the back of the room. Billy, by a series of skilful manœuvers, had succeeded in removing the chair that held one of the planks, and a cascade of small, indignant girls were tobogganing sidewise down the incline. A fight was imminent, but before any further trouble occurred Mrs. Wiggs locked Billy in the bedroom, and became mistress of the situation.
"What I think you childern need is a talk about fussin' an' fightin'. There ain't no use in me teachin' what they done a thousand years ago, when you ain't got manners enough to listen at what I am sayin'. I recollect one time durin' the war, when the soldiers was layin' 'round the camp, tryin' they best to keep from freezin' to death, a preacher come 'long to hold a service. An' when he got up to preach he sez, 'Friends,' sez he, 'my tex' is Chillblains. They ain't no use a-preachin' religion to men whose whole thought is set on their feet. Now, you fellows git some soft-soap an' pour it in yer shoes, an' jes' keep them shoes on till yer feet gits well, an' the nex' time I come 'round yer minds 'll be better prepared to receive the word of the Lord.' Now, that's the way I feel 'bout this here Sunday-school. First an' fo'most, I am goin' to learn you all manners. Jes' one thought I want you to take away, an' that is, it's sinful to fuss. Ma use' to say livin' was like quiltin'—you orter keep the peace an' do 'way with the scraps. Now, what do I want you all to remember?"
"Don't fuss!" came the prompt answer.
"That's right; now we 'll sing 'Pull fer the shore.'"
When the windows had ceased to rattle from the vibrations of the lusty chorus, Mrs. Wiggs lifted her hands for silence.
"O Lord!" she prayed earnestly, "help these here childern to be good an' kind to each other, an' to their mas an' their pas. Make 'em thankful fer whatever they 've got, even if it ain't but a little. Show us all how to live like you want us to live, an' praise God from whom all blessin's flow. Amen."
As the last youngster scampered out of the yard, Mrs. Wiggs turned to the window where Jim was standing. He had taken no part in the singing, and was silent and preoccupied. "Jim," said his mother, trying to look into his face, "you never had on yer overcoat when you come in. You ain't gone an' sold it?"
"Yes," said the boy, heavily; "but 't ain't 'nough fer the rent. I got to figger it out some other way."
Mrs. Wiggs put her arm about his shoulder, and together they looked out across the dreary commons.
"Don't you worry so, Jimmy," said she. "Mebbe I kin git work to-morrow, or you 'll git a raise, or somethin'; they 'll be some way."
Little she guessed what the way was to be.
CHAPTER II
WAYS AND MEANS
"Ah! well may the children weep before you!
They are weary ere they run;
They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory
Which is brighter than the sun."
Mrs. Wiggs's untiring efforts to find employment had met with no success, and Jim's exertions were redoubled; day by day his scanty earnings became less sufficient to meet the demands of the family.
On Christmas eve they sat over the stove, after the little ones had gone to bed, and discussed the situation. The wind hurled itself against the house in a very frenzy of rage, shaking the icicles from the window-ledge and hissing through the patched panes. The snow that sifted in through the loose sash lay unmelted on the sill. Jim had a piece of old carpet about him, and coughed with almost every breath. Mrs. Wiggs's head was in her hands, and the tears that trickled through her crooked fingers hissed as they fell on the stove. It was the first time Jim had ever seen her give up.
"Seems like we 'll have to ast fer help, Jim," she said. "I can't ast fer credit at Mr. Bagby's; seems like I'd never have the courage to pull agin a debt. What do you think? I guess—it looks like mebbe we 'll have to apply to the organization."
Jim's eyes flashed. "Not yet, ma!" he said, firmly. "It 'ud be with us like it was with the Hornbys; they did n't have nothin' to eat, and they went to the organization ant the man asted 'em if they had a bed or a table, an' when they said yes, he said, 'Well, why don't you sell 'em?' No, ma! As long as we 've got coal I 'll git the vittles some way!" He had to pause, for a violent attack of coughing shook him from head to foot. "I think I can git a night job next week; one of the market-men comes in from the country ever' night to git a early start next morning an' he ast me if I'd sleep in his wagon from three to six an' keep his vegetables from bein' stole. That 'ud gimme time to git home an' git breakfast, an' be down to the fact'ry by seven."
"But, Jimmy boy," cried his mother, her voice quivering with anxiety, "you never could stan' it night an' day too! No, I 'll watch the wagon; I 'll—"
A knock on the parlor door interrupted her. She hastily dried her eyes and smoothed her hair. Jim went to the door.
"I 've a Christmas basket for you!" cried a cheery voice.
"Is this Christmas?" Jim asked dully.
The girl in the doorway laughed. She was tall and slender, but Jim could only see a pair of sparkling eyes between the brim of the hat and her high fur collar. It was nice to hear her laugh, though; it made things seem warmer somehow. The colored man behind her deposited a large basket on the doorstep.
"It's from the church," she explained; "a crowd of us are out in the omnibus distributing baskets."
"Well, how'd you ever happen to come here?" cried Mrs. Wiggs, who had come to the door.
"There is one for each of the mission-school families; just a little Christmas greeting, you know."
Mrs. Wiggs's spirits were rising every minute. "Well, that certainly is