Grandfathers Love Pie | Page 6

Miriam Gaines
as the child
departed from the kitchen, but a feeling of sadness came to the faithful
old soul as she recalled the festivities of the year before, when
Christmas dinner had been prepared for the whole family of children
and grandchildren, and the thought of how the dear head of the family
had enjoyed that occasion brought tears to her eyes.
* * * * *
Such conversations were being held every day, and the days were
passing, too, with astonishing rapidity, just as they always do when one
is deeply interested in some absorbing project.
Aunt Alice had been receiving, daily, numerous letters--several
containing checks--and little Alsie's correspondence had suddenly
grown to enormous proportions.

Uncle Dick came in one evening, and slipping a gold piece into his
sister's hand remarked, "I can't think of a thing for that pie, Alice. I'm
sorry to be so stupid, but I'll have to ask you to take this and see what
your clever brain can do with it."
"O, Dick, it will make a grand 'plum' for the pie. I'll put it in, just in this
form, for I want all the money entrusted to me, as agent, to go toward
providing for father, comforts and luxuries, such as we might not be
able to afford under ordinary circumstances. And yet, it's almost
impossible to know exactly how to spend it just now," replied Alice.
After a little pause she added, "I believe I'll just put the gold pieces and
checks into a little box and label it, 'Fruit for the Pie.' My biggest check
may truly be termed a peach, and I can convert one or two others into
plums and raisins."
"I think I know of several plums that will be forthcoming if that's your
idea, sis--it's a capital one, too," answered Dick. "I confess I'm getting
quite interested in the contents myself, and two or three times I've come
near asking about the progress of the pie, before mother, forgetting that
she's to share in the great surprise."
"O, Dick, do be careful, for we have arranged it all so nicely, and in
another week we'll be making up that pie, so don't spoil our plans now,
for how much more father will enjoy it if his dear little 'wifey' shares
the pleasure also. And, by the way, Dick, that reminds me of something
that must go in for mother. A few days ago, when I was sitting with
father, he directed me to get a trifling gift for mother, but with his
old-time humor he said, 'I believe the most acceptable gift that I could
make Wifey would be all the receipts of the bills that have come in, for
the little woman has worried considerably over the number and
amounts. I got in a pretty good check several days ago, but I'll not give
any gifts this year--the money must go to pay these extra expenses that
have been inevitable. I wish you'd see to it that Wifey has as big a
bunch as possible of receipted bills. It's the best I can do this year, and
you all understand.'"
"Wasn't it dear of him, Dick, and who but father would have thought of
making a joke of something, which might seem to some, only a trying

duty?"
"It just shows us again the sort of manly man father has always been;
but Alice, I had an idea that it would be a nice thing to take that little
poem father wrote to mother last Christmas--the one he presented with
his gift--and have an illuminated copy made of it for mother's gift this
Christmas. It pleased her so much at the time, and, in this form, it could
be framed prettily and hung over her bed. You remember the lines--I
have them in my pocket now."
He unfolded the sheet of paper, and handed it to Alice, who read aloud:
MY BEST CHRISTMAS GIFT.
Some two score years, and more ago, A father gave his child away: It
was a Christmas gift, you know, Because 'twas done on Christmas Day.
That little maid was given to me; I took her then for weal or woe. The
years have passed so happily It does not seem so long ago.
No other gift in any year Has e'er excelled, or equaled this; The others
evanescent were While this has shed perennial bliss.
For it has multiplied with time And added blessings, year by year; She
came to me in youthful prime And still remains, though in the sere.
Her children, and their children, too, In number, just about a score,-- I
count, as blessings, to her due: May God repeat His gift once more.
My little wifey, always dear, When Christmas comes, I think back then
And greet you with increasing
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