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<h3>CHAPTER XXVI</h3> <h4>A PADLOCKED DOOR</h4> Mr. Huntington's lawyers assured Mr. Fairchild, who had written to find out more definitely about the settling of Mr. Huntington's estate, that there was practically no doubt that Jeannette Huntington Duval, being her mother's sole heir, would inherit half of her grandfather's large fortune, safely invested in a long list of things, as soon as certain formalities had been observed. Further search had revealed no trace of the lost document. Undoubtedly Mr. Huntington had destroyed it. Perhaps, if Jeanne had known that Aunt Agatha was all but tearing the old house to pieces in hopes of finding a certain very valuable document, she might have remembered that unusual day in March, when she had helped her grandfather "clean house" in his safe. But, happily for her peace of mind, she knew too little of legal matters to connect the burned "trash" with the fact that, somehow or other, half of the Huntington fortune was hers. No one happened to mention any missing document. Mr. Fairchild, however, was still keeping the secret of Jeanne's possible fortune from everybody but his wife. He was cautious and wanted to be absolutely certain. "I shall burst," declared Mrs. Fairchild, earnestly, "if I have to keep it much longer. Think of breaking good news to Jeanne—she's had so little." One day, Mrs. Fairchild went alone to pay a visit to Old Captain. She returned fairly beaming. "I invited him to our Christmas tree," said she. "He's willing to be Santa Claus. Barney's coming too." Three days before Christmas, Jeanne obeyed a sudden impulse to call on Old Captain. She had purchased a pipe for Barney and wanted to be sure that it was just exactly right. Old Captain would know. It was Saturday. Old Captain would surely be home, tidying his freight car and heating water for his weekly shave. But where was Old Captain? The door of the box-car was locked. Such a thing had never happened before. Locked from the outside, too. There was a brand-new padlock. "I guess he's doing his Christmas shopping," said Jeanne. "Or perhaps he's done it and is afraid somebody'll steal my present. I wonder if it's a pink parasol, or some pink silk stockings. Dear Old Captain! He thinks pink is my color, and the pinker it is the better he likes it. I do believe I'll buy him a pink necktie. But no, he'd wear it. Besides, I have that nice muffler for him. Well, it's pretty cold around here and I'd hate to freeze to this bench, and there's no knowing when he'll get back. Maybe Mr. Fairchild knows about pipes." So Jeanne trudged homeward, but not, you may be sure, without a searching glance at the beach, where the dream-chest should have been—but wasn't. "We're going to have our tree Christmas eve," said Mrs. Fairchild, that evening, when the family sat before the cheerful grate fire that Jeanne considered much pleasanter than a gas log. "But we won't take anything off the tree itself until Christmas night. On Christmas eve we'll open just the bundles we find under the tree. That'll make our Christmas last twice as long. Oh, I'm so excited! Jeanne, you aren't half as young as I am. Roger, you stolid boy, you sedate old gentleman, why don't you get up more enthusiasm?" "I always get all the things I want and then some," said Roger, lazily, "so why worry?" "You're a spoiled child," laughed Jeanne. Mr. Fairchild, however, seemed to wear an air of pleased expectancy, quite different from Roger's calmness. "Having a daughter to liven things up," said Mr. Fairchild, "is a new experience for us. You can see how well it agrees with us both. I hope, Jeanne, you're giving me a pipe just like Barney's—nobody ever gave me one like that." "I'm awfully sorry," said Jeanne, "but I haven't the price. That pipe cost sixty-nine cents, and I haven't that much in all the world. You'll have to wait till my kindergarten salary begins." Mr. Fairchild looked at his wife, touched his breast pocket where a paper rustled, threw back his head, and roared. "How perfectly delicious!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairchild. Then her merry laugh rang out. "What is the joke?" asked Jeanne. "Can you see it, Roger?" "No, I can't—they're just havin' fun with us. But, if eleven cents would help you any—" Roger's clothes fitted so snugly that it was rather a difficult task to extract the eleven pennies from his pocket; but he fished them out, one by one. "There, as your Captain would say, 'Them's yourn.' I hope you won't be reckless with 'em because they're all I've got—except a quarter. You can't have that." "Why!" said Jeanne, who had been counting on her fingers, "this makes just enough. I had fifty-eight cents. I wonder what Uncle Charles would have done if I'd bought him a pipe. He always smoked cigarettes—a smelly kind that I didn't like. I wouldn't have dared. He'd have been polite, but he would have looked at the pipe as if—as if it were a snail in his coffee!" "Oh, Jeanne!" protested Mrs. Fairchild. "What a horrid thought!" "Isn't it? Now when can I buy that other pipe? Not tomorrow, because of that school entertainment. That'll last until dark. Not the next day morning—-" "Very late the day before Christmas," decided Mrs. Fairchild, quickly, "I'll take you downtown in the car. Then you can take your parcels to Bessie and Lucy and invite them to the Christmas night part of the tree, while I'm doing a few errands. Remember, Christmas night, not Christmas eve." When the time came to do this final shopping, Jeanne was left alone to select the pipe and to go on foot, first to Lucy's, then to Bessie's. Mrs. Fairchild was to call for her at Bessie's. "I may be late," said she, "but no matter how long it is, I want you to wait for the car. It'll be dark by that time—the days are so short. You telephoned Bessie that you were coming?" "Yes, she'll surely be home." "Then that's all right. Be sure to wait for the car. Good-by, dear. Have a good time." Jeanne paused for a moment to gaze thoughtfully after the departing lady. "She looks nice, she sounds nice, and she is nice," said Jeanne. "I suppose Aunt Agatha had to stay the way she was made, but as long as there's so much of her, it seems a pity they left out such a lot. Perhaps they make folks the way they do plum puddings and don't always get the fruit in even. Maybe they forgot Aunt Agatha's raisins and most of the sugar and put extra ones in Mrs. Fairchild. Maybe I ought to try to like Aunt Agatha better—I'm glad I made her a needle-book, anyway, if it happens that she isn't to blame for not having any raisins. But it's nice not to have to try to like Mrs. Fairchild. I'd have to try not to." The shops were very Christmas-y and all the shoppers seemed excited and happy and busy. There were parcels under all the arms or else there were baskets filled with Christmas dinners. Jeanne loved it all—the Christmas feel in the air, the Christmas shine in the faces. Unconsciously, she loitered along the busy street after the pipe was purchased, thinking all sorts of quaint thoughts. "If my father and my grandfather are in the same part of heaven," said she, "I'm sure they must be friends by now, because they both loved me—and my mother. They'd have lots of things to talk about. Perhaps they can see me now. Perhaps they're glad that my heart is full of Christmas. I know they must be thankful for Mrs. Fairchild. But if Mollie can see her children— Oh, I hope Mrs. Fairchild got their box off in time. And I do hope that new aunt has some Christmas in her heart. All these people with bundles are just shining with Christmas." Jeanne, of course, was far from suspecting that her own bright little face was so radiant with the holiday spirit that many a person paused for a second glance. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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