It
was the magic moment when buttons ceased to exist and tinsel crowns
became a reality.
The hall was dark and very cold, and the snow drifting in made a white
patch on the threshold. Nance, steadying her crown against the icy
draught, lifted her head suddenly and listened. From the room on the
opposite side of the hall came a woman's frightened cry, followed by the
sound of breaking furniture. The next instant the door was flung open,
and Mrs. Smelts, with her baby in her arms, rushed forth. Close behind
her rolled Mr. Smelts, his shifted ballast of Christmas cheer threatening
each moment to capsize him.
"I'll learn ye to stop puttin' cures in my coffee!" he bellowed.
"Spoilin' me taste fer liquor, are ye? I'll learn ye!"
"I never meant no harm, Jim," quailed Mrs. Smelts, cowering in the corner
with one arm upraised to shield the baby. "I seen the ad in the paper. It
claimed to be a whisky-cure. Don't hit me, Jim--don't--" But before she
could finish, Mr. Smelts had struck her full in the face with a brutal
fist and had raised his arm to strike again. But the blow never fell.
The quick blood that had made Phil Molloy one of the heroes of Chickasaw
Bluffs rose in the veins of his small granddaughter, and she suddenly saw
red. Had Jim Smelts been twice the size he was, she would have sprung at
him just the same and rained blow after stinging blow upon his befuddled
head with her slender fairy wand.
"Git up the steps!" she shrieked to Mrs.
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