My sorrow went away.
We all ran back to the Blinded Lady to thank her for our Beautiful Party. And for the prizes.
My Father made a speech to the Blinded Lady.
"But after all, my dear Madam," he said, "I am afraid you have been cheated!-It was 'new' pictures that you wanted, not old ones!"
The Blinded Lady whacked at him with her cane. She was awful mad.
"How do you know what I want?" she said. "How do you know what I want?"
My Father and my Mother looked at each other. They made little laughs with their eyes.
The Blinded Lady smoothed herself.
"But I certainly am flabbergasted," she said, "about the Old Tom Cat! Whatever in the world made the Young Lassie choose the old battle-scarred Tom?"
Rosalee looked at Carol. Carol looked at me. I looked at the Old Tom.
"Maybe she chose him for-for his historicalness," said my Mother.
"--Maybe," said my Father.
We started for the door. We got as far as the Garden. I remembered something suddenly. I clapped my hands. I laughed right out! "No! She didn't either!" I said. "She chose him for Carol's Ar-Rena-I bet'cher! Carol's going to have him for a Cham-peen! We'll fight him every afternoon! Maybe there'll be tickets!"
"Tickets?" said my Father.
"Oh my dears," said my Mother. "A cat-fight is a dreadful thing!"
My Father looked at the Old Tom! At his battered ears! At his scarred nose! At his twisted eye! The Old Tom looked at my Father! They both smiled!
"Infamous!" said my Father. "How much will the tickets be?"
We went home. We went home through the fields instead of through the village.
Carol held the Peacock Feather Fan as though he was afraid it would bite him.
Rosalee carried the Old Tom as though she knew it would bite her.
When we got to the Willow Tree they changed prizes. It made a difference.
Rosalee carried the Peacock Feather as though it was a magic sail. She tipped it to the breeze. She pranced it. And danced it. It looked fluffy.
Carol carried the Old Tom hugged tight to his breast. The Old Tom looked very historical. Carol looked very shining and pure. He looked like a choir-boy carrying his singing book. He looked as though his voice would be very high.
My Father and Mother carried each other's hands. They laughed very softly to themselves as though they knew pleasant things that no one else knew.
My hand would have felt pretty lonely if I hadn't had the little gold pencil to carry.
I felt pretty tired. I walked pretty far behind.
I decided that when I grew up I'd be a Writer! So that no matter what happened I'd always have a gold pencil in my hand and couldn't be lonely!
THE GIFT OF THE PROBABLE PLACES
My Mother says that everybody in the world has got some special Gift. Some people have one kind and some have another.
I got my skates and dictionary-book last Spring when I was nine. I've always had my freckles.
My brother Carol's Gift is Being Dumb. No matter what anybody says to him he doesn't have to answer 'em.
There was an old man in our town named Old Man Smith.
Old Man Smith had a wonderful Gift.
It wasn't a Christmas Gift like toys and games. It wasn't a Birthday Gift all stockings and handkerchiefs.
It was the Gift of Finding Things!
He called it "The Gift of the Probable Places."
Most any time when you lost anything he could find it for you. He didn't find it by floating a few tea-leaves in a cup. Or by trying to match cards. Or by fooling with silly things like ghosts. He didn't even find it with his legs. He found it with his head. He found it by thinking very hard with his head.
People came from miles around to borrow his head. He always charged everybody just the same no matter what it was that they'd lost. One dollar was what he charged. It was just as much trouble to him he said to think about a thimble that was lost as it was to think about an elephant that was lost.-I never knew anybody who lost an elephant.
When the Post Master's Wife lost her diamond ring she hunted more than a hundred places for it! She was most distracted! She thought somebody had stolen it from her! She hunted it in all the Newspapers! She hunted it in all the stores! She hunted it all up and down the Village streets! She hunted it in the Depot carriage! She hunted it in the Hired Girl's trunk! Miles and miles and miles she must have hunted it with her hands and with her feet!
But Old Man Smith found it for her without budging an inch from his wheel-chair! Just with his head alone he found it! Just by asking her a question that made her mad he found it! The question that made her mad was about her Baptismal name.-Her Baptismal name was Mehetabelle Euphemia.
"However in the world," said Old Man Smith, "did you get such a perfectly hideous name as Mehetabelle Euphemia?"
The Post Master's wife was madder than Scat! She wrung her hands. She snapped her thumbs! She crackled her finger-joints!
"Never-Never," she said had she been "so insulted!"
"U-m-m-m-exactly what I thought," said Old Man Smith. "Now just when-if you can remember, was the last time that you felt you'd never been so insulted before?"
"Insulted?" screamed the Post Master's Wife. "Why, I haven't been so insulted as this since two weeks ago last Saturday when I was out in my back yard under the Mulberry Tree dyeing my old white dress peach-pink! And the Druggist's Wife came along and asked me if I didn't think I was just a little bit too old to be wearing peach-pink?-Me-Too Old? Me?" screamed the Post Master's Wife.
"U-m-m," said Old Man Smith. "Pink, you say? Pink?-A little powdered Cochineal, I suppose? And a bit of Cream o' Tartar? And more than a bit of Alum? It's a pretty likely combination to make the fingers slippery.-And a lady what crackles her finger-joints so every time she's mad,-and snaps her thumbs-and?-Yes! Under the Mulberry Tree is a very Probable Place!-One dollar, please!" said Old Man Smith.
And when the Grocer's Nephew got suspended from college for sitting up too late at night and getting headaches, and came to spend a month with his Uncle and couldn't find his green plaid overcoat when it was time to go home he was perfectly positive that somebody had borrowed it from the store! Or that he'd dropped it out of the delivery wagon working over-time! Or that he'd left it at the High School Social!
But Old Man Smith found it for him just by glancing at his purple socks! And his plaid necktie. And his plush waistcoat.
"Oh, yes, of course, it's perfectly possible," said Old Man Smith, "that you dropped it from the basket of a balloon on your way to a Missionary Meeting.-But have you looked in the Young Widow Gayette's back hall? 'Bout three pegs from the door?-Where the shadows are fairly private?-One dollar, please!" said Old Man Smith.
And when the Old Preacher lost the Hymn Book that George Washington had given his grandfather, everybody started to take up the floor of the church to see if it had fallen down through a crack in the pulpit!
But Old Man Smith sent a boy running to beg 'em not to tear down the church till they'd looked in the Old Lawyer's pantry,-'bout the second shelf between the ice chest and the cheese crock. Sunday evening after meeting was rather a lean time with Old Preachers he said he'd always noticed.-And Old Lawyers was noted for their fat larders.-And there were certain things about cheese somehow that seemed to be soothin' to the memory.