n
Christmas? So I asked a woman in a navy-blue dress, seein' she flipped
around like she was the flag o' the place.

"'The south corridor,' she answers,--them's the highest payin"--Calliope
threw in, "'chipped in an' got up a tree, an' there's gifts for all,'
s'she. 'The west corridor'--them's the local city ones--'all has friends
to take 'em away for the day. The east corridor'--they're from farther
away an' middlin' well-to-do--'all has boxes comin' to 'em from off. But
the north corridor,' s'she, scowlin' some, 'is rather a trial to us.'

"An' I was waitin' for that. The north corridor is all charity old
ladies, paid for out o' the fund; an' the president o' the home has just
died, an' the secretary's in the old country on a pleasure trip, an' the
board's in a row over the policy o' the home, an' the navy-blue matron
dassent act, an' altogether it looked like the north corridor was goin'
to get a regular mid-week Wednesday instead of a Christmas. An' I up an'
ast' her to take me down to see 'em."

It was easy to see what Calliope had done, I thought: she had promised
to spend Christmas Eve over there in the north corridor, reading aloud.

"They was nine of 'em," she went on, "nice old grandma ladies, with
hands that looked like they'd ought to 'a' been tyin' little aprons an'
cuttin' out cookies an' squeezin' somebody else's hand. There they set,
with the wall-paper doin' its cheerfulest, loud as an insult,--one of
'em with lots o' white hair, one of 'em singin' a little, some of 'em
tryin' to sew or knit some. My land!" said Calliope, "when we think of
'em sittin' up an' down the world--with their arms all empty--an'
Christmas comin' on--ain't it a wonder--Well, I stayed 'round an' talked
to 'em," she went on, "while the navy-blue lady whisked her starched
skirts some. She seemed too busy 'tendin' to 'em to give 'em much
attention. An' they looked rill pleased when I talked to 'em about their
patchwork an' knittin', an' did they get the sun all day, an' didn't the
canary sort o' shave somethin' off'n the human ear-drum, on his tiptop
notes? An' when I said that, Grandma Holly--her with lots o' white
hair--says:--

"'I donno but it does,' she says, 'but I don't mind; I'm so thankful to
see somethin' around that's _little an' young_.'

"That sort o' landed in my heart. It's just what I'd been thinkin' about
'em.

"'Little, young things,' s'I, sort o' careless, 'make a lot o' racket,
you know.'

"At that old