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    Sonny, a Christmas Guest
    Sonny, a Christmas Guest
    Sonny, a Christmas Guest
    Ebook136 pages1 hour

    Sonny, a Christmas Guest

    By Fanny Y. Cory and Ruth McEnery Stuart

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    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateJun 1, 2004
    Sonny, a Christmas Guest

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      Book preview

      Sonny, a Christmas Guest - Fanny Y. Cory

      Project Gutenberg's Sonny, A Christmas Guest, by Ruth McEnery Stuart

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: Sonny, A Christmas Guest

      Author: Ruth McEnery Stuart

      Release Date: February 14, 2004 [EBook #11084]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNY, A CHRISTMAS GUEST ***

      Produced by Suzanne Shell, David Garcia and the Online Distributed

      Proofreading Team.

      SONNY

      A CHRISTMAS GUEST

      BY RUTH McENERY STUART

      WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY FANNY Y. CORY

      1911

      TO MY SON

      STIRLING McENERY STUART

      'I reckon the thing sort o' got started last summer.'

      CONTENTS

      A Christmas Guest

      The Boy

      Sonny's Christenin'

      Sonny's Schoolin'

      Sonny's Diploma

      Sonny Keepin' Company

      Weddin' Presents

      LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

      I reckon the thing sort o' got started last summer.

      "Seem to me he favors her a little thess aroun' the mouth."

      Quick ez he see the clock, he come thoo.

      "She does make 'im so contented an' happy."

      Name this child.

      An' then Sonny, seein' it all over, he come down.

      He was watchin' a bird-nest on the way to that school.

      He had been playin' out o' doors bare-feeted.

      Any question he missed was to be passed on to them thet had been grad'jatin' so fast.

      'This orange is the Earth, an' this here apple is the Sun.'

      What could be sweeter 'n little Mary Elizabeth?

      When I set here by myself on this po'ch so much these days an' think.

      Seem like a person don't no mo' 'n realize he's a descendant befo' he's a' ancestor.

      SONNY

      A CHRISTMAS GUEST

      A boy, you say, doctor? An' she don't know it yet? Then what 're you tellin' me for? No, sir—take it away. I don't want to lay my eyes on it till she's saw it—not if I am its father. She's its mother, I reckon!

      Better lay it down somew'eres an' go to her—not there on the rockin'-cheer, for somebody to set on—'n' not on the trunk, please. That ain't none o' yo' ord'nary new-born bundles, to be dumped on a box that'll maybe be opened sudden d'rec'ly for somethin' needed, an' be dropped ag'in' the wall-paper behind it.

      It's hers, whether she knows it or not. Don't, for gracious sakes, lay 'im on the table! Anybody knows that's bad luck.

      You think it might bother her on the bed? She's that bad? An' they ain't no fire kindled in the settin'-room, to lay it in there.

      S-i-r? Well, yas, I—I reck'n I'll haf to hold it, ef you say so—that is—of co'se—

      Wait, doctor! Don't let go of it yet! Lordy! but I'm thess shore to drop it! Lemme set down first, doctor, here by the fire an' git het th'ugh. Not yet! My ol' shin-bones stan' up thess like a pair o' dog-irons. Lemme bridge 'em over first 'th somethin' soft. That'll do. She patched that quilt herself. Hold on a minute, 'tel I git the aidges of it under my ol' boots, to keep it f'om saggin' down in the middle.

      There, now! Merciful goodness, but I never! I'd rather trus' myself with a whole playin' fountain in blowed glass'n sech ez this.

      Stoop down there, doctor, please, sir, an' shove the end o' this quilt a leetle further under my foot, won't you? Ef it was to let up sudden, I wouldn't have no more lap 'n what any other fool man's got.

      'N' now—you go to her.

      I'd feel a heap safeter ef this quilt was nailed to the flo' on each side o'my legs. They're trimblin' so I dunno what minute my feet'll let go their holt.

      An' she don't know it yet! An' he layin' here, dressed up in all the little clo'es she sewed! She mus' be purty bad. I dunno, though; maybe that's gen'ally the way.

      They're keepin' mighty still in that room. Blessed ef I don't begin to feel 'is warmth in my ol' knee-bones! An' he's a-breathin' thess ez reg'lar ez that clock, on'y quicker. Lordy! An' she don't know it yet! An' he a boy! He taken that after the Joneses; we've all been boys in our male branch. When that name strikes, seem like it comes to stay. Now for a girl—

      Wonder if he ain't covered up mos' too close-t. Seem like he snuffles purty loud—for a beginner.

      Doctor! oh, doctor! I say, doctor!

      Strange he don't hear—'n' I don't like to holler no louder. Wonder ef she could be worse? Ef I could thess reach somethin' to knock with! I daresn't lif' my foot, less'n the whole business'd fall through.

      Oh, doc'! Here he comes now—Doctor, I say, don't you think maybe he's covered up too—

      How's she, doctor? Thess the same, you say? 'n' she don't know yet—about him? In a couple o' hours, you say? Well, don't lemme keep you, doctor. But, tell me, don't you think maybe he's covered up a leetle too close-t?

      That's better. An' now I've saw him befo' she did! An' I didn't want to, neither.

      Poor leetle, teenchy, weenchy bit of a thing! Ef he ain't the very littlest! Lordy, Lordy, Lordy! But I s'pose all thet's needed in a baby is a startin'-p'int big enough to hol' the fam'ly ch'racteristics. I s'pose maybe he is, but the po' little thing mus' feel sort o' scrouged with 'em, ef he's got 'em all—the Joneses' an' the Simses'. Seem to me he favors her a little thess aroun' the mouth.

      An' she don't know it yet!

      'Seem to me he favors her a little thess aroun' the mouth.'

      Lord! But my legs ache like ez if they was bein' wrenched off. I've got 'em on sech a strain, somehow. An' he on'y a half hour ol', an' two hours mo' 'fo' I can budge! Lord, Lord! how will I stand it!

      God bless 'im! Doc! He's a-sneezin'! Come quick! Shore ez I'm here, he snez twice-t!

      Don't you reckon you better pile some mo' wood on the fire an'—

      What's that you say? Fetch 'im along? An' has she ast for 'im? Bless the Lord! I say. But a couple of you 'll have to come help me loosen up 'fo' I can stir, doctor.

      Here, you stan' on that side the quilt, whiles I stir my foot to the flo' where it won't slip—an' Dicey—where's that nigger Dicey? You Dicey, come on here, an' tromp on the other side o' this bedquilt till I h'ist yo' young marster up on to my shoulder.

      No, you don't take 'im, neither. I'll tote 'im myself.

      Now, go fetch a piller till I lay 'im on it. That's it. And now git me somethin' stiff to lay the piller on. There! That lapboa'd 'll do. Why didn't I think about that befo'? It's a heap safeter 'n my ole knee-j'ints. Now, I've got 'im secure. Wait, doctor—hold on! I'm afeered you 'll haf to ca'y 'im in to her, after all. I'll cry ef I do it. I'm trimblin' like ez ef I had a'ager, thess a-startin' in with 'im—an seein' me give way might make her nervious. You take 'im to her, and lemme come in sort o' unconcerned terreckly, after she an' him've kind o' got acquainted. Dast you hold 'im that-a-way, doctor, 'thout no support to 'is spinal colume? I s'pose he is too sof' to snap, but I wouldn't resk it. Reckon I can slip in the other do' where she won't see me, an' view the meetin'.

      Yas; I 'm right here, honey! (The idea o' her a-callin' for me—an' him in 'er arms!) I 'm right here, honey—mother! Don't min' me a-cryin'! I'm all broke up, somehow; but don't you fret. I 'm right here by yo' side on my knees, in pure thankfulness.

      Bless His name, I say! You know he's a boy, don't yer? I been a holdin' 'im all day—'t least ever sence they dressed 'im, purty nigh a' hour ago. An' he's slep'—an' waked up—an' yawned—an' snez—an' wunk—an' sniffed—'thout me sayin' a word. Opened an' shet his little fist, once-t,

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