Free Indigo Christmas by Jeanne Dams

the man who died in the barn fire last month?”
    Tom and George looked blank, but Ed spoke up. “My papa read about it in the paper. He said he’d heard of the man who died, and he was nothin’ but a common drunkard, and then Mama told him to hush up ’cause I was around and I ain’t supposed to know about things like gettin’ drunk. That’s how come I remember, ’cause they had an argument about it and made me leave the room and I went in the pantry and ate up the rest of the chocolate cake and had a belly-ache all night.”
    The boy patted that portion of his anatomy, which was somewhat prominent, and Tom said, “Musta been an awful lot of cake. I never knew anybody could eat as much as you.”
    â€œAh. That is interesting,” said Hilda. “Not the cake, I mean, or your stomach-ache, but that the man drank too much. How did your father know that?”
    Ed shrugged. “Dunno. Guess he heard talk somewheres. Don’t drink himself; Mama’s real strict Temperance, and Papa mostly goes along with what Mama wants.”
    Hilda pondered that. “Drunkard,” to a Temperance household, might mean that the man took an occasional drink, or that he was regularly to be found in the gutter. “Hmm. And have none of the rest of you heard anything?”
    They all shook their heads. “Say, Hilda, why do you want to know?” asked Erik. “There’s nothin’ int’resting about some man gettin’ drunk and settin’ a barn on fire.”
    She hesitated, looking the boys over. She liked what she saw. There was intelligence in those faces, and honesty. Mischief, too, of course. She had no use for a boy with no spark of mischief. Erik had more than his share, perhaps, but the trouble he got into was never malicious. She leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret?” she whispered.
    All four nodded solemnly.
    â€œThe police are not sure that the man died accidentally. They think perhaps he was killed, and I want to try to find out the truth.”
    George slapped his knee in sudden comprehension. “You’re that one! The woman who goes around finding out things! But I thought you were a servant.” Then he looked abashed. “I’m sorry, miss—ma’am. I musta been wrong.”
    Hilda smiled. “No, you were right. I was a servant. I worked for the Studebakers. But now my life is different, and it is maybe harder for me to ‘go around finding out things.’ That is why I need your help, but you must not say a word about it to anyone. You must promise.”
    â€œBut miss—ma’am—how are we going to help if we can’t talk to people about it?” asked George.
    â€œYou will keep your eyes and ears open, especially your ears. If you see or hear anything you think I should know, tell Erik—in private—and he will tell me. But you must say nothing, nothing—do you understand? We do not know who might be a wicked person involved in this man’s death, and you could be in danger if someone thinks you are curious. Will you promise me?”
    They all promised earnestly, and sealed the bargain with enormous chocolate sundaes at the Philadelphia.

Two big corporations operating in South Bend
have made presentations to the South Bend Fire
Department as a mark of recognition for
efficient services rendered at recent fires.
    â€”South Bend Tribune
    December 1904
    Â 
    Â 
    9
    A FINE DRIZZLE WAS falling by the time Hilda took the boys back to school. She was indeed late for lunch, but Patrick was still there, enjoying a pipe in front of the parlor fire. Aunt Molly had kept food hot for her, so Hilda brought a tray and joined her husband. “Now, Patrick,” she demanded after she had taken a sip of excellent soup, “tell me what you have learned this morning.”
    â€œFor one thing,” he said, jerking his head toward the ceiling, “there’s