He didn't like it. And I didn't either! He gave a shrill
yip, jumped up, and came rushing up on the stage, barking at me
like a big dog baying at a coon.
The more he barked, the louder everybody laughed and clapped
their hands. Finally Aunt Vic called Ginger, and Papa came and
got me.
Papa started smoothing out the leaves of my dress. I didn't
care about the dress any more! I grabbed him around the knees,
begged him to sit down and take me up in his lap.
"No, no, Bandershanks! You go on and finish what Aunt Vic
wants you to do. Pass the hat and then let her pin on the little
presents. You're a walking Christmas tree! Remember? And trees
don't cry! Now, scoot!"
I scooted! From one side of the church to the other, I ran
back and forth in front of each bench. And every person I passed
dropped money into Papa's ragged old hat: pennies, or one or two
nickels, or a dime, or two bits. By the time I came to the back
pews, the bottom of the hat was sagging down. As Uncle Dan and
the other men started tossing in four-bit pieces, it got heavier
and heavier.
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