Uncle Richard's New Year's Dinner by Lucy
Prissy Baker was in Oscar Miller's store New Year's morning, buying
matches—for New Year's was not kept as a business holiday in
Quincy—when her uncle, Richard Baker, came in. He did not look at
Prissy, nor did she wish him a happy New Year; she would not have
dared. Uncle Richard had not been on speaking terms with her or her
father, his only brother, for eight years.
He was a big, ruddy, prosperous-looking man—an uncle to be proud of,
Prissy thought wistfully, if only he were like other people's uncles,
or, indeed, like what he used to be himself. He was the only uncle
Prissy had, and when she had been a little girl they had been great
friends; but that was before the quarrel, in which Prissy had had no
share, to be sure, although Uncle Richard seemed to include her in his
Richard Baker, so he informed Mr. Miller, was on his way to Navarre
with a load of pork.
"I didn't intend going over until the afternoon," he said, "but Joe
Hemming sent word yesterday he wouldn't be buying pork after twelve
today. So I have to tote my hogs over at once. I don't care about
doing business New Year's morning."
"Should think New Year's would be pretty much the same as any other
day to you," said Mr. Miller, for Richard Baker was a bachelor, with
only old Mrs. Janeway to keep house for him.
"Well, I always like a good dinner on New Year's," said Richard Baker.
"It's about the only way I can celebrate. Mrs. Janeway wanted to spend
the day with her son's family over at Oriental, so I was laying out to
cook my own dinner. I got everything ready in the pantry last night,
'fore I got word about the pork. I won't get back from Navarre before
one o'clock, so I reckon I'll have to put up with a cold bite."
After her Uncle Richard had driven away, Prissy walked thoughtfully
home. She had planned to spend a nice, lazy holiday with the new book
her father had given her at Christmas and a box of candy. She did not
even mean to cook a dinner, for her father had had to go to town that
morning to meet a friend and would be gone the whole day. There was
nobody else to cook dinner for. Prissy's mother had died when Prissy
was a baby. She was her father's housekeeper, and they had jolly times
But as she walked home, she could not help thinking about Uncle
Richard. He would certainly have cold New Year cheer, enough to chill
the whole coming year. She felt sorry for him, picturing him returning
from Navarre, cold and hungry, to find a fireless house and an
uncooked dinner in the pantry.
Suddenly an idea popped into Prissy's head. Dared she? Oh, she never
could! But he would never know—there would be plenty of time—she
Prissy hurried home, put her matches away, took a regretful peep at
her unopened book, then locked the door and started up the road to
Uncle Richard's house half a mile away. She meant to go and cook Uncle
Richard's dinner for him, get it all beautifully ready, then slip away
before he came home. He would never suspect her of it. Prissy would
not have him suspect for the world; she thought he would be more
likely to throw a dinner of her cooking out of doors than to eat it.
Eight years before this, when Prissy had been nine years old, Richard
and Irving Baker had quarrelled over the division of a piece of
property. The fault had been mainly on Richard's side, and that very
fact made him all the more unrelenting and stubborn. He had never
spoken to his brother since, and he declared he never would. Prissy
and her father felt very badly over it, but Uncle Richard did not seem
to feel badly at all. To all appearance he had completely forgotten
that there were such people in the world as his brother Irving and his
Prissy had no trouble in breaking into Uncle Richard's house, for the
woodshed door was unfastened. She tripped into the hostile kitchen
with rosy cheeks and mischief sparkling in her eyes. This was an
adventure—this was fun! She would tell her father all about it when
he came home at night and what a laugh they would have!
There was still a good fire in the stove, and in the pantry Prissy
found the dinner in its raw state—a fine roast of fresh pork,
potatoes, cabbage, turnips and the ingredients of a raisin pudding,
for Richard Baker was fond of raisin puddings, and could make them as
well as Mrs. Janeway could, if that was anything to boast of.
In a short time the kitchen was full of bubbling and hissings and
appetizing odours. Prissy enjoyed herself hugely, and the raisin
pudding, which she rather doubtfully mixed up, behaved itself
"Uncle Richard said he'd be home by one," said Prissy to herself, as
the clock struck twelve, "so I'll set the table now, dish up the
dinner, and leave it where it will keep warm until he gets here. Then
I'll slip away home. I'd like to see his face when he steps in. I
suppose he'll think one of the Jenner girls across the street has
cooked his dinner."
Prissy soon had the table set, and she was just peppering the turnips
when a gruff voice behind her said:
"Well, well, what does this mean?"
Prissy whirled around as if she had been shot, and there stood Uncle
Richard in the woodshed door!
Poor Prissy! She could not have looked or felt more guilty if Uncle
Richard had caught her robbing his desk. She did not drop the turnips
for a wonder; but she was too confused to set them down, so she stood
there holding them, her face crimson, her heart thumping, and a
horrible choking in her throat.
"I—I—came up to cook your dinner for you, Uncle Richard," she
stammered. "I heard you say—in the store—that Mrs. Janeway had gone
home and that you had nobody to cook your New Year's dinner for you.
So I thought I'd come and do it, but I meant to slip away before you
Poor Prissy felt that she would never get to the end of her
explanation. Would Uncle Richard be angry? Would he order her from the
"It was very kind of you," said Uncle Richard drily. "It's a wonder
your father let you come."
"Father was not home, but I am sure he would not have prevented me if
he had been. Father has no hard feelings against you, Uncle Richard."
"Humph!" said Uncle Richard. "Well, since you've cooked the dinner you
must stop and help me eat it. It smells good, I must say. Mrs. Janeway
always burns pork when she roasts it. Sit down, Prissy. I'm hungry."
They sat down. Prissy felt quite giddy and breathless, and could
hardly eat for excitement; but Uncle Richard had evidently brought
home a good appetite from Navarre, and he did full justice to his New
Year's dinner. He talked to Prissy too, quite kindly and politely, and
when the meal was over he said slowly:
"I'm much obliged to you, Prissy, and I don't mind owning to you that
I'm sorry for my share in the quarrel, and have wanted for a long time
to be friends with your father again, but I was too ashamed and proud
to make the first advance. You can tell him so for me, if you like.
And if he's willing to let bygones be bygones, tell him I'd like him
to come up here with you tonight when he gets home and spend the
evening with me."
"Oh, he will come, I know!" cried Prissy joyfully. "He has felt so
badly about not being friendly with you, Uncle Richard. I'm as glad as
Prissy ran impulsively around the table and kissed Uncle Richard. He
looked up at his tall, girlish niece with a smile of pleasure.
"You're a good girl, Prissy, and a kind-hearted one too, or you'd
never have come up here to cook a dinner for a crabbed old uncle who
deserved to eat cold dinners for his stubbornness. It made me cross
today when folks wished me a happy New Year. It seemed like mockery
when I hadn't a soul belonging to me to make it happy. But it has
brought me happiness already, and I believe it will be a happy year
all the way through."
"Indeed it will!" laughed Prissy. "I'm so happy now I could sing. I
believe it was an inspiration—my idea of coming up here to cook your
dinner for you."
"You must promise to come and cook my New Year's dinner for me every
New Year we live near enough together," said Uncle Richard.
And Prissy promised.