WHAT THE OPEN WINDOW DID.
By Caroline F. Needham
The trouble began that morning over a very small matter, as usual. Tom declared that Joe had taken his mittens; Joe declared he had not; and so the quarrel began. The other children, straining their shrill voices to the highest pitch, told all they knew, or did not know, about those lost mittens; mama scolded; baby cried; and so the quarrel went on. Suddenly everybody began to shiver, “O-O-O!” for it seemed as tho rivers of ice-cold water were running down everybody’s back. “For goodness’ sake!” cried mama, who was the first to recover herself, “what are you doing, Lettie, opening that window directly on the baby’s head, and the thermometer ten degrees below zero! Are you crazy? Close it at once! Do you want us all to have pneumonia?” “No, O, no!” stammered tender-hearted little Lettie. “I didn’t think. I only thought how nice it would be if I could only let some of the crossness out of the room.” All that day mama went about her work with a thoughtful face. Now and then she had fits of thinking, at which times she would stare at the window, and burst out into a merry laugh. Then she grew strangely sober again. The next morning four eager children were scrambling after hats, coats, and missing mittens, for the skating was fine, and they wanted to have lots of fun before school began. They could not find this, they could not find that, and so the quarrel began. Such pushing and scolding and running about for things that should have been in their places! Joe was behindhand as usual. He was tying his shoes, and hurrying with all his might to make up for lost time, when snap! went his shoestring. “Now see what you made me do!” he snarled, at no one in particular; but Tom, who was standing near, retorted angrily, “I didn’t!” Then, “You did!” and, “I didn’t,” went dodging each other about the room. Puss came up and rubbed her nose sympathetically against Joe’s legs, but Joe pushed her rudely, and cried, “Get out, you old cat!” and pussy, who was not an old cat by any means, but a sensitive, high-tempered kitten, backed off at a safe distance, arched her back, and showed two rows of gleaming white teeth, as much as to say, “Call me names again, if you dare!”—and so the quarrel went on. Suddenly, as on the morning before, rivers of ice-cold water began to run down everybody’s back. All turned toward the window. Yes, it was wide open; but there stood, not Lettie, but mama herself, smiling radiantly. “O-O-O!” shivered the children. “O-O-O mama, shut the window quick, please!” “Shut that window!” demanded Joe, who, being directly in front of it, felt the full force of the chilly wind. “Shut it! My fingers are so numb now that I can’t tie my string. Well, don’t shut it then,” he growled. “No matter if I do catch pneumonia and die.” “I think it would be far better for us all to get the pneumonia and die than to be snapping this way at one another every morning,” said mama. “Lettie’s idea of airing out was a good one indeed. I’m letting out the crossness, that’s all.” Up flew another window, and still another. The children ran out, buttoning their coats as they went. Joe retreated to the register, where puss already had taken refuge, and she didn’t push him away, either, but moved over a little, as much as to say, “Plenty of room for both.” Here Joe warmed his fingers and mended his shoestring. Then he too darted from the chilly room. This was the beginning of what was afterward known in that family as the “airing-out process.” To make it effectual it had to be carried on more or less all winter; but by spring-time, altho there were just as many children, and the house that held them was as small as ever, it seemed to the inmates that it was twice as large as before, so well did peace know how to make room for everybody. Confusion packed up and left for good; but her influence still remained, and sometimes when, “You did!” and, “I didn’t!” forgot themselves, as they did once in a while, they were soon called to order, for some little voice would be sure to pipe up:— “Mama, hadn’t we better begin to air out?” And so my story is done.—Caroline F. Needham.