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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Budget of Christmas Tales by Charles
+Dickens and Others, by Various
+
+
+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.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: A Budget of Christmas Tales by Charles Dickens and Others
+
+
+Author: Various
+
+
+
+Release Date: February 26, 2009  [eBook #28198]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BUDGET OF CHRISTMAS TALES BY
+CHARLES DICKENS AND OTHERS***
+
+
+E-text prepared by David Edwards, Martin Pettit, and the Project Gutenberg
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from digital
+material generously made available by Internet Archive
+(http://www.archive.org/)
+
+
+
+Note: Images of the original pages are available through
+      Internet Archive. See
+      http://www.archive.org/details/budgetofchristma00dick
+
+
+
+
+
+A BUDGET OF CHRISTMAS TALES.
+
+By Charles Dickens and Others.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Published by The Christian Herald
+Louis Klopsch, Proprietor.
+Bible House, New York.
+
+Copyright 1895.
+by Louis Klopsch.
+
+Press and Bindery of Historical Publishing Co.,
+Philadelphia.
+
+
+
+
+TABLE OF CONTENTS.
+
+                                     PAGE
+
+A Christmas Carol                      13
+CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+The Christmas Babe                     73
+MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
+
+A Western Christmas                    74
+MRS. W. H. CORNING.
+
+Joe's Search for Santa Claus           83
+IRVING BACHELLER.
+
+Angela's Christmas                     87
+JULIA SCHAYER.
+
+The First Puritan Christmas Tree      100
+(ANONYMOUS.)
+
+First New England Christmas           103
+HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH.
+
+The Chimes                            106
+CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+Billy's Santa Claus Experience        170
+CORNELIA REDMOND.
+
+Christmas in Poganuc                  173
+MRS. H. B. STOWE.
+
+The Christmas Princess                192
+MRS. MOLESWORTH.
+
+Widow Townsend's Visitor              210
+(ANONYMOUS.)
+
+The Old Man's Christmas               223
+ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
+
+The Christmas Goblin                  239
+CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+The Song of the Star                  244
+C. H. MEAD.
+
+Indian Pete's Christmas Gift          252
+H. W. COLLINGWOOD.
+
+My Christmas Dinner                   264
+(ANONYMOUS.)
+
+The Poor Traveler                     272
+CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+The Legend of the Christmas Tree      287
+(ANONYMOUS.)
+
+The Peace Egg                         290
+JULIANA HORATIA EWING.
+
+
+
+
+CHRISTMAS TALES.
+
+
+
+
+A CHRISTMAS CAROL.
+
+BY CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+
+STAVE ONE.
+
+MARLEY'S GHOST.
+
+
+Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that.
+The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the
+undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name
+was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to.
+
+Old Marley was dead as a door-nail.
+
+Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise?
+Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know how many years. Scrooge
+was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole
+residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge
+was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an
+excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnized
+it with an undoubted bargain.
+
+The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started
+from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly
+understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to
+relate.
+
+Scrooge never painted out Old Marley's name. There it stood, years
+afterward, above the warehouse door: Scrooge and Marley. The firm was
+known as Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called
+Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names. It
+was all the same to him.
+
+Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a
+squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old
+sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out
+generous fire; secret and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The
+cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose,
+shriveled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin
+lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime on
+his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin.
+
+External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could
+warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than
+he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain
+less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to have him. The
+heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast of the
+advantage over him in only one respect. They often "came down"
+handsomely, and Scrooge never did.
+
+Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, "My
+dear Scrooge, how are you? When will you come to see me?" No beggars
+implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was
+o'clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to
+such and such a place, of Scrooge.
+
+But what did Scrooge care? It was the very thing he liked. To edge his
+way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep
+its distance, was what the knowing ones call "nuts" to Scrooge.
+
+Once upon a time--of all the good days in the year, on Christmas
+Eve--old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house. It was cold, bleak,
+biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the people in the court
+outside, go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their
+breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them.
+The city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark
+already--it had not been light all day--and candles were flaring in the
+windows of the neighboring offices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable
+brown air.
+
+The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open, that he might keep his
+eye upon his clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank,
+was copying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire, but the clerk's fire
+was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal. But he couldn't
+replenish it, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room; and so
+surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that
+it would be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his
+white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which
+effort, not being a man of strong imagination, he failed.
+
+"A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!" cried a cheerful voice. It was
+the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this
+was the first intimation he had of his approach.
+
+"Bah!" said Scrooge. "Humbug!"
+
+He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this
+nephew of Scrooge's, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and
+handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.
+
+"Christmas a humbug, uncle!" said Scrooge's nephew. "You don't mean
+that, I am sure?"
+
+"I do," said Scrooge. "Merry Christmas! What right have you to be
+merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough."
+
+"Come then," returned the nephew gaily. "What right have you to be
+dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough."
+
+Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said,
+"Bah!" again; and followed it up with, "Keep Christmas in your own way,
+and let me keep it in mine."
+
+"Keep it!" repeated Scrooge's nephew. "But you don't keep it."
+
+"Let me leave it alone, then," said Scrooge. "Much good may it do you!
+Much good it has ever done you!"
+
+"There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I
+have not profited, I dare say," returned the nephew, "Christmas among
+the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it
+has come round--apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and
+origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that--as a good
+time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know
+of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one
+consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people
+below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and
+not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore,
+uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I
+believe that it _has_ done me good, and _will_ do me good; and I say,
+God bless it!"
+
+The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded. Becoming immediately
+sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished the
+last frail spark for ever.
+
+"Let me hear another sound from _you_," said Scrooge, "and you'll keep
+your Christmas by losing your situation. You're quite a powerful
+speaker, sir," he added, turning to his nephew. "I wonder you don't go
+into Parliament."
+
+"Don't be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with us to-morrow."
+
+Scrooge said that he would see him--yes, indeed he did. He went the
+whole length of the expression, and said that he would see him in that
+extremity first.
+
+"But why?" cried Scrooge's nephew, "Why?"
+
+"Why did you get married?" said Scrooge.
+
+"Because I fell in love."
+
+"Because you fell in love!" growled Scrooge, as if that were the only
+one thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. "Good
+afternoon!"
+
+"Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that happened. Why give
+it as a reason for not coming now?"
+
+"Good afternoon," said Scrooge.
+
+"I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be
+friends?"
+
+"Good afternoon," said Scrooge.
+
+"I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never
+had any quarrel, to which I have been a party. But I have made the trial
+in homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So
+a Merry Christmas, uncle!"
+
+"Good afternoon!" said Scrooge.
+
+"And a Happy New Year!"
+
+"Good afternoon!" said Scrooge.
+
+His nephew left the room without an angry word, notwithstanding. He
+stopped at the outer door to bestow the greetings of the season on the
+clerk, who, cold as he was, was warmer than Scrooge; for he returned
+them cordially.
+
+"There's another fellow," muttered Scrooge; who overheard him: "my
+clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife and family, talking
+about a merry Christmas. I'll retire to Bedlam."
+
+This lunatic, in letting Scrooge's nephew out, had let two other people
+in. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, with
+their hats off, in Scrooge's office. They had books and papers in their
+hands, and bowed to him.
+
+"Scrooge and Marley's, I believe," said one of the gentlemen, referring
+to his list. "Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr.
+Marley?"
+
+"Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years," Scrooge replied. "He died
+seven years ago, this very night."
+
+"We have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his surviving
+partner," said the gentleman, presenting his credentials.
+
+It certainly was; for they had been two kindred spirits. At the ominous
+word "liberality," Scrooge frowned, and shook his head, and handed the
+credentials back.
+
+"At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge," said the gentleman,
+taking up a pen, "it is more than usually desirable that we should make
+some slight provision for the poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at
+the present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries;
+hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, sir."
+
+"Are there no prisons?" asked Scrooge.
+
+"Plenty of prisons," said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.
+
+"And the Union workhouses?" demanded Scrooge. "Are they still in
+operation?"
+
+"They are. Still," returned the gentleman, "I wish I could say they were
+not. Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of
+mind or body to the multitude, a few of us are endeavoring to raise a
+fund to buy the poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. We choose
+this time, because it is a time, of all others, when Want is keenly
+felt, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for?"
+
+"Nothing!" Scrooge replied.
+
+"You wish to be anonymous?"
+
+"I wish to be left alone," said Scrooge. "Since you ask me what I wish,
+gentlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christmas,
+and I can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the
+establishments I have mentioned--they cost enough; and those who are
+badly off must go there."
+
+"Many can't go there; and many would rather die."
+
+"If they would rather die," said Scrooge, "they had better do it, and
+decrease the surplus population. Besides--excuse me--I don't know that."
+
+"But you might know it," observed the gentleman.
+
+"It's not my business," Scrooge returned. "It's enough for a man to
+understand his own business, and not to interfere with other people's.
+Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen!"
+
+Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, the
+gentlemen withdrew. Scrooge resumed his labors with an improved opinion
+of himself, and in a more facetious temper than was usual with him.
+
+At length the hour of shutting up the counting-house arrived. With an
+ill-will Scrooge dismounted from his stool, and tacitly admitted the
+fact to the expectant clerk in the tank, who instantly snuffed his
+candle out, and put on his hat.
+
+"You'll want all day to-morrow, I suppose?" said Scrooge.
+
+"If quite convenient, sir."
+
+"It's not convenient," said Scrooge, "and it's not fair. If I was to
+stop half-a-crown for it, you'd think yourself ill-used, I'll be bound?"
+
+The clerk smiled faintly.
+
+"And yet," said Scrooge, "you don't think _me_ ill-used, when I pay a
+day's wages for no work."
+
+The clerk observed that it was only once a year.
+
+"A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth of
+December!" said Scrooge, buttoning his great coat to the chin. "But I
+suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next
+morning."
+
+The clerk promised that he would; and Scrooge walked out with a growl.
+The office was closed in a twinkling, and the clerk, with the long ends
+of his white comforter dangling below his waist (for he boasted no great
+coat), went down a slide on Cornhill, at the end of a lane of boys,
+twenty times, in honor of its being Christmas-eve, and then ran home to
+Camden Town as hard as he could pelt, to play at blindman's buff.
+
+Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy tavern; and
+having read all the newspapers, and beguiled the rest of the evening
+with his banker's-book, went home to bed. He lived in chambers which had
+once belonged to his deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite of
+rooms, in a lowering pile of building up a yard, where it had so little
+business to be, that one could scarcely help fancying it must have run
+there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other
+houses, and have forgotten the way out again. It was old enough now, and
+dreary enough; for nobody lived in it but Scrooge, the other rooms being
+all let out as offices.
+
+Every room above, and every cask in the wine-merchant's cellars below,
+appeared to have a separate peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge was not a
+man to be frightened by echoes. He fastened the door, and walked across
+the hall, and up the stairs; slowly too: trimming his candle as he went.
+Half a dozen gas-lamps out of the street wouldn't have lighted the
+entry too well, so you may suppose that it was pretty dark with
+Scrooge's dip.
+
+Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for that. Darkness is cheap, and
+Scrooge liked it. But before he shut his heavy door, he walked through
+his rooms to see that all was right.
+
+Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in;
+double-locked himself in, which was not his custom. Thus secured against
+surprise, he, took off his cravat; put on his dressing gown and
+slippers, and his night-cap; and sat down before the fire to take his
+gruel. As he threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to
+rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the room, and
+communicated for some purpose now forgotten with a chamber in the
+highest story of the building. It was with great astonishment, and with
+a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin
+to swing. It swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a
+sound; but soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house.
+
+This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it seemed an
+hour. The bells ceased as they had begun, together. They were succeeded
+by a clanking noise deep down below, as if some person were dragging a
+heavy chain over the casks in the wine-merchant's cellar. Scrooge then
+remembered to have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as
+dragging chains.
+
+The cellar-door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the
+noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then
+coming straight toward his door.
+
+"It's humbug still!" said Scrooge. "I won't believe it."
+
+His color changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the
+heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming
+in, the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried "I know him! Marley's
+ghost!" and fell again.
+
+The same face: the very same. The chain he drew was clasped about his
+middle. It was long and wound about him like a tail; and it was made
+(for Scrooge observed it closely) of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks,
+ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel.
+
+"How now" said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. "What do you want with
+me?"
+
+"Much!"--Marley's voice, no doubt about it.
+
+"Who are you?"
+
+"Ask me who I _was_."
+
+"Who _were_ you then?" said Scrooge, raising his voice. "You're
+particular, for a shade." He was going to say "_to_ a shade," but
+substituted this, as more appropriate.
+
+"In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley."
+
+"Can you--can you sit down?" asked Scrooge, looking doubtfully at him.
+
+"I can."
+
+"Do it, then."
+
+Scrooge asked the question, because he didn't know whether a ghost so
+transparent might find himself in a condition to take a chair; and felt
+that in the event of its being impossible, it might involve the
+necessity of an embarrassing explanation. But the Ghost sat down on the
+opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it.
+
+Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face.
+
+"Mercy!" he said, "Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?"
+
+"Man of the worldly mind!" replied the Ghost, "do you believe in me or
+not?"
+
+"I do," said Scrooge. "I must. But why do spirits walk the earth, and
+why do they come to me?"
+
+"It is required of every man," the Ghost returned, "that the spirit
+within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and
+wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do
+so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world--oh, woe is
+me!--and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth,
+and turned to happiness!"
+
+The spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain and wrung its shadowy
+hands.
+
+"You are fettered," said Scrooge, trembling. "Tell me why?"
+
+"I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the Ghost. "I made it link
+by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my
+own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to _you_?"
+
+Scrooge trembled more and more.
+
+"Or would you know," pursued the Ghost, "the weight and length of the
+strong coil you bear yourself? It was full as heavy and as long as this,
+seven Christmas Eves ago. You have labored on it since. It is a
+ponderous chain!"
+
+Scrooge glanced about him on the floor, in the expectation of finding
+himself surrounded by some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron cable; but he
+could see nothing.
+
+"Jacob," he said imploringly. "Old Jacob Marley, tell me more. Speak
+comfort to me, Jacob!"
+
+"I have none to give," the Ghost replied. "It comes from other regions,
+Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of
+men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more, is all
+permitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere.
+My spirit never walked beyond our counting-house--mark me!--in life my
+spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole;
+and weary journeys lie before me!"
+
+It was a habit with Scrooge, whenever he became thoughtful, to put his
+hands in his breeches' pockets. Pondering on what the Ghost had said, he
+did so now, but without lifting up his eyes, or getting off his knees.
+
+"You must have been very slow about it, Jacob," Scrooge observed, in a
+business-like manner, though with humility and deference.
+
+"Slow!" the Ghost repeated.
+
+"Seven years dead," mused Scrooge. "And traveling all the time?"
+
+"The whole time," said the Ghost. "No rest, no peace. Incessant torture
+of remorse."
+
+"You travel fast?" said Scrooge.
+
+"On the wings of the wind," replied the Ghost.
+
+"You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years,"
+said Scrooge.
+
+The Ghost, on hearing this set up another cry, and clanked its chain
+hideously.
+
+"Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed," cried the Phantom, "not to know
+that ages of incessant labor, by immortal creatures, for this earth must
+pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all
+developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its
+little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short
+for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret
+can make amends for one life's opportunities misused! Yet such was I!
+Oh! such was I!"
+
+"But you were always a good man of business, Jacob," faltered Scrooge,
+who now began to apply this to himself.
+
+"Business!" cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. "Mankind was my
+business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy,
+forbearance, and benevolence, were, all my business. The dealings of my
+trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my
+business!"
+
+It held up its chain at arm's length, as if that were the cause of all
+its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again.
+
+"At this time of the rolling year," the Spectre said, "I suffer most.
+Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down,
+and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a
+poor abode? Were there no poor homes to which its light would have
+conducted _me_?"
+
+Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the Spectre going on at this
+rate, and began to quake exceedingly.
+
+"Hear me!" cried the Ghost. "My time is nearly gone."
+
+"I will," said Scrooge. "But don't be hard upon me! Don't be flowery,
+Jacob! Pray!"
+
+"How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see, I may
+not tell. I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day."
+
+It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge shivered, and wiped the
+perspiration from his brow.
+
+"That is no light part of my penance," pursued the Ghost. "I am here
+to-night to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my
+fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer."
+
+"You were always a good friend to me," said Scrooge. "Thank'ee!"
+
+"You will be haunted," resumed the Ghost, "by Three Spirits."
+
+Scrooge's countenance fell.
+
+"Is that the chance and hope you mentioned. Jacob?" he demanded, in a
+faltering voice.
+
+"It is."
+
+"I--I think I'd rather not," said Scrooge.
+
+"Without their visits," said the Ghost, "you cannot hope to shun the
+path I tread. Expect the first to-morrow, when the bell tolls One."
+
+"Couldn't I take 'em all at once, and have it over, Jacob?" hinted
+Scrooge.
+
+"Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third, upon
+the next night when the last stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate.
+Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember
+what has passed between us!"
+
+The apparition walked backward from him toward the window, and floated
+out upon the bleak, dark night.
+
+Scrooge followed to the window; desperate in his curiosity. He looked
+out.
+
+The air was filled with phantoms, wandering hither and thither in
+restless haste, and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chains
+like Marley's ghost; some few (they might be guilty governments) were
+linked together; none were free. Many had been personally known to
+Scrooge in their lives. He had been quite familiar with one old ghost,
+in a white waistcoat, with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle,
+who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with an
+infant, whom it saw below upon a door-step. The misery with them all
+was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters
+and had lost the power for ever.
+
+Whether these creatures faded into mist, or mist enshrouded them, he
+could not tell. But they and their spirit voices faded together; and the
+night became as it had been when he walked home.
+
+Scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by which the Ghost had
+entered. It was double-locked, as he had locked it with his own hands,
+and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say "Humbug!" but stopped at
+the first syllable. And being, from the emotion he had undergone, or the
+fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the Invisible World, or the dull
+conversation of the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need of
+repose, went straight to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep upon
+the instant.
+
+
+STAVE TWO.
+
+THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS.
+
+
+When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that, looking out of bed, he could
+scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his
+chamber. He was endeavoring to pierce the darkness with his ferret eyes,
+when the chimes of a neighboring church clock struck twelve.
+
+"Why it isn't possible," said Scrooge, "that I can have slept through a
+whole day and far into another night!"
+
+Scrooge lay and thought and thought it over and over, and could make
+nothing of it. The more he thought, the more perplexed he was, and the
+more he endeavored not to think, the more he thought. Marley's ghost
+bothered him exceedingly. "Was it a dream or not?"
+
+Scrooge lay in this state until he remembered, on a sudden, that the
+Ghost had warned him of a visitation when the bell tolled One. He
+resolved to lie awake until the hour was passed; and considering that he
+could not go to sleep, this was perhaps the wisest resolution in his
+power.
+
+He was more than once convinced he must have sunk into a doze
+unconsciously, and missed the clock. At length it broke upon his
+listening ear.
+
+"The hour itself," said Scrooge, triumphantly, "nothing else!"
+
+He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep,
+dull, hollow, melancholy ONE. Light flashed up in the room upon the
+instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn.
+
+The curtains of his bed were drawn aside, I tell you, by a hand. Not the
+curtains at his feet, nor the curtains at his back, but those to which
+his face was addressed. The curtains of his bed were drawn aside; and
+Scrooge, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found himself face
+to face with the visitor who drew them.
+
+It was a strange figure--like a child: yet not so like a child as like
+an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him the
+appearance of having receded from the view, and being diminished to a
+child's proportions. Its hair, which hung about its neck and down its
+back, was white as if with age; and yet the face had not a wrinkle in
+it, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin. The arms were very long and
+muscular; the hands the same, as if its hold were of uncommon strength.
+Its legs and feet, most delicately formed, were, like those upper
+members, bare. It wore a tunic of the purest white; and round its waist
+was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful. It held a
+branch of fresh green holly in its hand; and, in singular contradiction
+of that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers. But
+the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head there
+sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible; and
+which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, a
+great extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm.
+
+"Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?" asked
+Scrooge.
+
+"I am!"
+
+The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so
+close beside him, it were at a distance.
+
+"Who, and what are you?" Scrooge demanded.
+
+"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."
+
+"Long Past?" inquired Scrooge; observant of its dwarfish stature.
+
+"No. Your past."
+
+Scrooge then made bold to inquire what business brought him there.
+
+"Your welfare!" said the Ghost.
+
+Scrooge expressed himself much obliged, but could not help thinking that
+a night of unbroken rest would have been more conducive to that end. The
+Spirit must have heard him thinking, for it said immediately:
+
+"Your reclamation, then. Take heed!"
+
+It put out its strong hand as it spoke, and clasped him gently by the
+arm.
+
+"Rise! and walk with me!"
+
+It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the weather and the
+hour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes; that bed was warm and the
+thermometer a long way below freezing; that he was clad but lightly in
+his slippers, dressing-gown, and night-cap; and that he had a cold upon
+him at the time. The grasp, though gentle as a woman's hand, was not to
+be resisted. He rose: but finding that the Spirit made toward the
+window, clasped its robe in supplication.
+
+"I am a mortal," Scrooge remonstrated, "and liable to fall."
+
+"Bear but a touch of my hand _there_," said the Spirit, laying it upon
+his heart, "and you shall be upheld in more than this!"
+
+As the words were spoken, they passed out, and stood upon an open
+country road, with fields on either hand. The city had entirely
+vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist
+had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow
+upon the ground.
+
+"Good Spirit!" said Scrooge, clasping his hands together, as he looked
+about him. "I was bred in this place. I was a boy here!"
+
+The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its gentle touch, though it had been
+light and instantaneous, appeared still present to the old man's sense
+of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odors floating in the air,
+each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and
+cares long, long, forgotten!
+
+"Your lip is trembling," said the Ghost. "And what is that upon your
+cheek?"
+
+Scrooge muttered, with an unusual catching in his voice, that it was a
+pimple; and begged the Ghost to lead him where he would.
+
+"You recollect the way?" inquired the Spirit.
+
+"Remember it!" cried Scrooge with fervor; "I could walk it blindfold."
+
+"Strange to have forgotten it for so many years!" observed the Ghost.
+"Let us go on."
+
+They walked along the road, Scrooge recognizing every gate, and post,
+and tree; until a little market-town appeared in the distance, with its
+bridge, its church, and winding river. Some shaggy ponies now were seen
+trotting toward them with boys upon their backs, who called to other
+boys in country gigs and carts, driven by farmers. All these boys were
+in great spirits, and shouted to each other, until the broad fields were
+so full of merry music, that the crisp air laughed to hear it.
+
+"These are but shadows of the things that have been," said the Ghost.
+"They have no consciousness of us."
+
+The jocund travelers came on; and as they came, Scrooge knew and named
+them every one. Why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see them? Why
+did his cold eye glisten, and his heart leap up as they went past? Why
+was he filled with gladness when he heard them give each other Merry
+Christmas, as they parted at cross-roads and bye-ways, for their several
+homes? What was Merry Christmas to Scrooge? Out upon Merry Christmas!
+What good had it ever done to him?
+
+"The school is not quite deserted," said the Ghost. "A solitary child,
+neglected by his friends, is left there still."
+
+Scrooge said he knew it. And he sobbed.
+
+They left the high-road, by a well remembered lane, and soon approached
+a mansion of dull red brick, with a little weathercock-surmounted
+cupola, on the roof, and a bell hanging in it. It was a large house, but
+one of broken fortunes; for the spacious offices were little used, their
+walls were damp and mossy, their windows broken, and their gates
+decayed. Fowls clucked and strutted in the stables; and the coach-houses
+and sheds were overrun with grass. Nor was it more retentive of its
+ancient state within; for entering the dreary hall, and glancing through
+the open doors of many rooms, they found them poorly furnished, cold,
+and vast. There was an earthy savor in the air, a chilly bareness in the
+place, which associated itself somehow with too much getting up by
+candle-light, and not too much to eat.
+
+They went, the Ghost and Scrooge, across the hall, to a door at the back
+of the house. It opened before them, and disclosed a long, bare,
+melancholy room, made barer still by lines of plain deal forms and
+desks. At one of these a lonely boy was reading near a feeble fire; and
+Scrooge sat down upon a form, and wept to see his poor forgotten self as
+he had used to be.
+
+"I wish," Scrooge muttered, putting his hand in his pocket, and looking
+about him, after drying his eyes with his cuff: "but it's too late now."
+
+"What is the matter?" asked the Spirit.
+
+"Nothing," said Scrooge. "Nothing. There was a boy singing a Christmas
+Carol at my door last night. I should like to have given him something:
+that's all."
+
+The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its hand: saying as it did so,
+"Let us see another Christmas!"
+
+Scrooge's former self grew larger at the words, and the room became a
+little darker and more dirty. The panels shrunk, the windows cracked;
+fragments of plaster fell out of the ceiling, and the naked laths were
+shown instead; but how all this was brought about, Scrooge knew no more
+than you do. He only knew that it was quite correct: that everything had
+happened so: that there he was, alone again, when all the other boys had
+gone home for the jolly holidays.
+
+He was not reading now, but walking up and down despairingly. Scrooge
+looked at the Ghost, and with a mournful shaking of his head, glanced
+anxiously toward the door.
+
+It opened; and a little girl much younger than the boy, came darting in,
+and putting her arms about his neck, and often kissing him, addressed
+him as her "Dear, dear brother."
+
+"I have come to bring you home, dear brother!" said the child, clapping
+her tiny hands, and bending down to laugh. "To bring you home, home,
+home!"
+
+"Home, little Fan?" returned the boy.
+
+"Yes," said the child, brimful of glee. "Home, for good and all. Home,
+for ever and ever. Father is so much kinder than he used to be, that
+home's like Heaven! He spoke so gently to me one dear night when I was
+going to bed, that I was not afraid to ask him once more if you might
+come home; and he said Yes, you should; and sent me in a coach to bring
+you. And you're to be a man!" said the child, opening her eyes; "and are
+never to come back here: but first, we're to be together all the
+Christmas long, and have the merriest time in all the world."
+
+"You are quite a woman, little Fan!" exclaimed the boy.
+
+She clapped her hands and laughed, and tried to touch his head; but
+being too little, laughed again, and stood on tiptoe to embrace him.
+Then she began to drag him, in her childish eagerness, toward the door;
+and he, nothing loth to go, accompanied her.
+
+A terrible voice in the hall cried, "Bring down Master Scrooge's box,
+there!" and in the hall appeared the schoolmaster himself, who glared on
+Master Scrooge with a ferocious condescension, and threw him into a
+dreadful state of mind by shaking hands with him. Master Scrooge's trunk
+being tied on to the top of the chaise, the children bade the
+schoolmaster good-bye right willingly; and getting into it, drove gaily
+down the garden-sweep: the quick wheels dashing the hoar-frost and snow
+from off the dark leaves of the evergreens like spray.
+
+"Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered," said
+the Ghost. "But she had a large heart!"
+
+"So she had," cried Scrooge. "You're right. I will not gainsay it
+Spirit. God forbid!"
+
+"She died a woman," said the Ghost, "and had, as I think, children."
+
+"One child," Scrooge returned.
+
+"True," said the Ghost. "Your nephew!"
+
+Scrooge seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered briefly, "Yes."
+
+Although they had but that moment left the school behind them, they were
+now in the busy thoroughfares of a city, where shadowy passengers passed
+and repassed; where shadowy carts and coaches battled for the way, and
+all the strife and tumult of a real city were. It was made plain
+enough, by the dressing of the shops, that here too it was Christmas
+time again; but it was evening, and the streets were lighted up.
+
+The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked Scrooge if he
+knew it.
+
+"Know it!" said Scrooge. "Was not I apprenticed here!"
+
+They went in. At sight of an old gentleman in a Welsh wig, sitting
+behind such a high desk, that if he had been two inches taller he must
+have knocked his head against the ceiling, Scrooge cried in great
+excitement:
+
+"Why, it's old Fezziwig! Bless his heart; it's Fezziwig alive again!"
+
+Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which
+pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his
+capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his
+organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat,
+jovial voice:
+
+"Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!"
+
+Scrooge's former self, now grown a young man, came briskly in,
+accompanied by his fellow-'prentice.
+
+"Dick Wilkins, to be sure!" said Scrooge to the Ghost. "Bless me, yes.
+There he is. He was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear,
+dear!"
+
+"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig, "No more work to-night. Christmas Eve,
+Dick, Christmas, Ebenezer. Let's have the shutters up," cried old
+Fezziwig, with a sharp clap of his hands, "before a man can say Jack
+Robinson!"
+
+You wouldn't believe how those two fellows went at it! They charged into
+the street with the shutters--one, two, three--had 'em up in their
+places--four, five, six--barred 'em and pinned 'em--seven, eight,
+nine--and came back before you could have got to twelve, panting like
+race-horses.
+
+"Hilli-ho!" cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk, with
+wonderful agility. "Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room
+here!"
+
+Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or
+couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in
+a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from
+public life for evermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps
+were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as
+snug, and warm, and dry, and bright a play-room as you would desire to
+see upon a winter's night.
+
+In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and
+made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came
+Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss
+Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came all the young men and women
+employed in the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin, the
+baker. In came the cook, with her brother's particular friend, the
+milkman. In they all came, one after another; some shyly, some boldly,
+some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all
+came, anyhow and everyhow.
+
+There were dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there
+was cake, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a
+great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince-pies.
+
+When the clock struck eleven, this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs.
+Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side the door, and shaking
+hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him
+or her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two
+'prentices they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died
+away, and the lads were left to their beds; which were under a counter
+in the back-shop.
+
+During the whole of this time, Scrooge had acted like a man out of his
+wits. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self. He
+corroborated everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and
+underwent the strangest agitation. It was not until now, when the bright
+faces of his former self and Dick were turned from them, that he
+remembered the Ghost, and became conscious that it was looking full upon
+him, while the light upon its head burnt very clear.
+
+"A small matter," said the Ghost, "to make these silly folks so full of
+gratitude."
+
+"Small!" echoed Scrooge.
+
+The spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices, who were
+pouring out their hearts in praise of Fezziwig; and when he had done so
+said,
+
+"Why! Is it not? He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money:
+three or four, perhaps. Is that so much that he deserves this praise?"
+
+"It isn't that," said Scrooge, heated by the remark, and speaking
+unconsciously like his former, not his latter self. "It isn't that,
+Spirit. He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our
+service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power
+lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it
+is impossible to add and count 'em up; what then? The happiness he
+gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune."
+
+He felt the Spirit's glance, and stopped.
+
+"What is the matter?" asked the Ghost.
+
+"Nothing particular," said Scrooge.
+
+"Something, I think?" the Ghost insisted.
+
+"No," said Scrooge, "No. I should like to be able to say a word or two
+to my clerk just now. That's all."
+
+His former self turned down the lamps as he gave utterance to the wish:
+and Scrooge and the Ghost again stood side by side in the open air.
+
+"My time grows short," observed the Spirit. "Quick!"
+
+This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to any one whom he could see, but
+it produced an immediate effect. For again Scrooge saw himself. He was
+older now; a man in the prime of life. His face had not the harsh and
+rigid lines of later years; but it had begun to wear the signs of care
+and avarice. There was an eager, greedy, restless motion in the eye,
+which showed the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow of
+the growing tree would fall.
+
+He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a
+mourning-dress: in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the
+light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.
+
+"It matters little," she said, softly. "To you, very little. Another
+idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to
+come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve."
+
+"What idol has displaced you?" he rejoined.
+
+"A golden one."
+
+"This is the even-handed dealing of the world!" he said. "There is
+nothing on which it is so hard as poverty; and there is nothing it
+professes to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth!"
+
+"You fear the world too much," she answered, gently. "All your other
+hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid
+reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until
+the master-passion, Gain, engrosses you. Have I not?"
+
+"What then?" he retorted. "Even if I have grown so much wiser, what
+then? I am not changed toward you."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Am I?"
+
+"Our contract is an old one. It was made when we were both poor and
+content to be so, until, in good season, we could improve our worldly
+fortune by our patient industry. You _are_ changed. When it was made,
+you were another man."
+
+"I was a boy," he said impatiently.
+
+"Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are," she
+returned. "I am. That which promised happiness when we were one in
+heart, is fraught with misery now that we are two. How often and how
+keenly I have thought of this, I will not say. It is enough that I
+_have_ thought of it, and can release you."
+
+"Have I ever sought release?"
+
+"In words. No. Never."
+
+"In what, then?"
+
+"In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of
+life; another Hope as its great end. In everything that made my love of
+any worth or value in your sight. If this had never been between us,"
+said the girl, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him; "can even
+I believe that you would choose a dowerless girl: or, choosing her, do I
+not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and
+I release you. With a full heart, for the love of him you once were."
+
+He was about to speak; but she left him and they parted.
+
+"Spirit!" said Scrooge, "show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do you
+delight to torture me?"
+
+"I told you these were shadows of the things that have been," said the
+Ghost. "That they are what they are, do not blame me!"
+
+"Remove me!" Scrooge exclaimed. "I cannot bear it!"
+
+He turned upon the Ghost, and seeing that it looked upon him with a
+face, in which some strange way there were fragments of all the faces it
+had shown him, wrestled with it.
+
+"Leave me! Take me back. Haunt me no longer!"
+
+In the struggle--if that can be called a struggle in which the Ghost,
+with no visible resistance on its own part was undisturbed by any effort
+of its adversary--Scrooge was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome
+by an irresistible drowsiness; and, further, of being in his own
+bed-room. He had barely time to reel to bed, before he sank into a heavy
+sleep.
+
+
+STAVE THREE.
+
+THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS.
+
+
+Awaking in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore, and sitting up in
+bed to get his thoughts together, Scrooge had no occasion to be told
+that the bell was again upon the stroke of One. He felt that he was
+restored to consciousness in the right nick of time, for the especial
+purpose of holding a conference with the second messenger despatched to
+him through Jacob Marley's intervention. But, finding that he turned
+uncomfortably cold when he began to wonder which of his curtains this
+new spectre would draw back, he put them every one aside with his own
+hands, and lying down again, established a sharp look-out all round the
+bed. For he wished to challenge the Spirit on the moment of its
+appearance, and did not wish to be taken by surprise and made nervous.
+
+Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means
+prepared for nothing; and, consequently, when the bell struck One, and
+no shape appeared, he was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Five
+minutes, ten minutes a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All
+this time, he lay upon his bed, the very core and centre of a blaze of
+ruddy light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour;
+and which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts, as
+he was powerless to make out what it meant. At last, however, he began
+to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in
+the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to
+shine. This idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly
+and shuffled in his slippers to the door.
+
+The moment Scrooge's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called him by
+his name, and bade him enter. He obeyed.
+
+It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone
+a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with
+living green, that it looked a perfect grove; from every part of which,
+bright gleaming berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe,
+and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been
+scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as
+that dull petrifaction of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's time, or
+Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the
+floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry,
+brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages,
+mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red hot chestnuts,
+cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears and immense
+twelfth-cakes, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. In
+easy state upon this couch there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see; who
+bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and held it
+up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge, as he came peeping round the
+door.
+
+"Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost "Come in! and know me better, man!"
+
+Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before this Spirit. He was
+not the dogged Scrooge he had been; and though the Spirit's eyes were
+clear and kind, he did not like to meet them.
+
+"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present," said the Spirit: "Look upon me!
+You have never seen the like of me before!" exclaimed the Spirit.
+
+"Never," Scrooge made answer to it.
+
+"Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family; meaning
+(for I am very young) my elder brothers born in these later years?"
+pursued the Phantom.
+
+"I don't think I have," said Scrooge. "I am afraid I have not. Have you
+had many brothers, Spirit?"
+
+"More than eighteen hundred," said the Ghost.
+
+"A tremendous family to provide for," muttered Scrooge.
+
+The Ghost of Christmas Present rose.
+
+"Spirit," said Scrooge, submissively, "conduct me where you will. I went
+forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson which is working
+now. To-night, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it."
+
+"Touch my robe!"
+
+Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast.
+
+The whole scene vanished instantly and they stood in the city streets on
+Christmas morning, where (for the weather was severe) the people made a
+rough, but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow
+from the pavement in front of their dwellings, and from the tops of
+their houses, whence it was mad delight to the boys to see it come
+plumping down into the road below, and splitting into artificial little
+snowstorms.
+
+Perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing his sympathy
+with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge's clerk's; for there
+he went, and took Scrooge with him, holding to his robe; and on the
+threshold of the door the spirit smiled, and stopped to bless Bob
+Cratchit's dwelling with the sprinklings of his torch.
+
+Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in a
+twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a
+goodly show; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit,
+second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while Master Peter
+Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes. And now two
+smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside
+the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own.
+
+"What has ever got your precious father, then?" said Mrs. Cratchit. "And
+your brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by
+half-an-hour!"
+
+"Here's Martha, mother," said a girl appearing as she spoke.
+
+"Here's Martha, mother," cried the two young Cratchits. "Hurrah! There's
+_such_ a goose, Martha!"
+
+"Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!" said Mrs.
+Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet
+for her with officious zeal.
+
+"We'd a deal of work to finish up last night," replied the girl, "and
+had to clear away this morning, mother!"
+
+"Well! never mind so long as you are come," said Mrs. Cratchit. "Sit ye
+down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!"
+
+"No no! There's father coming," cried the two young Cratchits, who were
+everywhere at once. "Hide, Martha, hide!"
+
+So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at least
+three feet of comforter exclusive of the fringe hanging down before him;
+and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look seasonable;
+and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little
+crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame!
+
+"Why, Where's our Martha?" cried Bob Cratchit looking round.
+
+"Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit.
+
+"Not coming!" said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high spirits;
+for he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church, and had come
+home rampant. "Not coming upon Christmas Day!"
+
+Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so
+she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into his
+arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off
+into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the
+copper.
+
+"And how did little Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had
+rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his
+heart's content.
+
+"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful,
+sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever
+heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the
+church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to
+remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk and blind men
+see."
+
+Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when
+he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty.
+
+His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny
+Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister
+to his stool beside the fire; and Master Peter and the two ubiquitous
+young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned
+in high procession.
+
+Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan)
+hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigor;
+Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple sauce; Martha dusted the hot-plates;
+Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two
+young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and
+mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest
+they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At
+last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a
+breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the
+carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did,
+and when the long-expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of
+delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two
+young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and
+feebly cried Hurrah!
+
+There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was
+such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavor, size and cheapness, were
+the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple sauce and mashed
+potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as
+Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a
+bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet every one had
+had enough. But now the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs.
+Cratchit left the room alone--too nervous to bear witnesses--to take the
+pudding up, and bring it in.
+
+Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he
+regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since
+their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind,
+she would confess she had her doubts about the quantity of flour.
+Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it
+was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat
+heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a
+thing.
+
+At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth
+swept, and the fire made up. Apples and oranges were put upon the table
+and a shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family
+drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning
+half a one. Then Bob proposed: "A Merry Christmas to all, my dears. God
+bless us!"
+
+Which all the family re-echoed.
+
+"God bless us, every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all.
+
+He sat very close to his father's side, upon his little stool. Bob held
+his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child and wished to
+keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him.
+
+"Spirit," said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt before, "tell
+me if Tiny Tim will live."
+
+"I see a vacant seat," replied the Ghost, "in the poor chimney corner,
+and a crutch without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows
+remain unaltered by the Future the child will die."
+
+"No, no," said Scrooge. "Oh, no, kind Spirit! say he will be spared."
+
+"If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future none other of my race,"
+returned the Ghost, "will find him here. What then? If he be like to
+die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population."
+
+Scrooge hung his head to hear his own words quoted by the Spirit, and
+was overcome with penitence and grief.
+
+"Man," said the Ghost, "if man you be in heart, not adamant, forbear
+that wicked cant until you have discovered what the surplus is and where
+it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? It may
+be that in the sight of Heaven you are more worthless and less fit to
+live than millions like this poor man's child. Oh, God! to hear the
+insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry
+brothers in the dust!"
+
+Scrooge bent before the Ghost's rebuke, and trembling cast his eyes upon
+the ground. But he raised them speedily on hearing his own name.
+
+"Mr. Scrooge!" said Bob; "I'll give you Mr. Scrooge, the Founder of the
+Feast!"
+
+"The Founder of the Feast indeed!" cried Mrs. Cratchit, reddening. "I
+wish I had him here. I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and
+I hope he'd have a good appetite for it."
+
+"My dear," said Bob, "the children! Christmas day."
+
+Scrooge was the Ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a dark
+shadow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes.
+
+After it had passed away, they were ten times merrier than before, from
+the mere relief of Scrooge the Baleful being done with. Bob Cratchit
+told them how he had a situation in his eye for Master Peter. The two
+young Cratchits laughed tremendously at the idea of Peter's being a man
+of business; and Peter himself looked thoughtfully at the fire from
+between his collars, as if he were deliberating what particular
+investments he should favor when he came into receipt of the bewildering
+income. Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a milliner's, then told
+them what kind of work she had to do, and how many hours she worked at
+a stretch, and how she meant to be abed to-morrow morning for a good
+long rest, to-morrow being a holiday she passed at home. Also how she
+had seen a countess and a lord some days before, and how the lord "was
+much about as tall as Peter," at which Peter pulled up his collars so
+high that you couldn't have seen his head if you had been there. By and
+by they had a song, about a lost child traveling in the snow, from Tiny
+Tim, who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it very well indeed.
+
+There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a handsome family;
+they were not well dressed; their shoes were far from being waterproof;
+their clothes were scanty; and Peter might have known, and very likely
+did, the inside of a pawnbroker's. But they were happy, grateful,
+pleased with one another, and contented with the time; and when they
+faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit's
+torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny
+Tim, until the last.
+
+By this time it was getting dark and snowing pretty heavily; and as
+Scrooge and the Spirit went along the streets, the brightness of the
+roaring fires in kitchens, parlors, and all sorts of rooms, was
+wonderful. Here, the flickering of the blaze showed preparations for a
+cosy dinner, with hot plates baking through and through before the fire,
+and deep red curtains, ready to be drawn to shut out cold and darkness.
+There, all the children of the house were running out into the snow to
+meet their married sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, and be the
+first to greet them.
+
+It was a great surprise to Scrooge, as he meditated on these scenes, to
+hear a hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise to Scrooge to
+recognize it as his own nephew's, and to find himself in a bright, dry,
+gleaming room, with the Spirit standing smiling by his side, and looking
+at that same nephew with approving affability!
+
+"Ha! ha!" laughed Scrooge's nephew. "Ha! ha! ha!"
+
+If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know a man more blessed
+in a laugh than Scrooge's nephew, all I can say is, I should like to
+know him too. Introduce him to me, and I'll cultivate his acquaintance.
+
+It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things that while there
+is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so
+irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humor. When Scrooge's
+nephew laughed in this way, holding his sides, rolling his head, and
+twisting his face into the most extravagant contortions, Scrooge's
+niece, by marriage, laughed as heartily as he. And their assembled
+friends being not a bit behindhand, roared out lustily.
+
+"Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha!"
+
+"He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I live!" cried Scrooge's
+nephew. "He believed it, too."
+
+"More shame for him, Fred!" said Scrooge's niece, indignantly. Bless
+those women! they never do anything by halves. They are always in
+earnest.
+
+She was very pretty; exceedingly pretty. With a dimpled,
+surprised-looking, capital face; a ripe little mouth that seemed made to
+be kissed--as no doubt it was; all kinds of good little dots about her
+chin, that melted into one another when she laughed; and the sunniest
+pair of eyes you ever saw in any little creature's head. Altogether she
+was what you would have called provoking, you know; but satisfactory,
+too. Oh, perfectly satisfactory.
+
+"He's a comical old fellow," said Scrooge's nephew, "that's the truth:
+and not so pleasant as he might be. However, his offences carry their
+own punishment, and I have nothing to say against him."
+
+"I have no patience with him," observed Scrooge's niece. Scrooge's
+niece's sisters, and all the other ladies, expressed the same opinion.
+
+"Oh, I have!" said Scrooge's nephew. "I am sorry for him; I couldn't be
+angry with him if I tried. Who suffers by his ill whims! Himself,
+always. Here, he takes it into his head to dislike us, and he won't come
+and dine with us. What's the consequence? He don't lose much of a
+dinner."
+
+"Indeed, I think he loses a very good dinner," interrupted Scrooge's
+niece. Everybody else said the same, and they must be allowed to have
+been competent judges, because they had just had dinner; and with the
+dessert upon the table, were clustered round the fire, by lamp-light.
+
+"Well! I am very glad to hear it," said Scrooge's nephew, "because I
+haven't any great faith in these young housekeepers. What do _you_ say,
+Topper?"
+
+Topper had clearly got his eye upon one of Scrooge's niece's sisters,
+for he answered that a bachelor was a wretched outcast, who had no right
+to express an opinion on the subject. Whereat Scrooge's niece's
+sister--the plump one with the lace tucker: not the one with the
+roses--blushed.
+
+"Do go on, Fred," said Scrooge's niece, clapping her hands. "He never
+finishes what he begins to say! He is such a ridiculous fellow!"
+
+"I was only going to say," said Scrooge's nephew, "that the consequence
+of his taking a dislike to us, and not making merry with us, is, as I
+think, that he loses some pleasant moments, which could do him no harm.
+I am sure he loses pleasanter companions than he can find in his own
+thoughts, either in his mouldy old office, or his dusty chambers. I mean
+to give him the same chance every year, whether he likes it or not, for
+I pity him. He may rail at Christmas till he dies, but he can't help
+thinking better of it--I defy him--if he finds me going there, in good
+temper, year after year, and saying, 'Uncle Scrooge, how are you?' If it
+only puts him in the vein to leave his poor clerk fifty pounds, _that's_
+something; and I think I shook him yesterday."
+
+It was their turn to laugh now, at the notion of his shaking Scrooge.
+But being thoroughly goodnatured, and not much caring what they laughed
+at, so that they laughed at any rate, he encouraged them in their
+merriment.
+
+After tea they had some music, Scrooge's niece played well; and played
+among other tunes a simple little air (a mere nothing: you might learn
+to whistle it in two minutes), which had been familiar to the child who
+fetched Scrooge from the boarding-school, as he had been reminded by the
+Ghost of Christmas Past. When this strain of music sounded, all the
+things that the Ghost had shown him, came upon his mind; he softened
+more and more; and thought that if he could have listened to it often,
+years ago, he might have cultivated the kindnesses of life for his own
+happiness with his own hands, without resorting to the sexton's spade
+that buried Jacob Marley.
+
+But they didn't devote the whole evening to music. After awhile they
+played at forfeits; for it is good to be children sometimes, and never
+better than at Christmas, when its mighty founder was a child himself.
+
+Stop! There was first a glorious game at blindman's buff. Of course
+there was. And I no more believe Topper was really blind than I believe
+he had eyes in his boots. My opinion is, that it was a done thing
+between him and Scrooge's nephew; and that the Ghost of Christmas
+Present knew it. The way he went after that plump sister in the lace
+tucker, was an outrage on the credulity of human nature. Knocking down
+the fire-irons, tumbling over the chairs, bumping up against the piano,
+smothering himself amongst the curtains, wherever she went, there went
+he! He always knew where the plump sister was. He wouldn't catch anybody
+else. If you had fallen up against him, (as some of them did) on
+purpose, he would have made a feint of endeavoring to seize you, which
+would have been an affront to your understanding, and would instantly
+have sidled off in the direction of the plump sister. She often cried
+out that it wasn't fair; and it really was not. But when at last, he
+caught her; when, in spite of all her silken rustlings, and her rapid
+flutterings past him, he got her into a corner whence there was no
+escape; then his conduct was the most execrable. For his pretending not
+to know her; his pretending that it was necessary to touch her
+head-dress, and further to assure himself of her identity by pressing a
+certain ring upon her finger, and a certain chain about her neck; was
+vile, monstrous! No doubt she told him her opinion of it when, another
+blind-man being in office, they were so very confidential together,
+behind the curtains.
+
+Scrooge's niece was not one of the blind-man's buff party, but was made
+comfortable with a large chair and a footstool, in a snug corner where
+the Ghost and Scrooge were close behind her. But she joined in the
+forfeits, and loved her love to admiration with all the letters of the
+alphabet. Likewise at the game of How, When, and Where, she was very
+great, and, to the secret joy of Scrooge's nephew, beat her sisters
+hollow: though they were sharp girls too, as Topper could have told you.
+There might have been twenty people there, young and old, but they all
+played, and so did Scrooge; for, wholly forgetting in the interest he
+had in what was going on, that his voice made no sound in their ears, he
+sometimes came out with his guess quite loud, and very often guessed
+right, too; for the sharpest needle, warranted not to cut in the eye,
+was not sharper than Scrooge; blunt as he took it in his head to be.
+
+The Ghost was greatly pleased to find him in this mood, and looked upon
+him with such favor, that he begged like a boy to be allowed to stay
+until the guests departed. But this the Spirit said could not be done.
+The whole scene passed off; and he and the Spirit were again upon their
+travels.
+
+Much they saw, and far they went, and many homes they visited, but
+always with a happy end. The Spirit stood beside sick beds, and they
+were cheerful; on foreign lands, and they were close at home; by
+struggling men, and they were patient in their greater hope; by poverty,
+and it was rich. In almshouse, hospital, and jail, in misery's every
+refuge, where vain man in his little brief authority had not made fast
+the door, and barred the Spirit out, he left his blessing, and taught
+Scrooge his precepts.
+
+It was a long night, if it were only a night; but Scrooge had his doubts
+of this, because the Christmas Holidays appeared to be condensed into
+the space of time they passed together. It was strange, too, that while
+Scrooge remained unaltered in his outward form, the Ghost grew older,
+clearly older!
+
+"Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask," said Scrooge, looking
+intently at the Spirit's robe, "but I see something strange, and not
+belonging to yourself, protruding from your skirts. Is it a foot or a
+claw?"
+
+"It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it," was the Spirit's
+sorrowful reply. "Look here."
+
+From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children; wretched,
+abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and
+clung upon the outside of its garment.
+
+They were a boy and girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but
+prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have
+filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a
+stale and shriveled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted
+them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat
+enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no
+degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the
+mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and
+dread.
+
+Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him in this way, he
+tried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves,
+rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude.
+
+"Spirit, are they yours?" Scrooge could say no more.
+
+"They are Man's," said the Spirit, looking down upon them. "And they
+cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This
+girl is Want. Beware of them both, and all of their degree, but most of
+all beware of this boy."
+
+"Have they no refuge or resource?" cried Scrooge.
+
+"Are there no prisons?" said the Spirit, turning on him for the last
+time with his own words. "Are there no work-houses?"
+
+The bell struck twelve.
+
+Scrooge looked about him for the Ghost, and saw it not. As the last
+stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the prediction of old Jacob
+Marley, and lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and
+hooded, coming like a mist along the ground toward him.
+
+
+STAVE FOUR.
+
+THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS.
+
+
+The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently, approached. When it came near
+him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which
+this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery.
+
+It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its
+face, its form, and left nothing of it visible, save one outstretched
+hand. But for this it would have been difficult to detach its figure
+from the night, and separate it from the darkness by which it was
+surrounded.
+
+He felt that it was tall and stately when it came beside him, and that
+its mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. He knew no more,
+for the Spirit neither spoke nor moved.
+
+"I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?" said
+Scrooge.
+
+The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its hand.
+
+"You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened,
+but will happen in the time before us," Scrooge pursued. "Is that so,
+Spirit?"
+
+The upper portion of the garment was contracted for an instant in its
+folds, as if the Spirit had inclined its head. That was the only answer
+he received.
+
+Although well used to ghostly company by this time, Scrooge feared the
+silent shape so much that his legs trembled beneath him, and he found
+that he could hardly stand when he prepared to follow it. The Spirit
+paused a moment, as observing his condition, and giving him time to
+recover.
+
+But Scrooge was all the worse for this. It thrilled him with a vague
+uncertain horror, to know that behind the dusky shroud, there were
+ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he, though he stretched his
+own to the utmost, could see nothing but a spectral hand and one great
+heap of black.
+
+"Ghost of the Future!" he exclaimed, "I fear you more than any spectre I
+have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good and as I hope to
+live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you
+company, and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?"
+
+It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them.
+
+"Lead on!" said Scrooge. "Lead on! The night is waning fast, and it is
+precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit!"
+
+The Phantom moved away as it had come toward him. Scrooge followed in
+the shadow of its dress, which bore him up, he thought, and carried him
+along.
+
+They scarcely seemed to enter the city; for the city rather seemed to
+spring up about them, and encompass them of its own act. But there they
+were in the heart of it; on 'Change, amongst the merchants; who hurried
+up and down, and chinked the money in their pockets, and conversed in
+groups, and looked at their watches, and trifled thoughtfully with their
+great gold seals; and so forth, as Scrooge had seen them often.
+
+The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men. Observing
+that the hand was pointed to them, Scrooge advanced to listen to their
+talk.
+
+"No," said a great fat man with a monstrous chin, "I don't know much
+about it either way. I only know he's dead."
+
+"When did he die?" inquired another.
+
+"Last night, I believe."
+
+"What has he done with his money?" asked a red-faced gentleman with a
+pendulous excrescence on the end of his nose, that shook like the gills
+of a turkey-cock.
+
+"I haven't heard," said the man with the large chin, yawning again.
+"Left it to his company, perhaps. He hasn't left it to _me_. That's all
+I know."
+
+This pleasantry was received with a general laugh.
+
+"It's likely to be a very cheap funeral," said the same speaker; "for
+upon my life I don't know of anybody to go to it. Suppose we make up a
+party and volunteer?"
+
+"I don't mind going if a lunch is provided," observed the gentleman with
+the excrescence on his nose. "But I must be fed, if I make one."
+
+Another laugh.
+
+"Well, I am the most disinterested among you, after all," said the first
+speaker, "for I never wear black gloves, and I never eat lunch. But I'll
+offer to go, if anybody else will. When I come to think of it, I'm not
+at all sure that I wasn't his most particular friend; for we used to
+stop and speak whenever we met. Bye, bye!"
+
+Speakers and listeners strolled away, and mixed with other groups.
+Scrooge knew the men, and looked toward the Spirit for explanation. He
+was at first inclined to be surprised that the Spirit should attach
+importance to conversations apparently so trivial; but feeling assured
+that they must have some hidden purpose, he set himself to consider what
+it was likely to be. They could scarcely be supposed to have any bearing
+on the death of Jacob, his old partner, for that was past, and this
+Ghost's province was the future. Nor could he think of any one
+immediately connected with himself, to whom he could apply them.
+
+They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part of the town,
+where Scrooge had never penetrated before, although he recognized its
+situation and its bad repute. The ways were foul and narrow; the shops
+and houses wretched; the people half-naked, drunken, slipshod, ugly.
+Alleys and archways, like so many cesspools, disgorged their offences of
+smell, and dirt, and life, upon the straggling streets; and the whole
+quarter reeked with crime, with filth and misery.
+
+Far in this den of infamous resort, there was a low-browed, beetling
+shop, below a pent-house roof, where iron, old rags, bottles, bones, and
+greasy offal were bought. Upon the floor within, were piled up heaps of
+rusty keys, nails, chains, hinges, files, scales, weights, and refuse
+iron of all kinds. Secrets that few would like to scrutinize were bred
+and hidden in mountains of unseemly rags, masses of corrupted fat, and
+sepulchres of bones. Sitting in among the wares he dealt in, by a
+charcoal stove, made of old bricks, was a grey-haired rascal, nearly
+seventy years of age; who had screened himself from the cold air
+without, by a frowsy curtaining of miscellaneous tatters hung upon a
+line; and smoked his pipe in all the luxury of calm retirement.
+
+Scrooge and the Phantom came into the presence of this man, just as a
+woman with a heavy bundle slunk into the shop. But she had scarcely
+entered, when another woman, similarly laden, came in too; and she was
+closely followed by a man in faded black, who was no less startled by
+the sight of them, than they had been upon the recognition of each
+other. After a short period of blank astonishment, in which the old man
+with a pipe had joined them, they all three burst into a laugh.
+
+"Let the charwoman alone to be the first!" cried she who had entered
+first. "Let the laundress alone to be the second; and let the
+undertaker's man alone to be the third. Look here, old Joe, here's a
+chance! If we haven't all three met here without meaning it!"
+
+"You couldn't have met in a better place," said old Joe, removing his
+pipe from his mouth. "Come into the parlor."
+
+The parlor was the space behind the screen of rags. The old man raked
+the fire together with an old stair-rod, and having trimmed his smoky
+lamp (for it was night), with the stem of his pipe, put it into his
+mouth again.
+
+While he did this, the woman who had already spoken threw her bundle on
+the floor and sat down in a flaunting manner on a stool; crossing her
+elbows on her knees, and looking with a bold defiance at the other two.
+"Now, then!" cried the woman. "Who's the worse for the loss of a few
+things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose."
+
+"No, indeed," said Mrs. Dilber, laughing.
+
+"If he wanted to keep 'em after he was dead, a wicked old screw,"
+pursued the woman, "why wasn't he natural in his lifetime? If he had
+been, he'd have had somebody to look after him when he was struck with
+Death, instead of lying gasping out his last there, alone by himself."
+
+"It's the truest word that ever was spoke," said Mrs. Dilber. "It's a
+judgment on him."
+
+"I wish it was a little heavier judgment," replied the woman; "and it
+should have been, you may depend upon it, if I could have laid my hands
+on anything else. Open that bundle, old Joe, and let me know the value
+of it. Speak out plain. I'm not afraid to be the first, nor afraid for
+them to see it. We knew pretty well that we were helping ourselves,
+before we met here, I believe. Open the bundle, Joe."
+
+But the gallantry of her friends would not allow of this; and the man in
+faded black, mounting the breach first, produced _his_ plunder. It was
+not extensive. A seal or two, a pencil-case, a pair of sleeve buttons,
+and a brooch of no great value, were all. They were severally examined
+and appraised by old Joe, who chalked the sums he was disposed to give
+for each, upon the wall, and added them up into a total when he found
+that there was nothing more to come.
+
+"That's your account," said Joe, "and I wouldn't give another sixpence,
+if I was to be boiled for not doing it. Who's next?"
+
+Mrs. Dilber was next. Sheets and towels, a little wearing apparel, two
+old-fashioned silver teaspoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, and a few boots.
+Her account was stated on the wall in the same manner.
+
+"I always give too much to ladies. It's a weakness of mine, and that's
+the way I ruin myself," said old Joe. "That's your account. If you asked
+me for another penny, and made it an open question, I'd repent of being
+so liberal, and knock off half-a-crown."
+
+"And now undo _my_ bundle, Joe," said the first woman.
+
+Joe went down on his knees for the greater convenience of opening it,
+and having unfastened a great many knots, dragged out a large heavy roll
+of some dark stuff.
+
+"What do you call this?" said Joe. "Bed curtains!"
+
+"Ah!" returned the woman, laughing and leaning forward on her crossed
+arms. "Bed curtains!"
+
+"You don't mean to say you took 'em down rings and all, with him lying
+there?" said Joe.
+
+"Yes, I do," replied the woman. "Why not?"
+
+"You were born to make your fortune," said Joe, "and you'll certainly do
+it."
+
+"I certainly shan't hold my hand, when I can get anything in it by
+reaching it out, for the sake of such a man as he was, I promise you,
+Joe," returned the woman coolly. "Don't drop that oil upon the blankets,
+now."
+
+"His blankets?" asked Joe.
+
+"Whose else's do you think?" replied the woman. "He isn't likely to take
+cold without 'em, I dare say."
+
+"I hope he didn't die of anything catching? Eh?" said old Joe, stopping
+in his work, and looking up.
+
+"Don't you be afraid of that," returned the woman. "I an't so fond of
+his company that I'd loiter about him for such things, if he did. Ah!
+you may look through that shirt till your eyes ache; but you won't find
+a hole in it, nor a threadbare place. It's the best he had, and a fine
+one too. They'd have wasted it, if it hadn't been for me."
+
+"What do you call wasting of it?" asked old Joe.
+
+"Putting it on him to be buried in, to be sure," replied the woman with
+a laugh. "Somebody was fool enough to do it, but I took it off again. If
+calico ain't good enough for such a purpose, it isn't good enough for
+anything. It's quite as becoming to the body. He can't look uglier than
+he did in that one."
+
+Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror. As they sat grouped about
+their spoil, in the scanty light afforded by the old man's lamp, he
+viewed them with a detestation and disgust, which could hardly have been
+greater, though they had been obscene demons, marketing the corpse
+itself.
+
+"Ha, ha!" laughed the same woman, when old Joe, producing a flannel bag
+with money in it, told out their several gains upon the ground. "This is
+the end of it, you see? He frightened everyone away from him when he was
+alive, to profit us when he was dead! Ha! ha! ha!"
+
+"Spirit!" said Scrooge, shuddering from head to foot, "I see, I see. The
+case of this unhappy man might be my own. My life tends that way, now.
+Merciful Heaven, what is this?"
+
+He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he almost
+touched a bed: a bare, uncurtained bed: on which, beneath a ragged
+sheet, there lay a something covered up which, though it was dumb,
+announced itself in awful language.
+
+The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any accuracy,
+though Scrooge glanced round it in obedience to a secret impulse,
+anxious to know what kind of room it was. A pale light rising in the
+outer air, fell straight upon the bed: and on it, plundered and bereft,
+unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this man.
+
+Scrooge glanced toward the Phantom. Its steady hand was pointed to the
+head. The cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of
+it, the motion of a finger upon Scrooge's part, would have disclosed the
+face. He thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to
+do it; but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss the
+spectre at his side.
+
+"Spirit!" he said, "this is a fearful place. In leaving it, I shall not
+leave its lesson, trust me. Let us go!"
+
+Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the head.
+
+"I understand you," Scrooge returned, "and I would do it if I could. But
+I have not the power, Spirit. I have not the power."
+
+Again it seemed to look upon him.
+
+"If there is any person in the town, who feels emotion caused by this
+man's death," said Scrooge, quite agonized, "show that person to me,
+Spirit, I beseech you!"
+
+The phantom spread its dark robe before him for a moment, like a wing;
+and withdrawing it, revealed a room by daylight, where a mother and her
+children were.
+
+She was expecting some one, and with anxious eagerness; for she walked
+up and down the room; started at every sound; looked out from the
+window; glanced at the clock; tried, but in vain, to work with her
+needle; and could hardly bear the voices of her children in their play.
+
+At length the long-expected knock was heard. She hurried to the door and
+met her husband; a man whose face was care-worn and depressed, though he
+was young. There was a remarkable expression in it now; a kind of
+serious delight of which he felt ashamed, and which he struggled to
+repress.
+
+He sat down to the dinner that had been hoarding for him by the fire,
+and when she asked him faintly what news (which was not until after a
+long silence), he appeared embarrassed how to answer.
+
+"Is it good," she said, "or bad?"--to help him.
+
+"Bad," he answered.
+
+"We are quite ruined?"
+
+"No. There is hope yet, Caroline."
+
+"If _he_ relents," she said, amazed, "there is! Nothing is past hope, if
+such a miracle has happened."
+
+"He is past relenting," said her husband. "He is dead."
+
+She was a mild and patient creature, if her face spoke truth; but she
+was thankful in her soul to hear it, and she said so, with clasped
+hands. She prayed forgiveness the next moment, and was sorry: but the
+first was the emotion of her heart.
+
+"What the half-drunken woman, whom I told you of last night, said to
+me, when I tried to see him and obtain a week's delay: and what I
+thought was a mere excuse to avoid me, turns out to have been quite
+true. He was not only very ill, but dying, then."
+
+"To whom will our debt be transferred?"
+
+"I don't know. But before that time we shall be ready with the money;
+and even though we were not, it would be bad fortune indeed to find so
+merciless a creditor in his successor. We may sleep to-night with light
+hearts, Caroline!"
+
+Yes. Soften it as they would, their hearts were lighter. The children's
+faces, hushed and clustered round to hear what they so little
+understood, were brighter; and it was a happier house for this man's
+death! The only emotion that the Ghost could show him, caused by the
+event, was one of pleasure.
+
+"Let me see some tenderness connected with the death," said Scrooge; "or
+that dark chamber, Spirit, which we left just now, will be for ever
+present to me."
+
+The Ghost conducted him through several streets to poor Bob Cratchit's
+house; the dwelling he had visited before: and found the mother and the
+children seated round the fire.
+
+Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as still as statues
+in one corner, and sat looking up at Peter, who had a book before him.
+The mother and her daughters were sewing. But surely they were very
+quiet!
+
+"'And He took a child, and set him in the midst of them.'"
+
+Where had Scrooge heard those words? He had not dreamed them. The boy
+must have read them out, as he and the Spirit crossed the threshold. Why
+did he not go on?
+
+The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her hand up to her
+face.
+
+"The color hurts my eyes," she said.
+
+The color? Ah, poor Tiny Tim!
+
+"They're better now again," said Cratchit's wife. "It makes them weak by
+candle-light; and I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father when he comes
+home, for the world. It must be near his time."
+
+"Past it rather," Peter answered, shutting up his book. "But I think he
+has walked a little slower than he used, these few last evenings,
+mother."
+
+They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in a steady, cheerful
+voice, that only faltered once:
+
+"I have known him walk with--I have known him walk with Tiny Tim upon
+his shoulder, very fast indeed."
+
+"And so have I," cried Peter. "Often."
+
+"And so have I," exclaimed another. So had all.
+
+"But he was very light to carry," she resumed, intent upon her work,
+"and his father loved him so, that it was no trouble: no trouble. And
+there is your father at the door!"
+
+She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in his comforter--he had
+need of it, poor fellow--came in. His tea was ready for him, and they
+all tried who should help him to it most. Then the two young Cratchits
+got upon his knees and laid, each child, a little cheek against his
+face, as if they said, "Don't mind it, father. Don't be grieved!"
+
+Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to all the family.
+He looked at the work upon the table, and praised the industry and speed
+of Mrs. Cratchit and the girls. They would be done long before Sunday,
+he said.
+
+"Sunday! You went to-day, then, Robert?" said his wife.
+
+"Yes, my dear," returned Bob. "I wish you could have gone. It would
+have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you'll see it
+often. I promised him that I would walk there on a Sunday. My little,
+little child!" cried Bob. "My little child!"
+
+He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it. If he could have helped
+it, he and his child would have been farther apart perhaps than they
+were.
+
+"Spectre," said Scrooge, "something informs me that our parting moment
+is at hand. I know it, but I know not how. Tell me what man that was
+whom we saw lying dead?"
+
+The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come conveyed him as before into the
+resorts of business men, but showed him not himself. Indeed, the Spirit
+did not stay for anything, but went straight on, as to the end just now
+desired, until besought by Scrooge to tarry for a moment.
+
+"This court," said Scrooge, "through which we hurry now, is where my
+place of occupation is, and has been for a length of time. I see the
+house. Let me behold what I shall be, in days to come."
+
+The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.
+
+"The house is yonder" Scrooge exclaimed. "Why do you point away?"
+
+The inexorable finger underwent no change.
+
+Scrooge hastened to the window of his office, and looked in. It was an
+office still, but not his. The furniture was not the same, and the
+figure in the chair was not himself. The Phantom pointed as before.
+
+He joined it once again, and wondering why and whither he had gone,
+accompanied it until they reached an iron gate. He paused to look round
+before entering.
+
+A churchyard. Here, then, the wretched man whose name he had now to
+learn, lay underneath the ground. It was a worthy place. Walled in by
+houses; overrun by grass and weeds, the growth of vegetation's death,
+not life; choked up with too much burying; fat with repleted appetite. A
+worthy place!
+
+The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to one. He advanced
+toward it trembling. The Phantom was exactly as it had been, but he
+dreaded that he saw new meaning in its solemn shape.
+
+"Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point," said Scrooge,
+"answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that will
+be, or are they shadows of the things that may be, only?"
+
+Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood.
+
+"Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in,
+they must lead," said Scrooge, "But if the courses be departed from, the
+ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me!"
+
+The Spirit was immovable as ever.
+
+Scrooge crept toward it, trembling as he went; and following the finger,
+read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, EBENEZER
+SCROOGE.
+
+"Am _I_ that man who lay upon the bed?" he cried, upon his knees.
+
+The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again.
+
+"No, Spirit! Oh, no, no!"
+
+The finger still was there.
+
+Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw
+an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and
+dwindled down into a bedpost.
+
+
+STAVE FIVE.
+
+THE END OF IT.
+
+
+Yes! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, and the room was
+his own. Best and happiest of all, the time before him was his own, to
+make amends in!
+
+He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions, that his
+broken voice would scarcely answer to his call. He had been sobbing
+violently in his conflict with the Spirit, and his face was wet with
+tears.
+
+"They are not torn down," cried Scrooge, folding one of his bed curtains
+in his arms, "they are not torn down, rings and all. They are here--I am
+here--the shadows of the things that would have been, may be dispelled.
+They will be. I know they will!"
+
+He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there:
+perfectly winded.
+
+"There's the saucepan that the gruel was in!" cried Scrooge, starting
+off again, and going round the fire-place. "There's the door by which
+the Ghost of Jacob Marley entered! There's the corner where the Ghost of
+Christmas Present sat! There's the window where I saw the wandering
+Spirits! It's all right, it's all true, it all happened. Ha, ha, ha!"
+
+Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was
+a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long
+line of brilliant laughs!
+
+"I don't know what day of the month it is," said Scrooge. "I don't know
+how long I have been among the Spirits. I don't know anything. I'm quite
+a baby. Never mind. I don't care. I'd rather be a baby. Hallo! Whoop!
+Hallo here!"
+
+He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the
+lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clash, hammer; ding, dong,
+bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious!
+
+Running to the window, he opened it and put out his head.
+
+"What's to-day?" cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday
+clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.
+
+"Eh?" returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.
+
+"What's to-day, my fine fellow?" said Scrooge.
+
+"To-day!" replied the boy. "Why, CHRISTMAS DAY."
+
+"It's Christmas Day!" said Scrooge to himself. "I haven't missed it. The
+Spirits have done it all in one night. Hallo, my fine fellow!"
+
+"Hallo!" returned the boy.
+
+"Do you know the Poulterer's, in the next street but one, at the
+corner?" Scrooge inquired.
+
+"I should hope I did," replied the lad.
+
+"An intelligent boy!" said Scrooge. "A remarkable boy! Do you know
+whether they've sold the prize turkey that was hanging up there?"
+
+"It's hanging there now," replied the boy.
+
+"Is it?" said Scrooge. "Go and buy it."
+
+"Walk-ER!" exclaimed the boy.
+
+"No, no," said Scrooge, "I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell 'em to
+bring it here, that I may give them the directions where to take it.
+Come back with the man, and I'll give you a shilling."
+
+The boy was off like a shot.
+
+"I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's," whispered Scrooge, rubbing his hands,
+and splitting with a laugh. "He shan't know who sends it. It's twice the
+size of Tiny Tim."
+
+The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one; but write
+it he did, somehow, and went down-stairs to open the street door, ready
+for the coming of the poulterer's man.
+
+The chuckle with which he paid for the Turkey, and the chuckle with
+which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle
+with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and chuckled till
+he cried.
+
+He dressed himself "all in his best," and got out into the streets. The
+people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen them with the
+Ghost of Christmas Present; and walking with his hands behind him,
+Scrooge regarded every one with a delighted smile. He looked so
+irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humored
+fellows said "Good morning, sir! A Merry Christmas to you!" And Scrooge
+said often afterward, that of all the blithe sounds he ever heard, those
+were the blithest in his ears.
+
+He had not gone far, when coming on toward him he beheld the portly
+gentleman, who had walked into his counting-house the day before, and
+said "Scrooge and Marley's, I believe?" It sent a pang across his heart
+to think how this old gentleman would look upon him when they met; but
+he knew what path lay straight before him, and he took it.
+
+"My dear sir," said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and taking the old
+gentleman by both his hands, "how do you do? I hope you succeeded
+yesterday. It was very kind of you. A Merry Christmas to you, sir!"
+
+"Mr. Scrooge?"
+
+"Yes," said Scrooge. "That is my name, and I fear it may not be pleasant
+to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the
+goodness"--here Scrooge whispered in his ear.
+
+"Lord bless me!" cried the gentleman, as if his breath were taken away.
+"My dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?"
+
+"If you please," said Scrooge. "Not a farthing less. A great many back
+payments are included in it, I assure you. Will you do me that favor?"
+
+"My dear sir," said the other, shaking hands with him, "I don't know
+what to say to such munifi--"
+
+"Don't say anything, please," retorted Scrooge. "Come and see me. Will
+you come and see me?"
+
+"I will!" cried the old gentleman. And it was clear he meant to do it.
+
+"Thank'ee," said Scrooge. "I am much obliged to you. I thank you fifty
+times. Bless you!"
+
+He went to church, and walked about the streets and watched the people
+hurrying to and fro, and patted the children on the head, and looked
+down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows; and found
+everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any
+walk--that any thing--could give him so much happiness. In the
+afternoon, he turned his steps toward his nephew's house.
+
+He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the courage to go up and
+knock. But he made a dash, and did it.
+
+"Is your master at home, my dear?" said Scrooge to the girl. Nice girl!
+Very.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Where is he?" said Scrooge.
+
+"He's in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I'll show you
+up-stairs, if you please."
+
+"Thank'ee. He knows me," said Scrooge, with his hand already on the
+dining-room lock. "I'll go in here, my dear."
+
+He turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the door. They were
+looking at the table (which was spread out in great array); for these
+young housekeepers are always nervous on such points, and like to see
+that everything is right.
+
+"Fred!" said Scrooge.
+
+"Why, bless my soul!" cried Fred, "who's that?"
+
+"It's I. Your Uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you let me in,
+Fred?"
+
+Let him in! It is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. He was at home in
+five minutes. Nothing could be heartier.
+
+But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early there. If
+he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That
+was the thing he had set his heart upon.
+
+And he did it; yes, he did! The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter
+past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time.
+Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the
+tank.
+
+His hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was on
+his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to
+overtake nine o'clock.
+
+"Hallo!" growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice as near as he could
+feign it. "What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?"
+
+"I am very sorry, sir," said Bob. "I _am_ behind my time."
+
+"You are!" repeated Scrooge. "Yes. I think you are. Step this way, sir,
+if you please."
+
+"It's only once a year, sir," pleaded Bob, appearing from the tank. "It
+shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir."
+
+"Now, I'll tell you what, my friend," said Scrooge. "I am not going to
+stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore I am about to raise
+your salary!"
+
+"A Merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could
+not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back, "A Merrier Christmas,
+Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year! I'll raise
+your salary, and endeavor to assist your struggling family, and we will
+discuss your affairs this very afternoon. Make up the fires, and buy
+another coal scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!"
+
+Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more;
+and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was a second father. He became as
+good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city
+knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old
+world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them
+laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that
+nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did
+not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as
+these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they
+should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less
+attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for
+him.
+
+He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total
+Abstinence Principle, ever afterward; and it was always said of him,
+that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the
+knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny
+Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!
+
+
+
+
+THE CHRISTMAS BABE.
+
+BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
+
+
+     We love to think of Bethlehem,
+             That little mountain town,
+       To which, on earth's first Christmas Day,
+             Our blessed Lord came down.
+       A lowly manger for His bed,
+             The cattle near in stall,
+       There, cradled close in Mary's arms,
+             He slept, the Lord of all.
+
+     If we had been in Bethlehem,
+             We too had hasted fain
+       To see the Babe whose little face
+             Knew neither care nor pain.
+       Like any little child of ours,
+             He came unto His own,
+       Through Cross and shame before Him stretched,--
+             His pathway to His Throne.
+
+     If we had dwelt in Bethlehem,
+             We would have followed fast,
+       And where the Star had led our feet
+             Have knelt ere dawn was past.
+       Our gifts, our songs, our prayers had been
+             An offering, as He lay,
+       The blessed Babe of Bethlehem,
+             In Mary's arms that day.
+
+     Now breaks the latest Christmas Morn!
+             Again the angels sing,
+       And far and near the children throng
+             Their happy hymns to bring.
+       All heaven is stirred! All earth is glad!
+             For down the shining way,
+       The Lord who came to Bethlehem,
+             Comes yet, on Christmas Day.
+
+
+
+
+A WESTERN CHRISTMAS IN THE OLD DAYS.
+
+BY MRS. W. H. CORNING.
+
+
+Christmas week there was no school, but such a succession of dining
+days, and visiting days, and day parties, and night parties, that Fanny,
+who looked forward to the week as a season of rest, thought that the
+regular routine of school duties would be less fatiguing.
+
+Christmas at La Belle Prairie was the one jubilee of the year, something
+to be talked about for six months beforehand, and to be remembered as
+long after. It was a time of feasting and recreation for both master and
+servant. Days before, preparations commenced in the kitchen. Various
+smells issued from thence--savory smells of boiled, baked, and roasted
+meats; and sweet delicious smells of warm pastry and steaming cakes.
+Aunt Tibby was rolling pie-crust or stirring cake all day long, and the
+chopping of sausage-meat, the pounding of spices, and the beating of
+eggs were constantly heard. Everything was carried on with the greatest
+secrecy. The children were all kept out of the kitchen, and when
+"somefin' good" was to be transferred therefrom to Miss Car'line's
+store-room, Aunt Tibby came sailing in, holding it high above the reach
+of the curious little heads.
+
+"I don't care," said Cal. "There's six pound-cakes all in a row on the
+store-room shelf. I see 'em when ma opened the door; and Marthy says one
+of 'em got currants in it, and there's a little shoat thar roasted
+whole. O! how I wish Christmas was come."
+
+Coming suddenly upon Maud one day, Fanny found her with her apron half
+full of bran, while her fingers were busily at work upon a few pieces of
+faded silk. Maud tried to hide them at first, but finding by Fanny's
+question of "What is it, Maud?" that it was too late, she had looked up
+with a tired, flushed face and said:
+
+"Miss Fanny, don't you tell now! will you? I'm makin' a pin-cushion for
+Aunt Phoebe, but it won't come square, all I can do. It acts awfully."
+
+"Let me see what the trouble is," said Fanny, and sitting down, she
+examined the poor cushion; which, indeed, under Maud's hands, was not
+soon likely to come into shape.
+
+"You see," said Maud, "I want to give aunty a Christmas gift, and I
+thought a cushion would be so nice, 'cause her old one that she wears
+pinned to her waist, you know, has burst a great hole, and the bran
+keeps tumbling out. I'm going to make her a right nice one, only I wish
+'twas brighter, 'cause aunty likes red, and yellow, and all them, so
+bad."
+
+Fanny searched her piece bag and brought forth bits of gay ribbon, the
+sight of which threw Maud into ecstasies of delight, then giving up the
+morning to the job, she cut and planned, and fitted and basted together,
+getting all in order, so that Maud could do the sewing herself.
+
+"Aunty wouldn't think half so much of it if I didn't," said the child.
+
+Well and faithfully Maud performed her labor of love, giving up her
+much-prized runs on the prairie, and resisting all the children's
+entreaties to play with them, till the Christmas gift was finished. It
+was no small task, for Maud most heartily hated to sew, and her fingers
+were anything but nimble in the operation. "I always did despise to sew,
+Miss Fanny," she said, "but I'm going to make this cushion for aunty
+anyhow."
+
+It was finished at last, and, as Maud expressed it, "was just as
+beautiful as it could be." There never was a prouder, happier child. She
+did not thank Fanny in words for her assistance, but that night she came
+softly behind her, and putting her arms around her neck, gave her an
+earnest kiss, a proceeding which called forth an exclamation of surprise
+from Mrs. Catlett, for Maud was very chary of her caresses.
+
+Christmas morning came, and long before daylight, every child upon the
+place, both black and white, was up ready to "march in Christmas." There
+had been mysterious preparations the night before, such as the hiding of
+tin pans and glass bottles under the bed, and the faint tooting of an
+old horn, heard down at the quarters, as though some one was rehearsing
+a part. Fanny was also astonished by an application from little "darky
+Tom" for permission to use her school-bell, the said cow-tinkler not
+being remarkable for sweetness of sound.
+
+"O, yes, Tom, you may take it; but what can you want of it?"
+
+"Couldn't tell no ways, Miss Fanny," said Tom, with a grin. "Mebbe Miss
+Fanny know in de mornin'."
+
+Morning did indeed bring an explanation of the mystery. Assembling in
+the yard, the children marshaled themselves into marching order; Maud,
+of course, being captain, and taking the lead, bearing an old tin horn,
+while little black Tom brought up the rear with Fanny's unfortunate
+cow-bell.
+
+In this order they commenced "marching in Christmas" to the music of the
+horn, the beating of tin pans, the rattling of bits of iron and pieces
+of wood, the jingling of bells, and the clapping of hands. Into the
+house, and up-stairs to the very doors of the sleeping-rooms, they all
+marched with their horrid din. It was received with tolerable
+good-humor by all but Nanny, who, deprived of her morning nap by the
+tumult, raved at the juvenile disturbers of the peace, and finally threw
+her shoes at them as they stood on the stairway. These were directly
+seized upon as trophies, and carried off in triumph to the quarters,
+where the young performers went through with the same operations.
+
+"Christmas gift! Christmas gift!" was the first salutation from the
+servants this morning, and it was well worth while to give them some
+trifling present, were it only to hear their extravagant expressions of
+gratitude and delight. It was impossible to forget for a moment that it
+was Christmas. One could see it in the faces of the servants, released
+for a whole week from their daily tasks, and rejoicing in the prospect
+of dances, and parties, and visits to friends and kindred on distant
+plantations. The children, too, with their boisterous merriment and
+constant talk about the holidays, seemed determined to bear it in mind,
+and the great dinner--the one dinner of the year--in the preparation of
+which Aunt Tibby had exercised all her skill; this, in itself, seemed to
+proclaim that it was Christmas.
+
+"Oh, Miss Fanny," said little Joy, "don't you wish Christmas lasted the
+whole year round?"
+
+The short December day was fast drawing to a close, as a party of four
+rode leisurely along the road crossing La Belle Prairie. The ladies,
+though scarcely recognizable in their close hoods, long blue cotton
+riding skirts, and thick gloves, were none other than Miss Nancy Catlett
+and our friend Fanny, while their attendants were Mr. Chester, the town
+gentleman, and Massa Dave Catlett, who had come over from his new home
+in Kansas, on purpose to enjoy the Christmas festivities on the prairie.
+One of those night parties, of which Nanny had talked so much, was to
+come off at Col. Turner's, and this was the place of their destination.
+In accordance with the customs of society in these parts, they were to
+remain until the next day, and, accordingly, black Viny rode a little in
+the rear, mounted upon old "Poke Neck," and bearing sundry carpet-bags
+and valises, containing the ladies' party-dresses.
+
+Just at dusk, our party reached their journey's end, and dismounting one
+by one from the horse-block in front of the house, they walked up the
+road, and were met in the porch by Miss Bell Turner, Nanny's particular
+friend. This young lady, with long curls and a very slender waist,
+performed the duties of hostess in a free and easy manner, ushering the
+gentlemen into the parlor, where a fire was blazing on the hearth, while
+the ladies, with their attendants, were conducted up-stairs to the
+dressing-room.
+
+Here a dozen or more were engaged in the mysteries of the toilet,
+braiding, twisting, and curling, while as many servants were flying
+about, stumbling over each other, and creating the most dire confusion
+in their efforts to supply the wants of their respective mistresses. The
+beds and chairs were covered with dresses, capes, ribbons,
+curling-irons, flowers, combs, and brushes, and all the paraphernalia of
+the toilet, while the ladies themselves kept up a continual stream of
+conversation with each other and their attendants.
+
+Into this scene Nanny entered with great spirit. Shaking hands all
+round, and introducing Fanny, she hastily threw off her bonnet and
+shawl, and bidding Viny unpack the things, she set about dressing in
+good earnest.
+
+"How nice to get here so early," she said. "Now we can have a chance at
+the glass, and plenty of room to move about in."
+
+Fanny wondered what she called plenty of room, but had yet to learn the
+signification of the term when applied to the dressing-room of a western
+party. Thicker and faster came the arrivals, and it being necessary that
+each lady should undergo a thorough transformation in dress, before
+making her appearance down-stairs, the labor and confusion necessary to
+bring this about can be imagined. Such hurryings to and fro, such
+knockings down and pickings up, such scolding and laughing, in short
+such a Babel of sounds as filled the room for an hour or two, Fanny had
+never heard before. Completing her own toilet as soon as possible, she
+seated herself upon one of the beds, and watched the proceedings with
+great interest.
+
+"You Suke, bring me some more pins, directly." "O please, Miss Ellen,
+mind my wreath!" "Jule, how much longer are you goin' to keep the
+wash-bowl?" "Dar now, Miss Eveline done get her coat all wet." "Did you
+know Tom Walton was here? I see him in the passage." "Miss Belle, that's
+_my_ starch-bag." "There, now! don't them slippers fit beautiful?" "Why
+don't that girl come back?" "O, Liza, just fasten up my dress, that's a
+dear girl!" "Come, girls, do hurry, we shan't be dressed to-night."
+
+How it was all brought about, Fanny could not tell, but at last the
+ladies were dressed, the last sash pinned, and the last curl adjusted.
+Dresses of thin material, cut low in the neck, with short sleeves,
+seemed to be the order of the night, which with wreaths, and bunches of
+artificial flowers in the hair, gave the ladies a handsome appearance.
+With Miss Belle at the head, they all descended to the parlor, and found
+the gentlemen strolling about, employing themselves as they could, till
+the night's amusements commenced; and, indeed, both ladies and gentlemen
+manifested such eagerness to adjourn to the play-room, that the signal
+was soon given, and they proceeded forthwith to a log building in the
+yard, formerly used as a school-room.
+
+Games soon commenced, and were carried on with great vigor, the young
+people making up in activity what was lacking in gracefulness of motion.
+Game after game was made out, the ladies vying with each other to see
+who should laugh the most, while those who were left chatted gayly
+together in groups, or tried their powers of fascination upon some
+long-limbed specimen of humanity.
+
+"What calls the gentlemen up-stairs so frequently?" inquired Fanny,
+innocently, as groups of two and three disappeared up the steps leading
+to the room above.
+
+"You are not aware, then, what a formidable rival the ladies have up in
+the loft?" said Mr. Chester, gravely, though there was a comical
+expression about the corners of his mouth.
+
+"No, indeed."
+
+"Well, I only hope you may not witness the overpowering influence
+sometimes exerted by this same rival," said Mr. Chester; "but honestly,
+Miss Hunter, there is serious danger that some of these light-footed
+young gentlemen may, ere long, be obliged to relinquish their places in
+our party, all through the attractions presented to them up yonder."
+
+"I don't in the least know what you mean."
+
+"In plain words, then, they are talking about horses up there; men are
+crazy over horses you know."
+
+"Are you in earnest, Mr. Chester?"
+
+"Certainly I am. It would not answer, I suppose, for ladies to intrude
+upon their modest retirement, or I could convince you in a moment."
+
+"How can you joke about it, Mr. Chester? I think it is perfectly
+scandalous."
+
+"Well, it is bad enough," said her companion, more gravely. "One living
+at the west becomes accustomed to such things."
+
+"_I_ never will," said Fanny. "If I had known these Christmas parties
+countenanced such impoliteness, I would have stayed at home."
+
+"A set supper," Nanny had several times expressed a hope that Mrs.
+Turner would provide, and she was not disappointed. The long table was
+bountifully spread with the substantials of this life, and though not in
+the style of an entertainment in Fifth Avenue, it was admirably suited
+to the guests who partook of it. A roasted "shoat" graced each end of
+the board, a side of bacon the centre, while salted beef, cut in thin
+slices, with pickles and cheese, constituted the side-dishes. Hot
+coffee, corn bread and biscuit were passed to each guest, and a piece of
+pound-cake and a little preserved fruit for dessert.
+
+There was plenty of laughter and hearty joking at the table, and the
+flushed faces and increased volubility of the gentlemen gave too certain
+evidence of the truth of Mr. Chester's assertions.
+
+"The langest day maun hae an end," says the old Scotch proverb, audit
+was with a sigh of relief that Fanny at last saw Uncle Jake lay down the
+tortured fiddle, and the guests with lingering steps and wishful eyes
+retire to seek the few hours of repose that were left of the night.
+"Confusion worse confounded" reigned for a time in the apartment
+appropriated to the ladies' use, and the numerous couches spread upon
+the floor increased the difficulty of navigation. At last, when quiet
+seemed restored, and Fanny was sinking into a peaceful sleep, she was
+aroused by her neighbors in an adjoining bed, three young ladies who
+declared that they were "all but starved, and must have something to eat
+before they could go to sleep." One of the black women was despatched to
+the store-room for some slices of cold bacon, and sitting up in bed,
+with the candle before them, they made a hearty repast.
+
+"Of course, you can't eat half as much as you want at table," said one
+of the young ladies, apologetically; "one always wants to appear
+delicate-like before the gentlemen."
+
+"What in goodness' name, Nan, made breakfast so late?" said Dave the
+next morning, or rather noon, as they were returning home; "I thought
+one while we wasn't goin' to get any." "Why, you see, they hadn't any
+wheat flour in the house for the biscuit," said Nanny, "and they had to
+send three miles over the prairie to Mr. John Turner's to borrow some."
+
+"Twenty people invited to stay over night, and no flour in the house?"
+said Fanny, in amazement.
+
+"It rather shocks your Yankee ideas of looking out ahead, Miss Hunter,"
+said Mr. Chester, laughing. "We are used to such things out this way."
+
+"Oh! Miss Fanny, people can't remember everything, you know," said
+Nanny; "Belle says they never thought a word about it till this
+morning."
+
+
+
+
+JOE'S SEARCH FOR SANTA CLAUS.
+
+BY IRVING BACHELLER
+
+
+     A story, my child? Well, there's none that I know
+     As good as the story about little Joe.
+     He lived with his mother, just under the eaves
+     Of a tenement high, where the telegraph weaves
+     Its highway of wire, that everywhere goes,
+     And makes the night musical when the wind blows.
+     Their home had no father--the two were bereft
+     Of all but their appetites--those never left!
+     Joe's grew with his thought; a day never passed
+     He spent not in hunger to make the food last;
+     And days when his mother silently went
+     And stood by the windows--Joe knew what it meant.
+     They'd nothing for supper! The words were so sad
+     That somehow they drowned all the hunger he had.
+     And surely God's miracles never have ceased--
+     Joe's hunger grew less when his sorrows increased.
+     When the coal ran out in winter's worst storm,
+     The fire burnt the harder that kept their hearts warm.
+     Their windows revealed many wonderful sights,
+     Long acres of roofing and high-flying kites;
+     At sunset, the great vault of heaven aglow,
+     The lining of gold on the clouds hanging low,
+     The cross on the top of St. Mary's high tower
+     Ablaze with the light of that magical hour;
+     And still, as the arrows of light slanted higher,
+     The last thing in sight was the great cross of fire.
+     Each day, as it vanished, the history old
+     Of Christ's crucifixion was reverently told;
+     To Him the boy learned to confide all his woes,
+     But oftenest prayed for a new suit of clothes,
+     Since those that he wore didn't fit him at all--
+     The coat was too large and the trousers too small,
+     And Joe looked so queer, from his head to his feet,
+     It grieved his proud soul to be seen in the street.
+     And sometimes he cherished a secret desire
+     To own a hand-sled, or to build a bonfire;
+     But reached one conclusion by various routes--
+     He could have better fun with a new pair of boots.
+     He thought how the old pair, when shiny and whole.
+     Had squeaked in a way that delighted his soul,
+     And remembrance grew sad as he strutted around
+     And tried hard, but vainly, to waken that sound.
+     The day before Christmas brought trouble for Joe,
+     A thousand times worse. 'Twas a terrible blow
+     To hear that old Santa Claus, god of his dreams.
+     Would not come that year with his fleet-footed teams.
+     He'd seen them. Why, once, of a night's witching hour
+     He saw them jump over the cross on the tower
+     And scamper away o'er the snow-covered roofs,
+     His heart beating time to the sound of their hoofs.
+     Not coming this year? Santa Claus must be dead,
+     He thought, as with sad tears he crept into bed.
+     And, as he lay thinking, the long strings of wire
+     Sang low in the wind like a deep-sounding lyre,
+     And Joe caught the notes of this solemn refrain--
+     "He'll not come again! no, he'll not come again!"
+     And oh! how the depths of his spirit were stirred
+     By thoughts that were born of the music he heard!
+     How cold were the winds, and they sang in their strife,
+     Of storms yet to come in the winters of life.
+     They mocked him, but mark how the faith of the child
+     Stood firm as a fortress, its hope undefiled;
+     For still the boy thought that, if Santa Claus knew
+     How great were their needs and their comforts how few,
+     He would come; and at length, when the first rays of light
+     Had fathomed the infinite depths of the night,
+     And brightened the windows, Joe cautiously crept
+     Out of bed: and he dressed while his mother still slept,
+     And down the long stairways on tiptoe he ran;
+     Then out in the snow, with the will of a man,
+     He went, looking hither and thither, because,
+     Poor boy! he was trying to find Santa Claus.
+     He hurried along through the snow-burdened street
+     As if the good angels were guiding his feet;
+     And as the sun rose in the heavens apace,
+     A radiance fell on his uplifted face
+     That came from the cross gleaming far overhead--
+     A symbol of hope for the living and dead.
+     A moment he looked at the great house of prayer,
+     Then slyly peeked in to see what was there;
+     And entering softly he wandered at will
+     Through pathways of velvet, deserted and still,
+     And saw the light grow on a wonderful scene
+     Of ivy-twined columns and arches of green,
+     And back of the rail, where the clergyman knelt,
+     He sat on the cushions to see how they felt.
+     How soft was that velvet he stroked with his hand!
+     But when he lay down, oh, the feeling was grand!
+     And while he was musing the walls seemed to sway,
+     And slowly the windows went moving away.
+     What, ho! there he comes! with his big pack and all,
+     Down the sunbeams that slope from the high-windowed wall,
+     And Joe tried to speak, but could not, if he died,
+     When Santa Claus came and sat down by his side.
+     "A tenement boy! humph! he probably swears."
+     (Joe trembled, and tried hard to think of his prayers.)
+     He lifted Joe's eyelids, he patted his brow,
+     And said. "He is not a bad boy, anyhow."
+     But hark! there is music; a deep-swelling sound
+     Is sweeping on high as if heavenward bound.
+     And suddenly waking, Joe saw kneeling there
+     The rector, long-robed, who was reading a prayer.
+     "Provide for the fatherless children," said he
+     "The widowed, the helpless, the bond and the free."
+     The rector stops praying--his face wears a frown;
+     A ragged young gamin is pulling his gown.
+     "I knowed you would come," said the boy, half in fright--
+     "I knowed you would come--I was watchin' all night.
+     Say! what are ye goin' t'give mother an' me?
+     Le'me see what 'tis, Santa Claus--please le'me see!"
+     The rector looked down into Joe's honest face,
+     And a great wave of feeling swept over the place;
+     And tenderly laying his hand on Joe's head,
+     He turned to the people and solemnly said:
+     "We pray that the poor may be sheltered and fed,
+     And we leave it to Heaven to furnish the bread.
+     Ye know, while He feedeth the fowls in the air.
+     The children of mankind He leaves to man's care;"
+     And kissing Joe's face the preacher said then;
+     "Of such is the kingdom of Heaven. Amen!"
+     That day Santa Claus came to many a door
+     He'd forgotten to call at the evening before.
+     Was little Joe lucky? Well, now, you are right.
+     And the wires sang merrily all the next night.
+
+
+
+
+ANGELA'S CHRISTMAS.
+
+BY JULIA SCHAYER.
+
+
+"Then it is 'yes,' father dear?" said Angela, looking across the
+breakfast table with a smile. It was her mother's smile, and the girl
+had filled her mother's vacant chair for more than a year.
+
+The eyes of the father and daughter met, and Angela knew, before a word
+was said, that she had conquered.
+
+"I hate to see you at your age, beginning to worry over these things,"
+Ephraim Frazier said, regretfully. "Let the _old_ women take care of the
+charities, dear. You keep on dancing in the sunshine a while longer,
+daughter."
+
+Angela's smile grew graver, but not less sweet.
+
+"I am twenty, dear," she said. "Too old to dance _all_ the time, and I
+cannot help _thinking_, you know. And--it's no use, papa dear! I _must_
+do something! It _is_ 'yes,' isn't it?"
+
+"You are sure you won't mind being criticised and ridiculed?"
+
+"Quite sure!" answered Angela.
+
+"And sure you won't take your failures and disappointments to heart too
+deeply?"
+
+"Quite sure I can bear them bravely," answered the girl. "If only one,
+_just one_, of those poor creatures may be helped, and lifted up, and
+brought out of darkness, it will be worth trying for!"
+
+"And what does Robert Johns say about it?"
+
+A glow kindled in Angela's face.
+
+"Robert is in perfect sympathy with me," she said softly. Then again,
+this time having risen and gone around to his side, to speak with her
+face against the old banker's smoothly shaven cheek, "It _is_ 'yes,'
+isn't it, daddy dear?"
+
+"Well, yes! Only you must go slow, dear. You are not over strong, you
+know."
+
+And soon it came to pass that on a vacant lot, hitherto given over to
+refuse heaps, haunted by stray cats, ragpickers, and vagrant children,
+in one of the vilest quarters of the metropolis, there sprang up, with
+magic swiftness, a commodious frame building, surrounded by smooth green
+sod, known in the lower circles as the Locust Street Home; in upper
+circles, laughingly denominated "Angela's Experiment."
+
+Angela did not mind. It was mostly goodnatured laughter, and many of the
+laughers ended by lending willing hands and hearts to the cause. It was
+wonderful how the news spread through the city's purlieus that here was
+a sanctuary into which cold, hunger, and fatigue dared not intrude; a
+place which the lowest might enter and be made welcome, and go
+unquestioned, his personal rights as carefully respected as though he
+were one of the Four Hundred.
+
+That was Angela's theory. No man, woman, or child should be _compelled_
+to anything. First make their bodies comfortable, then surround them
+with ennobling influences and examples, entertain them, arouse them,
+stimulate them, hold out the helping hand, _and leave the rest to God_.
+"They shall not even be _compelled_ to be clean!" she said, laughing.
+"If the beautiful clean bathrooms and clean clothing do not tempt them
+to cleanliness, then so be it! I will have no rules; only influences.
+You will see!"
+
+And people did see, and wondered.
+
+Sometimes, on warm, pleasant evenings, the spacious, cheerful hall, with
+its tables and chairs, would be almost empty; but on nights like that on
+which this story opens, a dark, cold December night, the seats were apt
+to be well filled, mostly with slatternly, hard-featured women, and
+dull-faced children, who sat staring stolidly about, while the music and
+speaking went on; half stupefied by the warmth and tranquillity so
+foreign to their lives.
+
+Outside, a dismal sleet was falling, but from the open door of the
+vestibule a great sheet of light fell upon the wet pavement, and above
+it glowed a transparency bearing the words:
+
+"A Merry Christmas to all! Come in!"
+
+It was while the singing was going on, led by a high, sweet girl's
+voice, that a human figure came hobbling out from a side street, and
+stopped short at the very edge of the lighted space.
+
+A woman by her dress, an old, old woman, with a seamed, blotched face;
+an ugly, human wreck, all torn and battered and discolored by the storms
+of life. Such was old Marg--"Luny Marg," as she was called in the haunts
+that knew her best. Her history? She had forgotten it herself, very
+likely, and there was no one to know or care--no one in the wide world
+to care if she should at any moment be trampled to death, or slip from
+the dock into the black river. The garret which lodged her would find
+another tenant; the children of the gutters another target for their
+missiles. Not that she was worse than others--only that she was old and
+ugly and sharp of tongue, and the world--even _her_ world--has no use
+for such as she.
+
+For some time this forlorn creature continued to hover on the edge of
+the lighted space. The sleet had become snow, and already a thin white
+film covered the pavement, promising "a white Christmas," and the cold
+increased from moment to moment.
+
+The woman drew her filthy shawl closer; her jaws chattered, yet she
+seemed unable to tear herself from the spot. Her eyes, alert under
+their gray brows, as a rat's, were fixed now upon the open door, now
+upon the transparency, yet she made no motion toward the proffered
+shelter. Two men, hirsute and ragged, stopped near her and, after a
+moments consultation, slunk across the square of light and disappeared
+in the building. As the door was opened, there came a fuller burst of
+song, and a rush of warm air, fragrant with the aroma of coffee and
+oysters.
+
+The old woman's body quivered with desire; food, warmth, rest--all that
+her miserable frame demanded--were there within easy reach, for the mere
+asking; nay for the mere taking; yet still the devils of stubbornness
+and spite would not let go their hold upon her. But finally, as a bitter
+blast swept the snow stingingly against her face, she uttered a hoarse
+snarl, and glancing about to see that no jeering eye was upon her, the
+poor creature crept across the pavement, clambered up the stone steps,
+and, pushing open the door, slipped into the nearest vacant seat.
+
+The chairs and benches were unusually well filled. Numbers of women and
+children were in the foreground. A few men were also present, sitting
+with their bodies hanging forward, their hats tightly clutched between
+their knees, their eyes fixed on the floor. The women and children, on
+the contrary, followed every movement of the young women on the platform
+with furtive eagerness.
+
+The simplicity of attire which Angela and her friends had assumed did
+not deceive even the tiniest gutter-child present--these were "ladies,"
+and one and all accorded them the same tribute of genuine, if reluctant,
+admiration.
+
+Old Marg, after the embarrassment of the first moment, took everything
+in with one hawk-like glance--the Christmas greens upon the clean, white
+walls, the curtained space in the rear which hid some pleasant mystery,
+the men and women on the platform.
+
+At the organ sat a young girl, leaning upon the now silent keys, her
+face toward the young man who was speaking. Old Marg could not take her
+eyes from this face--white, serious, sweet, set in a halo of pale golden
+hair. The sight of it aroused strange feelings in the bosom of the old
+outcast. Fascinated, tortured, bewildered, she sat and gazed. It was
+long since she had thought of her youth. This girl reminded her of that
+forgotten time. Like a violet flung upon a refuse-heap, the thought of
+her own innocent girlhood lay for an instant upon the foul mass of
+memories accumulated by sixty-miserable years. "_I_ was light-haired,
+too!" ran old Marg's thoughts. "Light-haired, an' light-complected, like
+her!"
+
+The perfume of that thought breathed across her soul, and was gone.
+Still she gazed from under her shaggy brows, and, without meaning to
+listen, found herself hearing what the speaker was saying. He was
+telling without rhetoric or cant the story of Christ, and with
+simplicity and tact presenting the lesson of His life.
+
+"This joy of giving, of sacrificing for others," the young man was
+saying in his earnest, musical voice, "so far beyond the joy of
+receiving, is within the reach of every human being. Think of that! The
+poorest man or woman or child who breathes on earth to-night may know
+this joy, may give some pleasure, some help, some comfort, to some
+fellow-creature. Whether it be a human creature or a dumb beast, matters
+not. It is all one in God's sight, being an act of love and kindness and
+sacrifice."
+
+Old Marg looked down upon her squalid rags; her rough features writhed
+with a scornful smile. "That's a lie!" she muttered. "What could the
+likes of _me_ do for anybody, I'd like to know!"
+
+Still she listened; but at last, as the warmth stole through her sodden
+garments, and into her chilled veins, and the peace of the place
+penetrated the turbulent recesses of her soul, the man's voice became
+like a voice heard in a dream, and the old outcast slept.
+
+
+A confused sound greeted her awakening. Some one was playing the organ
+jubilantly; people were moving about--girls with trays loaded with
+steaming dishes; children were talking and laughing excitedly. The
+curtain had been drawn, and a great Christmas-tree almost blinded her
+with its splendor. She stared about in bewilderment. She looked at the
+tree, at the people, at her own foul rags. A fierce revulsion of feeling
+swept over her. Rage, shame, a desire to get out of sight, to be
+swallowed up in the darkness and misery which were her proper element,
+seized and mastered her. She staggered to her feet. A young girl
+approached her with a tray of tempting food. The sight and smell of it
+goaded the starved creature to madness. She could have fallen upon it
+like a wolf, but instead she pushed the girl roughly aside and fumbled
+dizzily at the door-knob.
+
+A hand was laid upon her arm. The girl with the sweet, white face was
+looking at her with a friendly smile.
+
+"Won't you stay and have something warm to eat before going into the
+cold?" the girl asked gently.
+
+Old Marg shook the hand from her arm.
+
+"No!" she snarled. "I don't want nothin'! Let me go!"
+
+With a patient smile Angela opened the door.
+
+"I am sorry you will not stay," she said softly. "It would give me great
+pleasure. There is a gift for you on the tree, too. It is Christmas Eve,
+you know!"
+
+A hoarse, choking sound came from the woman's lips. She pushed by into
+the vestibule. Angela followed.
+
+"If you should feel differently to-morrow," she said, in her kind,
+gentle voice, "come here again, about eleven o'clock. I shall be here."
+Without waiting for a reply, she re-entered the hall. A young man, the
+same who had been speaking, met her at the door.
+
+"Angela!" he exclaimed. "You should not be out there in the cold!" She
+smiled absently. "Did you see her, Robert?"
+
+"That terrible old woman? Yes, I saw her. A hopeless case, I fear."
+
+Angela's eyes kept their absent look.
+
+"It was awful to see her go away like that, into the cold and snow,
+hungry and half-clad!" she said.
+
+The young man leaned nearer. "Angela," he whispered. "You must not let
+these things sink into your heart as you do, or you cannot bear the work
+you have undertaken. As for that old creature, it is terrible to think
+of her, but she seemed to me beyond our reach."
+
+"But not beyond God's reach _through us_!" said Angela.
+
+
+Meantime old Marg was facing the storm with rage and pain in her face
+and in her heart. The streets were deserted, and lighted only by such
+beams as found their way through the dirty windows of shops and saloons.
+From these last came sounds of revelry and contention, and at one or
+another the poor creature paused, listening without fear to the familiar
+hubbub. Should she go in? Some one might give her a drink, to ease for a
+time the terrible gnawing at her breast. Might? Yes; but more likely she
+would be thrust out with jeers and curses, and, for some reason, old
+Marg was in no mood to use the caustic wit and ready tongue that were
+her only weapons. So she staggered on until the swarming tenement was
+reached, stumbled up the five flights of unillumined stairs, and almost
+fell headlong into the dismal garret which she called her home.
+
+Feeling about in the darkness, she found a match and lit a bit of candle
+which stopped the neck of an empty bottle. It burned uncertainly as if
+reluctant to disclose the scene upon which its light fell. A
+smoke-stained, sloping ceiling, a blackened floor, a shapeless mattress
+heaped with rags, a deal box, a rusty stove resting upon two bricks,
+supporting in its turn an ancient frying-pan, a chipped saucer, and a
+battered tin can from which, when the scavenger business was good, old
+Marg served afternoon tea--such were her home and all her personal
+belongings.
+
+There was no fire, nor any means of producing one, but upon the box was
+spread a piece of paper containing a slice of bread and a soup-bone,
+whereto clung some fragments of meat--the gift of a neighbor hardly less
+wretched than herself.
+
+The old woman's eyes glittered at the sight, and, seizing the food, she
+sank weakly upon the box and began gnawing at it; but her toothless
+jaws, stiff with cold, made no impression upon the tough meat and hard
+crust, and letting them drop to the floor, the poor creature fell to
+rocking to and fro, whimpering tearlessly, like a suffering dog.
+Strangely enough, within the withered bosom of this most wretched
+creature there had welled up, from some hidden source of womanly
+feeling, a passionate self-pity, a no less passionate self-loathing.
+This was what a moment's contact with all that she had so long
+abjured--purity, order, gentleness--had brought to pass.
+
+That fair young girl-tall, pale, sweet as an Easter lily--stood before
+her like an incarnate memory, pointing toward the past, the far-distant
+past, when she, too, was young, and pretty, and innocent, and gay--too
+pretty and too gay for a poor working girl! That was where the trouble
+began.
+
+"I was light haired, too," moaned old Marg, twisting her withered
+fingers restlessly. "Light-haired, and light-complected! A pretty girl,
+an' a good girl, too! Not like _her_. No! How could I be? Little the
+likes o' her knows what the likes o' me has to face! Lord!"
+
+The bit of candle guttered and went out. The cold increased. It had
+ceased snowing, and a keen wind had arisen, tearing the clouds into
+shreds through which the stars gleamed. And presently the moon climbed
+up behind the belfry of the old church across the square, and sent one
+broad white ray through the dingy window and across the floor. All at
+once the great bell began to strike the midnight hour, its mingled
+vibrations filling the garret with tumultuous sounds. The vision of the
+fair girl faded, and old Marg was herself again, a hard, bitter,
+rebellious old woman, with a burning care where her heart had been, and
+only one thought, one desire, left in her desperate mind--the thought
+and the desire of death.
+
+In young and passionate days she had often thought of seeking that way
+out of life's agonies, but at its worst there is always some sweetness
+left in the cup--when one is young! It was not so now. The dregs only
+had been hers for many a year, and she had enough. Death--yes, that was
+best.
+
+Her eyes glittered as she cast a look about the silent room. Bare, even
+of the means to this end! Ah, the window!
+
+With an inarticulate cry the woman arose and hobbled along the shining
+moon-ray to the window, and threw open the sash. Awed by the stern
+beauty of the heavens, the splendor of the moon tangled in the lace-like
+carvings of the belfry as in a net, she leaned some moments against the
+sill, looking out and down. Far below lay the deserted square, its white
+bosom traced with the sharp shadow of the tower. With a keen eye old
+Marg measured the distance, a sheer descent of fifty feet. Nothing to
+break the fall--nothing!
+
+One movement, a swift fall, and that white surface would be broken by a
+black shapeless heap. A policeman would find it on his next round, or
+some drunken reveler would stumble over it, or the good people on their
+way to early mass--ah! The seamed countenance lit up suddenly with a
+malignant joy.
+
+Why not wait until they began to pass--those pious, respectable people
+in their comfortable furs and wools--and cast herself into their midst,
+a ghastly Christmas offering from Poverty to Riches, from Sin to Virtue?
+This suggestion commended itself highly to her sense of humor. With a
+hoarse chuckle she was about to close the window when a portion of the
+shadow that lay alongside the chimney showed signs of life, and, rising
+on four long and skinny legs, became a cat--a lean, black cat, which
+crept meekly toward the window, its phosphorescent eyes gleaming, its
+lank jaws parted in a vain effort to mew. Startled, old Marg drew back
+for an instant; then, glancing from the animal to the pavement below, a
+brutal cunning, a malicious pleasure, lit up the witch-like features.
+Reaching out one skinny arm, she called coaxingly: "Puss! Puss!"
+
+The cat dragged herself up to the outstretched arm, rubbing her lank
+body caressingly against it.
+
+The cruel, cunning old face softened suddenly. "Lord!" muttered old
+Marg, "if she ain't a-tryin' to _purr_! Wall, that beats me!"
+
+The poor beast continued its piteous appeal for aid, arching its
+starved frame, waving its tail, fawning unsuspectingly against the arm
+that had threatened.
+
+With an impulse new to her misery-hardened heart, old Marg drew the
+animal in and closed the window. Far from resisting, the cat nestled
+against her with every sign of pleasure.
+
+"She's been somebody's pet," said the old woman, placing her on the
+floor. "She ain't always been like this."
+
+The divine emotion of pity, so new to this forlorn creature, grew and
+swelled in her bosom. The man at the hall had _not_ lied, after all.
+Here was another of God's creatures as miserable as herself--nay, more
+so, for she had a roof to shelter her! And she could share it with this
+homeless one.
+
+"Poor puss!" muttered old Marg, stroking the rough fur. "You're
+starvin', too, ain't ye? an' I ain't got nothin' to give ye, not a bite
+or a sup. Ah!"
+
+Her eyes had fallen upon the discarded food. Eagerly she seized it and
+placed it before the cat; the starving creature gnawed greedily at the
+bone an instant, then looked up with a hopeless mew.
+
+The old woman felt a keener pang of pity.
+
+"Poor beast!" she said, with a bitter smile. "Ye can't eat 'em, can ye?
+No more could I! We're in the same box, puss! Old, an' toothless, an'
+nobody belongin' to us. We'll have to starve together, I guess. An' it's
+Christmas day! Did ye know that, puss? Christmas day! Lord! Lord!"
+
+The cat rubbed against her skirts, her eyes fixed upon her benefactor's.
+"Seems to understand every word I say!" old Marg muttered. "If only I
+had a drop o' milk for her now!"
+
+Hobbling to the stove, she examined the battered tin can, letting the
+moonlight shine into its rusty depths. A little water or tea remained in
+it, and with this she moistened some of the bread and placed it before
+the cat, which devoured it now eagerly. Then she took the animal in her
+arms and laid herself down on the mattress, drawing the ragged covers
+over them. The cat nestled against her side; the warmth of the two poor
+bodies mingled, and both slept.
+
+The moon-ray crept along and spread itself over the heap of rags, the
+knotted fingers resting on the cat's rough fur, the seamed old face; it
+passed away, and morning dawned, with a peal of bells and the sound of
+footsteps on the pavement below, and still the two slept on.
+
+
+Angela stood near the door, receiving her Christmas guests. They came
+straggling in, in twos and threes, some boldly and impudently, some
+shame-faced and shy, some eager, some indifferent, but all
+poverty-pinched. Each one was pleasantly welcomed, and passed on to the
+feast. Angela watched and waited, and at last the door opened slowly to
+admit old Marg, who stopped short on the threshold, with a look at once
+stubborn, appealing, suspicious, ashamed. Like a wild animal on the
+alert for the faintest sign of repulsion or danger, she stood there, but
+Angela only smiled, proffering her white, soft hand, destitute of
+jewels, but the hand of a lady.
+
+"A Merry Christmas!" she said brightly.
+
+"I was ugly to ye last night," said old Marg huskily, ignoring the
+beautiful hand she dared not touch.
+
+"Never mind!" Angela answered sweetly. "You were tired."
+
+"I am a bad old woman!" said old Marg, mistrustfully.
+
+"Never mind that, either!" said Angela. "Let me be your friend. If you
+will, you shall never be cold or hungry again."
+
+A profound wonder came into the old face--then it began to writhe, and
+from each eye oozed scant tears, seeking a channel amid the seams and
+wrinkles of the sunken cheeks.
+
+"You will let me be your friend," urged Angela.
+
+Still old Marg wept silently, the scant tears of age.
+
+"You shall have a pleasant home and----"
+
+A swift, suspicious glance darted from the wet eyes.
+
+"Not a 'sylum, miss, please!" said the old woman.
+
+"No," said Angela quietly. "Not an asylum, A home--a bright, clean,
+comfortable home----"
+
+"I can work, miss!" put in old Marg, doubling her knotted hands to show
+their strength. "I can wash, an' scrub----"
+
+"Yes," said Angela, "you may work all you are able, helping to keep
+things clean and comfortable."
+
+Still old Marg looked doubtful. Wiping her cheeks with a corner of the
+shawl, she half turned toward the door.
+
+"Have you a family, or any one belonging to you?" asked Angela, thinking
+to have reached the root of the difficulty.
+
+"Yes," said the old woman stoutly. "I have a cat. Where I go, she must
+go, too!"
+
+Angela patted the grimy hand, with a laugh which was good to hear.
+
+"I understand you perfectly," she said. "I have a cat of my own. You and
+_your_ cat shall not be separated."
+
+
+A half-hour later entered the young man Robert. Angela pointed silently
+to old Marg, sitting in a warm corner, contentedly munching her
+Christmas dinner. "What have you done to her?" he asked. "She looks more
+human already."
+
+Angela laughed again, that same laugh which goes to one's heart so. "I
+have adopted her--and her cat!" she answered. "That's all!"
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST PURITAN CHRISTMAS TREE.
+
+(ANONYMOUS.)
+
+
+Mrs. Olcott called her boys, and bade them go to the pine woods and get
+the finest, handsomest young hemlock tree that they could find.
+
+"Get one that is straight and tall, with well-boughed branches on it,
+and put it where you can draw it under the wood-shed after dark," she
+added.
+
+The boys went to Pine Hill, and there they picked out the finest young
+tree on all the hill, and said, "We will take this one." So, with their
+hatchets they hewed it down and brought it safely home the next night
+when all was dark. And when Roger was quietly sleeping in the adjoining
+room, they dragged the tree into the kitchen. It was too tall, so they
+took it out again and cut it off two or three feet at the base. Then
+they propped it up, and the curtains being down over the windows, and
+blankets being fastened over the curtains to prevent any one looking in,
+and the door being doubly barred to prevent any one coming in, they all
+went to bed.
+
+Very early the next morning, while the stars shone on the snow-covered
+hills--the same stars that shone sixteen hundred years before on the
+hills when Christ was born in Bethlehem--the little Puritan mother in
+New England arose very softly. She went out and lit the kitchen fire
+anew from the ash-covered embers. She fastened upon the twigs of the
+tree the gifts she had bought in Boston for her boys and girl. Then she
+took as many as twenty pieces of candle and fixed them upon the
+branches. After that she softly called Rupert, Robert and Lucy, and told
+them to get up and come into the kitchen.
+
+Hurrying back, she began, with a bit of a burning stick, to light the
+candles. Just as the last one was set aflame, in trooped the three
+children.
+
+Before they had time to say a word, they were silenced by their mother's
+warning.
+
+"I wish to fetch Roger in and wake him up before it," she said. "Keep
+still until I come back!"
+
+The little lad, fast asleep, was lifted in a blanket and gently carried
+by his mother into the beautiful presence.
+
+"See! Roger, my boy, see!" she said, arousing him. "It is Christmas
+morning now! In England they only have Christmas-boughs, but here in New
+England we have a whole Christmas-tree."
+
+"O mother!" he cried. "O Lucy! Is it really, really true, and no dream
+at all? Yes, I see! I see! O mother, it is so beautiful! Were all the
+trees on all the hills lighted up that way when Christ was born? And,
+mother," he added, clapping his little hands with joy at the thought,
+"why, yes, the stars did sing when Christ was born! They must be glad,
+then, and keep Christmas, too, in heaven. I know they must, and there
+will be good times there."
+
+"Yes," said his mother; "there will be good times there, Roger."
+
+"Then," said the boy, "I sha'n't mind going, now that I've seen the
+Christmas-bough. I--What is that, mother?"
+
+What was it that they heard? The little Olcott home had never before
+seemed to tremble so. There were taps at the window, there were knocks
+at the door--and it was as yet scarcely the break of day! There were
+voices also, shouting something to somebody.
+
+"Shall I put out the candles, mother?" whispered Robert.
+
+"What will they do to us for having the tree? I wish we hadn't it,"
+regretted Rupert; while Lucy clung to her mother's gown and shrieked
+with all her strength, "It's Indians!"
+
+Pale and white and still, ready to meet her fate, stood Mrs. Olcott,
+until, out of the knocking and the tapping at her door, her heart caught
+a sound. It was a voice calling, "Rachel! Rachel! Rachel!"
+
+"Unbar the door!" she cried back to her boys; "it's your father
+calling!" Down came the blankets; up went the curtain; open flew the
+door, and in walked Captain Olcott, followed by every man and woman in
+Plymouth who had heard at break of day the glorious news that the
+expected ship had arrived at Boston, and with it the long lost Captain
+Olcott. For an instant nothing was thought of except the joyous
+welcoming of the Captain in his new home.
+
+"What's this? What is it? What does this mean?" was asked again and
+again, when the first excitement was passed, as the tall young pine
+stood aloft, its candles ablaze, its gifts still hanging.
+
+"It's welcome home to father!" said Lucy, her only thought to screen her
+mother.
+
+"No, child, no!" sternly spoke Mrs. Olcott. "Tell the truth!"
+
+"It's--a--Christmas-tree!" faltered poor Lucy.
+
+One and another and another, Pilgrims and Puritans all, drew near with
+faces stern and forbidding, and gazed and gazed, until one and another
+and yet another softened slowly into a smile as little Roger's piping
+voice sung out:
+
+"She made it for me, mother did. But you may have it now, and all the
+pretty things that are on it, too, because you've brought my father back
+again; if mother will let you," he added.
+
+Neither Pilgrim nor Puritan frowned at the gift. One man, the sternest
+there, broke off a little twig and said:
+
+"I'll take it for the sake of the good old times at home."
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST CHRISTMAS IN NEW ENGLAND.
+
+BY HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH.
+
+
+     They thought they had come to their port that day,
+       But not yet was their journey done;
+     And they drifted away from Provincetown Bay
+       In the fireless light of the sun.
+     With rain and sleet were the tall masts iced,
+       And gloomy and chill was the air,
+     But they looked from the crystal sails to Christ,
+       And they came to a harbor fair.
+               The white hills silent lay,--
+           For there were no ancient bells to ring,
+           No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,
+           No chapel of baron, or lord, or king,
+               That gray, cold winter day.
+
+     The snow came down on the vacant seas,
+       And white on the lone rocks lay,--
+     But rang the axe 'mong the evergreen trees
+       And followed the Sabbath day.
+     Then rose the sun in a crimson haze,
+       And the workmen said at dawn:
+     "Shall our axes swing on this day of days,
+       When the Lord of Life was born?"
+               The white hills silent lay,--
+           For there were no ancient bells to ring,
+           No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,
+           No chapel of baron, or lord, or king,
+               That gray, cold Christmas Day.
+
+       "The old town's bells we seem to hear:
+       They are ringing sweet on the Dee;
+     They are ringing sweet on the Harlem Meer,
+       And sweet on the Zuyder Zee.
+     The pines are frosted with snow and sleet.
+       Shall we our axes wield
+     When the chimes at Lincoln are ringing sweet
+       And the bells of Austerfield?"
+               The air was cold and gray,--
+           And there were no ancient bells to ring,
+           No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,
+           No chapel of baron, or lord, or king,
+               That gray, cold Christmas Day.
+
+     Then the master said, "Your axes wield,
+       Remember ye Malabarre Bay;
+     And the covenant there with the Lord ye sealed;
+       Let your axes ring to-day.
+     You may talk of the old town's bells to-night,
+       When your work for the Lord is done,
+     And your boats return, and the shallop's light
+       Shall follow the light of the sun.
+               The sky is cold and gray,--
+           And here are no ancient bells to ring,
+           No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,
+           No chapel of baron, or lord, or king.
+               This gray, cold Christmas Day.
+
+     "If Christ was born on Christmas Day,
+       And the day by Him is blest,
+     Then low at His feet the evergreens lay
+       And cradle His church in the West.
+     Immanuel waits at the temple gates
+       Of the nation to-day ye found,
+     And the Lord delights in no formal rites;
+       To-day let your axes sound!"
+               The sky was cold and gray,--
+           And there were no ancient bells to ring,
+           No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,
+           No chapel of baron, or lord, or king,
+               That gray, cold Christmas Day.
+
+     Their axes rang through the evergreen trees
+       Like the bells on the Thames and Tay;
+     And they cheerily sang by the windy seas,
+       And they thought of Malabarre Bay.
+     On the lonely heights of Burial Hill
+       The old Precisioners sleep;
+     But did ever men with a nobler will
+       A holier Christmas keep,
+               When the sky was cold and gray,--
+           And there were no ancient bells to ring,
+           No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,
+           No chapel of baron, or lord, or king,
+               That gray, cold Christmas Day?
+
+
+
+
+THE CHIMES.
+
+BY CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+
+FIRST QUARTER.
+
+There are not many people--and as it is desirable that a story-teller
+and a story-reader should establish a mutual understanding as soon as
+possible, I beg it to be noticed that I confine this observation neither
+to young people nor to little people, but extend it to all conditions of
+people: little and big, young and old: yet growing up, or already
+growing down again--there are not, I say, many people who would care to
+sleep in a church. I don't mean at sermon time in warm weather (when the
+thing has actually been done, once or twice), but in the night, and
+alone. A great multitude of persons will be violently astonished, I
+know, by this position, in the broad bold Day. But it applies to Night.
+It must be argued by night. And I will undertake to maintain it
+successfully on any gusty winter's night appointed for the purpose, with
+any one opponent chosen from the rest, who will meet me singly in an old
+churchyard, before an old church door; and will previously empower me to
+lock him in, if needful to his satisfaction, until morning.
+
+For the night-wind has a dismal trick of wandering round and round a
+building of that sort, and moaning as it goes; and of trying with its
+unseen hand, the windows and the doors; and seeking out some crevices by
+which to enter. And when it has got in; as one not finding what it
+seeks, whatever that may be, it wails and howls to issue forth again;
+and not content with stalking through the aisles, and gliding round and
+round the pillars, and tempting the deep organ, soars up to the roof,
+and strives to rend the rafters; then flings itself despairingly upon
+the stones below, and passes, muttering, into the vaults. Ugh! Heaven
+preserve us, sitting snugly round the fire! It has an awful voice, that
+wind at midnight, singing in a church!
+
+But, high up in the steeple! There the foul blast roars and whistles!
+High up in the steeple, where it is free to come and go through many an
+airy arch and loophole, and to twist and twine itself about the giddy
+stair, and twirl the groaning weathercock, and make the very tower shake
+and shiver!
+
+High up in the steeple of an old church, far above the light and murmur
+of the town and far below the flying clouds that shadow it, is the wild
+and dreary place at night: and high up in the steeple of an old church,
+dwelt the Chimes I tell of.
+
+They were old Chimes, trust me. Centuries ago, these Bells had been
+baptized by bishops: so many centuries ago, that the register of their
+baptism was lost long, long before the memory of man, and no one knew
+their names. They had had their Godfathers and Godmothers, these Bells
+(for my part, by the way, I would rather incur the responsibility of
+being Godfather to a Bell than a Boy), and had had their silver mugs, no
+doubt, besides. But Time had mowed down their sponsors, and Henry the
+Eighth had melted down their mugs; and they now hung, nameless and
+mugless, in the church tower.
+
+Not speechless, though. Far from it. They had clear, loud, lusty,
+sounding voices, had these Bells; and far and wide they might be heard
+upon the wind. Much too sturdy Chimes were they, to be dependent on the
+pleasure of the wind, moreover; for, fighting gallantly against it when
+it took an adverse whim, they would pour their cheerful notes into a
+listening ear right royally; and bent on being heard, on stormy nights,
+by some poor mother watching a sick child, or some lone wife whose
+husband was at sea, they had been sometimes known to beat a blustering
+Nor'Wester; ay, "all to fits," as Toby Veck said;--for though they chose
+to call him Trotty Veck, his name was Toby, and nobody could make it
+anything else either (except Tobias); he having been as lawfully
+christened in his day as the bells had been in theirs, though with not
+quite so much of solemnity or public rejoicing.
+
+For my part, I confess myself of Toby Veck's belief, for I am sure he
+had opportunities enough of forming a correct one. And whatever Toby
+Veck said, I say. And I take my stand by Toby Veck, although he _did_
+stand all day long (and weary work it was) just outside the church-door.
+In fact he was a ticket-porter, Toby Veck, and waited there for jobs.
+
+And a breezy, goose-skinned, blue-nosed, red-eyed, stony-toed,
+tooth-chattering place it was to wait in, in the winter-time, as Toby
+Veck well knew. The wind came tearing round the corner--especially the
+east wind--as if it had sallied forth, express, from the confines of the
+earth, to have a blow at Toby. And oftentimes it seemed to come upon him
+sooner than it had expected, for bouncing round the corner, and passing
+Toby, it would suddenly wheel round again, as if it cried "Why, here he
+is!"
+
+Toby was curious about the Bells because there were points of
+resemblance between them and him. They hung there in all weathers, with
+the wind and rain driving in upon them; facing only the outsides of all
+the houses; never getting any nearer to the blazing fires that gleamed
+and shone upon the windows or came puffing out of the chimney tops; and
+incapable of participating in any of the good things that were
+constantly being handed through the street doors and iron railings to
+prodigious cooks. Being but a simple man, he invested the Bells with a
+strange and solemn character. They were so mysterious, often heard and
+never seen; so high up, so far off, so full of such a deep, strong
+melody, that he regarded them with a species of awe; and sometimes when
+he looked up at the dark arched windows in the tower, he half expected
+to be beckoned to by something which was not a Bell, and yet was what he
+heard so often sounding in the Chimes. For all this Toby scouted with
+indignation a certain flying rumor that the Chimes were haunted, as
+implying the possibility of their being connected with any Evil thing.
+In short, they were very often in his ears, and very often in his
+thoughts, but always in his good opinion; and he very often got such a
+crick in his neck by staring with his mouth wide open, at the steeple
+where they hung, that he was fain to take an extra trot or two,
+afterward, to cure it.
+
+The very thing he was in the act of doing one cold day, when the last
+drowsy sound of Twelve o'clock, just struck, was humming like a
+melodious monster of a Bee, and not by any means a busy Bee, all through
+the steeple?
+
+"Dinner time, eh!" said Toby, trotting up and down before the church.
+"Ah!"
+
+Toby's nose was very red, and his eyelids were very red, and he winked
+very much, and his shoulders were very near his ears, and his legs were
+very stiff, and altogether he was evidently a long way upon the frosty
+side of cool.
+
+"Dinner time, eh!" repeated Toby, using his right hand muffler like an
+infantine boxing-glove, and punishing his chest for being cold.
+"Ah-h-h-h!"
+
+He took a silent trot, after that, for a minute or two.
+
+"There's nothing," said Toby, "more regular in its coming round than
+dinner time, and nothing less regular in its coming round than dinner.
+That's the great difference between 'em. It's took me a long time to
+find it out. I wonder whether it would be worth any gentleman's while,
+now, to buy that obserwation for the Papers; or the Parliament!"
+
+Tony was only joking, for he gravely shook his head in
+self-depreciation.
+
+"Why! Lord!" said Toby. "The Papers is full of obserwations as it is;
+and so's the Parliament. Here's last week's paper, now;" taking a very
+dirty one from his pocket, and holding it from him at arm's length;
+"full of obserwations! Full of obserwations! I like to know the news as
+well as any man," said Toby, slowly; folding it a little smaller, and
+putting it in his pocket again: "but it almost goes against the grain
+with me to read a paper now. It frightens me almost. I don't know what
+we poor people are coming to. Lord send we may be coming to something
+better in the New Year nigh upon us!"
+
+"Why, father, father!" said a pleasant voice, hard by.
+
+But Toby, not hearing it continued to trot backward and forward: musing
+as he went, and talking to himself.
+
+"It seems as if we can't go right, or do right, or be righted," said
+Toby. "I hadn't much schooling, myself, when I was young; and I can't
+make out whether we have any business on the face of the earth, or not.
+Sometimes I think we must have--a little; and sometimes I think we must
+be intruding. I get so puzzled sometimes that I am not even able to make
+up my mind whether there is any good at all in us, or whether we are
+born bad. We seem to do dreadful things; we seem to give a deal of
+trouble; we are always being complained of and guarded against. One way
+or another, we fill the papers. Talk of a New Year!" said Toby,
+mournfully. "I can bear up as well as another man at most times; better
+than a good many, for I am as strong as a lion, and all men an't; but
+supposing it should really be that we have no right to a New
+Year--supposing we really _are_ intruding----"
+
+"Why, father, father!" said the pleasant voice again.
+
+Toby heard it this time; started; stopped; and shortening his sight,
+which had been directed a long way off as seeking for enlightenment in
+the very heart of the approaching year, found himself face to face with
+his own child, and looking close into her eyes.
+
+Bright eyes they were. Eyes that would bear a world of looking in,
+before their depth was fathomed. Dark eyes, that reflected back the eyes
+which searched them; not flashingly or at the owner's will, but with a
+clear, calm, honest, patient radiance, claiming kindred with that light
+which Heaven called into being. Eyes that were beautiful and true, and
+beaming with Hope. With Hope so young and fresh; with Hope so buoyant,
+vigorous and bright, despite the twenty years of work and poverty on
+which they had looked; that they became a voice to Trotty Veck, and
+said: "I think we have some business here--a little!"
+
+Trotty kissed the lips belonging to the eyes, and squeezed the blooming
+face between his hands.
+
+"Why, Pet," said Trotty. "What's to-do? I didn't expect you, to-day,
+Meg."
+
+"Neither did I expect to come, father," cried the girl, nodding her head
+and smiling as she spoke. "But here I am! And not alone; not alone!"
+
+"Why you don't mean to say," observed Trotty, looking curiously at a
+covered basket which she carried in her hand, "that you----"
+
+"Smell it, father dear," said Meg, "Only smell it!"
+
+Trotty was going to lift up the cover at once, in a great hurry, when
+she gayly interposed her hand.
+
+"No, no, no," said Meg, with the glee of a child. "Lengthen it out a
+little. Let me just lift up the corner; just the lit-tle ti-ny cor-ner,
+you know," said Meg, suiting the action to the word with the utmost
+gentleness, and speaking very softly, as if she were afraid of being
+overheard by something inside the basket; "there. Now. What's that!"
+
+Toby took the shortest possible sniff at the edge of the basket, and
+cried out in a rapture:
+
+"Why, it's hot!"
+
+"It is burning hot!" cried Meg. "Ha, ha, ha! It's scalding hot!"
+
+"Ha, ha, ha!" roared Toby, with a sort of kick. "It's scalding hot!"
+
+"But what is it father?" said Meg. "Come! you haven't guessed what it
+is. And you must guess what it is. I can't think of taking it out till
+you guess what it is. Don't be in such a hurry! Wait a minute! A little
+bit more of the cover. Now guess!"
+
+Meg was in a perfect fright lest he should guess right too soon;
+shrinking away, as she held the basket toward him; curling up her pretty
+shoulders; stopping her ear with her hand, as if by so doing she could
+keep the right word out of Toby's lips; and laughing softly the whole
+time.
+
+Meanwhile Toby, putting a hand on each knee, bent down his nose to the
+basket, and took a long inspiration at the lid; the grin upon his
+withered face expanded in the process, as if he were inhaling laughing
+gas.
+
+"Ah! It's very nice," said Toby. "It ain't--I suppose it ain't
+Polonies?"
+
+"No, no, no!" cried Meg, delighted. "Nothing like Polonies!"
+
+"No," said Toby, after another sniff. "It's--it's mellower than
+Polonies. It's very nice. It improves every moment. It's too decided for
+Trotters. Ain't it?"
+
+Meg was in ecstasy. He could _not_ have gone wider of the mark than
+Trotters--except Polonies.
+
+"Liver?" said Toby, communing with himself. "No. There's a mildness
+about it that don't answer to liver. Pettitoes? No. It an't faint enough
+for pettitoes. It wants the stringiness of Cocks' heads. And I know it
+an't sausages. I'll tell you what it is. It's chitterlings!"
+
+"No, it an't!" cried Meg, in a burst of delight "No, it an't!"
+
+"Why, what am I a thinking of!" said Toby, suddenly recovering a
+position as near the perpendicular as it was possible for him to assume.
+"I shall forget my own name next. It's tripe!"
+
+Tripe it was; and Meg, in high joy, protested he should say, in half a
+minute more, it was the best tripe ever stewed.
+
+"And so," said Meg, busying herself exultingly with her basket; "I'll
+lay the cloth at once, father; for I have brought the tripe in a basin,
+and tied the basin up in a pocket-handkerchief; and if I like to be
+proud for once, and spread that for a cloth, and call it a cloth,
+there's no law to prevent me; is there father?"
+
+"Not that I know of, my dear," said Toby. "But they're always a bringing
+up some new law or other."
+
+"And according to what I was reading you in the paper the other day,
+father; what the Judge said, you know; we poor people are supposed to
+know them all. Ha, ha! What a mistake! My goodness me, how clever they
+think us!"
+
+"Yes, my dear," cried Trotty; "and they'd be very fond of any one of us
+that _did_ know 'em all. He'd grow fat upon the work he'd get, that man,
+and be popular with the gentlefolks in his neighborhood. Very much so!"
+
+"He'd eat his dinner with an appetite, whoever he was, if it smelt like
+this," said Meg, cheerfully. "Make haste, for there's a potato besides.
+Where will you dine, father? On the Post, or on the Steps? Dear, dear,
+how grand we are. Two places to choose from!"
+
+"The steps to day, my Pet," said Trotty. "Steps in dry weather. Post in
+wet. There's a great conveniency in the steps at all times, because of
+the sitting down; but they're rheumatic in the damp."
+
+"Then here," said Meg, clapping her hands, after a moment's bustle;
+"here it is, all ready! And beautiful it looks! Come, father. Eat it
+while it's hot. Come!"
+
+Since his discovery of the contents of the basket, Trotty had been
+standing looking at her--and had been speaking too--in an abstracted
+manner, which showed that though she was the object of his thoughts and
+eyes, to the exclusion even of tripe, he neither saw nor thought about
+her as she was at that moment, but had before him some imaginary rough
+sketch or drama of her future life. Roused, now, by her cheerful
+summons, he shook off a melancholy shake of the head which was just
+coming upon him, and trotted to her side. As he was stooping to sit
+down, the Chimes rang.
+
+"Amen!" said Trotty, pulling off his hat and looking up toward them.
+
+"Amen to the Bells, father?" cried Meg.
+
+"They broke in like a grace, my dear," said Trotty, taking his seat.
+"They'd say a good one, I am sure, if they could. Many's the kind thing
+they say to me."
+
+"The Bells do, father!" laughed Meg, as she set the basin, and a knife
+and fork before him. "Well!"
+
+"Seem to, my Pet," said Trotty, falling to with great vigor. "And
+where's the difference? If I hear 'em, what does it matter whether they
+speak it or not? Why bless you, my dear," said Toby, pointing at the
+tower with his fork, and becoming more animated under the influence of
+dinner, "how often have I heard them bells say, 'Toby Veck, Toby Veck,
+keep a good heart Toby! Toby Veck, Toby Veck, keep a good heart Toby!' A
+million times? More!"
+
+"Well, I never!" cried Meg.
+
+She had, though--over and over again. For it was Toby's constant topic.
+
+"When things is very bad," said Trotty; "very bad indeed, I mean; almost
+at the worst; then it's 'Toby Veck, Toby Veck, job coming soon, Toby!
+Toby Veck, Toby Veck, job coming soon, Toby!' That way."
+
+"And it comes--at last, father," said Meg, with a touch of sadness in
+her pleasant voice.
+
+"Always," answered the unconscious Toby. "Never fails."
+
+While this discourse was holding, Trotty made no pause in his attack
+upon the savory meat before him, but cut and ate, and cut and drank, and
+cut and chewed, and dodged about, from tripe to hot potato, and from hot
+potato back again to tripe, with an unctuous and unflagging relish. But
+happening now to look all round the street--in case anybody should be
+beckoning from any door or window, for a porter--his eyes, in coming
+back again, encountered Meg: sitting opposite to him, with her arms
+folded; and only busy in watching his progress with a smile of
+happiness.
+
+"Why, Lord forgive me!" said Trotty, dropping his knife and fork. "My
+love! Meg! why didn't you tell me what a beast I was?"
+
+"Father?"
+
+"Sitting here," said Trotty, in penitent explanation, "cramming and
+stuffing, and gorging myself; and you before me there, never so much as
+breaking your precious fast, nor wanting to, when----"
+
+"But I have broken it, father," interposed his daughter, laughing, "all
+to bits. I have had my dinner."
+
+"Nonsense," said Trotty. "Two dinners in one day! It an't possible! You
+might as well tell me that two New Year's Days will come together, or
+that I have had a gold head all my life, and never changed it."
+
+"I have had my dinner, father, for all that," said Meg, coming nearer to
+him. "And if you'll go on with yours, I'll tell you how and where; and
+how your dinner came to be brought; and--something else besides."
+
+Toby still appeared incredulous; but she looked into his face with her
+clear eyes, and laying her hand upon his shoulder, motioned him to go on
+while the meat was hot. So Trotty took up his knife and fork again, and
+went to work. But much more slowly than before, and shaking his head, as
+if he were not at all pleased with himself.
+
+"I had my dinner, father," said Meg, after a little hesitation,
+"with--with Richard. His dinner-time was early; and as he brought his
+dinner with him when he came to see me, we--we had it together, father."
+
+Trotty said, "Oh!"--because she waited.
+
+"And Richard says, father--" Meg resumed. Then stopped.
+
+"What does Richard say, Meg?" asked Toby.
+
+"Richard says, father--" Another stoppage.
+
+"Richard's a long time saying it," said Toby.
+
+"He says then, father," Meg continued, lifting up her eyes at last, and
+speaking in a tremble, but quite plainly; "another year is nearly gone,
+and where is the use of waiting on from year to year, when it is so
+unlikely we shall ever be better off than we are now? He says we are
+poor now, father, and we shall be poor then, but we are young now, and
+years will make us old before we know it. He says that if we wait,
+people in our condition, until we see our way quite clearly, the way
+will be a narrow one indeed--the common way--the Grave, father."
+
+A bolder man than Trotty Veck must needs have drawn upon his boldness
+largely, to deny it. Trotty held his peace.
+
+"And how hard, father, to grow old and die, and think we might have
+cheered and helped each other! How hard in all our lives to love each
+other; and to grieve, apart, to see each other working, changing,
+growing old and gray. Even if I got the better of it, and forgot him
+(which I never could), oh, father dear, how hard to have a heart so full
+as mine is now, and live to have it slowly drained out every drop,
+without the recollection of one happy moment of a woman's life, to stay
+behind and comfort me, and make me better!"
+
+Trotty sat quite still, Meg dried her eyes, and said more gayly: that is
+to say, with here a laugh, and there a sob, and here a laugh and sob
+together:
+
+"So Richard says, father; as his work was yesterday made certain for
+some time to come, and as I love him and have loved him fully three
+years--ah! longer than that, if he knew it!--will I marry him on New
+Year's Day; the best and happiest day, he says, in the whole year, and
+one that is almost sure to bring good fortune with it. It's a short
+notice, father--isn't it?--but I haven't my fortune to be settled, or my
+wedding dresses to be made, like the great ladies, father, have I? And
+he said so much, and said it in his way; so strong and earnest, and all
+the time so kind and gentle; that I said I'd come and talk to you,
+father. And as they paid the money for that work of mine this morning
+(unexpectedly, I am sure!), and as you have fared very poorly for a
+whole week, and as I couldn't help wishing there should be something to
+make this day a sort of holiday to you as well as a dear and happy day
+to me, father, I made a little treat and brought it to surprise you."
+
+"And see how he leaves it cooling on the step!" said another voice.
+
+It was the voice of the same Richard, who had come upon them unobserved,
+and stood before the father and daughter; looking down upon them with a
+face as glowing as the iron on which his stout sledge-hammer daily rung.
+A handsome, well-made, powerful youngster he was; with eyes that
+sparkled like the red-hot droppings from a furnace fire; black hair that
+curled about his swarthy temples rarely; and a smile--a smile that bore
+out Meg's eulogium on his style of conversation.
+
+"See how he leaves it cooling on the step!" said Richard. "Meg don't
+know what he likes. Not she!"
+
+Trotty, all action and enthusiasm, immediately reached up his hand to
+Richard, and was going to address him in a great hurry, when the
+house-door opened without any warning, and a footman very nearly put his
+foot in the tripe.
+
+"Out of the vays here, will you! You must always go and be a-settin on
+our steps, must you! You can't go and give a turn to none of the
+neighbors never, can't you? _Will_ you clear the road, or won't you?"
+
+Strictly speaking, the last question was irrelevant, as they had already
+done it.
+
+"What's the matter, what's the matter?" said the gentleman for whom the
+door was opened; coming out of the house at that kind of light, heavy
+pace--that peculiar compromise between a walk and jog-trot--with which a
+gentleman upon the smooth down-hill of life, wearing creaking boots, a
+watch-chain, and clean linen, _may_ come out of his house: not only
+without any abatement of his dignity, but with an expression of having
+important and wealthy engagements elsewhere. "What's the matter? What's
+the matter?"
+
+"You're always a-being begged, and prayed, upon your bended knees, you
+are," said the footman with great emphasis to Trotty Veck, "to let our
+door-steps be. Why don't you let 'em be? CAN'T you let 'em be?"
+
+"There! That'll do, that'll do!" said the gentleman, "Halloa there!
+Porter!" beckoning with his head to Trotty Veck, "Come here. What's
+that? Your dinner?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said Trotty, leaving it behind him in a corner.
+
+"Don't leave it there!" exclaimed the gentleman. "Bring it here, bring
+it here! So! this is your dinner, is it?"
+
+"Yes, sir," repeated Trotty, looking with a fixed eye and a watery mouth
+at the piece of tripe he had reserved for a last delicious tit-bit,
+which the gentleman was now turning over and over on the end of a fork.
+
+Two other gentlemen had come out with him. One was a low-spirited
+gentleman of middle age, of a meagre habit, and a disconsolate face; who
+kept his hands continually in the pockets of his scanty pepper-and-salt
+trousers, very large and dog's-eared from that custom; and was not
+particularly well brushed or washed. The other, a full sized, sleek,
+well-conditioned gentleman, in a blue coat, with bright buttons, and a
+white cravat. This gentleman had a very red face, as if an undue
+proportion of the blood in his body were squeezed up into his head,
+which perhaps accounted for his having also the appearance of being
+rather cold about the heart.
+
+He who had Toby's meat upon the fork called to the first one by the name
+of Filer, and they both drew near together. Mr. Filer being exceedingly
+short sighted, was obliged to go so close to the remnant of Toby's
+dinner before he could make out what it was, that Toby's heart leaped up
+into his mouth. But Mr. Filer didn't eat it.
+
+"This is a description of animal food, Alderman," said Filer, making
+little punches in it with a pencil-case, "commonly known to the laboring
+population of this country by the name of tripe."
+
+The Alderman laughed, and winked; for he was a merry fellow. Alderman
+Cute. Oh, and a sly fellow too! A knowing fellow. Up to everything. Not
+to be imposed upon. Deep in the people's hearts! He knew them, Cute did.
+I believe you!
+
+"But who eats tripe?" said Mr. Filer, looking round. "Tripe is without
+an exception the least economical, and the most wasteful article of
+consumption that the markets of this country can by possibility produce.
+The loss upon a pound of tripe has been found to be, in the boiling,
+seven-eighths of a fifth more than the loss upon a pound of any other
+animal substance whatever. Tripe is more expensive, properly understood,
+than the hot-house pine-apple. Taking into account the number of animals
+slaughtered yearly within the bills of mortality alone; and forming a
+low estimate of the quantity of tripe which the carcases of these
+animals, reasonably well butchered, would yield--I find that the waste
+on that amount of tripe, if boiled, would victual a garrison of five
+hundred men for five months of thirty-one days each, and a February
+over. The Waste, the Waste!"
+
+Trotty stood aghast, and his legs shook under him. He seemed to have
+starved a garrison of five hundred men with his own hand.
+
+"Who eats tripe?" said Mr. Filer, warmly. "Who eats tripe?"
+
+Trotty made a miserable bow.
+
+"You do, do you?" said Mr. Filer. "Then I'll tell you something. You
+snatch your tripe, my friend, out of the mouths of widows and orphans."
+
+"I hope not, sir," said Trotty, faintly. "I'd sooner die of want!"
+
+"Divide the amount of tripe before-mentioned, Alderman," said Mr. Filer,
+"by the estimated number of existing widows and orphans, and the result
+will be one pennyweight of tripe to each. Not a grain is left for that
+man. Consequently, he's a robber."
+
+Trotty was so shocked that it gave him no concern to see the Alderman
+finish the tripe himself. It was a relief to get rid of it, anyhow.
+
+"And what do you say?" asked the Alderman, jocosely, of the red-faced
+gentleman in the blue coat. "You have heard friend Filer. What do _you_
+say?"
+
+"What's it possible to say?" returned the gentleman. "What _is_ to be
+said? Who can take any interest in a fellow like this," meaning Trotty,
+"in such degenerate times as these? Look at him! What an object! The
+good old times, the grand old times, the great old times! _Those_ were
+the times for a bold peasantry, and all that sort of thing. Those were
+the times for every sort of thing, in fact. There's nothing now-a-days.
+Ah!" sighed the red-faced gentleman. "The good old times, the good old
+times!"
+
+It is possible that poor Trotty's faith in these very vague Old Times
+was not entirely destroyed, for he felt vague enough, at that moment.
+One thing, however, was plain to him, in the midst of his distress; to
+wit, that however these gentlemen might differ in details, his
+misgivings of that morning, and of many other mornings, were well
+founded. "No, no. We can't go right or do right," thought Trotty in
+despair. "There is no good in us. We are born bad!"
+
+But Trotty had a father's heart within him; which had somehow got into
+his breast in spite of this decree; and he could not bear that Meg, in
+the blush of her brief joy, should have her fortune read by these wise
+gentlemen. "God help her," thought poor Trotty. "She will know it soon
+enough."
+
+He anxiously signed, therefore, to the young smith, to take her away.
+But he was so busy, talking to her softly at a little distance, that he
+only became conscious of this desire, simultaneously with Alderman Cute.
+Now, the Alderman had not yet had his say, but _he_ was a philosopher,
+too--practical though! Oh, very practical!--and, as he had no idea of
+losing any portion of his audience, he cried "Stop!"
+
+Trotty took Meg's hand and drew it through his arm. He didn't seem to
+know what he was doing though.
+
+"Your daughter, eh?" said the Alderman, chucking her familiarly under
+the chin.
+
+"And you're making love to her, are you?" said Cute to the young smith.
+
+"Yes," returned Richard quickly, for he was nettled by the question.
+"And we are going to be married on New Year's Day."
+
+"What do you mean?" cried Filer sharply. "Married!"
+
+"Why, yes, we were thinking of it. Master," said Richard. "We're rather
+in a hurry you see, in case it should be Put Down first."
+
+"Ah!" cried Filer, with a groan. "Put _that_ down indeed. Alderman, and
+you'll do something. Married! Married!! The ignorance of the first
+principles of political economy on the part of these people; their
+improvidence; their wickedness is by Heavens! enough to--Now look at
+that couple, will you!"
+
+Well! They were worth looking at. And marriage seemed as reasonable and
+fair a deed as they need have in contemplation.
+
+"A man may live to be as old as Methuselah," said Mr. Filer, "and may
+labor all his life for the benefit of such people as those; and may heap
+up facts on figures, facts on figures, facts on figures, mountains high
+and dry; and he can no more hope to persuade 'em that they have no right
+or business to be married than he can hope to persuade 'em that they
+have no earthly right or business to be born. And _that_ we know they
+haven't. We reduced that to a mathematical certainty long ago!"
+
+"Come here, my girl!" said Alderman Cute.
+
+The young blood of her lover had been mounting, wrathfully, within the
+last few minutes; and he was indisposed to let her come. But, setting a
+constraint upon himself, he came forward with a stride as Meg approached
+and stood beside her. Trotty kept her hand within his arm still, but
+looked from face to face as wildly as a sleeper in a dream.
+
+"Now, I'm going to give you a word or two of good advice, my girl," said
+the Alderman, in his nice easy way. "It's my place to give advice, you
+know, because I'm a Justice. You know I'm a Justice, don't you?"
+
+Meg timidly said, "Yes." But everybody knew Alderman Cute was a Justice!
+Oh dear, so active a Justice always! Who such a mote of brightness in
+the public eye, as Cute!
+
+"You are going to be married, you say," pursued the Alderman. "Very
+unbecoming and indelicate in one of your sex! But never mind that.
+After you're married, you'll quarrel with your husband, and come to be a
+distressed wife. You may think not; but you will, because I tell you so.
+Now, I give you fair warning, that I have made up my mind to Put
+distressed wives Down. So, don't be brought before me. You'll have
+children--boys. Those boys will grow up bad, of course, and run wild in
+the streets without shoes or stockings. Mind, my young friend! I'll
+convict 'em summarily every one, for I am determined to Put boys without
+shoes or stockings, Down. Perhaps your husband will die young (most
+likely) and leave you with a baby. Then you'll be turned out of doors,
+and wander up and down the streets. Now don't wander near me, my dear,
+for I am resolved to Put all wandering mothers Down. All young mothers,
+of all sorts and kinds, it's my determination to Put Down. Don't think
+to plead illness as an excuse with me; or babies as an excuse with me;
+for all sick persons and young children (I hope you know the
+church-service, but I'm afraid not) I am determined to Put Down. And if
+you attempt, desperately and ungratefully, and impiously, and
+fraudulently attempt, to drown yourself, or hang yourself, I'll have no
+pity on you, for I have made up my mind to Put all suicide Down! If
+there is one thing," said the Alderman, with his self-satisfied smile,
+"on which I can be said to have made up my mind more than on another, it
+is to Put suicide Down. So don't try it on. That's the phrase, isn't it!
+Ha, ha! now we understand each other."
+
+Toby knew not whether to be agonized or glad, to see that Meg had turned
+deadly white, and dropped her lover's hand.
+
+"As for you, you dull dog," said the Alderman, turning with even
+increased cheerfulness and urbanity to the young smith, "what are you
+thinking of being married for? What do you want to be married for, you
+silly fellow? If I was a fine, young, strapping chap like you, I should
+be ashamed of being milksop enough to pin myself to a woman's
+apron-strings! Why, she'll be an old woman before you're a middle-aged
+man! And a pretty figure you'll cut then, with a draggle-tailed wife and
+a crowd of squalling children crying after you wherever you go!"
+
+Oh, he knew how to banter the common people, Alderman Cute!
+
+"There! Go along with you," said the Alderman, "and repent. Don't make
+such a fool of yourself as to get married on New Year's Day. You'll
+think very differently of it, long before next New Year's Day: a trim
+young fellow like you, with all the girls looking after you. There! Go
+along with you!"
+
+They went along. Not arm in arm, or hand in hand, or interchanging
+bright glances; but she in tears; he gloomy and down-looking. Were these
+the hearts that had so lately made old Toby's leap up from its
+faintness? No, no. The Alderman (a blessing on his head!) had Put _them_
+Down.
+
+"As you happen to be here," said the Alderman to Toby, "you shall carry
+a letter for me. Can you be quick? You're an old man."
+
+Toby, who had been looking after Meg, quite stupidly, made shift to
+murmur out that he was very quick, and very strong.
+
+"How old are you?" inquired the Alderman.
+
+"I am over sixty, sir," said Toby.
+
+"Oh! This man's a great deal past the average age, you know," cried Mr.
+Filer, breaking in as if his patience would bear some trying, but this
+was really carrying matters a little too far.
+
+"I feel I'm intruding, sir," said Toby. "I--I misdoubted it this
+morning. Oh dear me!"
+
+The Alderman cut him short by giving him the letter from his pocket.
+Toby would have got a shilling too; but Mr. Filer clearly showing that
+in that case he would rob a certain given number of persons of
+ninepence-half-penny a-piece, he only got sixpence; and thought himself
+very well off to get that.
+
+Then the Alderman gave an arm to each of his friends, and walked off in
+high feather; but, he immediately came hurrying back alone, as if he had
+forgotten something.
+
+"Porter!" said the Alderman.
+
+"Sir!" said Toby.
+
+"Take care of that daughter of yours. She's much too handsome."
+
+"Even her good looks are stolen from somebody or other I suppose,"
+thought Toby, looking at the sixpence in his hand, and thinking of the
+tripe. "She's been and robbed five hundred ladies of a bloom a-piece, I
+shouldn't wonder. It's very dreadful!"
+
+"She's much too handsome, my man," repeated the Alderman. "The chances
+are, that she'll come to no good, I clearly see. Observe what I say.
+Take care of her!" With which, he hurried off again.
+
+"Wrong every way. Wrong every way!" said Trotty clasping his hands.
+"Born bad. No business here!"
+
+The Chimes came clashing in upon him as he said the last words. Full,
+loud, and sounding--but with no encouragement. No, not a drop.
+
+"The tune's changed," cried the old man, as he listened. "There's not a
+word of all that fancy in it. Why should there be? I have no business
+with the New Year nor with the old one neither. Let me die!"
+
+Still the Bells, pealing forth their changes, made the very air spin.
+Put 'em down. Put 'em down! Good old Times, Good old Times! Facts and
+Figures, Facts and Figures! Put 'em down, Put 'em down! If they said
+anything they said this, until the brain of Toby reeled.
+
+He pressed his bewildered head between his hands as if to keep it from
+splitting asunder. A well-timed action, as it happened; for finding the
+letter in one of them, and being by that means reminded of his charge,
+he fell, mechanically, into his usual trot, and trotted off.
+
+
+SECOND QUARTER.
+
+The letter Toby had received from Alderman Cute, was addressed to a
+great man in the great district of the town. The greatest district of
+the town. It must have been the greatest district of the town, because
+it was commonly called "the world" by its inhabitants.
+
+The Year was Old, that day. The patient Year had lived through the
+reproaches and misuses of its slanderers, and faithfully performed its
+work. Spring, summer, autumn, winter. It had labored through the
+destined round, and now laid down its weary head to die.
+
+Trotty had no portion, to his thinking, in the New Year or the Old.
+
+"Put 'em down. Put 'em down! Facts and Figures, Facts and Figures! Good
+old Times, Good old Times! Put 'em down, Put 'em down!"--his trot went
+to that measure, and would fit itself to nothing else.
+
+But, even that one, melancholy as it was, brought him, in due time, to
+the end of his journey. To the mansion of Sir Joseph Bowley, Member of
+Parliament.
+
+The door was opened by a Porter. Such a Porter! Not of Toby's order.
+Quite another thing. His place was the ticket, though; not Toby's.
+
+This Porter underwent some hard panting before he could speak; having
+breathed himself by coming incautiously out of his chair, without first
+taking time to think about it and compose his mind. When he had found
+his voice--which it took him some time to do, for it was a long way off
+and hidden under a load of meat--he said in a fat whisper:
+
+"Who's it from?"
+
+Toby told him.
+
+"You're to take it in yourself," said the Porter, pointing to a room at
+the end of a long passage, opening from the hall. "Everything goes
+straight in, on this day of the year. You're not a bit too soon; for the
+carriage is at the door now, and they have only come to town for a
+couple of hours, a'purpose."
+
+Toby wiped his feet (which were quite dry already) with great care, and
+took the way pointed out to him, observing as he went that it was an
+awfully grand house, but hushed and covered up, as if the family were in
+the country. Knocking at the room door, he was told to enter from
+within; and doing so found himself in a spacious library, where, at a
+table strewn with files and papers, were a stately lady in a bonnet, and
+a not very stately gentleman in black, who wrote from her dictation;
+while another, and an older, and a much statelier gentleman, whose hat
+and cane were on the table, walked up and down, with one hand in his
+breast, and looked complacently from time to time at his own picture--a
+full length; a very full length--hanging over the fire-place.
+
+"What is this?" said the last-named gentleman. "Mr. Fish, will you have
+the goodness to attend?"
+
+Mr. Fish begged pardon, and taking the letter from Toby, handed it, with
+great respect.
+
+"From Alderman Cute, Sir Joseph."
+
+"Is this all? Have you nothing else, Porter?" inquired Sir Joseph.
+
+Toby replied in the negative.
+
+"You have no bill or demand upon me--my name is Bowley, Sir Joseph
+Bowley--of any kind from anybody, have you?" said Sir Joseph. "If you
+have, present it. There is a cheque-book by the side of Mr. Fish. I
+allow nothing to be carried into the New Year. Every description of
+account is settled in this house at the close of the old one. So that if
+death was to--to--"
+
+"To cut," suggested Mr. Fish.
+
+"To sever, sir," returned Sir Joseph, with great asperity, "the cord of
+existence--my affairs would be found, I hope, in a state of
+preparation."
+
+"My dear Sir Joseph!" said the lady, who was greatly younger than the
+gentleman. "How shocking!"
+
+"My Lady Bowley," returned Sir Joseph, floundering now and then, as in
+the great depth of his observations, "at this season of the year we
+should think of--of--ourselves. We should look into our--our accounts.
+We should feel that every return of so eventful a period in human
+transactions involves matter of deep moment between a man and his--and
+his banker."
+
+Sir Joseph delivered these words as if he felt the full morality of what
+he was saying, and desired that even Trotty should have an opportunity
+of being improved by such discourse. Possibly he had this end before him
+in still forbearing to break the seal of the letter, and in telling
+Trotty to wait where he was a minute.
+
+"I _am_ the Poor Man's Friend," observed Sir Joseph, glancing at the
+poor man present. "As such I may be taunted. As such I have been
+taunted. But I ask no other title."
+
+"Bless him for a noble gentleman!" thought Trotty.
+
+"I don't agree with Cute here, for instance," said Sir Joseph, holding
+out the letter. "I don't agree with the Filer party. I don't agree with
+any party. My friend, the Poor Man, has no business with any thing of
+that sort, and nothing of that sort has any business with him. My
+friend, the Poor Man, in my district, is my business. No man or body of
+men has any right to interfere between my friend and me. That is the
+ground I take. I assume a--a paternal character toward my friend. I say,
+'My good fellow, I will treat you paternally.'"
+
+With that great sentiment, he opened the Alderman's letter, and read it.
+
+"Very polite and attentive, I am sure!" exclaimed Sir Joseph. "My lady,
+the Alderman is so obliging as to remind me that he has had 'the
+distinguished honor'--he is very good--of meeting me at the house of our
+mutual friend Deedles, the banker, and he does me the favor to inquire
+whether it will be agreeable to me to have Will Fern put down. He came
+up to London, it seems, to look for employment (trying to better
+himself--that's his story), and being found at night asleep in a shed,
+was taken into custody, and carried next morning before the Alderman.
+The Alderman observes (very properly) that he is determined to put this
+sort of thing down, and that if it will be agreeable to me to have Will
+Fern put down, he will be happy to begin with him."
+
+"Let him be made an example of, by all means," returned the lady. "Last
+winter, when I introduced pinking and eyelet-holing among the men and
+boys in the village as a nice evening employment, and had the lines,
+
+
+     Oh let us love our occupations,
+     Bless the squire and his relations,
+     Live upon our daily rations,
+     And always know our proper stations,
+
+
+set to music on the new system, for them to sing the while; this very
+Fern--I see him now--touched that hat of his, and said, 'I humbly ask
+your pardon, my lady, but _an't_ I something different from a great
+girl?' I expected it, of course; who can expect anything but insolence
+and ingratitude from that class of people? That is not to the purpose,
+however. Sir Joseph! Make an example of him!"
+
+Trotty, who had long ago relapsed, and was very low-spirited, stepped
+forward with a rueful face to take the letter Sir Joseph held out to
+him.
+
+"You have heard, perhaps," said Sir Joseph, oracularly, "certain remarks
+into which I have been led respecting the solemn period of time at which
+we have arrived, and the duty imposed upon us of settling our affairs,
+and being prepared. Now, my friend, can you lay your hand upon your
+heart, and say that you also have made preparation for a New Year?"
+
+"I am afraid, sir," stammered Trotty, looking meekly at him, "that I am
+a--a--little behind-hand with the world."
+
+"Behind-hand with the world!" repeated Sir Joseph Bowley, in a tone of
+terrible distinctness.
+
+"I am afraid, sir," faltered Trotty, "that there's a matter of ten or
+twelve shillings owing to Mrs. Chickenstalker."
+
+"To Mrs. Chickenstalker!" repeated Sir Joseph, in the same tone as
+before.
+
+"A shop, sir," exclaimed Toby, "in the general line. Also a--a little
+money on account of rent. A very little, sir. It oughtn't to be owing, I
+know, but we have been hard put to it, indeed!"
+
+Sir Joseph looked at his lady, and at Mr. Fish, and at Trotty, one after
+another, twice all round. He then made a despondent gesture with both
+hands at once, as if he gave the thing up altogether.
+
+"How a man, even among this improvident and impracticable race; an old
+man; a man grown grey; can look a New Year in the face with his affairs
+in this condition; how he can lie down on his bed at night, and get up
+again in the morning, and--There!" he said, turning his back on Trotty.
+
+"Take the letter! Take the letter!"
+
+"I heartily wish it was otherwise, sir," said Trotty, anxious to excuse
+himself. "We have been tried very hard."
+
+Sir Joseph still repeating "Take the letter, take the letter!" and Mr.
+Fish not only saying the same thing, but giving additional force to the
+request by motioning the bearer to the door, he had nothing for it but
+to make his bow and leave the house. And in the street, poor Trotty
+pulled his worn old hat down on his head to hide the grief he felt at
+getting no hold on the New Year, anywhere.
+
+He didn't even lift his hat to look up at the Bell tower when he came to
+the old church on his return. He halted there a moment, from habit; and
+knew that it was growing dark and that the steeple rose above him
+indistinct and faint in the murky air. He knew, too, that the Chimes
+would ring immediately, and that they sounded to his fancy, at such a
+time, like voices in the clouds. But he only made the more haste to
+deliver the Alderman's letter and get out of the way before they began;
+for he dreaded to hear them tagging "Friends and Fathers, Friends and
+Fathers," to the burden they had rung out last.
+
+Toby discharged himself of his commission, therefore, with all possible
+speed and set off trotting homeward. But what with his pace, which was
+at best an awkward one in the street; and what with his hat, which
+didn't improve it; he trotted against somebody in less than no time and
+was sent staggering out into the road.
+
+"I beg your pardon, I'm sure!" said Trotty, pulling up his hat in great
+confusion, and between the hat and the torn lining, fixing his head
+into a kind of bee-hive. "I hope I haven't hurt you."
+
+As to hurting anybody, Toby was not such an absolute Samson, but that he
+was much more likely to be hurt himself; and indeed he had flown out
+into the road like a shuttle-cock. He had such an opinion of his own
+strength, however, that he was in real concern for the other party, and
+said again,
+
+"I hope I haven't hurt you?"
+
+The man against whom he had run, a sun-browned, sinewy, country-looking
+man, with grizzled hair and a rough chin, stared at him for a moment, as
+if he suspected him to be in jest. But, satisfied of his good faith, he
+answered:
+
+"No, friend. You have not hurt me."
+
+"Nor the child, I hope?" said Trotty.
+
+"Nor the child," returned the man. "I thank you kindly."
+
+As he said so, he glanced at a little girl he carried in his arms,
+asleep, and shading her face with the long end of the poor handkerchief
+he wore about his throat, went slowly on.
+
+The tone in which he said "I thank you kindly," penetrated Trotty's
+heart. He was so jaded and foot sore, and so soiled with travel, and
+looked about him so forlorn and strange, that it was a comfort to him to
+be able to thank anyone, no matter for how little. Toby stood gazing
+after him as he plodded wearily away, with the child's arm clinging
+round his neck.
+
+At the figure in the worn shoes--now the very shade and ghost of
+shoes--rough leather leggings, common frock and broad slouched hat,
+Trotty stood gazing, blind to the whole street. And at the child's arm,
+clinging round its neck.
+
+Before he merged into the darkness the traveler stopped, and looking
+round and seeing Trotty standing there yet, seemed undecided whether to
+return or go on. After doing first the one and then the other, he came
+back, and Trotty went half way to meet him.
+
+"You can tell me, perhaps," said the man with a faint smile, "and if you
+can I am sure will, and I'd rather ask you than another--where Alderman
+Cute lives."
+
+"Close at hand," replied Toby, "I'll show you his house with pleasure."
+
+"I was to have gone to him elsewhere to-morrow," said the man,
+accompanying Toby, "but I am uneasy under suspicion, and want to clear
+myself and to be free to go and seek my bread--I don't know where. So,
+maybe he'll forgive my going to his house to-night."
+
+"It's impossible," cried Toby with a start, "that your name's Fern!"
+
+"Eh!" cried the other, turning on him in astonishment.
+
+"Fern! Will Fern!" said Trotty.
+
+"That's my name," replied the other.
+
+"Why, then," cried Trotty, seizing him by the arm and looking cautiously
+round, "for Heaven's sake don't go to him! Don't go to him! He'll put
+you down as sure as ever you were born. Here, come up this alley, and
+I'll tell you what I mean. Don't go to _him_."
+
+His new acquaintance looked as if he thought him mad, but he bore him
+company, nevertheless. When they were shrouded from observation, Trotty
+told him what he knew, and what character he had received, and all about
+it.
+
+The subject of his history listened to it with a calmness that surprised
+him. He did not contradict or interrupt it once. He nodded his head now
+and then--more in corroboration of an old and worn-out story, it
+appeared, than in refutation of it; and once or twice threw back his
+hat, and passed his freckled hand over a brow, where every furrow he
+had ploughed seemed to have set its image in little. But he did no more.
+
+"It's true enough in the main," he said, "master, I could sift grain
+from the husk here and there, but let it be as 'tis. What odds? I have
+gone against his plans; to my misfortun'. I can't help it; I should do
+the like to-morrow. As to character, them gentlefolks will search and
+search, and pry and pry, and have it as free from spot or speck in us,
+afore they'll help us to a dry good word!--Well! I hope they don't lose
+good opinion as easy as we do, or their lives is strict indeed, and
+hardly worth the keeping. For myself, master, I never took with that
+hand"--holding it before him--"what wasn't my own; and never held it
+back from work, however hard, or poorly paid. Whoever can deny it, let
+him chop it off! But when work won't maintain me like a human creetur;
+when my living is so bad, that I am Hungry, out of doors and in; when I
+see a whole working life begin that way, go on that way, and end that
+way, without a chance or change; then I say to the gentlefolks 'Keep
+away from me! Let my cottage be. My doors is dark enough without your
+darkening of 'em more. Don't look for me to come up into the Park to
+help the show when there's a Birthday, or a fine Speechmaking, or what
+not. Act your Plays and Games without me, and be welcome to 'em and
+enjoy 'em. We've now to do with one another. I'm best let alone!'"
+
+Seeing that the child in his arms had opened her eyes, and was looking
+about in wonder, he checked himself to say a word or two of foolish
+prattle in her ear, and stand her on the ground beside him. Then slowly
+winding one of her long tresses round and round his rough forefinger
+like a ring, while she hung about his dusty leg, he said to Trotty,
+
+"I'm not a cross-grained man by natur', I believe; and easy satisfied,
+I'm sure. I bear no ill will against none of 'em. I only want to live
+like one of the Almighty's creeturs. I can't--I don't--and so there's a
+pit dug between me, and them that can and do. There's others like me.
+You might tell 'em off by hundreds and by thousands, sooner than by
+ones."
+
+Trotty knew that he spoke the truth in this, and shook his head to
+signify as much.
+
+"I've got a bad name this way," said Fern; "and I'm not likely, I'm
+afeared, to get a better. 'Tan't lawful to be out of sorts, and I AM out
+of sorts, though God knows, I'd sooner bear a cheerful spirit if I
+could. Well! I don't know as this Alderman could hurt _me_ much by
+sending me to gaol; but without a friend to speak a word for me, he
+might do it; and you see--!" pointing downward with his finger, at the
+child.
+
+He sunk his voice so low, and gazed upon her with an air so stern and
+strange, that Toby, to divert the current of his thoughts, inquired if
+his wife were living.
+
+"I never had one," he returned, shaking his head. "She's my brother's
+child: a orphan. Nine year old, though you'd hardly think it; but she's
+tired and worn out now. They'd have taken care on her in the
+Union--eight and twenty mile away from where we live--between four walls
+(as they took care of my old father when he couldn't work no more,
+though he didn't trouble 'em long); but I took her instead, and she's
+lived with me ever since. Her mother had a friend once, in London here.
+We are trying to find her, and to find work too; but it's a large place.
+Never mind. More room for us to walk about in, Lilly!"
+
+Meeting the child's eyes with a smile which melted Toby more than tears,
+he shook him by the hand.
+
+"I don't so much as know your name," he said, "but I've opened my heart
+free to you, for I'm thankful to you; with good reason. I'll take your
+advice and keep clear of this--"
+
+"Justice," suggested Toby.
+
+"Ah!" he said. "If that's the name they give him. This Justice. And
+to-morrow will try whether there's better fortun' to be met with
+somewheres near London. Goodnight. A Happy New Year!"
+
+"Stay!" cried Trotty, catching at his hand, as he relaxed his grip.
+"Stay! The New Year never can be happy to me, if we part like this. The
+New Year can never be happy to me, if I see the child and you go
+wandering away, you don't know where, without a shelter for your heads.
+Come home with me! I'm a poor man, living in a poor place; but I can
+give you lodging for one night and never miss it. Come home with me!
+Here! I'll take her!" cried Trotty, lifting up the child. "A pretty one!
+I'd carry twenty times her weight, and never know I'd got it. Tell me if
+I go too quick for you. I'm very fast. I always was!" Trotty said this,
+taking about six of his trotting paces to one stride of his fatigued
+companion; and with his thin legs quivering again, beneath the load he
+bore.
+
+"Down the Mews here, Uncle Will, and step at the black door, with 'T.
+Veck, Ticket Porter,' wrote upon a board; and here we are, and here we
+go, and here we are indeed, my precious Meg, surprising you!"
+
+With which words Trotty, in a breathless state, set the child down
+before his daughter in the middle of the floor. The little visitor
+looked once at Meg; and doubting nothing in that face, but trusting
+everything she saw there; ran into her arms.
+
+"Here we are, and here we go!" cried Trotty, running round the room and
+choking audibly. "Here, Uncle Will, here's a fire you know! Why don't
+you come to the fire? Oh here we are and here we go! Meg, my precious
+darling, where's the kettle? Here it is and here it goes, and it'll bile
+in no time!"
+
+Trotty really had picked up the kettle somewhere or other in the course
+of his wild career, and now put it on the fire; while Meg, seating the
+child in a warm corner, knelt down on the ground before her, and pulled
+off her shoes, and dried her wet feet on a cloth. Ay, and she laughed at
+Trotty too--so pleasantly, so cheerfully, that Trotty could have blessed
+her where she kneeled; for he had seen that, when they entered, she was
+sitting by the fire in tears.
+
+"Why, father!" said Meg. "You're crazy to-night, I think. I don't know
+what the Bells would say to that."
+
+Meg looked toward him and saw that he had elaborately stationed himself
+behind the chair of their male visitor, where with many mysterious
+gestures he was holding up the six-pence he had earned.
+
+"I see, my dear," said Trotty, "as I was coming in, half an ounce of tea
+lying somewhere on the stairs; and I'm pretty sure there was a bit of
+bacon too. As I don't remember where it was exactly, I'll go myself and
+try to find 'em."
+
+With this inscrutable artifice, Toby withdrew to purchase the viands he
+had spoken of, for ready money, at Mrs. Chickenstalker's; and presently
+came back, pretending that he had not been able to find them, at first
+in the dark.
+
+"But here they are at last," said Trotty, setting out the tea things,
+"all correct! I was pretty sure it was tea and a rasher. So it is. Meg
+my pet, if you'll just make the tea, while your unworthy father toasts
+the bacon, we shall be ready immediate. It's a curious circumstance,"
+said Trotty, proceeding in his cookery, with the assistance of the
+toasting-fork, "curious, but well known to my friends, that I never
+care, myself, for rashers, nor for tea. I like to see other people enjoy
+'em," said Trotty, speaking very loud to impress the fact upon his
+guest, "but to me, as food, they are disagreeable."
+
+Yet Trotty sniffed the savor of the hissing bacon--ah!--as if he liked
+it; and when he poured the boiling water in the tea-pot, looked lovingly
+down into the depths of that snug caldron, and suffering the fragrant
+steam to curl about his nose, and wreathe his head and face in a thick
+cloud. However, for all this, he neither ate nor drank, except at the
+very beginning, a mere morsel for form's sake, which he appeared to eat
+with infinite relish, but declared was perfectly uninteresting to him.
+
+"Now, I'll tell you what," said Trotty after tea. "The little one, she
+sleeps with Meg, I know."
+
+"With good Meg!" cried the child, caressing her. "With Meg."
+
+"That's right," said Trotty. "And I shouldn't wonder if she'll kiss
+Meg's father, won't she? _I_'m Meg's father."
+
+Mightily delighted Trotty was, when the child went timidly toward him,
+and having kissed him, fell back upon Meg again.
+
+Meg looked toward their guest, who leaned upon her chair, and with his
+face turned from her, fondled the child's head, half hidden in her lap.
+
+"To be sure," said Toby. "To be sure! I don't know what I am rambling on
+about, to-night. My wits are wool-gathering, I think. Will Fern, you
+come along with me. You're tired to death, and broken down for want of
+rest. You come along with me."
+
+The hand released from the child's hair, had fallen, trembling, into
+Trotty's hand. So Trotty, talking without intermission, led him out as
+tenderly and easily as if he had been a child himself.
+
+Returning before Meg, he listened for an instant at the door of her
+little chamber; an adjoining room. The child was murmuring a simple
+Prayer before lying down to sleep; and when she had remembered Meg's
+name, "Dearly, Dearly"--so her words ran--Trotty heard her stop and ask
+for his.
+
+It was some short time before the foolish little old fellow could
+compose himself to mend the fire, and draw his chair to the warm hearth.
+But when he had done so, and had trimmed the light, he took his
+newspaper from his pocket and began to read. Carelessly at first, and
+skimming up and down the columns; but with an earnest and a sad
+attention, very soon.
+
+For this same dreaded paper re-directed Trotty's thoughts into the
+channel they had taken all that day, and which the day's events had so
+marked out and shaped. His interest in the two wanderers had set him on
+another course of thinking, and a happier one, for the time; but being
+alone again, and reading of the crimes and violences of the people, he
+relapsed into his former train.
+
+"It's too true, all I've heard to-day," Toby muttered; "too just, too
+full of proof. We're Bad!"
+
+The Chimes took up the words so suddenly--burst out so loud, and clear,
+and sonorous--that the Bells seemed to strike him in his chair.
+
+And what was that, they said?
+
+"Toby Veck, Toby Veck, waiting for you Toby! Toby Veck, Toby Veck,
+waiting for you Toby! Come and see us, come and see us, Drag him to us,
+drag him to us, Haunt and hunt him, haunt and hunt him, Break his
+slumbers, break his slumbers! Toby Veck, Toby Veck, door open wide Toby,
+Toby Veck, Toby Veck, door open wide Toby--" then fiercely back to their
+impetuous strain again, and ringing in the very bricks and plaster on
+the walls.
+
+Toby listened. Fancy, fancy! His remorse for having run away from them
+that afternoon! No, no. Nothing of the kind. Again, again, and yet a
+dozen times again. "Haunt and hunt him, haunt and hunt him, Drag him to
+us, drag him to us!" Deafening the whole town!
+
+"Meg," said Trotty, softly; tapping at her door. "Do you hear anything?"
+
+"I hear the Bells, father. Surely they're very loud to-night."
+
+"Is she asleep?" said Toby, making an excuse for peeping in.
+
+"So peacefully and happily! I can't leave her yet though, father. Look
+how she holds my hand!"
+
+"Meg!" whispered Trotty. "Listen to the Bells!"
+
+She listened, with her face toward him all the time. But it underwent no
+change. She didn't understand them.
+
+Trotty withdrew, resumed his seat by the fire, and once more listened by
+himself. He remained here a little time.
+
+It was impossible to bear it; their energy was dreadful.
+
+"If the tower-door is really open," said Toby, hastily laying aside his
+apron, but never thinking of his hat, "what's to hinder me from going up
+in the steeple and satisfying myself? If it's shut, I don't want any
+other satisfaction. That's enough."
+
+He was pretty certain as he slipped out quietly into the street that he
+should find it shut and locked, for he knew the door well, and had so
+rarely seen it open, that he couldn't reckon above three times in all.
+It was a low-arched portal outside the church, in a dark nook behind a
+column; and had such great iron hinges, and such a monstrous lock, that
+there was more hinge and lock than door.
+
+But what was his astonishment when, coming bare-headed to the church,
+and putting his hand into this dark nook, with a certain misgiving that
+it might be unexpectedly seized, and a shivering propensity to draw it
+back again, he found that the door, which opened outward, actually stood
+ajar!
+
+He thought, on the first surprise, of going back; or of getting a light,
+or a companion; but his courage aided him immediately, and he determined
+to ascend alone.
+
+"What have I to fear?" said Trotty. "It's a church! Besides the ringers
+may be there, and have forgotten to shut the door."
+
+So he went in, feeling his way as he went, like a blind man; for it was
+very dark. And very quiet, for the Chimes were silent.
+
+The dust from the street had blown into the recess; and lying there,
+heaped up, made it so soft and velvet-like to the foot, that there was
+something startling even in that. The narrow stair was so close to the
+door, too, that he stumbled at the very first; and shutting the door
+upon himself by striking it with his foot, and causing it to rebound
+back heavily, he couldn't open it again.
+
+This was another reason, however, for going on. Trotty groped his way,
+and went on. Up, up, up, and round and round; and up, up, up, higher,
+higher, higher up!
+
+Until, ascending through the floor, and pausing with his head just
+raised above its beams, he came among the Bells. It was barely possible
+to make out their great shapes in the gloom; but there they were.
+Shadowy, and dark, and dumb.
+
+A heavy sense of dread and loneliness fell instantly upon him, as he
+climbed into this airy nest of stone and metal. His head went round and
+round. He listened and then raised a wild "Halloa!"
+
+Halloa! was mournfully protracted by the echoes.
+
+Giddy, confused, and out of breath, and frightened, Toby looked about
+him vacantly, and sunk down in a swoon.
+
+
+THIRD QUARTER.
+
+When and how the darkness of the night-black steeple changed to shining
+light; and how the solitary tower was peopled with a myriad figures;
+when and how the whispered "Haunt and hunt him," breathing monotonously
+through his sleep or swoon, became a voice exclaiming in the waking ears
+of Trotty, "Break his slumbers;" when and how he ceased to have a
+sluggish and confused idea that such things were, companioning a host of
+others that were not; there are no dates or means to tell. But, awake,
+and standing on his feet upon the boards where he had lately lain, he
+saw this Goblin Sight.
+
+Then and not before, did Trotty see in every Bell a bearded figure of
+the bulk and stature of the Bell--incomprehensibly, a figure and the
+Bell itself. Gigantic, grave, and darkly watchful of him, as he stood
+rooted to the ground.
+
+Mysterious and awful figures! Resting on nothing; poised in the night
+air of the tower, with their draped and hooded heads merged in the dim
+roof; motionless and shadowy. Shadowy and dark, although he saw them by
+some light belonging to themselves--none else was there--each with its
+muffled hand upon its goblin mouth.
+
+He could not plunge down wildly through the opening in the floor; for,
+all power of motion had deserted him. Otherwise he would have done
+so--ay, would have thrown himself, head-foremost, from the steeple-top,
+rather than have seen them watching him with eyes that would have waked
+and watched, although the pupils had been taken out.
+
+A blast of air--how cold and shrill!--came moaning through the tower. As
+it died away, the Great Bell, or the Goblin of the Great Bell, spoke.
+
+"What visitor is this?" it said. The voice was low and deep, and Trotty
+fancied that it sounded in the other figures as well.
+
+"I thought my name was called by the Chimes!" said Trotty, raising his
+hands in an attitude of supplication. "I hardly know why I am here, or
+how I came. I have listened to the Chimes these many years. They have
+cheered me often."
+
+"And you have thanked them?" said the bell.
+
+"A thousand times!" cried Trotty.
+
+"How?"
+
+"I am a poor man," faltered Trotty, "and could only thank them in
+words."
+
+"And always so?" inquired the Goblin of the Bell. "Have you never done
+us wrong in words?"
+
+"No!" cried Trotty, eagerly.
+
+"Never done us foul, and false, and wicked wrong, in words?" pursued the
+Goblin of the Bell.
+
+Trotty was about to answer "Never!" But he stopped and was confused.
+
+"The voice of Time," said the Phantom, "cries to man, Advance! Time is
+for his advancement and improvement; for his greater worth, his greater
+happiness, his better life; his progress onward to that goal within its
+knowledge and its view, and set there, in the period when Time and he
+began. Ages of darkness, wickedness, and violence, have come and
+gone--millions uncountable, have suffered, lived, and died--to point
+the way before him. Who seeks to turn him back, or stay him on his
+course, arrests a mighty engine which will strike the meddler dead; and
+be the fiercer and the wilder, ever, for its momentary check!"
+
+"I never did so to my knowledge, sir," said Trotty. "It was quite by
+accident if I did. I wouldn't go to do it, I'm sure."
+
+"Who puts into the mouth of Time, or of its servants," said the Goblin
+of the Bell, "a cry of lamentation for days which have had their trial
+and their failure, and have left deep traces of it which the blind may
+see--a cry that only serves the present time, by showing men how much it
+needs their help when any ears can listen to regrets for such a
+past--who does this, does a wrong. And you have done that wrong to us,
+the Chimes."
+
+Trotty's first excess of fear was gone. But he had felt tenderly and
+gratefully toward the Bells, as you have seen; and when he heard himself
+arraigned as one who had offended them so weightily, his heart was
+touched with penitence and grief.
+
+"If you knew," said Trotty, clasping his hands earnestly--"or perhaps
+you do know--if you know how often you have kept me company; how often
+you have cheered me up when I've been low; how you were quite the
+plaything of my little daughter Meg (almost the only one she ever had)
+when first her mother died, and she and me were left alone; you won't
+bear malice for a hasty word!"
+
+"Who hears in us, the Chimes, one note bespeaking disregard, or stern
+regard, of any hope, or joy, or pain, or sorrow, of the many-sorrowed
+throng; who hears us make response to any creed that gauges human
+passions and affections, as it gauges the amount of miserable food on
+which humanity may pine and wither; does us wrong. That wrong you have
+done us!" said the Bell.
+
+"I have!" said Trotty. "Oh, forgive me!"
+
+"Spare me," cried Trotty, falling on his knees; "for Mercy's sake!"
+
+"Listen!" said the Shadow.
+
+"Listen!" cried the other Shadows.
+
+"Listen!" said a clear and child-like voice, which Trotty thought he
+recognized as having heard before.
+
+The organ sounded faintly in the church below. Swelling by degrees, the
+melody ascended to the roof, and filled the choir and nave. Expanding
+more and more, it rose up, up, up, up; higher, higher, higher up;
+awakening agitated hearts within the burly piles of oak, the hollow
+bells, the iron-bound doors, the stairs of solid stone; until the tower
+walls were insufficient to contain it, and it soared into the sky.
+
+No wonder that an old man's breast could not contain a sound so vast and
+mighty. It broke from that weak prison in a rush of tears; and Trotty
+put his hands before his face.
+
+"Listen!" said the Shadow.
+
+"Listen!" said the other Shadows.
+
+"Listen!" said the child's voice.
+
+A solemn strain of blended voices rose into the tower.
+
+It was a very low and mournful strain--a Dirge--and as he listened,
+Trotty heard his child among the singers.
+
+"She is dead!" exclaimed the old man. "Meg is dead. Her spirit calls to
+me. I hear it!"
+
+"The Spirit of your child bewails the dead, and mingles with the
+dead--dead hopes, dead fancies, dead imaginings of youth," returned the
+Bell, "but she is living. Learn from her life, a living truth. Learn
+from the creature dearest to your heart, how bad the bad are born. See
+every bud and leaf plucked one by one from off the fairest stem, and
+know how bare and wretched it may be. Follow her! To desperation!"
+
+Each of the shadowy figures stretched its right arm forth, and pointed
+downward.
+
+"The Spirit of the Chimes is your companion," said the figure. "Go! It
+stands behind you!"
+
+Trotty turned, and saw--the child! The child Will Fern had carried in
+the street; the child whom Meg had watched, but now, asleep!
+
+"I carried her myself, to-night," said Trotty. "In these arms!"
+
+"Show him what he calls himself," said the dark figures, one and all.
+
+The tower opened at his feet. He looked down, and beheld his own form,
+lying at the bottom, on the outside: crushed and motionless.
+
+"No more a living man!" cried Trotty. "Dead!"
+
+"Dead!" said the figures altogether.
+
+"Gracious Heaven! And the New Year--'
+
+"Past," said the figures.
+
+"What!" he cried, shuddering, "I missed my way, and coming on the
+outside of this tower in the dark, fell down--a year ago?"
+
+"Nine years ago!" replied the figures.
+
+As they gave the answer, they recalled their outstretched hands; and
+where their figures had been, there the Bells were.
+
+"What are these?" he asked his guide. "If I am not mad, what are these?"
+
+"Spirits of the Bells. Their sound upon the air," returned the child.
+"They take such shapes and occupations as the hopes and thoughts of
+mortals, and the recollections they have stored up, give them."
+
+"And you," said Trotty, wildly. "What are you?"
+
+"Hush, hush!" returned the child. "Look here!"
+
+In a poor, mean room; working at the same kind of embroidery, which he
+had often, often, seen before her; Meg, his own dear daughter, was
+presented to his view. He made no effort to imprint his kisses on her
+face; he did not strive to clasp her to his loving heart; he knew that
+such endearments were, for him, no more. But he held his trembling
+breath, and brushed away the blinding tears, that he might look upon
+her; that he might only see her.
+
+Ah! Changed. Changed. The light of the clear eye, how dimmed. The bloom,
+how faded from the cheek. Beautiful she was, as she had ever been, but
+Hope, Hope, Hope, oh, where was the fresh Hope that had spoken to him
+like a voice!
+
+She looked up from her work, at a companion. Following her eyes, the old
+man started back.
+
+In the woman grown, he recognized her at a glance. In the long silken
+hair, he saw the self-same curls; around the lips, the child's
+expression lingering still. See! In the eyes, now turned inquiringly on
+Meg, there shone the very look that scanned those features when he
+brought her home!
+
+Then what was this, beside him?
+
+Looking with awe into its face, he saw a something reigning there: a
+lofty something, undefined and indistinct, which made it hardly more
+than a remembrance of that child--as yonder figure might be--yet it was
+the same: the same: and wore the dress.
+
+Hark! They were speaking!
+
+"Meg," said Lilian, hesitating. "How often you raise your head from your
+work to look at me!"
+
+"Are my looks so altered, that they frighten you?" asked Meg.
+
+"Nay, dear! But you smile at that yourself! Why not smile when you look
+at me, Meg?"
+
+"I do so. Do I not?" she answered: smiling on her.
+
+"Now you do," said Lilian, "but not usually. When you think I'm busy,
+and don't see you, you look so anxious and so doubtful, that I hardly
+like to raise my eyes. There is little cause for smiling in this hard
+and toilsome life, but you were once so cheerful."
+
+"Am I not now?" cried Meg, speaking in a tone of strange alarm, and
+rising to embrace her. "Do _I_ make our weary life more weary to you,
+Lilian?"
+
+"You have been the only thing that made it life," said Lilian, fervently
+kissing her; "sometimes the only thing that made me care to live so,
+Meg. Such work, such work! So many hours, so many days, so many long,
+long nights of hopeless, cheerless, never-ending work--not to heap up
+riches, not to live grandly or gayly, not to live upon enough, however
+coarse; but to earn bare bread; to scrape together just enough to toil
+upon, and want upon, and keep alive in us the consciousness of our hard
+fate! Oh, Meg, Meg!" she raised her voice and twined her arms about her
+as she spoke, like one in pain. "How can the cruel world go round, and
+bear to look upon such lives!"
+
+"Lilly!" said Meg, soothing her, and putting back her hair from her wet
+face. "Why, Lilly! You! So pretty and so young!"
+
+"Oh, Meg!" she interrupted, holding her at arm's-length, and looking in
+her face imploringly. "The worst of all! The worst of all! Strike me
+old, Meg! Wither me and shrivel me, and free me from the dreadful
+thoughts that tempt me in my youth!"
+
+Trotty turned to look upon his guide. But, the Spirit of the child had
+taken flight. Was gone.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FOURTH QUARTER.
+
+Some new remembrance of the ghostly figures in the Bells; some faint
+impression of the ringing of the Chimes; some giddy consciousness of
+having seen the swarm of phantoms reproduced and reproduced until the
+recollection of them lost itself in the confusion of their numbers; some
+hurried knowledge, how conveyed to him he knew not, that more years had
+passed; and Trotty, with the Spirit of the child attending him, stood
+looking on at mortal company.
+
+Fat company, rosy-cheeked company, comfortable company. They were but
+two, but they were red enough for ten. They sat before a bright fire,
+with a small low table between them; and unless the fragrance of hot tea
+and muffins lingered longer in that room than in most others, the table
+had seen service very lately. But all the cups and saucers being clean,
+and in their proper places in the corner cupboard; and the brass
+toasting fork hanging in its usual nook, and spreading its four idle
+fingers out, as if it wanted to be measured for a glove; there remained
+no other visible tokens of the meal just finished, than such as purred
+and washed their whiskers in the person of the basking cat, and
+glistened in the gracious, not to say the greasy, faces of her patrons.
+
+This cosy couple (married, evidently) had made a fair division of the
+fire between them, and sat looking at the glowing sparks that dropped
+into the grate; now nodding off into a doze; now waking up again when
+some hot fragment, larger than the rest, came rattling down, as if the
+fire were coming with it.
+
+It was in no danger of sudden extinction, however; for it gleamed not
+only in the little room, and on the panes of window-glass in the door,
+and on the curtain half drawn across them, but in the little shop
+beyond. A little shop, quite crammed and choked with the abundance of
+its stock; a perfectly voracious little shop, with a maw as
+accommodating and full as any shark's. Cheese, butter, firewood, soap,
+pickles, matches, bacon, table-beer, peg-tops, sweetmeats, boys' kites,
+bird-seed, cold ham, birch brooms, hearth-stones, salt, vinegar,
+blacking, red herrings, stationery, lard, mushroom ketchup, stay-laces,
+loaves of bread, shuttlecocks, eggs, and slate-pencils; everything was
+fish that came to the net of this greedy little shop, and all articles
+were in its net.
+
+Glancing at such of these items as were visible in the shining of the
+blaze, and the less cheerful radiance of two smoky lamps which burnt but
+dimly in the shop itself, as though its plethora sat heavy on their
+lungs; and glancing, then, at one of the two faces by the parlor-fire,
+Trotty had small difficulty in recognizing in the stout old lady, Mrs.
+Chickenstalker: always inclined to corpulency, even in the days when he
+had known her as established in the general line, and having a small
+balance against him in her books.
+
+The features of her companion were less easy to him. The great broad
+chin, with creases in it large enough to hide a finger in; the
+astonished eyes, that seemed to expostulate with themselves for sinking
+deeper and deeper into the yielding fat of the soft face; the nose
+afflicted with that disordered action of its functions which is
+generally termed The Snuffles; the short thick throat and laboring
+chest, with other beauties of the like description, though calculated to
+impress the memory, Trotty could at first allot to nobody he had ever
+known: and yet he had some recollection of them too. At length, in Mrs.
+Chickenstalker's partner in the general line, and in the crooked and
+eccentric line of life, he recognized the former porter of Sir Joseph
+Bowley; an apoplectic innocent, who had connected himself in Trotty's
+mind with Mrs. Chickenstalker years ago, by giving him admission to the
+mansion where he had confessed his obligations to that lady, and drawn
+on his unlucky head such grave reproach.
+
+Trotty had little interest in a change like this, after the changes he
+had seen; but association is very strong sometimes; and he looked
+involuntarily behind the parlor-door, where the accounts of credit
+customers were usually kept in chalk. There was no record of his name.
+Some names were there, but they were strange to him, and infinitely
+fewer than of old; from which he argued that the porter was an advocate
+of ready money transactions, and on coming into the business had looked
+pretty sharp after the Chickenstalker defaulters.
+
+So desolate was Trotty, and so mournful for the youth and promise of his
+blighted child, that it was a sorrow to him, even to have no place in
+Mrs. Chickenstalker's ledger.
+
+"What sort of a night is it, Anne?" inquired the former porter of Sir
+Joseph Bowley, stretching out his legs before the fire, and rubbing as
+much of them as his short arms could reach; with an air that added,
+"Here I am if it's bad, and I don't want to go out if it's good."
+
+"Hard weather indeed," returned his wife, shaking her head.
+
+"Ay, ay! Years," said Mr. Tugby, "are like Christians in that respect.
+Some of 'em die hard; some of 'em die easy. This one hasn't many days to
+run, and is making a fight for it. I like him all the better. There's a
+customer, my love!"
+
+Attentive to the rattling door, Mrs. Tugby had already risen.
+
+"Now, then!" said that lady, passing out into the little shop. "What's
+wanted? Oh! I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure. I didn't think it was
+you."
+
+She made this apology to a gentleman in black, who, with his wristbands
+tucked up, and his hat cocked loungingly on one side, and his hand in
+his pocket, sat down astride on the table-beer barrel, and nodded in
+return.
+
+"This is a bad business up-stairs, Mrs. Tugby," said the gentleman.
+"The man can't live."
+
+"Not the back-attic can't!" cried Tugby, coming out into the shop to
+join the conference.
+
+"The back-attic, Mr. Tugby," said the gentleman, "is coming down-stairs
+fast, and will be below the basement very soon."
+
+Looking by turns at Tugby and his wife, he sounded the barrel with his
+knuckles for the depth of beer, and having found it, played a tune upon
+the empty part.
+
+"The back-attic, Mr. Tugby," said the gentleman: Tugby having stood in
+silent consternation for some time; "is Going."
+
+"Then," said Tugby, turning to his wife, "he must Go, you know, before
+he's Gone."
+
+"I don't think you can move him," said the gentleman, shaking his head.
+"I wouldn't take the responsibility of saying it could be done, myself.
+You had better leave him where he is. He can't live long."
+
+"It's the only subject," said Tugby, bringing the butter-scale down upon
+the counter with a crash, by weighing his fist on it, "that we've ever
+had a word upon; she and me; and look what it comes to! He's going to
+die here, after all. Going to die upon the premises. Going to die in our
+house!"
+
+"And where should he have died, Tugby?" cried his wife.
+
+"In the workhouse," he returned. "What are workhouses made for?"
+
+"Not for that!" said Mrs. Tugby, with great energy. "Not for that!
+Neither did I marry you for that. Don't think it, Tugby. I won't have
+it. I won't allow it. I'd be separated first, and never see your face
+again. When my widow's name stood over that door, as it did for many,
+many years: the house being known as Mrs. Chickenstalker's far and
+wide, and never known but to its honest credit and its good report: when
+my widow's name stood over that door, Tugby, I knew him as a handsome,
+steady, manly, independent youth; I knew her as the sweetest looking,
+sweetest tempered girl, eyes ever saw; I knew her father (poor old
+creetur, he fell down from the steeple walking in his sleep, and killed
+himself), for the simplest, hardest working, childest-hearted man, that
+ever drew the breath of life; and when I turn them out of house and
+home, may angels turn me out of heaven. As they would! And serve me
+right!"
+
+Her old face, which had been a plump and dimpled one before the changes
+which had come to pass, seemed to shine out of her as she said these
+words; and when she dried her eyes, and shook her head and her
+handkerchief at Tugby, with an expression of firmness which it was quite
+clear was not to be easily resisted, Trotty said, "Bless her! Bless
+her!"
+
+Then he listened, with a panting heart, for what should follow. Knowing
+nothing yet, but that they spoke of Meg.
+
+The gentleman upon the table-beer cask, who appeared to be some
+authorized medical attendant upon the poor, was far too well accustomed,
+evidently, to little differences of opinion between man and wife, to
+interpose any remark in this instance. He sat softly whistling, and
+turning little drops of beer out of the tap upon the ground, until there
+was a perfect calm: when he raised his head and said to Mrs. Tugby, late
+Chickenstalker:
+
+"There's something interesting about the woman, even now. How did she
+come to marry him?"
+
+"Why, that," said Mrs. Tugby, taking a seat near him, "is not the least
+cruel part of her story, sir. You see they kept company, she and
+Richard, many years ago. When they were a young and beautiful couple,
+everything was settled, and they were to have been married on a New
+Year's Day. But, somehow, Richard got it into his head, through what the
+gentleman told him, that he might do better, and that he'd soon repent
+it, and that she wasn't good enough for him, and that a young man of
+spirit had no business to be married. And the gentleman frightened her,
+and made her melancholy, and timid of his deserting her, and of her
+children coming to the gallows, and of its being wicked to be man and
+wife, and a good deal more of it. And in short, they lingered and
+lingered, and their trust in one another was broken, and so at last was
+the match. But the fault was his. She would have married him, sir,
+joyfully. I've seen her heart swell, many times afterwards, when he
+passed her in a proud and careless way; and never did a woman grieve
+more truly for a man, than she for Richard when he first went wrong."
+
+"Oh! he went wrong, did he?" said the gentleman, pulling out the
+vent-peg of the table-beer, and trying to peep down into the barrel
+through the hole.
+
+"Well, sir, I don't know that he rightly understood himself, you see. I
+think his mind was troubled by their having broke with one another; and
+that but for being ashamed before the gentlemen, and perhaps for being
+uncertain too, how she might take it, he'd have gone through any
+suffering or trial to have had Meg's promise, and Meg's hand again.
+That's my belief. He never said so; more's the pity! He took to
+drinking, idling, bad companions: all the fine resources that were to be
+so much better for him than the Home he might have had. He lost his
+looks, his character, his health, his strength, his friends, his work:
+everything!"
+
+"He didn't lose everything, Mrs. Tugby," returned the gentleman,
+"because he gained a wife; and I want to know how he gained her."
+
+"I'm coming to it, sir, in a moment. This went on for years and years;
+he sinking lower and lower; she enduring, poor thing, miseries enough to
+wear her life away. At last he was so cast down, and cast out, that no
+one would employ or notice him; and doors were shut upon him, go where
+he would. Applying from place to place, and door to door; and coming for
+the hundredth time to one gentleman, who had often and often tried him
+(he was a good workman to the very end); that gentleman, who knew his
+history, said, 'I believe you are incorrigible; there's only one person
+in the world who has a chance of reclaiming you; ask me to trust you no
+more, until she tries to do it.' Something like that, in his anger and
+vexation."
+
+"Ah!" said the gentleman. "Well?"
+
+"Well, sir, he went to her, and kneeled to her; said it was so; said it
+ever had been so; and made a prayer to her to save him."
+
+"And she?--Don't distress yourself, Mrs. Tugby."
+
+"She came to me that night to ask me about living here. 'What he was
+once to me,' she said, 'is buried in a grave, side by side with what I
+was to him. But I have thought of this; and I will make the trial. In
+the hope of saving him; for the love of the light-hearted girl (you
+remember her) who was to have been married on a New Year's Day; and for
+the love of her Richard.' And he said he had come to her from Lilian,
+and Lilian had trusted to him, and she never could forget that. So they
+were married; and when they came home here, and I saw them, I hoped that
+such prophecies as parted them when they were young, may not often
+fulfill themselves as they did in this case, or I wouldn't be the
+makers of them for a Mine of Gold."
+
+The gentleman got off the cask, and stretched himself, observing:
+
+"I suppose he used her ill, as soon as they were married?"
+
+"I don't think he ever did that," said Mrs. Tugby, shaking her head and
+wiping her eyes. "He went on better for a short time; but, his habits
+were too old and strong to be got rid of; he soon fell back a little;
+and was falling fast back, when his illness came so strong upon him. I
+think he has always felt for her. I am sure he has. I've seen him in his
+crying fits and tremblings, try to kiss her hand; and I have heard him
+call her 'Meg,' and say it was her nineteenth birthday. There he has
+been lying, now, these weeks and months. Between him and her baby, she
+has not been able to do her old work; and by not being able to be
+regular, she has lost it, even if she could have done it. How they have
+lived, I hardly know!"
+
+"_I_ know," muttered Mr. Tugby, looking at the till, and round the shop,
+and at his wife; and rolling his head with immense intelligence.
+
+He was interrupted by a cry--a sound of lamentation--from the upper
+story of the house. The gentleman moved hurriedly to the door.
+
+"My friend," he said, looking back, "you needn't discuss whether he
+shall be removed or not. He has spared you that trouble, I believe."
+
+Saying so, he ran up-stairs, followed by Mrs. Tugby; while Mr. Tugby
+panted and grumbled after them at leisure: being rendered more than
+commonly short-winded by the weight of the till, in which there had been
+an inconvenient quantity of copper. Trotty, with the child beside him,
+floated up the staircase like mere air.
+
+"Follow her! Follow her! Follow her!" He heard the ghostly voices in
+the Bells repeat their words as he ascended. "Learn it, from the
+creature dearest to your heart!"
+
+It was over. It was over. And this was she, her father's pride and joy!
+This haggard, wretched woman, weeping by the bed, if it deserved that
+name, and pressing to her breast, and hanging down her head upon, an
+infant? Who can tell how spare, how sickly, and how poor an infant? Who
+can tell how dear?
+
+"Thank God!" cried Trotty, holding up his folded hands. "O, God be
+thanked! She loves her child!"
+
+Again Trotty heard the voices, saying, "Follow her!" He turned toward
+his guide, and saw it rising from him, passing through the air. "Follow
+her!" it said. And vanished.
+
+He hovered round her; sat down at her feet; looked up into her face for
+one trace of her old self; listened for one note of her old pleasant
+voice. He flitted round the child: so wan, so prematurely old, so
+dreadful in its gravity, so plaintive in its feeble, mournful, miserable
+wail. He almost worshiped it. He clung to it as her only safeguard; as
+the last unbroken link that bound her to endurance. He set his father's
+hope and trust on the frail baby; watched her every look upon it as she
+held it in her arms; and cried a thousand times, "She loves it! God be
+thanked, she loves it!"
+
+He saw the woman tend her in the night; return to her when her grudging
+husband was asleep, and all was still; encourage her, shed tears with
+her, set nourishment before her. He saw the day come, and the night
+again; the day, the night; the time go by; the house of death relieved
+of death; the room left to herself and to the child; he heard it moan
+and cry; he saw it harass her, and tire her out, and when she slumbered
+in exhaustion, drag her back to consciousness, and hold her with its
+little hands upon the rack; but she was constant to it, gentle with it,
+patient with it. Patient! Was its loving mother in her inmost heart and
+soul, and had its Being knitted up with hers as when she carried it
+unborn.
+
+All this time, she was in want: languishing away, in dire and pining
+want. With the baby in her arms, she wandered here and there in quest of
+occupation; and with its thin face lying in her lap, and looking up in
+hers, did any work for any wretched sum: a day and night of labor for as
+many farthings as there were figures on the dial. If she had quarreled
+with it; if she had neglected it; if she had looked upon it with a
+moment's hate! if, in the frenzy of an instant, she had struck it! No!
+His comfort was, She loved it always.
+
+She told no one of her extremity, and wandered abroad in the day lest
+she should be questioned by her only friend: for any help she received
+from her hands, occasioned fresh disputes between the good woman and her
+husband; and it was new bitterness to be the daily cause of strife and
+discord, where she owed so much.
+
+She loved it still. She loved it more and more. But a change fell on the
+aspect of her love.
+
+One night she was singing faintly to it in its sleep and walking to and
+fro to hush it, when her door was softly opened, and a man looked in.
+
+"For the last time," he said.
+
+"William Fern!"
+
+"For the last time."
+
+He listened like a man pursued: and spoke in whispers.
+
+"Margaret, my race is nearly run, I couldn't finish it, without a
+parting word with you. Without one grateful word."
+
+"What have you done?" she asked: regarding him with terror.
+
+He looked at her but gave no answer.
+
+After a short silence, he made a gesture with his hand, as if he set her
+question by; as if he brushed it aside; and said:
+
+"It's long ago, Margaret, now; but that night is as fresh in my memory
+as ever 'twas. We little thought then," he added, looking round, "that
+we should ever meet like this. Your child, Margaret? Let me have it in
+my arms. Let me hold your child."
+
+He put his hat upon the floor, and took it. And he trembled as he took
+it, from head to foot.
+
+"Is it a girl?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+He put his hand before its little face.
+
+"See how weak I'm grown, Margaret, when I want the courage to look at
+it! Let her be, a moment. I won't hurt her. It's long ago, but--What's
+her name?"
+
+"Margaret," she answered quickly.
+
+"I'm glad of that," he said. "I'm glad of that!"
+
+He seemed to breathe more freely; and after pausing for an instant, took
+away his hand, and looked upon the infant's face. But covered it again,
+immediately.
+
+"Margaret!" he said; and gave her back the child. "It's Lilian's."
+
+"Lilian's!"
+
+"I held the same face in my arms when Lilian's mother died and left
+her."
+
+"When Lilian's mother died and left her!" she repeated, wildly.
+
+"How shrill you speak! Why do you fix your eyes upon me so? Margaret!"
+
+She sunk down in a chair, and pressed the infant to her breast, and wept
+over it. Sometimes, she released it from her embrace, to look anxiously
+in its face: then strained it to her bosom again. At those times, when
+she gazed upon it, then it was that something fierce and terrible began
+to mingle with her love. Then it was that her old father quailed.
+
+"Follow her!" was sounded through the house. "Learn it, from the
+creature dearest to your heart!"
+
+"Margaret," said Fern, bending over her, and kissing her upon the brow:
+"I thank you for the last time. Good night. Good bye! Put your hand in
+mine, and tell me you'll forget me from this hour, and try to think the
+end of me was here."
+
+She called to him; but he was gone. She sat down stupefied, until her
+infant roused her to a sense of hunger, cold, and darkness. She paced
+the room with it the livelong night, hushing it and soothing it. She
+said at intervals, "Like Lilian when her mother died and left her!" Why
+was her step so quick, her eyes so wild, her love so fierce and
+terrible, whenever she repeated those words?
+
+"But, it is Love," said Trotty. "It is Love. She'll never cease to love
+it. My poor Meg!"
+
+She dressed the child next morning with unusual care--ah, vain
+expenditure of care upon such squalid robes!--and once more tried to
+find some means of life. It was the last day of the Old Year. She tried
+till night, and never broke her fast. She tried in vain.
+
+She mingled with an abject crowd, who tarried in the snow, until it
+pleased some officer appointed to dispense the public charity (the
+lawful charity; not that once preached upon a Mount), to call them in,
+and question them, and say to this one, "Go to such a place," to that
+one, "Come next week;" to make a foot-ball of another wretch, and pass
+him here and there, from hand to hand, from house to house, until he
+wearied and lay down to die; or started up and robbed, and so became a
+higher sort of criminal, whose claims allowed of no delay. Here, too,
+she failed.
+
+She loved her child, and wished to have it lying on her breast. And that
+was quite enough.
+
+It was night: a bleak, dark, cutting night: when pressing the child
+close to her for warmth, she arrived outside the house she called her
+home. She was so faint and giddy, that she saw no one standing in the
+doorway until she was close upon it, and about to enter. Then, she
+recognized the master of the house, who had so disposed himself--with
+his person it was not difficult--as to fill up the whole entry.
+
+"Oh!" he said softly. "You have come back?"
+
+She looked at the child and shook her head.
+
+"Don't you think you have lived here long enough without paying any
+rent? Don't you think that, without any money, you've been a pretty
+constant customer at this shop, now?" said Mr. Tugby.
+
+She repeated the same mute appeal.
+
+"Suppose you try and deal somewhere else," he said. "And suppose you
+provide yourself with another lodging. Come! Don't you think you could
+manage it?"
+
+She said, in a low voice, that it was very late. To-morrow.
+
+"Now I see what you want," said Tugby; "and what you mean. You know
+there are two parties in this house about you, and you delight in
+setting them by the ears. I don't want any quarrels; I'm speaking softly
+to avoid a quarrel; but if you don't go away, I'll speak out loud, and
+you shall cause words loud enough to please you. But you shan't come in,
+that I am determined."
+
+She put her hair back with her hand, and looked in a sudden manner at
+the sky, and the dark lowering distance.
+
+"This is the last night of an Old Year, and I won't carry ill-blood and
+quarrelings and disturbances into a New One, to please you nor anybody
+else," said Tugby, who was quite a retail Friend and Father. "I wonder
+you an't ashamed of yourself, to carry such practices into a New Year.
+If you haven't any business in the world, but to be always giving way,
+and always making disturbances between man and wife, you'd be better out
+of it. Go along with you!"
+
+"Follow her! To desperation!"
+
+Again the old man heard the voices. Looking up, he saw the figures
+hovering in the air, and pointing where she went, down the dark street.
+
+"She loves it!" he exclaimed in agonized entreaty for her. "Chimes! she
+loves it still!"
+
+"Follow her!" The shadows swept upon the track she had taken like a
+cloud.
+
+Oh, for something to awaken her! For any sight or sound, or scent, to
+call up tender recollections in a brain on fire! For any gentle image of
+the Past, to rise up before her!
+
+"I was her father! I was her father!" cried the old man, stretching out
+his hands to the dark shadows flying on above. "Have mercy on her, and
+on me! Where does she go? Turn her back! I was her father!"
+
+But, they only pointed to her, as she hurried on; "To desperation! Learn
+it from the creature dearest to your heart!"
+
+A hundred voices echoed it. The air was made of breath expended in those
+words. He seemed to take them in, at every gasp he drew. They were
+everywhere, and not to be escaped. And still she hurried on; the same
+light in her eyes.
+
+All at once she stopped.
+
+"Now, turn her back!" exclaimed the old man, tearing his white hair. "My
+child! Meg! Turn her back! Great Father, turn her back!"
+
+In her own scanty shawl, she wrapped the baby warm. With her fevered
+hands, she smoothed its limbs, composed its face, arranged its mean
+attire. In her wasted arms she folded it, as though she never would
+resign it more. And with her dry lips, kissed it in a final pang, and
+last long agony of Love.
+
+Putting its tiny hand up to her neck, and holding it there, within her
+dress, next to her distracted heart, she set its sleeping face against
+her: closely, steadily against her: and sped onward to the river.
+
+To the rolling River, swift and dim, where Winter Night sat brooding
+like the last dark thoughts of many who had sought a refuge there before
+her. Where scattered lights upon the banks gleamed sullen, red and dull,
+as torches that were burning there to show the way to Death. Where no
+abode of living people cast its shadow, on the deep, impenetrable,
+melancholy shade.
+
+To the River! To that portal of Eternity, her desperate footsteps tended
+with the swiftness of its rapid waters running to the sea. He tried to
+touch her as she passed him, going down to its dark level; but, the wild
+distempered form, the fierce and terrible love, the desperation that had
+left all human check or hold behind, swept by him like the wind.
+
+He followed her. She paused a moment on the brink, before the dreadful
+plunge. He fell down on his knees, and in a shriek addressed the figures
+in the Bells now hovering above them.
+
+"Have mercy on her!" he exclaimed, "as one in whom this dreadful crime
+has sprung from Love perverted; from the strongest, deepest Love we
+fallen creatures know! Think what her misery must have been, when such
+seed bears such fruit. Heaven meant her to be good. There is no loving
+mother on the earth who might not come to this, if such a life had gone
+before. Oh, have mercy on my child, who, even at this pass, means mercy
+to her own, and dies herself, and perils her immortal soul, to save
+it!"
+
+She was in his arms. He held her now. His strength was like a giant's.
+
+He might have said more; but the Bells, the old familiar Bells, his own
+dear, constant, steady friends, the Chimes, began to ring the joy-peals
+for a New Year; so lustily, so merrily, so happily, so gayly, that he
+leapt upon his feet, and broke the spell that bound him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"And whatever you do, father," said Meg, "don't eat tripe again without
+asking some doctor whether it's likely to agree with you; for how you
+_have_ been going on, Good gracious!"
+
+She was working with her needle at the little table by the fire,
+dressing her simple gown with ribbons for her wedding. So quietly happy,
+so blooming and youthful, so full of beautiful promise, that he uttered
+a great cry as if it were an Angel in his house; then flew to clasp her
+in his arms.
+
+But he caught his feet in the newspaper, which had fallen on the hearth,
+and somebody came rushing in between them.
+
+"No!" cried the voice of this same somebody; a generous and jolly voice
+it was. "Not even you. Not even you. The first kiss of Meg in the New
+Year is mine. Mine! I have been waiting outside the house this hour to
+hear the Bells and claim it. Meg, my precious prize, a happy year! A
+life of happy years, my darling wife!"
+
+And Richard smothered her with kisses.
+
+You never in all your life saw anything like Trotty after this. I don't
+care where you have lived or what you have seen, you never in all your
+life saw anything at all approaching him! He sat down in his chair and
+beat his knees and cried; he sat down in his chair and beat his knees
+and laughed; he sat down in his chair and beat his knees and laughed and
+cried together; he got out of his chair and hugged Meg; he got out of
+his chair and hugged Richard; he got out of his chair and hugged them
+both at once; he kept running up to Meg and squeezing her fresh face
+between his hands and kissing it, going from her backward not to lose
+sight of it, and running up again like a figure in a magic lantern; and
+whatever he did, he was constantly sitting himself down in this chair,
+and never stopping in it for one single moment, being--that's the
+truth--beside himself with joy.
+
+"And to-morrow's your wedding-day, my pet!" cried Trotty. "Your real,
+happy wedding-day!"
+
+"To-day!" cried Richard, shaking hands with him. "To-day. The Chimes are
+ringing in the New Year. Hear them!"
+
+They WERE ringing! Bless their sturdy hearts, they WERE ringing! Great
+Bells as they were; melodious, deep-mouthed, noble Bells; cast in no
+common metal; made by no common founder; when had they ever chimed like
+that before?
+
+"But to-day, my pet," said Trotty. "You and Richard had some words
+to-day."
+
+"Because he's such a bad fellow, father," said Meg. "An't you, Richard?
+Such a headstrong, violent man! He'd have made no more of speaking his
+mind to that great Alderman, and putting _him_ down I don't know where,
+than he would of--"
+
+"--Kissing Meg," suggested Richard. Doing it, too.
+
+"No. Not a bit more," said Meg. "But I wouldn't let him, father. Where
+would have been the use?"
+
+"Richard, my boy!" cried Trotty. "You was turned up Trumps originally,
+and Trumps you must be until you die! But you were crying by the fire
+to-night, my pet, when I came home. Why did you cry by the fire?"
+
+"I was thinking of the years we've passed together, father. Only that.
+And thinking you might miss me, and be lonely."
+
+Trotty was backing off to that extraordinary chair again, when the
+child, who had been awakened by the noise, came running in, half
+dressed.
+
+"Why, here she is!" cried Trotty catching her up. "Here's little Lilian!
+Ha, ha, ha! Here we are and here we go! O, here we are and here we go
+again! And here we are and here we go! And Uncle Will, too!" Stopping in
+his trot to greet him heartily. "O, Uncle Will, the vision that I've had
+to-night, through lodging you! O, Uncle Will, the obligations that
+you've laid me under by your coming, my good friend!"
+
+Before Will Fern could make the least reply, a band of music burst into
+the room, attended by a flock of neighbors, screaming: "A Happy New
+Year, Meg!" "A Happy Wedding!" "Many of 'em!" and other fragmentary good
+wishes of that sort. The Drum (who was a private friend of Trotty's)
+then stepped forward and said:
+
+"Trotty Veck, my boy! It's got about that your daughter is going to be
+married to-morrow. There an't a soul that knows you that don't wish you
+well, or that knows her and don't wish her well. Or that knows you both
+and don't wish you both all the happiness the New Year can bring. And
+here we are, to play it in accordingly."
+
+"What a happiness it is, I'm sure," said Trotty, "to be so esteemed. How
+kind and neighborly you are! It's all along of my dear daughter. She
+deserves it."
+
+At this moment a combination of prodigious sounds was heard outside, and
+a good-humored, comely woman of some fifty years of age, or thereabouts,
+came running in, closely followed by the marrow-bones and cleavers and
+the bells--not _the_ Bells, but a portable collection on a frame.
+
+Trotty said: "It's Mrs. Chickenstalker!" And sat down and beat his knees
+again.
+
+"Married, and not tell me, Meg!" cried the good woman. "Never! I
+couldn't rest on the last night of the Old Year without coming to wish
+you joy. I couldn't have done it, Meg. Not if I had been bed-ridden. So
+here I am."
+
+"Mrs. Tugby," said Trotty, who had been going round and round her in an
+ecstasy--"I _should_ say Chickenstalker--bless your heart and soul! A
+happy New Year, and many of 'em! Mrs. Tugby," said Trotty, when he had
+saluted her--"I _should_ say Chickenstalker--this is William Fern and
+Lilian."
+
+The worthy dame, to his surprise, turned very pale and very red.
+
+"Not Lilian Fern, whose mother died in Dorsetshire?" said she.
+
+Her uncle answered "Yes," and meeting hastily they exchanged some
+hurried words together, of which the upshot was that Mrs. Chickenstalker
+shook him by both hands, saluted Trotty on his cheek again of her own
+free will, and took the child to her capacious breast.
+
+"Will Fern," said Trotty, pulling on his right-hand muffler. "Not the
+friend that you was hoping to find?"
+
+"Ay," returned Will, putting a hand on each of Trotty's shoulders. "And
+like to prove a'most as good a friend, if that can be, as one I found."
+
+"O!" said Trotty. "Please to play up there. Will you have the goodness?"
+
+Had Trotty dreamed? Or are his joys and sorrows, and the actors in them,
+but a dream; himself a dream; the teller of this tale a dreamer, waking
+but now? If it be so, O listener, dear to him in all his visions, try to
+bear in mind the stern realities from which these shadows come; and in
+your sphere--none is too wide and none too limited for such an
+end--endeavor to correct, improve and soften them. So may the New Year
+be a happy one to you, happy to many more whose happiness depends on
+you! So may each year be happier than the last, and not the meanest of
+our brethren or sisterhood debarred their rightful share in what our
+great Creator formed them to enjoy.
+
+
+
+
+BILLY'S SANTA CLAUS EXPERIENCE.
+
+BY CORNELIA REDMOND.
+
+
+Of course I don't believe in any such person as Santa Claus, but Tommy
+does. Tommy is my little brother, aged six. Last Christmas I thought I'd
+make some fun for the young one by playing Santa Claus, but as always
+happens when I try to amuse anybody I jes' got myself into trouble.
+
+I went to bed pretty early on Christmas Eve so as to give my parents a
+chance to get the presents out of the closet in mamma's room, where they
+had been locked up since they were bought. I kep' my clo'es on except my
+shoes, and put my nightgown over them so as I'd look white if any of
+them came near me. Then I waited, pinchin' myself to keep awake. After a
+while papa came into the room with a lot of things that he dumped on
+Tommy's bed. Then mamma came in and put some things on mine and in our
+two stockings that were hung up by the chimney. Then they both went out
+very quiet, and soon all the lights went out too.
+
+I kep' on pinchin' myself and waitin' for a time, and then when I was
+sure that everybody was asleep I got up. The first thing I went into was
+my sister's room and got her white fur rug that mamma gave her on her
+birthday, and her sealskin cape that was hanging on the closet door. I
+tied the cape on my head with shoestrings and it made a good big cap.
+Then I put the fur rug around me and pinned it with big safety pins what
+I found on Tommy's garters. Then I got mamma's new scrap-basket, trimmed
+with roses, what Mrs. Simmons 'broidered for the church fair and piled
+all of the kid's toys into it. I fastened it to my back with papa's
+suspenders, and then I started for the roof.
+
+I hurt my fingers some opening the scuttle, but kept right on. It was
+snowing hard and I stood and let myself get pretty well covered with
+flakes. Then I crawled over to the chimney that went down into our room
+and climbed up on top of it. I had brought my bicycle lantern with me
+and I lighted it so as Tommy could see me when I came down the chimney
+into the room.
+
+There did not seem to be any places inside the chimney where I could
+hold on by my feet, but the ceiling in our room was not very high and I
+had often jumped most as far, so I jes' let her go, and I suppose I went
+down. Anyway, I did not know about anything for a long time. Then I woke
+up all in the dark with my head feeling queer, and when I tried to turn
+over in bed I found I wasn't in bed at all, and then my arms and legs
+began to hurt terrible, mostly one arm that was doubled up. I tried to
+get up but I couldn't because my bones hurt so and I was terrible cold
+and there was nothing to stand on. I was jes' stuck. Then I began to
+cry, and pretty soon I heard mamma's voice saying to papa:
+
+"Those must be sparrers that are making that noise in the chimney. Jes'
+touch a match to the wood in the boys' fireplace."
+
+I heard papa strike a light and then the wood began to crackle. Then, by
+jinks! it began to get hot and smoky and I screamed:
+
+"Help! Murder! Put out that fire lest you want to burn me up!"
+
+Then I heard papa stamping on the wood and mamma calling out:
+
+"Where's Billy? Where is my chile?"
+
+Next Tommy woke up and began to cry and everything was terrible,
+specially the pains all over me. Then papa called out very stern:
+
+"William, if you are in that chimney come down at once!" and I
+answered, cryin', that I would if I could, but I was stuck and couldn't.
+
+Then I heard papa gettin' dressed, and pretty soon he and John from the
+stable went up on the roof and let down ropes what I put around me and
+they hauled me up.
+
+It was jes' daylight and I was all black and sooty and scratched and my
+arm was broken.
+
+Everybody scolded me excep' mamma. I had spoiled my sister's white rug
+and broken all of Tommy's toys, and the snow what went in through the
+scuttle melted and marked the parlor ceiling, besides I guess it cost
+papa a good deal to get my arm mended. Nobody would believe that I had
+jes' meant to make some fun for Tommy, and my arm and all my bruised
+places hurt me awful for a long time. If I live to be a million I am
+never goin' to play Santa Claus ag'in.
+
+
+
+
+CHRISTMAS IN POGANUC.
+
+BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
+
+
+THE FIRST CHRISTMAS.
+
+Can any of us look back to the earlier days of our mortal pilgrimage and
+remember the helpless sense of desolation and loneliness caused by being
+forced to go off to the stillness and darkness of a solitary bed far
+from all the beloved voices and employments and sights of life? Can we
+remember lying, hearing distant voices, and laughs of more fortunate,
+older people and the opening and shutting of distant doors, that told of
+scenes of animation and interest from which we were excluded? How
+doleful sounded the tick of the clock, and how dismal was the darkness
+as sunshine faded from the window, leaving only a square of dusky
+dimness in place of daylight!
+
+All who remember these will sympathize with Dolly, who was hustled off
+to bed by Nabby the minute supper was over, that she might have the
+decks clear for action.
+
+"Now be a good girl; shut your eyes, and say your prayers, and go right
+to sleep," had been Nabby's parting injunction as she went out, closing
+the door after her.
+
+The little head sunk into the pillow, and Dolly recited her usual
+liturgy of "Our Father who art in heaven," and "I pray God to bless my
+dear father and mother and all my dear friends and relations, and make
+me a good girl," and ending with
+
+
+     "'Now I lay me down to sleep.'"
+
+
+But sleep she could not. The wide, bright, wistful blue eyes lay
+shining like two stars toward the fading light in the window, and the
+little ears were strained to catch every sound. She heard the shouts of
+Tom and Bill and the loud barking of Spring as they swept out of the
+door; and the sound went to her heart. Spring--her faithful attendant,
+the most loving and sympathetic of dogs, her friend and confidential
+counselor in many a solitary ramble--Spring had gone with the boys to
+see the sight, and left her alone. She began to pity herself and cry
+softly on her pillow. For a while she could hear Nabby's energetic
+movements below, washing up dishes, putting back chairs, and giving
+energetic thumps and bangs here and there, as her way was of producing
+order. But by and by that was all over, and she heard the loud shutting
+of the kitchen door and Nabby's voice chatting with her attendant as she
+went off to the scene of gaiety.
+
+In those simple, innocent days in New England villages nobody thought of
+locking house doors at night. There was in those times no idea either of
+tramps or burglars, and many a night in summer had Dolly lain awake and
+heard the voices of tree-toads and whip-poor-wills mingling with the
+whisper of leaves and the swaying of elm boughs, while the great outside
+door of the house lay broad open in the moonlight. But then this was
+when everybody was in the house and asleep, when the door of her
+parents' room stood open on the front hall, and she knew she could run
+to the paternal bed in a minute for protection. Now, however, she knew
+the house was empty. Everybody had gone out of it; and there is
+something fearful to a little lonely body in the possibilities of a
+great, empty house. She got up and opened her door, and the "tick-tock"
+of the old kitchen clock for a moment seemed like company; but pretty
+soon its ticking began to strike louder and louder with a nervous
+insistency on her ear, till the nerves quivered and vibrated, and she
+couldn't go to sleep. She lay and listened to all the noises outside. It
+was a still, clear, freezing night, when the least sound clinked with a
+metallic resonance. She heard the runners of sleighs squeaking and
+crunching over the frozen road, and the lively jingle of bells. They
+would come nearer, nearer, pass by the house, and go off in the
+distance. Those were the happy folks going to see the gold star and the
+Christmas greens in the church. The gold star, the Christmas greens, had
+all the more attraction from their vagueness. Dolly was a fanciful
+little creature, and the clear air and romantic scenery of a mountain
+town had fed her imagination. Stories she had never read, except in the
+Bible and the Pilgrim's Progress, but her very soul had vibrated with
+the descriptions of the celestial city--something vague, bright,
+glorious, lying beyond some dark river; and Nabby's rude account of what
+was going on in the church suggested those images.
+
+Finally a bright thought popped into her little head. She could see the
+church from the front windows of the house; she would go there and look.
+In haste she sprang out of bed and dressed herself. It was sharp and
+freezing in the fireless chamber, but Dolly's blood had a racing,
+healthy tingle to it; she didn't mind cold. She wrapped her cloak around
+her and tied on her hood and ran to the front windows. There it was, to
+be sure--the little church with its sharp-pointed windows, every pane of
+which was sending streams of light across the glittering snow. There was
+a crowd around the door, and men and boys looking in at the windows.
+Dolly's soul was fired. But the elm boughs a little obstructed her
+vision; she thought she would go down and look at it from the yard. So
+down-stairs she ran, but as she opened the door the sound of the chant
+rolled out into the darkness with sweet and solemn cadence:
+
+"_Glory be to God on high; and on earth peace, good will toward men._"
+
+Dolly's soul was all aglow--her nerves tingled and vibrated; she thought
+of the bells ringing in the celestial city; she could no longer contain
+herself, but faster and faster the little hooded form scudded across the
+snowy plain and pushed in among the dark cluster of spectators at the
+door. All made way for the child, and in a moment, whether in the body
+or out she could not tell, Dolly was sitting in a little nook under a
+bower of spruce, gazing at the star and listening to the voices:
+
+"_We praise Thee, we bless Thee, we worship Thee, we glorify Thee, we
+give thanks to Thee for Thy great glory, O Lord God, Heavenly King, God,
+the Father Almighty._"
+
+Her heart throbbed and beat; she trembled with a strange happiness and
+sat as one entranced till the music was over. Then came reading, the
+rustle and murmur of people kneeling, and then they all rose and there
+was the solemn buzz of voices repeating the Creed with a curious lulling
+sound to her ear. There was old Mr. Danforth with his spectacles on,
+reading with a pompous tone, as if to witness a good confession for the
+church; and there were Squire Lewis and old Ma'am Lewis; and there was
+one place where they all bowed their heads and all the ladies made
+courtesies--all of which entertained her mightily.
+
+When the sermon began Dolly got fast asleep, and slept as quietly as a
+pet lamb in a meadow, lying in a little warm roll back under the shadows
+of the spruces. She was so tired and so sound asleep that she did not
+wake when the service ended, lying serenely curled up, and having
+perhaps pleasant dreams. She might have had the fortunes of little
+Goody Two-Shoes, whose history was detailed in one of the few children's
+books then printed, had not two friends united to find her out.
+
+Spring, who had got into the slip with the boys, and been an equally
+attentive and edified listener, after service began a tour of
+investigation, dog-fashion, with his nose; for how could a minister's
+dog form a suitable judgment of any new procedure if he was repressed
+from the use of his own leading faculty? So, Spring went round the
+church conscientiously, smelling at pew doors, smelling of the greens,
+smelling at the heels of gentlemen and ladies, till he came near the
+door of the church, when he suddenly smelt something which called for
+immediate attention, and he made a side dart into the thicket where
+Dolly was sleeping, and began licking her face and hands and pulling her
+dress, giving short barks occasionally, as if to say, "Come, Dolly, wake
+up!" At the same instant Hiel, who had seen her from the gallery, came
+down just as the little one was sitting up with a dazed, bewildered air.
+
+"Why, Dolly, how came you out o' bed this time o' night? Don't ye know
+the nine o'clock bell's jest rung?"
+
+Dolly knew Hiel well enough--what child in the village did not? She
+reached up her little hands, saying in an apologetic fashion:
+
+"They were all gone away, and I was so lonesome!"
+
+Hiel took her up in his long arms and carried her home, and was just
+entering the house door with her as the sleigh drove up with Parson
+Cushing and his wife.
+
+"Wal, Parson, your folks has all ben to the 'lumination--Nabby and Bill
+and Tom and Dolly here; found her all rolled up in a heap like a rabbit
+under the cedars."
+
+"Why, Dolly Cushing!" exclaimed her mother. "What upon earth got you
+out of bed this time of night? You'll catch your death o' cold."
+
+"I was all alone," said Dolly, with a piteous bleat.
+
+"Oh, there, there, wife; don't say a word," put in the parson. "Get her
+off to bed. Never mind, Dolly, don't you cry;" for Parson Cushing was a
+soft-hearted gentleman and couldn't bear the sight of Dolly's quivering
+under lip. So Dolly told her little story, how she had been promised a
+sugar dog by Nabby if she'd be a good girl and go to sleep, and how she
+couldn't go to sleep, and how she just went down to look from the yard,
+and how the music drew her right over.
+
+"There, there," said Parson Cushing, "go to bed, Dolly; and if Nabby
+don't give you a sugar dog, I will. This Christmas dressing is all
+nonsense," he added, "but the child's not to blame--it was natural."
+
+"After all," he said to his wife the last thing after they were settled
+for the night, "our little Dolly is an unusual child. There were not
+many little girls that would have dared to do that. I shall preach a
+sermon right away that will set all this Christmas matter straight,"
+said the Doctor. "There is not a shadow of evidence that the first
+Christians kept Christmas. It wasn't kept for the first three centuries,
+nor was Christ born anywhere near the 25th of December."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next morning found little Dolly's blue eyes wide open with all the
+wondering eagerness of a new idea.
+
+Dolly had her wise thoughts about Christmas. She had been terribly
+frightened at first, when she was brought home from the church; but when
+her papa kissed her and promised her a sugar dog she was quite sure
+that, whatever the unexplained mystery might be, he did not think the
+lovely scene of the night before a wicked one. And when Mrs. Cushing
+came and covered the little girl up warmly in bed, she only said to her,
+"Dolly, you must never get out of bed again at night after you are put
+there; you might have caught a dreadful cold and been sick and died, and
+then we should have lost our little Dolly." So Dolly promised quite
+readily to be good and lie still ever after, no matter what attractions
+might be on foot in the community.
+
+Much was gained, however, and it was all clear gain; and forthwith the
+little fanciful head proceeded to make the most of it, thinking over
+every feature of the wonder. The child had a vibrating, musical
+organization, and the sway and rush of the chanting still sounded in her
+ears and reminded her of that wonderful story in the "Pilgrim's
+Progress", where the gate of the celestial city swung open, and there
+were voices that sung, "Blessing and honor and glory and power be unto
+Him who sitteth on the throne." And then that wonderful star, that shone
+just as if it were a real star--how could it be! For Miss Ida Lewis,
+being a young lady of native artistic genius, had cut a little hole in
+the centre of her gilt paper star, behind which was placed a candle, so
+that it gave real light, in a way most astonishing to untaught eyes. In
+Dolly's simple view it verged on the supernatural--perhaps it was _the_
+very real star read about in the Gospel story. Why not? Dolly was at the
+happy age when anything bright and heavenly seemed credible, and had the
+child-faith to which all things were possible.
+
+"I wish, my dear," said Mrs. Cushing, after they were retired to their
+room for the night, "that to-morrow morning you would read the account
+of the birth of Christ in St. Matthew, and give the children some advice
+upon the proper way of keeping Christmas."
+
+"Well, but you know we don't _keep_ Christmas; nobody knows anything
+about Christmas," said the Doctor.
+
+"You know what I mean, my dear," replied his wife. "You know that my
+mother and her family _do_ keep Christmas. I always heard of it when I
+was a child; and even now, though I have been out of the way of it so
+long, I cannot help a sort of kindly feeling toward these ways. I am not
+surprised at all that the children got drawn over last night to the
+service. I think it's the most natural thing in the world, and I know by
+experience just how attractive such things are. I shouldn't wonder if
+this other church should draw very seriously on your congregation; but I
+don't want it to begin by taking away our own children. Dolly is an
+inquisitive child; a child that thinks a good deal, and she'll be asking
+all sorts of questions about the why and wherefore of what she saw last
+night."
+
+"Oh, yes, Dolly is a bright one. Dolly's an uncommon child," said the
+Doctor, who had a pardonable pride in his children--they being, in fact,
+the only worldly treasure that he was at all rich in.
+
+He rose up early on the following Sabbath and proceeded to buy a sugar
+dog at the store of Lucius Jenks, and when Dolly came down to breakfast
+he called her to him and presented it, saying as he kissed her:
+
+"Papa gives you this, not because it is Christmas, but because he loves
+his little Dolly."
+
+"But _isn't_ it Christmas?" asked Dolly with a puzzled air.
+
+"No, child; nobody knows when Christ was born, and there is nothing in
+the Bible to tell us _when_ to keep Christmas."
+
+And then in family worship the Doctor read the account of the birth of
+Christ and of the shepherds abiding in the fields who came at the call
+of the angels, and they sung the old hymn:
+
+
+     "While shepherds watched their flocks by night."
+
+
+"Now, children," he said when all was over, "you must be good children
+and go to school. If we are going to keep any day on account of the
+birth of Christ, the best way to keep it is by doing all our duties on
+that day better than any other. Your duty is to be good children, go to
+school and mind your lessons."
+
+Tom and Bill were quite ready to fall in with their father's view of the
+matter. As for Dolly, she put her little tongue advisedly to the back of
+her sugar dog and found that he was very sweet indeed--a most tempting
+little animal. She even went so far as to nibble off a bit of the green
+ground he stood on--yet resolved heroically not to eat him at once, but
+to make him last as long as possible. She wrapped him tenderly in cotton
+and took him to the school with her, and when her confidential friend,
+Bessie Lewis, displayed her Christmas gifts, Dolly had something on her
+side to show, though she shook her curly head and informed Bessie in
+strict confidence that there wasn't any such thing as Christmas, her
+papa had told her so--a heresy which Bessie forthwith reported when she
+went home at noon.
+
+"Poor little child--and did she say so?" asked gentle old Grandmamma
+Lewis. "Well, dear, you mustn't blame her--she don't know any better.
+You bring the little one in here to-night and I'll give her a Christmas
+cooky. I'm sorry for such children."
+
+And so, after school, Dolly went in to see dear old Madam Lewis, who sat
+in her rocking-chair in the front parlor, where the fire was snapping
+behind great tall brass andirons and all the pictures were overshadowed
+with boughs of spruce and pine. Dolly gazed about her with awe and
+wonder. Over one of the pictures was suspended a cross of green with
+flowers of white everlasting.
+
+"What is _that_ for?" asked Dolly, pointing solemnly with her little
+forefinger, and speaking under her breath.
+
+"Dear child, that is the picture of my poor boy who died--ever so many
+years ago. That is my cross--we have all one--to carry."
+
+Dolly did not half understand these words, but she saw tears in the
+gentle old lady's eyes and was afraid to ask more.
+
+She accepted thankfully and with her nicest and best executed courtesy a
+Christmas cooky representing a good-sized fish, with fins all spread and
+pink sugar-plums for eyes, and went home marveling yet more about this
+mystery of Christmas.
+
+As she was crossing the green to go home the Poganuc stage drove in,
+with Hiel seated on high, whipping up his horses to make them execute
+that grand _entrée_ which was the glory of his daily existence.
+
+Now that the stage was on runners, and slipped noiselessly over the
+smooth frozen plain, Hiel cracked his whip more energetically and
+shouted louder, first to one horse then to another, to make up for the
+loss of the rattling wheels; and he generally had the satisfaction of
+seeing all the women rushing distractedly to doors and windows, and
+imagined them saying, "There's Hiel; the stage is in!"
+
+"Hulloa, Dolly!" he called out, drawing up with a suddenness which threw
+the fore-horses back upon their haunches. "I've got a bundle for your
+folks. Want to ride? You may jest jump up here by me and I'll take you
+'round to your father's door;" and so Dolly reached up her little
+red-mittened hand, and Hiel drew her up beside him.
+
+"'Xpect ye want a bit of a ride, and I've got a bundle for Widder
+Badger, down on South Street, so I guess I'll go 'round that way to make
+it longer. I 'xpect this 'ere bundle is from some of your ma's folks in
+Boston--'Piscopals they be and keeps Christmas. Good-sized bundle 'tis;
+reckon it'll come handy in a good many ways."
+
+So, after finishing his detour, Hiel landed his little charge at the
+parsonage door.
+
+"Reckon I'll be over when I've put up my hosses," he said to Nabby when
+he handed down the bundle to her. "I hain't been to see you much lately,
+Nabby, and I know you've been a-pinin' after me, but fact is--"
+
+"Well, now, Hiel Jones, you jest shet up with your imperence," said
+Nabby, with flashing eyes; "you jest look out or you'll get suthin."
+
+"I 'xpect to get a kiss when I come 'round to-night," said Hiel,
+composedly. "Take care o' that air bundle, now; mebbe there's glass or
+crockery in't."
+
+"Hiel Jones," said Nabby, "don't give me none o' your saace, for I won't
+take it. Jim Sawin said last night you was the brassiest man he ever
+see. He said there was brass enough in your face to make a kettle of."
+
+"You tell him there's sap enough in his head to fill it, anyway," said
+Hiel. "Good bye, Nabby, I'll come 'round this evenin'," and he drove
+away at a rattling pace, while Nabby, with flushed cheeks and snapping
+eyes, soliloquized:
+
+"Well, I hope he will come! I'd jest like a chance to show him how
+little I care for him."
+
+Meanwhile the bundle was soon opened, and contained a store of
+treasures: a smart little red dress and a pair of red shoes for Dolly, a
+half dozen pocket-handkerchiefs for Dr. Cushing, and "Robinson Crusoe"
+and "Sanford and Merton," handsomely bound, for the boys, and a bonnet
+trimming for Mrs. Cushing. These were accompanied by a characteristic
+letter from Aunt Debby Kittery, opening as follows:
+
+
+     "DEAR SISTER:
+
+     "Mother worries because she thinks you won't get any Christmas
+     presents. However, this comes to give every one of you some of the
+     crumbs which fall from the church's table, and Mother says she
+     wishes you all a pious Christmas, which she thinks is better than a
+     merry one. If I didn't lay violent hands on her she would use all
+     our substance in riotous giving of Christmas presents to all the
+     beggars and chimney sweeps in Boston. She is in good health and
+     talks daily of wanting to see you and the children; and I hope
+     before long you will bring some of them, and come and make us a
+     visit.
+
+     "Your affectionate sister,
+
+     "DEBBY KITTERY."
+
+
+There was a scene of exultation and clamor in the parsonage as these
+presents were pulled out and discussed; and when all possible joy was
+procured from them in the sitting-room, the children rushed in a body
+into the kitchen and showed them to Nabby, calling on her to join their
+acclamations.
+
+On the whole, when Dolly had said her prayers that night and thought the
+matter over, she concluded that her Christmas Day had been quite a
+success.
+
+
+THE SECOND CHRISTMAS.
+
+Once more had Christmas come round in Poganuc; once more the Episcopal
+church was being dressed with ground-pine and spruce; but this year
+economy had begun to make its claims felt. An illumination might do very
+well to open a church, but there were many who said "to what purpose is
+this waste?" when the proposition was made to renew it yearly.
+Consequently it was resolved to hold the Christmas Eve service with only
+that necessary amount of light which would enable the worshipers to read
+the prayers.
+
+On this Christmas Eve Dolly went to bed at her usual hour with a
+resigned and quiet spirit. She felt herself a year older, and more than
+a year wiser, than when Christmas had first dawned upon her
+consciousness.
+
+Mis' Persis appeared on the ground by day-dawn. A great kettle was slung
+over the kitchen fire, in which cakes of tallow were speedily
+liquefying; a frame was placed quite across the kitchen to sustain
+candle-rods, with a train of boards underneath to catch the drippings,
+and Mis' Persis, with a brow like one of the Fates, announced: "Now we
+can't hev any young 'uns in this kitchen to-day;" and Dolly saw that
+there was no getting any attention in that quarter.
+
+Mis' Persis, in a gracious Saturday afternoon mood, sitting in her own
+tent-door dispensing hospitalities and cookies, was one thing; but Mis'
+Persis in her armor, with her loins girded and a hard day's work to be
+conquered, was quite another: she was terrible as Minerva with her
+helmet on.
+
+Dinner-baskets for all the children were hastily packed, and they were
+sent off to school with the injunction on no account to show their faces
+about the premises till night. The Doctor, warned of what was going on,
+retreated to his study at the top of the house, where, serenely above
+the lower cares of earth, he sailed off into President Edwards' treatise
+on the nature of true virtue, concerning which he was preparing a paper
+to read at the next association meeting.
+
+That candles were a necessity of life he was well convinced, and by
+faith he dimly accepted the fact that one day in the year the whole
+house was to be devoted and given up to this manufacture; and his part
+of the business, as he understood it, was, clearly, to keep himself out
+of the way till it was over.
+
+"There won't be much of a dinner at home, anyway," said Nabby to Dolly,
+as she packed her basket with an extra doughnut or two. "I've got to go
+to church to-day, 'cause I'm one of the singers, and your ma'll be busy
+waitin' on _her_; so we shall just have a pick-up dinner, and you be
+sure not to come home till night; by that time it'll be all over."
+
+Dolly trotted off to school well content with the prospect before her: a
+nooning, with leave to play with the girls at school, was not an
+unpleasant idea.
+
+But the first thing that saluted her on her arrival was that Bessie
+Lewis--her own dear, particular Bessie--was going to have a Christmas
+party at her house that afternoon, and was around distributing
+invitations right and left among the scholars with a generous freedom.
+
+"We are going to have nuts, and raisins, and cakes, and mottoes," said
+Bessie, with artless triumph. The news of this bill of fare spread like
+wildfire through the school.
+
+Never had a party been heard of which contemplated such a liberal
+entertainment, for the rising generation of Poganuc were by no means
+wearied with indulgence, and raisins and almonds stood for grandeur with
+them. But these _mottoes_, which consisted of bits of confectionery
+wrapped up in printed couplets of sentimental poetry, were an unheard-of
+refinement. Bessie assured them that her papa had sent clear to Boston
+for them, and whoever got one would have his or her fortune told by it.
+
+The school was a small, select one, comprising the children of all ages
+from the best families of Poganuc. Both boys and girls, and all with
+great impartiality, had been invited. Miss Titcome, the teacher, quite
+readily promised to dismiss at three o'clock that afternoon any scholar
+who should bring a permission from parents, and the children nothing
+doubted that such a permission was obtainable.
+
+Dolly alone saw a cloud in the horizon. She had been sent away with
+strict injunctions not to return till evening, and children in those
+days never presumed to make any exceptions in obeying an absolute
+command of their parents.
+
+"But, of course, you will go home at noon and ask your mother, and of
+course she'll let you; won't she, girls?" said Bessie.
+
+"Oh, certainly; of course she will," said all the older girls, "because
+you know a party is a thing that don't happen every day, and your mother
+would think it strange if you _didn't_ come and ask her." So, too,
+thought Miss Titcome, a most exemplary, precise and proper young lady,
+who always moved and spoke and thought as became a schoolmistress, so
+that, although she was in reality only twenty years old, Dolly
+considered her as a very advanced and ancient person--if anything, a
+little older than her father and mother.
+
+Even she was of opinion that Dolly might properly go home to lay a case
+of such importance before her mother; and so Dolly rushed home after the
+morning school was over, running with all her might, and increasing in
+mental excitement as she ran. Her bonnet blew off upon her shoulders,
+her curls flew behind her in the wind, and she most inconsiderately used
+up the little stock of breath that she would want to set her cause in
+order before her mother.
+
+Just here we must beg any mother and housekeeper to imagine herself in
+the very midst of the most delicate, perplexing and laborious of
+household tasks, when interruption is most irksome and perilous,
+suddenly called to discuss with a child some new and startling
+proposition to which at the moment she cannot even give a thought.
+
+Mrs. Cushing was sitting in the kitchen with Mis' Persis, by the side of
+a caldron of melted tallow, kept in a fluid state by the heat of a
+portable furnace on which it stood. A long train of half-dipped candles
+hung like so many stalactites from the frames on which the rods rested,
+and the two were patiently dipping set after set and replacing them
+again on the frame.
+
+"As sure as I'm alive! if there isn't Dolly Cushing comin' back--runnin'
+and tearin' like a wild cretur'," said Mis' Persis. "She'll be in here
+in a minute and knock everything down!"
+
+Mrs. Cushing looked, and with a quick movement stepped to the door.
+
+"Dolly! what are you here for? Didn't I tell you not to come home this
+noon?"
+
+"Oh, mamma, there's going to be a party at General Lewis'--Bessie's
+party--and the girls are all going; mayn't I go?"
+
+"No, you can't; it's impossible," said her mother. "Your best dress
+isn't ready to wear, and there's nobody can spend time to get you ready.
+Go right back to school."
+
+"But, mamma--"
+
+"Go!" said her mother, in the decisive tone that mothers used in the old
+days, when arguing with children was not a possibility.
+
+"What's all this about?" asked the Doctor, looking out of the door.
+
+"Why," said Mrs. Cushing, "there's going to be a party at General
+Lewis', and Dolly is wild to go. It's just impossible for me to attend
+to her now."
+
+"Oh, I don't want her intimate at Lewis's," said the Doctor, and
+immediately he came out behind his wife.
+
+"There; run away to school, Dolly," he said. "Don't trouble your mother;
+you don't want to go to parties; why, it's foolish to think of it. Run
+away now, and don't think any more about it--there's a good girl!"
+
+Dolly turned and went back to school, the tears freezing on her cheek as
+she went. As for not thinking any more about it--that was impossible.
+
+When three o'clock came, scholar after scholar rose and departed, until
+at last Dolly was the only one remaining in the school-room.
+
+When Dolly came home that night the coast was clear, and the candles
+were finished and put away to harden in a freezing cold room; the
+kitchen was once more restored, and Nabby bustled about getting supper
+as if nothing had happened.
+
+"I really feel sorry about poor little Dolly," said Mrs. Cushing to her
+husband.
+
+"Do you think she cared much?" asked the Doctor, looking as if a new
+possibility had struck his mind.
+
+"Yes, indeed, poor child, she went away crying; but what could I do
+about it? I couldn't stop to dress her."
+
+"Wife, we must take her somewhere to make up for it," said the Doctor.
+
+Just then the stage stopped at the door and a bundle from Boston was
+handed in. Dolly's tears were soon wiped and dried, and her mourning was
+turned into joy when a large jointed London doll emerged from the
+bundle, the Christmas gift of her grandmother in Boston.
+
+Dolly's former darling was old and shabby, but this was of twice the
+size, and with cheeks exhibiting a state of the most florid health.
+
+Besides this there was, as usual in grandmamma's Christmas bundle,
+something for every member of the family; and so the evening went on
+festive wings.
+
+Poor little Dolly! only that afternoon she had watered with her tears,
+at school, the dismal long straight seam, which stretched on before her
+as life sometimes does to us, bare, disagreeable and cheerless. She had
+come home crying, little dreaming of the joy just approaching; but
+before bed-time no cricket in the hearth was cheerier or more noisy. She
+took the new dolly to bed with her, and could hardly sleep, for the
+excitement of her company.
+
+Meanwhile, Hiel had brought the Doctor a message to the following
+effect:
+
+"I was drivin' by Tim Hawkins', and Mis' Hawkins she comes out and says
+they're goin' to hev an apple-cuttin' there to-morrow night, and she
+would like to hev you and Mis' Cushin' and all your folks come--Nabby
+and all."
+
+The Doctor and his lady of course assented.
+
+"Wal, then, Doctor--ef it's all one to you," continued Hiel, "I'd like
+to take ye over in my new double sleigh. I've jest got two new strings
+o' bells up from Boston, and I think we'll sort o' make the snow fly.
+S'pose there'd be no objections to takin' my mother 'long with ye?"
+
+"Oh, Hiel, we shall be delighted to go in company with your mother, and
+we're ever so much obliged to you," said Mrs. Cushing.
+
+"Wal, I'll be round by six o'clock," said Hiel.
+
+"Then, wife," said the Doctor, "we'll take Dolly, and make up for the
+loss of her party."
+
+Punctually at six, Hiel's two horses, with all their bells jingling,
+stood at the door of the parsonage, whence Tom and Bill, who had been
+waiting with caps and mittens on for the last half hour, burst forth
+with irrepressible shouts of welcome.
+
+"Take care now, boys; don't haul them buffalo skins out on t' the snow,"
+said Hiel. "Don't get things in a muss gen'ally; wait for your ma and
+the Doctor. Got to stow the grown folks in fust; boys kin hang on
+anywhere."
+
+And so first came Mrs. Cushing and the Doctor, and were installed on the
+back seat, with Dolly in between. Then hot bricks were handed in to keep
+feet warm, and the buffalo robe was tucked down securely. Then Nabby
+took her seat by Hiel in front, and the sleigh drove round for old Mrs.
+Jones. The Doctor insisted on giving up his place to her and tucking her
+warmly under the buffalo robe, while he took the middle seat and acted
+as moderator between the boys, who were in a wild state of hilarity.
+Spring, with explosive barks, raced first on this and then on that side
+of the sleigh as it flew swiftly over the smooth frozen road.
+
+The stars blinked white and clear out of a deep blue sky, and the path
+wound up-hill among cedars and junipers and clumps of mountain laurel,
+on whose broad green leaves the tufts of snow lay like clusters of white
+roses. The keen clear air was full of stimulus and vigor; and so Hiel's
+proposition to take the longest way met with enthusiastic welcome from
+all the party. Next to being a bird, and having wings, is the sensation
+of being borne over the snow by a pair of spirited horses who enjoy the
+race, apparently, as much as those they draw. Though Hiel contrived to
+make the ride about eight miles, it yet seemed but a short time before
+the party drove up to the great red farmhouse, whose lighted windows
+sent streams of radiant welcome far out into the night.
+
+Our little Dolly had had an evening of unmixed bliss. Everybody had
+petted her, and talked to her, and been delighted with her sayings and
+doings, and she was carrying home a paper parcel of sweet things which
+good Mrs. Hawkins had forced into her hand at parting. She had spent a
+really happy Christmas!
+
+
+
+
+THE CHRISTMAS PRINCESS.
+
+BY MRS. MOLESWORTH.
+
+
+In the olden times there lived a king who was worthy of the name. He
+loved his people, and his people loved him in return. His kingdom must
+have been large; at least it appears to be beyond doubt that it extended
+a good way in different directions, for it was called the Kingdom of the
+Four Orts, which, of course, as everybody knows, means that he had
+possessions north, south, east, and west.
+
+It was not so large, however, but that he was able to manage it well for
+himself--that is to say, with certain help which I will tell you of. A
+year never passed without his visiting every part of his dominions and
+inquiring for himself into the affairs of his subjects. Perhaps--who can
+say?--the world was not so big in those days; doubtless, however that
+may have been, there were not so many folk living on it.
+
+Many things were different in those times: many things existed which
+nowadays would be thought strange and incredible. Human beings knew much
+more than they do now about the other dwellers on the earth. For
+instance, it was no uncommon case to find learned men who were able to
+converse with animals quite as well as with each other. Fairies, of
+course, were often visible to mortal eyes, and it was considered quite
+natural that they should interfere for good--sometimes, perhaps, for
+evil; as to that I cannot say--in human affairs. And good King
+Brave-Heart was especially favored in this way. For the help which, as I
+said, was his in governing his people was that of four very wise
+counselors indeed--the four fairies of the North and the South, the East
+and the West.
+
+These sisters were very beautiful as well as very wise. Though older
+than the world itself, they always looked young. They were very much
+attached to each other, though they seldom met, and it must be confessed
+that sometimes on such occasions there were stormy scenes, though they
+made it up afterward. And the advice they gave was always to be relied
+upon.
+
+Now, King Brave-Heart was married. His wife was young and charming, and
+devotedly fond of him. But she was of a rather jealous and exacting
+disposition, and she had been much spoilt in her youth at her own home.
+She was sweet and loving, however, which makes up for a good deal, and
+always ready to take part in any scheme for the good of their people,
+provided it did not separate her from her husband.
+
+They had no children, though they had been married for some years; but
+at last there came the hope of an heir, and the Queen's delight was
+unbounded--nor was the King's joy less than hers.
+
+It was late autumn, or almost winter, when a great trouble befell the
+pretty Queen. The weather had grown suddenly cold, and a few snowflakes
+even had fallen before their time. But Queen Claribel only clapped her
+hands at the sight, for with the winter she hoped the baby would come,
+and she welcomed the signs of its approach on this account. The King,
+however, looked grave, and when the next morning the ground was all
+white, the trees and the bushes covered with silvery foliage, he looked
+graver still.
+
+"Something is amiss," he said. "The Fairy of the North must be on her
+way, and it is not yet time for her visit."
+
+And that very afternoon the snow fell again, more heavily than before,
+and the frost-wind whistled down the chimneys and burst open the doors
+and windows, and all the palace servants went hurrying and scurrying
+about to make great fires and hang up thick curtains and get everything
+in order for the cold season, which they had not expected so soon.
+
+"It will not last," said the King, quietly. "In a few days there will be
+milder weather again." But, nevertheless, he still looked grave.
+
+And early the next morning, as he was sitting with the Queen, who was
+beginning to feel a little frightened at the continuance of the storm,
+the double doors of her boudoir suddenly flew open, an icy blast filled
+the room, and a tall, white-shrouded figure stood before them.
+
+"I have come to fetch you, Brave-Heart," she said abruptly. "You are
+wanted, sorely wanted, in my part of the world. The people are starving:
+the season has been a poor one, and there has been bad faith. Some few
+powerful men have bought up the grain, which was already scarce, and
+refuse to let the poor folk have it. Nothing will save their lives or
+prevent sad suffering but your own immediate presence. Are you ready?
+You must have seen I was coming."
+
+She threw off her mantle as she spoke and sank on to a couch. Strong as
+she was, she seemed tired with the rate at which she had traveled, and
+the warm air of the room was oppressive to her. Her clear, beautiful
+features looked harassed; her gray eyes full of anxiety. For the moment
+she took no notice of the Queen.
+
+"Are you ready?" she repeated.
+
+"Yes, I am ready!" said Brave-Heart, as he rose to his feet.
+
+But the Queen threw herself upon him, with bitter crying and reproaches.
+Would he leave _her_, and at such a time, a prey to all kinds of
+terrible anxiety? Then she turned to the fairy and upbraided her in
+unmeasured language. But the spirit of the North glanced at her with
+calm pity.
+
+"Poor child!" she said, "I had almost forgotten you. The sights I have
+seen of late have been so terrible that they absorb me. Take courage,
+Claribel! Show yourself a queen. Think of the suffering mothers and
+their little ones whom your husband hastens to aid. All will be well
+with you, believe me. But you, too, must be brave and unselfish."
+
+It was no use. All she said but made the Queen more indignant. She would
+scarcely bid her husband farewell: she turned her back to the fairy with
+undignified petulance.
+
+"Foolish child," said the Northern spirit. "She will learn better some
+day."
+
+Then she gave all her attention to the matter she had come about,
+explaining to the King as they journeyed exactly the measures he must
+take and the difficulties to be overcome. But though the King had the
+greatest faith in her advice, and never doubted that it was his duty to
+obey, his heart was sore, as you can understand.
+
+Things turned out as he had said. The severe weather disappeared again
+as if by magic, and some weeks of unusually mild days followed. And when
+the winter did set in for good at last, it was with no great rigor. From
+time to time news reached the palace of the King's welfare. The tidings
+were cheering. His presence was effecting all that the fairy had hoped.
+
+So Queen Claribel ought to have been happy. But she was determined not
+to be. She did nothing but cry and abuse the fairy, declaring that she
+would never see her dear Brave-Heart again, and that if ever her baby
+came she was sure it would not live, or that there would be something
+dreadful the matter with it.
+
+"It is not fair," she kept saying, "it is a shame that I should suffer
+so."
+
+And even when on Christmas Eve a beautiful little girl was born, as
+pretty and lively and healthy as could be wished, and even though the
+next day brought the announcement of the King's immediate return,
+Claribel still nursed her resentment, though in the end it came to be
+directed entirely against the fairy. For when she saw Brave-Heart again,
+his tender affection and his delight in his little daughter made it
+impossible for her not to "forgive him," as she expressed it, though she
+could not take any interest in his accounts of his visit to the north
+and all he had been able to do there.
+
+A great feast was arranged in honor of the christening of the little
+Princess. All the grand people of the neighborhood were bidden to it,
+nor, you may be sure, did the good King forget the poorer folk. The four
+fairies were invited, for it was a matter of course that they should be
+the baby's godmothers. And though the Queen would gladly have excluded
+the Northern fairy, she dared not even hint at such a thing.
+
+But she resolved in her own mind to do all in her power to show that she
+was not the welcome fairy.
+
+On such occasions, when human beings were honored by the presence of
+fairy visitors, these distinguished guests were naturally given
+precedence of all others, otherwise very certainly they would never have
+come again. Even among fairies themselves there are ranks and
+formalities, and the Queen well knew that the first place was due to the
+Northern spirit. But she gave instructions that this rule should be
+departed from, and the Snow fairy, as she was sometimes called, found
+herself placed at the King's left hand, separated from him by her sister
+of the West, instead of next to him on the right, which seat, on the
+contrary, was occupied by the fairy of the South. She glanced round her
+calmly, but took no notice; and the King, imagining that by her own
+choice perhaps, she had chosen the unusual position, made no remark. And
+the feast progressed with the accustomed splendor and rejoicing.
+
+But at the end, when the moment arrived at which the four godmothers
+were expected to state their gifts to the baby, the Queen's spite could
+be no longer concealed.
+
+"I request," she exclaimed, "that for reasons well known to herself, to
+the King, and to myself, the Northern fairy's gift may be the last in
+order instead of the first."
+
+The King started and grew pale. The beautiful, soft-voiced fairy of the
+South, in her glowing golden draperies, would fain have held back, for
+her affection for her sterner sister was largely mingled with awe. But
+the Snow fairy signed to her imperiously to speak.
+
+"I bestow upon the Princess Sweet-Heart," she said, half tremblingly,
+"the gift of great beauty."
+
+"And I," said the spirit of the East, who came next, her red robes
+falling majestically around her, her dark hair lying smoothly in its
+thick masses on her broad, low forehead, "I give her great powers of
+intellect and intelligence."
+
+"And I," said the Western fairy, with a bright, breezy flutter of her
+sea-green garments, "health--perfect health and strength of body, as my
+gift to the pretty child."
+
+"And you," said the Queen bitterly, "you, cold-hearted fairy, who have
+done your best to kill me with misery, who came between my husband and
+me, making him neglect me as he never would have done but for your
+influence--what will _you_ give my child? Will you do something to make
+amends for the suffering you caused? I would rather my pretty baby were
+dead than that she lived to endure what I have of late endured."
+
+"Life and death are not mine to bestow or to withhold," said the
+Northern spirit calmly, as she drew her white garments more closely
+round her with a majestic air. "So your rash words, foolish woman,
+fortunately for you all, cannot touch the child. But something--much--I
+can do, and I will. She shall not know the suffering you dread for her
+with so cowardly a fear. She shall be what you choose to fancy _I_ am.
+And instead of the name you have given her, she shall be known for what
+she is--Princess Ice-Heart."
+
+She turned to go, but the King on one hand, her three sisters on the
+other, started forward to detain her.
+
+"Have pity!" exclaimed the former.
+
+"Sister, bethink you," said the latter; the Western fairy adding
+beseechingly, the tears springing in her blue eyes, which so quickly
+changed from bright to sad, "Say something to soften this hard fate.
+Undo it you cannot, I know. Or, at least, allow me to mitigate it if I
+can."
+
+The Snow fairy stopped; in truth, she was far from hard-hearted or
+remorseless, and already she was beginning to feel half sorry for what
+she had done.
+
+"What would you propose?" she said coldly.
+
+The fairy of the West threw back her auburn hair with a gesture of
+impatience.
+
+"I would I knew!" she said. "'Tis a hard knot you have tied, my sister.
+For that which would mend the evil wrought seems to me impossible while
+the evil exists--the cure and the cessation of the disease are one. How
+could the heart of ice be melted till tender feelings warm it, and how
+can tender feelings find entrance into a feelingless heart? Alas! alas!
+I can but predict what sounds like a mockery of your trouble," she went
+on, turning to the King, though indeed by this time she might have
+included the Queen in her sympathy, for Claribel stood, horrified at the
+result of her mad resentment, as pale as Brave-Heart himself. "Hearken!"
+and her expressive face, over which sunshine and showers were wont to
+chase each other as on an April day--for such, as all know, is the
+nature of the changeful, lovable spirit of the West--for once grew still
+and statue-like, while her blue eyes pierced far into the distance. "The
+day on which the Princess of the Icy Heart shall shed a tear, that heart
+shall melt--but then only."
+
+The Northern fairy murmured something under her breath, but what the
+words were no one heard, for it was not many that dared stand near to
+her, so terribly cold was her presence. The graceful spirit of the South
+fluttered her golden locks, and with a little sigh drew her radiant
+mantle round her, and kissed her hand in farewell, while the
+thoughtful-eyed, mysterious Eastern fairy linked her arm in that of her
+Western sister, and whispered that the solution of the problem should
+have her most earnest study. And the green-robed spirit tried to smile
+through her tears in farewell as she suffered herself to be led away.
+
+So the four strange guests departed; but their absence was not followed
+by the usual outburst of unconstrained festivity. On the contrary, a
+sense of sorrow and dread hung over all who remained, and before long
+everyone not immediately connected with the palace respectfully but
+silently withdrew, leaving the King and Queen to their mysterious
+sorrow.
+
+Claribel flew to the baby's cradle. The little Princess was sleeping
+soundly; she looked rosy and content--a picture of health. Her mother
+called eagerly to the King.
+
+"She seems just as usual," she exclaimed. "Perhaps--oh! perhaps after
+all I have done no harm."
+
+For, strange to say, her resentment against the Northern fairy had died
+away. She now felt nothing but shame and regret for her own wild temper.
+"Perhaps," she went on, "it was but to try me, to teach me a lesson,
+that the Snow fairy uttered those terrible words."
+
+Brave-Heart pitied his wife deeply, but he shook his head.
+
+"I dare not comfort you with any such hopes," he said, "my poor
+Claribel. The fairy is true--true as steel--if you could but have
+trusted her! Had you seen her, as I have done--full of tenderest pity
+for suffering--you could never have so maligned her."
+
+Claribel did not answer, but her tears dropped on the baby's face. The
+little Princess seemed annoyed by them. She put up her tiny hand and,
+with a fretful expression, brushed them off.
+
+And that very evening the certainty came.
+
+The head nurse sent for the Queen while she was undressing the child,
+and the mother hastened to the nursery. The attendants were standing
+round in the greatest anxiety, for, though the baby looked quite well
+otherwise, there was the strangest coldness over her left side, in the
+region of the heart. The skin looked perfectly colorless, and the soft
+cambric and still softer flannel of the finest which had covered the
+spot were stiff, as if they had been exposed to a winter night's frost.
+
+"Alas!" exclaimed Claribel, but that was all. It was no use sending for
+doctors--no use doing anything. Her own delicate hand when she laid it
+on the baby's heart was, as it were, blistered with cold. The next
+morning she found it covered with chilblains.
+
+But the baby did not mind. She flourished amazingly, heart or no heart.
+She was perfectly healthy, ate well, slept well, and soon gave signs of
+unusual intelligence. She was seldom put out, but when angry she
+expressed her feelings by loud roars and screams, though with never a
+tear! At first this did not seem strange, as no infant sheds tears
+during the earliest weeks of its life. But when she grew to six months
+old, then to a year, then to two and three, and was near her fourth
+birthday without ever crying, it became plain that the prediction was
+indeed to be fulfilled.
+
+And the name "Ice-Heart" clung to her. In spite of all her royal
+parents' commands to the contrary, "Princess Ice-Heart" she was called
+far and near. It seemed as if people could not help it. "Sweet-Heart we
+cannot name her, for sweet she is not," was murmured by all who came in
+contact with her.
+
+And it was true. Sweet she certainly was not. She was beautiful and
+healthy and intelligent, but she had no feeling. In some ways she gave
+little trouble. Her temper, though occasionally violent, was, as a rule,
+placid; she seemed contented in almost all circumstances. When her good
+old nurse died, she remarked coolly that she hoped her new attendant
+would dress her hair more becomingly; when King Brave-Heart started on
+some of his distant journeys she bade him good-bye with a smile,
+observing that if he never came home again it would be rather amusing,
+as she would then reign instead of him, and when she saw her mother
+break into sobs at her unnatural speech she stared at her in blank
+astonishment.
+
+And so things went on until Ice-Heart reached her seventeenth year. By
+this time she was, as regarded her outward appearance, as beautiful as
+the fondest of parents could desire; she was also exceedingly strong and
+healthy, and the powers of her mind were unusual. Her education had been
+carefully directed, and she had learnt with ease and interest. She could
+speak in several languages, her paintings were worthy of admiration, as
+they were skillful and well executed; she could play with brilliancy on
+various instruments. She had also been taught to sing, but her voice was
+metallic and unpleasing. But she could discuss scientific and
+philosophical subjects with the sages of her father's kingdom like one
+of themselves.
+
+And besides all this care bestowed upon her training, no stone had been
+left unturned in hopes of awakening in the unfortunate girl some
+affection or emotion. Every day the most soul-stirring poetry was read
+aloud to her by the greatest elocutionists, the most exciting and moving
+dramas were enacted before her; she was taken to visit the poor of the
+city in their pitiable homes; she was encouraged to see sad sights from
+which most soft-hearted maidens would instinctively flee. But all was in
+vain. She would express interest and ask intelligent questions with
+calm, unmoved features and dry eyes. Even music, from which much had
+been hoped, was powerless to move her to aught but admiration of the
+performers' skill or curiosity as to the construction of their
+instruments. There was but one peculiarity about her, which sometimes,
+though they could not have explained why, seemed to Ice-Heart's unhappy
+parents to hint at some shadowy hope. The sight of tears was evidently
+disagreeable to her. More certainly than anything else did the signs of
+weeping arouse one of her rare fits of anger--so much so that now and
+then, for days together, the poor Queen dared not come near her child,
+and tears were to her a frequent relief from her lifelong regrets.
+
+So beautiful and wealthy and accomplished a maiden was naturally not
+without suitors; and from this direction, too, at first, Queen Claribel
+trusted fondly that cure might come.
+
+"If she could but fall in love," she said, the first time the idea
+struck her.
+
+"My poor dear!" replied the King, "to see, you must have eyes; to love,
+you must have a heart."
+
+"But a heart she has," persisted the mother. "It is only, as it were,
+asleep--frozen, like the winter stream which bursts forth again into
+ever fresh life and movement with the awaking spring."
+
+So lovers were invited, and lovers came and were made welcome by the
+dozen. Lovers of every description--rich and poor, old and young,
+handsome and ugly--so long as they were of passable birth and fair
+character, King Brave-Heart was not too particular--in the forlorn hope
+that among them one fortunate wight might rouse some sentiment in the
+lovely statue he desired to win. But all in vain. Each prince, or duke,
+or simple knight, duly instructed in the sad case, did his best: one
+would try poetry, another his lute, a third sighs and appeals, a fourth,
+imagining he had made some way, would attempt the bold stroke of telling
+Ice-Heart that unless she could respond to his adoration he would drown
+himself. She only smiled, and begged him to allow her to witness the
+performance--she had never seen anyone drown. So, one by one, the troupe
+of aspirants--some in disgust, some in strange fear, some in
+annoyance--took their departure, preferring a more ordinary spouse than
+the bewitched though beautiful Princess.
+
+And she saw them go with calmness, though, in one or two cases she had
+replied to her parents that she had no objection to marry Prince
+So-and-so, or Count Such-another, if they desired it--it would be rather
+agreeable to have a husband if he gave her plenty of presents and did
+all she asked. "Though a sighing and moaning lover, or a man who is
+always twiddling a fiddle or making verses I could not stand," she would
+add contemptuously.
+
+So King Brave-Heart thought it best to try no such experiment. And in
+future no gentleman was allowed to present himself except with the
+understanding that he alone who should succeed in making Princess
+Ice-Heart shed a tear would be accepted as her betrothed.
+
+This proclamation diminished at once the number of suitors. Indeed,
+after one or two candidates had failed, no more appeared--so well did it
+come to be known that the attempt was hopeless.
+
+And for more than a year Princess Ice-Heart was left to herself--very
+much, apparently, to her satisfaction.
+
+But all this time the mystic sisters were not idle or forgetful. Several
+of the aspirants to Ice-Heart's hand had been chosen by them and
+conveyed to the neighborhood of the palace by their intermediacy from
+remote lands. And among these, one of the few who had found some slight
+favor in the maiden's eyes was a special protégé of the Western
+fairy--the young and spirited Prince Francolin.
+
+He was not one of the sighing or sentimental order of swains; he was
+full of life and adventure and brightness, and his heart was warm and
+generous. He admired the beautiful girl, but he pitied her still more,
+and this pity was the real motive which made him yield to the fairy's
+proposal that he should try again.
+
+"You pleased the poor child," she said, when she arrived one day at the
+Prince's home to talk over her new idea. "You made her smile by your
+liveliness and fun. For I was there when you little knew it. The girl
+has been overdosed with sentimentality and doleful strains. I believe we
+have been on a wrong track all this time."
+
+"What do you propose?" said Francolin, gravely, for he could be serious
+enough when seriousness was called for. "She did not actually dislike
+me, but that is the most that can be said; and however I may feel for
+her, however I may admire her beauty and intelligence, nothing would
+induce me to wed a bride who could not return my affection. Indeed, I
+could scarcely feel any for such a one."
+
+"Ah no! I agree with you entirely," said the fairy. "But listen--my
+power is great in some ways. I am well versed in ordinary enchantment,
+and am most willing to employ my utmost skill for my unfortunate
+god-daughter."
+
+She then unfolded to him her scheme, and obtained his consent to it.
+
+"Now is your time," she said, in conclusion. "I hear on the best
+authority that Ice-Heart is feeling rather dull and bored at present. It
+is some time since she has had the variety of a new suitor, and she will
+welcome any distraction."
+
+And she proceeded to arrange all the details of her plan.
+
+So it came to pass that very shortly after the conversation I have
+related there was great excitement in the capital city of the Kingdom of
+the Four Orts. After an interval of more than a year a new suitor had at
+length presented himself for the hand of the Princess Ice-Heart. Only
+the King and Queen received the news with melancholy indifference.
+
+"He may try as the others have done," said Brave-Heart to the messenger
+announcing the arrival of the stranger at the gates, accompanied by a
+magnificent retinue; "but it is useless." For the poor King was fast
+losing all hope of his daughter's case; he was growing aged and
+care-worn before his time.
+
+"Does he know the terms attached to his acceptance?" inquired the Queen.
+
+Yes, the messenger from the unknown candidate for the hand of the
+beautiful Ice-Heart had been expressly charged to say that the Prince
+Jocko--such was the new-comer's name--was fully informed as to all
+particulars, and prepared to comply with the conditions.
+
+The Princess' parents smiled somewhat bitterly. They had no hope, but
+still they could not forbid the attempt.
+
+"Prince Jocko?" said the King, "not a very prince-like name. However, it
+matters little."
+
+A few hours later the royal pair and their daughter, with all their
+attendants, in great state and ceremony, were awaiting their guest. And
+soon a blast of trumpets announced his approach. His retinue was indeed
+magnificent; horsemen in splendid uniforms, followed by a troop of white
+mules with negro riders in gorgeous attire, then musicians, succeeded by
+the Prince's immediate attendants, defiled before the great marble steps
+in front of the palace, at the summit of which the King, with the Queen
+and Princess, was seated in state.
+
+Ice-Heart clapped her hands.
+
+"'Tis as good as a show," she said, "but where is the Prince?"
+
+As she said the word the cortége halted. A litter, with closely drawn
+curtains, drew up at the foot of the steps.
+
+"Gracious!" exclaimed the Princess, "I hope he is not a molly-coddle;"
+but before there was time to say more the curtains of the litter were
+drawn aside, and in another moment an attendant had lifted out its
+occupant, who forthwith proceeded to ascend the steps.
+
+The parents and their daughter stared at each other and gasped.
+
+Prince Jocko was neither more nor less than a monkey!
+
+But such a monkey as never before had been seen. He was more comical
+than words can express, and when at last he stood before them, and
+bowed to the ground, a three-cornered hat in his hand, his sword
+sticking straight out behind, his tail sweeping the ground, the effect
+was irresistible. King Brave-Heart turned his head aside. Queen Claribel
+smothered her face in her handkerchief. Princess Ice-Heart opened her
+pretty mouth wide and forgot to close it again, while a curious
+expression stole into her beautiful eyes.
+
+Was it a trick?
+
+No; Prince Jocko proceeded to speak.
+
+He laid his little brown paw on his heart, bowed again, coughed,
+sneezed, and finally began an oration. If his appearance was too funny,
+his words and gestures were a hundred times more so. He rolled his eyes,
+he declaimed, he posed and pirouetted like a miniature dancing-master,
+and his little cracked voice rose higher and higher as his own fine
+words and expressions increased in eloquence.
+
+And at last a sound--which never before had been heard, save
+faintly--made everyone start. The Princess was laughing as if she could
+no longer contain herself. Clear, ringing, merry laughter, which it did
+one's heart good to hear. And on she went, laughing ever, till--she
+flung herself at her mother's feet, the tears rolling down her cheeks.
+
+"Oh, mamma!" she exclaimed, "I never--" and then she went off again.
+
+But Prince Jocko suddenly grew silent. He stepped up to Ice-Heart and,
+respectfully raising her hand to his lips, gazed earnestly, beseechingly
+into her face, his own keen sharp eyes gradually growing larger and
+deeper in expression, till they assumed the pathetic, wistful look of
+appeal one often sees in those of a noble dog.
+
+"Ah, Princess!" he murmured.
+
+And Ice-Heart stopped laughing. She pressed her hand to her side.
+
+"Father! mother!" she cried, "help me! help me! Am I dying? What has
+happened to me?" And, with a strange, long drawn sigh she sank fainting
+to the ground.
+
+There was great excitement in the palace, hurrying to and fro, fetching
+of doctors, and much alarm. But when the Princess had been carried
+indoors and laid on a couch, she soon revived. And who can describe the
+feelings of the King and Queen when she turned to them with a smile such
+as they had never seen on her face before.
+
+"Dearest father, dearest mother," she said, "how I love you! Those
+strange warm drops that filled my eyes seem to have brought new life to
+me," and as the Queen passed her arm round the maiden she felt no chill
+of cold such as used to thrill her with misery every time she embraced
+her child.
+
+"Sweet-Heart! my own Sweet-Heart!" she whispered.
+
+And the Princess whispered back, "Yes, call me by that name always."
+
+All was rejoicing when the wonderful news of the miraculous cure spread
+through the palace and the city. But still the parents' hearts were
+sore, for was not the King's word pledged that his daughter should marry
+him who had effected this happy change? And this was no other than
+Jocko, the monkey!
+
+The Prince had disappeared at the moment that Ice-Heart fainted, and now
+with his retinue he was encamped outside the walls. All sorts of ideas
+occurred to the King.
+
+"I cannot break my word," he said, "but we might try to persuade the
+little monster to release me from it."
+
+But the Princess would not hear of this.
+
+"No," she said. "I owe him too deep a debt of gratitude to think of such
+a thing. And in his eyes I read more than I can put in words. No, dear
+father! you must summon him at once to be presented to our people as my
+affianced husband."
+
+So again the cortége of Prince Jocko made its way to the palace, and
+again the litter, with its closely drawn curtains, drew up at the marble
+steps. And Sweet-Heart stood, pale, but calm and smiling, to welcome her
+ridiculous betrothed.
+
+But who is this that quickly mounts the stairs with firm and manly
+tread? Sweet-Heart nearly swooned again.
+
+"Jocko?" she murmured. "Where is Jocko? Why, this is Prince Francolin!"
+
+"Yes, dear child," said a bright voice beside her; and, turning round,
+Sweet-Heart beheld the Western fairy, who, with her sisters, had
+suddenly arrived. "Yes, indeed! Francolin, and no other!"
+
+The universal joy may be imagined. Even the grave fairy of the North
+smiled with pleasure and delight, and, as she kissed her pretty
+god-daughter, she took the girl's hand and pressed it against her own
+heart.
+
+"Never misjudge me, Sweet-Heart," she whispered. "Cold as I seem to
+those who have not courage to approach me closely, my heart, under my
+icy mantle, is as warm as is now your own."
+
+And so it was.
+
+Where can we get a better ending than the time-honored one? Francolin
+and Sweet-Heart were married, and lived happy ever after, and who knows
+but what, in the Kingdom of the Four Orts, they are living happily
+still?
+
+If only we knew the way thither, we might see for ourselves if it is so.
+
+
+
+
+WIDOW TOWNSEND'S VISITOR.
+
+
+The fire crackled cheerfully on the broad hearth of an old-fashioned
+fireplace in an old-fashioned public house in an old fashioned village,
+down in that part of the Old Dominion called the "Eastern Shore." A cat
+and three kittens basked in the warmth, and a decrepit yellow dog, lying
+full in the reflection of the blaze, wrinkled his black nose
+approvingly, as he turned his hind feet where his fore feet had been.
+Over the chimney hung several fine hams and pieces of dried beef. Apples
+were festooned along the ceiling, and other signs of plenty and good
+cheer were scattered profusely about. There were plants, too, on the
+window ledges, horse-shoe geraniums, and dew-plants, and a monthly rose,
+just budding, to say nothing of pots of violets that perfumed the whole
+place whenever they took it into their purple heads to bloom. The floor
+was carefully swept, the chairs had not a speck of dust upon leg or
+round, the long settle near the fireplace shone as if it had been just
+varnished, and the eight-day clock in the corner had had its white face
+newly washed, and seemed determined to tick the louder for it.
+
+Two arm-chairs were drawn up at cozy distance from the hearth and each
+other; a candle, a newspaper, a pair of spectacles, a dish of red
+cheeked apples, and a pitcher of cider, filled a little table between
+them. In one of these chairs sat a comfortable-looking woman about
+forty-five, with cheeks as red as the apples, and eyes as dark and
+bright as they had ever been, resting her elbow on the table and her
+head upon her hand, and looking thoughtfully into the fire.
+
+This was Widow Townsend, "relict" of Mr. Levi Townsend, who had been
+mouldering into dust in the neighboring churchyard for seven years and
+more. She was thinking of her dead husband, possibly because all her
+work being done, and the servant gone to bed, the sight of his empty
+chair at the other side of the table, and the silence of the room, made
+her a little lonely.
+
+"Seven years," so the widow's reverie ran; "it seems as if it were more
+than fifty, and Christmas nigh here again, and yet I don't look so very
+old neither. Perhaps it's not having any children to bother my life out,
+as other people have. They may say what they like--children are more
+plague than profit, that's my opinion. Look at my sister Jerusha, with
+her six boys. She's worn to a shadow, and I am sure they have done it,
+though she never will own it."
+
+The widow took an apple from the dish and began to peel it.
+
+"How fond Mr. Townsend used to be of these apples! He'll never eat any
+more of them, poor fellow, for I don't suppose they have apples where he
+has gone to. Heigho! I remember very well how I used to throw apple-peel
+over my head when I was a girl to see who I was going to marry."
+
+Mrs. Townsend stopped short and blushed, for in those days she did not
+know Mr. T., and was always looking eagerly to see if the peel had
+formed a capital S. Her meditations took a new turn.
+
+"How handsome Sam Payson was, and how much I use to care about him! I
+wonder what has become of him! Jerusha says he went away from our
+village just after I did, and no one has ever heard of him since. What a
+silly thing that quarrel was! If it had not been for that--"
+
+Here came a long pause, during which the widow looked very steadfastly
+at the empty arm-chair of Levi Townsend, deceased. Her fingers played
+carelessly with the apple-peel: she drew it safely towards her, and
+looked around the room.
+
+"Upon my word, it is very ridiculous, and I don't know what the
+neighbors would say if they saw me."
+
+Still the plump fingers drew the red peel nearer.
+
+"But then they can't see me, that's a comfort; and the cat and old Bose
+never will know what it means. Of course I don't _believe_ anything
+about it."
+
+The peel hung gracefully from her hand.
+
+"But still, I should like to try; it would seem like old times, and--"
+
+Over her head it went, and curled up quietly on the floor at a little
+distance. Old Bose, who always slept with one eye open, saw it fall, and
+marched deliberately up to smell it.
+
+"Bose--Bose--don't touch!" cried his mistress, and bending over it with
+beating heart, she turned as red as fire. There was as handsome a
+capital S as any one could wish to see.
+
+A great knock came suddenly at the door. Bose growled, and the widow
+screamed and snatched up the apple-peel.
+
+"It's Mr. T.--it's his spirit come back again, because I tried that
+silly trick," she thought fearfully to herself.
+
+Another knock--louder than the first, and a man's voice exclaimed:
+
+"Hello--the house!"
+
+"Who is it?" asked the widow, somewhat relieved to find that the
+departed Levi was still safe in his grave on the hillside.
+
+"A stranger," said the voice.
+
+"What do you want?"
+
+"To get a lodging here for the night."
+
+The widow deliberated.
+
+"Can't you go on? There's a house half a mile farther, if you keep to
+the right-hand side of the road, and turn to the left after you get
+by--"
+
+"It's raining cats and dogs, and I'm very delicate," said the stranger,
+coughing. "I'm wet to the skin: don't you think you can accommodate
+me?--I don't mind sleeping on the floor."
+
+"Raining, is it? I didn't know that," and the kind-hearted little woman
+unbarred the door very quickly. "Come in, whoever you may be; I only
+asked you to go on because I am a lone woman, with only one servant in
+the house."
+
+The stranger entered, shaking himself like a Newfoundland dog upon the
+step, and scattering a little shower of drops over his hostess and her
+nicely swept floor.
+
+"Ah, that looks comfortable after a man has been out for hours in a
+storm," he said, as he caught sight of the fire; and striding along
+toward the hearth, followed by Bose, who sniffed suspiciously at his
+heels, he stationed himself in the arm-chair--_Mr. Townsend's
+arm-chair_! which had been kept "sacred to his memory" for seven years.
+The widow was horrified, but her guest looked so weary and worn-out that
+she could not ask him to move, but busied herself in stirring up the
+blaze that he might the sooner dry his dripping clothes.
+
+A new thought struck her: Mr. T. had worn a comfortable dressing-gown
+during his illness, which still hung in the closet at her right. She
+could not let this poor man catch his death, by sitting in that wet
+coat. If he was in Mr. Townsend's chair, why should he not be in Mr.
+Townsend's wrapper? She went nimbly to the closet, took it down, fished
+out a pair of slippers from a boot-rack below, and brought them to him.
+
+"I think you had better take off your coat and boots--you will have the
+rheumatic fever, or something like it, if you don't. Here are some
+things for you to wear while they are drying. And you must be hungry,
+too; I will go into the pantry and get you something to eat."
+
+She bustled away, "on hospitable thoughts intent," and the stranger made
+the exchange with a quizzical smile playing around his lips. He was a
+tall, well-formed man, with a bold but handsome face, sun-burned and
+heavily bearded, and looking anything but "delicate," though his blue
+eyes glanced out from under a forehead as white as snow. He looked
+around the kitchen with a mischievous air, and stretched out his feet
+decorated with the defunct Boniface's slippers.
+
+"Upon my word, this is stepping into the old man's shoes with a
+vengeance! And what a hearty, good-humored looking woman she is! Kind as
+a kitten," and he leaned forward and stroked the cat and her brood, and
+then patted old Bose upon the head. The widow, bringing in sundry good
+things, looked pleased at his attention to her dumb friends.
+
+"It's a wonder Bose does not growl; he generally does if strangers touch
+him. Dear me, how stupid!"
+
+The last remark was neither addressed to the stranger nor to the dog but
+to herself She had forgotten that the little stand was not empty, and
+there was no room on it for the things she held.
+
+"Oh, I'll manage it," said her guest, gathering up paper, candle,
+apples, and spectacles (it was not without a little pang that she saw
+them in his hand, for they had been her husband's, and were placed each
+night, like the arm-chair, beside her) and depositing them on the
+settle.
+
+"Give me the table-cloth, ma'am, I can spread it as well as any woman;
+I've learned that along with scores of other things, in my wanderings.
+Now let me relieve you of those dishes; they are far too heavy for
+those hands"--the widow blushed; "and now please, sit down with me, or I
+cannot eat a morsel."
+
+"I had supper long ago, but really I think I can take something more,"
+said Mrs. Townsend, drawing her chair nearer to the table.
+
+"Of course you can, my dear lady; in this cold fall weather people ought
+to eat twice as much as they do in warm. Let me give you a piece of this
+ham, your own curing, I dare say."
+
+"Yes: my poor husband was very fond of it. He used to say that no one
+understood curing ham and drying beef better than I."
+
+"He was a most sensible man, I am sure. I drink your health, ma'am, in
+this cider."
+
+He took a long draught, and set down his glass.
+
+"It is like nectar."
+
+The widow was feeding Bose and the cat (who thought they were entitled
+to a share of every meal eaten in the house), and did not quite hear
+what he said.
+
+"Fine dog, ma'am, and a very pretty cat."
+
+"They were my husband's favorites," and a sigh followed the answer.
+
+"Ah, your husband must have been a very happy man."
+
+The blue eyes looked at her so long, that she grew flurried.
+
+"Is there anything more I can get for you, sir?" she asked, at last.
+
+"Nothing, thank you; I have finished."
+
+She rose to clear the things away. He assisted her, and somehow their
+hands had a queer knack of touching as they carried the dishes to the
+pantry shelves. Coming back to the kitchen, she put the apples and cider
+in their old places, and brought out a clean pipe and a box of tobacco
+from an arched recess near the chimney.
+
+"My husband always said he could not sleep after eating supper late
+unless he smoked," she said. "Perhaps you would like to try it."
+
+"Not if it is to drive you away," he answered, for she had her candle in
+her hand.
+
+"Oh, no; I do not object to smoke at all." She put the candle down; some
+faint suggestion about "propriety" troubled her, but she glanced at the
+old clock, and felt reassured. It was only half-past nine.
+
+The stranger pushed the stand back after the pipe was lit, and drew her
+easy-chair a little nearer the fire, and his own.
+
+"Come, sit down," he said, pleadingly; "it's not late, and when a man
+has been knocking about in California and all sorts of places, for a
+score of years, he is glad enough to get into a berth like this, and to
+have a pretty woman to speak to once again."
+
+"California! Have you been in California?" she exclaimed, dropping into
+the chair at once. Unconsciously, she had long cherished the idea that
+Sam Payson, the lover of her youth, with whom she had so foolishly
+quarreled, had pitched his tent, after many wanderings, in that far-off
+land. Her heart warmed to one who, with something of Sam's looks and
+ways about him, had also been sojourning in that country, and who very
+possibly had met him--perhaps had known him intimately! At that thought
+her heart beat quick, and she looked very graciously at the bearded
+stranger, who, wrapped in Mr. Townsend's dressing-gown, wearing Mr.
+Townsend's slippers, and sitting in Mr. Townsend's chair, beside Mr.
+Townsend's wife, smoked Mr. Townsend's pipe with such an air of feeling
+most thoroughly and comfortably at home!
+
+"Yes, ma'am. I've been in California for the last six years. And before
+that I went quite round the world in a whaling ship!"
+
+"Good gracious!"
+
+The stranger sent a puff of smoke curling gracefully over his head.
+
+"It's very strange, my dear lady, how often you see one thing as you go
+wandering about the world after that fashion."
+
+"And what is that?"
+
+"Men, without house or home above their heads, roving here and there,
+and turning up in all sorts of odd places; caring very little for life
+as a general thing, and making fortunes just to fling them away again,
+and all for one reason. You don't ask me what _that_ is? No doubt you
+know already very well."
+
+"I think not, sir."
+
+"Because a woman has jilted them!"
+
+Here was a long pause, and Mr. Townsend's pipe emitted short puffs with
+surprising rapidity. A guilty conscience needs no accuser, and the
+widow's cheek was dyed with blushes as she thought of the absent Sam.
+
+"I wonder how women manage when _they_ get served in the same way," said
+the stranger musingly; "you never meet _them_ roaming up and down in
+that style."
+
+"No," said Mrs. Townsend, with some spirit, "if a woman is in trouble
+she must stay at home and bear it, the best way she can. And there's
+more women bearing such things than we know of, I dare say."
+
+"Like enough. We never know whose hand gets pinched in a trap unless
+they scream. And women are too shy or too sensible--which you
+choose--for that."
+
+"Did you ever, in all your wanderings, meet any one by the name of
+Samuel Payson?" asked the widow, unconcernedly.
+
+The stranger looked toward her; she was rummaging the table-drawer for
+her knitting work, and did not notice him. When it was found, and the
+needles in motion, he answered her.
+
+"Payson--Sam Payson? Why, he was my most intimate friend! Do you know
+him?"
+
+"A little--that is, I used to, when I was a girl. Where did you meet
+him?"
+
+"He went with me on the whaling voyage I told you of, and afterward to
+California. We had a tent together, and some other fellows with us, and
+we worked the same claim for more than six months."
+
+"I suppose he was quite well?"
+
+"Strong as an ox."
+
+"And--and happy?" pursued the widow, bending closer over her knitting.
+
+"Hum--the less said about that the better, perhaps. But he seemed to
+enjoy life after a fashion of his own. And he got rich out there, or
+rather, I will say, well off."
+
+Mrs. Townsend did not pay much attention to that part of the story.
+Evidently she had not finished asking questions, but she was puzzled
+about her next one. At last she brought it out beautifully:
+
+"Was his wife with him in California?"
+
+The stranger looked at her with twinkling eyes.
+
+"His wife, ma'am! Why, bless you, he has not got any wife."
+
+"Oh, I thought--I mean I heard"--here the little widow remembered the
+fate of Ananias and Sapphira, and stopped short before she told such a
+tremendous fib.
+
+"Whatever you heard of his marrying was all nonsense, I can assure you.
+I knew him well, and he had no thoughts of the kind about him. Some of
+the boys used to tease him about it, but he soon made them stop."
+
+"How?"
+
+"He just told them frankly that the only woman he ever loved had jilted
+him years before, and married another man. After that no one ever
+mentioned the subject to him, except me."
+
+Mrs. Townsend laid her knitting aside, and looked thoughtfully into the
+fire.
+
+"He was another specimen of the class of men I was speaking of. I have
+seen him face death a score of times as quietly as I face the fire. 'It
+matters very little what takes me off,' he used to say; 'I've nothing to
+live for, and there's no one that will shed a tear for me when I am
+gone.' It's a sad thought for a man to have, isn't it?"
+
+Mrs. Townsend sighed as she said she thought it was.
+
+"But did he ever tell you the name of the woman who jilted him?"
+
+"I know her _first_ name."
+
+"What was it?"
+
+"Maria."
+
+The plump little widow almost started out of her chair, the name was
+spoken so exactly as Sam would have said it.
+
+"Did you know her, too?" he asked, looking keenly at her.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Intimately?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Where is she now? Still happy with her husband, I suppose, and never
+giving a thought to the poor fellow she drove out into the world?"
+
+"No," said Mrs. Townsend, shading her face with her hand, and speaking
+unsteadily; "no, her husband is dead."
+
+"Ah! but still she never thinks of Sam."
+
+There was a dead silence.
+
+"Does she?"
+
+"How can I tell?"
+
+"Are you still friends?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then you ought to know, and you do. Tell me."
+
+"I'm sure I don't know why I should. But if I do, you must promise me,
+on your honor, never to tell him, if you ever meet him again."
+
+"Madam, what you say to me never shall be repeated to any mortal man,
+upon my honor."
+
+"Well, then, she does remember him."
+
+"But how?"
+
+"As kindly, I think, as he could wish."
+
+"I am glad to hear it, for his sake. You and I are the friends of both
+parties: we can rejoice with each other."
+
+He drew his chair much nearer hers, and took her hand. One moment the
+widow resisted, but it was a magnetic touch, the rosy palm lay quietly
+in his, and the dark beard bent so low that it nearly touched her
+shoulder. It did not matter much. Was he not Samuel's dear friend? If he
+was not the rose, had he not dwelt very near it, for a long, long time?
+
+"It was a foolish quarrel that parted them," said the stranger, softly.
+
+"Did he tell you about it?"
+
+"Yes, on board the whaler."
+
+"Did he blame her much?"
+
+"Not so much as himself. He said that his jealousy and ill-temper drove
+her to break off the match; but he thought sometimes if he had only gone
+back and spoken kindly to her, she would have married him after all."
+
+"I am sure she would," said the widow piteously. "She has owned it to me
+more than a thousand times."
+
+"She was not happy, then, with another."
+
+"Mr.--that is to say, her husband--was very good and kind," said the
+little woman, thinking of the lonely grave out on the hillside rather
+penitently, "and they lived very pleasantly together. There never was a
+harsh word between them."
+
+"Still--might she not have been happier with Sam? Be honest, now, and
+say just what you think."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Bravo! that is what I wanted to come at. And now I have a secret to
+tell you, and you must break it to her."
+
+Mrs. Townsend looked rather scared.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"I want you to go and see her, wherever she may be, and say to her,
+'Maria,'--what makes you start so?"
+
+"Nothing; only you speak so like some one I used to know, once in a
+while."
+
+"Do I? Well, take the rest of the message. Tell her that Sam loved her
+through the whole; that, when he heard she was free, he began to work
+hard at making a fortune. He has got it; and he is coming to share it
+with her, if she will let him. Will you tell her this?"
+
+The widow did not answer. She had freed her hand from his, and covered
+her face with it. By and by she looked up again--he was waiting
+patiently.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I will tell her."
+
+He rose from his seat, and walked up and down the room. Then he came
+back, and leaning on the mantel-piece, stroked the yellow hide of Bose
+with his slipper.
+
+"Make her quite understand that he wants her for his wife. She may live
+where she likes and how she likes, only it must be with him."
+
+"I will tell her."
+
+"Say he has grown old, but not cold; that he loves her now perhaps
+better than he did twenty years ago; that he has been faithful to her
+all through his life, and that he will be faithful till he dies."
+
+The Californian broke off suddenly. The widow answered still, "I will
+tell her."
+
+"And what do you think she will say?" he asked, in an altered tone.
+
+"What _can_ she say but _Come_!"
+
+"Hurrah!"
+
+The stranger caught her out of her chair as if she had been a child, and
+kissed her.
+
+"Don't--oh, don't!" she cried out. "I am Sam's Maria!"
+
+"Well--I am Maria's Sam!"
+
+Off went the dark wig and the black whiskers--there smiled the dear face
+she had not forgotten! I leave you to imagine the tableau; even the cat
+got up to look, and Bose sat on his stump of a tail, and wondered if he
+was on his heels or his head.
+
+The widow gave one little scream, and then she--
+
+But, stop! Quiet people like you and me, dear reader, who have got over
+all these follies, and can do nothing but turn up our noses at them,
+have no business here. I will only add that two hearts were very happy,
+that Bose concluded after a while that all was right, and so lay down to
+sleep again, and that one week afterward, on Christmas Eve, there was a
+wedding at the house that made the neighbors stare. The widow had
+married her First Love!
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD MAN'S CHRISTMAS.
+
+BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
+
+
+I.
+
+Though there was wrong on both sides, they never would have separated
+had it not been for the old man.
+
+He was Ben's father, and Ben was an only child--a spoiled, selfish,
+high-tempered lad, who had grown up with the idea that his father, Anson
+English, or the "old man," as his dutiful son called him, was much
+richer than he really was, and that he had no need of any personal
+effort--any object in life, aside from the pursuit of pleasure.
+
+Ben's mother had died when he was fifteen years old and his father had
+never married again. Yet it was not any allegiance to her memory which
+had kept Anson English from a second marriage. He remembered her, to be
+sure, and scarcely a day passed without his mentioning her. But after
+her death, as during her weary life, he used her name as a synonym for
+all that was undesirable. He compared everybody to "'Liz'beth," and
+always to her disadvantage. He had a word of praise and encouragement
+and approval for every housewife in the neighborhood except--his own.
+Whatever went wrong, in doors or out, "'Liz'beth" was the direct or
+indirect cause.
+
+During the first five years of her married life, Elizabeth made
+strenuous exertions to please her husband. She wept her sweet eyes dim
+over her repeated failures. Then she found that she had been attempting
+an impossible labor, and grew passively indifferent--an indifference
+which lasted until death kindly released her.
+
+Elizabeth had been a tidy housekeeper during these first years.
+
+"You'd scrub and scour a man out 'er house an' home!" was all the praise
+her husband gave her for her order and cleanliness; and to his
+neighbors, to whom he was fond of paying informal visits, he would often
+say--"Liz'beth's at it again--sweepin' and cleanin', so I cleared out.
+Never see _her_ without out a broom in her hand. I'd a good deal rather
+have a little more dirt, than so much tearin' 'round. 'Liz'beth tires
+me, with her ways."
+
+Yet, when in the indifference of despair which seized upon Elizabeth
+before her death, she allowed her house to look after itself, Anson was
+no better satisfied.
+
+"I've come over to find a place to set down," he would tell his
+neighbors. "'Liz'beth's let things 'cumulate, till the house is a sight
+to see--she's gettin' dreadful slack, somehow. A man likes order when he
+goes home to rest from all his cares."
+
+Even when she died she displeased him by choosing a busy season for the
+occasion.
+
+"Just like 'Liz'beth, to die in hayin' time," he said. "Everything got
+to stop--hay spoilin'--men idle. Women never seem to have no system
+about work matters--no power of plannin' things, to make it convenient
+like for men folks."
+
+Yet after she was gone, Anson found how much help she had been to him,
+how wonderful her economy had been, how light her expenditures. He knew
+he could never find any one to replace her, in these respects, and as
+money considerations were the main ones in his mind he believed it would
+be the better economy to remain a widower, and hire his work done.
+
+So during those most critical years of Ben's life, he had been without a
+woman's guidance or care.
+
+At eighteen he was all that arrogance, conceit, selfishness, and high
+temper could render him. Yet he was a favorite with the fair sex for all
+that, as he had a manly figure, and a warm, caressing way when he chose,
+that won their admiration and pleased their vanity.
+
+Anson English favored early marriages, and began to think it would be
+better all around if Ben should bring a wife home.
+
+She could do the work better than hired help, and keep the money all in
+the family. And Ben would not waste his time and means on half a dozen,
+as he was now doing, but would stay at home, no doubt, and settle down
+into a sensible, practical business man. Yes, Ben ought to marry, and
+his father told him so.
+
+Ben smiled.
+
+"I'm already thinking of it," he said. He had expected opposition from
+his father, and was surprised at his suggestion.
+
+"Yes," continued the "old man," as Ben already designated him, "I'd like
+to see you settle down before you're twenty-one. But you want to make a
+good choice. There's Abby Wilson, now. She's got the muscle of a man,
+and ain't afraid of anything. And her father has a fine property--a
+growin' property. Abby'll make a man a good, vigorous helpmate, and
+she'll bring him money in time. You'd better shine up to Abby, Ben."
+
+Ben gave a contemptuous laugh. "I'd as soon marry a dressed-up boy," he
+said. "She's more like a boy than a girl in her looks and in her ways. I
+have other plans in my mind, father, more to my taste. I mean to marry
+Edith Gilman, if she'll take me, and I think she will."
+
+A dark frown contracted Anson English's brow.
+
+"Edith Gilman?" he repeated; "why, that puny schoolma'm, with her baby
+face and weak voice, 'll never help _you_ to get a livin', Ben. What are
+you thinkin' of?"
+
+"Of love, father, I guess. I love her, and that's all there is of it.
+And I shall marry her, if she'll take me, and you can like it or lump
+it, as you please. She's a good girl, and if she's treated well all
+round, she'll make a good wife, and she's the only woman that can put
+the check rein on me, when I get in my tempers. She'll make a man of me
+yet."
+
+"But she can't work," insisted the father. "She looks as white and puny
+as 'Liz'beth did the year she died."
+
+"She's overworked in the school-room. I mean to take her home, and give
+her a rest. I don't ask any woman to marry me and be my drudge. I expect
+my wife will keep help."
+
+The old man groaned aloud. Ben's ideas were positively ruinous. If he
+married this girl, it would add to, not decrease, the family expenses.
+But it was useless to oppose. Ben would do as he pleased, the old man
+saw that plainly, and he might as well submit.
+
+He did submit, and Ben married Edith on his twenty-first birthday, and
+brought her home.
+
+
+II.
+
+Edith was a quiet little creature, with a soft voice, and a pale, sweet
+face, and frail figure. She came up to Anson English when she entered
+the house, and put her hands timidly upon his arms.
+
+"I want you to love me," she said; "I have had no father or mother since
+I can remember. I want to call you father, and I want to make you happy
+if I can."
+
+"Well, I'll tell you how," the old man retorted. "Discharge the hired
+girl, and make good bread. That'll make me happy,"--and he laughed
+harshly.
+
+Edith shrank from his rough words, so void of the sympathy and love she
+longed for. But she discharged the girl within a week, and tried to make
+good bread. It was not a success, however, and the old man was not slow
+to express his dissatisfaction. Edith left the table in tears.
+
+"Another dribbler--'Liz'beth was always cryin' just that way over every
+little thing," sighed the old man.
+
+Edith eventually conquered the difficulties of bread making, and became
+a famous cook. But she did not please her husband's father any the
+better by this achievement.
+
+"You're always a-fixin' up some new sort of trash for the table," he
+said to her one day. "_Dessert_ is it, you call it? 'Nuff to make a
+man's patience _desert_ him to see sugar and flour wasted so. 'Liz'beth
+liked your fancy cooking, but I cured her of it."
+
+"Yes, and you killed her too," cried Edith, for the first time since her
+marriage losing control of her temper and answering back. "Everybody
+says you worried her into the grave. But you won't succeed so well with
+me. I will live just to defy you, if no more. And I'll show you that
+I'll not bear everything, too."
+
+It was all over in a moment, and it was not repeated. Indeed, Edith was
+kinder and gentler and more submissive in her manner after that for
+days, as sweet natures always are when they have once broken over the
+rules which govern their lives.
+
+Yet the old man always spoke of Edith as a virago after that.
+
+"She's worse'n 'Liz'beth," he said, "and she had a temper of her own at
+times that would just _singe_ things."
+
+Ben passed most of his evenings and a good part of his days at the
+village "store." He came home the worse for drink occasionally, and he
+was absolutely indifferent to all the work and care of the farm and
+family.
+
+"She's just like 'Liz'beth," the old man said to his neighbors; "she
+don't make home entertainin' for her husband. But Ben isn't balanced
+like me, and he goes wrong. He's excitable. I never was. The right kind
+of a woman could keep him at home."
+
+After a child came to them matters seemed to mend for a time. So long as
+the infant lay pink and helpless in its mother's arms or in its crib, it
+was a bond to unite them all.
+
+So soon as it began to be an active child, with naughty ways which
+needed correction, it was another element of discord.
+
+The old man did not think Edith capable of controlling the child, and
+Ben was hasty and harsh, and he did not like to hear the baby cry. So he
+stayed more and more at the store, and was an object of fear to the
+child and of reproach to the mother when he did return.
+
+They drifted farther apart, and the old man constantly widened the
+breach between them. They had been married six years, and the baby girl
+was four years old, when Ben struck Edith a blow, one day, and told her
+to take her child and leave the house.
+
+In less than an hour she had gone, no one knew whither.
+
+"She'll come back, more's the pity," the old man said. "'Liz'beth, she
+started off to leave me once, but she concluded to come back and try it
+over again."
+
+But Edith did not come back. Months afterward they heard of her in a
+distant part of the State teaching school and supporting her child.
+
+Ben applied for a divorce on the plea of desertion. Edith never appeared
+against him, and he obtained it.
+
+
+III.
+
+One year from the time Edith left him, he married Abby Wilson. She had
+grown into a voluptuous though coarse maturity, and was dashing in dress
+and manner. Her father had recently died, leaving her a fine property.
+She had always coveted Ben, and did not delay the nuptials from any
+sense of delicacy, but rather hastened the hour which should make him
+legally her own.
+
+The old man was highly pleased at the turn affairs had taken. After all
+these years Ben was united to the woman he had chosen for him so long
+ago, and now surely Ben would settle down, and take the care off his
+shoulders--shoulders which were beginning to feel the weight of years of
+labor. In truth, the old man was breaking down.
+
+He fell ill of a low fever soon after Ben's second marriage, and when he
+rose from his bed he seemed to have grown ten years older. He was more
+childish in his fault-finding, and more irritable than ever before, and
+this new wife of Ben's had little patience with him. She was not at all
+like Edith. She bullied him, and frightened him into silence when he
+began to find fault with her extravagances. For she was
+extravagant--there was no denying that. She cared only for show and
+outward appearance. She neglected her home duties, and often left the
+old man to prepare his own food, while she and Ben dashed over the
+country, or through the neighboring villages, behind the blooded span
+she had insisted upon his purchasing soon after their marriage.
+
+Poor old Anson English! He was nearing his sixtieth year now, and he
+looked and seemed much older. Ben was his only earthly tie, and the hope
+and stay of his old age. And he was but a reed--a reed. His father saw
+that at last. Ben would never develop into a practical business man. He
+was unstable, lazy, and selfish. And this new wife seemed to encourage
+him in every extravagant folly, instead of restraining him as the old
+man had hoped. And someway Ben had never been the same since Edith went
+away. He had been none too good or kind to his father before that; but
+since then--well, when she went, it seemed to Anson that she took with
+her whatever of gentleness or kindness lurked in Ben's nature, and left
+only its brutality and selfishness.
+
+And strive as he would to banish the feeling, the old man missed the
+child.
+
+Ah, no! he was not happy in this new state of affairs, which he had so
+rejoiced over at the first. He grew very old during the next two years.
+Like all men who worry the lives of women in the domestic circle, he was
+cowardly at heart. And Ben's new wife frightened him into silent
+submission by her masculine assumption of authority and her loud voice
+and well-defined muscle.
+
+He spoke little at home now, but he still paid frequent visits to his
+neighbors, and he remained firm in the Adam-like idea that Elizabeth had
+been the root of all evil in his life.
+
+"Yes, Ben's letting the place run down pretty bad," he confessed to a
+neighbor who had broached the subject. "Ben's early trainin' wasn't
+right. 'Liz'beth, she let him do 'bout as he pleased. Liz'beth never had
+no notions of how a boy should be trained. He'd a' come out all right if
+I'd a' managed him from the start."
+
+Strange to say, he never was known to speak one disparaging word of
+Abby, Ben's second wife. Her harshness and neglect were matters of
+common discussion in the neighborhood, but the old man, who had been so
+bitter and unjust toward his own wife and Edith, seemed to feel a
+curious respect for this Amazon who had subjugated him. Or, perhaps, he
+remembered how eager he had been for the marriage, and his pride kept
+him silent. Certain it is that he bore her neglect, and later her abuse,
+with no word of complaint, and even spoke of her sometimes with praise.
+
+"She's a brave one, Abby is," he would say. "She ain't afraid of nothin'
+or nobody. Ef she'd a' been a man, she'd a' made a noise in the world."
+
+Ben drank more and more, and Abby dressed and drove in like ratio. The
+farm ran down, and debts accumulated--debts which Abby refused to pay
+with her money, and the old man saw the savings of a long life of labor
+squandered in folly and vice.
+
+People said it was turning his brain, for he talked constantly of his
+poverty, often walking the streets in animated converse with himself.
+And at length he fell ill again, and was wildly delirious for weeks. It
+was a high fever; and when it left him, he was totally blind, and quite
+helpless.
+
+He needed constant care and attention. He could not be left alone even
+for an hour; Ben was seldom at home, and Abby rebelled at the
+confinement and restraint it imposed upon her. Hired help refused to
+take the burden of the care of the troublesome old man without increased
+wages, and Ben could not and Abby would not incur this added expense.
+Servants gave warning; Ben drank more deeply and prolonged his absences
+from home, and Abby finally carried out a resolve which had at first
+caused even her hard heart some twinges.
+
+She made an application to the keeper of the County Poor to admit her
+husband's father to the department of the incurably insane, which was
+adjacent to the Poor House.
+
+"He's crazy," she said, "just as crazy as can be. We can't do anything
+with him. He needs a strong man to look after him. Ben's never at home,
+and he has everything to look after any way, and can't be broken of his
+rest, and the old man talks and cries half the night. I'm not able to
+take care of him--I seem to be breaking down myself, with all I have to
+endure, and besides it isn't safe to have him in the house. I think he's
+getting worse all the time. He'd be better off, and we all would, if he
+was in the care of the county."
+
+The authorities looked into the matter, and found that at least a
+portion of the lady's statements were true. It was quite evident that
+the old man would be better off in the County House than he was in the
+home of his only son. So he was taken away, and Abby had her freedom at
+last.
+
+"We are going to take you where you will have medical treatment and
+care; it is your daughter's request," they told him in answer to his
+trembling queries.
+
+"Oh! yes, yes--Abby thinks I'll get my sight back, I suppose, if I'm
+doctored up. Well, maybe so, but I'm pooty old--pooty old for the
+doctors to patch up. But Abby has a powerful mind to plan things--a
+powerful mind. 'Liz'beth never would a' thought of sending me
+away--'Liz'beth was so easy like. Abby ought to a' been a man, she had.
+She'd a' flung things."
+
+So he babbled on as they carried him to the Poor House.
+
+It was November, and the holidays were close at hand. Thanksgiving,
+Christmas, New Year. Abby meant to enjoy them, and invited all her
+relatives to a time of general feasting and merrymaking.
+
+"I feel as if a great nightmare were lifted off my heart and brain, now
+the old man has gone," she said. "He will be so much better off, and get
+so much more skillful treatment, you know, in a place like that. They
+are very kind in that institution, and so clean and nice, and he will
+have plenty of company to keep him from being lonesome. We have been
+all through it, during the last year, or else we never should have sent
+him there. It is really an excellent home for him."
+
+
+IV.
+
+It was just a year later when a delicate, sweet-faced woman was shown
+through the wards of that "excellent home" for the poor and unfortunate.
+She walked with nervous haste, and her eyes glanced from room to room,
+and from face to face, as if seeking, yet dreading, some object.
+
+Presently the attendant pushed open a partly closed door, which led into
+a small, close room, ventilated only by one high, narrow window.
+
+"This is the room, I believe," he said, and the lady stepped in--and
+paused. The air was close and impure, and almost stifled her.
+
+On the opposite side of the room she saw a large crib with a cover or
+lid which could be closed and locked when necessary, but which was
+raised now. In this crib, upon a hard mattress and soiled pillow, lay
+the emaciated form of an old man. He turned his sightless eyes toward
+the door as he heard the sound of footsteps.
+
+"What is wanted?" he asked, feebly; "does anybody want me? Has anybody
+come for me?"
+
+"O father, father!" cried the woman in a voice choked with sobs. "Don't
+you know me? It is I--and I have come to take you away--to take you away
+home with me. Will you go?"
+
+A glow of delight shone over the old man's wasted face, like the last
+rays of the sunlight over a winter landscape. He half arose upon his
+elbow, and leaned forward as if trying to see the speaker.
+
+"Why, it's Abby, it's Abby, come at last!" he said. "You called me
+father, didn't you--and you was crying, and it made your voice sound
+kind o' strange and broken like. But you must be Abby come to take me
+home. Oh, I thought you'd come at last, Abby. It seems a long, long time
+since I came away. And you've never been to see me; no, nor Ben, either.
+But you've come at last, Abby, you've come at last. Let me take your
+hand, daughter, for I can't see yet. They don't seem to help me here as
+you thought they would. And I'm _so hungry_, Abby!--do you think you
+could manage to get the old man a little something to eat before we
+start home?"
+
+The woman had grown paler and paler as she listened to these words which
+the old man poured out in eager haste, like one whose thoughts and
+feelings long pent within himself for want of a listener now rushed
+forth pell-mell into speech.
+
+"He does not know me," she whispered--"he does not know me. Well, I will
+not undeceive him now. He is happy in this delusion,--let him keep it
+for the present." Then, aloud, she said:
+
+"You are hungry, father? do you not have food enough here?"
+
+"Oh, I have my share, Abby; I have my share. But my appetite's varying,
+and sometimes when they bring it I can't eat it, and then when I want it
+most I can't get it. I'm one of many here, and I've been so lonesome,
+Abby. But then I knew you'd come for me all in good time. And, Ben--how
+is Ben, Abby? does he want to see his old father again? Ah, Ben was a
+nice little boy--a nice little boy. But 'Liz'beth wan't no kind of a
+mother for such a high-strung lad. And then he hadn't oughter married
+that sickly sort of girl that ran off an' left him. Sakes alive! what a
+temper she had! It sort of broke Ben down living with her as long as he
+did. But he remembers his old father at last, don't he? And he wants to
+have me home to die. Ah, Ben has a good heart after all!"
+
+"I must not tell him; I must not," whispered the woman as she listened.
+"Bitter to me as his deception is, I must let him remain in it." Then
+with a sudden bracing of the nerves, and a visible effort, she said:
+
+"Ben is away from home now, father. He will not be there to meet you,
+but you'll not mind that: I shall make you so comfortable; I want you at
+home during the holidays."
+
+So he went out from the horror and loneliness and gloom of the Poor
+House, to the comfortable home which Edith had provided for herself and
+child in the years since she left Ben. Eva was a precocious little
+maiden of nine now, wise and womanly beyond her years. So soon as Edith
+learned of the old man's desolate fate, she resolved to bring him home.
+Eva could attend to his wants during the day, while she was in the
+school-room, and the interrupted studies could be pursued in the
+evening. Or she could hire assistance if he were as troublesome as
+report had said. He had been a harsh old man, and had helped to widen
+the breach between her and Ben. But he was the father of the man she had
+married, and she could not let him die in the Poor House. So she brought
+him home.
+
+"Don't I hear a child's voice?" he asked, as Eva came dancing out to
+greet them. "Who is it, Abby?"
+
+"Why, it's your own little granddaughter Eva," cried the child, clasping
+his withered hand in her two soft palms. "Don't you remember me? Mamma
+says you used to love me."
+
+Edith's heart stood still. Surely now he would understand. And would he
+be angry and harsh with her?
+
+The old man's face lighted.
+
+"Ah, I see, I see," he said musingly, "Abby and Ben have taken the
+little one home. It must be Edith is dead. She was such a puny thing."
+Then turning his face to the woman who was guiding his faltering
+footsteps, he asked:
+
+"And is Edith dead?"
+
+"Yes," she answered quietly, "Edith is dead." And added "to _you_," in a
+whisper.
+
+"He must never be undeceived," she thought. "It would be too severe a
+blow; the truth might kill him." And to Eva she said a little later:
+
+"Dear, your grandfather is very ill, and not quite right in his mind. He
+thinks my name is Abby, and you must not correct him or dispute any
+strange thing he may say."
+
+The journey left the old man very weak indeed, but he talked almost
+constantly.
+
+"It was so good of you, Abby, to take the little girl home," he would
+say. "But I knowed you had a good heart, and Ben too. He was fond of his
+old father, spite of his rough ways. It was pooty lonesome--pooty
+lonesome, off there at that place--that Institute where you sent me.
+Some folks said it was the Poor House, but I knew better--I knew better.
+Ben and you would never send me there. I s'pose it was a good place, but
+they had too many patients. Sometimes I was cold and hungry and all
+alone for hours and hours. Oh, it's good to be back home with you--you,
+Abby--but why don't Ben come?"
+
+"Ben is away, father."
+
+"Oh, yes, yes. Business, I suppose. Ben'll turn out all right at last. I
+always thought so. After he sort o' outgrows 'Liz'beth's trainin'. But I
+hope he'll get back for Christmas. Somehow I've been thinkin' lately
+'bout the Christmas days when Ben was a little boy. We allus put
+something in his stockin' that night, no matter if twan't no more'n a
+sweet cake. Sakes alive! how he prized things he found in his stockin'
+Christmas mornin's! I got to thinkin' 'bout it all last Christmas out at
+that there Institute, and I just laid an' bawled like a baby, I was so
+home-sick like. Seemed to me if I could just _see_ Ben's face again, I'd
+ask nothin' more of Heaven. And now I think if I can just hear his voice
+again, it'll be enough. Do you think he'll git home for Christmas,
+Abby?"
+
+"I hope so, dear father, but I cannot tell." Edith answered softly, her
+heart seeming to break in her breast as she listened.
+
+She knew very well that Ben would not go across the street to see the
+father he had deserted, and that she could never send for him to come to
+_her_ house, to pay even a last visit of mercy.
+
+"What will I do--how can I explain to him, when Christmas comes and Ben
+does not appear?" she thought.
+
+But the way was shown her by that great Peace-Maker who helps us out of
+all difficulties at last.
+
+Christmas Eve, the old man's constant chatter grew flighty and
+incoherent. He talked of people and things unknown to Edith, and spoke
+his mother's name many times. Then he fell asleep. In the morning he
+seemed very weak, and his voice was fainter.
+
+"Such a strange dream as I have had, 'Lis'beth," he said, as Edith put
+her hand on his brow, and smoothed back the thin, white hair.
+
+"Such a strange dream, I thought Ben had grown into a man, and had left
+me alone--all alone to die. I'm so glad to be awake and find it isn't
+true. How dark it is, and how long the night seems! To-morrow is
+Christmas. Did you put something in Ben's stockings, 'Lis'beth? I have
+forgotten."
+
+"Yes," answered Edith, in a choked voice.
+
+"And it's gettin' colder, 'Lis'beth. Hadn't you better look after Ben a
+little? See if he's covered up well in his crib. You're so careless,
+'Lis'beth, the boy'll take his death o' cold yet. And he's all I've
+got. He'll make a fine man, a fine man if you don't spoil him,
+'Lis'beth. But you hain't no real sense for trainin' a boy, somehow. Is
+he covered up? It's bitter, bitter cold."
+
+"He is well covered," Edith answered. The old man seemed to doze again.
+Then he roused a little.
+
+"It's dawn," he said. "I see the light breaking. Little Ben'll be
+crawling out for his stockin' pooty quick: I oughter had the fire made
+afore this, to warm his little toes. Strange you couldn't a' waked me,
+'Liz'beth! You don't never seem to have no foresight."
+
+Then the old man fell back on Edith's arm, dead.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHRISTMAS GOBLINS.
+
+BY CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+
+In an old abbey town, a long, long while ago there officiated as sexton
+and gravedigger in the churchyard one Gabriel Grubb. He was an ill
+conditioned cross-grained, surly fellow, who consorted with nobody but
+himself and an old wicker-bottle which fitted into his large, deep
+waistcoat pocket.
+
+A little before twilight one Christmas Eve, Gabriel shouldered his
+spade, lighted his lantern, and betook himself toward the old
+churchyard, for he had a grave to finish by next morning, and feeling
+very low, he thought it might raise his spirits, perhaps, if he went on
+with his work at once.
+
+He strode along until he turned into the dark lane which led to the
+churchyard--a nice, gloomy, mournful place into which the towns-people
+did not care to go except in broad daylight, consequently he was not a
+little indignant to hear a young urchin roaring out some jolly song
+about a Merry Christmas. Gabriel waited until the boy came up, then
+rapped him over the head with his lantern five or six times to teach him
+to modulate his voice. And as the boy hurried away, with his hand to his
+head, Gabriel Grubb chuckled to himself and entered the churchyard,
+locking the gate behind him.
+
+He took off his coat, put down his lantern, and getting into an
+unfinished grave, worked at it for an hour or so with right good will.
+But the earth was hardened with the frost, and it was no easy matter to
+break it up and shovel it out. At any other time this would have made
+Gabriel very miserable, but he was so pleased at having stopped the
+small boy's singing that he took little heed of the scanty progress he
+had made when he had finished work for the night, and looked down into
+the grave with grim satisfaction, murmuring as he gathered up his
+things:
+
+
+     "Brave lodgings for one, brave lodgings for one,
+     A few feet of cold earth when life is done."
+
+
+"Ho! ho!" he laughed, as he set himself down on a flat tombstone, which
+was a favorite resting-place of his, and drew forth his wicker-bottle.
+"A coffin at Christmas! A Christmas box. Ho! ho! ho!"
+
+"Ho! ho! ho!" repeated a voice close beside him.
+
+"It was the echoes," said he, raising the bottle to his lips again.
+
+"It was not," said a deep voice.
+
+Gabriel started up and stood rooted to the spot with terror, for his
+eyes rested on a form that made his blood run cold.
+
+Seated on an upright tombstone close to him was a strange, unearthly
+figure. He was sitting perfectly still, grinning at Gabriel Grubb with
+such a grin as only a goblin could call up.
+
+"What do you here on Christmas Eve?" said the goblin, sternly.
+
+"I came to dig a grave, sir," stammered Gabriel.
+
+"What man wanders among graves on such a night as this?" cried the
+goblin.
+
+"Gabriel Grubb! Gabriel Grubb!" screamed a wild chorus of voices that
+seemed to fill the churchyard.
+
+"What have you got in that bottle?" said the goblin.
+
+"Hollands, sir," replied the sexton, trembling more than ever, for he
+had bought it of the smugglers, and he thought his questioner might be
+in the excise department of the goblins.
+
+"Who drinks Hollands alone, and in a churchyard on such a night as
+this?"
+
+"Gabriel Grubb! Gabriel Grubb!" exclaimed the wild voices again.
+
+"And who, then, is our lawful prize?" exclaimed the goblin, raising his
+voice.
+
+The invisible chorus replied, "Gabriel Grubb! Gabriel Grubb!"
+
+"Well, Gabriel, what do you say to this?" said the goblin, as he grinned
+a broader grin than before.
+
+The sexton gasped for breath.
+
+"What do you think of this, Gabriel?"
+
+"It's--it's very curious, sir, very curious, sir, and very pretty,"
+replied the sexton, half-dead with fright. "But I think I'll go back and
+finish my work, sir, if you please."
+
+"Work!" said the goblin, "what work?"
+
+"The grave, sir."
+
+"Oh! the grave, eh? Who makes graves at a time when other men are merry,
+and takes a pleasure in it?"
+
+Again the voices replied, "Gabriel Grubb! Gabriel Grubb!"
+
+"I'm afraid my friends want you, Gabriel," said the goblin.
+
+"Under favor, sir," replied the horror-stricken sexton, "I don't think
+they can; they don't know me, sir; I don't think the gentlemen have ever
+seen me."
+
+"Oh! yes, they have. We know the man who struck the boy in the envious
+malice of his heart because the boy could be merry and he could not."
+
+Here the goblin gave a loud, shrill laugh which the echoes returned
+twenty-fold.
+
+"I--I am afraid I must leave you, sir," said the sexton, making an
+effort to move.
+
+"Leave us!" said the goblin; "ho! ho! ho!"
+
+As the goblin laughed he suddenly darted toward Gabriel, laid his hand
+upon his collar, and sank with him through the earth. And when he had
+had time to fetch his breath he found himself in what appeared to be a
+large cavern, surrounded on all sides by goblins ugly and grim.
+
+"And now," said the king of the goblins, seated in the centre of the
+room on an elevated seat--his friend of the churchyard--"show the man of
+misery and gloom a few of the pictures from our great storehouses."
+
+As the goblin said this a cloud rolled gradually away and disclosed a
+small and scantily furnished but neat apartment. Little children were
+gathered round a bright fire, clinging to their mother's gown, or
+gamboling round her chair. A frugal meal was spread upon the table and
+an elbow-chair was placed near the fire. Soon the father entered and the
+children ran to meet him. As he sat down to his meal the mother sat by
+his side and all seemed happiness and comfort.
+
+"What do you think of that?" said the goblin.
+
+Gabriel murmured something about its being very pretty.
+
+"Show him some more," said the goblin.
+
+Many a time the cloud went and came, and many a lesson it taught to
+Gabriel Grubb. He saw that men who worked hard and earned their scanty
+bread were cheerful and happy. And he came to the conclusion it was a
+very respectable sort of a world after all. No sooner had he formed it
+than the cloud closed over the last picture seemed to settle on his
+senses and lull him to repose. One by one the goblins faded from his
+sight, and as the last one disappeared he sank to sleep.
+
+The day had broken when he awoke, and found himself lying on the flat
+gravestone, with the wicker-bottle empty by his side. He got on his
+feet as well as he could, and brushing the frost off his coat, turned
+his face toward the town.
+
+But he was an altered man, he had learned lessons of gentleness and
+good-nature by his strange adventures in the goblin's cavern.
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF THE STAR.
+
+BY REV. C. H. MEAD.
+
+
+"Oh, boys; you can count me out on that--all I can get goes to my mother
+and sisters for Christmas."
+
+The speaker was a manly little newsboy, with good features, a clean face
+and bright eyes. His clothes looked neat, though they were adorned with
+numerous patches.
+
+"But see here, Will. Christmas only comes once a year, and why shouldn't
+we fellers have our banquet as well as the silk-stockings? What would
+they know about things going on in the world anyway, if we newsboys
+didn't supply 'em with papers? All in favor of having a banquet, hold up
+yer hands!"
+
+Up went a score of hands--some dirty, some clean and some speckled, but
+Will's hand remained down. "See here, Will, what's the reason you won't
+stay by us?"
+
+The boy hesitated a moment and then said: "Boys, it's mighty close times
+up at our house; fried chicken and pound cake don't come our way,
+turkeys roost too high for us, and, and--well, boys, if you must know
+it, about the only good thing we kids have up there is our mother's
+love. See these patches! My mother put them on. See these stockings! My
+mother has been mending this same pair of stockings for more than a
+year, and she washes and irons them after I've gone to bed at night.
+Every stitch of mother's needle and thread is a stitch of love, and one
+night not long ago, I opened my eyes and saw my mother's tears dropping
+on the sleeve of my coat at the same time she was putting the patch on
+this elbow. I tell you, boys, the best thing I've got in the world is my
+mother, and the best Christmas gift I ever had is my mother's love. If I
+had a million dollars, I'd give them all to my mother in return for her
+love. No, no, boys; no banquet for me, as long as I know my mother is
+starving herself that we children may have more to eat."
+
+"Well," replied one of the boys, "if I had a mother like that, maybe I'd
+feel the same way; but all we get at our house is a good licking from a
+drunken mother, and I'm going in for a square meal at Christmas, if I
+never has another."
+
+The boys, gathered on the sidewalk by one of the parks, were suddenly
+startled by a cry "Look out there!" and the next moment a runaway horse
+dashed into their midst; little Will was knocked over, and was soon
+carried into a neighboring drug store, all unconscious of what had
+happened. It was soon discovered that his arm was broken, and his body
+bruised in a number of places. The moment he regained consciousness and
+found what had occurred, he said:
+
+"Take me to my mother; she will take care of me somehow, though this
+isn't exactly the kind of a Christmas gift I meant she should have. Say,
+boys, one of you go up to our house, and tell her easy about this; don't
+burst in sudden and scare her, but tell her it isn't dangerous,
+and--well, just tell her I love her."
+
+The boys wiped their eyes and one of them said, "This busts up our
+banquet, fellers; I'll go and tell Will's mother, and, say, fellers,
+shan't I tell her we will give our banquet money to help her out at
+Christmas?"
+
+A hearty "You bet we will," was the response, as big Tom sped away to
+carry the news to Will's mother, while kind hands helped carry the
+injured boy to his home. It was a poor home into which he was borne,
+but everything was as neat and tidy as could be. A woman stood at the
+door, and it needed but one glance to know that she was the mother of
+Will. Poverty and hunger had failed to rob her of her beauty, and there
+was an air of refinement about her that told of better days and happier
+surroundings.
+
+"Christmas hasn't come yet, mother," said Will, "but I have. Don't you
+worry; I'll come out of this all right, and we will have a good
+Christmas yet."
+
+The mother kissed him tenderly as she said, "No, I will not worry, so
+long as I have God, and you, and Josie, and Maggie, and Tot. When
+Christmas comes round, Will, it will be a good day whatever it brings."
+
+"It will bring yer heaps of things, Mrs. Sandford," blurted out big Tom,
+"for we fellers has given up havin' a banquet, and are going to bring
+yer something that Will can't bring now. Don't yer worry a bit," and
+here the rough fellow burst into tears, and rushed out of the house.
+
+A few more days, and then Christmas Eve came round, and a bright night
+it was. Will lay sleeping on the bed, his mother near by, pretending to
+read, but in reality using the dear old Bible as a shield to hide the
+tears that trickled down her cheeks. The mother was thinking, and
+thinking fast, too. It was only a little over thirteen years since her
+father had closed the door in her face and told her never to return. The
+man she loved was not the fashionable fop her father had selected for
+her as a husband, and secretly she had given her hand to the man to whom
+long before she had given her heart. All went well, until three years
+ago, when her husband died suddenly, and she found herself with no means
+and four children to take care of. Too proud to apply to her father for
+help, she struggled on as best she could, leaning hard on the God whom
+her mother had taught her to love.
+
+Her children were a comfort to her, for they had inherited the natural
+goodness of both their parents. Her tears now fell fast, for as she
+thought, she also listened to the voices of her two youngest children
+who were standing over by the window together.
+
+"Say, Maggie, does yer see dat bright star up dere? I wonder if dat is
+de star what de shepherds seen! If it is, it seems to be looking right
+down at us. Maybe Jesus is in dat star, and if He is, He won't forget
+us, will He?"
+
+And Tot looked at Maggie as the latter said: "Jesus loved little
+children, Tot, when He was on the earth, and I guess He loves them yet.
+That's a very bright star--it must be the one that was seen by the
+shepherds at Bethlehem."
+
+"I think so, too," said Tot, "and may be Josie will hear some of dem
+'good tidings' while she is out. Oh! Maggie, Jesus must love mother; she
+is so good, and I think He has sent that star to tell us to look out for
+good news."
+
+And where was Josie all this time? The mother thought she had gone into
+a neighbor's, where she frequently went, and so felt no anxiety.
+
+Out in the streets of the big city, side by side walked plenty and
+poverty, wealth and wretchedness, happiness and hunger, gladness and
+grief. Some carried bundles in their arms, while others carried burdens
+in their hearts. Over all, the good God watched, and down upon all the
+bright star shone. But what is that? Suddenly on one of the streets the
+people stopped and listened. On the steps of a stoop leading up to a
+lighted mansion stood a little girl who looked like a bright angel from
+heaven. Far above, overhead, shone the bright star that Maggie and Tot
+had seen; it was their star and it was her star, for Josie, too, had
+discovered it, and somehow felt that the star that had brought "good
+tidings of great joy" to the shepherds on Bethlehem's plains, had come
+again and to bring once more "good tidings." She had mounted the steps
+to get nearer the star, and then all unconscious of the people, in a
+rich, sweet voice, she sang:--
+
+
+     I think, when I read that sweet story of old,
+       When Jesus was here among men;
+     How He called little children, as lambs to His fold;
+       I should like to have been with Him then.
+
+     I wish that His hands had been placed on my head,
+       That His arms had been thrown around me;
+     That I might have seen His kind look, when He said,
+       "Let the little ones come unto Me."
+
+
+As she sang, her gaze was fixed on the star, and even her hands were
+lifted toward it. The people looked at her; an angel had appeared in
+their midst--her face, her voice, her upturned eyes, her uplifted hands,
+held them spell-bound, until some one looking up in the direction she
+pointed, cried out: "See that star!" Heavenward went the gaze of the
+multitude, and once more there seemed to come to them a voice, saying:
+"Fear not, for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall
+be to all people." The face of Josie was illumined and even the
+multitude that had gathered, failed to alarm her. The star with its
+"good tidings" was over her head and in her heart as well. "Who are you,
+my child?" said a gentleman who had come up on the steps where she
+stood. "Please, sir, I am Josie Sandford." The gentleman gave a start
+and said, "Sandford, Josie Sandford? Pray where do you live, Josie?" She
+told him, and in response to other questions, told of mother, brother
+and sisters.
+
+"Oh, sir; do you see the star? I am sure it has some 'good tidings' for
+us at our house, and I must hurry home and tell mother all about it.
+Good-bye."
+
+Away sped the child until she reached her home, and then entering the
+room quietly, she went up to her mother and said: "Have you seen the
+star, mother?" Maggie and Tot cried out, "We've seen it; come, mother,
+and look quick." The mother went quietly to the window, and there beheld
+a star of wonderful brightness, and as she gazed, her face took on a new
+light and into her heart came a great peace. The sleeping boy was
+awakened by the voices, and he, too, made his way to the window and
+looked at the star. "At evening time it shall be light."
+
+It had come, and--something else had come, too, for steps were heard on
+the stairs, followed by a knock on the door, on opening which, in came a
+company of newsboys headed by big Tom. They bore bundles and baskets,
+provisions and poultry, sunshine and sugar, toys and turnips, good-will
+and grapes, cheer and celery, and things that no one but those who had
+lacked for them, would ever have thought of. Big Tom was the spokesman
+for the happy company.
+
+"If yer please, Mrs. Sandford," he said, "there's our banquet. We wasn't
+going to come until to-morrow morning, but when we got the things all
+together, we just couldn't wait any longer, so we've brought 'em
+to-night, and if it isn't too soon, ma'am, we wishes you, and Will, and
+Josie, and Maggie, and Tot a 'Merry Christmas,' doesn't we, boys?"
+
+"Indeed we does!" responded the boys. The faces of that mother and her
+children were a sight to behold. Smiles and tears greeted the boys, and
+the mother and her three girls had a kiss for each of them. Then Tot
+said: "I knowed it. I knowed it! De star had Jesus in it, and I knowed
+He see Maggie and me looking up at it."
+
+"Well, boys," said Mrs. Sandford, "you shall have your banquet, for I
+want you all to take Christmas dinner with us to-morrow."
+
+"Yes, boys, you shall all take dinner with Mrs. Sandford and her
+children to-morrow, but it must be at the home of her parents and not
+here," said a gentleman who had not been noticed as he stood in the
+hallway.
+
+Mrs. Sandford started as the owner of the voice entered the room, and
+little Josie sprang toward him at the same moment. She resembled her
+mother and was her namesake as well. The gentleman stretched out his
+arms toward Mrs. Sandford as he said to her:
+
+"Josie, can you forgive me for the harshness with which I drove you
+years ago from my door? God only knows how I have suffered, and for
+years I have hunted high and low for you, and have advertised time and
+again. But all was in vain, until to-night I saw your face and heard
+your voice once more, as my grandchild, Josie, stood singing on the
+steps and gazing at the star. In her I found you again, and oh, how your
+mother and I have prayed for this time to come."
+
+Long before he had finished, the daughter was in her father's arms once
+more, and the children were clinging to their new-found grandparent. The
+newsboys looked on in wonder, and suddenly little Tot ran to the window
+and then cried out--"Oh, grandpa, the star is here yet, and it shines
+brighter than before," and she threw a kiss up to the star.
+
+Christmas morning came and found them all in a home of plenty. A chair
+that had long stood vacant at that table, was once more filled, and
+near it were four other chairs for the new-found grand-children. Was it
+a "Merry Christmas," did you inquire? Just ask those newsboys who came
+at two o'clock if they ever had such a banquet before or since, or
+whether they ever saw a home in which the "Star of Bethlehem" shone with
+greater splendor. And over the earth the star still shines, and will
+continue to shine until all mankind shall yet have a "Merry Christmas."
+
+
+
+
+INDIAN PETE'S CHRISTMAS GIFT.
+
+BY HERBERT W. COLLINGWOOD.
+
+
+The moon was just peeping over the pines as Pete Shivershee slunk down
+the road from the lumber camp into the forest. Pete did not present a
+surpassingly dignified appearance as he skulked through the clearing,
+but he was not a very dignified person even at his best.
+
+Most persons would have said, I think, that Pete's method of departure
+was hardly appropriate for one who had been selected by the citizens of
+Carter's Camp to go on an important mission. But Pete had his own
+reasons for his actions. He crept along behind the stumps and logs till
+he reached the forest. Then, as if the shadow gave him fresh courage and
+dignity, he drew himself upright, and started at a sharp trot down the
+road toward the village.
+
+We have said that Pete had reasons for his conduct. They were good ones.
+In the first place, he was an Indian. Not a "noble son of the forest,"
+such as Cooper loved to picture, but a mean, dirty, yellow-faced
+"_Injun_." Lazy and worthless, picking up a living about the lumber
+camps, working as little as he could, and eating and drinking as much as
+possible: such was the messenger. The mission was worse yet.
+
+It was Christmas Eve. The snow covered the ground, and the ice had
+stilled for the time the mouth of the roaring river. It was Saturday
+night as well; and for some time past the lumbermen had been considering
+the advisability of keeping the good old holiday with some form of
+celebration suited to the occasion.
+
+The citizens of Carter's Camp were not remarkably fastidious. They knew
+but one form of celebration, and they had no thought of hunting out new
+ones. The one thing needful to make a celebration completely successful
+was--liquor. This they must have in order to do justice to the day.
+
+The temperance laws of Carter's were very strict. Not that the moral
+sentiment of the place was particularly high, but it had been noticed
+that the amounts of labor and whisky were in inverse proportion. The
+more whisky, the less labor. It was a pure question of political
+economy. The foreman had often stated that he would prosecute to the
+fullest extent of the law the first man caught bringing whisky into
+camp. The foreman did not attempt, perhaps, to deny that his knowledge
+of the law was somewhat crude. He had forcibly stated, however, that
+should a case be brought before him, he would himself act as judge and
+jury, while his fist and foot would take the place of witness and
+counsel. There was something so terrible in this statement, coming as it
+did from the largest man in camp, that very little whisky had thus far
+been brought in.
+
+Christmas had come, and the drinking element in Carter's Camp proposed
+that Pete Shivershee--the "Injun"--be sent to town for a quantity of the
+liquid poison, that the drinkers might "enjoy" themselves.
+
+Bill Gammon found Pete curled up by the stove. He took him out of doors
+and explained the business in hand. Bill prided himself somewhat on his
+ability to "git work out of Injuns." Pete muttered only "all right." He
+took the money Bill gave him, and then slunk away down the road for the
+forest, as we have seen him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Bill felt so confident of the success of his experiment that he did not
+hesitate to inform the boys that Pete was "dead sure" to return. He
+would stake his reputation upon it.
+
+Pete was in a hard position. If he loved anything in this world, it was
+whisky. If there was anything he feared, it was Bill's fist. The two
+were sure to go together. The money jingling in his pocket suggested
+unlimited pleasures, but over every one hung Bill's hard fist. He ran
+several miles through the forest, till, turning a corner of the road, he
+came upon a little clearing, in which stood a small log house. Pete knew
+the place well. Here lived Jeff Hunt with his wife, a French woman, and
+their troop of children.
+
+Jeff was a person of little importance by the side of his wife, though,
+like all "lords of creation," he considered himself the legal and proper
+head of the family, as well as one of the mainstays of society. His part
+of the family government consisted, for the most part, in keeping the
+house supplied with wood and water, and in smoking his comfortable pipe
+in the corner, while his wife bent over her tub.
+
+Mrs. Hunt was the only woman near the camp, and so all the laundry work
+fell to her. Laundry work in the pine woods implies mending and darning,
+as well as washing and ironing, and the poor little woman had her hands
+full of work surely. It was rub, rub, rub, day after day, over the
+steaming tub, with the children running about like little wolves, and
+Jeff kindly giving his advice from his comfortable corner. And even
+after the children were in bed at night, she must sit up and mend the
+clean clothes.
+
+What a pack of children there were! How rough and strong they seemed,
+running about all day, all but poor little Marie, the oldest. She had
+never been strong, and now at last she was dying of consumption. She
+could not sit up at all, but lay all day on the little bed in the
+corner, watching her mother with sad, beautiful eyes.
+
+The brave little Frenchwoman's heart almost failed her at times, as she
+saw how day by day the little form grew thinner, the eyes more
+beautiful, the cheeks more flushed. She knew the signs too well, but
+there was nothing she could do.
+
+Pete was a regular visitor at Jeff's and always a welcome one. His work
+was to carry the washing to and from camp. He came nearer to feeling
+like a man at Jeff's house than at any other place he knew of. Everyone
+but Mrs. Hunt and little Marie called him only "Injun," but they always
+said "Mr. Shivershee." The "Meester Shivershee" of the little
+Frenchwoman was the nearest claim to respectability that Pete felt able
+to make. One night while carrying home the clothes, he dropped them in
+the mud. He never minded the whipping Bill Gammon gave him half as much
+as he did poor Mrs. Hunt's tears, to think how her work had gone for
+nothing.
+
+As Pete came trotting down the road, Jeff stood in front of his house
+chopping stove-wood from a great log. A lantern, hung on a stump,
+provided light for his purpose. Pete stopped from sheer force of habit
+in front of the house, and Jeff, glad of any chance to interrupt his
+work, paused to talk with him.
+
+"Walk in, Injun," said Jeff, hospitably. "Yer clo'es ain't quite ready,
+but the woman will hev 'em all up soon--walk in."
+
+It suddenly came over Pete that this was his night for taking the
+clothes home, but his present errand was of far more importance than
+mere laundry work.
+
+"Me no stop. I goin' ter town. Great work. Large bizness." By which
+vague hints he meant no doubt to impress Jeff with a sense of the
+dignity of his mission, and yet cunningly to keep its object concealed.
+
+"Goin' to town, be ye? Great doin's ter camp ter-morrer, I s'pose. I'll
+be round ef I kin git away, but walk in, Injun, an' git yer supper, an'
+see the wimmin," and Jeff opened the door for Pete to pass in.
+
+The thought of supper was too much for Pete and he slunk in after Jeff
+and stood in the corner by the door. The room was hardly an inviting
+one, and yet if Pete had been a white man some thoughts of "home, sweet
+home," must have passed through his mind. But he was only a despised
+"Injun."
+
+A rough board table was laid for supper at one side of the room. In the
+corner little Marie lay with the firelight falling over her poor thin
+face. Pete must have felt, as he looked at her, like some hopeless
+convict gazing through his prison bars upon some fair saint passing
+before him. She seemed to be in another world than his; there seemed
+between them a gulf that could not be bridged. Three of the larger
+children were sobbing in the corner, while the rest formed a sorrowful
+group about an old box in which were two or three simple plants frozen
+and yellow. Mrs. Hunt was frying pork over the hot stove. As she looked
+up at Pete, he noticed that she had been crying.
+
+Jeff was the very prince of hosts. He made haste to make Pete feel at
+home.
+
+"Set by, Injun. So the boys is goin' ter kinder cellybrate ter-morrer,
+be they?"
+
+But Pete felt that his mission must not be disclosed. "What matter is
+with kids?" he asked, to change the subject.
+
+"Oh, they're jest a-yellin' about them flowers," explained Jeff. "Ye see
+they hev been a-trainin' some posies indoors against ter-morrer, ye
+know. Ter-morrer's Christmas, ye see, an' them kids they hed an idee
+they'd hev some flowers fer ter dekerate thet corner where the little
+gal is. Little gals, when they ain't well, like sech things, ye know."
+
+Pete nodded. He was not aware of this love of diminutive females, but it
+would not show very good breeding to appear ignorant.
+
+"Wall, ye see," continued Jeff, "they kep the flowers away from the
+little gal, meanin' ter s'prise her like. But jest this afternoon they
+gut ketched by the frost, an' now there they be stiffer'n stakes. It is
+kinder bad, ain't it--'specially ez it's Christmas, too?"
+
+"What Crissmus?" put in Pete.
+
+"Oh, Christmas? Wall, it's a sorter _day_ like. It's somethin' like
+other days, an' yet it ain't. But then, Injun, I don't s'pose ye would
+understand ef I wuz ter tell ye." And Jeff concealed his own ignorance,
+as many wiser and better men have done, by assuming a tone too lofty for
+his audience.
+
+But Mrs. Hunt could explain, even if Jeff could not. She paused on the
+way to the stove with a dish of pork in her hand.
+
+"It eez the day of the good Lord, Meester Shivershee. It eez the day
+when the good Lord He was born, and when all people should be glad." But
+the little woman belied her own creed as she thought of little Marie and
+the dead flowers.
+
+I hardly think Pete gained a very clear idea of the day, even from Mrs.
+Hunt's explanation. It was, I fear, all Greek to him.
+
+"What flowers fer?" he asked, as, in response to Jeff's polite
+invitation, he "sat by" and began supper.
+
+"Wall, it's a sorter idee of the wimmin," explained Jeff. "Looks kinder
+pooty to see flowers round; ye see, kinder slicks up a room like. All
+these things hez ter come inter keepin' house, ye see, Injun." With
+which broad explanation Jeff helped himself to a piece of pork.
+
+But Mrs. Hunt was bound to explain too. Her explanation was certainly
+more poetic.
+
+"It eez the way we show our love for the good Lord, Meester Shivershee.
+What is more beautiful than the flowers? We take the flowers, and with
+much love we place them upon the walls, and we make others happy with
+them, and the good Lord, who loves us all, He is pleased,"--but here,
+seeing the sobbing children and the frozen plants, she could not help
+wiping her eyes upon her apron.
+
+The little sufferer on the bed saw this action. Her voice was almost
+gone. "Never mind, mamma," she whispered; but the beautiful eyes were
+filled with tears, for she knew that mamma _would_ mind--that she could
+not help it.
+
+Pete listened to all this attentively. "Injun" that he was, of course he
+could not understand it all, and yet he could hardly help seeing
+something of the sorrow that the loss of the flowers had brought upon
+the family. He finished his supper, and then slunk out at the door
+again. Jeff followed him out.
+
+"Little gal ever git well?" asked Pete.
+
+"No; I don't s'pose she will," answered Jeff. "There ain't no hopes held
+out fer her. Makes it kinder bad, ye see. Nice, clever little gal as
+ever lived, too. Stop in an' git yer clo'es when ye come back, will ye?"
+
+"All right," muttered Pete, as he trotted away toward the town.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I wonder what Pete was thinking about as he ran through the forest. An
+"Injun's" thoughts on any ordinary subject cannot be very deep, yet when
+one comes from such a scene as Pete had just witnessed, and when such
+sad eyes as Marie's haunt one all along a lonely road, even an
+"Injun's" thoughts must be worth noticing. Let us imagine what Pete's
+thoughts were as he shuffled mile after mile through the snow. The scene
+he had just left rose before his dulled "Injun" mind. How kind Mrs. Hunt
+had always been to him! She was the only one that called him "Mister."
+How queer it was that the children should cry because the flowers were
+killed! How little Marie had looked at him! Somehow Pete could not drive
+those sad eyes away. They seemed to be looking at him from every stump,
+from every tree. They were filled with tears now--could it be because
+the flowers were frozen?
+
+It is no wonder that when at last the few lingering village lights came
+into view, Pete was wondering how he could help matters out.
+
+It was quite late, and most of the shops were closed. Only here and
+there some late worker showed a light. The bar-rooms were open full
+blast, and as Pete glided down the sawdust street it needed all the
+remembrance of Bill's fist to keep him from parting with a portion of
+the jingling money for an equal amount of good cheer. But the fist had
+the best of it, and he went straight on to the last bar-room. Surely
+Bill was right. Nothing but a miracle could stop him.
+
+But the miracle was performed, and when Pete least expected it.
+
+Pete knew better than to go into the front door of the bar-room. He knew
+how well he and all his race are protected by the government. It had
+been decided that no one should be allowed to sell liquor to an
+"Injun"--at least at the regular bar. If an "Injun," however, could so
+far lose sight of his personal dignity as to come sneaking in at the
+back door, and pay an extra price for his liquor, whose business was it?
+
+Pete knew the way of bar-tenders. He had been in the business before. He
+did not go in at the front door where the higher-bred white men were
+made welcome, but slunk down an alley by the side of the building,
+meaning to go in the back way.
+
+There was no light in the store next the bar-room. It was a milliner's
+store and had been closed for some hours. But in the back room two women
+were working away anxious to finish a hat, evidently intended for some
+village belle's Christmas. Pete stopped in the dark alley for a moment
+to watch them.
+
+A man sat asleep in a chair by the stove, but the women worked on with
+tireless fingers. The hat was growing more and more brilliant under
+their quick touches. By their side stood a basket of artificial flowers
+and bright ribbons. It seemed to Pete that he had never before seen
+anything so beautiful. Here were flowers--why could he not get some for
+the little sick girl?
+
+It was a severe struggle for the poor "Injun," out there in the dark
+alley. The thought of the thrashing he would receive on the one hand,
+and the sad eyes of Marie on the other. What could he do? But even an
+"Injun" can remember a kindness. It may have been a miracle, or it may
+have been just the out-cropping of the desire to repay a kindness which
+even an "Injun" is said to possess. At any rate the eyes conquered and
+Pete braved the fist of Bill. For fear that he should lose courage, he
+pushed against the door of the room, and entered without ceremony.
+
+There was a great commotion, I can assure you. The idea of an "Injun"
+pushing his way into the back parlor of a milliner's shop was too much
+of a revolutionary proceeding to pass unnoticed. The women dropped their
+work with a little scream, while the man started from his chair with
+most violent intent upon poor Pete.
+
+"What be ye after here, Injun?" he growled. "Hump yerself outer
+here--git a-goin'!"
+
+But Pete pulled out his money, at the sight of which the standing army
+of the milliner's store paused. Money has smoothed over many an outrage.
+It might perhaps excuse even such an action on the part of an "Injun."
+
+"I want flowers," Pete said, pointing to the basket. "Give me flowers--I
+pay."
+
+"Oh, ye wanter buy sum of them artyficial flowers, do ye? This is a
+pooty time o' night ter come flower huntin,' ain't it? Jest pick out yer
+flowers, an' then climb out!"--and he held the basket out at arm's
+length for Pete to select.
+
+Pete took a great red rose, and a white flower. There was not very much
+of a stock to select from, but Pete, with "Injun" instinct, selected the
+largest and gaudiest.
+
+"Them is wurth about ten shillins," figured up the merchant, taking the
+money from Pete's hand.
+
+Pete carefully placed the flowers in the pocket of his ragged coat, and
+started for the door. The milliner's man, rendered affable by the most
+surprising bargain he had just made, naturally wished to retain the
+patronage of such a model customer.
+
+"Want anything in our line, Injun, jest call round an' we'll please ye.
+Only come a little afore bed-time when ye come again." But Pete slunk
+out at the door and did not hear him.
+
+Pete's money was nearly gone, but he had a scheme in his head. He slunk
+in at the back door of the bar-room, and obtained his jug, and what
+whiskey he could buy with the rest of his money. Then up the street he
+ran again, out of town, stopping only once at the pump to fill the jug
+to the top with water. Resolutely fastening in the stopper, and not even
+raising the jug to his mouth, he started for camp at his long, swinging
+trot, with the jug in his hand. Mile after mile was passed over, yet
+Pete did not stop till Jeff Hunt's cabin came in sight. Hiding his jug
+behind a log, he crept up to the window and looked in.
+
+The light was burning on the table, while Mrs. Hunt sat nodding over her
+work. She had been mending the clothes so that Pete could take them back
+with him. Tired out, she had fallen asleep. The box of frozen plants
+still stood by the table. Pete grinned as he saw them, thinking of the
+great flowers in his pocket. Marie was asleep. Over her head were hung
+long clusters of moss, with masses of ground pine and red berries.
+
+Pete stole to the door and went in. Mrs. Hunt woke with a start, but at
+sight of Pete smiled in her weary way. Pete made up his bundle of
+clothes, and then pulled out the great red rose and the white flower. He
+laid them on the table with--"Flowers fer little gal. Sick. Make her
+think Crissmus. Good flowers. All color. No fade. No smell. No wear
+out." Then, catching up his bundle, he slunk away without waiting for
+Mrs. Hunt's thanks.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Bill Gammon woke in the morning, he found the jug at the foot of
+his bunk. But Pete was nowhere to be seen. He had left the jug and fled.
+
+The Christmas celebration at Carter's was a very tame affair. Many were
+the curses showered upon Pete, and had that worthy been present, I doubt
+if even the thought of the famous miracle would have sustained him in
+the beating he would have received. But if Pete's conduct produced such
+a sad effect upon the festivities at Carter's, the joy it caused at Jeff
+Hunt's cabin made matters even. The glad Christmas sun, glad with the
+promise of the "old, old story," came dancing and sparkling over the
+trees, and looked down in wonderful tenderness upon the humble cabin.
+The first bright beams fell upon the bed where little Marie was lying.
+They showed her the rose and the white flower nestling in the
+evergreens. The children came and stood in wonder before the rude
+flowers. How wonderful they were! Where could they have come from?
+
+The face of the little girl was more patient than before. The eyes
+seemed more tender, and yet not so sad. Perhaps the glad sun, the same
+good sun that had looked upon that far-away tomb from which the stone
+had rolled, whispered to her, as it played about her face, how soon the
+stone would roll from her life; how soon she would forget all her care
+and trouble, and enter the land of sunshine and flowers. It may be that
+the good old Christmas sun even hunted out poor despised Pete, and told
+him something of its happiness. I am sure he deserved it. Let us hope so
+at any rate.
+
+
+
+
+MY CHRISTMAS DINNER.
+
+
+It was on the twentieth of December last that I received an invitation
+from my friend, Mr. Phiggins, to dine with him in Mark Lane, on
+Christmas Day. I had several reasons for declining this proposition. The
+first was that Mr. P. makes it a rule, at all these festivals, to empty
+the entire contents of his counting-house into his little dining parlor;
+and you consequently sit down to dinner with six white-waistcoated
+clerks, let loose upon a turkey. The second was that I am not
+sufficiently well read in cotton and sugar, to enter with any spirit
+into the subject of conversation. And the third was, and is, that I
+never drink Cape wine. But by far the most prevailing reason remains to
+be told. I had been anticipating for some days, and was hourly in the
+hope of receiving, an invitation to spend my Christmas Day in a most
+irresistible quarter. I was expecting, indeed, the felicity of eating
+plum-pudding with an angel; and, on the strength of my imaginary
+engagement, I returned a polite note to Mr. P., reducing him to the
+necessity of advertising for another candidate for Cape and turkey.
+
+The twenty-first came. Another invitation--to dine with a regiment of
+roast-beef eaters, at Clapham. I declined this also, for the above
+reason, and for one other, _viz._, that, on dining there ten Christmas
+Days ago, it was discovered, on sitting down, that one little
+accompaniment of the roast beef had been entirely overlooked. Would it
+be believed!--but I will not stay to mystify--I merely mention the fact.
+They had forgotten the horseradish.
+
+The next day arrived, and with it a neat epistle, sealed with
+violet-colored wax, from Upper Brook street. "Dine with the ladies--at
+home on Christmas Day." Very tempting, it is true; but not exactly the
+letter I was longing for. I began, however, to debate within myself upon
+the policy of securing this bird in hand, instead of waiting for the two
+that were still hopping about the bush, when the consultation was
+suddenly brought to a close, by a prophetic view of the portfolio of
+drawings fresh from boarding-school--moths and roses on embossed
+paper;--to say nothing of the album, in which I stood engaged to write
+an elegy on a Java sparrow, that had been the favorite in the family for
+three days. I rung for gilt-edged, pleaded a world of polite regret, and
+again declined.
+
+The twenty-third dawned; time was getting on rather rapidly; but no card
+came. I began to despair of any more invitations, and to repent of my
+refusals. Breakfast was hardly over, however, when the servant brought
+up--not a letter--but an aunt and a brace of cousins from Bayswater.
+They would listen to no excuse; consanguinity required me, and Christmas
+was not my own. Now my cousins kept no albums; they are really as pretty
+as cousins can be; and when violent hands, with white kid gloves, are
+laid on one, it is sometimes difficult to effect an escape with becoming
+elegance. I could not, however, give up my darling hope of a pleasanter
+prospect. They fought with me in fifty engagements--that I pretended to
+have made. I showed them the Court Guide, with ten names
+obliterated--being those of persons who had _not_ asked me to mince-meat
+and mistletoe; and I ultimately gained my cause by quartering the
+remains of an infectious fever on the sensitive fears of my aunt, and by
+dividing a rheumatism and a sprained ankle between my sympathetic
+cousins.
+
+As soon as they were gone, I walked out, sauntering involuntarily in
+the direction of the only house in which I felt I could spend a "happy"
+Christmas. As I approached, a porter brought a large hamper to the door.
+"A present from the country," thought I, "yes, they _do_ dine at home;
+they must ask me; they know that I am in town." Immediately afterward a
+servant issued with a letter; he took the nearest way to my lodgings,
+and I hurried back by another street to receive the so-much-wished-for
+invitation. I was in a state of delirious delight.
+
+I arrived--but there was no letter. I sat down to wait, in a spirit of
+calmer enjoyment than I had experienced for some days; and in less than
+half an hour a note was brought to me. At length, the desired despatch
+had come; it seemed written on the leaf of a lily with a pen dipped in
+dew. I opened it--and had nearly fainted with disappointment. It was
+from a stock-broker, who begins an anecdote of Mr. Rothschild before
+dinner, and finishes it with the fourth bottle--and who makes his eight
+children stay up to supper and snap-dragon. In macadamizing a stray
+stone in one of his periodical puddings, I once lost a tooth, and with
+it an heiress of some reputation. I wrote a most irritable apology, and
+despatched my warmest regards in a whirlwind.
+
+December the twenty-fourth--I began to count the hours, and uttered many
+poetical things about the wings of Time. Alack! no letter came;--yes, I
+received a note from a distinguished dramatist, requesting the honor,
+etc. But I was too cunning for this, and practiced wisdom for once. I
+happened to reflect that his pantomime was to make its appearance on the
+night after, and that his object was to perpetrate the whole programme
+upon me. Regret that I could not have the pleasure of meeting Mr. Paulo,
+and the rest of the _literati_ to be then and there assembled, was of
+course immediately expressed.
+
+My mind became restless and agitated. I felt, amidst all these
+invitations, cruelly neglected. They served, indeed, but to increase my
+uneasiness, as they opened prospects of happiness in which I could take
+no share. They discovered a most tempting dessert, composed of forbidden
+fruit. I took down "Childe Harold," and read myself into a sublime
+contempt of mankind. I began to perceive that merriment is only malice
+in disguise, and that the chief cardinal virtue is misanthropy.
+
+I sat "nursing my wrath," till it scorched me; when the arrival of
+another epistle suddenly charmed me from this state of delicious
+melancholy and delightful endurance of wrong. I sickened as I surveyed,
+and trembled as I opened it. It was dated----, but no matter; it was not
+_the_ letter. In such a frenzy as mine, raging to behold the object of
+my admiration condescend, not to _eat_ a custard, but to render it
+invisible--to be invited perhaps to a tart fabricated by her own
+ethereal fingers; with such possibilities before me, how could I think
+of joining a "friendly party,"--where I should inevitably sit next to a
+deaf lady, who had been, when a little girl, patted on the head by
+Wilkes, or my Lord North, she could not recollect which--had taken tea
+with the author of "Junius," but had forgotten his name--and who once
+asked me "whether Mr. Munden's monument was in Westminster Abbey or St.
+Paul's?"--I seized a pen, and presented my compliments. I hesitated--for
+the peril of precariousness of my situation flashed on my mind; but hope
+had still left me a straw to catch at, and I at length succeeded in
+resisting this late and terrible temptation.
+
+After the first burst of excitement, I sunk into still deeper
+despondency. My spirit became a prey to anxiety and remorse. I could not
+eat; dinner was removed with unlifted covers. I went out. The world
+seemed to have acquired a new face; nothing was to be seen but raisins
+and rounds of beef. I wandered about like Lear--I had given up all! I
+felt myself grated against the world like a nutmeg. It grew dark--I
+sustained a still gloomier shock. Every chance seemed to have expired,
+and everybody seemed to have a delightful engagement for the next day. I
+alone was disengaged--I felt like the Last Man! To-morrow appeared to
+have already commenced its career; mankind had anticipated the future;
+"and coming mince pies cast their shadows before."
+
+In this state of desolation and dismay, I called--I could not help
+it--at the house to which I had so fondly anticipated an invitation, and
+a welcome. My protest must here however be recorded, that though I
+called in the hope of being asked, it was my fixed determination not to
+avail myself of so protracted a piece of politeness. No: my triumph
+would have been to have annihilated them with an engagement made in
+September, payable three months after date. With these feelings, I gave
+an agitated knock--they were stoning the plums, and did not immediately
+attend. I rung--how unlike a dinner bell it sounded! A girl at length
+made her appearance, and, with a mouthful of citron, informed me that
+the family had gone to spend their Christmas Eve in Portland Place. I
+rushed down the steps, I hardly knew whither. My first impulse was to go
+to some wharf and inquire what vessels were starting for America. But it
+was a cold night--I went home and threw myself on my miserable couch. In
+other words, I went to bed.
+
+I dozed and dreamed away the hours till day-break. Sometimes I fancied
+myself seated in a roaring circle, roasting chestnuts at a blazing log:
+at others, that I had fallen into the Serpentine while skating, and that
+the Humane Society were piling upon me a Pelion, or rather a Vesuvius
+of blankets. I awoke a little refreshed. Alas! it was the twenty-fifth
+of the month--It was Christmas Day! Let the reader, if he possess the
+imagination of Milton, conceive my sensations.
+
+I swallowed an atom of dry toast--nothing could calm the fever of my
+soul. I stirred the fire and read Zimmermann alternately. Even
+reason--the last remedy one has recourse to in such cases--came at
+length to my relief: I argued myself into a philosophic fit. But,
+unluckily, just as the Lethean tide within me was at its height, my
+landlady broke in upon my lethargy, and chased away by a single word all
+the little sprites and pleasures that were acting as my physicians, and
+prescribing balm for my wounds. She paid me the usual compliment, and
+then--"Do you dine at home to-day, sir?" abruptly inquired she. Here was
+a question. No Spanish inquisitor ever inflicted such complete dismay in
+so short a sentence. Had she given me a Sphynx to expound, a Gordian
+tangle to untwist; had she set me a lesson in algebra, or asked me the
+way to Brobdingnag; had she desired me to show her the North Pole, or
+the meaning of a melodrama:--any or all of these I might have
+accomplished. But to request me to define my dinner--to inquire into its
+latitude--to compel me to fathom that sea of appetite which I now felt
+rushing through my frame--to ask me to dive into futurity, and become
+the prophet of pies and preserves!--My heart died within me at the
+impossibility of a reply.
+
+She had repeated the question before I could collect my senses around
+me. Then, for the first time it occurred to me that, in the event of my
+having no engagement abroad, my landlady meant to invite me! "There will
+at least be the two daughters," I whispered to myself; "and after all,
+Lucy Matthews is a charming girl, and touches the harp divinely. She has
+a very small, pretty hand, I recollect; only her fingers are so
+punctured by the needle--and I rather think she bites her nails. No, I
+will not even now give up my hope. It was yesterday but a straw--to-day
+it is but the thistledown; but I will cling to it to the last moment.
+There are still four hours left; they will not dine till six. One
+desperate struggle, and the peril is past; let me not be seduced by this
+last golden apple, and I may yet win my race." The struggle was made--"I
+should not dine at home." This was the only phrase left me, for I could
+not say that "I should dine out." Alas! that an event should be at the
+same time so doubtful and so desirable. I only begged that if any letter
+arrived, it might be brought to me immediately.
+
+The last plank, the last splinter, had now given way beneath me. I was
+floating about with no hope but the chance of something almost
+impossible. They had "left me alone," not with my glory, but with an
+appetite that resembled an avalanche seeking whom it might devour. I had
+passed one dinnerless day, and half of another; yet the promised land
+was as far from sight as ever. I recounted the chances I had missed. The
+dinners I might have enjoyed, passed in a dioramic view before my eyes.
+Mr. Phiggins and his six clerks--the Clapham beef-eaters--the charms of
+Upper Brook street--my pretty cousins, and the pantomime writer--the
+stock broker, whose stories one forgets, and the elderly lady who
+forgets her stories--they all marched by me, a procession of
+apparitions. Even my landlady's invitation, though unborn, was not
+forgotten in summing up my sacrifices. And for what?
+
+Four o'clock. Hope was perfectly ridiculous. I had been walking upon the
+hair-bridge over a gulf, and could not get into Elysium after all. I had
+been catching moonbeams, and running after notes of music. Despair was
+my only convenient refuge; no chance remained, unless something should
+drop from the clouds. In this last particular I was not disappointed;
+for, on looking up, I perceived a heavy shower of snow, yet I was
+obliged to venture forth; for being supposed to dine out, I could not of
+course remain at home. Where to go I knew not: I was like my first
+father--"the world was all before me." I flung my coat round me, and
+hurried forth with the feelings of a bandit longing for a stiletto. At
+the foot of the stairs, I staggered against two or three smiling
+rascals, priding themselves upon their punctuality. They had just
+arrived--to make the tour of Turkey. How I hated them!--As I rushed by
+the parlor, a single glance disclosed to me a blazing fire, with Lucy
+and several lovely creatures in a semi-circle. Fancy, too, gave me a
+glimpse of a sprig of mistletoe--I vanished from the house, like a
+spectre at day-break.
+
+How long I wandered about is doubtful. At last I happened to look
+through a kitchen window, with an area in front, and saw a villain with
+a fork in his hand, throwing himself back in his chair choked with
+ecstasy. Another was feasting with a graver air; he seemed to be
+swallowing a bit of Paradise, and criticising its flavor. This was too
+much for mortality--my appetite fastened upon me like an alligator. I
+darted from the spot; and only a few yards further discerned a house
+with rather an elegant exterior, and with some ham in the window that
+looked perfectly sublime. There was no time for consideration--to
+hesitate was to perish. I entered; it was indeed "a banquet-hall
+deserted." The very waiters had gone home to their friends. There,
+however, I found a fire; and there--to sum up all my folly and felicity
+in a single word--I DINED.
+
+
+
+
+THE POOR TRAVELER.
+
+BY CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+     [Dickens' introduction to this story describes his going to
+     Rochester on Christmas Eve and seeing there a quaint old charity,
+     which provided for the entertainment of "six poor travelers who not
+     being rogues or proctors might receive gratis for one night
+     lodging, entertainment and fourpence each." In honor of the day a
+     special meal is provided for the travelers then in the charity.
+     After the meal, when the travelers have gathered around the fire,
+     their entertainer gives them the reason for the unwonted feast as
+     "Christmas Eve, my friends, when the Shepherds, who were poor
+     travelers, too, in their way, heard the Angels sing, 'On earth,
+     peace: Good will toward men.'" Then each traveler was invited to
+     relate a story, and among those told was the following.]
+
+
+In the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine, a relative of
+mine came limping down, on foot, to the town of Chatham. He was a poor
+traveler, with not a farthing in his pocket.
+
+My relative came down to Chatham to enlist in a cavalry regiment, if a
+cavalry regiment would have him; if not, to take King George's shilling
+from any corporal or sergeant who would put a bunch of ribbons in his
+hat. His object was to get shot; but he thought he might as well ride to
+death as be at the trouble of walking.
+
+My relative's Christian name was Richard, but he was better known as
+Dick. He dropped his own surname on the road down, and took up that of
+Doubledick. He was passed as Richard Doubledick; age, twenty-two;
+height, five foot ten; native place, Exmouth, which he had never been
+near in his life. There was no cavalry in Chatham when he limped over
+the bridge with half a shoe to his dusty feet, so he enlisted into a
+regiment of the line, and was glad to get drunk and forget all about it.
+
+You are to know that this relative of mine had gone wrong, and run wild.
+His heart was in the right place, but it was sealed up. He had been
+betrothed to a good and beautiful girl, whom he had loved better than
+she--or perhaps even he--believed; but in an evil hour he had given her
+cause to say to him solemnly, "Richard, I will never marry any other
+man. I will live single for your sake, but Mary Marshall's lips"--her
+name was Mary Marshall--"never address another word to you on earth. Go,
+Richard! Heaven forgive you!" This finished him. This brought him down
+to Chatham. This made him Private Richard Doubledick, with a
+determination to be shot.
+
+There was not a more dissipated and reckless soldier in Chatham
+barracks, in the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine, than
+Private Richard Doubledick. He associated with the dregs of every
+regiment; he was as seldom sober as he could be, and was constantly
+under punishment. It became clear to the whole barracks that Private
+Richard Doubledick would very soon be flogged.
+
+Now the Captain of Richard Doubledick's company was a young gentleman
+not above five years his senior, whose eyes had an expression in them
+which affected Private Richard Doubledick in a very remarkable way. They
+were bright, handsome, dark eyes,--what are called laughing eyes
+generally, and, when serious, rather steady than severe,--but they were
+the only eyes now left in his narrowed world that Private Richard
+Doubledick could not stand. Unabashed by evil report and punishment,
+defiant of everything else and everybody else, he had but to know that
+those eyes looked at him for a moment, and he felt ashamed. He could
+not so much as salute Captain Taunton in the street like any other
+officer. He was reproached and confused,--troubled by the mere
+possibility of the Captain's looking at him. In his worst moments, he
+would rather turn back, and go any distance out of his way, than
+encounter those two handsome, dark, bright eyes.
+
+One day, when Private Richard Doubledick came out of the Black hole,
+where he had been passing the last eight and forty hours, and in which
+retreat he spent a good deal of his time, he was ordered to betake
+himself to Captain Taunton's quarters. In the stale and squalid state of
+a man just out of the Black hole, he had less fancy than ever for being
+seen by the Captain; but he was not so mad yet as to disobey orders, and
+consequently went up to the terrace overlooking the parade-ground, where
+the officers' quarters were; twisting and breaking in his hands, as he
+went along, a bit of the straw that had formed the decorative furniture
+of the Black hole.
+
+"Come in!" cried the Captain, when he knocked with his knuckles at the
+door. Private Richard Doubledick pulled off his cap, took a stride
+forward, and felt very conscious that he stood in the light of the dark,
+bright eyes.
+
+There was a slight pause. Private Richard Doubledick had put the straw
+in his mouth, and was gradually doubling it up into his windpipe and
+choking himself.
+
+"Doubledick," said the Captain, "do you know where you are going to?"
+
+"To the devil, sir," faltered Doubledick.
+
+"Yes," returned the Captain. "And very fast."
+
+Private Richard Doubledick turned the straw of the Black hole in his
+mouth, and made a miserable salute of acquiescence.
+
+"Doubledick," said the Captain, "since I entered his Majesty's service,
+a boy of seventeen, I have been pained to see many men of promise going
+that road; but I have never been so pained to see a man determined to
+make the shameful journey as I have been, ever since you joined the
+regiment, to see you."
+
+Private Richard Doubledick began to find a film stealing over the floor
+at which he looked; also to find the legs of the Captain's
+breakfast-table turning crooked, as if he saw them through water.
+
+"I am only a common soldier, sir," said he. "It signifies very little
+what such a poor brute comes to."
+
+"You are a man," returned the Captain, with grave indignation, "of
+education and superior advantages; and if you say that, meaning what you
+say, you have sunk lower than I had believed. How low that must be, I
+leave you to consider, knowing what I know of your disgrace, and seeing
+what I see."
+
+"I hope to get shot soon, sir," said Private Richard Doubledick; "and
+then the regiment and the world together will be rid of me."
+
+The legs of the table were becoming very crooked. Doubledick, looking up
+to steady his vision, met the eyes that had so strong an influence over
+him. He put his hand before his own eyes, and the breast of his
+disgrace-jacket swelled as if it would fly asunder.
+
+"I would rather," said the young Captain, "see this in you, Doubledick,
+than I would see five thousand guineas counted out upon this table for a
+gift to my good mother. Have you a mother?"
+
+"I am thankful to say she is dead, sir."
+
+"If your praises," returned the Captain, "were sounded from mouth to
+mouth through the whole regiment, through the whole army, through the
+whole country, you would wish she had lived to say, with pride and joy,
+'He is my son!'"
+
+"Spare me, sir," said Doubledick. "She would never have heard any good
+of me. She would never have had any pride and joy in owning herself my
+mother. Love and compassion she might have had, and would have always
+had, I know; but not--Spare me, sir! I am a broken wretch, quite at your
+mercy!" And he turned his face to the wall, and stretched out his
+imploring hand.
+
+"My friend--" began the Captain.
+
+"God bless you, sir!" sobbed Private Richard Doubledick.
+
+I have heard from Private Richard Doubledick's own lips, that he dropped
+down upon his knee, kissed that officer's hand, arose, and went out of
+the light of the dark, bright eyes, an altered man.
+
+In that year, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine, the French
+were in Egypt, in Italy, in Germany, where not? Napoleon Bonaparte had
+likewise begun to stir against England in India, and most men could read
+the signs of the great troubles that were coming on. In the very next
+year, when we formed an alliance with Austria against him. Captain
+Taunton's regiment was on service in India. And there was not a finer
+non-commissioned officer in it,--no, nor in the whole line,--than
+Corporal Richard Doubledick.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In eighteen hundred and one, the Indian army were on the coast of Egypt.
+Next year was the year of the proclamation of the short peace, and they
+were recalled. It had then become well known to thousands of men, that
+wherever Captain Taunton, with the dark, bright eyes, led, there, close
+to him, ever at his side, firm as a rock, true as the sun, and brave as
+Mars, would be certain to be found, while life beat in their hearts,
+that famous soldier, _Sergeant_ Richard Doubledick.
+
+Eighteen hundred and five, besides being the great year of Trafalgar,
+was a year of hard fighting in India. That year saw such wonders done by
+a Sergeant-Major, who cut his way single-handed through a solid mass of
+men, recovered the colors of his regiment, which had been seized from
+the hand of a poor boy shot through the heart, and rescued his wounded
+Captain, who was down, and in a very jungle of horses' hoofs and
+sabres,--saw such wonders done, I say, by this brave Sergeant-Major,
+that he was specially made the bearer of the colors he had won; and
+_Ensign_ Richard Doubledick had risen from the ranks.
+
+Sorely cut up in every battle, but always reinforced by the bravest of
+men,--for the fame of following the old colors, shot through and
+through, which Ensign Richard Doubledick had saved, inspired all
+breasts,--this regiment fought its way through the Peninsular war, up to
+the investment of Badajos in eighteen hundred and twelve. Again and
+again it had been cheered through the British ranks until the tears had
+sprung into men's eyes at the mere hearing of the mighty British voice,
+so exultant in their valor; and there was not a drummer boy but knew the
+legend, that wherever the two friends, Major Taunton, with the dark,
+bright eyes, and Ensign Richard Doubledick, who was devoted to him, were
+seen to go, there the boldest spirits in the English army became wild to
+follow.
+
+One day, at Badajos,--not in the great storming, but in repelling a hot
+sally of the besieged upon our men at work in the trenches, who had
+given way,--the two officers found themselves hurrying forward, face to
+face, against a party of French infantry, who made a stand. There was an
+officer at their head, encouraging his men,--a courageous, handsome,
+gallant officer of five-and-thirty, whom Doubledick saw hurriedly,
+almost momentarily, but saw well. He particularly noticed this officer
+waving his sword, and rallying his men with an eager and excited cry,
+when they fired in obedience to his gesture, and Major Taunton dropped.
+
+It was over in ten minutes more, and Doubledick returned to the spot
+where he had laid the best friend man ever had, on a coat spread upon
+the wet clay. Major Taunton's uniform was opened at the breast, and on
+his shirt were three little spots of blood.
+
+"Dear Doubledick," said he, "I am dying."
+
+"For the love of Heaven, no!" exclaimed the other, kneeling down beside
+him, and passing his arm round his neck to raise his head. "Taunton! My
+preserver, my guardian angel, my witness! Dearest, truest, kindest of
+human beings! Taunton! For God's sake!"
+
+The bright, dark eyes--so very, very dark, now, in the pale face--smiled
+upon him; and the hand he had kissed thirteen years ago laid itself
+fondly on his breast.
+
+"Write to my mother. You will see home again. Tell her how we became
+friends. It will comfort her, as it comforts me."
+
+He spoke no more, but faintly signed for a moment toward his hair as it
+fluttered in the wind. The Ensign understood him. He smiled again when
+he saw that, and, gently turning his face over on the supporting arm as
+if for rest, died, with his hand upon the breast in which he had revived
+a soul.
+
+No dry eye looked on Ensign Richard Doubledick that melancholy day. He
+buried his friend on the field, and became a lone, bereaved man. Beyond
+his duty he appeared to have but two remaining cares in life,--one, to
+preserve the little packet of hair he was to give to Taunton's mother;
+the other, to encounter that French officer who had rallied the men
+under whose fire Taunton fell. A new legend now began to circulate
+among our troops; and it was, that when he and the French officer came
+face to face once more, there would be weeping in France.
+
+The war went on--and through it went the exact picture of the French
+officer on the one side, and the bodily reality upon the other--until
+the battle of Toulouse was fought. In the returns sent home appeared
+these words: "Severely wounded, but not dangerously, _Lieutenant_
+Richard Doubledick."
+
+At midsummer-time, in the year eighteen hundred and fourteen, Lieutenant
+Richard Doubledick, now a browned soldier, seven-and-thirty years of
+age, came home to England invalided. He brought the hair with him, near
+his heart. Many a French officer had he seen since that day; many a
+dreadful night, in searching with men and lanterns for his wounded, had
+he relieved French officers lying disabled; but the mental picture and
+the reality had never come together.
+
+Though he was weak and suffered pain, he lost not an hour in getting
+down to Frome in Somersetshire, where Taunton's mother lived. In the
+sweet, compassionate words that naturally present themselves to the mind
+to-night, "he was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow."
+
+It was a Sunday evening, and the lady sat at her quiet garden-window,
+reading the Bible; reading to herself, in a trembling voice, that very
+passage in it, as I have heard him tell. He heard the words: "Young man,
+I say unto thee, arise!"
+
+He had to pass the window; and the bright, dark eyes of his debased time
+seemed to look at him. Her heart told her who he was; she came to the
+door quickly, and fell upon his neck.
+
+"He saved me from ruin, made me a human creature, won me from infamy and
+shame. O God, forever bless him! As He will, He will!"
+
+"He will!" the lady answered. "I know he is in heaven!" Then she
+piteously cried, "But O my darling boy, my darling boy!"
+
+Never from the hour when Private Richard Doubledick enlisted at Chatham
+had the Private, Corporal, Sergeant, Sergeant-Major, Ensign, or
+Lieutenant breathed his right name, or the name of Mary Marshall, or a
+word of the story of his life, into any ear except his reclaimer's. That
+previous scene in his existence was closed. He had firmly resolved that
+his expiation should be to live unknown; to disturb no more the peace
+that had long grown over his old offences; to let it be revealed, when
+he was dead, that he had striven and suffered, and had never forgotten;
+and then, if they could forgive him and believe him--well, it would be
+time enough--time enough!
+
+But that night, remembering the words he had cherished for two years,
+"Tell her how we became friends. It will comfort her, as it comforts
+me," he related everything. It gradually seemed to him as if in his
+maturity he had recovered a mother; it gradually seemed to her as if in
+her bereavement she had found a son. During his stay in England, the
+quiet garden into which he had slowly and painfully crept, a stranger,
+became the boundary of his home; when he was able to rejoin his regiment
+in the spring, he left the garden, thinking was this indeed the first
+time he had ever turned his face toward the old colors with a woman's
+blessing!
+
+He followed them--so ragged, so scarred and pierced now, that they would
+scarcely hold together--to Quatre Bras and Ligny. He stood beside them,
+in an awful stillness of many men, shadowy through the mist and drizzle
+of a wet June forenoon, on the field of Waterloo. And down to that hour
+the picture in his mind of the French officer had never been compared
+with the reality.
+
+The famous regiment was in action early in the battle, and received its
+first check in many an eventful year, when he was seen to fall. But it
+swept on to avenge him, and left behind it no such creature in the world
+of consciousness as Lieutenant Richard Doubledick.
+
+Through pits of mire and pools of rain; along deep ditches, once roads,
+that were pounded and ploughed to pieces by artillery, heavy wagons,
+tramp of men and horses, and the struggle of every wheeled thing that
+could carry wounded soldiers; jolted among the dying and the dead, so
+disfigured by blood and mud as to be hardly recognizable for humanity;
+dead, as to any sentient life that was in it, and yet alive,--the form
+that had been Lieutenant Richard Doubledick, with whose praises England
+rang, was conveyed to Brussels. There it was tenderly laid down in
+hospital; and there it lay, week after week, through the long, bright
+summer days, until the harvest, spared by war, had ripened and was
+gathered in.
+
+Slowly laboring, at last, through a long, heavy dream of confused time
+and place, presenting faint glimpses of army surgeons whom he knew, and
+of faces that had been familiar to his youth,--dearest and kindest among
+them, Mary Marshall's, with a solicitude upon it more like reality than
+anything he could discern,--Lieutenant Richard Doubledick came back to
+life. To the beautiful life of a calm autumn evening sunset, to the
+peaceful life of a fresh, quiet room with a large window standing open;
+a balcony beyond, in which were moving leaves and sweet-smelling
+flowers; beyond, again, the clear sky, with the sun full in his sight,
+pouring its golden radiance on his bed.
+
+It was so tranquil and so lovely that he thought he had passed into
+another world. And he said in a faint voice, "Taunton, are you near me?"
+
+A face bent over him. Not his, his mother's.
+
+"I came to nurse you. We have nursed you many weeks. You were moved here
+long ago. Do you remember nothing?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+The lady kissed his cheek, and held his hand, soothing him.
+
+"Where is the regiment? What has happened? Let me call you mother. What
+has happened, mother?"
+
+"A great victory, dear. The war is over, and the regiment was the
+bravest in the field."
+
+His eyes kindled, his lips trembled, he sobbed, and the tears ran down
+his face. He was very weak, too weak to move his hand.
+
+From that time, he recovered. Slowly, for he had been desperately
+wounded in the head, and had been shot in the body, but making some
+little advance every day. When he had gained sufficient strength to
+converse as he lay in bed, he soon began to remark that Mrs. Taunton
+always brought him back to his own history. Then he recalled his
+preserver's dying words, and thought, "It comforts her."
+
+One day he awoke out of a sleep, refreshed, and asked her to read to
+him. But the curtain of the bed, softening the light, which she always
+drew back when he awoke, that she might see him from her table at the
+bedside where she sat at work, was held undrawn; and a woman's voice
+spoke, which was not hers.
+
+"Can you bear to see a stranger?" it said softly. "Will you like to see
+a stranger?"
+
+"Stranger!" he repeated. The voice awoke old memories, before the days
+of Private Richard Doubledick.
+
+"A stranger now, but not a stranger once," it said in tones that
+thrilled him. "Richard, dear Richard, lost through so many years, my
+name--"
+
+He cried out her name "Mary," and she held him in her arms, and his
+head lay on her bosom.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Well! They were happy. It was a long recovery, but they were happy
+through it all. The snow had melted on the ground, and the birds were
+singing in the leafless thickets of the early spring, when those three
+were first able to ride out together, and when people flocked about the
+open carriage to cheer and congratulate _Captain_ Richard Doubledick.
+
+But even then it became necessary for the Captain, instead of returning
+to England, to complete his recovery in the climate of Southern France.
+They found a spot upon the Rhône, within a ride of the old town of
+Avignon, and within view of its broken bridge, which was all they could
+desire; they lived there, together, six months; then returned to
+England. Mrs. Taunton, growing old after three years--though not so old
+as that her bright, dark eyes were dimmed--and remembering that her
+strength had been benefited by the change, resolved to go back for a
+year to those parts. So she went with a faithful servant, who had often
+carried her son in his arms; and she was to be rejoined and escorted
+home, at the year's end, by Captain Richard Doubledick.
+
+She wrote regularly to her children (as she called them now), and they
+to her. She went to the neighborhood of Aix; and there, in their own
+château near the farmer's house she rented, she grew into intimacy with
+a family belonging to that part of France. The intimacy began in her
+often meeting among the vineyards a pretty child, a girl with a most
+compassionate heart, who was never tired of listening to the solitary
+English lady's stories of her poor son and the cruel wars. The family
+were as gentle as the child, and at length she came to know them so well
+that she accepted their invitation to pass the last month of her
+residence abroad under their roof. All this intelligence she wrote home,
+piecemeal as it came about, from time to time; and at last enclosed a
+polite note, from the head of the château, soliciting, on the occasion
+of his approaching mission to that neighborhood, the honor of the
+company of that man so justly celebrated, Captain Richard Doubledick.
+
+Captain Doubledick, now a hardy, handsome man in the full vigor of life,
+broader across the chest and shoulders than he had ever been before,
+dispatched a courteous reply, and followed it in person. Traveling
+through all that extent of country after three years of peace, he
+blessed the better days on which the world had fallen. The corn was
+golden, not drenched in unnatural red; was bound in sheaves for food,
+not trodden underfoot by men in mortal fight. The smoke rose up from
+peaceful hearths, not blazing ruins. The carts were laden with the fair
+fruits of the earth, not with wounds and death. To him who had so often
+seen the terrible reverse, these things were beautiful indeed; and they
+brought him in a softened spirit to the old château near Aix upon a deep
+blue evening.
+
+It was a large château of the genuine old ghostly kind, with round
+towers, and extinguishers, and a high leaden roof, and more windows than
+Aladdin's palace. The entrance doors stood open, as doors often do in
+that country when the heat of the day is past; and the Captain saw no
+bell or knocker, and walked in.
+
+He walked into a lofty stone hall, refreshingly cool and gloomy after
+the glare of a Southern day's travel. Extending along the four sides of
+this hall was a gallery, leading to suites of rooms; and it was lighted
+from the top. Still no bell was to be seen.
+
+"Faith," said the Captain, halting, ashamed of the clanking of his
+boots, "this is a ghostly beginning!"
+
+He started back, and felt his face turn white. In the gallery, looking
+down at him, stood the French officer--the officer whose picture he had
+carried in his mind so long and so far. Compared with the original, at
+last--in every lineament how like it was!
+
+He moved and disappeared, and Captain Richard Doubledick heard his steps
+coming quickly down into the hall. He entered through an archway. There
+was a bright, sudden look upon his face, much such a look as it had worn
+in that fatal moment.
+
+Monsieur le Capitaine Richard Doubledick? Enchanted to receive him!
+
+"He has not remembered me, as I have remembered him; he did not take
+such a note of my face, that day, as I took of his," thought Captain
+Richard Doubledick. "How shall I tell him?"
+
+"You were at Waterloo," said the French officer.
+
+"I was," said Captain Richard Doubledick. "And at Badajos."
+
+Left alone with the sound of his own stern voice in his ears, he sat
+down to consider. What shall I do, and how shall I tell him? At that
+time, unhappily, many deplorable duels had been fought between English
+and French officers arising out of the recent war; and these duels, and
+how to avoid this officer's hospitality, were the uppermost thought in
+Captain Richard Doubledick's mind.
+
+"His mother, above all," the Captain thought. "How shall I tell _her_?"
+
+"Spirit of my departed friend," said he, "is it through thee these
+better thoughts are rising in my mind? Is it thou who hast shown me, all
+the way I have drawn to meet this man, the blessings of the altered
+time? Is it thou who hast sent thy stricken mother to me, to stay my
+angry hand? Is it from thee the whisper comes, that this man did his
+duty as thou didst,--and as I did, through thy guidance, which has
+wholly saved me here on earth,--and that he did no more?"
+
+He sat down, with his head buried in his hands, and, when he rose up,
+made the second strong resolution in his life,--that neither to the
+French officer, nor to the mother of his departed friend, nor to any
+soul, while either of the two was living, would he breathe what only he
+knew. And when he touched that French officer's glass with his own, that
+day at dinner, he secretly forgave him in the name of the Divine
+Forgiver of Injuries.
+
+
+
+
+THE LEGEND OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE.
+
+
+Most children have seen a Christmas tree, and many know that the pretty
+and pleasant custom of hanging gifts on its boughs comes from Germany;
+but perhaps few have heard or read the story that is told to little
+German children, respecting the origin of this custom. The story is
+called "The Little Stranger," and runs thus:
+
+In a small cottage on the borders of a forest lived a poor laborer, who
+gained a scanty living by cutting wood. He had a wife and two children
+who helped him in his work. The boy's name was Valentine, and the girl
+was called Mary. They were obedient, good children, and a great comfort
+to their parents. One winter evening, this happy little family were
+sitting quietly round the hearth, the snow and the wind raging outside,
+while they ate their supper of dry bread, when a gentle tap was heard on
+the window, and a childish voice cried from without: "Oh, let me in,
+pray! I am a poor little child, with nothing to eat, and no home to go
+to, and I shall die of cold and hunger unless you let me in."
+
+Valentine and Mary jumped up from the table and ran to open the door,
+saying: "Come in, poor little child! We have not much to give you, but
+whatever we have we will share with you."
+
+The stranger-child came in and warmed his frozen hands and feet at the
+fire, and the children gave him the best they had to eat, saying: "You
+must be tired, too, poor child! Lie down on our bed; we can sleep on the
+bench for one night."
+
+Then said the little stranger-child: "Thank God for all your kindness to
+me!"
+
+So they took their little guest into their sleeping-room, laid him on
+the bed, covered him over, and said to each other: "How thankful we
+ought to be! We have warm rooms and a cozy bed, while this poor child
+has only heaven for his roof and the cold earth for his sleeping-place."
+
+When their father and mother went to bed, Mary and Valentine lay quite
+contentedly on the bench near the fire, saying, before they fell asleep:
+"The stranger-child will be so happy to-night in his warm bed!"
+
+These kind children had not slept many hours before Mary awoke and
+softly whispered to her brother: "Valentine, dear, wake, and listen to
+the sweet music under the window."
+
+Then Valentine rubbed his eyes and listened. It was sweet music indeed,
+and sounded like beautiful voices singing to the tones of a harp:
+
+
+     "O holy Child, we greet thee! bringing
+     Sweet strains of harp to aid our singing.
+
+     "Thou, holy Child, in peace art sleeping,
+     While we our watch without are keeping.
+
+     "Blest be the house wherein thou liest.
+     Happiest on earth, to heaven the highest."
+
+
+The children listened, while a solemn joy filled their hearts; then they
+stepped softly to the window to see who might be without.
+
+In the east was a streak of rosy dawn, and in its light they saw a group
+of children standing before the house, clothed in silver garments,
+holding golden harps in their hands. Amazed at this sight, the children
+were still gazing out of the window, when a light tap caused them to
+turn round. There stood the stranger-child before them clad in a golden
+dress, with a gleaming radiance round his curling hair. "I am the little
+Christ-child," he said, "who wanders through the world bringing peace
+and happiness to good children. You took me in and cared for me when you
+thought me a poor child, and now you shall have my blessing for what you
+have done."
+
+A fir tree grew near the house; and from this he broke a twig, which he
+planted in the ground, saying: "This twig shall become a tree, and shall
+bring forth fruit year by year for you."
+
+No sooner had he done this than he vanished, and with him the little
+choir of angels. But the fir-branch grew and became a Christmas tree,
+and on its branches hung golden apples and silver nuts every
+Christmas-tide.
+
+Such is the story told to German children concerning their beautiful
+Christmas trees, though we know that the real little Christ-child can
+never be wandering, cold and homeless, again in our world, inasmuch as
+he is safe in heaven by his Father's side; yet we may gather from this
+story the same truth which the Bible plainly tells us--that any one who
+helps a Christian child in distress, it will be counted unto him as if
+he had indeed done it unto Christ himself. "Inasmuch as ye have done it
+unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
+
+
+
+
+THE PEACE EGG.
+
+BY JULIANA HORATIA EWING.
+
+
+Every one ought to be happy at Christmas. But there are many things
+which ought to be, and yet are not; and people are sometimes sad even in
+the Christmas holidays.
+
+The Captain and his wife were sad, though it was Christmas Eve. Sad,
+though they were in the prime of life, blessed with good health, devoted
+to each other and to their children, with competent means, a comfortable
+house on a little freehold property of their own, and, one might say,
+everything that heart could desire. Sad, though they were good people,
+whose peace of mind had a firmer foundation than their earthly goods
+alone; contented people, too, with plenty of occupation for mind and
+body. Sad--and in the nursery this was held to be past all
+reason--though the children were performing that ancient and most
+entertaining play or Christmas mystery, known as "The Peace Egg," for
+their benefit and behoof alone.
+
+The play was none the worse that most of the actors were too young to
+learn parts, so that there was very little of the rather tedious
+dialogue, only plenty of dress and ribbons, and of fighting with the
+wooden swords. But though Robert, the eldest of the five children,
+looked bonny enough to warm any father's heart, as he marched up and
+down with an air learned by watching many a parade in barrack-square and
+drill ground, and though Nicholas did not cry in spite of falling hard,
+and Dora, who took the part of the Doctor, treading accidentally on his
+little finger in picking him up, still the Captain and his wife sighed
+nearly as often as they smiled, and the mother dropped tears as well as
+pennies into the cap which Tom, as the King of Egypt, brought round
+after the performance.
+
+
+II.
+
+Many, many years back the Captain's wife had been a child herself, and
+had laughed to see the village mummers act "The Peace Egg," and had been
+quite happy on Christmas Eve. Happy, though she had no mother. Happy,
+though her father was a stern man, very fond of his only child, but with
+an obstinate will that not even she dared thwart. She had lived to
+thwart it, and he had never forgiven her. It was when she married the
+Captain. The old man had a prejudice against soldiers, which was quite
+reason enough, in his opinion, for his daughter to sacrifice the
+happiness of her future life by giving up the soldier she loved. At last
+he gave her her choice between the Captain and his own favor and money.
+She chose the Captain, and was disowned and disinherited.
+
+The Captain bore a high character, and was a good and clever officer,
+but that went for nothing against the old man's whim. He made a very
+good husband too; but even this did not move his father-in-law, who had
+never held any intercourse with him or his wife since the day of their
+marriage, and who had never seen his own grand-children.
+
+Amid the ups and downs of their wanderings, the discomforts of shipboard
+and of stations in the colonies, bad servants, and unwonted sicknesses,
+the Captain's tenderness never failed. If the life was rough the Captain
+was ready. He had been, by turns, in one strait or another, sick-nurse,
+doctor, carpenter, nursemaid and cook to his family, and had, moreover,
+an idea that nobody filled these offices quite so well as himself.
+Withal, his very profession kept him neat, well-dressed, and active. In
+the roughest of their ever-changing quarters he was a smart man, and
+never changed his manner from that of the lover of his wife's young
+days.
+
+As years went and children came, the Captain and his wife grew tired of
+traveling. New scenes were small comfort when they heard of the death of
+old friends. One foot of the dear, old, dull home sky was dearer, after
+all, than miles of the unclouded heavens of the South. The grey hills
+and over-grown lanes of her old home haunted the Captain's wife by night
+and day, and home-sickness (that weariest of all sicknesses) began to
+take the light out of her eyes before their time. It preyed upon the
+Captain too. Now and then he would say, fretfully, "I _should_ like a
+resting-place in our own country, however small, before _every_body is
+dead! But the children's prospects have to be considered." The continued
+estrangement from the old man was an abiding sorrow also, and they had
+hopes that, if only they could get home, he might be persuaded to peace
+and charity this time.
+
+At last they were sent home. But the hard old father still would not
+relent. He returned their letters unopened. This bitter disappointment
+made the Captain's wife so ill that she almost died, and in one month
+the Captain's hair became iron gray. He reproached himself for having
+ever taken the daughter from her father, "to kill her at last," as he
+said. And (thinking of his own children) he even reproached himself for
+having robbed the old widower of his only child. After two years at home
+his regiment was ordered again on foreign duty. He failed to effect an
+exchange, and they prepared to move once more--from Chatham to Calcutta.
+Never before had the packing to which she was so well accustomed, been
+so bitter a task to the Captain's wife.
+
+It was at the darkest hour of this gloomy time that the Captain came in,
+waving above his head a letter which changed all their plans.
+
+Now close by the old home of the Captain's wife there had lived a man,
+much older than herself, who yet had loved her with a devotion as great
+as that of the young Captain. She never knew it, for when he saw that
+she had given her heart to his younger rival, he kept silence, and he
+never asked for what he knew he might have had--the old man's authority
+in his favor. So generous was the affection which he could never
+conquer, that he constantly tried to reconcile the father to his
+children whilst he lived, and, when he died, he bequeathed his house and
+small estate to the woman he had loved.
+
+"It will be a legacy of peace," he thought, on his death bed. "The old
+man cannot hold out when she and her children are constantly in sight.
+And it may please GOD that I shall know of the reunion I have not been
+permitted to see with my eyes."
+
+And thus it came about that the Captain's regiment went to India without
+him, and that the Captain's wife and her father lived on opposite sides
+of the same road.
+
+
+III.
+
+The eldest of the Captain's children was a boy. He was named Robert,
+after his grandfather, and seemed to have inherited a good deal of the
+old gentleman's character, mixed with gentler traits. He was a fair,
+fine boy, tall and stout for his age, with the Captain's regular
+features, and (he flattered himself) the Captain's firm step and martial
+bearing. He was apt--like his grandfather--to hold his own will to be
+other people's law, and (happily for the peace of the nursery) this
+opinion was devoutly shared by his brother Nicholas. Though the Captain
+had left the army, Robin continued to command an irregular force of
+volunteers in the nursery, and never was colonel more despotic. His
+brothers and sisters were by turn infantry, cavalry, engineers, and
+artillery, according to his whim.
+
+The Captain alone was a match for his strong-willed son.
+
+"If you please, sir," said Sarah, one morning, flouncing in upon the
+Captain, just as he was about to start for the neighboring town,--"If
+you please, sir, I wish you'd speak to Master Robert. He's past my
+powers."
+
+"I've no doubt of it," thought the Captain, but he only said, "Well,
+what's the matter?"
+
+"Night after night do I put him to bed," said Sarah, "and night after
+night does he get up as soon as I'm out of the room, and says he's
+orderly officer for the evening, and goes about in his night-shirt and
+his feet as bare as boards."
+
+The Captain fingered his heavy moustache to hide a smile, but he
+listened patiently to Sarah's complaints.
+
+"It ain't so much _him_ I should mind, sir," she continued, "but he goes
+round the beds and wakes up the other young gentlemen and Miss Dora, one
+after another, and when I speak to him, he gives me all the sauce he can
+lay his tongue to, and says he's going round the guards. The other night
+I tried to put him back in his bed, but he got away and ran all over the
+house, me hunting him everywhere, and not a sign of him, till he jumps
+out on me from the garret stairs and nearly knocks me down. 'I've
+visited the outposts, Sarah,' says he; 'all's well.' And off he goes to
+bed as bold as brass."
+
+"Have you spoken to your mistress?" asked the Captain.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Sarah. "And missis spoke to him, and he promised not to
+go round the guards again."
+
+"Has he broken his promise?" asked the Captain, with a look of anger,
+and also of surprise.
+
+"When I opened the door last night, sir," continued Sarah, in her shrill
+treble, "what should I see in the dark but Master Robert a-walking up
+and down with the carpet-brush stuck in his arm. 'Who goes there?' says
+he. 'You awdacious boy!' says I, 'Didn't you promise your ma you'd leave
+off them tricks?' 'I'm not going round the guards,' says he; 'I promised
+not. But I'm for sentry-duty to-night.' And say what I would to him, all
+he had for me was, 'You mustn't speak to a sentry on duty.' So I says,
+'As sure as I live till morning, I'll go to your pa,' for he pays no
+more attention to his ma than to me, nor to any one else."
+
+"Please to see that the bed is taken out of my dressing-room," said the
+Captain. "I will attend to Master Robert."
+
+With this Sarah had to content herself, and she went back to the
+nursery. Robert was nowhere to be seen, and made no reply to her
+summons. On this the unwary nursemaid flounced into the bed-room to look
+for him, when Robert, who was hidden beneath a table, darted forth, and
+promptly locked her in.
+
+"You're under arrest," he shouted, through the keyhole.
+
+"Let me out!" shrieked Sarah.
+
+"I'll send a file of the guard to fetch you to the orderly-room,
+by-and-by," said Robert, "for 'preferring frivolous complaints.'" And he
+departed to the farmyard to look at the ducks.
+
+That night, when Robert went up to bed, the Captain quietly locked him
+into his dressing-room, from which the bed had been removed.
+
+"You're for sentry duty, to-night," said the Captain. "The carpet-brush
+is in the corner. Good-evening."
+
+As his father anticipated, Robert was soon tired of the sentry game in
+these new circumstances, and long before the night had half worn away he
+wished himself safely undressed and in his own comfortable bed. At
+half-past twelve o'clock he felt as if he could bear it no longer, and
+knocked at the Captain's door.
+
+"Who goes there?" said the Captain.
+
+"Mayn't I go to bed, please?" whined poor Robert.
+
+"Certainly not," said the Captain. "You're on duty."
+
+And on duty poor Robert had to remain, for the Captain had a will as
+well as his son. So he rolled himself up in his father's railway rug,
+and slept on the floor.
+
+The next night he was very glad to go quietly to bed, and remain there.
+
+
+IV.
+
+The Captain's children sat at breakfast in a large, bright nursery. It
+was the room where the old bachelor had died, and now _her_ children
+made it merry. This was just what he would have wished.
+
+They all sat round the table, for it was breakfast-time. There were five
+of them, and five bowls of boiled bread-and-milk smoked before them.
+Sarah (a foolish, gossiping girl, who acted as nurse till better could
+be found) was waiting on them, and by the table sat Darkie, the black
+retriever, his long, curly back swaying slightly from the difficulty of
+holding himself up, and his solemn hazel eyes fixed very intently on
+each and all of the breakfast bowls. He was as silent and sagacious as
+Sarah was talkative and empty-headed. Though large, he was unassuming.
+Pax, the pug, on the contrary, who came up to the first joint of
+Darkie's leg, stood defiantly on his dignity (and his short stumps). He
+always placed himself in front of the bigger dog, and made a point of
+hustling him in doorways and of going first downstairs.
+
+Robert's tongue was seldom idle, even at meals. "Sarah, who is that tall
+old gentleman at church, in the seat near the pulpit?" he asked. "He
+wears a cloak like what the Blues wear, only all blue, and is tall
+enough for a Life-guardsman. He stood when we were kneeling down, and
+said, _Almighty and most merciful Father_, louder than anybody."
+
+Sarah knew who the old gentleman was, and knew also that the children
+did not know, and that their parents did not see fit to tell them as
+yet. But she had a passion for telling and hearing news, and would
+rather gossip with a child than not gossip at all. "Never you mind,
+Master Robin," she said, nodding sagaciously. "Little boys aren't to
+know everything."
+
+"Ah, then, I know you don't know," replied Robert; "if you did, you'd
+tell."
+
+"I do," said Sarah.
+
+"You don't," said Robin.
+
+"Your ma's forbid you to contradict, Master Robin," said Sarah; "and if
+you do I shall tell her. I know well enough who the old gentleman is,
+and perhaps I might tell you, only you'd go straight off and tell
+again."
+
+"No, no, I wouldn't!" shouted Robin. "I can keep a secret, indeed I can!
+Pinch my little finger, and try. Do, do tell me, Sarah, there's a dear
+Sarah, and then I shall know you know." And he danced round her,
+catching at her skirts.
+
+To keep a secret was beyond Sarah's powers.
+
+"Do let my dress be, Master Robin," she said, "you're ripping out all
+the gathers, and listen while I whisper. As sure as you're a living boy,
+that gentleman's your own grandpapa."
+
+Robin lost his hold on Sarah's dress; his arms fell by his side, and he
+stood with his brows knit for some minutes, thinking. Then he said,
+emphatically, "What lies you do tell, Sarah!"
+
+"Oh, Robin!" cried Nicholas, who had drawn near, his thick curls
+standing stark with curiosity, "Mamma said 'lies' wasn't a proper word,
+and you promised not to say it again."
+
+"I forgot," said Robin, "I didn't mean to break my promise. But she does
+tell--ahem!--_you know what_."
+
+"You wicked boy!" cried the enraged Sarah; "how dare you say such a
+thing, and everybody in the place knows he's your ma's own pa."
+
+"I'll go and ask her," said Robin, and he was at the door in a moment;
+but Sarah, alarmed by the thought of getting into a scrape herself,
+caught him by the arm.
+
+"Don't you go, love; it'll only make your ma angry. There; it was all my
+nonsense."
+
+"Then it's not true?" said Robin, indignantly. "What did you tell me so
+for?"
+
+"It was all my jokes and nonsense," said the unscrupulous Sarah, "But
+your ma wouldn't like to know I've said such a thing. And Master Robert
+wouldn't be so mean as to tell tales, would he, love?"
+
+"I'm not mean," said Robin stoutly; "and I don't tell tales; but you do,
+and you tell _you know what_, besides. However, I won't go this time;
+but I'll tell you what--if you tell tales of me to papa any more, I'll
+tell him what you said about the old gentleman in the blue cloak." With
+which parting threat Robin strode off to join his brothers and sisters.
+
+
+V.
+
+After Robert left the nursery he strolled out of doors, and, peeping
+through the gate at the end of the drive, he saw a party of boys going
+through what looked like a military exercise with sticks and a good deal
+of stamping; but, instead of mere words of command, they all spoke by
+turns, as in a play. Not being at all shy, he joined them, and asked so
+many questions that he soon got to know all about it. They were
+practicing a Christmas mumming-play, called "The Peace Egg." Why it was
+called thus they could not tell him, as there was nothing whatever about
+eggs in it, and so far from being a play of peace, it was made up of a
+series of battles between certain valiant knights and princes. The
+rehearsal being over, Robin went with the boys to the sexton's house (he
+was father to one of the characters called the "King of Egypt") where
+they showed him the dresses they were to wear. These were made of
+gay-colored materials, and covered with ribbons, except that of the
+"Black Prince of Paradine," which was black, as became his title. The
+boys also showed him the book from which they learned their parts, and
+which was to be bought at the post-office store.
+
+"Then are you the mummers who come round at Christmas, and act in
+people's kitchens, and people give them money, that mamma used to tell
+us about?" said Robin.
+
+The boy hesitated a moment and then said, "Well, I suppose we are."
+
+"And do you go out in the snow from one house to another at night; and
+oh, don't you enjoy it?" cried Robin.
+
+"We like it well enough," the lad admitted.
+
+Robin bought a copy of "The Peace Egg." He was resolved to have a
+nursery performance, and to take the chief part himself. The others
+were willing for what he wished, but there were difficulties. In the
+first place, there are eight characters in the play, and there were only
+five children. They decided among themselves to leave out the "Fool,"
+and Mamma said that another character was not to be acted by any of
+them, or indeed mentioned; "the little one who comes in at the end,"
+Robin explained. Mamma had her reasons, and these were always good. She
+had not been altogether pleased that Robin had bought the play. It was a
+very old thing, she said, and very queer; not adapted for a child's
+play. If Mamma thought the parts not quite fit for the children to
+learn, they found them much too long: so in the end she picked out some
+bits for each, which they learned easily, and which, with a good deal of
+fighting, made quite as good a story of it as if they had done the
+whole. What may have been wanting otherwise was made up for by the
+dresses, which were charming.
+
+Robin was St. George, Nicholas the valiant Slasher, Dora the Doctor, and
+the other two Hector and the King of Egypt. "And now we've no Black
+Prince!" cried Robin in dismay.
+
+"Let Darkie be the Black Prince," said Nicholas.
+
+"When you wave your stick he'll jump for it, and then you can pretend to
+fight with him."
+
+"It's not a stick, it's a sword," said Robin.
+
+"However, Darkie may be the Black Prince."
+
+"And what's Pax to be?" asked Dora; "for you know he will come if Darkie
+does, and he'll run in before everybody else too."
+
+"Then he must be the Fool," said Robin, "and it will do very well, for
+the Fool comes in before the rest, and Pax can have his red coat on, and
+the collar with the little bells."
+
+
+VI.
+
+Robin thought that Christmas would never come. To the Captain and his
+wife it seemed to come too fast. They had hoped it might bring
+reconciliation with the old man, but it seemed they had hoped in vain.
+
+There were times now when the Captain almost regretted the old
+bachelor's bequest. The familiar scenes of her old home sharpened his
+wife's grief. To see her father every Sunday in church, with marks of
+age and infirmity upon him, but with not a look of tenderness for his
+only child, this tried her sorely.
+
+"She felt it less abroad," thought the Captain. "A home in which she
+frets herself to death, is after all, no great boon."
+
+Christmas Eve came.
+
+"I'm sure it's quite Christmas enough now," said Robin. "We'll have 'The
+Peace Egg' to-night."
+
+So as the Captain and his wife sat sadly over their fire, the door
+opened, and Pax ran in shaking his bells, and followed by the nursery
+mummers. The performance was most successful. It was by no means
+pathetic, and yet, as has been said, the Captain's wife shed tears.
+
+"What is the matter, mamma?" said Robert, abruptly dropping his sword
+and running up to her.
+
+"Don't tease mamma with questions," said the Captain; "she is not very
+well, and rather sad. We must all be very kind and good to poor dear
+mamma;" and the Captain raised his wife's hand to his lips as he spoke.
+Robin seized the other hand and kissed it tenderly. He was very fond of
+his mother. At this moment Pax took a little run, and jumped on to
+mamma's lap, where, sitting facing the company, he opened his black
+mouth and yawned, with a ludicrous inappropriateness worthy of any
+clown. It made everybody laugh.
+
+"And now we'll go and act in the kitchen," said Nicholas.
+
+"Supper at nine o'clock, remember," shouted the Captain. "And we are
+going to have real frumenty and Yule cakes, such as mamma used to tell
+us of when we were abroad."
+
+"Hurray!" shouted the mummers, and they ran off, Pax leaping from his
+seat just in time to hustle the Black Prince in the doorway. When the
+dining-room door was shut, Robert raised his hand, and said "Hush!"
+
+The mummers pricked their ears, but there was only a distant harsh and
+scraping sound, as of stones rubbed together.
+
+"They're cleaning the passages," Robert went on, "and Sarah told me they
+meant to finish the mistletoe, and have everything cleaned up by
+supper-time. They don't want us, I know. Look here, we'll go _real
+mumming_ instead. That _will_ be fun!"
+
+Nicholas grinned with delight.
+
+"But will mamma let us?" he enquired.
+
+"Oh, it will be all right if we're back by supper-time," said Robert,
+hastily. "Only of course we must take care not to catch cold. Come and
+help me to get some wraps."
+
+The old oak chest in which spare shawls, rugs, and coats were kept was
+soon ransacked, and the mummers' gay dresses hidden by motley wrappers.
+But no sooner did Darkie and Pax behold the coats, etc., than they at
+once began to leap and bark, as it was their custom to do when they saw
+any one dressing to go out. Robin was sorely afraid that this would
+betray them; but though the Captain and his wife heard the barking they
+did not guess the cause.
+
+So the front door being very gently opened and closed, the nursery
+mummers stole away.
+
+
+VII.
+
+It was a very fine night. The snow was well-trodden on the drive, so
+that it did not wet their feet, but on the trees and shrubs it hung soft
+and white.
+
+"It's much jollier being out at night than in the daytime," said Robin.
+
+"Much," responded Nicholas, with intense feeling.
+
+"We'll go a wassailing next week," said Robin. "I know all about it, and
+perhaps we shall get a good lot of money, and then we'll buy tin swords
+with scabbards for next year. I don't like these sticks. Oh, dear, I
+wish it wasn't so long between one Christmas and another."
+
+"Where shall we go first?" asked Nicholas, as they turned into the high
+road.
+
+"This is the first house," he said. "We'll act here;" and all pressed in
+as quickly as possible. Once safe within the grounds, they shouldered
+their sticks, and marched with composure.
+
+"You're going to the front door," said Nicholas. "Mummers ought to go to
+the back."
+
+"We don't know where it is," said Robin, and he rang the front-door
+bell. There was a pause. Then lights shone, steps were heard, and at
+last a sound of much unbarring, unbolting, and unlocking. It might have
+been a prison. Then the door was opened by an elderly, timid-looking
+woman, who held a tallow candle above her head.
+
+"Who's there?" she said, "at this time of night."
+
+"We're Christmas mummers," said Robin, stoutly; "we didn't know the way
+to the back door, but----"
+
+"And don't you know better than to come here?" said the woman. "Be off
+with you, as fast as you can."
+
+"You're only the servant," said Robin. "Go and ask your master and
+mistress if they wouldn't like to see us act. We do it very well."
+
+"You impudent boy, be off with you!" repeated the woman. "Master'd no
+more let you nor any other such rubbish set foot in this house----"
+
+"Woman!" shouted a voice close behind her, which made her start as if
+she had been shot, "who authorizes you to say what your master will or
+will not do, before you've asked him? The boy is right. You _are_ the
+servant, and it is not your business to choose for me whom I shall or
+shall not see."
+
+"I meant no harm, sir, I'm sure," said the housekeeper; "but I thought
+you'd never----"
+
+"My good woman," said her master, "if I had wanted somebody to think for
+me, you're the last person I should have employed. I hire you to obey
+orders, not to think."
+
+"I'm sure, sir," said the housekeeper, whose only form of argument was
+reiteration, "I never thought you would have seen them----"
+
+"Then you were wrong," shouted her master. "I will see them. Bring them
+in."
+
+He was a tall, gaunt old man, and Robin stared at him for some minutes,
+wondering where he could have seen somebody very like him. At last he
+remembered. It was the old gentleman of the blue cloak.
+
+The children threw off their wraps, the housekeeper helping them, and
+chattering ceaselessly, from sheer nervousness.
+
+"Well, to be sure," said she, "their dresses are pretty, too. And they
+seem quite a better sort of children, they talk quite genteel. I might
+ha' knowed they weren't like common mummers, but I was so flusterated
+hearing the bell go so late, and----"
+
+"Are they ready?" said the old man, who had stood like a ghost in the
+dim light of the flaring tallow candle, grimly watching the proceedings.
+
+"Yes, sir. Shall I take them to the kitchen, sir?"
+
+"----for you and the other idle hussies to gape and grin at? No. Bring
+them to the library," he snapped, and then stalked off, leading the way.
+
+The housekeeper accordingly led them to the library, and then withdrew,
+nearly falling on her face as she left the room by stumbling over
+Darkie, who slipped in last like a black shadow.
+
+The old man was seated in a carved oak chair by the fire.
+
+"I never said the dogs were to come in," he said.
+
+"But we can't do without them, please," said Robin, boldly. "You see
+there are eight people in 'The Peace Egg,' and there are only five of
+us; and so Darkie has to be the Black Prince, and Pax has to be the
+Fool, and so we have to have them."
+
+"Five and two make seven," said the old man, with a grim smile; "what do
+you do for the eighth?"
+
+"Oh, that's the little one at the end," said Robin, confidently. "Mamma
+said we weren't to mention him, but I think that's because we're
+children.--You're grown up, you know, so I'll show you the book, and you
+can see for yourself," he went on, drawing "The Peace Egg" from his
+pocket: "there, that's the picture of him, on the last page; black, with
+horns and a tail."
+
+The old man's stern face relaxed into a broad smile as he examined the
+grotesque woodcut; but when he turned to the first page the smile
+vanished in a deep frown, and his eyes shone like hot coals with anger.
+He had seen Robin's name.
+
+"Who sent you here?" he asked, in a hoarse voice. "Speak, and speak the
+truth! Did your mother send you here?"
+
+Robin thought the old man was angry with them for playing truant. He
+said, slowly, "N--no. She didn't exactly send us; but I don't think
+she'll mind our having come if we get back in time for supper. Mamma
+never _forbid_ our going mumming, you know."
+
+"I don't suppose she ever thought of it," Nicholas said candidly,
+wagging his curly head from side to side.
+
+"She knows we're mummers," said Robin, "for she helped us. When we were
+abroad, you know, she used to tell us about the mummers acting at
+Christmas, when she was a little girl; and so we thought we'd be
+mummers, and so we acted to papa and mamma, and so we thought we'd act
+to the maids, but they were cleaning the passages, and so we thought
+we'd really go mumming; and we've got several other houses to go to
+before supper-time; we'd better begin, I think," said Robin; and without
+more ado he began to march round and round, raising his sword, and the
+performance went off quite as creditably as before.
+
+As the children acted the old man's anger wore off. He watched them with
+an interest he could not repress. When Nicholas took some hard thwacks
+from Robert without flinching, the old man clapped his hands; and after
+the encounter was over, he said he would not have had the dogs excluded
+on any consideration. It was just at the end, when they were all
+marching round and round, holding on by each other's swords "over the
+shoulder," and singing "A mumming we will go, etc.," that Nicholas
+suddenly brought the circle to a stand-still by stopping dead short, and
+staring up at the wall before him.
+
+"What _are_ you stopping for?" said Robert, turning indignantly around.
+
+"Look there!" cried Nicholas, pointing to a little painting which hung
+above the old man's head.
+
+Robin looked, and said abruptly, "It's Dora."
+
+"Which is Dora?" asked the old man in a strange, sharp tone.
+
+"Here she is," said Robin and Nicholas in one breath, as they dragged
+her forward.
+
+"She's the Doctor," said Robin, "and you can't see her face for her
+things. Dor, take off your cap and pull back that hood. There! Oh, it
+_is_ like her!"
+
+It was the portrait of her mother as a child; but of this the nursery
+mummers knew nothing. The old man looked as the peaked cap and hood fell
+away from Dora's face and fair curls, and then he uttered a sharp cry,
+and buried his head upon his hands. The boys stood stupefied, but Dora
+ran up to him, and putting her little hands on his arms, said, in
+childish pitying tones, "Oh, I am so sorry! Have you got a headache? May
+Robin put the shovel in the fire for you? Mamma has hot shovels for her
+headaches." And though the old man did not speak or move, she went on
+coaxing him, and stroking his head, on which the hair was white. At this
+moment Pax took one of his unexpected runs, and jumped on to the old
+man's knee, in his own particular fashion, and then yawned at the
+company. The old man was startled, and lifted his face suddenly. It was
+wet with tears.
+
+"Why, you're crying!" exclaimed the children with one breath.
+
+"It's very odd," said Robin, fretfully. "I can't think what's the matter
+to-night. Mamma was crying too when we were acting, and papa said we
+weren't to tease her with questions, and he kissed her hand, and I
+kissed her hand too. And papa said we must all be very good and kind to
+poor dear mamma, and so I mean to be, she's so good. And I think we'd
+better go home, or perhaps she'll be frightened," Robin added.
+
+"She's so good, is she?" asked the old man. He had put Pax off his
+knee, and taken Dora on to it.
+
+"Oh, isn't she!" said Nicholas, swaying his curly head from side to side
+as usual.
+
+"She's always good," said Robin, emphatically; "and so's papa. But I'm
+always doing something I oughtn't to," he added, slowly. "But then, you
+know, I don't pretend to obey Sarah. I don't care a fig for Sarah; and I
+won't obey any woman but mamma."
+
+"Who's Sarah?" asked the grandfather.
+
+"She's our nurse," said Robin, "and she tells--I mustn't say what she
+tells--but it's not the truth. She told one about _you_ the other day,"
+he added.
+
+"About me?" said the old man.
+
+"She said you were our grandpapa. So then I knew she was telling _you
+know what_."
+
+"How did you know it wasn't true?" the old man asked.
+
+"Why, of course," said Robin, "if you were our mamma's father, you'd
+know her, and be very fond of her, and come to see her. And then you'd
+be our grandfather, too, and you'd have us to see you, and perhaps give
+us Christmas-boxes. I wish you were," Robin added with a sigh. "It would
+be very nice."
+
+"Would _you_ like it?" asked the old man of Dora.
+
+And Dora, who was half asleep and very comfortable, put her little arms
+about his neck as she was wont to put them around the Captain's, and
+said, "Very much."
+
+He put her down at last, very tenderly, almost unwillingly, and left the
+children alone. By-and-by he returned, dressed in the blue cloak, and
+took Dora up again.
+
+"I will see you home," he said.
+
+The children had not been missed. The clock had only just struck nine
+when there came a knock on the door of the dining-room, where the
+Captain and his wife still sat by the Yule log. She said "Come in,"
+wearily, thinking it was the frumenty and the Christmas cakes.
+
+But it was her father, with her child in his arms!
+
+
+VIII.
+
+The Captain had many friends who knew of the sad estrangement between
+his wife and her father. Some of them were in church the next day, which
+was Christmas Day, when the Captain's wife came in. They would have hid
+their faces, but for the startling sight that met the gaze of the
+congregation. The old grandfather walked into church abreast of the
+Captain.
+
+"They've met in the porch," whispered one under the shelter of his hat.
+
+"They can't quarrel publicly in a place of worship," said another,
+turning pale.
+
+"She's gone into his seat," cried a girl in a shrill whisper.
+
+"And the children after her," added her sister, incautiously aloud.
+
+There was now no doubt about the matter. The old man in his blue cloak
+stood for a few moments politely disputing the question of precedence
+with his handsome son-in-law. Then the Captain bowed and passed in, and
+the old man followed him.
+
+By the time that the service was ended everybody knew of the happy
+peacemaking, and was glad. One old friend after another came up with
+blessings and good wishes. This was a proper Christmas, indeed, they
+said. There was a general rejoicing.
+
+But only the grandfather and his children knew that it was hatched from
+"The Peace Egg."
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BUDGET OF CHRISTMAS TALES BY
+CHARLES DICKENS AND OTHERS***
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+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Budget of Christmas Tales by Charles
+Dickens and Others, by Various</h1>
+<pre>
+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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre>
+<p>Title: A Budget of Christmas Tales by Charles Dickens and Others</p>
+<p>Author: Various</p>
+<p>Release Date: February 26, 2009  [eBook #28198]<br />
+HTML version most recently updated April 10, 2016</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BUDGET OF CHRISTMAS TALES BY CHARLES DICKENS AND OTHERS***</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>E-text prepared by David Edwards, Martin Pettit,<br />
+    and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
+    (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net/c/">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br />
+    from digital material generously made available by<br />
+    Internet Archive<br />
+    (<a href="http://www.archive.org/index.php">http://www.archive.org/</a>)</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;" cellpadding="10">
+  <tr>
+    <td valign="top">
+      Note:
+    </td>
+    <td>
+      Images of the original pages are available through
+      Internet Archive. See
+      <a href="http://www.archive.org/details/budgetofchristma00dick">
+      http://www.archive.org/details/budgetofchristma00dick</a>
+   </td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="center"><img src="images/titlepage.jpg" width='435' height='700' alt="A BUDGET OF CHRISTMAS TALES BY Charles Dickens AND OTHERS PUBLISHED BY
+THE CHRISTIAN HERALD Louis Klopsch, Proprietor. BIBLE HOUSE, NEW YORK." /></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<hr class="smler" />
+
+<h4>Copyright 1895.<br /><span class="smcap">By Louis Klopsch</span>.</h4>
+
+<hr class="smler" />
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h4><span class="smcap">Press and Bindery of</span><br />HISTORICAL PUBLISHING CO.,<br />PHILADELPHIA.</h4>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS.</h2>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<div class="index">
+<ul>
+<li><a href="#A_CHRISTMAS_CAROL">A Christmas Carol</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">Charles Dickens</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#THE_CHRISTMAS_BABE">The Christmas Babe</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">Margaret E. Sangster</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#A_WESTERN_CHRISTMAS_IN_THE_OLD_DAYS">A Western Christmas</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">Mrs. W. H. Corning</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#JOES_SEARCH_FOR_SANTA_CLAUS">Joe's Search for Santa Claus</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">Irving Bacheller</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#ANGELAS_CHRISTMAS">Angela's Christmas</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">Julia Schayer</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#THE_FIRST_PURITAN_CHRISTMAS_TREE">The First Puritan Christmas Tree</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem">(<span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.)</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#THE_FIRST_CHRISTMAS_IN_NEW_ENGLAND">First New England Christmas</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">Hezekiah Butterworth</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#THE_CHIMES">The Chimes</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">Charles Dickens</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#BILLYS_SANTA_CLAUS_EXPERIENCE">Billy's Santa Claus Experience</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">Cornelia Redmond</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#CHRISTMAS_IN_POGANUC">Christmas in Poganuc</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">Mrs. H. B. Stowe</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#THE_CHRISTMAS_PRINCESS">The Christmas Princess</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Molesworth</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span><a href="#WIDOW_TOWNSENDS_VISITOR">Widow Townsend's Visitor</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem">(<span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.)</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#THE_OLD_MANS_CHRISTMAS">The Old Man's Christmas</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">Ella Wheeler Wilcox</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#THE_CHRISTMAS_GOBLINS">The Christmas Goblin</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">Charles Dickens</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#THE_SONG_OF_THE_STAR">The Song of the Star</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">C. H. Mead</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#INDIAN_PETES_CHRISTMAS_GIFT">Indian Pete's Christmas Gift</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">H. W. Collingwood</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#MY_CHRISTMAS_DINNER">My Christmas Dinner</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem">(<span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.)</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#THE_POOR_TRAVELER">The Poor Traveler</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">Charles Dickens</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#THE_LEGEND_OF_THE_CHRISTMAS_TREE">The Legend of the Christmas Tree</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem">(<span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.)</li>
+</ul></li>
+<li><a href="#THE_PEACE_EGG">The Peace Egg</a>
+<ul>
+   <li class="subitem"><span class="smcap">Juliana Horatia Ewing</span>.</li>
+</ul></li>
+</ul>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p>
+
+<h1>CHRISTMAS TALES.</h1>
+
+<hr class="smler" />
+
+<h2><a name="A_CHRISTMAS_CAROL" id="A_CHRISTMAS_CAROL"></a>A CHRISTMAS CAROL.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY CHARLES DICKENS.</h3>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Stave One</span>.</h3>
+
+<h3>MARLEY'S GHOST.</h3>
+
+<p>Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that.
+The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the
+undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name
+was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to.</p>
+
+<p>Old Marley was dead as a door-nail.</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise?
+Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know how many years. Scrooge
+was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole
+residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge
+was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an
+excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnized
+it with an undoubted bargain.</p>
+
+<p>The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started
+from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly
+understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge never painted out Old Marley's name.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> There it stood, years
+afterward, above the warehouse door: Scrooge and Marley. The firm was
+known as Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called
+Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names. It
+was all the same to him.</p>
+
+<p>Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a
+squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old
+sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out
+generous fire; secret and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The
+cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose,
+shriveled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin
+lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime on
+his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin.</p>
+
+<p>External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could
+warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than
+he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain
+less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to have him. The
+heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast of the
+advantage over him in only one respect. They often "came down"
+handsomely, and Scrooge never did.</p>
+
+<p>Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, "My
+dear Scrooge, how are you? When will you come to see me?" No beggars
+implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was
+o'clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to
+such and such a place, of Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>But what did Scrooge care? It was the very thing he liked. To edge his
+way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep
+its distance, was what the knowing ones call "nuts" to Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p><p>Once upon a time&mdash;of all the good days in the year, on Christmas
+Eve&mdash;old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house. It was cold, bleak,
+biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the people in the court
+outside, go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their
+breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them.
+The city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark
+already&mdash;it had not been light all day&mdash;and candles were flaring in the
+windows of the neighboring offices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable brown air.</p>
+
+<p>The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open, that he might keep his
+eye upon his clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank,
+was copying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire, but the clerk's fire
+was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal. But he couldn't
+replenish it, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room; and so
+surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that
+it would be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his
+white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which
+effort, not being a man of strong imagination, he failed.</p>
+
+<p>"A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!" cried a cheerful voice. It was
+the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this
+was the first intimation he had of his approach.</p>
+
+<p>"Bah!" said Scrooge. "Humbug!"</p>
+
+<p>He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this
+nephew of Scrooge's, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and
+handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.</p>
+
+<p>"Christmas a humbug, uncle!" said Scrooge's nephew. "You don't mean
+that, I am sure?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do," said Scrooge. "Merry Christmas!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> What right have you to be
+merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough."</p>
+
+<p>"Come then," returned the nephew gaily. "What right have you to be
+dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough."</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said,
+"Bah!" again; and followed it up with, "Keep Christmas in your own way,
+and let me keep it in mine."</p>
+
+<p>"Keep it!" repeated Scrooge's nephew. "But you don't keep it."</p>
+
+<p>"Let me leave it alone, then," said Scrooge. "Much good may it do you!
+Much good it has ever done you!"</p>
+
+<p>"There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I
+have not profited, I dare say," returned the nephew, "Christmas among
+the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it
+has come round&mdash;apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and
+origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that&mdash;as a good
+time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know
+of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one
+consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people
+below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and
+not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore,
+uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I
+believe that it <i>has</i> done me good, and <i>will</i> do me good; and I say,
+God bless it!"</p>
+
+<p>The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded. Becoming immediately
+sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished the
+last frail spark for ever.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me hear another sound from <i>you</i>," said Scrooge, "and you'll keep
+your Christmas by losing your situation. You're quite a powerful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
+speaker, sir," he added, turning to his nephew. "I wonder you don't go into Parliament."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with us to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge said that he would see him&mdash;yes, indeed he did. He went the
+whole length of the expression, and said that he would see him in that extremity first.</p>
+
+<p>"But why?" cried Scrooge's nephew, "Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why did you get married?" said Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>"Because I fell in love."</p>
+
+<p>"Because you fell in love!" growled Scrooge, as if that were the only
+one thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. "Good afternoon!"</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that happened. Why give
+it as a reason for not coming now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Good afternoon," said Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>"I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be friends?"</p>
+
+<p>"Good afternoon," said Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never
+had any quarrel, to which I have been a party. But I have made the trial
+in homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So
+a Merry Christmas, uncle!"</p>
+
+<p>"Good afternoon!" said Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>"And a Happy New Year!"</p>
+
+<p>"Good afternoon!" said Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>His nephew left the room without an angry word, notwithstanding. He
+stopped at the outer door to bestow the greetings of the season on the
+clerk, who, cold as he was, was warmer than Scrooge; for he returned them cordially.</p>
+
+<p>"There's another fellow," muttered Scrooge; who overheard him: "my
+clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife and family, talking
+about a merry Christmas. I'll retire to Bedlam."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p><p>This lunatic, in letting Scrooge's nephew out, had let two other people
+in. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, with
+their hats off, in Scrooge's office. They had books and papers in their
+hands, and bowed to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Scrooge and Marley's, I believe," said one of the gentlemen, referring
+to his list. "Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr. Marley?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years," Scrooge replied. "He died
+seven years ago, this very night."</p>
+
+<p>"We have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his surviving
+partner," said the gentleman, presenting his credentials.</p>
+
+<p>It certainly was; for they had been two kindred spirits. At the ominous
+word "liberality," Scrooge frowned, and shook his head, and handed the credentials back.</p>
+
+<p>"At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge," said the gentleman,
+taking up a pen, "it is more than usually desirable that we should make
+some slight provision for the poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at
+the present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries;
+hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Are there no prisons?" asked Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>"Plenty of prisons," said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.</p>
+
+<p>"And the Union workhouses?" demanded Scrooge. "Are they still in operation?"</p>
+
+<p>"They are. Still," returned the gentleman, "I wish I could say they were
+not. Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of
+mind or body to the multitude, a few of us are endeavoring to raise a
+fund to buy the poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. We choose
+this time, because it is a time, of all others,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> when Want is keenly
+felt, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing!" Scrooge replied.</p>
+
+<p>"You wish to be anonymous?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to be left alone," said Scrooge. "Since you ask me what I wish,
+gentlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christmas,
+and I can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the
+establishments I have mentioned&mdash;they cost enough; and those who are
+badly off must go there."</p>
+
+<p>"Many can't go there; and many would rather die."</p>
+
+<p>"If they would rather die," said Scrooge, "they had better do it, and
+decrease the surplus population. Besides&mdash;excuse me&mdash;I don't know that."</p>
+
+<p>"But you might know it," observed the gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>"It's not my business," Scrooge returned. "It's enough for a man to
+understand his own business, and not to interfere with other people's.
+Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen!"</p>
+
+<p>Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, the
+gentlemen withdrew. Scrooge resumed his labors with an improved opinion
+of himself, and in a more facetious temper than was usual with him.</p>
+
+<p>At length the hour of shutting up the counting-house arrived. With an
+ill-will Scrooge dismounted from his stool, and tacitly admitted the
+fact to the expectant clerk in the tank, who instantly snuffed his
+candle out, and put on his hat.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll want all day to-morrow, I suppose?" said Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>"If quite convenient, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"It's not convenient," said Scrooge, "and it's not fair. If I was to
+stop half-a-crown for it, you'd think yourself ill-used, I'll be bound?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p><p>The clerk smiled faintly.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet," said Scrooge, "you don't think <i>me</i> ill-used, when I pay a
+day's wages for no work."</p>
+
+<p>The clerk observed that it was only once a year.</p>
+
+<p>"A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth of
+December!" said Scrooge, buttoning his great coat to the chin. "But I
+suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next morning."</p>
+
+<p>The clerk promised that he would; and Scrooge walked out with a growl.
+The office was closed in a twinkling, and the clerk, with the long ends
+of his white comforter dangling below his waist (for he boasted no great
+coat), went down a slide on Cornhill, at the end of a lane of boys,
+twenty times, in honor of its being Christmas-eve, and then ran home to
+Camden Town as hard as he could pelt, to play at blindman's buff.</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy tavern; and
+having read all the newspapers, and beguiled the rest of the evening
+with his banker's-book, went home to bed. He lived in chambers which had
+once belonged to his deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite of
+rooms, in a lowering pile of building up a yard, where it had so little
+business to be, that one could scarcely help fancying it must have run
+there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other
+houses, and have forgotten the way out again. It was old enough now, and
+dreary enough; for nobody lived in it but Scrooge, the other rooms being
+all let out as offices.</p>
+
+<p>Every room above, and every cask in the wine-merchant's cellars below,
+appeared to have a separate peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge was not a
+man to be frightened by echoes. He fastened the door, and walked across
+the hall, and up the stairs; slowly too: trimming his candle as he went.
+Half a dozen gas-lamps out of the street wouldn't have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> lighted the
+entry too well, so you may suppose that it was pretty dark with Scrooge's dip.</p>
+
+<p>Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for that. Darkness is cheap, and
+Scrooge liked it. But before he shut his heavy door, he walked through
+his rooms to see that all was right.</p>
+
+<p>Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in;
+double-locked himself in, which was not his custom. Thus secured against
+surprise, he, took off his cravat; put on his dressing gown and
+slippers, and his night-cap; and sat down before the fire to take his
+gruel. As he threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to
+rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the room, and
+communicated for some purpose now forgotten with a chamber in the
+highest story of the building. It was with great astonishment, and with
+a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin
+to swing. It swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a
+sound; but soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house.</p>
+
+<p>This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it seemed an
+hour. The bells ceased as they had begun, together. They were succeeded
+by a clanking noise deep down below, as if some person were dragging a
+heavy chain over the casks in the wine-merchant's cellar. Scrooge then
+remembered to have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as
+dragging chains.</p>
+
+<p>The cellar-door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the
+noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then
+coming straight toward his door.</p>
+
+<p>"It's humbug still!" said Scrooge. "I won't believe it."</p>
+
+<p>His color changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the
+heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> coming
+in, the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried "I know him! Marley's ghost!" and fell again.</p>
+
+<p>The same face: the very same. The chain he drew was clasped about his
+middle. It was long and wound about him like a tail; and it was made
+(for Scrooge observed it closely) of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks,
+ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel.</p>
+
+<p>"How now" said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. "What do you want with me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Much!"&mdash;Marley's voice, no doubt about it.</p>
+
+<p>"Who are you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ask me who I <i>was</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Who <i>were</i> you then?" said Scrooge, raising his voice. "You're
+particular, for a shade." He was going to say "<i>to</i> a shade," but
+substituted this, as more appropriate.</p>
+
+<p>"In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley."</p>
+
+<p>"Can you&mdash;can you sit down?" asked Scrooge, looking doubtfully at him.</p>
+
+<p>"I can."</p>
+
+<p>"Do it, then."</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge asked the question, because he didn't know whether a ghost so
+transparent might find himself in a condition to take a chair; and felt
+that in the event of its being impossible, it might involve the
+necessity of an embarrassing explanation. But the Ghost sat down on the
+opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it.</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face.</p>
+
+<p>"Mercy!" he said, "Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Man of the worldly mind!" replied the Ghost, "do you believe in me or not?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do," said Scrooge. "I must. But why do spirits walk the earth, and
+why do they come to me?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p><p>"It is required of every man," the Ghost returned, "that the spirit
+within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and
+wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do
+so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world&mdash;oh, woe is
+me!&mdash;and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth,
+and turned to happiness!"</p>
+
+<p>The spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain and wrung its shadowy hands.</p>
+
+<p>"You are fettered," said Scrooge, trembling. "Tell me why?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the Ghost. "I made it link
+by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my
+own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to <i>you</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge trembled more and more.</p>
+
+<p>"Or would you know," pursued the Ghost, "the weight and length of the
+strong coil you bear yourself? It was full as heavy and as long as this,
+seven Christmas Eves ago. You have labored on it since. It is a
+ponderous chain!"</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge glanced about him on the floor, in the expectation of finding
+himself surrounded by some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron cable; but he
+could see nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"Jacob," he said imploringly. "Old Jacob Marley, tell me more. Speak
+comfort to me, Jacob!"</p>
+
+<p>"I have none to give," the Ghost replied. "It comes from other regions,
+Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of
+men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more, is all
+permitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere.
+My spirit never walked beyond our counting-house&mdash;mark me!&mdash;in life my
+spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole;
+and weary journeys lie before me!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p><p>It was a habit with Scrooge, whenever he became thoughtful, to put his
+hands in his breeches' pockets. Pondering on what the Ghost had said, he
+did so now, but without lifting up his eyes, or getting off his knees.</p>
+
+<p>"You must have been very slow about it, Jacob," Scrooge observed, in a
+business-like manner, though with humility and deference.</p>
+
+<p>"Slow!" the Ghost repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Seven years dead," mused Scrooge. "And traveling all the time?"</p>
+
+<p>"The whole time," said the Ghost. "No rest, no peace. Incessant torture of remorse."</p>
+
+<p>"You travel fast?" said Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>"On the wings of the wind," replied the Ghost.</p>
+
+<p>"You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years," said Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>The Ghost, on hearing this set up another cry, and clanked its chain hideously.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed," cried the Phantom, "not to know
+that ages of incessant labor, by immortal creatures, for this earth must
+pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all
+developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its
+little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short
+for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret
+can make amends for one life's opportunities misused! Yet such was I!
+Oh! such was I!"</p>
+
+<p>"But you were always a good man of business, Jacob," faltered Scrooge,
+who now began to apply this to himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Business!" cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. "Mankind was my
+business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy,
+forbearance, and benevolence, were, all my business. The dealings of my
+trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p><p>It held up its chain at arm's length, as if that were the cause of all
+its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again.</p>
+
+<p>"At this time of the rolling year," the Spectre said, "I suffer most.
+Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down,
+and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a
+poor abode? Were there no poor homes to which its light would have
+conducted <i>me</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the Spectre going on at this
+rate, and began to quake exceedingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Hear me!" cried the Ghost. "My time is nearly gone."</p>
+
+<p>"I will," said Scrooge. "But don't be hard upon me! Don't be flowery, Jacob! Pray!"</p>
+
+<p>"How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see, I may
+not tell. I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day."</p>
+
+<p>It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge shivered, and wiped the
+perspiration from his brow.</p>
+
+<p>"That is no light part of my penance," pursued the Ghost. "I am here
+to-night to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my
+fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer."</p>
+
+<p>"You were always a good friend to me," said Scrooge. "Thank'ee!"</p>
+
+<p>"You will be haunted," resumed the Ghost, "by Three Spirits."</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge's countenance fell.</p>
+
+<p>"Is that the chance and hope you mentioned. Jacob?" he demanded, in a
+faltering voice.</p>
+
+<p>"It is."</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I think I'd rather not," said Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>"Without their visits," said the Ghost, "you cannot hope to shun the
+path I tread. Expect the first to-morrow, when the bell tolls One."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p><p>"Couldn't I take 'em all at once, and have it over, Jacob?" hinted
+Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>"Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third, upon
+the next night when the last stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate.
+Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember
+what has passed between us!"</p>
+
+<p>The apparition walked backward from him toward the window, and floated
+out upon the bleak, dark night.</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge followed to the window; desperate in his curiosity. He looked out.</p>
+
+<p>The air was filled with phantoms, wandering hither and thither in
+restless haste, and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chains
+like Marley's ghost; some few (they might be guilty governments) were
+linked together; none were free. Many had been personally known to
+Scrooge in their lives. He had been quite familiar with one old ghost,
+in a white waistcoat, with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle,
+who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with an
+infant, whom it saw below upon a door-step. The misery with them all
+was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters
+and had lost the power for ever.</p>
+
+<p>Whether these creatures faded into mist, or mist enshrouded them, he
+could not tell. But they and their spirit voices faded together; and the
+night became as it had been when he walked home.</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by which the Ghost had
+entered. It was double-locked, as he had locked it with his own hands,
+and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say "Humbug!" but stopped at
+the first syllable. And being, from the emotion he had undergone, or the
+fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the Invisible World, or the dull
+conversation of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need of
+repose, went straight to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep upon the instant.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Stave Two</span>.</h3>
+
+<h3>THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS.</h3>
+
+<p>When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that, looking out of bed, he could
+scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his
+chamber. He was endeavoring to pierce the darkness with his ferret eyes,
+when the chimes of a neighboring church clock struck twelve.</p>
+
+<p>"Why it isn't possible," said Scrooge, "that I can have slept through a
+whole day and far into another night!"</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge lay and thought and thought it over and over, and could make
+nothing of it. The more he thought, the more perplexed he was, and the
+more he endeavored not to think, the more he thought. Marley's ghost
+bothered him exceedingly. "Was it a dream or not?"</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge lay in this state until he remembered, on a sudden, that the
+Ghost had warned him of a visitation when the bell tolled One. He
+resolved to lie awake until the hour was passed; and considering that he
+could not go to sleep, this was perhaps the wisest resolution in his power.</p>
+
+<p>He was more than once convinced he must have sunk into a doze
+unconsciously, and missed the clock. At length it broke upon his listening ear.</p>
+
+<p>"The hour itself," said Scrooge, triumphantly, "nothing else!"</p>
+
+<p>He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep,
+dull, hollow, melancholy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> <span class="smcap">One</span>. Light flashed up in the room upon the
+instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn.</p>
+
+<p>The curtains of his bed were drawn aside, I tell you, by a hand. Not the
+curtains at his feet, nor the curtains at his back, but those to which
+his face was addressed. The curtains of his bed were drawn aside; and
+Scrooge, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found himself face
+to face with the visitor who drew them.</p>
+
+<p>It was a strange figure&mdash;like a child: yet not so like a child as like
+an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him the
+appearance of having receded from the view, and being diminished to a
+child's proportions. Its hair, which hung about its neck and down its
+back, was white as if with age; and yet the face had not a wrinkle in
+it, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin. The arms were very long and
+muscular; the hands the same, as if its hold were of uncommon strength.
+Its legs and feet, most delicately formed, were, like those upper
+members, bare. It wore a tunic of the purest white; and round its waist
+was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful. It held a
+branch of fresh green holly in its hand; and, in singular contradiction
+of that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers. But
+the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head there
+sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible; and
+which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, a
+great extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?" asked Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>"I am!"</p>
+
+<p>The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so
+close beside him, it were at a distance.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p><p>"Who, and what are you?" Scrooge demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."</p>
+
+<p>"Long Past?" inquired Scrooge; observant of its dwarfish stature.</p>
+
+<p>"No. Your past."</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge then made bold to inquire what business brought him there.</p>
+
+<p>"Your welfare!" said the Ghost.</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge expressed himself much obliged, but could not help thinking that
+a night of unbroken rest would have been more conducive to that end. The
+Spirit must have heard him thinking, for it said immediately:</p>
+
+<p>"Your reclamation, then. Take heed!"</p>
+
+<p>It put out its strong hand as it spoke, and clasped him gently by the arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Rise! and walk with me!"</p>
+
+<p>It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the weather and the
+hour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes; that bed was warm and the
+thermometer a long way below freezing; that he was clad but lightly in
+his slippers, dressing-gown, and night-cap; and that he had a cold upon
+him at the time. The grasp, though gentle as a woman's hand, was not to
+be resisted. He rose: but finding that the Spirit made toward the
+window, clasped its robe in supplication.</p>
+
+<p>"I am a mortal," Scrooge remonstrated, "and liable to fall."</p>
+
+<p>"Bear but a touch of my hand <i>there</i>," said the Spirit, laying it upon
+his heart, "and you shall be upheld in more than this!"</p>
+
+<p>As the words were spoken, they passed out, and stood upon an open
+country road, with fields on either hand. The city had entirely
+vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist
+had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow upon the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Good Spirit!" said Scrooge, clasping his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> hands together, as he looked
+about him. "I was bred in this place. I was a boy here!"</p>
+
+<p>The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its gentle touch, though it had been
+light and instantaneous, appeared still present to the old man's sense
+of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odors floating in the air,
+each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and
+cares long, long, forgotten!</p>
+
+<p>"Your lip is trembling," said the Ghost. "And what is that upon your cheek?"</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge muttered, with an unusual catching in his voice, that it was a
+pimple; and begged the Ghost to lead him where he would.</p>
+
+<p>"You recollect the way?" inquired the Spirit.</p>
+
+<p>"Remember it!" cried Scrooge with fervor; "I could walk it blindfold."</p>
+
+<p>"Strange to have forgotten it for so many years!" observed the Ghost.
+"Let us go on."</p>
+
+<p>They walked along the road, Scrooge recognizing every gate, and post,
+and tree; until a little market-town appeared in the distance, with its
+bridge, its church, and winding river. Some shaggy ponies now were seen
+trotting toward them with boys upon their backs, who called to other
+boys in country gigs and carts, driven by farmers. All these boys were
+in great spirits, and shouted to each other, until the broad fields were
+so full of merry music, that the crisp air laughed to hear it.</p>
+
+<p>"These are but shadows of the things that have been," said the Ghost.
+"They have no consciousness of us."</p>
+
+<p>The jocund travelers came on; and as they came, Scrooge knew and named
+them every one. Why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see them? Why
+did his cold eye glisten, and his heart leap up as they went past? Why
+was he filled with gladness when he heard them give each<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> other Merry
+Christmas, as they parted at cross-roads and bye-ways, for their several
+homes? What was Merry Christmas to Scrooge? Out upon Merry Christmas!
+What good had it ever done to him?</p>
+
+<p>"The school is not quite deserted," said the Ghost. "A solitary child,
+neglected by his friends, is left there still."</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge said he knew it. And he sobbed.</p>
+
+<p>They left the high-road, by a well remembered lane, and soon approached
+a mansion of dull red brick, with a little weathercock-surmounted
+cupola, on the roof, and a bell hanging in it. It was a large house, but
+one of broken fortunes; for the spacious offices were little used, their
+walls were damp and mossy, their windows broken, and their gates
+decayed. Fowls clucked and strutted in the stables; and the coach-houses
+and sheds were overrun with grass. Nor was it more retentive of its
+ancient state within; for entering the dreary hall, and glancing through
+the open doors of many rooms, they found them poorly furnished, cold,
+and vast. There was an earthy savor in the air, a chilly bareness in the
+place, which associated itself somehow with too much getting up by
+candle-light, and not too much to eat.</p>
+
+<p>They went, the Ghost and Scrooge, across the hall, to a door at the back
+of the house. It opened before them, and disclosed a long, bare,
+melancholy room, made barer still by lines of plain deal forms and
+desks. At one of these a lonely boy was reading near a feeble fire; and
+Scrooge sat down upon a form, and wept to see his poor forgotten self as
+he had used to be.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish," Scrooge muttered, putting his hand in his pocket, and looking
+about him, after drying his eyes with his cuff: "but it's too late now."</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter?" asked the Spirit.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," said Scrooge. "Nothing. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> was a boy singing a Christmas
+Carol at my door last night. I should like to have given him something: that's all."</p>
+
+<p>The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its hand: saying as it did so,
+"Let us see another Christmas!"</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge's former self grew larger at the words, and the room became a
+little darker and more dirty. The panels shrunk, the windows cracked;
+fragments of plaster fell out of the ceiling, and the naked laths were
+shown instead; but how all this was brought about, Scrooge knew no more
+than you do. He only knew that it was quite correct: that everything had
+happened so: that there he was, alone again, when all the other boys had
+gone home for the jolly holidays.</p>
+
+<p>He was not reading now, but walking up and down despairingly. Scrooge
+looked at the Ghost, and with a mournful shaking of his head, glanced
+anxiously toward the door.</p>
+
+<p>It opened; and a little girl much younger than the boy, came darting in,
+and putting her arms about his neck, and often kissing him, addressed
+him as her "Dear, dear brother."</p>
+
+<p>"I have come to bring you home, dear brother!" said the child, clapping
+her tiny hands, and bending down to laugh. "To bring you home, home, home!"</p>
+
+<p>"Home, little Fan?" returned the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the child, brimful of glee. "Home, for good and all. Home,
+for ever and ever. Father is so much kinder than he used to be, that
+home's like Heaven! He spoke so gently to me one dear night when I was
+going to bed, that I was not afraid to ask him once more if you might
+come home; and he said Yes, you should; and sent me in a coach to bring
+you. And you're to be a man!" said the child, opening her eyes; "and are
+never to come back here: but first, we're to be together<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> all the
+Christmas long, and have the merriest time in all the world."</p>
+
+<p>"You are quite a woman, little Fan!" exclaimed the boy.</p>
+
+<p>She clapped her hands and laughed, and tried to touch his head; but
+being too little, laughed again, and stood on tiptoe to embrace him.
+Then she began to drag him, in her childish eagerness, toward the door;
+and he, nothing loth to go, accompanied her.</p>
+
+<p>A terrible voice in the hall cried, "Bring down Master Scrooge's box,
+there!" and in the hall appeared the schoolmaster himself, who glared on
+Master Scrooge with a ferocious condescension, and threw him into a
+dreadful state of mind by shaking hands with him. Master Scrooge's trunk
+being tied on to the top of the chaise, the children bade the
+schoolmaster good-bye right willingly; and getting into it, drove gaily
+down the garden-sweep: the quick wheels dashing the hoar-frost and snow
+from off the dark leaves of the evergreens like spray.</p>
+
+<p>"Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered," said
+the Ghost. "But she had a large heart!"</p>
+
+<p>"So she had," cried Scrooge. "You're right. I will not gainsay it
+Spirit. God forbid!"</p>
+
+<p>"She died a woman," said the Ghost, "and had, as I think, children."</p>
+
+<p>"One child," Scrooge returned.</p>
+
+<p>"True," said the Ghost. "Your nephew!"</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered briefly, "Yes."</p>
+
+<p>Although they had but that moment left the school behind them, they were
+now in the busy thoroughfares of a city, where shadowy passengers passed
+and repassed; where shadowy carts and coaches battled for the way, and
+all the strife and tumult of a real city were. It was made plain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>
+enough, by the dressing of the shops, that here too it was Christmas
+time again; but it was evening, and the streets were lighted up.</p>
+
+<p>The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked Scrooge if he knew it.</p>
+
+<p>"Know it!" said Scrooge. "Was not I apprenticed here!"</p>
+
+<p>They went in. At sight of an old gentleman in a Welsh wig, sitting
+behind such a high desk, that if he had been two inches taller he must
+have knocked his head against the ceiling, Scrooge cried in great excitement:</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's old Fezziwig! Bless his heart; it's Fezziwig alive again!"</p>
+
+<p>Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which
+pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his
+capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his
+organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice:</p>
+
+<p>"Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!"</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge's former self, now grown a young man, came briskly in,
+accompanied by his fellow-'prentice.</p>
+
+<p>"Dick Wilkins, to be sure!" said Scrooge to the Ghost. "Bless me, yes.
+There he is. He was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear, dear!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig, "No more work to-night. Christmas Eve,
+Dick, Christmas, Ebenezer. Let's have the shutters up," cried old
+Fezziwig, with a sharp clap of his hands, "before a man can say Jack Robinson!"</p>
+
+<p>You wouldn't believe how those two fellows went at it! They charged into
+the street with the shutters&mdash;one, two, three&mdash;had 'em up in their
+places&mdash;four, five, six&mdash;barred 'em and pinned 'em&mdash;seven, eight,
+nine&mdash;and came back before you could have got to twelve, panting like race-horses.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p><p>"Hilli-ho!" cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk, with
+wonderful agility. "Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here!"</p>
+
+<p>Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or
+couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in
+a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from
+public life for evermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps
+were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as
+snug, and warm, and dry, and bright a play-room as you would desire to
+see upon a winter's night.</p>
+
+<p>In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and
+made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came
+Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss
+Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came all the young men and women
+employed in the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin, the
+baker. In came the cook, with her brother's particular friend, the
+milkman. In they all came, one after another; some shyly, some boldly,
+some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all
+came, anyhow and everyhow.</p>
+
+<p>There were dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there
+was cake, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a
+great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince-pies.</p>
+
+<p>When the clock struck eleven, this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs.
+Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side the door, and shaking
+hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him
+or her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two
+'prentices they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died
+away, and the lads were left to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> their beds; which were under a counter
+in the back-shop.</p>
+
+<p>During the whole of this time, Scrooge had acted like a man out of his
+wits. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self. He
+corroborated everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and
+underwent the strangest agitation. It was not until now, when the bright
+faces of his former self and Dick were turned from them, that he
+remembered the Ghost, and became conscious that it was looking full upon
+him, while the light upon its head burnt very clear.</p>
+
+<p>"A small matter," said the Ghost, "to make these silly folks so full of gratitude."</p>
+
+<p>"Small!" echoed Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>The spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices, who were
+pouring out their hearts in praise of Fezziwig; and when he had done so said,</p>
+
+<p>"Why! Is it not? He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money:
+three or four, perhaps. Is that so much that he deserves this praise?"</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't that," said Scrooge, heated by the remark, and speaking
+unconsciously like his former, not his latter self. "It isn't that,
+Spirit. He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our
+service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power
+lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it
+is impossible to add and count 'em up; what then? The happiness he
+gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune."</p>
+
+<p>He felt the Spirit's glance, and stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter?" asked the Ghost.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing particular," said Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>"Something, I think?" the Ghost insisted.</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Scrooge, "No. I should like to be able to say a word or two
+to my clerk just now. That's all."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p><p>His former self turned down the lamps as he gave utterance to the wish:
+and Scrooge and the Ghost again stood side by side in the open air.</p>
+
+<p>"My time grows short," observed the Spirit. "Quick!"</p>
+
+<p>This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to any one whom he could see, but
+it produced an immediate effect. For again Scrooge saw himself. He was
+older now; a man in the prime of life. His face had not the harsh and
+rigid lines of later years; but it had begun to wear the signs of care
+and avarice. There was an eager, greedy, restless motion in the eye,
+which showed the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow of
+the growing tree would fall.</p>
+
+<p>He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a
+mourning-dress: in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the
+light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.</p>
+
+<p>"It matters little," she said, softly. "To you, very little. Another
+idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to
+come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve."</p>
+
+<p>"What idol has displaced you?" he rejoined.</p>
+
+<p>"A golden one."</p>
+
+<p>"This is the even-handed dealing of the world!" he said. "There is
+nothing on which it is so hard as poverty; and there is nothing it
+professes to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth!"</p>
+
+<p>"You fear the world too much," she answered, gently. "All your other
+hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid
+reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until
+the master-passion, Gain, engrosses you. Have I not?"</p>
+
+<p>"What then?" he retorted. "Even if I have grown so much wiser, what
+then? I am not changed toward you."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p><p>She shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"Am I?"</p>
+
+<p>"Our contract is an old one. It was made when we were both poor and
+content to be so, until, in good season, we could improve our worldly
+fortune by our patient industry. You <i>are</i> changed. When it was made,
+you were another man."</p>
+
+<p>"I was a boy," he said impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>"Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are," she
+returned. "I am. That which promised happiness when we were one in
+heart, is fraught with misery now that we are two. How often and how
+keenly I have thought of this, I will not say. It is enough that I
+<i>have</i> thought of it, and can release you."</p>
+
+<p>"Have I ever sought release?"</p>
+
+<p>"In words. No. Never."</p>
+
+<p>"In what, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of
+life; another Hope as its great end. In everything that made my love of
+any worth or value in your sight. If this had never been between us,"
+said the girl, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him; "can even
+I believe that you would choose a dowerless girl: or, choosing her, do I
+not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and
+I release you. With a full heart, for the love of him you once were."</p>
+
+<p>He was about to speak; but she left him and they parted.</p>
+
+<p>"Spirit!" said Scrooge, "show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do you
+delight to torture me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I told you these were shadows of the things that have been," said the
+Ghost. "That they are what they are, do not blame me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Remove me!" Scrooge exclaimed. "I cannot bear it!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p><p>He turned upon the Ghost, and seeing that it looked upon him with a
+face, in which some strange way there were fragments of all the faces it
+had shown him, wrestled with it.</p>
+
+<p>"Leave me! Take me back. Haunt me no longer!"</p>
+
+<p>In the struggle&mdash;if that can be called a struggle in which the Ghost,
+with no visible resistance on its own part was undisturbed by any effort
+of its adversary&mdash;Scrooge was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome
+by an irresistible drowsiness; and, further, of being in his own
+bed-room. He had barely time to reel to bed, before he sank into a heavy sleep.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Stave Three.</span></h3>
+
+<h3>THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS.</h3>
+
+<p>Awaking in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore, and sitting up in
+bed to get his thoughts together, Scrooge had no occasion to be told
+that the bell was again upon the stroke of One. He felt that he was
+restored to consciousness in the right nick of time, for the especial
+purpose of holding a conference with the second messenger despatched to
+him through Jacob Marley's intervention. But, finding that he turned
+uncomfortably cold when he began to wonder which of his curtains this
+new spectre would draw back, he put them every one aside with his own
+hands, and lying down again, established a sharp look-out all round the
+bed. For he wished to challenge the Spirit on the moment of its
+appearance, and did not wish to be taken by surprise and made nervous.</p>
+
+<p>Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means
+prepared for nothing; and,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> consequently, when the bell struck One, and
+no shape appeared, he was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Five
+minutes, ten minutes a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All
+this time, he lay upon his bed, the very core and centre of a blaze of
+ruddy light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour;
+and which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts, as
+he was powerless to make out what it meant. At last, however, he began
+to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in
+the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to
+shine. This idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly
+and shuffled in his slippers to the door.</p>
+
+<p>The moment Scrooge's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called him by
+his name, and bade him enter. He obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone
+a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with
+living green, that it looked a perfect grove; from every part of which,
+bright gleaming berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe,
+and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been
+scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as
+that dull petrifaction of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's time, or
+Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the
+floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry,
+brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages,
+mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red hot chestnuts,
+cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears and immense
+twelfth-cakes, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. In
+easy state upon this couch there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see; who
+bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> Plenty's horn, and held it
+up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge, as he came peeping round the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost "Come in! and know me better, man!"</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before this Spirit. He was
+not the dogged Scrooge he had been; and though the Spirit's eyes were
+clear and kind, he did not like to meet them.</p>
+
+<p>"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present," said the Spirit: "Look upon me!
+You have never seen the like of me before!" exclaimed the Spirit.</p>
+
+<p>"Never," Scrooge made answer to it.</p>
+
+<p>"Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family; meaning
+(for I am very young) my elder brothers born in these later years?"
+pursued the Phantom.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I have," said Scrooge. "I am afraid I have not. Have you
+had many brothers, Spirit?"</p>
+
+<p>"More than eighteen hundred," said the Ghost.</p>
+
+<p>"A tremendous family to provide for," muttered Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>The Ghost of Christmas Present rose.</p>
+
+<p>"Spirit," said Scrooge, submissively, "conduct me where you will. I went
+forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson which is working
+now. To-night, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it."</p>
+
+<p>"Touch my robe!"</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast.</p>
+
+<p>The whole scene vanished instantly and they stood in the city streets on
+Christmas morning, where (for the weather was severe) the people made a
+rough, but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow
+from the pavement in front of their dwellings, and from the tops of
+their houses, whence it was mad delight to the boys to see it come
+plumping down into the road<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> below, and splitting into artificial little
+snowstorms.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing his sympathy
+with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge's clerk's; for there
+he went, and took Scrooge with him, holding to his robe; and on the
+threshold of the door the spirit smiled, and stopped to bless Bob
+Cratchit's dwelling with the sprinklings of his torch.</p>
+
+<p>Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in a
+twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a
+goodly show; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit,
+second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while Master Peter
+Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes. And now two
+smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside
+the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own.</p>
+
+<p>"What has ever got your precious father, then?" said Mrs. Cratchit. "And
+your brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by
+half-an-hour!"</p>
+
+<p>"Here's Martha, mother," said a girl appearing as she spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Here's Martha, mother," cried the two young Cratchits. "Hurrah! There's
+<i>such</i> a goose, Martha!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!" said Mrs.
+Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet
+for her with officious zeal.</p>
+
+<p>"We'd a deal of work to finish up last night," replied the girl, "and
+had to clear away this morning, mother!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well! never mind so long as you are come," said Mrs. Cratchit. "Sit ye
+down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!"</p>
+
+<p>"No no! There's father coming," cried the two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> young Cratchits, who were
+everywhere at once. "Hide, Martha, hide!"</p>
+
+<p>So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at least
+three feet of comforter exclusive of the fringe hanging down before him;
+and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look seasonable;
+and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little
+crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame!</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Where's our Martha?" cried Bob Cratchit looking round.</p>
+
+<p>"Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit.</p>
+
+<p>"Not coming!" said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high spirits;
+for he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church, and had come
+home rampant. "Not coming upon Christmas Day!"</p>
+
+<p>Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so
+she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into his
+arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off
+into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the
+copper.</p>
+
+<p>"And how did little Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had
+rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's content.</p>
+
+<p>"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful,
+sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever
+heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the
+church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to
+remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk and blind men see."</p>
+
+<p>Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when
+he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty.</p>
+
+<p>His active little crutch was heard upon the floor,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> and back came Tiny
+Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister
+to his stool beside the fire; and Master Peter and the two ubiquitous
+young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in high procession.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan)
+hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigor;
+Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple sauce; Martha dusted the hot-plates;
+Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two
+young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and
+mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest
+they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At
+last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a
+breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the
+carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did,
+and when the long-expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of
+delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two
+young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!</p>
+
+<p>There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was
+such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavor, size and cheapness, were
+the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple sauce and mashed
+potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as
+Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a
+bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet every one had
+had enough. But now the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs.
+Cratchit left the room alone&mdash;too nervous to bear witnesses&mdash;to take the
+pudding up, and bring it in.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p><p>Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he
+regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since
+their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind,
+she would confess she had her doubts about the quantity of flour.
+Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it
+was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat
+heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.</p>
+
+<p>At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth
+swept, and the fire made up. Apples and oranges were put upon the table
+and a shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family
+drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning
+half a one. Then Bob proposed: "A Merry Christmas to all, my dears. God bless us!"</p>
+
+<p>Which all the family re-echoed.</p>
+
+<p>"God bless us, every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all.</p>
+
+<p>He sat very close to his father's side, upon his little stool. Bob held
+his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child and wished to
+keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him.</p>
+
+<p>"Spirit," said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt before, "tell
+me if Tiny Tim will live."</p>
+
+<p>"I see a vacant seat," replied the Ghost, "in the poor chimney corner,
+and a crutch without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows
+remain unaltered by the Future the child will die."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," said Scrooge. "Oh, no, kind Spirit! say he will be spared."</p>
+
+<p>"If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future none other of my race,"
+returned the Ghost, "will find him here. What then? If he be like to
+die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p><p>Scrooge hung his head to hear his own words quoted by the Spirit, and
+was overcome with penitence and grief.</p>
+
+<p>"Man," said the Ghost, "if man you be in heart, not adamant, forbear
+that wicked cant until you have discovered what the surplus is and where
+it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? It may
+be that in the sight of Heaven you are more worthless and less fit to
+live than millions like this poor man's child. Oh, God! to hear the
+insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry
+brothers in the dust!"</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge bent before the Ghost's rebuke, and trembling cast his eyes upon
+the ground. But he raised them speedily on hearing his own name.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Scrooge!" said Bob; "I'll give you Mr. Scrooge, the Founder of the Feast!"</p>
+
+<p>"The Founder of the Feast indeed!" cried Mrs. Cratchit, reddening. "I
+wish I had him here. I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and
+I hope he'd have a good appetite for it."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear," said Bob, "the children! Christmas day."</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge was the Ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a dark
+shadow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes.</p>
+
+<p>After it had passed away, they were ten times merrier than before, from
+the mere relief of Scrooge the Baleful being done with. Bob Cratchit
+told them how he had a situation in his eye for Master Peter. The two
+young Cratchits laughed tremendously at the idea of Peter's being a man
+of business; and Peter himself looked thoughtfully at the fire from
+between his collars, as if he were deliberating what particular
+investments he should favor when he came into receipt of the bewildering
+income. Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a milliner's, then told
+them what kind of work<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> she had to do, and how many hours she worked at
+a stretch, and how she meant to be abed to-morrow morning for a good
+long rest, to-morrow being a holiday she passed at home. Also how she
+had seen a countess and a lord some days before, and how the lord "was
+much about as tall as Peter," at which Peter pulled up his collars so
+high that you couldn't have seen his head if you had been there. By and
+by they had a song, about a lost child traveling in the snow, from Tiny
+Tim, who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it very well indeed.</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a handsome family;
+they were not well dressed; their shoes were far from being waterproof;
+their clothes were scanty; and Peter might have known, and very likely
+did, the inside of a pawnbroker's. But they were happy, grateful,
+pleased with one another, and contented with the time; and when they
+faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit's
+torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny
+Tim, until the last.</p>
+
+<p>By this time it was getting dark and snowing pretty heavily; and as
+Scrooge and the Spirit went along the streets, the brightness of the
+roaring fires in kitchens, parlors, and all sorts of rooms, was
+wonderful. Here, the flickering of the blaze showed preparations for a
+cosy dinner, with hot plates baking through and through before the fire,
+and deep red curtains, ready to be drawn to shut out cold and darkness.
+There, all the children of the house were running out into the snow to
+meet their married sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, and be the
+first to greet them.</p>
+
+<p>It was a great surprise to Scrooge, as he meditated on these scenes, to
+hear a hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise to Scrooge to
+recognize it as his own nephew's, and to find himself in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> a bright, dry,
+gleaming room, with the Spirit standing smiling by his side, and looking
+at that same nephew with approving affability!</p>
+
+<p>"Ha! ha!" laughed Scrooge's nephew. "Ha! ha! ha!"</p>
+
+<p>If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know a man more blessed
+in a laugh than Scrooge's nephew, all I can say is, I should like to
+know him too. Introduce him to me, and I'll cultivate his acquaintance.</p>
+
+<p>It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things that while there
+is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so
+irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humor. When Scrooge's
+nephew laughed in this way, holding his sides, rolling his head, and
+twisting his face into the most extravagant contortions, Scrooge's
+niece, by marriage, laughed as heartily as he. And their assembled
+friends being not a bit behindhand, roared out lustily.</p>
+
+<p>"Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha!"</p>
+
+<p>"He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I live!" cried Scrooge's
+nephew. "He believed it, too."</p>
+
+<p>"More shame for him, Fred!" said Scrooge's niece, indignantly. Bless
+those women! they never do anything by halves. They are always in earnest.</p>
+
+<p>She was very pretty; exceedingly pretty. With a dimpled,
+surprised-looking, capital face; a ripe little mouth that seemed made to
+be kissed&mdash;as no doubt it was; all kinds of good little dots about her
+chin, that melted into one another when she laughed; and the sunniest
+pair of eyes you ever saw in any little creature's head. Altogether she
+was what you would have called provoking, you know; but satisfactory,
+too. Oh, perfectly satisfactory.</p>
+
+<p>"He's a comical old fellow," said Scrooge's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> nephew, "that's the truth:
+and not so pleasant as he might be. However, his offences carry their
+own punishment, and I have nothing to say against him."</p>
+
+<p>"I have no patience with him," observed Scrooge's niece. Scrooge's
+niece's sisters, and all the other ladies, expressed the same opinion.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I have!" said Scrooge's nephew. "I am sorry for him; I couldn't be
+angry with him if I tried. Who suffers by his ill whims! Himself,
+always. Here, he takes it into his head to dislike us, and he won't come
+and dine with us. What's the consequence? He don't lose much of a dinner."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed, I think he loses a very good dinner," interrupted Scrooge's
+niece. Everybody else said the same, and they must be allowed to have
+been competent judges, because they had just had dinner; and with the
+dessert upon the table, were clustered round the fire, by lamp-light.</p>
+
+<p>"Well! I am very glad to hear it," said Scrooge's nephew, "because I
+haven't any great faith in these young housekeepers. What do <i>you</i> say, Topper?"</p>
+
+<p>Topper had clearly got his eye upon one of Scrooge's niece's sisters,
+for he answered that a bachelor was a wretched outcast, who had no right
+to express an opinion on the subject. Whereat Scrooge's niece's
+sister&mdash;the plump one with the lace tucker: not the one with the
+roses&mdash;blushed.</p>
+
+<p>"Do go on, Fred," said Scrooge's niece, clapping her hands. "He never
+finishes what he begins to say! He is such a ridiculous fellow!"</p>
+
+<p>"I was only going to say," said Scrooge's nephew, "that the consequence
+of his taking a dislike to us, and not making merry with us, is, as I
+think, that he loses some pleasant moments, which could do him no harm.
+I am sure he loses pleasanter companions than he can find in his own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
+thoughts, either in his mouldy old office, or his dusty chambers. I mean
+to give him the same chance every year, whether he likes it or not, for
+I pity him. He may rail at Christmas till he dies, but he can't help
+thinking better of it&mdash;I defy him&mdash;if he finds me going there, in good
+temper, year after year, and saying, 'Uncle Scrooge, how are you?' If it
+only puts him in the vein to leave his poor clerk fifty pounds, <i>that's</i>
+something; and I think I shook him yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>It was their turn to laugh now, at the notion of his shaking Scrooge.
+But being thoroughly goodnatured, and not much caring what they laughed
+at, so that they laughed at any rate, he encouraged them in their merriment.</p>
+
+<p>After tea they had some music, Scrooge's niece played well; and played
+among other tunes a simple little air (a mere nothing: you might learn
+to whistle it in two minutes), which had been familiar to the child who
+fetched Scrooge from the boarding-school, as he had been reminded by the
+Ghost of Christmas Past. When this strain of music sounded, all the
+things that the Ghost had shown him, came upon his mind; he softened
+more and more; and thought that if he could have listened to it often,
+years ago, he might have cultivated the kindnesses of life for his own
+happiness with his own hands, without resorting to the sexton's spade
+that buried Jacob Marley.</p>
+
+<p>But they didn't devote the whole evening to music. After awhile they
+played at forfeits; for it is good to be children sometimes, and never
+better than at Christmas, when its mighty founder was a child himself.</p>
+
+<p>Stop! There was first a glorious game at blindman's buff. Of course
+there was. And I no more believe Topper was really blind than I believe
+he had eyes in his boots. My opinion is, that it was a done thing
+between him and Scrooge's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> nephew; and that the Ghost of Christmas
+Present knew it. The way he went after that plump sister in the lace
+tucker, was an outrage on the credulity of human nature. Knocking down
+the fire-irons, tumbling over the chairs, bumping up against the piano,
+smothering himself amongst the curtains, wherever she went, there went
+he! He always knew where the plump sister was. He wouldn't catch anybody
+else. If you had fallen up against him, (as some of them did) on
+purpose, he would have made a feint of endeavoring to seize you, which
+would have been an affront to your understanding, and would instantly
+have sidled off in the direction of the plump sister. She often cried
+out that it wasn't fair; and it really was not. But when at last, he
+caught her; when, in spite of all her silken rustlings, and her rapid
+flutterings past him, he got her into a corner whence there was no
+escape; then his conduct was the most execrable. For his pretending not
+to know her; his pretending that it was necessary to touch her
+head-dress, and further to assure himself of her identity by pressing a
+certain ring upon her finger, and a certain chain about her neck; was
+vile, monstrous! No doubt she told him her opinion of it when, another
+blind-man being in office, they were so very confidential together,
+behind the curtains.</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge's niece was not one of the blind-man's buff party, but was made
+comfortable with a large chair and a footstool, in a snug corner where
+the Ghost and Scrooge were close behind her. But she joined in the
+forfeits, and loved her love to admiration with all the letters of the
+alphabet. Likewise at the game of How, When, and Where, she was very
+great, and, to the secret joy of Scrooge's nephew, beat her sisters
+hollow: though they were sharp girls too, as Topper could have told you.
+There might have been twenty people<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> there, young and old, but they all
+played, and so did Scrooge; for, wholly forgetting in the interest he
+had in what was going on, that his voice made no sound in their ears, he
+sometimes came out with his guess quite loud, and very often guessed
+right, too; for the sharpest needle, warranted not to cut in the eye,
+was not sharper than Scrooge; blunt as he took it in his head to be.</p>
+
+<p>The Ghost was greatly pleased to find him in this mood, and looked upon
+him with such favor, that he begged like a boy to be allowed to stay
+until the guests departed. But this the Spirit said could not be done.
+The whole scene passed off; and he and the Spirit were again upon their travels.</p>
+
+<p>Much they saw, and far they went, and many homes they visited, but
+always with a happy end. The Spirit stood beside sick beds, and they
+were cheerful; on foreign lands, and they were close at home; by
+struggling men, and they were patient in their greater hope; by poverty,
+and it was rich. In almshouse, hospital, and jail, in misery's every
+refuge, where vain man in his little brief authority had not made fast
+the door, and barred the Spirit out, he left his blessing, and taught
+Scrooge his precepts.</p>
+
+<p>It was a long night, if it were only a night; but Scrooge had his doubts
+of this, because the Christmas Holidays appeared to be condensed into
+the space of time they passed together. It was strange, too, that while
+Scrooge remained unaltered in his outward form, the Ghost grew older, clearly older!</p>
+
+<p>"Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask," said Scrooge, looking
+intently at the Spirit's robe, "but I see something strange, and not
+belonging to yourself, protruding from your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw?"</p>
+
+<p>"It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> it," was the Spirit's
+sorrowful reply. "Look here."</p>
+
+<p>From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children; wretched,
+abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and
+clung upon the outside of its garment.</p>
+
+<p>They were a boy and girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but
+prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have
+filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a
+stale and shriveled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted
+them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat
+enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no
+degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the
+mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread.</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him in this way, he
+tried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves,
+rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude.</p>
+
+<p>"Spirit, are they yours?" Scrooge could say no more.</p>
+
+<p>"They are Man's," said the Spirit, looking down upon them. "And they
+cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This
+girl is Want. Beware of them both, and all of their degree, but most of
+all beware of this boy."</p>
+
+<p>"Have they no refuge or resource?" cried Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>"Are there no prisons?" said the Spirit, turning on him for the last
+time with his own words. "Are there no work-houses?"</p>
+
+<p>The bell struck twelve.</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge looked about him for the Ghost, and saw it not. As the last
+stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the prediction of old Jacob
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>Marley, and lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and
+hooded, coming like a mist along the ground toward him.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Stave Four.</span></h3>
+
+<h3>THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS.</h3>
+
+<p>The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently, approached. When it came near
+him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which
+this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery.</p>
+
+<p>It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its
+face, its form, and left nothing of it visible, save one outstretched
+hand. But for this it would have been difficult to detach its figure
+from the night, and separate it from the darkness by which it was
+surrounded.</p>
+
+<p>He felt that it was tall and stately when it came beside him, and that
+its mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. He knew no more,
+for the Spirit neither spoke nor moved.</p>
+
+<p>"I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?" said Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its hand.</p>
+
+<p>"You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened,
+but will happen in the time before us," Scrooge pursued. "Is that so, Spirit?"</p>
+
+<p>The upper portion of the garment was contracted for an instant in its
+folds, as if the Spirit had inclined its head. That was the only answer he received.</p>
+
+<p>Although well used to ghostly company by this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> time, Scrooge feared the
+silent shape so much that his legs trembled beneath him, and he found
+that he could hardly stand when he prepared to follow it. The Spirit
+paused a moment, as observing his condition, and giving him time to recover.</p>
+
+<p>But Scrooge was all the worse for this. It thrilled him with a vague
+uncertain horror, to know that behind the dusky shroud, there were
+ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he, though he stretched his
+own to the utmost, could see nothing but a spectral hand and one great heap of black.</p>
+
+<p>"Ghost of the Future!" he exclaimed, "I fear you more than any spectre I
+have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good and as I hope to
+live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you
+company, and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?"</p>
+
+<p>It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them.</p>
+
+<p>"Lead on!" said Scrooge. "Lead on! The night is waning fast, and it is
+precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit!"</p>
+
+<p>The Phantom moved away as it had come toward him. Scrooge followed in
+the shadow of its dress, which bore him up, he thought, and carried him along.</p>
+
+<p>They scarcely seemed to enter the city; for the city rather seemed to
+spring up about them, and encompass them of its own act. But there they
+were in the heart of it; on 'Change, amongst the merchants; who hurried
+up and down, and chinked the money in their pockets, and conversed in
+groups, and looked at their watches, and trifled thoughtfully with their
+great gold seals; and so forth, as Scrooge had seen them often.</p>
+
+<p>The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men. Observing
+that the hand was pointed to them, Scrooge advanced to listen to their talk.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p><p>"No," said a great fat man with a monstrous chin, "I don't know much
+about it either way. I only know he's dead."</p>
+
+<p>"When did he die?" inquired another.</p>
+
+<p>"Last night, I believe."</p>
+
+<p>"What has he done with his money?" asked a red-faced gentleman with a
+pendulous excrescence on the end of his nose, that shook like the gills
+of a turkey-cock.</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't heard," said the man with the large chin, yawning again.
+"Left it to his company, perhaps. He hasn't left it to <i>me</i>. That's all I know."</p>
+
+<p>This pleasantry was received with a general laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"It's likely to be a very cheap funeral," said the same speaker; "for
+upon my life I don't know of anybody to go to it. Suppose we make up a
+party and volunteer?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't mind going if a lunch is provided," observed the gentleman with
+the excrescence on his nose. "But I must be fed, if I make one."</p>
+
+<p>Another laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I am the most disinterested among you, after all," said the first
+speaker, "for I never wear black gloves, and I never eat lunch. But I'll
+offer to go, if anybody else will. When I come to think of it, I'm not
+at all sure that I wasn't his most particular friend; for we used to
+stop and speak whenever we met. Bye, bye!"</p>
+
+<p>Speakers and listeners strolled away, and mixed with other groups.
+Scrooge knew the men, and looked toward the Spirit for explanation. He
+was at first inclined to be surprised that the Spirit should attach
+importance to conversations apparently so trivial; but feeling assured
+that they must have some hidden purpose, he set himself to consider what
+it was likely to be. They could scarcely be supposed to have any bearing
+on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> death of Jacob, his old partner, for that was past, and this
+Ghost's province was the future. Nor could he think of any one
+immediately connected with himself, to whom he could apply them.</p>
+
+<p>They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part of the town,
+where Scrooge had never penetrated before, although he recognized its
+situation and its bad repute. The ways were foul and narrow; the shops
+and houses wretched; the people half-naked, drunken, slipshod, ugly.
+Alleys and archways, like so many cesspools, disgorged their offences of
+smell, and dirt, and life, upon the straggling streets; and the whole
+quarter reeked with crime, with filth and misery.</p>
+
+<p>Far in this den of infamous resort, there was a low-browed, beetling
+shop, below a pent-house roof, where iron, old rags, bottles, bones, and
+greasy offal were bought. Upon the floor within, were piled up heaps of
+rusty keys, nails, chains, hinges, files, scales, weights, and refuse
+iron of all kinds. Secrets that few would like to scrutinize were bred
+and hidden in mountains of unseemly rags, masses of corrupted fat, and
+sepulchres of bones. Sitting in among the wares he dealt in, by a
+charcoal stove, made of old bricks, was a grey-haired rascal, nearly
+seventy years of age; who had screened himself from the cold air
+without, by a frowsy curtaining of miscellaneous tatters hung upon a
+line; and smoked his pipe in all the luxury of calm retirement.</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge and the Phantom came into the presence of this man, just as a
+woman with a heavy bundle slunk into the shop. But she had scarcely
+entered, when another woman, similarly laden, came in too; and she was
+closely followed by a man in faded black, who was no less startled by
+the sight of them, than they had been upon the recognition of each
+other. After a short period of blank astonishment, in which the old man
+with a pipe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> had joined them, they all three burst into a laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Let the charwoman alone to be the first!" cried she who had entered
+first. "Let the laundress alone to be the second; and let the
+undertaker's man alone to be the third. Look here, old Joe, here's a
+chance! If we haven't all three met here without meaning it!"</p>
+
+<p>"You couldn't have met in a better place," said old Joe, removing his
+pipe from his mouth. "Come into the parlor."</p>
+
+<p>The parlor was the space behind the screen of rags. The old man raked
+the fire together with an old stair-rod, and having trimmed his smoky
+lamp (for it was night), with the stem of his pipe, put it into his
+mouth again.</p>
+
+<p>While he did this, the woman who had already spoken threw her bundle on
+the floor and sat down in a flaunting manner on a stool; crossing her
+elbows on her knees, and looking with a bold defiance at the other two.
+"Now, then!" cried the woman. "Who's the worse for the loss of a few
+things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose."</p>
+
+<p>"No, indeed," said Mrs. Dilber, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"If he wanted to keep 'em after he was dead, a wicked old screw,"
+pursued the woman, "why wasn't he natural in his lifetime? If he had
+been, he'd have had somebody to look after him when he was struck with
+Death, instead of lying gasping out his last there, alone by himself."</p>
+
+<p>"It's the truest word that ever was spoke," said Mrs. Dilber. "It's a
+judgment on him."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish it was a little heavier judgment," replied the woman; "and it
+should have been, you may depend upon it, if I could have laid my hands
+on anything else. Open that bundle, old Joe, and let me know the value
+of it. Speak out plain. I'm not afraid to be the first, nor afraid for
+them to see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> it. We knew pretty well that we were helping ourselves,
+before we met here, I believe. Open the bundle, Joe."</p>
+
+<p>But the gallantry of her friends would not allow of this; and the man in
+faded black, mounting the breach first, produced <i>his</i> plunder. It was
+not extensive. A seal or two, a pencil-case, a pair of sleeve buttons,
+and a brooch of no great value, were all. They were severally examined
+and appraised by old Joe, who chalked the sums he was disposed to give
+for each, upon the wall, and added them up into a total when he found
+that there was nothing more to come.</p>
+
+<p>"That's your account," said Joe, "and I wouldn't give another sixpence,
+if I was to be boiled for not doing it. Who's next?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Dilber was next. Sheets and towels, a little wearing apparel, two
+old-fashioned silver teaspoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, and a few boots.
+Her account was stated on the wall in the same manner.</p>
+
+<p>"I always give too much to ladies. It's a weakness of mine, and that's
+the way I ruin myself," said old Joe. "That's your account. If you asked
+me for another penny, and made it an open question, I'd repent of being
+so liberal, and knock off half-a-crown."</p>
+
+<p>"And now undo <i>my</i> bundle, Joe," said the first woman.</p>
+
+<p>Joe went down on his knees for the greater convenience of opening it,
+and having unfastened a great many knots, dragged out a large heavy roll
+of some dark stuff.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you call this?" said Joe. "Bed curtains!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" returned the woman, laughing and leaning forward on her crossed
+arms. "Bed curtains!"</p>
+
+<p>"You don't mean to say you took 'em down rings and all, with him lying there?" said Joe.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p><p>"Yes, I do," replied the woman. "Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"You were born to make your fortune," said Joe, "and you'll certainly do it."</p>
+
+<p>"I certainly shan't hold my hand, when I can get anything in it by
+reaching it out, for the sake of such a man as he was, I promise you,
+Joe," returned the woman coolly. "Don't drop that oil upon the blankets, now."</p>
+
+<p>"His blankets?" asked Joe.</p>
+
+<p>"Whose else's do you think?" replied the woman. "He isn't likely to take
+cold without 'em, I dare say."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope he didn't die of anything catching? Eh?" said old Joe, stopping
+in his work, and looking up.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you be afraid of that," returned the woman. "I an't so fond of
+his company that I'd loiter about him for such things, if he did. Ah!
+you may look through that shirt till your eyes ache; but you won't find
+a hole in it, nor a threadbare place. It's the best he had, and a fine
+one too. They'd have wasted it, if it hadn't been for me."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you call wasting of it?" asked old Joe.</p>
+
+<p>"Putting it on him to be buried in, to be sure," replied the woman with
+a laugh. "Somebody was fool enough to do it, but I took it off again. If
+calico ain't good enough for such a purpose, it isn't good enough for
+anything. It's quite as becoming to the body. He can't look uglier than
+he did in that one."</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror. As they sat grouped about
+their spoil, in the scanty light afforded by the old man's lamp, he
+viewed them with a detestation and disgust, which could hardly have been
+greater, though they had been obscene demons, marketing the corpse itself.</p>
+
+<p>"Ha, ha!" laughed the same woman, when old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> Joe, producing a flannel bag
+with money in it, told out their several gains upon the ground. "This is
+the end of it, you see? He frightened everyone away from him when he was
+alive, to profit us when he was dead! Ha! ha! ha!"</p>
+
+<p>"Spirit!" said Scrooge, shuddering from head to foot, "I see, I see. The
+case of this unhappy man might be my own. My life tends that way, now.
+Merciful Heaven, what is this?"</p>
+
+<p>He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he almost
+touched a bed: a bare, uncurtained bed: on which, beneath a ragged
+sheet, there lay a something covered up which, though it was dumb,
+announced itself in awful language.</p>
+
+<p>The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any accuracy,
+though Scrooge glanced round it in obedience to a secret impulse,
+anxious to know what kind of room it was. A pale light rising in the
+outer air, fell straight upon the bed: and on it, plundered and bereft,
+unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this man.</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge glanced toward the Phantom. Its steady hand was pointed to the
+head. The cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of
+it, the motion of a finger upon Scrooge's part, would have disclosed the
+face. He thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to
+do it; but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss the
+spectre at his side.</p>
+
+<p>"Spirit!" he said, "this is a fearful place. In leaving it, I shall not
+leave its lesson, trust me. Let us go!"</p>
+
+<p>Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the head.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand you," Scrooge returned, "and I would do it if I could. But
+I have not the power, Spirit. I have not the power."</p>
+
+<p>Again it seemed to look upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"If there is any person in the town, who feels<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> emotion caused by this
+man's death," said Scrooge, quite agonized, "show that person to me,
+Spirit, I beseech you!"</p>
+
+<p>The phantom spread its dark robe before him for a moment, like a wing;
+and withdrawing it, revealed a room by daylight, where a mother and her children were.</p>
+
+<p>She was expecting some one, and with anxious eagerness; for she walked
+up and down the room; started at every sound; looked out from the
+window; glanced at the clock; tried, but in vain, to work with her
+needle; and could hardly bear the voices of her children in their play.</p>
+
+<p>At length the long-expected knock was heard. She hurried to the door and
+met her husband; a man whose face was care-worn and depressed, though he
+was young. There was a remarkable expression in it now; a kind of
+serious delight of which he felt ashamed, and which he struggled to repress.</p>
+
+<p>He sat down to the dinner that had been hoarding for him by the fire,
+and when she asked him faintly what news (which was not until after a
+long silence), he appeared embarrassed how to answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it good," she said, "or bad?"&mdash;to help him.</p>
+
+<p>"Bad," he answered.</p>
+
+<p>"We are quite ruined?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. There is hope yet, Caroline."</p>
+
+<p>"If <i>he</i> relents," she said, amazed, "there is! Nothing is past hope, if
+such a miracle has happened."</p>
+
+<p>"He is past relenting," said her husband. "He is dead."</p>
+
+<p>She was a mild and patient creature, if her face spoke truth; but she
+was thankful in her soul to hear it, and she said so, with clasped
+hands. She prayed forgiveness the next moment, and was sorry: but the
+first was the emotion of her heart.</p>
+
+<p>"What the half-drunken woman, whom I told<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> you of last night, said to
+me, when I tried to see him and obtain a week's delay: and what I
+thought was a mere excuse to avoid me, turns out to have been quite
+true. He was not only very ill, but dying, then."</p>
+
+<p>"To whom will our debt be transferred?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. But before that time we shall be ready with the money;
+and even though we were not, it would be bad fortune indeed to find so
+merciless a creditor in his successor. We may sleep to-night with light
+hearts, Caroline!"</p>
+
+<p>Yes. Soften it as they would, their hearts were lighter. The children's
+faces, hushed and clustered round to hear what they so little
+understood, were brighter; and it was a happier house for this man's
+death! The only emotion that the Ghost could show him, caused by the
+event, was one of pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me see some tenderness connected with the death," said Scrooge; "or
+that dark chamber, Spirit, which we left just now, will be for ever
+present to me."</p>
+
+<p>The Ghost conducted him through several streets to poor Bob Cratchit's
+house; the dwelling he had visited before: and found the mother and the
+children seated round the fire.</p>
+
+<p>Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as still as statues
+in one corner, and sat looking up at Peter, who had a book before him.
+The mother and her daughters were sewing. But surely they were very quiet!</p>
+
+<p>"'And He took a child, and set him in the midst of them.'"</p>
+
+<p>Where had Scrooge heard those words? He had not dreamed them. The boy
+must have read them out, as he and the Spirit crossed the threshold. Why
+did he not go on?</p>
+
+<p>The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her hand up to her face.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p><p>"The color hurts my eyes," she said.</p>
+
+<p>The color? Ah, poor Tiny Tim!</p>
+
+<p>"They're better now again," said Cratchit's wife. "It makes them weak by
+candle-light; and I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father when he comes
+home, for the world. It must be near his time."</p>
+
+<p>"Past it rather," Peter answered, shutting up his book. "But I think he
+has walked a little slower than he used, these few last evenings, mother."</p>
+
+<p>They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in a steady, cheerful
+voice, that only faltered once:</p>
+
+<p>"I have known him walk with&mdash;I have known him walk with Tiny Tim upon
+his shoulder, very fast indeed."</p>
+
+<p>"And so have I," cried Peter. "Often."</p>
+
+<p>"And so have I," exclaimed another. So had all.</p>
+
+<p>"But he was very light to carry," she resumed, intent upon her work,
+"and his father loved him so, that it was no trouble: no trouble. And
+there is your father at the door!"</p>
+
+<p>She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in his comforter&mdash;he had
+need of it, poor fellow&mdash;came in. His tea was ready for him, and they
+all tried who should help him to it most. Then the two young Cratchits
+got upon his knees and laid, each child, a little cheek against his
+face, as if they said, "Don't mind it, father. Don't be grieved!"</p>
+
+<p>Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to all the family.
+He looked at the work upon the table, and praised the industry and speed
+of Mrs. Cratchit and the girls. They would be done long before Sunday, he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Sunday! You went to-day, then, Robert?" said his wife.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p><p>"Yes, my dear," returned Bob. "I wish you could have gone. It would
+have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you'll see it
+often. I promised him that I would walk there on a Sunday. My little,
+little child!" cried Bob. "My little child!"</p>
+
+<p>He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it. If he could have helped
+it, he and his child would have been farther apart perhaps than they were.</p>
+
+<p>"Spectre," said Scrooge, "something informs me that our parting moment
+is at hand. I know it, but I know not how. Tell me what man that was
+whom we saw lying dead?"</p>
+
+<p>The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come conveyed him as before into the
+resorts of business men, but showed him not himself. Indeed, the Spirit
+did not stay for anything, but went straight on, as to the end just now
+desired, until besought by Scrooge to tarry for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"This court," said Scrooge, "through which we hurry now, is where my
+place of occupation is, and has been for a length of time. I see the
+house. Let me behold what I shall be, in days to come."</p>
+
+<p>The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.</p>
+
+<p>"The house is yonder" Scrooge exclaimed. "Why do you point away?"</p>
+
+<p>The inexorable finger underwent no change.</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge hastened to the window of his office, and looked in. It was an
+office still, but not his. The furniture was not the same, and the
+figure in the chair was not himself. The Phantom pointed as before.</p>
+
+<p>He joined it once again, and wondering why and whither he had gone,
+accompanied it until they reached an iron gate. He paused to look round
+before entering.</p>
+
+<p>A churchyard. Here, then, the wretched man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> whose name he had now to
+learn, lay underneath the ground. It was a worthy place. Walled in by
+houses; overrun by grass and weeds, the growth of vegetation's death,
+not life; choked up with too much burying; fat with repleted appetite. A worthy place!</p>
+
+<p>The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to one. He advanced
+toward it trembling. The Phantom was exactly as it had been, but he
+dreaded that he saw new meaning in its solemn shape.</p>
+
+<p>"Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point," said Scrooge,
+"answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that will
+be, or are they shadows of the things that may be, only?"</p>
+
+<p>Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood.</p>
+
+<p>"Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in,
+they must lead," said Scrooge, "But if the courses be departed from, the
+ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me!"</p>
+
+<p>The Spirit was immovable as ever.</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge crept toward it, trembling as he went; and following the finger,
+read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, <span class="smcap">Ebenezer
+Scrooge</span>.</p>
+
+<p>"Am <i>I</i> that man who lay upon the bed?" he cried, upon his knees.</p>
+
+<p>The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Spirit! Oh, no, no!"</p>
+
+<p>The finger still was there.</p>
+
+<p>Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw
+an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and
+dwindled down into a bedpost.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Stave Five</span>.</h3>
+
+<h3>THE END OF IT.</h3>
+
+<p>Yes! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, and the room was
+his own. Best and happiest of all, the time before him was his own, to
+make amends in!</p>
+
+<p>He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions, that his
+broken voice would scarcely answer to his call. He had been sobbing
+violently in his conflict with the Spirit, and his face was wet with tears.</p>
+
+<p>"They are not torn down," cried Scrooge, folding one of his bed curtains
+in his arms, "they are not torn down, rings and all. They are here&mdash;I am
+here&mdash;the shadows of the things that would have been, may be dispelled.
+They will be. I know they will!"</p>
+
+<p>He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there: perfectly winded.</p>
+
+<p>"There's the saucepan that the gruel was in!" cried Scrooge, starting
+off again, and going round the fire-place. "There's the door by which
+the Ghost of Jacob Marley entered! There's the corner where the Ghost of
+Christmas Present sat! There's the window where I saw the wandering
+Spirits! It's all right, it's all true, it all happened. Ha, ha, ha!"</p>
+
+<p>Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was
+a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long
+line of brilliant laughs!</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what day of the month it is," said Scrooge. "I don't know
+how long I have been among the Spirits. I don't know anything. I'm quite
+a baby. Never mind. I don't care. I'd rather be a baby. Hallo! Whoop! Hallo here!"</p>
+
+<p>He was checked in his transports by the churches<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> ringing out the
+lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clash, hammer; ding, dong,
+bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious!</p>
+
+<p>Running to the window, he opened it and put out his head.</p>
+
+<p>"What's to-day?" cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday
+clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.</p>
+
+<p>"Eh?" returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.</p>
+
+<p>"What's to-day, my fine fellow?" said Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>"To-day!" replied the boy. "Why, <span class="smcap">Christmas Day</span>."</p>
+
+<p>"It's Christmas Day!" said Scrooge to himself. "I haven't missed it. The
+Spirits have done it all in one night. Hallo, my fine fellow!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hallo!" returned the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know the Poulterer's, in the next street but one, at the
+corner?" Scrooge inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"I should hope I did," replied the lad.</p>
+
+<p>"An intelligent boy!" said Scrooge. "A remarkable boy! Do you know
+whether they've sold the prize turkey that was hanging up there?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's hanging there now," replied the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it?" said Scrooge. "Go and buy it."</p>
+
+<p>"Walk-<span class="smaller">ER</span>!" exclaimed the boy.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," said Scrooge, "I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell 'em to
+bring it here, that I may give them the directions where to take it.
+Come back with the man, and I'll give you a shilling."</p>
+
+<p>The boy was off like a shot.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's," whispered Scrooge, rubbing his hands,
+and splitting with a laugh. "He shan't know who sends it. It's twice the
+size of Tiny Tim."</p>
+
+<p>The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one; but write
+it he did, somehow, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> went down-stairs to open the street door, ready
+for the coming of the poulterer's man.</p>
+
+<p>The chuckle with which he paid for the Turkey, and the chuckle with
+which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle
+with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and chuckled till he cried.</p>
+
+<p>He dressed himself "all in his best," and got out into the streets. The
+people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen them with the
+Ghost of Christmas Present; and walking with his hands behind him,
+Scrooge regarded every one with a delighted smile. He looked so
+irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humored
+fellows said "Good morning, sir! A Merry Christmas to you!" And Scrooge
+said often afterward, that of all the blithe sounds he ever heard, those
+were the blithest in his ears.</p>
+
+<p>He had not gone far, when coming on toward him he beheld the portly
+gentleman, who had walked into his counting-house the day before, and
+said "Scrooge and Marley's, I believe?" It sent a pang across his heart
+to think how this old gentleman would look upon him when they met; but
+he knew what path lay straight before him, and he took it.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear sir," said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and taking the old
+gentleman by both his hands, "how do you do? I hope you succeeded
+yesterday. It was very kind of you. A Merry Christmas to you, sir!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Scrooge?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Scrooge. "That is my name, and I fear it may not be pleasant
+to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the
+goodness"&mdash;here Scrooge whispered in his ear.</p>
+
+<p>"Lord bless me!" cried the gentleman, as if his breath were taken away.
+"My dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p><p>"If you please," said Scrooge. "Not a farthing less. A great many back
+payments are included in it, I assure you. Will you do me that favor?"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear sir," said the other, shaking hands with him, "I don't know
+what to say to such munifi&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't say anything, please," retorted Scrooge. "Come and see me. Will
+you come and see me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I will!" cried the old gentleman. And it was clear he meant to do it.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank'ee," said Scrooge. "I am much obliged to you. I thank you fifty
+times. Bless you!"</p>
+
+<p>He went to church, and walked about the streets and watched the people
+hurrying to and fro, and patted the children on the head, and looked
+down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows; and found
+everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any
+walk&mdash;that any thing&mdash;could give him so much happiness. In the
+afternoon, he turned his steps toward his nephew's house.</p>
+
+<p>He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the courage to go up and
+knock. But he made a dash, and did it.</p>
+
+<p>"Is your master at home, my dear?" said Scrooge to the girl. Nice girl! Very.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Where is he?" said Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>"He's in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I'll show you
+up-stairs, if you please."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank'ee. He knows me," said Scrooge, with his hand already on the
+dining-room lock. "I'll go in here, my dear."</p>
+
+<p>He turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the door. They were
+looking at the table (which was spread out in great array); for these
+young housekeepers are always nervous on such points, and like to see
+that everything is right.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p><p>"Fred!" said Scrooge.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, bless my soul!" cried Fred, "who's that?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's I. Your Uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you let me in, Fred?"</p>
+
+<p>Let him in! It is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. He was at home in
+five minutes. Nothing could be heartier.</p>
+
+<p>But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early there. If
+he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That
+was the thing he had set his heart upon.</p>
+
+<p>And he did it; yes, he did! The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter
+past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time.
+Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the tank.</p>
+
+<p>His hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was on
+his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to
+overtake nine o'clock.</p>
+
+<p>"Hallo!" growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice as near as he could
+feign it. "What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am very sorry, sir," said Bob. "I <i>am</i> behind my time."</p>
+
+<p>"You are!" repeated Scrooge. "Yes. I think you are. Step this way, sir,
+if you please."</p>
+
+<p>"It's only once a year, sir," pleaded Bob, appearing from the tank. "It
+shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, I'll tell you what, my friend," said Scrooge. "I am not going to
+stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore I am about to raise your salary!"</p>
+
+<p>"A Merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could
+not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back, "A Merrier Christmas,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>
+Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year! I'll raise
+your salary, and endeavor to assist your struggling family, and we will
+discuss your affairs this very afternoon. Make up the fires, and buy
+another coal scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!"</p>
+
+<p>Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more;
+and to Tiny Tim, who did <span class="smaller">NOT</span> die, he was a second father. He became as
+good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city
+knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old
+world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them
+laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that
+nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did
+not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as
+these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they
+should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less
+attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.</p>
+
+<p>He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total
+Abstinence Principle, ever afterward; and it was always said of him,
+that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the
+knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny
+Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="THE_CHRISTMAS_BABE" id="THE_CHRISTMAS_BABE"></a>THE CHRISTMAS BABE.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div>We love to think of Bethlehem,</div>
+<div class="i3">That little mountain town,</div>
+<div class="i1">To which, on earth's first Christmas Day,</div>
+<div class="i3">Our blessed Lord came down.</div>
+<div class="i1">A lowly manger for His bed,</div>
+<div class="i3">The cattle near in stall,</div>
+<div class="i1">There, cradled close in Mary's arms,</div>
+<div class="i3">He slept, the Lord of all.</div>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<div>If we had been in Bethlehem,</div>
+<div class="i3">We too had hasted fain</div>
+<div class="i1">To see the Babe whose little face</div>
+<div class="i3">Knew neither care nor pain.</div>
+<div class="i1">Like any little child of ours,</div>
+<div class="i3">He came unto His own,</div>
+<div class="i1">Through Cross and shame before Him stretched,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i3">His pathway to His Throne.</div>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<div>If we had dwelt in Bethlehem,</div>
+<div class="i3">We would have followed fast,</div>
+<div class="i1">And where the Star had led our feet</div>
+<div class="i3">Have knelt ere dawn was past.</div>
+<div class="i1">Our gifts, our songs, our prayers had been</div>
+<div class="i3">An offering, as He lay,</div>
+<div class="i1">The blessed Babe of Bethlehem,</div>
+<div class="i3">In Mary's arms that day.</div>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<div>Now breaks the latest Christmas Morn!</div>
+<div class="i3">Again the angels sing,</div>
+<div class="i1">And far and near the children throng</div>
+<div class="i3">Their happy hymns to bring.</div>
+<div class="i1">All heaven is stirred! All earth is glad!</div>
+<div class="i3">For down the shining way,</div>
+<div class="i1">The Lord who came to Bethlehem,</div>
+<div class="i3">Comes yet, on Christmas Day.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="A_WESTERN_CHRISTMAS_IN_THE_OLD_DAYS" id="A_WESTERN_CHRISTMAS_IN_THE_OLD_DAYS"></a>A WESTERN CHRISTMAS IN THE OLD DAYS.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY MRS. W. H. CORNING.</h3>
+
+<p>Christmas week there was no school, but such a succession of dining
+days, and visiting days, and day parties, and night parties, that Fanny,
+who looked forward to the week as a season of rest, thought that the
+regular routine of school duties would be less fatiguing.</p>
+
+<p>Christmas at La Belle Prairie was the one jubilee of the year, something
+to be talked about for six months beforehand, and to be remembered as
+long after. It was a time of feasting and recreation for both master and
+servant. Days before, preparations commenced in the kitchen. Various
+smells issued from thence&mdash;savory smells of boiled, baked, and roasted
+meats; and sweet delicious smells of warm pastry and steaming cakes.
+Aunt Tibby was rolling pie-crust or stirring cake all day long, and the
+chopping of sausage-meat, the pounding of spices, and the beating of
+eggs were constantly heard. Everything was carried on with the greatest
+secrecy. The children were all kept out of the kitchen, and when
+"somefin' good" was to be transferred therefrom to Miss Car'line's
+store-room, Aunt Tibby came sailing in, holding it high above the reach
+of the curious little heads.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care," said Cal. "There's six pound-cakes all in a row on the
+store-room shelf. I see 'em when ma opened the door; and Marthy says one
+of 'em got currants in it, and there's a little shoat thar roasted
+whole. O! how I wish Christmas was come."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p><p>Coming suddenly upon Maud one day, Fanny found her with her apron half
+full of bran, while her fingers were busily at work upon a few pieces of
+faded silk. Maud tried to hide them at first, but finding by Fanny's
+question of "What is it, Maud?" that it was too late, she had looked up
+with a tired, flushed face and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Fanny, don't you tell now! will you? I'm makin' a pin-cushion for
+Aunt Ph&oelig;be, but it won't come square, all I can do. It acts awfully."</p>
+
+<p>"Let me see what the trouble is," said Fanny, and sitting down, she
+examined the poor cushion; which, indeed, under Maud's hands, was not
+soon likely to come into shape.</p>
+
+<p>"You see," said Maud, "I want to give aunty a Christmas gift, and I
+thought a cushion would be so nice, 'cause her old one that she wears
+pinned to her waist, you know, has burst a great hole, and the bran
+keeps tumbling out. I'm going to make her a right nice one, only I wish
+'twas brighter, 'cause aunty likes red, and yellow, and all them, so
+bad."</p>
+
+<p>Fanny searched her piece bag and brought forth bits of gay ribbon, the
+sight of which threw Maud into ecstasies of delight, then giving up the
+morning to the job, she cut and planned, and fitted and basted together,
+getting all in order, so that Maud could do the sewing herself.</p>
+
+<p>"Aunty wouldn't think half so much of it if I didn't," said the child.</p>
+
+<p>Well and faithfully Maud performed her labor of love, giving up her
+much-prized runs on the prairie, and resisting all the children's
+entreaties to play with them, till the Christmas gift was finished. It
+was no small task, for Maud most heartily hated to sew, and her fingers
+were anything but nimble in the operation. "I always did despise to sew,
+Miss Fanny," she said, "but I'm going to make this cushion for aunty anyhow."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p><p>It was finished at last, and, as Maud expressed it, "was just as
+beautiful as it could be." There never was a prouder, happier child. She
+did not thank Fanny in words for her assistance, but that night she came
+softly behind her, and putting her arms around her neck, gave her an
+earnest kiss, a proceeding which called forth an exclamation of surprise
+from Mrs. Catlett, for Maud was very chary of her caresses.</p>
+
+<p>Christmas morning came, and long before daylight, every child upon the
+place, both black and white, was up ready to "march in Christmas." There
+had been mysterious preparations the night before, such as the hiding of
+tin pans and glass bottles under the bed, and the faint tooting of an
+old horn, heard down at the quarters, as though some one was rehearsing
+a part. Fanny was also astonished by an application from little "darky
+Tom" for permission to use her school-bell, the said cow-tinkler not
+being remarkable for sweetness of sound.</p>
+
+<p>"O, yes, Tom, you may take it; but what can you want of it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Couldn't tell no ways, Miss Fanny," said Tom, with a grin. "Mebbe Miss
+Fanny know in de mornin'."</p>
+
+<p>Morning did indeed bring an explanation of the mystery. Assembling in
+the yard, the children marshaled themselves into marching order; Maud,
+of course, being captain, and taking the lead, bearing an old tin horn,
+while little black Tom brought up the rear with Fanny's unfortunate cow-bell.</p>
+
+<p>In this order they commenced "marching in Christmas" to the music of the
+horn, the beating of tin pans, the rattling of bits of iron and pieces
+of wood, the jingling of bells, and the clapping of hands. Into the
+house, and up-stairs to the very doors of the sleeping-rooms, they all
+marched with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> their horrid din. It was received with tolerable
+good-humor by all but Nanny, who, deprived of her morning nap by the
+tumult, raved at the juvenile disturbers of the peace, and finally threw
+her shoes at them as they stood on the stairway. These were directly
+seized upon as trophies, and carried off in triumph to the quarters,
+where the young performers went through with the same operations.</p>
+
+<p>"Christmas gift! Christmas gift!" was the first salutation from the
+servants this morning, and it was well worth while to give them some
+trifling present, were it only to hear their extravagant expressions of
+gratitude and delight. It was impossible to forget for a moment that it
+was Christmas. One could see it in the faces of the servants, released
+for a whole week from their daily tasks, and rejoicing in the prospect
+of dances, and parties, and visits to friends and kindred on distant
+plantations. The children, too, with their boisterous merriment and
+constant talk about the holidays, seemed determined to bear it in mind,
+and the great dinner&mdash;the one dinner of the year&mdash;in the preparation of
+which Aunt Tibby had exercised all her skill; this, in itself, seemed to
+proclaim that it was Christmas.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Miss Fanny," said little Joy, "don't you wish Christmas lasted the
+whole year round?"</p>
+
+<p>The short December day was fast drawing to a close, as a party of four
+rode leisurely along the road crossing La Belle Prairie. The ladies,
+though scarcely recognizable in their close hoods, long blue cotton
+riding skirts, and thick gloves, were none other than Miss Nancy Catlett
+and our friend Fanny, while their attendants were Mr. Chester, the town
+gentleman, and Massa Dave Catlett, who had come over from his new home
+in Kansas, on purpose to enjoy the Christmas festivities on the prairie.
+One of those night parties, of which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> Nanny had talked so much, was to
+come off at Col. Turner's, and this was the place of their destination.
+In accordance with the customs of society in these parts, they were to
+remain until the next day, and, accordingly, black Viny rode a little in
+the rear, mounted upon old "Poke Neck," and bearing sundry carpet-bags
+and valises, containing the ladies' party-dresses.</p>
+
+<p>Just at dusk, our party reached their journey's end, and dismounting one
+by one from the horse-block in front of the house, they walked up the
+road, and were met in the porch by Miss Bell Turner, Nanny's particular
+friend. This young lady, with long curls and a very slender waist,
+performed the duties of hostess in a free and easy manner, ushering the
+gentlemen into the parlor, where a fire was blazing on the hearth, while
+the ladies, with their attendants, were conducted up-stairs to the dressing-room.</p>
+
+<p>Here a dozen or more were engaged in the mysteries of the toilet,
+braiding, twisting, and curling, while as many servants were flying
+about, stumbling over each other, and creating the most dire confusion
+in their efforts to supply the wants of their respective mistresses. The
+beds and chairs were covered with dresses, capes, ribbons,
+curling-irons, flowers, combs, and brushes, and all the paraphernalia of
+the toilet, while the ladies themselves kept up a continual stream of
+conversation with each other and their attendants.</p>
+
+<p>Into this scene Nanny entered with great spirit. Shaking hands all
+round, and introducing Fanny, she hastily threw off her bonnet and
+shawl, and bidding Viny unpack the things, she set about dressing in good earnest.</p>
+
+<p>"How nice to get here so early," she said. "Now we can have a chance at
+the glass, and plenty of room to move about in."</p>
+
+<p>Fanny wondered what she called plenty of room,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> but had yet to learn the
+signification of the term when applied to the dressing-room of a western
+party. Thicker and faster came the arrivals, and it being necessary that
+each lady should undergo a thorough transformation in dress, before
+making her appearance down-stairs, the labor and confusion necessary to
+bring this about can be imagined. Such hurryings to and fro, such
+knockings down and pickings up, such scolding and laughing, in short
+such a Babel of sounds as filled the room for an hour or two, Fanny had
+never heard before. Completing her own toilet as soon as possible, she
+seated herself upon one of the beds, and watched the proceedings with great interest.</p>
+
+<p>"You Suke, bring me some more pins, directly." "O please, Miss Ellen,
+mind my wreath!" "Jule, how much longer are you goin' to keep the
+wash-bowl?" "Dar now, Miss Eveline done get her coat all wet." "Did you
+know Tom Walton was here? I see him in the passage." "Miss Belle, that's
+<i>my</i> starch-bag." "There, now! don't them slippers fit beautiful?" "Why
+don't that girl come back?" "O, Liza, just fasten up my dress, that's a
+dear girl!" "Come, girls, do hurry, we shan't be dressed to-night."</p>
+
+<p>How it was all brought about, Fanny could not tell, but at last the
+ladies were dressed, the last sash pinned, and the last curl adjusted.
+Dresses of thin material, cut low in the neck, with short sleeves,
+seemed to be the order of the night, which with wreaths, and bunches of
+artificial flowers in the hair, gave the ladies a handsome appearance.
+With Miss Belle at the head, they all descended to the parlor, and found
+the gentlemen strolling about, employing themselves as they could, till
+the night's amusements commenced; and, indeed, both ladies and gentlemen
+manifested such eagerness to adjourn to the play-room, that the signal
+was soon given, and they proceeded forthwith to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> log building in the
+yard, formerly used as a school-room.</p>
+
+<p>Games soon commenced, and were carried on with great vigor, the young
+people making up in activity what was lacking in gracefulness of motion.
+Game after game was made out, the ladies vying with each other to see
+who should laugh the most, while those who were left chatted gayly
+together in groups, or tried their powers of fascination upon some
+long-limbed specimen of humanity.</p>
+
+<p>"What calls the gentlemen up-stairs so frequently?" inquired Fanny,
+innocently, as groups of two and three disappeared up the steps leading
+to the room above.</p>
+
+<p>"You are not aware, then, what a formidable rival the ladies have up in
+the loft?" said Mr. Chester, gravely, though there was a comical
+expression about the corners of his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>"No, indeed."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I only hope you may not witness the overpowering influence
+sometimes exerted by this same rival," said Mr. Chester; "but honestly,
+Miss Hunter, there is serious danger that some of these light-footed
+young gentlemen may, ere long, be obliged to relinquish their places in
+our party, all through the attractions presented to them up yonder."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't in the least know what you mean."</p>
+
+<p>"In plain words, then, they are talking about horses up there; men are
+crazy over horses you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you in earnest, Mr. Chester?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly I am. It would not answer, I suppose, for ladies to intrude
+upon their modest retirement, or I could convince you in a moment."</p>
+
+<p>"How can you joke about it, Mr. Chester? I think it is perfectly scandalous."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it is bad enough," said her companion,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> more gravely. "One living
+at the west becomes accustomed to such things."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>I</i> never will," said Fanny. "If I had known these Christmas parties
+countenanced such impoliteness, I would have stayed at home."</p>
+
+<p>"A set supper," Nanny had several times expressed a hope that Mrs.
+Turner would provide, and she was not disappointed. The long table was
+bountifully spread with the substantials of this life, and though not in
+the style of an entertainment in Fifth Avenue, it was admirably suited
+to the guests who partook of it. A roasted "shoat" graced each end of
+the board, a side of bacon the centre, while salted beef, cut in thin
+slices, with pickles and cheese, constituted the side-dishes. Hot
+coffee, corn bread and biscuit were passed to each guest, and a piece of
+pound-cake and a little preserved fruit for dessert.</p>
+
+<p>There was plenty of laughter and hearty joking at the table, and the
+flushed faces and increased volubility of the gentlemen gave too certain
+evidence of the truth of Mr. Chester's assertions.</p>
+
+<p>"The langest day maun hae an end," says the old Scotch proverb, audit
+was with a sigh of relief that Fanny at last saw Uncle Jake lay down the
+tortured fiddle, and the guests with lingering steps and wishful eyes
+retire to seek the few hours of repose that were left of the night.
+"Confusion worse confounded" reigned for a time in the apartment
+appropriated to the ladies' use, and the numerous couches spread upon
+the floor increased the difficulty of navigation. At last, when quiet
+seemed restored, and Fanny was sinking into a peaceful sleep, she was
+aroused by her neighbors in an adjoining bed, three young ladies who
+declared that they were "all but starved, and must have something to eat
+before they could go to sleep." One of the black women was despatched to
+the store-room for some slices of cold bacon, and sitting up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> in bed,
+with the candle before them, they made a hearty repast.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, you can't eat half as much as you want at table," said one
+of the young ladies, apologetically; "one always wants to appear
+delicate-like before the gentlemen."</p>
+
+<p>"What in goodness' name, Nan, made breakfast so late?" said Dave the
+next morning, or rather noon, as they were returning home; "I thought
+one while we wasn't goin' to get any." "Why, you see, they hadn't any
+wheat flour in the house for the biscuit," said Nanny, "and they had to
+send three miles over the prairie to Mr. John Turner's to borrow some."</p>
+
+<p>"Twenty people invited to stay over night, and no flour in the house?"
+said Fanny, in amazement.</p>
+
+<p>"It rather shocks your Yankee ideas of looking out ahead, Miss Hunter,"
+said Mr. Chester, laughing. "We are used to such things out this way."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Miss Fanny, people can't remember everything, you know," said
+Nanny; "Belle says they never thought a word about it till this morning."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="JOES_SEARCH_FOR_SANTA_CLAUS" id="JOES_SEARCH_FOR_SANTA_CLAUS"></a>JOE'S SEARCH FOR SANTA CLAUS.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY IRVING BACHELLER</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div>A story, my child? Well, there's none that I know</div>
+<div>As good as the story about little Joe.</div>
+<div>He lived with his mother, just under the eaves</div>
+<div>Of a tenement high, where the telegraph weaves</div>
+<div>Its highway of wire, that everywhere goes,</div>
+<div>And makes the night musical when the wind blows.</div>
+<div>Their home had no father&mdash;the two were bereft</div>
+<div>Of all but their appetites&mdash;those never left!</div>
+<div>Joe's grew with his thought; a day never passed</div>
+<div>He spent not in hunger to make the food last;</div>
+<div>And days when his mother silently went</div>
+<div>And stood by the windows&mdash;Joe knew what it meant.</div>
+<div>They'd nothing for supper! The words were so sad</div>
+<div>That somehow they drowned all the hunger he had.</div>
+<div>And surely God's miracles never have ceased&mdash;</div>
+<div>Joe's hunger grew less when his sorrows increased.</div>
+<div>When the coal ran out in winter's worst storm,</div>
+<div>The fire burnt the harder that kept their hearts warm.</div>
+<div>Their windows revealed many wonderful sights,</div>
+<div>Long acres of roofing and high-flying kites;</div>
+<div>At sunset, the great vault of heaven aglow,</div>
+<div>The lining of gold on the clouds hanging low,</div>
+<div>The cross on the top of St. Mary's high tower</div>
+<div>Ablaze with the light of that magical hour;</div>
+<div>And still, as the arrows of light slanted higher,</div>
+<div>The last thing in sight was the great cross of fire.</div>
+<div>Each day, as it vanished, the history old</div>
+<div>Of Christ's crucifixion was reverently told;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></div>
+<div>To Him the boy learned to confide all his woes,</div>
+<div>But oftenest prayed for a new suit of clothes,</div>
+<div>Since those that he wore didn't fit him at all&mdash;</div>
+<div>The coat was too large and the trousers too small,</div>
+<div>And Joe looked so queer, from his head to his feet,</div>
+<div>It grieved his proud soul to be seen in the street.</div>
+<div>And sometimes he cherished a secret desire</div>
+<div>To own a hand-sled, or to build a bonfire;</div>
+<div>But reached one conclusion by various routes&mdash;</div>
+<div>He could have better fun with a new pair of boots.</div>
+<div>He thought how the old pair, when shiny and whole.</div>
+<div>Had squeaked in a way that delighted his soul,</div>
+<div>And remembrance grew sad as he strutted around</div>
+<div>And tried hard, but vainly, to waken that sound.</div>
+<div>The day before Christmas brought trouble for Joe,</div>
+<div>A thousand times worse. 'Twas a terrible blow</div>
+<div>To hear that old Santa Claus, god of his dreams.</div>
+<div>Would not come that year with his fleet-footed teams.</div>
+<div>He'd seen them. Why, once, of a night's witching hour</div>
+<div>He saw them jump over the cross on the tower</div>
+<div>And scamper away o'er the snow-covered roofs,</div>
+<div>His heart beating time to the sound of their hoofs.</div>
+<div>Not coming this year? Santa Claus must be dead,</div>
+<div>He thought, as with sad tears he crept into bed.</div>
+<div>And, as he lay thinking, the long strings of wire</div>
+<div>Sang low in the wind like a deep-sounding lyre,</div>
+<div>And Joe caught the notes of this solemn refrain&mdash;</div>
+<div>"He'll not come again! no, he'll not come again!"</div>
+<div>And oh! how the depths of his spirit were stirred</div>
+<div>By thoughts that were born of the music he heard!</div>
+<div>How cold were the winds, and they sang in their strife,</div>
+<div>Of storms yet to come in the winters of life.</div>
+<div>They mocked him, but mark how the faith of the child</div>
+<div>Stood firm as a fortress, its hope undefiled;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></div>
+<div>For still the boy thought that, if Santa Claus knew</div>
+<div>How great were their needs and their comforts how few,</div>
+<div>He would come; and at length, when the first rays of light</div>
+<div>Had fathomed the infinite depths of the night,</div>
+<div>And brightened the windows, Joe cautiously crept</div>
+<div>Out of bed: and he dressed while his mother still slept,</div>
+<div>And down the long stairways on tiptoe he ran;</div>
+<div>Then out in the snow, with the will of a man,</div>
+<div>He went, looking hither and thither, because,</div>
+<div>Poor boy! he was trying to find Santa Claus.</div>
+<div>He hurried along through the snow-burdened street</div>
+<div>As if the good angels were guiding his feet;</div>
+<div>And as the sun rose in the heavens apace,</div>
+<div>A radiance fell on his uplifted face</div>
+<div>That came from the cross gleaming far overhead&mdash;</div>
+<div>A symbol of hope for the living and dead.</div>
+<div>A moment he looked at the great house of prayer,</div>
+<div>Then slyly peeked in to see what was there;</div>
+<div>And entering softly he wandered at will</div>
+<div>Through pathways of velvet, deserted and still,</div>
+<div>And saw the light grow on a wonderful scene</div>
+<div>Of ivy-twined columns and arches of green,</div>
+<div>And back of the rail, where the clergyman knelt,</div>
+<div>He sat on the cushions to see how they felt.</div>
+<div>How soft was that velvet he stroked with his hand!</div>
+<div>But when he lay down, oh, the feeling was grand!</div>
+<div>And while he was musing the walls seemed to sway,</div>
+<div>And slowly the windows went moving away.</div>
+<div>What, ho! there he comes! with his big pack and all,</div>
+<div>Down the sunbeams that slope from the high-windowed wall,</div>
+<div>And Joe tried to speak, but could not, if he died,</div>
+<div>When Santa Claus came and sat down by his side.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></div>
+<div>"A tenement boy! humph! he probably swears."</div>
+<div>(Joe trembled, and tried hard to think of his prayers.)</div>
+<div>He lifted Joe's eyelids, he patted his brow,</div>
+<div>And said. "He is not a bad boy, anyhow."</div>
+<div>But hark! there is music; a deep-swelling sound</div>
+<div>Is sweeping on high as if heavenward bound.</div>
+<div>And suddenly waking, Joe saw kneeling there</div>
+<div>The rector, long-robed, who was reading a prayer.</div>
+<div>"Provide for the fatherless children," said he</div>
+<div>"The widowed, the helpless, the bond and the free."</div>
+<div>The rector stops praying&mdash;his face wears a frown;</div>
+<div>A ragged young gamin is pulling his gown.</div>
+<div>"I knowed you would come," said the boy, half in fright&mdash;</div>
+<div>"I knowed you would come&mdash;I was watchin' all night.</div>
+<div>Say! what are ye goin' t'give mother an' me?</div>
+<div>Le'me see what 'tis, Santa Claus&mdash;please le'me see!"</div>
+<div>The rector looked down into Joe's honest face,</div>
+<div>And a great wave of feeling swept over the place;</div>
+<div>And tenderly laying his hand on Joe's head,</div>
+<div>He turned to the people and solemnly said:</div>
+<div>"We pray that the poor may be sheltered and fed,</div>
+<div>And we leave it to Heaven to furnish the bread.</div>
+<div>Ye know, while He feedeth the fowls in the air.</div>
+<div>The children of mankind He leaves to man's care;"</div>
+<div>And kissing Joe's face the preacher said then;</div>
+<div>"Of such is the kingdom of Heaven. Amen!"</div>
+<div>That day Santa Claus came to many a door</div>
+<div>He'd forgotten to call at the evening before.</div>
+<div>Was little Joe lucky? Well, now, you are right.</div>
+<div>And the wires sang merrily all the next night.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="ANGELAS_CHRISTMAS" id="ANGELAS_CHRISTMAS"></a>ANGELA'S CHRISTMAS.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY JULIA SCHAYER.</h3>
+
+<p>"Then it is 'yes,' father dear?" said Angela, looking across the
+breakfast table with a smile. It was her mother's smile, and the girl
+had filled her mother's vacant chair for more than a year.</p>
+
+<p>The eyes of the father and daughter met, and Angela knew, before a word
+was said, that she had conquered.</p>
+
+<p>"I hate to see you at your age, beginning to worry over these things,"
+Ephraim Frazier said, regretfully. "Let the <i>old</i> women take care of the
+charities, dear. You keep on dancing in the sunshine a while longer,
+daughter."</p>
+
+<p>Angela's smile grew graver, but not less sweet.</p>
+
+<p>"I am twenty, dear," she said. "Too old to dance <i>all</i> the time, and I
+cannot help <i>thinking</i>, you know. And&mdash;it's no use, papa dear! I <i>must</i>
+do something! It <i>is</i> 'yes,' isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"You are sure you won't mind being criticised and ridiculed?"</p>
+
+<p>"Quite sure!" answered Angela.</p>
+
+<p>"And sure you won't take your failures and disappointments to heart too deeply?"</p>
+
+<p>"Quite sure I can bear them bravely," answered the girl. "If only one,
+<i>just one</i>, of those poor creatures may be helped, and lifted up, and
+brought out of darkness, it will be worth trying for!"</p>
+
+<p>"And what does Robert Johns say about it?"</p>
+
+<p>A glow kindled in Angela's face.</p>
+
+<p>"Robert is in perfect sympathy with me," she said softly. Then again,
+this time having risen and gone around to his side, to speak with her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>
+face against the old banker's smoothly shaven cheek, "It <i>is</i> 'yes,'
+isn't it, daddy dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, yes! Only you must go slow, dear. You are not over strong, you know."</p>
+
+<p>And soon it came to pass that on a vacant lot, hitherto given over to
+refuse heaps, haunted by stray cats, ragpickers, and vagrant children,
+in one of the vilest quarters of the metropolis, there sprang up, with
+magic swiftness, a commodious frame building, surrounded by smooth green
+sod, known in the lower circles as the Locust Street Home; in upper
+circles, laughingly denominated "Angela's Experiment."</p>
+
+<p>Angela did not mind. It was mostly goodnatured laughter, and many of the
+laughers ended by lending willing hands and hearts to the cause. It was
+wonderful how the news spread through the city's purlieus that here was
+a sanctuary into which cold, hunger, and fatigue dared not intrude; a
+place which the lowest might enter and be made welcome, and go
+unquestioned, his personal rights as carefully respected as though he
+were one of the Four Hundred.</p>
+
+<p>That was Angela's theory. No man, woman, or child should be <i>compelled</i>
+to anything. First make their bodies comfortable, then surround them
+with ennobling influences and examples, entertain them, arouse them,
+stimulate them, hold out the helping hand, <i>and leave the rest to God</i>.
+"They shall not even be <i>compelled</i> to be clean!" she said, laughing.
+"If the beautiful clean bathrooms and clean clothing do not tempt them
+to cleanliness, then so be it! I will have no rules; only influences. You will see!"</p>
+
+<p>And people did see, and wondered.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes, on warm, pleasant evenings, the spacious, cheerful hall, with
+its tables and chairs, would be almost empty; but on nights like that on
+which this story opens, a dark, cold December<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> night, the seats were apt
+to be well filled, mostly with slatternly, hard-featured women, and
+dull-faced children, who sat staring stolidly about, while the music and
+speaking went on; half stupefied by the warmth and tranquillity so
+foreign to their lives.</p>
+
+<p>Outside, a dismal sleet was falling, but from the open door of the
+vestibule a great sheet of light fell upon the wet pavement, and above
+it glowed a transparency bearing the words:</p>
+
+<p>"A Merry Christmas to all! Come in!"</p>
+
+<p>It was while the singing was going on, led by a high, sweet girl's
+voice, that a human figure came hobbling out from a side street, and
+stopped short at the very edge of the lighted space.</p>
+
+<p>A woman by her dress, an old, old woman, with a seamed, blotched face;
+an ugly, human wreck, all torn and battered and discolored by the storms
+of life. Such was old Marg&mdash;"Luny Marg," as she was called in the haunts
+that knew her best. Her history? She had forgotten it herself, very
+likely, and there was no one to know or care&mdash;no one in the wide world
+to care if she should at any moment be trampled to death, or slip from
+the dock into the black river. The garret which lodged her would find
+another tenant; the children of the gutters another target for their
+missiles. Not that she was worse than others&mdash;only that she was old and
+ugly and sharp of tongue, and the world&mdash;even <i>her</i> world&mdash;has no use
+for such as she.</p>
+
+<p>For some time this forlorn creature continued to hover on the edge of
+the lighted space. The sleet had become snow, and already a thin white
+film covered the pavement, promising "a white Christmas," and the cold
+increased from moment to moment.</p>
+
+<p>The woman drew her filthy shawl closer; her jaws chattered, yet she
+seemed unable to tear herself from the spot. Her eyes, alert under
+their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> gray brows, as a rat's, were fixed now upon the open door, now
+upon the transparency, yet she made no motion toward the proffered
+shelter. Two men, hirsute and ragged, stopped near her and, after a
+moments consultation, slunk across the square of light and disappeared
+in the building. As the door was opened, there came a fuller burst of
+song, and a rush of warm air, fragrant with the aroma of coffee and oysters.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman's body quivered with desire; food, warmth, rest&mdash;all that
+her miserable frame demanded&mdash;were there within easy reach, for the mere
+asking; nay for the mere taking; yet still the devils of stubbornness
+and spite would not let go their hold upon her. But finally, as a bitter
+blast swept the snow stingingly against her face, she uttered a hoarse
+snarl, and glancing about to see that no jeering eye was upon her, the
+poor creature crept across the pavement, clambered up the stone steps,
+and, pushing open the door, slipped into the nearest vacant seat.</p>
+
+<p>The chairs and benches were unusually well filled. Numbers of women and
+children were in the foreground. A few men were also present, sitting
+with their bodies hanging forward, their hats tightly clutched between
+their knees, their eyes fixed on the floor. The women and children, on
+the contrary, followed every movement of the young women on the platform
+with furtive eagerness.</p>
+
+<p>The simplicity of attire which Angela and her friends had assumed did
+not deceive even the tiniest gutter-child present&mdash;these were "ladies,"
+and one and all accorded them the same tribute of genuine, if reluctant, admiration.</p>
+
+<p>Old Marg, after the embarrassment of the first moment, took everything
+in with one hawk-like glance&mdash;the Christmas greens upon the clean, white
+walls, the curtained space in the rear which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> hid some pleasant mystery,
+the men and women on the platform.</p>
+
+<p>At the organ sat a young girl, leaning upon the now silent keys, her
+face toward the young man who was speaking. Old Marg could not take her
+eyes from this face&mdash;white, serious, sweet, set in a halo of pale golden
+hair. The sight of it aroused strange feelings in the bosom of the old
+outcast. Fascinated, tortured, bewildered, she sat and gazed. It was
+long since she had thought of her youth. This girl reminded her of that
+forgotten time. Like a violet flung upon a refuse-heap, the thought of
+her own innocent girlhood lay for an instant upon the foul mass of
+memories accumulated by sixty-miserable years. "<i>I</i> was light-haired,
+too!" ran old Marg's thoughts. "Light-haired, an' light-complected, like her!"</p>
+
+<p>The perfume of that thought breathed across her soul, and was gone.
+Still she gazed from under her shaggy brows, and, without meaning to
+listen, found herself hearing what the speaker was saying. He was
+telling without rhetoric or cant the story of Christ, and with
+simplicity and tact presenting the lesson of His life.</p>
+
+<p>"This joy of giving, of sacrificing for others," the young man was
+saying in his earnest, musical voice, "so far beyond the joy of
+receiving, is within the reach of every human being. Think of that! The
+poorest man or woman or child who breathes on earth to-night may know
+this joy, may give some pleasure, some help, some comfort, to some
+fellow-creature. Whether it be a human creature or a dumb beast, matters
+not. It is all one in God's sight, being an act of love and kindness and sacrifice."</p>
+
+<p>Old Marg looked down upon her squalid rags; her rough features writhed
+with a scornful smile. "That's a lie!" she muttered. "What could the
+likes of <i>me</i> do for anybody, I'd like to know!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p><p>Still she listened; but at last, as the warmth stole through her sodden
+garments, and into her chilled veins, and the peace of the place
+penetrated the turbulent recesses of her soul, the man's voice became
+like a voice heard in a dream, and the old outcast slept.</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>A confused sound greeted her awakening. Some one was playing the organ
+jubilantly; people were moving about&mdash;girls with trays loaded with
+steaming dishes; children were talking and laughing excitedly. The
+curtain had been drawn, and a great Christmas-tree almost blinded her
+with its splendor. She stared about in bewilderment. She looked at the
+tree, at the people, at her own foul rags. A fierce revulsion of feeling
+swept over her. Rage, shame, a desire to get out of sight, to be
+swallowed up in the darkness and misery which were her proper element,
+seized and mastered her. She staggered to her feet. A young girl
+approached her with a tray of tempting food. The sight and smell of it
+goaded the starved creature to madness. She could have fallen upon it
+like a wolf, but instead she pushed the girl roughly aside and fumbled
+dizzily at the door-knob.</p>
+
+<p>A hand was laid upon her arm. The girl with the sweet, white face was
+looking at her with a friendly smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you stay and have something warm to eat before going into the
+cold?" the girl asked gently.</p>
+
+<p>Old Marg shook the hand from her arm.</p>
+
+<p>"No!" she snarled. "I don't want nothin'! Let me go!"</p>
+
+<p>With a patient smile Angela opened the door.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry you will not stay," she said softly. "It would give me great
+pleasure. There is a gift for you on the tree, too. It is Christmas Eve, you know!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p><p>A hoarse, choking sound came from the woman's lips. She pushed by into
+the vestibule. Angela followed.</p>
+
+<p>"If you should feel differently to-morrow," she said, in her kind,
+gentle voice, "come here again, about eleven o'clock. I shall be here."
+Without waiting for a reply, she re-entered the hall. A young man, the
+same who had been speaking, met her at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Angela!" he exclaimed. "You should not be out there in the cold!" She
+smiled absently. "Did you see her, Robert?"</p>
+
+<p>"That terrible old woman? Yes, I saw her. A hopeless case, I fear."</p>
+
+<p>Angela's eyes kept their absent look.</p>
+
+<p>"It was awful to see her go away like that, into the cold and snow,
+hungry and half-clad!" she said.</p>
+
+<p>The young man leaned nearer. "Angela," he whispered. "You must not let
+these things sink into your heart as you do, or you cannot bear the work
+you have undertaken. As for that old creature, it is terrible to think
+of her, but she seemed to me beyond our reach."</p>
+
+<p>"But not beyond God's reach <i>through us</i>!" said Angela.</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>Meantime old Marg was facing the storm with rage and pain in her face
+and in her heart. The streets were deserted, and lighted only by such
+beams as found their way through the dirty windows of shops and saloons.
+From these last came sounds of revelry and contention, and at one or
+another the poor creature paused, listening without fear to the familiar
+hubbub. Should she go in? Some one might give her a drink, to ease for a
+time the terrible gnawing at her breast. Might? Yes; but more likely she
+would be thrust out with jeers and curses, and, for some reason, old
+Marg was in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> no mood to use the caustic wit and ready tongue that were
+her only weapons. So she staggered on until the swarming tenement was
+reached, stumbled up the five flights of unillumined stairs, and almost
+fell headlong into the dismal garret which she called her home.</p>
+
+<p>Feeling about in the darkness, she found a match and lit a bit of candle
+which stopped the neck of an empty bottle. It burned uncertainly as if
+reluctant to disclose the scene upon which its light fell. A
+smoke-stained, sloping ceiling, a blackened floor, a shapeless mattress
+heaped with rags, a deal box, a rusty stove resting upon two bricks,
+supporting in its turn an ancient frying-pan, a chipped saucer, and a
+battered tin can from which, when the scavenger business was good, old
+Marg served afternoon tea&mdash;such were her home and all her personal belongings.</p>
+
+<p>There was no fire, nor any means of producing one, but upon the box was
+spread a piece of paper containing a slice of bread and a soup-bone,
+whereto clung some fragments of meat&mdash;the gift of a neighbor hardly less
+wretched than herself.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman's eyes glittered at the sight, and, seizing the food, she
+sank weakly upon the box and began gnawing at it; but her toothless
+jaws, stiff with cold, made no impression upon the tough meat and hard
+crust, and letting them drop to the floor, the poor creature fell to
+rocking to and fro, whimpering tearlessly, like a suffering dog.
+Strangely enough, within the withered bosom of this most wretched
+creature there had welled up, from some hidden source of womanly
+feeling, a passionate self-pity, a no less passionate self-loathing.
+This was what a moment's contact with all that she had so long
+abjured&mdash;purity, order, gentleness&mdash;had brought to pass.</p>
+
+<p>That fair young girl-tall, pale, sweet as an Easter lily&mdash;stood before
+her like an incarnate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> memory, pointing toward the past, the far-distant
+past, when she, too, was young, and pretty, and innocent, and gay&mdash;too
+pretty and too gay for a poor working girl! That was where the trouble began.</p>
+
+<p>"I was light haired, too," moaned old Marg, twisting her withered
+fingers restlessly. "Light-haired, and light-complected! A pretty girl,
+an' a good girl, too! Not like <i>her</i>. No! How could I be? Little the
+likes o' her knows what the likes o' me has to face! Lord!"</p>
+
+<p>The bit of candle guttered and went out. The cold increased. It had
+ceased snowing, and a keen wind had arisen, tearing the clouds into
+shreds through which the stars gleamed. And presently the moon climbed
+up behind the belfry of the old church across the square, and sent one
+broad white ray through the dingy window and across the floor. All at
+once the great bell began to strike the midnight hour, its mingled
+vibrations filling the garret with tumultuous sounds. The vision of the
+fair girl faded, and old Marg was herself again, a hard, bitter,
+rebellious old woman, with a burning care where her heart had been, and
+only one thought, one desire, left in her desperate mind&mdash;the thought
+and the desire of death.</p>
+
+<p>In young and passionate days she had often thought of seeking that way
+out of life's agonies, but at its worst there is always some sweetness
+left in the cup&mdash;when one is young! It was not so now. The dregs only
+had been hers for many a year, and she had enough. Death&mdash;yes, that was best.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes glittered as she cast a look about the silent room. Bare, even
+of the means to this end! Ah, the window!</p>
+
+<p>With an inarticulate cry the woman arose and hobbled along the shining
+moon-ray to the window, and threw open the sash. Awed by the stern<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>
+beauty of the heavens, the splendor of the moon tangled in the lace-like
+carvings of the belfry as in a net, she leaned some moments against the
+sill, looking out and down. Far below lay the deserted square, its white
+bosom traced with the sharp shadow of the tower. With a keen eye old
+Marg measured the distance, a sheer descent of fifty feet. Nothing to
+break the fall&mdash;nothing!</p>
+
+<p>One movement, a swift fall, and that white surface would be broken by a
+black shapeless heap. A policeman would find it on his next round, or
+some drunken reveler would stumble over it, or the good people on their
+way to early mass&mdash;ah! The seamed countenance lit up suddenly with a
+malignant joy.</p>
+
+<p>Why not wait until they began to pass&mdash;those pious, respectable people
+in their comfortable furs and wools&mdash;and cast herself into their midst,
+a ghastly Christmas offering from Poverty to Riches, from Sin to Virtue?
+This suggestion commended itself highly to her sense of humor. With a
+hoarse chuckle she was about to close the window when a portion of the
+shadow that lay alongside the chimney showed signs of life, and, rising
+on four long and skinny legs, became a cat&mdash;a lean, black cat, which
+crept meekly toward the window, its phosphorescent eyes gleaming, its
+lank jaws parted in a vain effort to mew. Startled, old Marg drew back
+for an instant; then, glancing from the animal to the pavement below, a
+brutal cunning, a malicious pleasure, lit up the witch-like features.
+Reaching out one skinny arm, she called coaxingly: "Puss! Puss!"</p>
+
+<p>The cat dragged herself up to the outstretched arm, rubbing her lank
+body caressingly against it.</p>
+
+<p>The cruel, cunning old face softened suddenly. "Lord!" muttered old
+Marg, "if she ain't a-tryin' to <i>purr</i>! Wall, that beats me!"</p>
+
+<p>The poor beast continued its piteous appeal for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> aid, arching its
+starved frame, waving its tail, fawning unsuspectingly against the arm
+that had threatened.</p>
+
+<p>With an impulse new to her misery-hardened heart, old Marg drew the
+animal in and closed the window. Far from resisting, the cat nestled
+against her with every sign of pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>"She's been somebody's pet," said the old woman, placing her on the
+floor. "She ain't always been like this."</p>
+
+<p>The divine emotion of pity, so new to this forlorn creature, grew and
+swelled in her bosom. The man at the hall had <i>not</i> lied, after all.
+Here was another of God's creatures as miserable as herself&mdash;nay, more
+so, for she had a roof to shelter her! And she could share it with this homeless one.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor puss!" muttered old Marg, stroking the rough fur. "You're
+starvin', too, ain't ye? an' I ain't got nothin' to give ye, not a bite or a sup. Ah!"</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes had fallen upon the discarded food. Eagerly she seized it and
+placed it before the cat; the starving creature gnawed greedily at the
+bone an instant, then looked up with a hopeless mew.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman felt a keener pang of pity.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor beast!" she said, with a bitter smile. "Ye can't eat 'em, can ye?
+No more could I! We're in the same box, puss! Old, an' toothless, an'
+nobody belongin' to us. We'll have to starve together, I guess. An' it's
+Christmas day! Did ye know that, puss? Christmas day! Lord! Lord!"</p>
+
+<p>The cat rubbed against her skirts, her eyes fixed upon her benefactor's.
+"Seems to understand every word I say!" old Marg muttered. "If only I
+had a drop o' milk for her now!"</p>
+
+<p>Hobbling to the stove, she examined the battered tin can, letting the
+moonlight shine into its rusty depths. A little water or tea remained in
+it,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> and with this she moistened some of the bread and placed it before
+the cat, which devoured it now eagerly. Then she took the animal in her
+arms and laid herself down on the mattress, drawing the ragged covers
+over them. The cat nestled against her side; the warmth of the two poor
+bodies mingled, and both slept.</p>
+
+<p>The moon-ray crept along and spread itself over the heap of rags, the
+knotted fingers resting on the cat's rough fur, the seamed old face; it
+passed away, and morning dawned, with a peal of bells and the sound of
+footsteps on the pavement below, and still the two slept on.</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>Angela stood near the door, receiving her Christmas guests. They came
+straggling in, in twos and threes, some boldly and impudently, some
+shame-faced and shy, some eager, some indifferent, but all
+poverty-pinched. Each one was pleasantly welcomed, and passed on to the
+feast. Angela watched and waited, and at last the door opened slowly to
+admit old Marg, who stopped short on the threshold, with a look at once
+stubborn, appealing, suspicious, ashamed. Like a wild animal on the
+alert for the faintest sign of repulsion or danger, she stood there, but
+Angela only smiled, proffering her white, soft hand, destitute of
+jewels, but the hand of a lady.</p>
+
+<p>"A Merry Christmas!" she said brightly.</p>
+
+<p>"I was ugly to ye last night," said old Marg huskily, ignoring the
+beautiful hand she dared not touch.</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind!" Angela answered sweetly. "You were tired."</p>
+
+<p>"I am a bad old woman!" said old Marg, mistrustfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind that, either!" said Angela. "Let me be your friend. If you
+will, you shall never be cold or hungry again."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p><p>A profound wonder came into the old face&mdash;then it began to writhe, and
+from each eye oozed scant tears, seeking a channel amid the seams and
+wrinkles of the sunken cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"You will let me be your friend," urged Angela.</p>
+
+<p>Still old Marg wept silently, the scant tears of age.</p>
+
+<p>"You shall have a pleasant home and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>A swift, suspicious glance darted from the wet eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a 'sylum, miss, please!" said the old woman.</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Angela quietly. "Not an asylum, A home&mdash;a bright, clean,
+comfortable home&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I can work, miss!" put in old Marg, doubling her knotted hands to show
+their strength. "I can wash, an' scrub&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Angela, "you may work all you are able, helping to keep
+things clean and comfortable."</p>
+
+<p>Still old Marg looked doubtful. Wiping her cheeks with a corner of the
+shawl, she half turned toward the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you a family, or any one belonging to you?" asked Angela, thinking
+to have reached the root of the difficulty.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the old woman stoutly. "I have a cat. Where I go, she must go, too!"</p>
+
+<p>Angela patted the grimy hand, with a laugh which was good to hear.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand you perfectly," she said. "I have a cat of my own. You and
+<i>your</i> cat shall not be separated."</p>
+
+<p class="tbrk">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>A half-hour later entered the young man Robert. Angela pointed silently
+to old Marg, sitting in a warm corner, contentedly munching her
+Christmas dinner. "What have you done to her?" he asked. "She looks more
+human already."</p>
+
+<p>Angela laughed again, that same laugh which goes to one's heart so. "I
+have adopted her&mdash;and her cat!" she answered. "That's all!"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="THE_FIRST_PURITAN_CHRISTMAS_TREE" id="THE_FIRST_PURITAN_CHRISTMAS_TREE"></a>THE FIRST PURITAN CHRISTMAS TREE.</h2>
+
+<h3>(ANONYMOUS.)</h3>
+
+<p>Mrs. Olcott called her boys, and bade them go to the pine woods and get
+the finest, handsomest young hemlock tree that they could find.</p>
+
+<p>"Get one that is straight and tall, with well-boughed branches on it,
+and put it where you can draw it under the wood-shed after dark," she added.</p>
+
+<p>The boys went to Pine Hill, and there they picked out the finest young
+tree on all the hill, and said, "We will take this one." So, with their
+hatchets they hewed it down and brought it safely home the next night
+when all was dark. And when Roger was quietly sleeping in the adjoining
+room, they dragged the tree into the kitchen. It was too tall, so they
+took it out again and cut it off two or three feet at the base. Then
+they propped it up, and the curtains being down over the windows, and
+blankets being fastened over the curtains to prevent any one looking in,
+and the door being doubly barred to prevent any one coming in, they all went to bed.</p>
+
+<p>Very early the next morning, while the stars shone on the snow-covered
+hills&mdash;the same stars that shone sixteen hundred years before on the
+hills when Christ was born in Bethlehem&mdash;the little Puritan mother in
+New England arose very softly. She went out and lit the kitchen fire
+anew from the ash-covered embers. She fastened upon the twigs of the
+tree the gifts she had bought in Boston for her boys and girl. Then she
+took as many as twenty pieces of candle and fixed them upon the
+branches. After that she softly called Rupert, Robert and Lucy, and told
+them to get up and come into the kitchen.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p><p>Hurrying back, she began, with a bit of a burning stick, to light the
+candles. Just as the last one was set aflame, in trooped the three children.</p>
+
+<p>Before they had time to say a word, they were silenced by their mother's warning.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to fetch Roger in and wake him up before it," she said. "Keep
+still until I come back!"</p>
+
+<p>The little lad, fast asleep, was lifted in a blanket and gently carried
+by his mother into the beautiful presence.</p>
+
+<p>"See! Roger, my boy, see!" she said, arousing him. "It is Christmas
+morning now! In England they only have Christmas-boughs, but here in New
+England we have a whole Christmas-tree."</p>
+
+<p>"O mother!" he cried. "O Lucy! Is it really, really true, and no dream
+at all? Yes, I see! I see! O mother, it is so beautiful! Were all the
+trees on all the hills lighted up that way when Christ was born? And,
+mother," he added, clapping his little hands with joy at the thought,
+"why, yes, the stars did sing when Christ was born! They must be glad,
+then, and keep Christmas, too, in heaven. I know they must, and there
+will be good times there."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said his mother; "there will be good times there, Roger."</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said the boy, "I sha'n't mind going, now that I've seen the
+Christmas-bough. I&mdash;What is that, mother?"</p>
+
+<p>What was it that they heard? The little Olcott home had never before
+seemed to tremble so. There were taps at the window, there were knocks
+at the door&mdash;and it was as yet scarcely the break of day! There were
+voices also, shouting something to somebody.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I put out the candles, mother?" whispered Robert.</p>
+
+<p>"What will they do to us for having the tree? I wish we hadn't it,"
+regretted Rupert; while Lucy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> clung to her mother's gown and shrieked
+with all her strength, "It's Indians!"</p>
+
+<p>Pale and white and still, ready to meet her fate, stood Mrs. Olcott,
+until, out of the knocking and the tapping at her door, her heart caught
+a sound. It was a voice calling, "Rachel! Rachel! Rachel!"</p>
+
+<p>"Unbar the door!" she cried back to her boys; "it's your father
+calling!" Down came the blankets; up went the curtain; open flew the
+door, and in walked Captain Olcott, followed by every man and woman in
+Plymouth who had heard at break of day the glorious news that the
+expected ship had arrived at Boston, and with it the long lost Captain
+Olcott. For an instant nothing was thought of except the joyous
+welcoming of the Captain in his new home.</p>
+
+<p>"What's this? What is it? What does this mean?" was asked again and
+again, when the first excitement was passed, as the tall young pine
+stood aloft, its candles ablaze, its gifts still hanging.</p>
+
+<p>"It's welcome home to father!" said Lucy, her only thought to screen her mother.</p>
+
+<p>"No, child, no!" sternly spoke Mrs. Olcott. "Tell the truth!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's&mdash;a&mdash;Christmas-tree!" faltered poor Lucy.</p>
+
+<p>One and another and another, Pilgrims and Puritans all, drew near with
+faces stern and forbidding, and gazed and gazed, until one and another
+and yet another softened slowly into a smile as little Roger's piping
+voice sung out:</p>
+
+<p>"She made it for me, mother did. But you may have it now, and all the
+pretty things that are on it, too, because you've brought my father back
+again; if mother will let you," he added.</p>
+
+<p>Neither Pilgrim nor Puritan frowned at the gift. One man, the sternest
+there, broke off a little twig and said:</p>
+
+<p>"I'll take it for the sake of the good old times at home."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="THE_FIRST_CHRISTMAS_IN_NEW_ENGLAND" id="THE_FIRST_CHRISTMAS_IN_NEW_ENGLAND"></a>THE FIRST CHRISTMAS IN NEW ENGLAND.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div>They thought they had come to their port that day,</div>
+<div class="i1">But not yet was their journey done;</div>
+<div>And they drifted away from Provincetown Bay</div>
+<div class="i1">In the fireless light of the sun.</div>
+<div>With rain and sleet were the tall masts iced,</div>
+<div class="i1">And gloomy and chill was the air,</div>
+<div>But they looked from the crystal sails to Christ,</div>
+<div class="i1">And they came to a harbor fair.</div>
+<div class="i4">The white hills silent lay,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">For there were no ancient bells to ring,</div>
+<div class="i2">No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,</div>
+<div class="i2">No chapel of baron, or lord, or king,</div>
+<div class="i4">That gray, cold winter day.</div>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<div>The snow came down on the vacant seas,</div>
+<div class="i1">And white on the lone rocks lay,&mdash;</div>
+<div>But rang the axe 'mong the evergreen trees</div>
+<div class="i1">And followed the Sabbath day.</div>
+<div>Then rose the sun in a crimson haze,</div>
+<div class="i1">And the workmen said at dawn:</div>
+<div>"Shall our axes swing on this day of days,</div>
+<div class="i1">When the Lord of Life was born?"</div>
+<div class="i4">The white hills silent lay,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">For there were no ancient bells to ring,</div>
+<div class="i2">No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,</div>
+<div class="i2">No chapel of baron, or lord, or king,</div>
+<div class="i4">That gray, cold Christmas Day.</div>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<div>"The old town's bells we seem to hear:</div>
+<div class="i1">They are ringing sweet on the Dee;</div>
+<div>They are ringing sweet on the Harlem Meer,</div>
+<div class="i1">And sweet on the Zuyder Zee.</div>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span><div>The pines are frosted with snow and sleet.</div>
+<div class="i1">Shall we our axes wield</div>
+<div>When the chimes at Lincoln are ringing sweet</div>
+<div class="i1">And the bells of Austerfield?"</div>
+<div class="i4">The air was cold and gray,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">And there were no ancient bells to ring,</div>
+<div class="i2">No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,</div>
+<div class="i2">No chapel of baron, or lord, or king,</div>
+<div class="i4">That gray, cold Christmas Day.</div>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<div>Then the master said, "Your axes wield,</div>
+<div class="i1">Remember ye Malabarre Bay;</div>
+<div>And the covenant there with the Lord ye sealed;</div>
+<div class="i1">Let your axes ring to-day.</div>
+<div>You may talk of the old town's bells to-night,</div>
+<div class="i1">When your work for the Lord is done,</div>
+<div>And your boats return, and the shallop's light</div>
+<div class="i1">Shall follow the light of the sun.</div>
+<div class="i4">The sky is cold and gray,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">And here are no ancient bells to ring,</div>
+<div class="i2">No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,</div>
+<div class="i2">No chapel of baron, or lord, or king.</div>
+<div class="i4">This gray, cold Christmas Day.</div>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<div>"If Christ was born on Christmas Day,</div>
+<div class="i1">And the day by Him is blest,</div>
+<div>Then low at His feet the evergreens lay</div>
+<div class="i1">And cradle His church in the West.</div>
+<div>Immanuel waits at the temple gates</div>
+<div class="i1">Of the nation to-day ye found,</div>
+<div>And the Lord delights in no formal rites;</div>
+<div class="i1">To-day let your axes sound!"</div>
+<div class="i4">The sky was cold and gray,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">And there were no ancient bells to ring,</div>
+<div class="i2">No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,</div>
+<div class="i2">No chapel of baron, or lord, or king,</div>
+<div class="i4">That gray, cold Christmas Day.</div>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span><div>Their axes rang through the evergreen trees</div>
+<div class="i1">Like the bells on the Thames and Tay;</div>
+<div>And they cheerily sang by the windy seas,</div>
+<div class="i1">And they thought of Malabarre Bay.</div>
+<div>On the lonely heights of Burial Hill</div>
+<div class="i1">The old Precisioners sleep;</div>
+<div>But did ever men with a nobler will</div>
+<div class="i1">A holier Christmas keep,</div>
+<div class="i4">When the sky was cold and gray,&mdash;</div>
+<div class="i2">And there were no ancient bells to ring,</div>
+<div class="i2">No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,</div>
+<div class="i2">No chapel of baron, or lord, or king,</div>
+<div class="i4">That gray, cold Christmas Day?</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="THE_CHIMES" id="THE_CHIMES"></a>THE CHIMES.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY CHARLES DICKENS.</h3>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">First Quarter.</span></h3>
+
+<p>There are not many people&mdash;and as it is desirable that a story-teller
+and a story-reader should establish a mutual understanding as soon as
+possible, I beg it to be noticed that I confine this observation neither
+to young people nor to little people, but extend it to all conditions of
+people: little and big, young and old: yet growing up, or already
+growing down again&mdash;there are not, I say, many people who would care to
+sleep in a church. I don't mean at sermon time in warm weather (when the
+thing has actually been done, once or twice), but in the night, and
+alone. A great multitude of persons will be violently astonished, I
+know, by this position, in the broad bold Day. But it applies to Night.
+It must be argued by night. And I will undertake to maintain it
+successfully on any gusty winter's night appointed for the purpose, with
+any one opponent chosen from the rest, who will meet me singly in an old
+churchyard, before an old church door; and will previously empower me to
+lock him in, if needful to his satisfaction, until morning.</p>
+
+<p>For the night-wind has a dismal trick of wandering round and round a
+building of that sort, and moaning as it goes; and of trying with its
+unseen hand, the windows and the doors; and seeking out some crevices by
+which to enter. And when it has got in; as one not finding what it
+seeks, whatever that may be,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> it wails and howls to issue forth again;
+and not content with stalking through the aisles, and gliding round and
+round the pillars, and tempting the deep organ, soars up to the roof,
+and strives to rend the rafters; then flings itself despairingly upon
+the stones below, and passes, muttering, into the vaults. Ugh! Heaven
+preserve us, sitting snugly round the fire! It has an awful voice, that
+wind at midnight, singing in a church!</p>
+
+<p>But, high up in the steeple! There the foul blast roars and whistles!
+High up in the steeple, where it is free to come and go through many an
+airy arch and loophole, and to twist and twine itself about the giddy
+stair, and twirl the groaning weathercock, and make the very tower shake and shiver!</p>
+
+<p>High up in the steeple of an old church, far above the light and murmur
+of the town and far below the flying clouds that shadow it, is the wild
+and dreary place at night: and high up in the steeple of an old church,
+dwelt the Chimes I tell of.</p>
+
+<p>They were old Chimes, trust me. Centuries ago, these Bells had been
+baptized by bishops: so many centuries ago, that the register of their
+baptism was lost long, long before the memory of man, and no one knew
+their names. They had had their Godfathers and Godmothers, these Bells
+(for my part, by the way, I would rather incur the responsibility of
+being Godfather to a Bell than a Boy), and had had their silver mugs, no
+doubt, besides. But Time had mowed down their sponsors, and Henry the
+Eighth had melted down their mugs; and they now hung, nameless and
+mugless, in the church tower.</p>
+
+<p>Not speechless, though. Far from it. They had clear, loud, lusty,
+sounding voices, had these Bells; and far and wide they might be heard
+upon the wind. Much too sturdy Chimes were they, to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> dependent on the
+pleasure of the wind, moreover; for, fighting gallantly against it when
+it took an adverse whim, they would pour their cheerful notes into a
+listening ear right royally; and bent on being heard, on stormy nights,
+by some poor mother watching a sick child, or some lone wife whose
+husband was at sea, they had been sometimes known to beat a blustering
+Nor'Wester; ay, "all to fits," as Toby Veck said;&mdash;for though they chose
+to call him Trotty Veck, his name was Toby, and nobody could make it
+anything else either (except Tobias); he having been as lawfully
+christened in his day as the bells had been in theirs, though with not
+quite so much of solemnity or public rejoicing.</p>
+
+<p>For my part, I confess myself of Toby Veck's belief, for I am sure he
+had opportunities enough of forming a correct one. And whatever Toby
+Veck said, I say. And I take my stand by Toby Veck, although he <i>did</i>
+stand all day long (and weary work it was) just outside the church-door.
+In fact he was a ticket-porter, Toby Veck, and waited there for jobs.</p>
+
+<p>And a breezy, goose-skinned, blue-nosed, red-eyed, stony-toed,
+tooth-chattering place it was to wait in, in the winter-time, as Toby
+Veck well knew. The wind came tearing round the corner&mdash;especially the
+east wind&mdash;as if it had sallied forth, express, from the confines of the
+earth, to have a blow at Toby. And oftentimes it seemed to come upon him
+sooner than it had expected, for bouncing round the corner, and passing
+Toby, it would suddenly wheel round again, as if it cried "Why, here he is!"</p>
+
+<p>Toby was curious about the Bells because there were points of
+resemblance between them and him. They hung there in all weathers, with
+the wind and rain driving in upon them; facing only the outsides of all
+the houses; never getting any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> nearer to the blazing fires that gleamed
+and shone upon the windows or came puffing out of the chimney tops; and
+incapable of participating in any of the good things that were
+constantly being handed through the street doors and iron railings to
+prodigious cooks. Being but a simple man, he invested the Bells with a
+strange and solemn character. They were so mysterious, often heard and
+never seen; so high up, so far off, so full of such a deep, strong
+melody, that he regarded them with a species of awe; and sometimes when
+he looked up at the dark arched windows in the tower, he half expected
+to be beckoned to by something which was not a Bell, and yet was what he
+heard so often sounding in the Chimes. For all this Toby scouted with
+indignation a certain flying rumor that the Chimes were haunted, as
+implying the possibility of their being connected with any Evil thing.
+In short, they were very often in his ears, and very often in his
+thoughts, but always in his good opinion; and he very often got such a
+crick in his neck by staring with his mouth wide open, at the steeple
+where they hung, that he was fain to take an extra trot or two,
+afterward, to cure it.</p>
+
+<p>The very thing he was in the act of doing one cold day, when the last
+drowsy sound of Twelve o'clock, just struck, was humming like a
+melodious monster of a Bee, and not by any means a busy Bee, all through the steeple?</p>
+
+<p>"Dinner time, eh!" said Toby, trotting up and down before the church. "Ah!"</p>
+
+<p>Toby's nose was very red, and his eyelids were very red, and he winked
+very much, and his shoulders were very near his ears, and his legs were
+very stiff, and altogether he was evidently a long way upon the frosty side of cool.</p>
+
+<p>"Dinner time, eh!" repeated Toby, using his right hand muffler like an
+infantine boxing-glove, and punishing his chest for being cold. "Ah-h-h-h!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p><p>He took a silent trot, after that, for a minute or two.</p>
+
+<p>"There's nothing," said Toby, "more regular in its coming round than
+dinner time, and nothing less regular in its coming round than dinner.
+That's the great difference between 'em. It's took me a long time to
+find it out. I wonder whether it would be worth any gentleman's while,
+now, to buy that obserwation for the Papers; or the Parliament!"</p>
+
+<p>Tony was only joking, for he gravely shook his head in
+self-depreciation.</p>
+
+<p>"Why! Lord!" said Toby. "The Papers is full of obserwations as it is;
+and so's the Parliament. Here's last week's paper, now;" taking a very
+dirty one from his pocket, and holding it from him at arm's length;
+"full of obserwations! Full of obserwations! I like to know the news as
+well as any man," said Toby, slowly; folding it a little smaller, and
+putting it in his pocket again: "but it almost goes against the grain
+with me to read a paper now. It frightens me almost. I don't know what
+we poor people are coming to. Lord send we may be coming to something
+better in the New Year nigh upon us!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, father, father!" said a pleasant voice, hard by.</p>
+
+<p>But Toby, not hearing it continued to trot backward and forward: musing
+as he went, and talking to himself.</p>
+
+<p>"It seems as if we can't go right, or do right, or be righted," said
+Toby. "I hadn't much schooling, myself, when I was young; and I can't
+make out whether we have any business on the face of the earth, or not.
+Sometimes I think we must have&mdash;a little; and sometimes I think we must
+be intruding. I get so puzzled sometimes that I am not even able to make
+up my mind whether there is any good at all in us, or whether we are
+born bad.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> We seem to do dreadful things; we seem to give a deal of
+trouble; we are always being complained of and guarded against. One way
+or another, we fill the papers. Talk of a New Year!" said Toby,
+mournfully. "I can bear up as well as another man at most times; better
+than a good many, for I am as strong as a lion, and all men an't; but
+supposing it should really be that we have no right to a New
+Year&mdash;supposing we really <i>are</i> intruding&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, father, father!" said the pleasant voice again.</p>
+
+<p>Toby heard it this time; started; stopped; and shortening his sight,
+which had been directed a long way off as seeking for enlightenment in
+the very heart of the approaching year, found himself face to face with
+his own child, and looking close into her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Bright eyes they were. Eyes that would bear a world of looking in,
+before their depth was fathomed. Dark eyes, that reflected back the eyes
+which searched them; not flashingly or at the owner's will, but with a
+clear, calm, honest, patient radiance, claiming kindred with that light
+which Heaven called into being. Eyes that were beautiful and true, and
+beaming with Hope. With Hope so young and fresh; with Hope so buoyant,
+vigorous and bright, despite the twenty years of work and poverty on
+which they had looked; that they became a voice to Trotty Veck, and
+said: "I think we have some business here&mdash;a little!"</p>
+
+<p>Trotty kissed the lips belonging to the eyes, and squeezed the blooming
+face between his hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Pet," said Trotty. "What's to-do? I didn't expect you, to-day, Meg."</p>
+
+<p>"Neither did I expect to come, father," cried the girl, nodding her head
+and smiling as she spoke. "But here I am! And not alone; not alone!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p><p>"Why you don't mean to say," observed Trotty, looking curiously at a
+covered basket which she carried in her hand, "that you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Smell it, father dear," said Meg, "Only smell it!"</p>
+
+<p>Trotty was going to lift up the cover at once, in a great hurry, when
+she gayly interposed her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, no," said Meg, with the glee of a child. "Lengthen it out a
+little. Let me just lift up the corner; just the lit-tle ti-ny cor-ner,
+you know," said Meg, suiting the action to the word with the utmost
+gentleness, and speaking very softly, as if she were afraid of being
+overheard by something inside the basket; "there. Now. What's that!"</p>
+
+<p>Toby took the shortest possible sniff at the edge of the basket, and
+cried out in a rapture:</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's hot!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is burning hot!" cried Meg. "Ha, ha, ha! It's scalding hot!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ha, ha, ha!" roared Toby, with a sort of kick. "It's scalding hot!"</p>
+
+<p>"But what is it father?" said Meg. "Come! you haven't guessed what it
+is. And you must guess what it is. I can't think of taking it out till
+you guess what it is. Don't be in such a hurry! Wait a minute! A little
+bit more of the cover. Now guess!"</p>
+
+<p>Meg was in a perfect fright lest he should guess right too soon;
+shrinking away, as she held the basket toward him; curling up her pretty
+shoulders; stopping her ear with her hand, as if by so doing she could
+keep the right word out of Toby's lips; and laughing softly the whole time.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Toby, putting a hand on each knee, bent down his nose to the
+basket, and took a long inspiration at the lid; the grin upon his
+withered face expanded in the process, as if he were inhaling laughing gas.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p><p>"Ah! It's very nice," said Toby. "It ain't&mdash;I suppose it ain't
+Polonies?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, no!" cried Meg, delighted. "Nothing like Polonies!"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Toby, after another sniff. "It's&mdash;it's mellower than
+Polonies. It's very nice. It improves every moment. It's too decided for
+Trotters. Ain't it?"</p>
+
+<p>Meg was in ecstasy. He could <i>not</i> have gone wider of the mark than
+Trotters&mdash;except Polonies.</p>
+
+<p>"Liver?" said Toby, communing with himself. "No. There's a mildness
+about it that don't answer to liver. Pettitoes? No. It an't faint enough
+for pettitoes. It wants the stringiness of Cocks' heads. And I know it
+an't sausages. I'll tell you what it is. It's chitterlings!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, it an't!" cried Meg, in a burst of delight "No, it an't!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what am I a thinking of!" said Toby, suddenly recovering a
+position as near the perpendicular as it was possible for him to assume.
+"I shall forget my own name next. It's tripe!"</p>
+
+<p>Tripe it was; and Meg, in high joy, protested he should say, in half a
+minute more, it was the best tripe ever stewed.</p>
+
+<p>"And so," said Meg, busying herself exultingly with her basket; "I'll
+lay the cloth at once, father; for I have brought the tripe in a basin,
+and tied the basin up in a pocket-handkerchief; and if I like to be
+proud for once, and spread that for a cloth, and call it a cloth,
+there's no law to prevent me; is there father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not that I know of, my dear," said Toby. "But they're always a bringing
+up some new law or other."</p>
+
+<p>"And according to what I was reading you in the paper the other day,
+father; what the Judge said, you know; we poor people are supposed to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>
+know them all. Ha, ha! What a mistake! My goodness me, how clever they think us!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my dear," cried Trotty; "and they'd be very fond of any one of us
+that <i>did</i> know 'em all. He'd grow fat upon the work he'd get, that man,
+and be popular with the gentlefolks in his neighborhood. Very much so!"</p>
+
+<p>"He'd eat his dinner with an appetite, whoever he was, if it smelt like
+this," said Meg, cheerfully. "Make haste, for there's a potato besides.
+Where will you dine, father? On the Post, or on the Steps? Dear, dear,
+how grand we are. Two places to choose from!"</p>
+
+<p>"The steps to day, my Pet," said Trotty. "Steps in dry weather. Post in
+wet. There's a great conveniency in the steps at all times, because of
+the sitting down; but they're rheumatic in the damp."</p>
+
+<p>"Then here," said Meg, clapping her hands, after a moment's bustle;
+"here it is, all ready! And beautiful it looks! Come, father. Eat it
+while it's hot. Come!"</p>
+
+<p>Since his discovery of the contents of the basket, Trotty had been
+standing looking at her&mdash;and had been speaking too&mdash;in an abstracted
+manner, which showed that though she was the object of his thoughts and
+eyes, to the exclusion even of tripe, he neither saw nor thought about
+her as she was at that moment, but had before him some imaginary rough
+sketch or drama of her future life. Roused, now, by her cheerful
+summons, he shook off a melancholy shake of the head which was just
+coming upon him, and trotted to her side. As he was stooping to sit
+down, the Chimes rang.</p>
+
+<p>"Amen!" said Trotty, pulling off his hat and looking up toward them.</p>
+
+<p>"Amen to the Bells, father?" cried Meg.</p>
+
+<p>"They broke in like a grace, my dear," said Trotty, taking his seat.
+"They'd say a good one,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> I am sure, if they could. Many's the kind thing
+they say to me."</p>
+
+<p>"The Bells do, father!" laughed Meg, as she set the basin, and a knife
+and fork before him. "Well!"</p>
+
+<p>"Seem to, my Pet," said Trotty, falling to with great vigor. "And
+where's the difference? If I hear 'em, what does it matter whether they
+speak it or not? Why bless you, my dear," said Toby, pointing at the
+tower with his fork, and becoming more animated under the influence of
+dinner, "how often have I heard them bells say, 'Toby Veck, Toby Veck,
+keep a good heart Toby! Toby Veck, Toby Veck, keep a good heart Toby!' A
+million times? More!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I never!" cried Meg.</p>
+
+<p>She had, though&mdash;over and over again. For it was Toby's constant topic.</p>
+
+<p>"When things is very bad," said Trotty; "very bad indeed, I mean; almost
+at the worst; then it's 'Toby Veck, Toby Veck, job coming soon, Toby!
+Toby Veck, Toby Veck, job coming soon, Toby!' That way."</p>
+
+<p>"And it comes&mdash;at last, father," said Meg, with a touch of sadness in
+her pleasant voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Always," answered the unconscious Toby. "Never fails."</p>
+
+<p>While this discourse was holding, Trotty made no pause in his attack
+upon the savory meat before him, but cut and ate, and cut and drank, and
+cut and chewed, and dodged about, from tripe to hot potato, and from hot
+potato back again to tripe, with an unctuous and unflagging relish. But
+happening now to look all round the street&mdash;in case anybody should be
+beckoning from any door or window, for a porter&mdash;his eyes, in coming
+back again, encountered Meg: sitting opposite to him, with her arms
+folded; and only busy in watching his progress with a smile of happiness.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p><p>"Why, Lord forgive me!" said Trotty, dropping his knife and fork. "My
+love! Meg! why didn't you tell me what a beast I was?"</p>
+
+<p>"Father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sitting here," said Trotty, in penitent explanation, "cramming and
+stuffing, and gorging myself; and you before me there, never so much as
+breaking your precious fast, nor wanting to, when&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But I have broken it, father," interposed his daughter, laughing, "all
+to bits. I have had my dinner."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense," said Trotty. "Two dinners in one day! It an't possible! You
+might as well tell me that two New Year's Days will come together, or
+that I have had a gold head all my life, and never changed it."</p>
+
+<p>"I have had my dinner, father, for all that," said Meg, coming nearer to
+him. "And if you'll go on with yours, I'll tell you how and where; and
+how your dinner came to be brought; and&mdash;something else besides."</p>
+
+<p>Toby still appeared incredulous; but she looked into his face with her
+clear eyes, and laying her hand upon his shoulder, motioned him to go on
+while the meat was hot. So Trotty took up his knife and fork again, and
+went to work. But much more slowly than before, and shaking his head, as
+if he were not at all pleased with himself.</p>
+
+<p>"I had my dinner, father," said Meg, after a little hesitation,
+"with&mdash;with Richard. His dinner-time was early; and as he brought his
+dinner with him when he came to see me, we&mdash;we had it together, father."</p>
+
+<p>Trotty said, "Oh!"&mdash;because she waited.</p>
+
+<p>"And Richard says, father&mdash;" Meg resumed. Then stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"What does Richard say, Meg?" asked Toby.</p>
+
+<p>"Richard says, father&mdash;" Another stoppage.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p><p>"Richard's a long time saying it," said Toby.</p>
+
+<p>"He says then, father," Meg continued, lifting up her eyes at last, and
+speaking in a tremble, but quite plainly; "another year is nearly gone,
+and where is the use of waiting on from year to year, when it is so
+unlikely we shall ever be better off than we are now? He says we are
+poor now, father, and we shall be poor then, but we are young now, and
+years will make us old before we know it. He says that if we wait,
+people in our condition, until we see our way quite clearly, the way
+will be a narrow one indeed&mdash;the common way&mdash;the Grave, father."</p>
+
+<p>A bolder man than Trotty Veck must needs have drawn upon his boldness
+largely, to deny it. Trotty held his peace.</p>
+
+<p>"And how hard, father, to grow old and die, and think we might have
+cheered and helped each other! How hard in all our lives to love each
+other; and to grieve, apart, to see each other working, changing,
+growing old and gray. Even if I got the better of it, and forgot him
+(which I never could), oh, father dear, how hard to have a heart so full
+as mine is now, and live to have it slowly drained out every drop,
+without the recollection of one happy moment of a woman's life, to stay
+behind and comfort me, and make me better!"</p>
+
+<p>Trotty sat quite still, Meg dried her eyes, and said more gayly: that is
+to say, with here a laugh, and there a sob, and here a laugh and sob together:</p>
+
+<p>"So Richard says, father; as his work was yesterday made certain for
+some time to come, and as I love him and have loved him fully three
+years&mdash;ah! longer than that, if he knew it!&mdash;will I marry him on New
+Year's Day; the best and happiest day, he says, in the whole year, and
+one that is almost sure to bring good fortune with it. It's a short
+notice, father&mdash;isn't it?&mdash;but I haven't my fortune to be settled, or my
+wedding dresses to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> made, like the great ladies, father, have I? And
+he said so much, and said it in his way; so strong and earnest, and all
+the time so kind and gentle; that I said I'd come and talk to you,
+father. And as they paid the money for that work of mine this morning
+(unexpectedly, I am sure!), and as you have fared very poorly for a
+whole week, and as I couldn't help wishing there should be something to
+make this day a sort of holiday to you as well as a dear and happy day
+to me, father, I made a little treat and brought it to surprise you."</p>
+
+<p>"And see how he leaves it cooling on the step!" said another voice.</p>
+
+<p>It was the voice of the same Richard, who had come upon them unobserved,
+and stood before the father and daughter; looking down upon them with a
+face as glowing as the iron on which his stout sledge-hammer daily rung.
+A handsome, well-made, powerful youngster he was; with eyes that
+sparkled like the red-hot droppings from a furnace fire; black hair that
+curled about his swarthy temples rarely; and a smile&mdash;a smile that bore
+out Meg's eulogium on his style of conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"See how he leaves it cooling on the step!" said Richard. "Meg don't
+know what he likes. Not she!"</p>
+
+<p>Trotty, all action and enthusiasm, immediately reached up his hand to
+Richard, and was going to address him in a great hurry, when the
+house-door opened without any warning, and a footman very nearly put his
+foot in the tripe.</p>
+
+<p>"Out of the vays here, will you! You must always go and be a-settin on
+our steps, must you! You can't go and give a turn to none of the
+neighbors never, can't you? <i>Will</i> you clear the road, or won't you?"</p>
+
+<p>Strictly speaking, the last question was irrelevant, as they had already done it.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p><p>"What's the matter, what's the matter?" said the gentleman for whom the
+door was opened; coming out of the house at that kind of light, heavy
+pace&mdash;that peculiar compromise between a walk and jog-trot&mdash;with which a
+gentleman upon the smooth down-hill of life, wearing creaking boots, a
+watch-chain, and clean linen, <i>may</i> come out of his house: not only
+without any abatement of his dignity, but with an expression of having
+important and wealthy engagements elsewhere. "What's the matter? What's the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"You're always a-being begged, and prayed, upon your bended knees, you
+are," said the footman with great emphasis to Trotty Veck, "to let our
+door-steps be. Why don't you let 'em be? <span class="smcap">Can't</span> you let 'em be?"</p>
+
+<p>"There! That'll do, that'll do!" said the gentleman, "Halloa there!
+Porter!" beckoning with his head to Trotty Veck, "Come here. What's that? Your dinner?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," said Trotty, leaving it behind him in a corner.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't leave it there!" exclaimed the gentleman. "Bring it here, bring
+it here! So! this is your dinner, is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," repeated Trotty, looking with a fixed eye and a watery mouth
+at the piece of tripe he had reserved for a last delicious tit-bit,
+which the gentleman was now turning over and over on the end of a fork.</p>
+
+<p>Two other gentlemen had come out with him. One was a low-spirited
+gentleman of middle age, of a meagre habit, and a disconsolate face; who
+kept his hands continually in the pockets of his scanty pepper-and-salt
+trousers, very large and dog's-eared from that custom; and was not
+particularly well brushed or washed. The other, a full sized, sleek,
+well-conditioned gentleman, in a blue coat, with bright buttons, and a
+white cravat. This <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>gentleman had a very red face, as if an undue
+proportion of the blood in his body were squeezed up into his head,
+which perhaps accounted for his having also the appearance of being
+rather cold about the heart.</p>
+
+<p>He who had Toby's meat upon the fork called to the first one by the name
+of Filer, and they both drew near together. Mr. Filer being exceedingly
+short sighted, was obliged to go so close to the remnant of Toby's
+dinner before he could make out what it was, that Toby's heart leaped up
+into his mouth. But Mr. Filer didn't eat it.</p>
+
+<p>"This is a description of animal food, Alderman," said Filer, making
+little punches in it with a pencil-case, "commonly known to the laboring
+population of this country by the name of tripe."</p>
+
+<p>The Alderman laughed, and winked; for he was a merry fellow. Alderman
+Cute. Oh, and a sly fellow too! A knowing fellow. Up to everything. Not
+to be imposed upon. Deep in the people's hearts! He knew them, Cute did.
+I believe you!</p>
+
+<p>"But who eats tripe?" said Mr. Filer, looking round. "Tripe is without
+an exception the least economical, and the most wasteful article of
+consumption that the markets of this country can by possibility produce.
+The loss upon a pound of tripe has been found to be, in the boiling,
+seven-eighths of a fifth more than the loss upon a pound of any other
+animal substance whatever. Tripe is more expensive, properly understood,
+than the hot-house pine-apple. Taking into account the number of animals
+slaughtered yearly within the bills of mortality alone; and forming a
+low estimate of the quantity of tripe which the carcases of these
+animals, reasonably well butchered, would yield&mdash;I find that the waste
+on that amount of tripe, if boiled, would victual a garrison of five
+hundred men for five months of thirty-one days each, and a February
+over. The Waste, the Waste!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p><p>Trotty stood aghast, and his legs shook under him. He seemed to have
+starved a garrison of five hundred men with his own hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Who eats tripe?" said Mr. Filer, warmly. "Who eats tripe?"</p>
+
+<p>Trotty made a miserable bow.</p>
+
+<p>"You do, do you?" said Mr. Filer. "Then I'll tell you something. You
+snatch your tripe, my friend, out of the mouths of widows and orphans."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope not, sir," said Trotty, faintly. "I'd sooner die of want!"</p>
+
+<p>"Divide the amount of tripe before-mentioned, Alderman," said Mr. Filer,
+"by the estimated number of existing widows and orphans, and the result
+will be one pennyweight of tripe to each. Not a grain is left for that
+man. Consequently, he's a robber."</p>
+
+<p>Trotty was so shocked that it gave him no concern to see the Alderman
+finish the tripe himself. It was a relief to get rid of it, anyhow.</p>
+
+<p>"And what do you say?" asked the Alderman, jocosely, of the red-faced
+gentleman in the blue coat. "You have heard friend Filer. What do <i>you</i> say?"</p>
+
+<p>"What's it possible to say?" returned the gentleman. "What <i>is</i> to be
+said? Who can take any interest in a fellow like this," meaning Trotty,
+"in such degenerate times as these? Look at him! What an object! The
+good old times, the grand old times, the great old times! <i>Those</i> were
+the times for a bold peasantry, and all that sort of thing. Those were
+the times for every sort of thing, in fact. There's nothing now-a-days.
+Ah!" sighed the red-faced gentleman. "The good old times, the good old times!"</p>
+
+<p>It is possible that poor Trotty's faith in these very vague Old Times
+was not entirely destroyed, for he felt vague enough, at that moment.
+One thing, however, was plain to him, in the midst of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> distress; to
+wit, that however these gentlemen might differ in details, his
+misgivings of that morning, and of many other mornings, were well
+founded. "No, no. We can't go right or do right," thought Trotty in
+despair. "There is no good in us. We are born bad!"</p>
+
+<p>But Trotty had a father's heart within him; which had somehow got into
+his breast in spite of this decree; and he could not bear that Meg, in
+the blush of her brief joy, should have her fortune read by these wise
+gentlemen. "God help her," thought poor Trotty. "She will know it soon enough."</p>
+
+<p>He anxiously signed, therefore, to the young smith, to take her away.
+But he was so busy, talking to her softly at a little distance, that he
+only became conscious of this desire, simultaneously with Alderman Cute.
+Now, the Alderman had not yet had his say, but <i>he</i> was a philosopher,
+too&mdash;practical though! Oh, very practical!&mdash;and, as he had no idea of
+losing any portion of his audience, he cried "Stop!"</p>
+
+<p>Trotty took Meg's hand and drew it through his arm. He didn't seem to
+know what he was doing though.</p>
+
+<p>"Your daughter, eh?" said the Alderman, chucking her familiarly under the chin.</p>
+
+<p>"And you're making love to her, are you?" said Cute to the young smith.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," returned Richard quickly, for he was nettled by the question.
+"And we are going to be married on New Year's Day."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?" cried Filer sharply. "Married!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, yes, we were thinking of it. Master," said Richard. "We're rather
+in a hurry you see, in case it should be Put Down first."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" cried Filer, with a groan. "Put <i>that</i> down indeed. Alderman, and
+you'll do something.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> Married! Married!! The ignorance of the first
+principles of political economy on the part of these people; their
+improvidence; their wickedness is by Heavens! enough to&mdash;Now look at
+that couple, will you!"</p>
+
+<p>Well! They were worth looking at. And marriage seemed as reasonable and
+fair a deed as they need have in contemplation.</p>
+
+<p>"A man may live to be as old as Methuselah," said Mr. Filer, "and may
+labor all his life for the benefit of such people as those; and may heap
+up facts on figures, facts on figures, facts on figures, mountains high
+and dry; and he can no more hope to persuade 'em that they have no right
+or business to be married than he can hope to persuade 'em that they
+have no earthly right or business to be born. And <i>that</i> we know they
+haven't. We reduced that to a mathematical certainty long ago!"</p>
+
+<p>"Come here, my girl!" said Alderman Cute.</p>
+
+<p>The young blood of her lover had been mounting, wrathfully, within the
+last few minutes; and he was indisposed to let her come. But, setting a
+constraint upon himself, he came forward with a stride as Meg approached
+and stood beside her. Trotty kept her hand within his arm still, but
+looked from face to face as wildly as a sleeper in a dream.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, I'm going to give you a word or two of good advice, my girl," said
+the Alderman, in his nice easy way. "It's my place to give advice, you
+know, because I'm a Justice. You know I'm a Justice, don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>Meg timidly said, "Yes." But everybody knew Alderman Cute was a Justice!
+Oh dear, so active a Justice always! Who such a mote of brightness in
+the public eye, as Cute!</p>
+
+<p>"You are going to be married, you say," pursued the Alderman. "Very
+unbecoming and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> indelicate in one of your sex! But never mind that.
+After you're married, you'll quarrel with your husband, and come to be a
+distressed wife. You may think not; but you will, because I tell you so.
+Now, I give you fair warning, that I have made up my mind to Put
+distressed wives Down. So, don't be brought before me. You'll have
+children&mdash;boys. Those boys will grow up bad, of course, and run wild in
+the streets without shoes or stockings. Mind, my young friend! I'll
+convict 'em summarily every one, for I am determined to Put boys without
+shoes or stockings, Down. Perhaps your husband will die young (most
+likely) and leave you with a baby. Then you'll be turned out of doors,
+and wander up and down the streets. Now don't wander near me, my dear,
+for I am resolved to Put all wandering mothers Down. All young mothers,
+of all sorts and kinds, it's my determination to Put Down. Don't think
+to plead illness as an excuse with me; or babies as an excuse with me;
+for all sick persons and young children (I hope you know the
+church-service, but I'm afraid not) I am determined to Put Down. And if
+you attempt, desperately and ungratefully, and impiously, and
+fraudulently attempt, to drown yourself, or hang yourself, I'll have no
+pity on you, for I have made up my mind to Put all suicide Down! If
+there is one thing," said the Alderman, with his self-satisfied smile,
+"on which I can be said to have made up my mind more than on another, it
+is to Put suicide Down. So don't try it on. That's the phrase, isn't it!
+Ha, ha! now we understand each other."</p>
+
+<p>Toby knew not whether to be agonized or glad, to see that Meg had turned
+deadly white, and dropped her lover's hand.</p>
+
+<p>"As for you, you dull dog," said the Alderman, turning with even
+increased cheerfulness and urbanity to the young smith, "what are you
+thinking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> of being married for? What do you want to be married for, you
+silly fellow? If I was a fine, young, strapping chap like you, I should
+be ashamed of being milksop enough to pin myself to a woman's
+apron-strings! Why, she'll be an old woman before you're a middle-aged
+man! And a pretty figure you'll cut then, with a draggle-tailed wife and
+a crowd of squalling children crying after you wherever you go!"</p>
+
+<p>Oh, he knew how to banter the common people, Alderman Cute!</p>
+
+<p>"There! Go along with you," said the Alderman, "and repent. Don't make
+such a fool of yourself as to get married on New Year's Day. You'll
+think very differently of it, long before next New Year's Day: a trim
+young fellow like you, with all the girls looking after you. There! Go
+along with you!"</p>
+
+<p>They went along. Not arm in arm, or hand in hand, or interchanging
+bright glances; but she in tears; he gloomy and down-looking. Were these
+the hearts that had so lately made old Toby's leap up from its
+faintness? No, no. The Alderman (a blessing on his head!) had Put <i>them</i> Down.</p>
+
+<p>"As you happen to be here," said the Alderman to Toby, "you shall carry
+a letter for me. Can you be quick? You're an old man."</p>
+
+<p>Toby, who had been looking after Meg, quite stupidly, made shift to
+murmur out that he was very quick, and very strong.</p>
+
+<p>"How old are you?" inquired the Alderman.</p>
+
+<p>"I am over sixty, sir," said Toby.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! This man's a great deal past the average age, you know," cried Mr.
+Filer, breaking in as if his patience would bear some trying, but this
+was really carrying matters a little too far.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel I'm intruding, sir," said Toby. "I&mdash;I misdoubted it this
+morning. Oh dear me!"</p>
+
+<p>The Alderman cut him short by giving him the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> letter from his pocket.
+Toby would have got a shilling too; but Mr. Filer clearly showing that
+in that case he would rob a certain given number of persons of
+ninepence-half-penny a-piece, he only got sixpence; and thought himself
+very well off to get that.</p>
+
+<p>Then the Alderman gave an arm to each of his friends, and walked off in
+high feather; but, he immediately came hurrying back alone, as if he had
+forgotten something.</p>
+
+<p>"Porter!" said the Alderman.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir!" said Toby.</p>
+
+<p>"Take care of that daughter of yours. She's much too handsome."</p>
+
+<p>"Even her good looks are stolen from somebody or other I suppose,"
+thought Toby, looking at the sixpence in his hand, and thinking of the
+tripe. "She's been and robbed five hundred ladies of a bloom a-piece, I
+shouldn't wonder. It's very dreadful!"</p>
+
+<p>"She's much too handsome, my man," repeated the Alderman. "The chances
+are, that she'll come to no good, I clearly see. Observe what I say.
+Take care of her!" With which, he hurried off again.</p>
+
+<p>"Wrong every way. Wrong every way!" said Trotty clasping his hands.
+"Born bad. No business here!"</p>
+
+<p>The Chimes came clashing in upon him as he said the last words. Full,
+loud, and sounding&mdash;but with no encouragement. No, not a drop.</p>
+
+<p>"The tune's changed," cried the old man, as he listened. "There's not a
+word of all that fancy in it. Why should there be? I have no business
+with the New Year nor with the old one neither. Let me die!"</p>
+
+<p>Still the Bells, pealing forth their changes, made the very air spin.
+Put 'em down. Put 'em down! Good old Times, Good old Times! Facts and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>
+Figures, Facts and Figures! Put 'em down, Put 'em down! If they said
+anything they said this, until the brain of Toby reeled.</p>
+
+<p>He pressed his bewildered head between his hands as if to keep it from
+splitting asunder. A well-timed action, as it happened; for finding the
+letter in one of them, and being by that means reminded of his charge,
+he fell, mechanically, into his usual trot, and trotted off.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Second Quarter.</span></h3>
+
+<p>The letter Toby had received from Alderman Cute, was addressed to a
+great man in the great district of the town. The greatest district of
+the town. It must have been the greatest district of the town, because
+it was commonly called "the world" by its inhabitants.</p>
+
+<p>The Year was Old, that day. The patient Year had lived through the
+reproaches and misuses of its slanderers, and faithfully performed its
+work. Spring, summer, autumn, winter. It had labored through the
+destined round, and now laid down its weary head to die.</p>
+
+<p>Trotty had no portion, to his thinking, in the New Year or the Old.</p>
+
+<p>"Put 'em down. Put 'em down! Facts and Figures, Facts and Figures! Good
+old Times, Good old Times! Put 'em down, Put 'em down!"&mdash;his trot went
+to that measure, and would fit itself to nothing else.</p>
+
+<p>But, even that one, melancholy as it was, brought him, in due time, to
+the end of his journey. To the mansion of Sir Joseph Bowley, Member of Parliament.</p>
+
+<p>The door was opened by a Porter. Such a Porter! Not of Toby's order.
+Quite another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> thing. His place was the ticket, though; not Toby's.</p>
+
+<p>This Porter underwent some hard panting before he could speak; having
+breathed himself by coming incautiously out of his chair, without first
+taking time to think about it and compose his mind. When he had found
+his voice&mdash;which it took him some time to do, for it was a long way off
+and hidden under a load of meat&mdash;he said in a fat whisper:</p>
+
+<p>"Who's it from?"</p>
+
+<p>Toby told him.</p>
+
+<p>"You're to take it in yourself," said the Porter, pointing to a room at
+the end of a long passage, opening from the hall. "Everything goes
+straight in, on this day of the year. You're not a bit too soon; for the
+carriage is at the door now, and they have only come to town for a
+couple of hours, a'purpose."</p>
+
+<p>Toby wiped his feet (which were quite dry already) with great care, and
+took the way pointed out to him, observing as he went that it was an
+awfully grand house, but hushed and covered up, as if the family were in
+the country. Knocking at the room door, he was told to enter from
+within; and doing so found himself in a spacious library, where, at a
+table strewn with files and papers, were a stately lady in a bonnet, and
+a not very stately gentleman in black, who wrote from her dictation;
+while another, and an older, and a much statelier gentleman, whose hat
+and cane were on the table, walked up and down, with one hand in his
+breast, and looked complacently from time to time at his own picture&mdash;a
+full length; a very full length&mdash;hanging over the fire-place.</p>
+
+<p>"What is this?" said the last-named gentleman. "Mr. Fish, will you have
+the goodness to attend?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Fish begged pardon, and taking the letter from Toby, handed it, with
+great respect.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p><p>"From Alderman Cute, Sir Joseph."</p>
+
+<p>"Is this all? Have you nothing else, Porter?" inquired Sir Joseph.</p>
+
+<p>Toby replied in the negative.</p>
+
+<p>"You have no bill or demand upon me&mdash;my name is Bowley, Sir Joseph
+Bowley&mdash;of any kind from anybody, have you?" said Sir Joseph. "If you
+have, present it. There is a cheque-book by the side of Mr. Fish. I
+allow nothing to be carried into the New Year. Every description of
+account is settled in this house at the close of the old one. So that if
+death was to&mdash;to&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"To cut," suggested Mr. Fish.</p>
+
+<p>"To sever, sir," returned Sir Joseph, with great asperity, "the cord of
+existence&mdash;my affairs would be found, I hope, in a state of preparation."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Sir Joseph!" said the lady, who was greatly younger than the
+gentleman. "How shocking!"</p>
+
+<p>"My Lady Bowley," returned Sir Joseph, floundering now and then, as in
+the great depth of his observations, "at this season of the year we
+should think of&mdash;of&mdash;ourselves. We should look into our&mdash;our accounts.
+We should feel that every return of so eventful a period in human
+transactions involves matter of deep moment between a man and his&mdash;and his banker."</p>
+
+<p>Sir Joseph delivered these words as if he felt the full morality of what
+he was saying, and desired that even Trotty should have an opportunity
+of being improved by such discourse. Possibly he had this end before him
+in still forbearing to break the seal of the letter, and in telling
+Trotty to wait where he was a minute.</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>am</i> the Poor Man's Friend," observed Sir Joseph, glancing at the
+poor man present. "As such I may be taunted. As such I have been
+taunted. But I ask no other title."</p>
+
+<p>"Bless him for a noble gentleman!" thought Trotty.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p><p>"I don't agree with Cute here, for instance," said Sir Joseph, holding
+out the letter. "I don't agree with the Filer party. I don't agree with
+any party. My friend, the Poor Man, has no business with any thing of
+that sort, and nothing of that sort has any business with him. My
+friend, the Poor Man, in my district, is my business. No man or body of
+men has any right to interfere between my friend and me. That is the
+ground I take. I assume a&mdash;a paternal character toward my friend. I say,
+'My good fellow, I will treat you paternally.'"</p>
+
+<p>With that great sentiment, he opened the Alderman's letter, and read it.</p>
+
+<p>"Very polite and attentive, I am sure!" exclaimed Sir Joseph. "My lady,
+the Alderman is so obliging as to remind me that he has had 'the
+distinguished honor'&mdash;he is very good&mdash;of meeting me at the house of our
+mutual friend Deedles, the banker, and he does me the favor to inquire
+whether it will be agreeable to me to have Will Fern put down. He came
+up to London, it seems, to look for employment (trying to better
+himself&mdash;that's his story), and being found at night asleep in a shed,
+was taken into custody, and carried next morning before the Alderman.
+The Alderman observes (very properly) that he is determined to put this
+sort of thing down, and that if it will be agreeable to me to have Will
+Fern put down, he will be happy to begin with him."</p>
+
+<p>"Let him be made an example of, by all means," returned the lady. "Last
+winter, when I introduced pinking and eyelet-holing among the men and
+boys in the village as a nice evening employment, and had the lines,</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div>Oh let us love our occupations,</div>
+<div>Bless the squire and his relations,</div>
+<div>Live upon our daily rations,</div>
+<div>And always know our proper stations,</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p><p>set to music on the new system, for them to sing the while; this very
+Fern&mdash;I see him now&mdash;touched that hat of his, and said, 'I humbly ask
+your pardon, my lady, but <i>an't</i> I something different from a great
+girl?' I expected it, of course; who can expect anything but insolence
+and ingratitude from that class of people? That is not to the purpose,
+however. Sir Joseph! Make an example of him!"</p>
+
+<p>Trotty, who had long ago relapsed, and was very low-spirited, stepped
+forward with a rueful face to take the letter Sir Joseph held out to him.</p>
+
+<p>"You have heard, perhaps," said Sir Joseph, oracularly, "certain remarks
+into which I have been led respecting the solemn period of time at which
+we have arrived, and the duty imposed upon us of settling our affairs,
+and being prepared. Now, my friend, can you lay your hand upon your
+heart, and say that you also have made preparation for a New Year?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid, sir," stammered Trotty, looking meekly at him, "that I am
+a&mdash;a&mdash;little behind-hand with the world."</p>
+
+<p>"Behind-hand with the world!" repeated Sir Joseph Bowley, in a tone of
+terrible distinctness.</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid, sir," faltered Trotty, "that there's a matter of ten or
+twelve shillings owing to Mrs. Chickenstalker."</p>
+
+<p>"To Mrs. Chickenstalker!" repeated Sir Joseph, in the same tone as before.</p>
+
+<p>"A shop, sir," exclaimed Toby, "in the general line. Also a&mdash;a little
+money on account of rent. A very little, sir. It oughtn't to be owing, I
+know, but we have been hard put to it, indeed!"</p>
+
+<p>Sir Joseph looked at his lady, and at Mr. Fish, and at Trotty, one after
+another, twice all round. He then made a despondent gesture with both
+hands at once, as if he gave the thing up altogether.</p>
+
+<p>"How a man, even among this improvident and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> impracticable race; an old
+man; a man grown grey; can look a New Year in the face with his affairs
+in this condition; how he can lie down on his bed at night, and get up
+again in the morning, and&mdash;There!" he said, turning his back on Trotty.</p>
+
+<p>"Take the letter! Take the letter!"</p>
+
+<p>"I heartily wish it was otherwise, sir," said Trotty, anxious to excuse
+himself. "We have been tried very hard."</p>
+
+<p>Sir Joseph still repeating "Take the letter, take the letter!" and Mr.
+Fish not only saying the same thing, but giving additional force to the
+request by motioning the bearer to the door, he had nothing for it but
+to make his bow and leave the house. And in the street, poor Trotty
+pulled his worn old hat down on his head to hide the grief he felt at
+getting no hold on the New Year, anywhere.</p>
+
+<p>He didn't even lift his hat to look up at the Bell tower when he came to
+the old church on his return. He halted there a moment, from habit; and
+knew that it was growing dark and that the steeple rose above him
+indistinct and faint in the murky air. He knew, too, that the Chimes
+would ring immediately, and that they sounded to his fancy, at such a
+time, like voices in the clouds. But he only made the more haste to
+deliver the Alderman's letter and get out of the way before they began;
+for he dreaded to hear them tagging "Friends and Fathers, Friends and
+Fathers," to the burden they had rung out last.</p>
+
+<p>Toby discharged himself of his commission, therefore, with all possible
+speed and set off trotting homeward. But what with his pace, which was
+at best an awkward one in the street; and what with his hat, which
+didn't improve it; he trotted against somebody in less than no time and
+was sent staggering out into the road.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon, I'm sure!" said Trotty, pulling up his hat in great
+confusion, and between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> the hat and the torn lining, fixing his head
+into a kind of bee-hive. "I hope I haven't hurt you."</p>
+
+<p>As to hurting anybody, Toby was not such an absolute Samson, but that he
+was much more likely to be hurt himself; and indeed he had flown out
+into the road like a shuttle-cock. He had such an opinion of his own
+strength, however, that he was in real concern for the other party, and said again,</p>
+
+<p>"I hope I haven't hurt you?"</p>
+
+<p>The man against whom he had run, a sun-browned, sinewy, country-looking
+man, with grizzled hair and a rough chin, stared at him for a moment, as
+if he suspected him to be in jest. But, satisfied of his good faith, he answered:</p>
+
+<p>"No, friend. You have not hurt me."</p>
+
+<p>"Nor the child, I hope?" said Trotty.</p>
+
+<p>"Nor the child," returned the man. "I thank you kindly."</p>
+
+<p>As he said so, he glanced at a little girl he carried in his arms,
+asleep, and shading her face with the long end of the poor handkerchief
+he wore about his throat, went slowly on.</p>
+
+<p>The tone in which he said "I thank you kindly," penetrated Trotty's
+heart. He was so jaded and foot sore, and so soiled with travel, and
+looked about him so forlorn and strange, that it was a comfort to him to
+be able to thank anyone, no matter for how little. Toby stood gazing
+after him as he plodded wearily away, with the child's arm clinging round his neck.</p>
+
+<p>At the figure in the worn shoes&mdash;now the very shade and ghost of
+shoes&mdash;rough leather leggings, common frock and broad slouched hat,
+Trotty stood gazing, blind to the whole street. And at the child's arm,
+clinging round its neck.</p>
+
+<p>Before he merged into the darkness the traveler stopped, and looking
+round and seeing Trotty standing there yet, seemed undecided whether to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>
+return or go on. After doing first the one and then the other, he came
+back, and Trotty went half way to meet him.</p>
+
+<p>"You can tell me, perhaps," said the man with a faint smile, "and if you
+can I am sure will, and I'd rather ask you than another&mdash;where Alderman Cute lives."</p>
+
+<p>"Close at hand," replied Toby, "I'll show you his house with pleasure."</p>
+
+<p>"I was to have gone to him elsewhere to-morrow," said the man,
+accompanying Toby, "but I am uneasy under suspicion, and want to clear
+myself and to be free to go and seek my bread&mdash;I don't know where. So,
+maybe he'll forgive my going to his house to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"It's impossible," cried Toby with a start, "that your name's Fern!"</p>
+
+<p>"Eh!" cried the other, turning on him in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"Fern! Will Fern!" said Trotty.</p>
+
+<p>"That's my name," replied the other.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, then," cried Trotty, seizing him by the arm and looking cautiously
+round, "for Heaven's sake don't go to him! Don't go to him! He'll put
+you down as sure as ever you were born. Here, come up this alley, and
+I'll tell you what I mean. Don't go to <i>him</i>."</p>
+
+<p>His new acquaintance looked as if he thought him mad, but he bore him
+company, nevertheless. When they were shrouded from observation, Trotty
+told him what he knew, and what character he had received, and all about it.</p>
+
+<p>The subject of his history listened to it with a calmness that surprised
+him. He did not contradict or interrupt it once. He nodded his head now
+and then&mdash;more in corroboration of an old and worn-out story, it
+appeared, than in refutation of it; and once or twice threw back his
+hat, and passed his freckled hand over a brow, where every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> furrow he
+had ploughed seemed to have set its image in little. But he did no more.</p>
+
+<p>"It's true enough in the main," he said, "master, I could sift grain
+from the husk here and there, but let it be as 'tis. What odds? I have
+gone against his plans; to my misfortun'. I can't help it; I should do
+the like to-morrow. As to character, them gentlefolks will search and
+search, and pry and pry, and have it as free from spot or speck in us,
+afore they'll help us to a dry good word!&mdash;Well! I hope they don't lose
+good opinion as easy as we do, or their lives is strict indeed, and
+hardly worth the keeping. For myself, master, I never took with that
+hand"&mdash;holding it before him&mdash;"what wasn't my own; and never held it
+back from work, however hard, or poorly paid. Whoever can deny it, let
+him chop it off! But when work won't maintain me like a human creetur;
+when my living is so bad, that I am Hungry, out of doors and in; when I
+see a whole working life begin that way, go on that way, and end that
+way, without a chance or change; then I say to the gentlefolks 'Keep
+away from me! Let my cottage be. My doors is dark enough without your
+darkening of 'em more. Don't look for me to come up into the Park to
+help the show when there's a Birthday, or a fine Speechmaking, or what
+not. Act your Plays and Games without me, and be welcome to 'em and
+enjoy 'em. We've now to do with one another. I'm best let alone!'"</p>
+
+<p>Seeing that the child in his arms had opened her eyes, and was looking
+about in wonder, he checked himself to say a word or two of foolish
+prattle in her ear, and stand her on the ground beside him. Then slowly
+winding one of her long tresses round and round his rough forefinger
+like a ring, while she hung about his dusty leg, he said to Trotty,</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not a cross-grained man by natur', I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> believe; and easy satisfied,
+I'm sure. I bear no ill will against none of 'em. I only want to live
+like one of the Almighty's creeturs. I can't&mdash;I don't&mdash;and so there's a
+pit dug between me, and them that can and do. There's others like me.
+You might tell 'em off by hundreds and by thousands, sooner than by ones."</p>
+
+<p>Trotty knew that he spoke the truth in this, and shook his head to
+signify as much.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got a bad name this way," said Fern; "and I'm not likely, I'm
+afeared, to get a better. 'Tan't lawful to be out of sorts, and I <span class="smaller">AM</span> out
+of sorts, though God knows, I'd sooner bear a cheerful spirit if I
+could. Well! I don't know as this Alderman could hurt <i>me</i> much by
+sending me to gaol; but without a friend to speak a word for me, he
+might do it; and you see&mdash;!" pointing downward with his finger, at the child.</p>
+
+<p>He sunk his voice so low, and gazed upon her with an air so stern and
+strange, that Toby, to divert the current of his thoughts, inquired if
+his wife were living.</p>
+
+<p>"I never had one," he returned, shaking his head. "She's my brother's
+child: a orphan. Nine year old, though you'd hardly think it; but she's
+tired and worn out now. They'd have taken care on her in the
+Union&mdash;eight and twenty mile away from where we live&mdash;between four walls
+(as they took care of my old father when he couldn't work no more,
+though he didn't trouble 'em long); but I took her instead, and she's
+lived with me ever since. Her mother had a friend once, in London here.
+We are trying to find her, and to find work too; but it's a large place.
+Never mind. More room for us to walk about in, Lilly!"</p>
+
+<p>Meeting the child's eyes with a smile which melted Toby more than tears,
+he shook him by the hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't so much as know your name," he said,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> "but I've opened my heart
+free to you, for I'm thankful to you; with good reason. I'll take your
+advice and keep clear of this&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Justice," suggested Toby.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" he said. "If that's the name they give him. This Justice. And
+to-morrow will try whether there's better fortun' to be met with
+somewheres near London. Goodnight. A Happy New Year!"</p>
+
+<p>"Stay!" cried Trotty, catching at his hand, as he relaxed his grip.
+"Stay! The New Year never can be happy to me, if we part like this. The
+New Year can never be happy to me, if I see the child and you go
+wandering away, you don't know where, without a shelter for your heads.
+Come home with me! I'm a poor man, living in a poor place; but I can
+give you lodging for one night and never miss it. Come home with me!
+Here! I'll take her!" cried Trotty, lifting up the child. "A pretty one!
+I'd carry twenty times her weight, and never know I'd got it. Tell me if
+I go too quick for you. I'm very fast. I always was!" Trotty said this,
+taking about six of his trotting paces to one stride of his fatigued
+companion; and with his thin legs quivering again, beneath the load he bore.</p>
+
+<p>"Down the Mews here, Uncle Will, and step at the black door, with 'T.
+Veck, Ticket Porter,' wrote upon a board; and here we are, and here we
+go, and here we are indeed, my precious Meg, surprising you!"</p>
+
+<p>With which words Trotty, in a breathless state, set the child down
+before his daughter in the middle of the floor. The little visitor
+looked once at Meg; and doubting nothing in that face, but trusting
+everything she saw there; ran into her arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Here we are, and here we go!" cried Trotty, running round the room and
+choking audibly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> "Here, Uncle Will, here's a fire you know! Why don't
+you come to the fire? Oh here we are and here we go! Meg, my precious
+darling, where's the kettle? Here it is and here it goes, and it'll bile in no time!"</p>
+
+<p>Trotty really had picked up the kettle somewhere or other in the course
+of his wild career, and now put it on the fire; while Meg, seating the
+child in a warm corner, knelt down on the ground before her, and pulled
+off her shoes, and dried her wet feet on a cloth. Ay, and she laughed at
+Trotty too&mdash;so pleasantly, so cheerfully, that Trotty could have blessed
+her where she kneeled; for he had seen that, when they entered, she was
+sitting by the fire in tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, father!" said Meg. "You're crazy to-night, I think. I don't know
+what the Bells would say to that."</p>
+
+<p>Meg looked toward him and saw that he had elaborately stationed himself
+behind the chair of their male visitor, where with many mysterious
+gestures he was holding up the six-pence he had earned.</p>
+
+<p>"I see, my dear," said Trotty, "as I was coming in, half an ounce of tea
+lying somewhere on the stairs; and I'm pretty sure there was a bit of
+bacon too. As I don't remember where it was exactly, I'll go myself and
+try to find 'em."</p>
+
+<p>With this inscrutable artifice, Toby withdrew to purchase the viands he
+had spoken of, for ready money, at Mrs. Chickenstalker's; and presently
+came back, pretending that he had not been able to find them, at first
+in the dark.</p>
+
+<p>"But here they are at last," said Trotty, setting out the tea things,
+"all correct! I was pretty sure it was tea and a rasher. So it is. Meg
+my pet, if you'll just make the tea, while your unworthy father toasts
+the bacon, we shall be ready immediate. It's a curious circumstance,"
+said Trotty, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>proceeding in his cookery, with the assistance of the
+toasting-fork, "curious, but well known to my friends, that I never
+care, myself, for rashers, nor for tea. I like to see other people enjoy
+'em," said Trotty, speaking very loud to impress the fact upon his
+guest, "but to me, as food, they are disagreeable."</p>
+
+<p>Yet Trotty sniffed the savor of the hissing bacon&mdash;ah!&mdash;as if he liked
+it; and when he poured the boiling water in the tea-pot, looked lovingly
+down into the depths of that snug caldron, and suffering the fragrant
+steam to curl about his nose, and wreathe his head and face in a thick
+cloud. However, for all this, he neither ate nor drank, except at the
+very beginning, a mere morsel for form's sake, which he appeared to eat
+with infinite relish, but declared was perfectly uninteresting to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, I'll tell you what," said Trotty after tea. "The little one, she
+sleeps with Meg, I know."</p>
+
+<p>"With good Meg!" cried the child, caressing her. "With Meg."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right," said Trotty. "And I shouldn't wonder if she'll kiss
+Meg's father, won't she? <i>I</i>'m Meg's father."</p>
+
+<p>Mightily delighted Trotty was, when the child went timidly toward him,
+and having kissed him, fell back upon Meg again.</p>
+
+<p>Meg looked toward their guest, who leaned upon her chair, and with his
+face turned from her, fondled the child's head, half hidden in her lap.</p>
+
+<p>"To be sure," said Toby. "To be sure! I don't know what I am rambling on
+about, to-night. My wits are wool-gathering, I think. Will Fern, you
+come along with me. You're tired to death, and broken down for want of
+rest. You come along with me."</p>
+
+<p>The hand released from the child's hair, had fallen, trembling, into
+Trotty's hand. So Trotty, talking without intermission, led him out as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>
+tenderly and easily as if he had been a child himself.</p>
+
+<p>Returning before Meg, he listened for an instant at the door of her
+little chamber; an adjoining room. The child was murmuring a simple
+Prayer before lying down to sleep; and when she had remembered Meg's
+name, "Dearly, Dearly"&mdash;so her words ran&mdash;Trotty heard her stop and ask for his.</p>
+
+<p>It was some short time before the foolish little old fellow could
+compose himself to mend the fire, and draw his chair to the warm hearth.
+But when he had done so, and had trimmed the light, he took his
+newspaper from his pocket and began to read. Carelessly at first, and
+skimming up and down the columns; but with an earnest and a sad
+attention, very soon.</p>
+
+<p>For this same dreaded paper re-directed Trotty's thoughts into the
+channel they had taken all that day, and which the day's events had so
+marked out and shaped. His interest in the two wanderers had set him on
+another course of thinking, and a happier one, for the time; but being
+alone again, and reading of the crimes and violences of the people, he
+relapsed into his former train.</p>
+
+<p>"It's too true, all I've heard to-day," Toby muttered; "too just, too
+full of proof. We're Bad!"</p>
+
+<p>The Chimes took up the words so suddenly&mdash;burst out so loud, and clear,
+and sonorous&mdash;that the Bells seemed to strike him in his chair.</p>
+
+<p>And what was that, they said?</p>
+
+<p>"Toby Veck, Toby Veck, waiting for you Toby! Toby Veck, Toby Veck,
+waiting for you Toby! Come and see us, come and see us, Drag him to us,
+drag him to us, Haunt and hunt him, haunt and hunt him, Break his
+slumbers, break his slumbers! Toby Veck, Toby Veck, door open wide Toby,
+Toby Veck, Toby Veck, door open wide Toby&mdash;" then fiercely back to their
+impetuous strain again,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> and ringing in the very bricks and plaster on
+the walls.</p>
+
+<p>Toby listened. Fancy, fancy! His remorse for having run away from them
+that afternoon! No, no. Nothing of the kind. Again, again, and yet a
+dozen times again. "Haunt and hunt him, haunt and hunt him, Drag him to
+us, drag him to us!" Deafening the whole town!</p>
+
+<p>"Meg," said Trotty, softly; tapping at her door. "Do you hear anything?"</p>
+
+<p>"I hear the Bells, father. Surely they're very loud to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"Is she asleep?" said Toby, making an excuse for peeping in.</p>
+
+<p>"So peacefully and happily! I can't leave her yet though, father. Look
+how she holds my hand!"</p>
+
+<p>"Meg!" whispered Trotty. "Listen to the Bells!"</p>
+
+<p>She listened, with her face toward him all the time. But it underwent no
+change. She didn't understand them.</p>
+
+<p>Trotty withdrew, resumed his seat by the fire, and once more listened by
+himself. He remained here a little time.</p>
+
+<p>It was impossible to bear it; their energy was dreadful.</p>
+
+<p>"If the tower-door is really open," said Toby, hastily laying aside his
+apron, but never thinking of his hat, "what's to hinder me from going up
+in the steeple and satisfying myself? If it's shut, I don't want any
+other satisfaction. That's enough."</p>
+
+<p>He was pretty certain as he slipped out quietly into the street that he
+should find it shut and locked, for he knew the door well, and had so
+rarely seen it open, that he couldn't reckon above three times in all.
+It was a low-arched portal outside the church, in a dark nook behind a
+column; and had such great iron hinges, and such a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>monstrous lock, that
+there was more hinge and lock than door.</p>
+
+<p>But what was his astonishment when, coming bare-headed to the church,
+and putting his hand into this dark nook, with a certain misgiving that
+it might be unexpectedly seized, and a shivering propensity to draw it
+back again, he found that the door, which opened outward, actually stood ajar!</p>
+
+<p>He thought, on the first surprise, of going back; or of getting a light,
+or a companion; but his courage aided him immediately, and he determined to ascend alone.</p>
+
+<p>"What have I to fear?" said Trotty. "It's a church! Besides the ringers
+may be there, and have forgotten to shut the door."</p>
+
+<p>So he went in, feeling his way as he went, like a blind man; for it was
+very dark. And very quiet, for the Chimes were silent.</p>
+
+<p>The dust from the street had blown into the recess; and lying there,
+heaped up, made it so soft and velvet-like to the foot, that there was
+something startling even in that. The narrow stair was so close to the
+door, too, that he stumbled at the very first; and shutting the door
+upon himself by striking it with his foot, and causing it to rebound
+back heavily, he couldn't open it again.</p>
+
+<p>This was another reason, however, for going on. Trotty groped his way,
+and went on. Up, up, up, and round and round; and up, up, up, higher,
+higher, higher up!</p>
+
+<p>Until, ascending through the floor, and pausing with his head just
+raised above its beams, he came among the Bells. It was barely possible
+to make out their great shapes in the gloom; but there they were.
+Shadowy, and dark, and dumb.</p>
+
+<p>A heavy sense of dread and loneliness fell instantly upon him, as he
+climbed into this airy nest of stone and metal. His head went round and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>
+round. He listened and then raised a wild "Halloa!"</p>
+
+<p>Halloa! was mournfully protracted by the echoes.</p>
+
+<p>Giddy, confused, and out of breath, and frightened, Toby looked about
+him vacantly, and sunk down in a swoon.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Third Quarter.</span></h3>
+
+<p>When and how the darkness of the night-black steeple changed to shining
+light; and how the solitary tower was peopled with a myriad figures;
+when and how the whispered "Haunt and hunt him," breathing monotonously
+through his sleep or swoon, became a voice exclaiming in the waking ears
+of Trotty, "Break his slumbers;" when and how he ceased to have a
+sluggish and confused idea that such things were, companioning a host of
+others that were not; there are no dates or means to tell. But, awake,
+and standing on his feet upon the boards where he had lately lain, he
+saw this Goblin Sight.</p>
+
+<p>Then and not before, did Trotty see in every Bell a bearded figure of
+the bulk and stature of the Bell&mdash;incomprehensibly, a figure and the
+Bell itself. Gigantic, grave, and darkly watchful of him, as he stood
+rooted to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>Mysterious and awful figures! Resting on nothing; poised in the night
+air of the tower, with their draped and hooded heads merged in the dim
+roof; motionless and shadowy. Shadowy and dark, although he saw them by
+some light belonging to themselves&mdash;none else was there&mdash;each with its
+muffled hand upon its goblin mouth.</p>
+
+<p>He could not plunge down wildly through the opening in the floor; for,
+all power of motion had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> deserted him. Otherwise he would have done
+so&mdash;ay, would have thrown himself, head-foremost, from the steeple-top,
+rather than have seen them watching him with eyes that would have waked
+and watched, although the pupils had been taken out.</p>
+
+<p>A blast of air&mdash;how cold and shrill!&mdash;came moaning through the tower. As
+it died away, the Great Bell, or the Goblin of the Great Bell, spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"What visitor is this?" it said. The voice was low and deep, and Trotty
+fancied that it sounded in the other figures as well.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought my name was called by the Chimes!" said Trotty, raising his
+hands in an attitude of supplication. "I hardly know why I am here, or
+how I came. I have listened to the Chimes these many years. They have
+cheered me often."</p>
+
+<p>"And you have thanked them?" said the bell.</p>
+
+<p>"A thousand times!" cried Trotty.</p>
+
+<p>"How?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am a poor man," faltered Trotty, "and could only thank them in words."</p>
+
+<p>"And always so?" inquired the Goblin of the Bell. "Have you never done
+us wrong in words?"</p>
+
+<p>"No!" cried Trotty, eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"Never done us foul, and false, and wicked wrong, in words?" pursued the
+Goblin of the Bell.</p>
+
+<p>Trotty was about to answer "Never!" But he stopped and was confused.</p>
+
+<p>"The voice of Time," said the Phantom, "cries to man, Advance! Time is
+for his advancement and improvement; for his greater worth, his greater
+happiness, his better life; his progress onward to that goal within its
+knowledge and its view, and set there, in the period when Time and he
+began. Ages of darkness, wickedness, and violence, have come and
+gone&mdash;millions uncountable, have suffered, lived, and died&mdash;to point
+the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> way before him. Who seeks to turn him back, or stay him on his
+course, arrests a mighty engine which will strike the meddler dead; and
+be the fiercer and the wilder, ever, for its momentary check!"</p>
+
+<p>"I never did so to my knowledge, sir," said Trotty. "It was quite by
+accident if I did. I wouldn't go to do it, I'm sure."</p>
+
+<p>"Who puts into the mouth of Time, or of its servants," said the Goblin
+of the Bell, "a cry of lamentation for days which have had their trial
+and their failure, and have left deep traces of it which the blind may
+see&mdash;a cry that only serves the present time, by showing men how much it
+needs their help when any ears can listen to regrets for such a
+past&mdash;who does this, does a wrong. And you have done that wrong to us, the Chimes."</p>
+
+<p>Trotty's first excess of fear was gone. But he had felt tenderly and
+gratefully toward the Bells, as you have seen; and when he heard himself
+arraigned as one who had offended them so weightily, his heart was
+touched with penitence and grief.</p>
+
+<p>"If you knew," said Trotty, clasping his hands earnestly&mdash;"or perhaps
+you do know&mdash;if you know how often you have kept me company; how often
+you have cheered me up when I've been low; how you were quite the
+plaything of my little daughter Meg (almost the only one she ever had)
+when first her mother died, and she and me were left alone; you won't
+bear malice for a hasty word!"</p>
+
+<p>"Who hears in us, the Chimes, one note bespeaking disregard, or stern
+regard, of any hope, or joy, or pain, or sorrow, of the many-sorrowed
+throng; who hears us make response to any creed that gauges human
+passions and affections, as it gauges the amount of miserable food on
+which humanity may pine and wither; does us wrong. That wrong you have
+done us!" said the Bell.</p>
+
+<p>"I have!" said Trotty. "Oh, forgive me!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p><p>"Spare me," cried Trotty, falling on his knees; "for Mercy's sake!"</p>
+
+<p>"Listen!" said the Shadow.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen!" cried the other Shadows.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen!" said a clear and child-like voice, which Trotty thought he
+recognized as having heard before.</p>
+
+<p>The organ sounded faintly in the church below. Swelling by degrees, the
+melody ascended to the roof, and filled the choir and nave. Expanding
+more and more, it rose up, up, up, up; higher, higher, higher up;
+awakening agitated hearts within the burly piles of oak, the hollow
+bells, the iron-bound doors, the stairs of solid stone; until the tower
+walls were insufficient to contain it, and it soared into the sky.</p>
+
+<p>No wonder that an old man's breast could not contain a sound so vast and
+mighty. It broke from that weak prison in a rush of tears; and Trotty
+put his hands before his face.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen!" said the Shadow.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen!" said the other Shadows.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen!" said the child's voice.</p>
+
+<p>A solemn strain of blended voices rose into the tower.</p>
+
+<p>It was a very low and mournful strain&mdash;a Dirge&mdash;and as he listened,
+Trotty heard his child among the singers.</p>
+
+<p>"She is dead!" exclaimed the old man. "Meg is dead. Her spirit calls to
+me. I hear it!"</p>
+
+<p>"The Spirit of your child bewails the dead, and mingles with the
+dead&mdash;dead hopes, dead fancies, dead imaginings of youth," returned the
+Bell, "but she is living. Learn from her life, a living truth. Learn
+from the creature dearest to your heart, how bad the bad are born. See
+every bud and leaf plucked one by one from off the fairest stem, and
+know how bare and wretched it may be. Follow her! To desperation!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p><p>Each of the shadowy figures stretched its right arm forth, and pointed
+downward.</p>
+
+<p>"The Spirit of the Chimes is your companion," said the figure. "Go! It
+stands behind you!"</p>
+
+<p>Trotty turned, and saw&mdash;the child! The child Will Fern had carried in
+the street; the child whom Meg had watched, but now, asleep!</p>
+
+<p>"I carried her myself, to-night," said Trotty. "In these arms!"</p>
+
+<p>"Show him what he calls himself," said the dark figures, one and all.</p>
+
+<p>The tower opened at his feet. He looked down, and beheld his own form,
+lying at the bottom, on the outside: crushed and motionless.</p>
+
+<p>"No more a living man!" cried Trotty. "Dead!"</p>
+
+<p>"Dead!" said the figures altogether.</p>
+
+<p>"Gracious Heaven! And the New Year&mdash;'</p>
+
+<p>"Past," said the figures.</p>
+
+<p>"What!" he cried, shuddering, "I missed my way, and coming on the
+outside of this tower in the dark, fell down&mdash;a year ago?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nine years ago!" replied the figures.</p>
+
+<p>As they gave the answer, they recalled their outstretched hands; and
+where their figures had been, there the Bells were.</p>
+
+<p>"What are these?" he asked his guide. "If I am not mad, what are these?"</p>
+
+<p>"Spirits of the Bells. Their sound upon the air," returned the child.
+"They take such shapes and occupations as the hopes and thoughts of
+mortals, and the recollections they have stored up, give them."</p>
+
+<p>"And you," said Trotty, wildly. "What are you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, hush!" returned the child. "Look here!"</p>
+
+<p>In a poor, mean room; working at the same kind of embroidery, which he
+had often, often,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> seen before her; Meg, his own dear daughter, was
+presented to his view. He made no effort to imprint his kisses on her
+face; he did not strive to clasp her to his loving heart; he knew that
+such endearments were, for him, no more. But he held his trembling
+breath, and brushed away the blinding tears, that he might look upon
+her; that he might only see her.</p>
+
+<p>Ah! Changed. Changed. The light of the clear eye, how dimmed. The bloom,
+how faded from the cheek. Beautiful she was, as she had ever been, but
+Hope, Hope, Hope, oh, where was the fresh Hope that had spoken to him
+like a voice!</p>
+
+<p>She looked up from her work, at a companion. Following her eyes, the old
+man started back.</p>
+
+<p>In the woman grown, he recognized her at a glance. In the long silken
+hair, he saw the self-same curls; around the lips, the child's
+expression lingering still. See! In the eyes, now turned inquiringly on
+Meg, there shone the very look that scanned those features when he brought her home!</p>
+
+<p>Then what was this, beside him?</p>
+
+<p>Looking with awe into its face, he saw a something reigning there: a
+lofty something, undefined and indistinct, which made it hardly more
+than a remembrance of that child&mdash;as yonder figure might be&mdash;yet it was
+the same: the same: and wore the dress.</p>
+
+<p>Hark! They were speaking!</p>
+
+<p>"Meg," said Lilian, hesitating. "How often you raise your head from your
+work to look at me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Are my looks so altered, that they frighten you?" asked Meg.</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, dear! But you smile at that yourself! Why not smile when you look at me, Meg?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do so. Do I not?" she answered: smiling on her.</p>
+
+<p>"Now you do," said Lilian, "but not usually. When you think I'm busy,
+and don't see you, you look so anxious and so doubtful, that I hardly
+like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> to raise my eyes. There is little cause for smiling in this hard
+and toilsome life, but you were once so cheerful."</p>
+
+<p>"Am I not now?" cried Meg, speaking in a tone of strange alarm, and
+rising to embrace her. "Do <i>I</i> make our weary life more weary to you, Lilian?"</p>
+
+<p>"You have been the only thing that made it life," said Lilian, fervently
+kissing her; "sometimes the only thing that made me care to live so,
+Meg. Such work, such work! So many hours, so many days, so many long,
+long nights of hopeless, cheerless, never-ending work&mdash;not to heap up
+riches, not to live grandly or gayly, not to live upon enough, however
+coarse; but to earn bare bread; to scrape together just enough to toil
+upon, and want upon, and keep alive in us the consciousness of our hard
+fate! Oh, Meg, Meg!" she raised her voice and twined her arms about her
+as she spoke, like one in pain. "How can the cruel world go round, and
+bear to look upon such lives!"</p>
+
+<p>"Lilly!" said Meg, soothing her, and putting back her hair from her wet
+face. "Why, Lilly! You! So pretty and so young!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Meg!" she interrupted, holding her at arm's-length, and looking in
+her face imploringly. "The worst of all! The worst of all! Strike me
+old, Meg! Wither me and shrivel me, and free me from the dreadful
+thoughts that tempt me in my youth!"</p>
+
+<p>Trotty turned to look upon his guide. But, the Spirit of the child had
+taken flight. Was gone.</p>
+
+<p class="center">*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Fourth Quarter.</span></h3>
+
+<p>Some new remembrance of the ghostly figures in the Bells; some faint
+impression of the ringing of the Chimes; some giddy consciousness of
+having seen the swarm of phantoms reproduced and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> reproduced until the
+recollection of them lost itself in the confusion of their numbers; some
+hurried knowledge, how conveyed to him he knew not, that more years had
+passed; and Trotty, with the Spirit of the child attending him, stood
+looking on at mortal company.</p>
+
+<p>Fat company, rosy-cheeked company, comfortable company. They were but
+two, but they were red enough for ten. They sat before a bright fire,
+with a small low table between them; and unless the fragrance of hot tea
+and muffins lingered longer in that room than in most others, the table
+had seen service very lately. But all the cups and saucers being clean,
+and in their proper places in the corner cupboard; and the brass
+toasting fork hanging in its usual nook, and spreading its four idle
+fingers out, as if it wanted to be measured for a glove; there remained
+no other visible tokens of the meal just finished, than such as purred
+and washed their whiskers in the person of the basking cat, and
+glistened in the gracious, not to say the greasy, faces of her patrons.</p>
+
+<p>This cosy couple (married, evidently) had made a fair division of the
+fire between them, and sat looking at the glowing sparks that dropped
+into the grate; now nodding off into a doze; now waking up again when
+some hot fragment, larger than the rest, came rattling down, as if the
+fire were coming with it.</p>
+
+<p>It was in no danger of sudden extinction, however; for it gleamed not
+only in the little room, and on the panes of window-glass in the door,
+and on the curtain half drawn across them, but in the little shop
+beyond. A little shop, quite crammed and choked with the abundance of
+its stock; a perfectly voracious little shop, with a maw as
+accommodating and full as any shark's. Cheese, butter, firewood, soap,
+pickles, matches, bacon, table-beer, peg-tops, sweetmeats, boys' kites,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>bird-seed, cold ham, birch brooms, hearth-stones, salt, vinegar,
+blacking, red herrings, stationery, lard, mushroom ketchup, stay-laces,
+loaves of bread, shuttlecocks, eggs, and slate-pencils; everything was
+fish that came to the net of this greedy little shop, and all articles were in its net.</p>
+
+<p>Glancing at such of these items as were visible in the shining of the
+blaze, and the less cheerful radiance of two smoky lamps which burnt but
+dimly in the shop itself, as though its plethora sat heavy on their
+lungs; and glancing, then, at one of the two faces by the parlor-fire,
+Trotty had small difficulty in recognizing in the stout old lady, Mrs.
+Chickenstalker: always inclined to corpulency, even in the days when he
+had known her as established in the general line, and having a small
+balance against him in her books.</p>
+
+<p>The features of her companion were less easy to him. The great broad
+chin, with creases in it large enough to hide a finger in; the
+astonished eyes, that seemed to expostulate with themselves for sinking
+deeper and deeper into the yielding fat of the soft face; the nose
+afflicted with that disordered action of its functions which is
+generally termed The Snuffles; the short thick throat and laboring
+chest, with other beauties of the like description, though calculated to
+impress the memory, Trotty could at first allot to nobody he had ever
+known: and yet he had some recollection of them too. At length, in Mrs.
+Chickenstalker's partner in the general line, and in the crooked and
+eccentric line of life, he recognized the former porter of Sir Joseph
+Bowley; an apoplectic innocent, who had connected himself in Trotty's
+mind with Mrs. Chickenstalker years ago, by giving him admission to the
+mansion where he had confessed his obligations to that lady, and drawn
+on his unlucky head such grave reproach.</p>
+
+<p>Trotty had little interest in a change like this,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> after the changes he
+had seen; but association is very strong sometimes; and he looked
+involuntarily behind the parlor-door, where the accounts of credit
+customers were usually kept in chalk. There was no record of his name.
+Some names were there, but they were strange to him, and infinitely
+fewer than of old; from which he argued that the porter was an advocate
+of ready money transactions, and on coming into the business had looked
+pretty sharp after the Chickenstalker defaulters.</p>
+
+<p>So desolate was Trotty, and so mournful for the youth and promise of his
+blighted child, that it was a sorrow to him, even to have no place in
+Mrs. Chickenstalker's ledger.</p>
+
+<p>"What sort of a night is it, Anne?" inquired the former porter of Sir
+Joseph Bowley, stretching out his legs before the fire, and rubbing as
+much of them as his short arms could reach; with an air that added,
+"Here I am if it's bad, and I don't want to go out if it's good."</p>
+
+<p>"Hard weather indeed," returned his wife, shaking her head.</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, ay! Years," said Mr. Tugby, "are like Christians in that respect.
+Some of 'em die hard; some of 'em die easy. This one hasn't many days to
+run, and is making a fight for it. I like him all the better. There's a
+customer, my love!"</p>
+
+<p>Attentive to the rattling door, Mrs. Tugby had already risen.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, then!" said that lady, passing out into the little shop. "What's
+wanted? Oh! I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure. I didn't think it was you."</p>
+
+<p>She made this apology to a gentleman in black, who, with his wristbands
+tucked up, and his hat cocked loungingly on one side, and his hand in
+his pocket, sat down astride on the table-beer barrel, and nodded in return.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p><p>"This is a bad business up-stairs, Mrs. Tugby," said the gentleman.
+"The man can't live."</p>
+
+<p>"Not the back-attic can't!" cried Tugby, coming out into the shop to
+join the conference.</p>
+
+<p>"The back-attic, Mr. Tugby," said the gentleman, "is coming down-stairs
+fast, and will be below the basement very soon."</p>
+
+<p>Looking by turns at Tugby and his wife, he sounded the barrel with his
+knuckles for the depth of beer, and having found it, played a tune upon
+the empty part.</p>
+
+<p>"The back-attic, Mr. Tugby," said the gentleman: Tugby having stood in
+silent consternation for some time; "is Going."</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said Tugby, turning to his wife, "he must Go, you know, before he's Gone."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think you can move him," said the gentleman, shaking his head.
+"I wouldn't take the responsibility of saying it could be done, myself.
+You had better leave him where he is. He can't live long."</p>
+
+<p>"It's the only subject," said Tugby, bringing the butter-scale down upon
+the counter with a crash, by weighing his fist on it, "that we've ever
+had a word upon; she and me; and look what it comes to! He's going to
+die here, after all. Going to die upon the premises. Going to die in our house!"</p>
+
+<p>"And where should he have died, Tugby?" cried his wife.</p>
+
+<p>"In the workhouse," he returned. "What are workhouses made for?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not for that!" said Mrs. Tugby, with great energy. "Not for that!
+Neither did I marry you for that. Don't think it, Tugby. I won't have
+it. I won't allow it. I'd be separated first, and never see your face
+again. When my widow's name stood over that door, as it did for many,
+many years: the house being known as Mrs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> Chickenstalker's far and
+wide, and never known but to its honest credit and its good report: when
+my widow's name stood over that door, Tugby, I knew him as a handsome,
+steady, manly, independent youth; I knew her as the sweetest looking,
+sweetest tempered girl, eyes ever saw; I knew her father (poor old
+creetur, he fell down from the steeple walking in his sleep, and killed
+himself), for the simplest, hardest working, childest-hearted man, that
+ever drew the breath of life; and when I turn them out of house and
+home, may angels turn me out of heaven. As they would! And serve me right!"</p>
+
+<p>Her old face, which had been a plump and dimpled one before the changes
+which had come to pass, seemed to shine out of her as she said these
+words; and when she dried her eyes, and shook her head and her
+handkerchief at Tugby, with an expression of firmness which it was quite
+clear was not to be easily resisted, Trotty said, "Bless her! Bless her!"</p>
+
+<p>Then he listened, with a panting heart, for what should follow. Knowing
+nothing yet, but that they spoke of Meg.</p>
+
+<p>The gentleman upon the table-beer cask, who appeared to be some
+authorized medical attendant upon the poor, was far too well accustomed,
+evidently, to little differences of opinion between man and wife, to
+interpose any remark in this instance. He sat softly whistling, and
+turning little drops of beer out of the tap upon the ground, until there
+was a perfect calm: when he raised his head and said to Mrs. Tugby, late Chickenstalker:</p>
+
+<p>"There's something interesting about the woman, even now. How did she
+come to marry him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, that," said Mrs. Tugby, taking a seat near him, "is not the least
+cruel part of her story,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> sir. You see they kept company, she and
+Richard, many years ago. When they were a young and beautiful couple,
+everything was settled, and they were to have been married on a New
+Year's Day. But, somehow, Richard got it into his head, through what the
+gentleman told him, that he might do better, and that he'd soon repent
+it, and that she wasn't good enough for him, and that a young man of
+spirit had no business to be married. And the gentleman frightened her,
+and made her melancholy, and timid of his deserting her, and of her
+children coming to the gallows, and of its being wicked to be man and
+wife, and a good deal more of it. And in short, they lingered and
+lingered, and their trust in one another was broken, and so at last was
+the match. But the fault was his. She would have married him, sir,
+joyfully. I've seen her heart swell, many times afterwards, when he
+passed her in a proud and careless way; and never did a woman grieve
+more truly for a man, than she for Richard when he first went wrong."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! he went wrong, did he?" said the gentleman, pulling out the
+vent-peg of the table-beer, and trying to peep down into the barrel
+through the hole.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, I don't know that he rightly understood himself, you see. I
+think his mind was troubled by their having broke with one another; and
+that but for being ashamed before the gentlemen, and perhaps for being
+uncertain too, how she might take it, he'd have gone through any
+suffering or trial to have had Meg's promise, and Meg's hand again.
+That's my belief. He never said so; more's the pity! He took to
+drinking, idling, bad companions: all the fine resources that were to be
+so much better for him than the Home he might have had. He lost his
+looks, his character, his health, his strength, his friends, his work: everything!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p><p>"He didn't lose everything, Mrs. Tugby," returned the gentleman,
+"because he gained a wife; and I want to know how he gained her."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm coming to it, sir, in a moment. This went on for years and years;
+he sinking lower and lower; she enduring, poor thing, miseries enough to
+wear her life away. At last he was so cast down, and cast out, that no
+one would employ or notice him; and doors were shut upon him, go where
+he would. Applying from place to place, and door to door; and coming for
+the hundredth time to one gentleman, who had often and often tried him
+(he was a good workman to the very end); that gentleman, who knew his
+history, said, 'I believe you are incorrigible; there's only one person
+in the world who has a chance of reclaiming you; ask me to trust you no
+more, until she tries to do it.' Something like that, in his anger and vexation."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said the gentleman. "Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, he went to her, and kneeled to her; said it was so; said it
+ever had been so; and made a prayer to her to save him."</p>
+
+<p>"And she?&mdash;Don't distress yourself, Mrs. Tugby."</p>
+
+<p>"She came to me that night to ask me about living here. 'What he was
+once to me,' she said, 'is buried in a grave, side by side with what I
+was to him. But I have thought of this; and I will make the trial. In
+the hope of saving him; for the love of the light-hearted girl (you
+remember her) who was to have been married on a New Year's Day; and for
+the love of her Richard.' And he said he had come to her from Lilian,
+and Lilian had trusted to him, and she never could forget that. So they
+were married; and when they came home here, and I saw them, I hoped that
+such prophecies as parted them when they were young, may not often
+fulfill themselves as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> they did in this case, or I wouldn't be the
+makers of them for a Mine of Gold."</p>
+
+<p>The gentleman got off the cask, and stretched himself, observing:</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose he used her ill, as soon as they were married?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think he ever did that," said Mrs. Tugby, shaking her head and
+wiping her eyes. "He went on better for a short time; but, his habits
+were too old and strong to be got rid of; he soon fell back a little;
+and was falling fast back, when his illness came so strong upon him. I
+think he has always felt for her. I am sure he has. I've seen him in his
+crying fits and tremblings, try to kiss her hand; and I have heard him
+call her 'Meg,' and say it was her nineteenth birthday. There he has
+been lying, now, these weeks and months. Between him and her baby, she
+has not been able to do her old work; and by not being able to be
+regular, she has lost it, even if she could have done it. How they have
+lived, I hardly know!"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>I</i> know," muttered Mr. Tugby, looking at the till, and round the shop,
+and at his wife; and rolling his head with immense intelligence.</p>
+
+<p>He was interrupted by a cry&mdash;a sound of lamentation&mdash;from the upper
+story of the house. The gentleman moved hurriedly to the door.</p>
+
+<p>"My friend," he said, looking back, "you needn't discuss whether he
+shall be removed or not. He has spared you that trouble, I believe."</p>
+
+<p>Saying so, he ran up-stairs, followed by Mrs. Tugby; while Mr. Tugby
+panted and grumbled after them at leisure: being rendered more than
+commonly short-winded by the weight of the till, in which there had been
+an inconvenient quantity of copper. Trotty, with the child beside him,
+floated up the staircase like mere air.</p>
+
+<p>"Follow her! Follow her! Follow her!" He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> heard the ghostly voices in
+the Bells repeat their words as he ascended. "Learn it, from the
+creature dearest to your heart!"</p>
+
+<p>It was over. It was over. And this was she, her father's pride and joy!
+This haggard, wretched woman, weeping by the bed, if it deserved that
+name, and pressing to her breast, and hanging down her head upon, an
+infant? Who can tell how spare, how sickly, and how poor an infant? Who
+can tell how dear?</p>
+
+<p>"Thank God!" cried Trotty, holding up his folded hands. "O, God be
+thanked! She loves her child!"</p>
+
+<p>Again Trotty heard the voices, saying, "Follow her!" He turned toward
+his guide, and saw it rising from him, passing through the air. "Follow
+her!" it said. And vanished.</p>
+
+<p>He hovered round her; sat down at her feet; looked up into her face for
+one trace of her old self; listened for one note of her old pleasant
+voice. He flitted round the child: so wan, so prematurely old, so
+dreadful in its gravity, so plaintive in its feeble, mournful, miserable
+wail. He almost worshiped it. He clung to it as her only safeguard; as
+the last unbroken link that bound her to endurance. He set his father's
+hope and trust on the frail baby; watched her every look upon it as she
+held it in her arms; and cried a thousand times, "She loves it! God be
+thanked, she loves it!"</p>
+
+<p>He saw the woman tend her in the night; return to her when her grudging
+husband was asleep, and all was still; encourage her, shed tears with
+her, set nourishment before her. He saw the day come, and the night
+again; the day, the night; the time go by; the house of death relieved
+of death; the room left to herself and to the child; he heard it moan
+and cry; he saw it harass her, and tire her out, and when she slumbered
+in exhaustion, drag<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> her back to consciousness, and hold her with its
+little hands upon the rack; but she was constant to it, gentle with it,
+patient with it. Patient! Was its loving mother in her inmost heart and
+soul, and had its Being knitted up with hers as when she carried it unborn.</p>
+
+<p>All this time, she was in want: languishing away, in dire and pining
+want. With the baby in her arms, she wandered here and there in quest of
+occupation; and with its thin face lying in her lap, and looking up in
+hers, did any work for any wretched sum: a day and night of labor for as
+many farthings as there were figures on the dial. If she had quarreled
+with it; if she had neglected it; if she had looked upon it with a
+moment's hate! if, in the frenzy of an instant, she had struck it! No!
+His comfort was, She loved it always.</p>
+
+<p>She told no one of her extremity, and wandered abroad in the day lest
+she should be questioned by her only friend: for any help she received
+from her hands, occasioned fresh disputes between the good woman and her
+husband; and it was new bitterness to be the daily cause of strife and
+discord, where she owed so much.</p>
+
+<p>She loved it still. She loved it more and more. But a change fell on the
+aspect of her love.</p>
+
+<p>One night she was singing faintly to it in its sleep and walking to and
+fro to hush it, when her door was softly opened, and a man looked in.</p>
+
+<p>"For the last time," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"William Fern!"</p>
+
+<p>"For the last time."</p>
+
+<p>He listened like a man pursued: and spoke in whispers.</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret, my race is nearly run, I couldn't finish it, without a
+parting word with you. Without one grateful word."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p><p>"What have you done?" she asked: regarding him with terror.</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her but gave no answer.</p>
+
+<p>After a short silence, he made a gesture with his hand, as if he set her
+question by; as if he brushed it aside; and said:</p>
+
+<p>"It's long ago, Margaret, now; but that night is as fresh in my memory
+as ever 'twas. We little thought then," he added, looking round, "that
+we should ever meet like this. Your child, Margaret? Let me have it in
+my arms. Let me hold your child."</p>
+
+<p>He put his hat upon the floor, and took it. And he trembled as he took
+it, from head to foot.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it a girl?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>He put his hand before its little face.</p>
+
+<p>"See how weak I'm grown, Margaret, when I want the courage to look at
+it! Let her be, a moment. I won't hurt her. It's long ago, but&mdash;What's her name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret," she answered quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad of that," he said. "I'm glad of that!"</p>
+
+<p>He seemed to breathe more freely; and after pausing for an instant, took
+away his hand, and looked upon the infant's face. But covered it again, immediately.</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret!" he said; and gave her back the child. "It's Lilian's."</p>
+
+<p>"Lilian's!"</p>
+
+<p>"I held the same face in my arms when Lilian's mother died and left her."</p>
+
+<p>"When Lilian's mother died and left her!" she repeated, wildly.</p>
+
+<p>"How shrill you speak! Why do you fix your eyes upon me so? Margaret!"</p>
+
+<p>She sunk down in a chair, and pressed the infant to her breast, and wept
+over it. Sometimes, she released it from her embrace, to look anxiously
+in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> its face: then strained it to her bosom again. At those times, when
+she gazed upon it, then it was that something fierce and terrible began
+to mingle with her love. Then it was that her old father quailed.</p>
+
+<p>"Follow her!" was sounded through the house. "Learn it, from the
+creature dearest to your heart!"</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret," said Fern, bending over her, and kissing her upon the brow:
+"I thank you for the last time. Good night. Good bye! Put your hand in
+mine, and tell me you'll forget me from this hour, and try to think the
+end of me was here."</p>
+
+<p>She called to him; but he was gone. She sat down stupefied, until her
+infant roused her to a sense of hunger, cold, and darkness. She paced
+the room with it the livelong night, hushing it and soothing it. She
+said at intervals, "Like Lilian when her mother died and left her!" Why
+was her step so quick, her eyes so wild, her love so fierce and
+terrible, whenever she repeated those words?</p>
+
+<p>"But, it is Love," said Trotty. "It is Love. She'll never cease to love
+it. My poor Meg!"</p>
+
+<p>She dressed the child next morning with unusual care&mdash;ah, vain
+expenditure of care upon such squalid robes!&mdash;and once more tried to
+find some means of life. It was the last day of the Old Year. She tried
+till night, and never broke her fast. She tried in vain.</p>
+
+<p>She mingled with an abject crowd, who tarried in the snow, until it
+pleased some officer appointed to dispense the public charity (the
+lawful charity; not that once preached upon a Mount), to call them in,
+and question them, and say to this one, "Go to such a place," to that
+one, "Come next week;" to make a foot-ball of another wretch, and pass
+him here and there, from hand to hand, from house<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> to house, until he
+wearied and lay down to die; or started up and robbed, and so became a
+higher sort of criminal, whose claims allowed of no delay. Here, too, she failed.</p>
+
+<p>She loved her child, and wished to have it lying on her breast. And that
+was quite enough.</p>
+
+<p>It was night: a bleak, dark, cutting night: when pressing the child
+close to her for warmth, she arrived outside the house she called her
+home. She was so faint and giddy, that she saw no one standing in the
+doorway until she was close upon it, and about to enter. Then, she
+recognized the master of the house, who had so disposed himself&mdash;with
+his person it was not difficult&mdash;as to fill up the whole entry.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" he said softly. "You have come back?"</p>
+
+<p>She looked at the child and shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think you have lived here long enough without paying any
+rent? Don't you think that, without any money, you've been a pretty
+constant customer at this shop, now?" said Mr. Tugby.</p>
+
+<p>She repeated the same mute appeal.</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose you try and deal somewhere else," he said. "And suppose you
+provide yourself with another lodging. Come! Don't you think you could manage it?"</p>
+
+<p>She said, in a low voice, that it was very late. To-morrow.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I see what you want," said Tugby; "and what you mean. You know
+there are two parties in this house about you, and you delight in
+setting them by the ears. I don't want any quarrels; I'm speaking softly
+to avoid a quarrel; but if you don't go away, I'll speak out loud, and
+you shall cause words loud enough to please you. But you shan't come in,
+that I am determined."</p>
+
+<p>She put her hair back with her hand, and looked in a sudden manner at
+the sky, and the dark lowering distance.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p><p>"This is the last night of an Old Year, and I won't carry ill-blood and
+quarrelings and disturbances into a New One, to please you nor anybody
+else," said Tugby, who was quite a retail Friend and Father. "I wonder
+you an't ashamed of yourself, to carry such practices into a New Year.
+If you haven't any business in the world, but to be always giving way,
+and always making disturbances between man and wife, you'd be better out
+of it. Go along with you!"</p>
+
+<p>"Follow her! To desperation!"</p>
+
+<p>Again the old man heard the voices. Looking up, he saw the figures
+hovering in the air, and pointing where she went, down the dark street.</p>
+
+<p>"She loves it!" he exclaimed in agonized entreaty for her. "Chimes! she
+loves it still!"</p>
+
+<p>"Follow her!" The shadows swept upon the track she had taken like a cloud.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, for something to awaken her! For any sight or sound, or scent, to
+call up tender recollections in a brain on fire! For any gentle image of
+the Past, to rise up before her!</p>
+
+<p>"I was her father! I was her father!" cried the old man, stretching out
+his hands to the dark shadows flying on above. "Have mercy on her, and
+on me! Where does she go? Turn her back! I was her father!"</p>
+
+<p>But, they only pointed to her, as she hurried on; "To desperation! Learn
+it from the creature dearest to your heart!"</p>
+
+<p>A hundred voices echoed it. The air was made of breath expended in those
+words. He seemed to take them in, at every gasp he drew. They were
+everywhere, and not to be escaped. And still she hurried on; the same
+light in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>All at once she stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, turn her back!" exclaimed the old man, tearing his white hair. "My
+child! Meg! Turn her back! Great Father, turn her back!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p><p>In her own scanty shawl, she wrapped the baby warm. With her fevered
+hands, she smoothed its limbs, composed its face, arranged its mean
+attire. In her wasted arms she folded it, as though she never would
+resign it more. And with her dry lips, kissed it in a final pang, and
+last long agony of Love.</p>
+
+<p>Putting its tiny hand up to her neck, and holding it there, within her
+dress, next to her distracted heart, she set its sleeping face against
+her: closely, steadily against her: and sped onward to the river.</p>
+
+<p>To the rolling River, swift and dim, where Winter Night sat brooding
+like the last dark thoughts of many who had sought a refuge there before
+her. Where scattered lights upon the banks gleamed sullen, red and dull,
+as torches that were burning there to show the way to Death. Where no
+abode of living people cast its shadow, on the deep, impenetrable,
+melancholy shade.</p>
+
+<p>To the River! To that portal of Eternity, her desperate footsteps tended
+with the swiftness of its rapid waters running to the sea. He tried to
+touch her as she passed him, going down to its dark level; but, the wild
+distempered form, the fierce and terrible love, the desperation that had
+left all human check or hold behind, swept by him like the wind.</p>
+
+<p>He followed her. She paused a moment on the brink, before the dreadful
+plunge. He fell down on his knees, and in a shriek addressed the figures
+in the Bells now hovering above them.</p>
+
+<p>"Have mercy on her!" he exclaimed, "as one in whom this dreadful crime
+has sprung from Love perverted; from the strongest, deepest Love we
+fallen creatures know! Think what her misery must have been, when such
+seed bears such fruit. Heaven meant her to be good. There is no loving
+mother on the earth who might not come to this, if such a life had gone
+before. Oh, have mercy on my child, who, even at this pass, means mercy
+to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> her own, and dies herself, and perils her immortal soul, to save
+it!"</p>
+
+<p>She was in his arms. He held her now. His strength was like a giant's.</p>
+
+<p>He might have said more; but the Bells, the old familiar Bells, his own
+dear, constant, steady friends, the Chimes, began to ring the joy-peals
+for a New Year; so lustily, so merrily, so happily, so gayly, that he
+leapt upon his feet, and broke the spell that bound him.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<p>"And whatever you do, father," said Meg, "don't eat tripe again without
+asking some doctor whether it's likely to agree with you; for how you
+<i>have</i> been going on, Good gracious!"</p>
+
+<p>She was working with her needle at the little table by the fire,
+dressing her simple gown with ribbons for her wedding. So quietly happy,
+so blooming and youthful, so full of beautiful promise, that he uttered
+a great cry as if it were an Angel in his house; then flew to clasp her
+in his arms.</p>
+
+<p>But he caught his feet in the newspaper, which had fallen on the hearth,
+and somebody came rushing in between them.</p>
+
+<p>"No!" cried the voice of this same somebody; a generous and jolly voice
+it was. "Not even you. Not even you. The first kiss of Meg in the New
+Year is mine. Mine! I have been waiting outside the house this hour to
+hear the Bells and claim it. Meg, my precious prize, a happy year! A
+life of happy years, my darling wife!"</p>
+
+<p>And Richard smothered her with kisses.</p>
+
+<p>You never in all your life saw anything like Trotty after this. I don't
+care where you have lived or what you have seen, you never in all your
+life saw anything at all approaching him! He sat down in his chair and
+beat his knees and cried; he sat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> down in his chair and beat his knees
+and laughed; he sat down in his chair and beat his knees and laughed and
+cried together; he got out of his chair and hugged Meg; he got out of
+his chair and hugged Richard; he got out of his chair and hugged them
+both at once; he kept running up to Meg and squeezing her fresh face
+between his hands and kissing it, going from her backward not to lose
+sight of it, and running up again like a figure in a magic lantern; and
+whatever he did, he was constantly sitting himself down in this chair,
+and never stopping in it for one single moment, being&mdash;that's the
+truth&mdash;beside himself with joy.</p>
+
+<p>"And to-morrow's your wedding-day, my pet!" cried Trotty. "Your real,
+happy wedding-day!"</p>
+
+<p>"To-day!" cried Richard, shaking hands with him. "To-day. The Chimes are
+ringing in the New Year. Hear them!"</p>
+
+<p>They <span class="smaller">WERE</span> ringing! Bless their sturdy hearts, they <span class="smaller">WERE</span> ringing! Great
+Bells as they were; melodious, deep-mouthed, noble Bells; cast in no
+common metal; made by no common founder; when had they ever chimed like that before?</p>
+
+<p>"But to-day, my pet," said Trotty. "You and Richard had some words to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"Because he's such a bad fellow, father," said Meg. "An't you, Richard?
+Such a headstrong, violent man! He'd have made no more of speaking his
+mind to that great Alderman, and putting <i>him</i> down I don't know where,
+than he would of&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"&mdash;Kissing Meg," suggested Richard. Doing it, too.</p>
+
+<p>"No. Not a bit more," said Meg. "But I wouldn't let him, father. Where
+would have been the use?"</p>
+
+<p>"Richard, my boy!" cried Trotty. "You was turned up Trumps originally,
+and Trumps you must be until you die! But you were crying by the fire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>
+to-night, my pet, when I came home. Why did you cry by the fire?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was thinking of the years we've passed together, father. Only that.
+And thinking you might miss me, and be lonely."</p>
+
+<p>Trotty was backing off to that extraordinary chair again, when the
+child, who had been awakened by the noise, came running in, half dressed.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, here she is!" cried Trotty catching her up. "Here's little Lilian!
+Ha, ha, ha! Here we are and here we go! O, here we are and here we go
+again! And here we are and here we go! And Uncle Will, too!" Stopping in
+his trot to greet him heartily. "O, Uncle Will, the vision that I've had
+to-night, through lodging you! O, Uncle Will, the obligations that
+you've laid me under by your coming, my good friend!"</p>
+
+<p>Before Will Fern could make the least reply, a band of music burst into
+the room, attended by a flock of neighbors, screaming: "A Happy New
+Year, Meg!" "A Happy Wedding!" "Many of 'em!" and other fragmentary good
+wishes of that sort. The Drum (who was a private friend of Trotty's)
+then stepped forward and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Trotty Veck, my boy! It's got about that your daughter is going to be
+married to-morrow. There an't a soul that knows you that don't wish you
+well, or that knows her and don't wish her well. Or that knows you both
+and don't wish you both all the happiness the New Year can bring. And
+here we are, to play it in accordingly."</p>
+
+<p>"What a happiness it is, I'm sure," said Trotty, "to be so esteemed. How
+kind and neighborly you are! It's all along of my dear daughter. She deserves it."</p>
+
+<p>At this moment a combination of prodigious sounds was heard outside, and
+a good-humored, comely woman of some fifty years of age, or thereabouts,
+came running in, closely followed by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> marrow-bones and cleavers and
+the bells&mdash;not <i>the</i> Bells, but a portable collection on a frame.</p>
+
+<p>Trotty said: "It's Mrs. Chickenstalker!" And sat down and beat his knees again.</p>
+
+<p>"Married, and not tell me, Meg!" cried the good woman. "Never! I
+couldn't rest on the last night of the Old Year without coming to wish
+you joy. I couldn't have done it, Meg. Not if I had been bed-ridden. So here I am."</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Tugby," said Trotty, who had been going round and round her in an
+ecstasy&mdash;"I <i>should</i> say Chickenstalker&mdash;bless your heart and soul! A
+happy New Year, and many of 'em! Mrs. Tugby," said Trotty, when he had
+saluted her&mdash;"I <i>should</i> say Chickenstalker&mdash;this is William Fern and Lilian."</p>
+
+<p>The worthy dame, to his surprise, turned very pale and very red.</p>
+
+<p>"Not Lilian Fern, whose mother died in Dorsetshire?" said she.</p>
+
+<p>Her uncle answered "Yes," and meeting hastily they exchanged some
+hurried words together, of which the upshot was that Mrs. Chickenstalker
+shook him by both hands, saluted Trotty on his cheek again of her own
+free will, and took the child to her capacious breast.</p>
+
+<p>"Will Fern," said Trotty, pulling on his right-hand muffler. "Not the
+friend that you was hoping to find?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ay," returned Will, putting a hand on each of Trotty's shoulders. "And
+like to prove a'most as good a friend, if that can be, as one I found."</p>
+
+<p>"O!" said Trotty. "Please to play up there. Will you have the goodness?"</p>
+
+<p>Had Trotty dreamed? Or are his joys and sorrows, and the actors in them,
+but a dream; himself a dream; the teller of this tale a dreamer, waking
+but now? If it be so, O listener, dear to him in all his visions, try to
+bear in mind the stern realities<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> from which these shadows come; and in
+your sphere&mdash;none is too wide and none too limited for such an
+end&mdash;endeavor to correct, improve and soften them. So may the New Year
+be a happy one to you, happy to many more whose happiness depends on
+you! So may each year be happier than the last, and not the meanest of
+our brethren or sisterhood debarred their rightful share in what our
+great Creator formed them to enjoy.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="BILLYS_SANTA_CLAUS_EXPERIENCE" id="BILLYS_SANTA_CLAUS_EXPERIENCE"></a>BILLY'S SANTA CLAUS EXPERIENCE.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY CORNELIA REDMOND.</h3>
+
+<p>Of course I don't believe in any such person as Santa Claus, but Tommy
+does. Tommy is my little brother, aged six. Last Christmas I thought I'd
+make some fun for the young one by playing Santa Claus, but as always
+happens when I try to amuse anybody I jes' got myself into trouble.</p>
+
+<p>I went to bed pretty early on Christmas Eve so as to give my parents a
+chance to get the presents out of the closet in mamma's room, where they
+had been locked up since they were bought. I kep' my clo'es on except my
+shoes, and put my nightgown over them so as I'd look white if any of
+them came near me. Then I waited, pinchin' myself to keep awake. After a
+while papa came into the room with a lot of things that he dumped on
+Tommy's bed. Then mamma came in and put some things on mine and in our
+two stockings that were hung up by the chimney. Then they both went out
+very quiet, and soon all the lights went out too.</p>
+
+<p>I kep' on pinchin' myself and waitin' for a time, and then when I was
+sure that everybody was asleep I got up. The first thing I went into was
+my sister's room and got her white fur rug that mamma gave her on her
+birthday, and her sealskin cape that was hanging on the closet door. I
+tied the cape on my head with shoestrings and it made a good big cap.
+Then I put the fur rug around me and pinned it with big safety pins what
+I found on Tommy's garters. Then I got mamma's new scrap-basket, trimmed
+with roses, what Mrs. Simmons 'broidered for the church fair and piled
+all of the kid's toys into it. I fastened it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> to my back with papa's
+suspenders, and then I started for the roof.</p>
+
+<p>I hurt my fingers some opening the scuttle, but kept right on. It was
+snowing hard and I stood and let myself get pretty well covered with
+flakes. Then I crawled over to the chimney that went down into our room
+and climbed up on top of it. I had brought my bicycle lantern with me
+and I lighted it so as Tommy could see me when I came down the chimney into the room.</p>
+
+<p>There did not seem to be any places inside the chimney where I could
+hold on by my feet, but the ceiling in our room was not very high and I
+had often jumped most as far, so I jes' let her go, and I suppose I went
+down. Anyway, I did not know about anything for a long time. Then I woke
+up all in the dark with my head feeling queer, and when I tried to turn
+over in bed I found I wasn't in bed at all, and then my arms and legs
+began to hurt terrible, mostly one arm that was doubled up. I tried to
+get up but I couldn't because my bones hurt so and I was terrible cold
+and there was nothing to stand on. I was jes' stuck. Then I began to
+cry, and pretty soon I heard mamma's voice saying to papa:</p>
+
+<p>"Those must be sparrers that are making that noise in the chimney. Jes'
+touch a match to the wood in the boys' fireplace."</p>
+
+<p>I heard papa strike a light and then the wood began to crackle. Then, by
+jinks! it began to get hot and smoky and I screamed:</p>
+
+<p>"Help! Murder! Put out that fire lest you want to burn me up!"</p>
+
+<p>Then I heard papa stamping on the wood and mamma calling out:</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Billy? Where is my chile?"</p>
+
+<p>Next Tommy woke up and began to cry and everything was terrible,
+specially the pains all over me. Then papa called out very stern:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p><p>"William, if you are in that chimney come down at once!" and I
+answered, cryin', that I would if I could, but I was stuck and couldn't.</p>
+
+<p>Then I heard papa gettin' dressed, and pretty soon he and John from the
+stable went up on the roof and let down ropes what I put around me and
+they hauled me up.</p>
+
+<p>It was jes' daylight and I was all black and sooty and scratched and my
+arm was broken.</p>
+
+<p>Everybody scolded me excep' mamma. I had spoiled my sister's white rug
+and broken all of Tommy's toys, and the snow what went in through the
+scuttle melted and marked the parlor ceiling, besides I guess it cost
+papa a good deal to get my arm mended. Nobody would believe that I had
+jes' meant to make some fun for Tommy, and my arm and all my bruised
+places hurt me awful for a long time. If I live to be a million I am
+never goin' to play Santa Claus ag'in.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="CHRISTMAS_IN_POGANUC" id="CHRISTMAS_IN_POGANUC"></a>CHRISTMAS IN POGANUC.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.</h3>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">The First Christmas.</span></h3>
+
+<p>Can any of us look back to the earlier days of our mortal pilgrimage and
+remember the helpless sense of desolation and loneliness caused by being
+forced to go off to the stillness and darkness of a solitary bed far
+from all the beloved voices and employments and sights of life? Can we
+remember lying, hearing distant voices, and laughs of more fortunate,
+older people and the opening and shutting of distant doors, that told of
+scenes of animation and interest from which we were excluded? How
+doleful sounded the tick of the clock, and how dismal was the darkness
+as sunshine faded from the window, leaving only a square of dusky
+dimness in place of daylight!</p>
+
+<p>All who remember these will sympathize with Dolly, who was hustled off
+to bed by Nabby the minute supper was over, that she might have the
+decks clear for action.</p>
+
+<p>"Now be a good girl; shut your eyes, and say your prayers, and go right
+to sleep," had been Nabby's parting injunction as she went out, closing
+the door after her.</p>
+
+<p>The little head sunk into the pillow, and Dolly recited her usual
+liturgy of "Our Father who art in heaven," and "I pray God to bless my
+dear father and mother and all my dear friends and relations, and make
+me a good girl," and ending with</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div>"'Now I lay me down to sleep.'"</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p><p>But sleep she could not. The wide, bright, wistful blue eyes lay
+shining like two stars toward the fading light in the window, and the
+little ears were strained to catch every sound. She heard the shouts of
+Tom and Bill and the loud barking of Spring as they swept out of the
+door; and the sound went to her heart. Spring&mdash;her faithful attendant,
+the most loving and sympathetic of dogs, her friend and confidential
+counselor in many a solitary ramble&mdash;Spring had gone with the boys to
+see the sight, and left her alone. She began to pity herself and cry
+softly on her pillow. For a while she could hear Nabby's energetic
+movements below, washing up dishes, putting back chairs, and giving
+energetic thumps and bangs here and there, as her way was of producing
+order. But by and by that was all over, and she heard the loud shutting
+of the kitchen door and Nabby's voice chatting with her attendant as she
+went off to the scene of gaiety.</p>
+
+<p>In those simple, innocent days in New England villages nobody thought of
+locking house doors at night. There was in those times no idea either of
+tramps or burglars, and many a night in summer had Dolly lain awake and
+heard the voices of tree-toads and whip-poor-wills mingling with the
+whisper of leaves and the swaying of elm boughs, while the great outside
+door of the house lay broad open in the moonlight. But then this was
+when everybody was in the house and asleep, when the door of her
+parents' room stood open on the front hall, and she knew she could run
+to the paternal bed in a minute for protection. Now, however, she knew
+the house was empty. Everybody had gone out of it; and there is
+something fearful to a little lonely body in the possibilities of a
+great, empty house. She got up and opened her door, and the "tick-tock"
+of the old kitchen clock for a moment seemed like company; but pretty
+soon its ticking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> began to strike louder and louder with a nervous
+insistency on her ear, till the nerves quivered and vibrated, and she
+couldn't go to sleep. She lay and listened to all the noises outside. It
+was a still, clear, freezing night, when the least sound clinked with a
+metallic resonance. She heard the runners of sleighs squeaking and
+crunching over the frozen road, and the lively jingle of bells. They
+would come nearer, nearer, pass by the house, and go off in the
+distance. Those were the happy folks going to see the gold star and the
+Christmas greens in the church. The gold star, the Christmas greens, had
+all the more attraction from their vagueness. Dolly was a fanciful
+little creature, and the clear air and romantic scenery of a mountain
+town had fed her imagination. Stories she had never read, except in the
+Bible and the Pilgrim's Progress, but her very soul had vibrated with
+the descriptions of the celestial city&mdash;something vague, bright,
+glorious, lying beyond some dark river; and Nabby's rude account of what
+was going on in the church suggested those images.</p>
+
+<p>Finally a bright thought popped into her little head. She could see the
+church from the front windows of the house; she would go there and look.
+In haste she sprang out of bed and dressed herself. It was sharp and
+freezing in the fireless chamber, but Dolly's blood had a racing,
+healthy tingle to it; she didn't mind cold. She wrapped her cloak around
+her and tied on her hood and ran to the front windows. There it was, to
+be sure&mdash;the little church with its sharp-pointed windows, every pane of
+which was sending streams of light across the glittering snow. There was
+a crowd around the door, and men and boys looking in at the windows.
+Dolly's soul was fired. But the elm boughs a little obstructed her
+vision; she thought she would go down and look at it from the yard. So
+down-stairs she ran, but as she opened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> the door the sound of the chant
+rolled out into the darkness with sweet and solemn cadence:</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Glory be to God on high; and on earth peace, good will toward men.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Dolly's soul was all aglow&mdash;her nerves tingled and vibrated; she thought
+of the bells ringing in the celestial city; she could no longer contain
+herself, but faster and faster the little hooded form scudded across the
+snowy plain and pushed in among the dark cluster of spectators at the
+door. All made way for the child, and in a moment, whether in the body
+or out she could not tell, Dolly was sitting in a little nook under a
+bower of spruce, gazing at the star and listening to the voices:</p>
+
+<p>"<i>We praise Thee, we bless Thee, we worship Thee, we glorify Thee, we
+give thanks to Thee for Thy great glory, O Lord God, Heavenly King, God,
+the Father Almighty.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Her heart throbbed and beat; she trembled with a strange happiness and
+sat as one entranced till the music was over. Then came reading, the
+rustle and murmur of people kneeling, and then they all rose and there
+was the solemn buzz of voices repeating the Creed with a curious lulling
+sound to her ear. There was old Mr. Danforth with his spectacles on,
+reading with a pompous tone, as if to witness a good confession for the
+church; and there were Squire Lewis and old Ma'am Lewis; and there was
+one place where they all bowed their heads and all the ladies made
+courtesies&mdash;all of which entertained her mightily.</p>
+
+<p>When the sermon began Dolly got fast asleep, and slept as quietly as a
+pet lamb in a meadow, lying in a little warm roll back under the shadows
+of the spruces. She was so tired and so sound asleep that she did not
+wake when the service ended, lying serenely curled up, and having
+perhaps pleasant dreams. She might have had the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> fortunes of little
+Goody Two-Shoes, whose history was detailed in one of the few children's
+books then printed, had not two friends united to find her out.</p>
+
+<p>Spring, who had got into the slip with the boys, and been an equally
+attentive and edified listener, after service began a tour of
+investigation, dog-fashion, with his nose; for how could a minister's
+dog form a suitable judgment of any new procedure if he was repressed
+from the use of his own leading faculty? So, Spring went round the
+church conscientiously, smelling at pew doors, smelling of the greens,
+smelling at the heels of gentlemen and ladies, till he came near the
+door of the church, when he suddenly smelt something which called for
+immediate attention, and he made a side dart into the thicket where
+Dolly was sleeping, and began licking her face and hands and pulling her
+dress, giving short barks occasionally, as if to say, "Come, Dolly, wake
+up!" At the same instant Hiel, who had seen her from the gallery, came
+down just as the little one was sitting up with a dazed, bewildered air.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Dolly, how came you out o' bed this time o' night? Don't ye know
+the nine o'clock bell's jest rung?"</p>
+
+<p>Dolly knew Hiel well enough&mdash;what child in the village did not? She
+reached up her little hands, saying in an apologetic fashion:</p>
+
+<p>"They were all gone away, and I was so lonesome!"</p>
+
+<p>Hiel took her up in his long arms and carried her home, and was just
+entering the house door with her as the sleigh drove up with Parson
+Cushing and his wife.</p>
+
+<p>"Wal, Parson, your folks has all ben to the 'lumination&mdash;Nabby and Bill
+and Tom and Dolly here; found her all rolled up in a heap like a rabbit
+under the cedars."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Dolly Cushing!" exclaimed her mother.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> "What upon earth got you
+out of bed this time of night? You'll catch your death o' cold."</p>
+
+<p>"I was all alone," said Dolly, with a piteous bleat.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, there, there, wife; don't say a word," put in the parson. "Get her
+off to bed. Never mind, Dolly, don't you cry;" for Parson Cushing was a
+soft-hearted gentleman and couldn't bear the sight of Dolly's quivering
+under lip. So Dolly told her little story, how she had been promised a
+sugar dog by Nabby if she'd be a good girl and go to sleep, and how she
+couldn't go to sleep, and how she just went down to look from the yard,
+and how the music drew her right over.</p>
+
+<p>"There, there," said Parson Cushing, "go to bed, Dolly; and if Nabby
+don't give you a sugar dog, I will. This Christmas dressing is all
+nonsense," he added, "but the child's not to blame&mdash;it was natural."</p>
+
+<p>"After all," he said to his wife the last thing after they were settled
+for the night, "our little Dolly is an unusual child. There were not
+many little girls that would have dared to do that. I shall preach a
+sermon right away that will set all this Christmas matter straight,"
+said the Doctor. "There is not a shadow of evidence that the first
+Christians kept Christmas. It wasn't kept for the first three centuries,
+nor was Christ born anywhere near the 25th of December."</p>
+
+<p class="center">*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*</p>
+
+<p>The next morning found little Dolly's blue eyes wide open with all the
+wondering eagerness of a new idea.</p>
+
+<p>Dolly had her wise thoughts about Christmas. She had been terribly
+frightened at first, when she was brought home from the church; but when
+her papa kissed her and promised her a sugar dog she was quite sure
+that, whatever the unexplained mystery might be, he did not think the
+lovely scene of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> the night before a wicked one. And when Mrs. Cushing
+came and covered the little girl up warmly in bed, she only said to her,
+"Dolly, you must never get out of bed again at night after you are put
+there; you might have caught a dreadful cold and been sick and died, and
+then we should have lost our little Dolly." So Dolly promised quite
+readily to be good and lie still ever after, no matter what attractions
+might be on foot in the community.</p>
+
+<p>Much was gained, however, and it was all clear gain; and forthwith the
+little fanciful head proceeded to make the most of it, thinking over
+every feature of the wonder. The child had a vibrating, musical
+organization, and the sway and rush of the chanting still sounded in her
+ears and reminded her of that wonderful story in the "Pilgrim's
+Progress", where the gate of the celestial city swung open, and there
+were voices that sung, "Blessing and honor and glory and power be unto
+Him who sitteth on the throne." And then that wonderful star, that shone
+just as if it were a real star&mdash;how could it be! For Miss Ida Lewis,
+being a young lady of native artistic genius, had cut a little hole in
+the centre of her gilt paper star, behind which was placed a candle, so
+that it gave real light, in a way most astonishing to untaught eyes. In
+Dolly's simple view it verged on the supernatural&mdash;perhaps it was <i>the</i>
+very real star read about in the Gospel story. Why not? Dolly was at the
+happy age when anything bright and heavenly seemed credible, and had the
+child-faith to which all things were possible.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish, my dear," said Mrs. Cushing, after they were retired to their
+room for the night, "that to-morrow morning you would read the account
+of the birth of Christ in St. Matthew, and give the children some advice
+upon the proper way of keeping Christmas."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p><p>"Well, but you know we don't <i>keep</i> Christmas; nobody knows anything
+about Christmas," said the Doctor.</p>
+
+<p>"You know what I mean, my dear," replied his wife. "You know that my
+mother and her family <i>do</i> keep Christmas. I always heard of it when I
+was a child; and even now, though I have been out of the way of it so
+long, I cannot help a sort of kindly feeling toward these ways. I am not
+surprised at all that the children got drawn over last night to the
+service. I think it's the most natural thing in the world, and I know by
+experience just how attractive such things are. I shouldn't wonder if
+this other church should draw very seriously on your congregation; but I
+don't want it to begin by taking away our own children. Dolly is an
+inquisitive child; a child that thinks a good deal, and she'll be asking
+all sorts of questions about the why and wherefore of what she saw last night."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, Dolly is a bright one. Dolly's an uncommon child," said the
+Doctor, who had a pardonable pride in his children&mdash;they being, in fact,
+the only worldly treasure that he was at all rich in.</p>
+
+<p>He rose up early on the following Sabbath and proceeded to buy a sugar
+dog at the store of Lucius Jenks, and when Dolly came down to breakfast
+he called her to him and presented it, saying as he kissed her:</p>
+
+<p>"Papa gives you this, not because it is Christmas, but because he loves
+his little Dolly."</p>
+
+<p>"But <i>isn't</i> it Christmas?" asked Dolly with a puzzled air.</p>
+
+<p>"No, child; nobody knows when Christ was born, and there is nothing in
+the Bible to tell us <i>when</i> to keep Christmas."</p>
+
+<p>And then in family worship the Doctor read the account of the birth of
+Christ and of the shepherds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> abiding in the fields who came at the call
+of the angels, and they sung the old hymn:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div>"While shepherds watched their flocks by night."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"Now, children," he said when all was over, "you must be good children
+and go to school. If we are going to keep any day on account of the
+birth of Christ, the best way to keep it is by doing all our duties on
+that day better than any other. Your duty is to be good children, go to
+school and mind your lessons."</p>
+
+<p>Tom and Bill were quite ready to fall in with their father's view of the
+matter. As for Dolly, she put her little tongue advisedly to the back of
+her sugar dog and found that he was very sweet indeed&mdash;a most tempting
+little animal. She even went so far as to nibble off a bit of the green
+ground he stood on&mdash;yet resolved heroically not to eat him at once, but
+to make him last as long as possible. She wrapped him tenderly in cotton
+and took him to the school with her, and when her confidential friend,
+Bessie Lewis, displayed her Christmas gifts, Dolly had something on her
+side to show, though she shook her curly head and informed Bessie in
+strict confidence that there wasn't any such thing as Christmas, her
+papa had told her so&mdash;a heresy which Bessie forthwith reported when she
+went home at noon.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor little child&mdash;and did she say so?" asked gentle old Grandmamma
+Lewis. "Well, dear, you mustn't blame her&mdash;she don't know any better.
+You bring the little one in here to-night and I'll give her a Christmas
+cooky. I'm sorry for such children."</p>
+
+<p>And so, after school, Dolly went in to see dear old Madam Lewis, who sat
+in her rocking-chair in the front parlor, where the fire was snapping
+behind great tall brass andirons and all the pictures were overshadowed
+with boughs of spruce<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> and pine. Dolly gazed about her with awe and
+wonder. Over one of the pictures was suspended a cross of green with
+flowers of white everlasting.</p>
+
+<p>"What is <i>that</i> for?" asked Dolly, pointing solemnly with her little
+forefinger, and speaking under her breath.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear child, that is the picture of my poor boy who died&mdash;ever so many
+years ago. That is my cross&mdash;we have all one&mdash;to carry."</p>
+
+<p>Dolly did not half understand these words, but she saw tears in the
+gentle old lady's eyes and was afraid to ask more.</p>
+
+<p>She accepted thankfully and with her nicest and best executed courtesy a
+Christmas cooky representing a good-sized fish, with fins all spread and
+pink sugar-plums for eyes, and went home marveling yet more about this
+mystery of Christmas.</p>
+
+<p>As she was crossing the green to go home the Poganuc stage drove in,
+with Hiel seated on high, whipping up his horses to make them execute
+that grand <i>entr&eacute;e</i> which was the glory of his daily existence.</p>
+
+<p>Now that the stage was on runners, and slipped noiselessly over the
+smooth frozen plain, Hiel cracked his whip more energetically and
+shouted louder, first to one horse then to another, to make up for the
+loss of the rattling wheels; and he generally had the satisfaction of
+seeing all the women rushing distractedly to doors and windows, and
+imagined them saying, "There's Hiel; the stage is in!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hulloa, Dolly!" he called out, drawing up with a suddenness which threw
+the fore-horses back upon their haunches. "I've got a bundle for your
+folks. Want to ride? You may jest jump up here by me and I'll take you
+'round to your father's door;" and so Dolly reached up her little
+red-mittened hand, and Hiel drew her up beside him.</p>
+
+<p>"'Xpect ye want a bit of a ride, and I've got a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> bundle for Widder
+Badger, down on South Street, so I guess I'll go 'round that way to make
+it longer. I 'xpect this 'ere bundle is from some of your ma's folks in
+Boston&mdash;'Piscopals they be and keeps Christmas. Good-sized bundle 'tis;
+reckon it'll come handy in a good many ways."</p>
+
+<p>So, after finishing his detour, Hiel landed his little charge at the parsonage door.</p>
+
+<p>"Reckon I'll be over when I've put up my hosses," he said to Nabby when
+he handed down the bundle to her. "I hain't been to see you much lately,
+Nabby, and I know you've been a-pinin' after me, but fact is&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, now, Hiel Jones, you jest shet up with your imperence," said
+Nabby, with flashing eyes; "you jest look out or you'll get suthin."</p>
+
+<p>"I 'xpect to get a kiss when I come 'round to-night," said Hiel,
+composedly. "Take care o' that air bundle, now; mebbe there's glass or crockery in't."</p>
+
+<p>"Hiel Jones," said Nabby, "don't give me none o' your saace, for I won't
+take it. Jim Sawin said last night you was the brassiest man he ever
+see. He said there was brass enough in your face to make a kettle of."</p>
+
+<p>"You tell him there's sap enough in his head to fill it, anyway," said
+Hiel. "Good bye, Nabby, I'll come 'round this evenin'," and he drove
+away at a rattling pace, while Nabby, with flushed cheeks and snapping
+eyes, soliloquized:</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I hope he will come! I'd jest like a chance to show him how
+little I care for him."</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the bundle was soon opened, and contained a store of
+treasures: a smart little red dress and a pair of red shoes for Dolly, a
+half dozen pocket-handkerchiefs for Dr. Cushing, and "Robinson Crusoe"
+and "Sanford and Merton," handsomely bound, for the boys, and a bonnet
+trimming for Mrs. Cushing. These were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> accompanied by a characteristic
+letter from Aunt Debby Kittery, opening as follows:</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Sister</span>:</p>
+
+<p>"Mother worries because she thinks you won't get any Christmas
+presents. However, this comes to give every one of you some of the
+crumbs which fall from the church's table, and Mother says she
+wishes you all a pious Christmas, which she thinks is better than a
+merry one. If I didn't lay violent hands on her she would use all
+our substance in riotous giving of Christmas presents to all the
+beggars and chimney sweeps in Boston. She is in good health and
+talks daily of wanting to see you and the children; and I hope
+before long you will bring some of them, and come and make us a
+visit.</p>
+
+<p class="center">"Your affectionate sister,</p>
+
+<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Debby Kittery</span>."</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>There was a scene of exultation and clamor in the parsonage as these
+presents were pulled out and discussed; and when all possible joy was
+procured from them in the sitting-room, the children rushed in a body
+into the kitchen and showed them to Nabby, calling on her to join their
+acclamations.</p>
+
+<p>On the whole, when Dolly had said her prayers that night and thought the
+matter over, she concluded that her Christmas Day had been quite a success.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">The Second Christmas.</span></h3>
+
+<p>Once more had Christmas come round in Poganuc; once more the Episcopal
+church was being dressed with ground-pine and spruce; but this year
+economy had begun to make its claims felt. An illumination might do very
+well to open a church,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> but there were many who said "to what purpose is
+this waste?" when the proposition was made to renew it yearly.
+Consequently it was resolved to hold the Christmas Eve service with only
+that necessary amount of light which would enable the worshipers to read the prayers.</p>
+
+<p>On this Christmas Eve Dolly went to bed at her usual hour with a
+resigned and quiet spirit. She felt herself a year older, and more than
+a year wiser, than when Christmas had first dawned upon her consciousness.</p>
+
+<p>Mis' Persis appeared on the ground by day-dawn. A great kettle was slung
+over the kitchen fire, in which cakes of tallow were speedily
+liquefying; a frame was placed quite across the kitchen to sustain
+candle-rods, with a train of boards underneath to catch the drippings,
+and Mis' Persis, with a brow like one of the Fates, announced: "Now we
+can't hev any young 'uns in this kitchen to-day;" and Dolly saw that
+there was no getting any attention in that quarter.</p>
+
+<p>Mis' Persis, in a gracious Saturday afternoon mood, sitting in her own
+tent-door dispensing hospitalities and cookies, was one thing; but Mis'
+Persis in her armor, with her loins girded and a hard day's work to be
+conquered, was quite another: she was terrible as Minerva with her helmet on.</p>
+
+<p>Dinner-baskets for all the children were hastily packed, and they were
+sent off to school with the injunction on no account to show their faces
+about the premises till night. The Doctor, warned of what was going on,
+retreated to his study at the top of the house, where, serenely above
+the lower cares of earth, he sailed off into President Edwards' treatise
+on the nature of true virtue, concerning which he was preparing a paper
+to read at the next association meeting.</p>
+
+<p>That candles were a necessity of life he was well<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> convinced, and by
+faith he dimly accepted the fact that one day in the year the whole
+house was to be devoted and given up to this manufacture; and his part
+of the business, as he understood it, was, clearly, to keep himself out
+of the way till it was over.</p>
+
+<p>"There won't be much of a dinner at home, anyway," said Nabby to Dolly,
+as she packed her basket with an extra doughnut or two. "I've got to go
+to church to-day, 'cause I'm one of the singers, and your ma'll be busy
+waitin' on <i>her</i>; so we shall just have a pick-up dinner, and you be
+sure not to come home till night; by that time it'll be all over."</p>
+
+<p>Dolly trotted off to school well content with the prospect before her: a
+nooning, with leave to play with the girls at school, was not an
+unpleasant idea.</p>
+
+<p>But the first thing that saluted her on her arrival was that Bessie
+Lewis&mdash;her own dear, particular Bessie&mdash;was going to have a Christmas
+party at her house that afternoon, and was around distributing
+invitations right and left among the scholars with a generous freedom.</p>
+
+<p>"We are going to have nuts, and raisins, and cakes, and mottoes," said
+Bessie, with artless triumph. The news of this bill of fare spread like
+wildfire through the school.</p>
+
+<p>Never had a party been heard of which contemplated such a liberal
+entertainment, for the rising generation of Poganuc were by no means
+wearied with indulgence, and raisins and almonds stood for grandeur with
+them. But these <i>mottoes</i>, which consisted of bits of confectionery
+wrapped up in printed couplets of sentimental poetry, were an unheard-of
+refinement. Bessie assured them that her papa had sent clear to Boston
+for them, and whoever got one would have his or her fortune told by it.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p><p>The school was a small, select one, comprising the children of all ages
+from the best families of Poganuc. Both boys and girls, and all with
+great impartiality, had been invited. Miss Titcome, the teacher, quite
+readily promised to dismiss at three o'clock that afternoon any scholar
+who should bring a permission from parents, and the children nothing
+doubted that such a permission was obtainable.</p>
+
+<p>Dolly alone saw a cloud in the horizon. She had been sent away with
+strict injunctions not to return till evening, and children in those
+days never presumed to make any exceptions in obeying an absolute
+command of their parents.</p>
+
+<p>"But, of course, you will go home at noon and ask your mother, and of
+course she'll let you; won't she, girls?" said Bessie.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, certainly; of course she will," said all the older girls, "because
+you know a party is a thing that don't happen every day, and your mother
+would think it strange if you <i>didn't</i> come and ask her." So, too,
+thought Miss Titcome, a most exemplary, precise and proper young lady,
+who always moved and spoke and thought as became a schoolmistress, so
+that, although she was in reality only twenty years old, Dolly
+considered her as a very advanced and ancient person&mdash;if anything, a
+little older than her father and mother.</p>
+
+<p>Even she was of opinion that Dolly might properly go home to lay a case
+of such importance before her mother; and so Dolly rushed home after the
+morning school was over, running with all her might, and increasing in
+mental excitement as she ran. Her bonnet blew off upon her shoulders,
+her curls flew behind her in the wind, and she most inconsiderately used
+up the little stock of breath that she would want to set her cause in
+order before her mother.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p><p>Just here we must beg any mother and housekeeper to imagine herself in
+the very midst of the most delicate, perplexing and laborious of
+household tasks, when interruption is most irksome and perilous,
+suddenly called to discuss with a child some new and startling
+proposition to which at the moment she cannot even give a thought.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Cushing was sitting in the kitchen with Mis' Persis, by the side of
+a caldron of melted tallow, kept in a fluid state by the heat of a
+portable furnace on which it stood. A long train of half-dipped candles
+hung like so many stalactites from the frames on which the rods rested,
+and the two were patiently dipping set after set and replacing them
+again on the frame.</p>
+
+<p>"As sure as I'm alive! if there isn't Dolly Cushing comin' back&mdash;runnin'
+and tearin' like a wild cretur'," said Mis' Persis. "She'll be in here
+in a minute and knock everything down!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Cushing looked, and with a quick movement stepped to the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Dolly! what are you here for? Didn't I tell you not to come home this noon?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mamma, there's going to be a party at General Lewis'&mdash;Bessie's
+party&mdash;and the girls are all going; mayn't I go?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, you can't; it's impossible," said her mother. "Your best dress
+isn't ready to wear, and there's nobody can spend time to get you ready.
+Go right back to school."</p>
+
+<p>"But, mamma&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Go!" said her mother, in the decisive tone that mothers used in the old
+days, when arguing with children was not a possibility.</p>
+
+<p>"What's all this about?" asked the Doctor, looking out of the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Why," said Mrs. Cushing, "there's going to be a party at General
+Lewis', and Dolly is wild to go. It's just impossible for me to attend to her now."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, I don't want her intimate at Lewis's," said the Doctor, and
+immediately he came out behind his wife.</p>
+
+<p>"There; run away to school, Dolly," he said. "Don't trouble your mother;
+you don't want to go to parties; why, it's foolish to think of it. Run
+away now, and don't think any more about it&mdash;there's a good girl!"</p>
+
+<p>Dolly turned and went back to school, the tears freezing on her cheek as
+she went. As for not thinking any more about it&mdash;that was impossible.</p>
+
+<p>When three o'clock came, scholar after scholar rose and departed, until
+at last Dolly was the only one remaining in the school-room.</p>
+
+<p>When Dolly came home that night the coast was clear, and the candles
+were finished and put away to harden in a freezing cold room; the
+kitchen was once more restored, and Nabby bustled about getting supper
+as if nothing had happened.</p>
+
+<p>"I really feel sorry about poor little Dolly," said Mrs. Cushing to her husband.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think she cared much?" asked the Doctor, looking as if a new
+possibility had struck his mind.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, indeed, poor child, she went away crying; but what could I do
+about it? I couldn't stop to dress her."</p>
+
+<p>"Wife, we must take her somewhere to make up for it," said the Doctor.</p>
+
+<p>Just then the stage stopped at the door and a bundle from Boston was
+handed in. Dolly's tears were soon wiped and dried, and her mourning was
+turned into joy when a large jointed London doll emerged from the
+bundle, the Christmas gift of her grandmother in Boston.</p>
+
+<p>Dolly's former darling was old and shabby, but this was of twice the
+size, and with cheeks exhibiting a state of the most florid health.</p>
+
+<p>Besides this there was, as usual in grandmamma's Christmas bundle,
+something for every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> member of the family; and so the evening went on
+festive wings.</p>
+
+<p>Poor little Dolly! only that afternoon she had watered with her tears,
+at school, the dismal long straight seam, which stretched on before her
+as life sometimes does to us, bare, disagreeable and cheerless. She had
+come home crying, little dreaming of the joy just approaching; but
+before bed-time no cricket in the hearth was cheerier or more noisy. She
+took the new dolly to bed with her, and could hardly sleep, for the
+excitement of her company.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Hiel had brought the Doctor a message to the following effect:</p>
+
+<p>"I was drivin' by Tim Hawkins', and Mis' Hawkins she comes out and says
+they're goin' to hev an apple-cuttin' there to-morrow night, and she
+would like to hev you and Mis' Cushin' and all your folks come&mdash;Nabby
+and all."</p>
+
+<p>The Doctor and his lady of course assented.</p>
+
+<p>"Wal, then, Doctor&mdash;ef it's all one to you," continued Hiel, "I'd like
+to take ye over in my new double sleigh. I've jest got two new strings
+o' bells up from Boston, and I think we'll sort o' make the snow fly.
+S'pose there'd be no objections to takin' my mother 'long with ye?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Hiel, we shall be delighted to go in company with your mother, and
+we're ever so much obliged to you," said Mrs. Cushing.</p>
+
+<p>"Wal, I'll be round by six o'clock," said Hiel.</p>
+
+<p>"Then, wife," said the Doctor, "we'll take Dolly, and make up for the
+loss of her party."</p>
+
+<p>Punctually at six, Hiel's two horses, with all their bells jingling,
+stood at the door of the parsonage, whence Tom and Bill, who had been
+waiting with caps and mittens on for the last half hour, burst forth
+with irrepressible shouts of welcome.</p>
+
+<p>"Take care now, boys; don't haul them buffalo skins out on t' the snow,"
+said Hiel. "Don't get things in a muss gen'ally; wait for your ma and
+the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> Doctor. Got to stow the grown folks in fust; boys kin hang on
+anywhere."</p>
+
+<p>And so first came Mrs. Cushing and the Doctor, and were installed on the
+back seat, with Dolly in between. Then hot bricks were handed in to keep
+feet warm, and the buffalo robe was tucked down securely. Then Nabby
+took her seat by Hiel in front, and the sleigh drove round for old Mrs.
+Jones. The Doctor insisted on giving up his place to her and tucking her
+warmly under the buffalo robe, while he took the middle seat and acted
+as moderator between the boys, who were in a wild state of hilarity.
+Spring, with explosive barks, raced first on this and then on that side
+of the sleigh as it flew swiftly over the smooth frozen road.</p>
+
+<p>The stars blinked white and clear out of a deep blue sky, and the path
+wound up-hill among cedars and junipers and clumps of mountain laurel,
+on whose broad green leaves the tufts of snow lay like clusters of white
+roses. The keen clear air was full of stimulus and vigor; and so Hiel's
+proposition to take the longest way met with enthusiastic welcome from
+all the party. Next to being a bird, and having wings, is the sensation
+of being borne over the snow by a pair of spirited horses who enjoy the
+race, apparently, as much as those they draw. Though Hiel contrived to
+make the ride about eight miles, it yet seemed but a short time before
+the party drove up to the great red farmhouse, whose lighted windows
+sent streams of radiant welcome far out into the night.</p>
+
+<p>Our little Dolly had had an evening of unmixed bliss. Everybody had
+petted her, and talked to her, and been delighted with her sayings and
+doings, and she was carrying home a paper parcel of sweet things which
+good Mrs. Hawkins had forced into her hand at parting. She had spent a
+really happy Christmas!</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="THE_CHRISTMAS_PRINCESS" id="THE_CHRISTMAS_PRINCESS"></a>THE CHRISTMAS PRINCESS.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY MRS. MOLESWORTH.</h3>
+
+<p>In the olden times there lived a king who was worthy of the name. He
+loved his people, and his people loved him in return. His kingdom must
+have been large; at least it appears to be beyond doubt that it extended
+a good way in different directions, for it was called the Kingdom of the
+Four Orts, which, of course, as everybody knows, means that he had
+possessions north, south, east, and west.</p>
+
+<p>It was not so large, however, but that he was able to manage it well for
+himself&mdash;that is to say, with certain help which I will tell you of. A
+year never passed without his visiting every part of his dominions and
+inquiring for himself into the affairs of his subjects. Perhaps&mdash;who can
+say?&mdash;the world was not so big in those days; doubtless, however that
+may have been, there were not so many folk living on it.</p>
+
+<p>Many things were different in those times: many things existed which
+nowadays would be thought strange and incredible. Human beings knew much
+more than they do now about the other dwellers on the earth. For
+instance, it was no uncommon case to find learned men who were able to
+converse with animals quite as well as with each other. Fairies, of
+course, were often visible to mortal eyes, and it was considered quite
+natural that they should interfere for good&mdash;sometimes, perhaps, for
+evil; as to that I cannot say&mdash;in human affairs. And good King
+Brave-Heart was especially favored in this way. For the help which, as I
+said, was his in governing his people was that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> of four very wise
+counselors indeed&mdash;the four fairies of the North and the South, the East and the West.</p>
+
+<p>These sisters were very beautiful as well as very wise. Though older
+than the world itself, they always looked young. They were very much
+attached to each other, though they seldom met, and it must be confessed
+that sometimes on such occasions there were stormy scenes, though they
+made it up afterward. And the advice they gave was always to be relied upon.</p>
+
+<p>Now, King Brave-Heart was married. His wife was young and charming, and
+devotedly fond of him. But she was of a rather jealous and exacting
+disposition, and she had been much spoilt in her youth at her own home.
+She was sweet and loving, however, which makes up for a good deal, and
+always ready to take part in any scheme for the good of their people,
+provided it did not separate her from her husband.</p>
+
+<p>They had no children, though they had been married for some years; but
+at last there came the hope of an heir, and the Queen's delight was
+unbounded&mdash;nor was the King's joy less than hers.</p>
+
+<p>It was late autumn, or almost winter, when a great trouble befell the
+pretty Queen. The weather had grown suddenly cold, and a few snowflakes
+even had fallen before their time. But Queen Claribel only clapped her
+hands at the sight, for with the winter she hoped the baby would come,
+and she welcomed the signs of its approach on this account. The King,
+however, looked grave, and when the next morning the ground was all
+white, the trees and the bushes covered with silvery foliage, he looked graver still.</p>
+
+<p>"Something is amiss," he said. "The Fairy of the North must be on her
+way, and it is not yet time for her visit."</p>
+
+<p>And that very afternoon the snow fell again,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> more heavily than before,
+and the frost-wind whistled down the chimneys and burst open the doors
+and windows, and all the palace servants went hurrying and scurrying
+about to make great fires and hang up thick curtains and get everything
+in order for the cold season, which they had not expected so soon.</p>
+
+<p>"It will not last," said the King, quietly. "In a few days there will be
+milder weather again." But, nevertheless, he still looked grave.</p>
+
+<p>And early the next morning, as he was sitting with the Queen, who was
+beginning to feel a little frightened at the continuance of the storm,
+the double doors of her boudoir suddenly flew open, an icy blast filled
+the room, and a tall, white-shrouded figure stood before them.</p>
+
+<p>"I have come to fetch you, Brave-Heart," she said abruptly. "You are
+wanted, sorely wanted, in my part of the world. The people are starving:
+the season has been a poor one, and there has been bad faith. Some few
+powerful men have bought up the grain, which was already scarce, and
+refuse to let the poor folk have it. Nothing will save their lives or
+prevent sad suffering but your own immediate presence. Are you ready?
+You must have seen I was coming."</p>
+
+<p>She threw off her mantle as she spoke and sank on to a couch. Strong as
+she was, she seemed tired with the rate at which she had traveled, and
+the warm air of the room was oppressive to her. Her clear, beautiful
+features looked harassed; her gray eyes full of anxiety. For the moment
+she took no notice of the Queen.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you ready?" she repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I am ready!" said Brave-Heart, as he rose to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>But the Queen threw herself upon him, with bitter crying and reproaches.
+Would he leave <i>her</i>, and at such a time, a prey to all kinds of
+terrible<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> anxiety? Then she turned to the fairy and upbraided her in
+unmeasured language. But the spirit of the North glanced at her with calm pity.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor child!" she said, "I had almost forgotten you. The sights I have
+seen of late have been so terrible that they absorb me. Take courage,
+Claribel! Show yourself a queen. Think of the suffering mothers and
+their little ones whom your husband hastens to aid. All will be well
+with you, believe me. But you, too, must be brave and unselfish."</p>
+
+<p>It was no use. All she said but made the Queen more indignant. She would
+scarcely bid her husband farewell: she turned her back to the fairy with
+undignified petulance.</p>
+
+<p>"Foolish child," said the Northern spirit. "She will learn better some day."</p>
+
+<p>Then she gave all her attention to the matter she had come about,
+explaining to the King as they journeyed exactly the measures he must
+take and the difficulties to be overcome. But though the King had the
+greatest faith in her advice, and never doubted that it was his duty to
+obey, his heart was sore, as you can understand.</p>
+
+<p>Things turned out as he had said. The severe weather disappeared again
+as if by magic, and some weeks of unusually mild days followed. And when
+the winter did set in for good at last, it was with no great rigor. From
+time to time news reached the palace of the King's welfare. The tidings
+were cheering. His presence was effecting all that the fairy had hoped.</p>
+
+<p>So Queen Claribel ought to have been happy. But she was determined not
+to be. She did nothing but cry and abuse the fairy, declaring that she
+would never see her dear Brave-Heart again, and that if ever her baby
+came she was sure it would not live, or that there would be something
+dreadful the matter with it.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p><p>"It is not fair," she kept saying, "it is a shame that I should suffer
+so."</p>
+
+<p>And even when on Christmas Eve a beautiful little girl was born, as
+pretty and lively and healthy as could be wished, and even though the
+next day brought the announcement of the King's immediate return,
+Claribel still nursed her resentment, though in the end it came to be
+directed entirely against the fairy. For when she saw Brave-Heart again,
+his tender affection and his delight in his little daughter made it
+impossible for her not to "forgive him," as she expressed it, though she
+could not take any interest in his accounts of his visit to the north
+and all he had been able to do there.</p>
+
+<p>A great feast was arranged in honor of the christening of the little
+Princess. All the grand people of the neighborhood were bidden to it,
+nor, you may be sure, did the good King forget the poorer folk. The four
+fairies were invited, for it was a matter of course that they should be
+the baby's godmothers. And though the Queen would gladly have excluded
+the Northern fairy, she dared not even hint at such a thing.</p>
+
+<p>But she resolved in her own mind to do all in her power to show that she
+was not the welcome fairy.</p>
+
+<p>On such occasions, when human beings were honored by the presence of
+fairy visitors, these distinguished guests were naturally given
+precedence of all others, otherwise very certainly they would never have
+come again. Even among fairies themselves there are ranks and
+formalities, and the Queen well knew that the first place was due to the
+Northern spirit. But she gave instructions that this rule should be
+departed from, and the Snow fairy, as she was sometimes called, found
+herself placed at the King's left hand, separated from him by her sister
+of the West, instead of next to him on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> the right, which seat, on the
+contrary, was occupied by the fairy of the South. She glanced round her
+calmly, but took no notice; and the King, imagining that by her own
+choice perhaps, she had chosen the unusual position, made no remark. And
+the feast progressed with the accustomed splendor and rejoicing.</p>
+
+<p>But at the end, when the moment arrived at which the four godmothers
+were expected to state their gifts to the baby, the Queen's spite could
+be no longer concealed.</p>
+
+<p>"I request," she exclaimed, "that for reasons well known to herself, to
+the King, and to myself, the Northern fairy's gift may be the last in
+order instead of the first."</p>
+
+<p>The King started and grew pale. The beautiful, soft-voiced fairy of the
+South, in her glowing golden draperies, would fain have held back, for
+her affection for her sterner sister was largely mingled with awe. But
+the Snow fairy signed to her imperiously to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"I bestow upon the Princess Sweet-Heart," she said, half tremblingly,
+"the gift of great beauty."</p>
+
+<p>"And I," said the spirit of the East, who came next, her red robes
+falling majestically around her, her dark hair lying smoothly in its
+thick masses on her broad, low forehead, "I give her great powers of
+intellect and intelligence."</p>
+
+<p>"And I," said the Western fairy, with a bright, breezy flutter of her
+sea-green garments, "health&mdash;perfect health and strength of body, as my
+gift to the pretty child."</p>
+
+<p>"And you," said the Queen bitterly, "you, cold-hearted fairy, who have
+done your best to kill me with misery, who came between my husband and
+me, making him neglect me as he never would have done but for your
+influence&mdash;what will <i>you</i> give my child? Will you do something to make
+amends for the suffering you caused? I would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> rather my pretty baby were
+dead than that she lived to endure what I have of late endured."</p>
+
+<p>"Life and death are not mine to bestow or to withhold," said the
+Northern spirit calmly, as she drew her white garments more closely
+round her with a majestic air. "So your rash words, foolish woman,
+fortunately for you all, cannot touch the child. But something&mdash;much&mdash;I
+can do, and I will. She shall not know the suffering you dread for her
+with so cowardly a fear. She shall be what you choose to fancy <i>I</i> am.
+And instead of the name you have given her, she shall be known for what
+she is&mdash;Princess Ice-Heart."</p>
+
+<p>She turned to go, but the King on one hand, her three sisters on the
+other, started forward to detain her.</p>
+
+<p>"Have pity!" exclaimed the former.</p>
+
+<p>"Sister, bethink you," said the latter; the Western fairy adding
+beseechingly, the tears springing in her blue eyes, which so quickly
+changed from bright to sad, "Say something to soften this hard fate.
+Undo it you cannot, I know. Or, at least, allow me to mitigate it if I can."</p>
+
+<p>The Snow fairy stopped; in truth, she was far from hard-hearted or
+remorseless, and already she was beginning to feel half sorry for what
+she had done.</p>
+
+<p>"What would you propose?" she said coldly.</p>
+
+<p>The fairy of the West threw back her auburn hair with a gesture of impatience.</p>
+
+<p>"I would I knew!" she said. "'Tis a hard knot you have tied, my sister.
+For that which would mend the evil wrought seems to me impossible while
+the evil exists&mdash;the cure and the cessation of the disease are one. How
+could the heart of ice be melted till tender feelings warm it, and how
+can tender feelings find entrance into a feelingless heart? Alas! alas!
+I can but predict what sounds like a mockery of your trouble," she went
+on,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> turning to the King, though indeed by this time she might have
+included the Queen in her sympathy, for Claribel stood, horrified at the
+result of her mad resentment, as pale as Brave-Heart himself. "Hearken!"
+and her expressive face, over which sunshine and showers were wont to
+chase each other as on an April day&mdash;for such, as all know, is the
+nature of the changeful, lovable spirit of the West&mdash;for once grew still
+and statue-like, while her blue eyes pierced far into the distance. "The
+day on which the Princess of the Icy Heart shall shed a tear, that heart
+shall melt&mdash;but then only."</p>
+
+<p>The Northern fairy murmured something under her breath, but what the
+words were no one heard, for it was not many that dared stand near to
+her, so terribly cold was her presence. The graceful spirit of the South
+fluttered her golden locks, and with a little sigh drew her radiant
+mantle round her, and kissed her hand in farewell, while the
+thoughtful-eyed, mysterious Eastern fairy linked her arm in that of her
+Western sister, and whispered that the solution of the problem should
+have her most earnest study. And the green-robed spirit tried to smile
+through her tears in farewell as she suffered herself to be led away.</p>
+
+<p>So the four strange guests departed; but their absence was not followed
+by the usual outburst of unconstrained festivity. On the contrary, a
+sense of sorrow and dread hung over all who remained, and before long
+everyone not immediately connected with the palace respectfully but
+silently withdrew, leaving the King and Queen to their mysterious sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>Claribel flew to the baby's cradle. The little Princess was sleeping
+soundly; she looked rosy and content&mdash;a picture of health. Her mother
+called eagerly to the King.</p>
+
+<p>"She seems just as usual," she exclaimed. "Perhaps&mdash;oh! perhaps after
+all I have done no harm."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p><p>For, strange to say, her resentment against the Northern fairy had died
+away. She now felt nothing but shame and regret for her own wild temper.
+"Perhaps," she went on, "it was but to try me, to teach me a lesson,
+that the Snow fairy uttered those terrible words."</p>
+
+<p>Brave-Heart pitied his wife deeply, but he shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"I dare not comfort you with any such hopes," he said, "my poor
+Claribel. The fairy is true&mdash;true as steel&mdash;if you could but have
+trusted her! Had you seen her, as I have done&mdash;full of tenderest pity
+for suffering&mdash;you could never have so maligned her."</p>
+
+<p>Claribel did not answer, but her tears dropped on the baby's face. The
+little Princess seemed annoyed by them. She put up her tiny hand and,
+with a fretful expression, brushed them off.</p>
+
+<p>And that very evening the certainty came.</p>
+
+<p>The head nurse sent for the Queen while she was undressing the child,
+and the mother hastened to the nursery. The attendants were standing
+round in the greatest anxiety, for, though the baby looked quite well
+otherwise, there was the strangest coldness over her left side, in the
+region of the heart. The skin looked perfectly colorless, and the soft
+cambric and still softer flannel of the finest which had covered the
+spot were stiff, as if they had been exposed to a winter night's frost.</p>
+
+<p>"Alas!" exclaimed Claribel, but that was all. It was no use sending for
+doctors&mdash;no use doing anything. Her own delicate hand when she laid it
+on the baby's heart was, as it were, blistered with cold. The next
+morning she found it covered with chilblains.</p>
+
+<p>But the baby did not mind. She flourished amazingly, heart or no heart.
+She was perfectly healthy, ate well, slept well, and soon gave signs of
+unusual intelligence. She was seldom put out,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> but when angry she
+expressed her feelings by loud roars and screams, though with never a
+tear! At first this did not seem strange, as no infant sheds tears
+during the earliest weeks of its life. But when she grew to six months
+old, then to a year, then to two and three, and was near her fourth
+birthday without ever crying, it became plain that the prediction was
+indeed to be fulfilled.</p>
+
+<p>And the name "Ice-Heart" clung to her. In spite of all her royal
+parents' commands to the contrary, "Princess Ice-Heart" she was called
+far and near. It seemed as if people could not help it. "Sweet-Heart we
+cannot name her, for sweet she is not," was murmured by all who came in
+contact with her.</p>
+
+<p>And it was true. Sweet she certainly was not. She was beautiful and
+healthy and intelligent, but she had no feeling. In some ways she gave
+little trouble. Her temper, though occasionally violent, was, as a rule,
+placid; she seemed contented in almost all circumstances. When her good
+old nurse died, she remarked coolly that she hoped her new attendant
+would dress her hair more becomingly; when King Brave-Heart started on
+some of his distant journeys she bade him good-bye with a smile,
+observing that if he never came home again it would be rather amusing,
+as she would then reign instead of him, and when she saw her mother
+break into sobs at her unnatural speech she stared at her in blank astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>And so things went on until Ice-Heart reached her seventeenth year. By
+this time she was, as regarded her outward appearance, as beautiful as
+the fondest of parents could desire; she was also exceedingly strong and
+healthy, and the powers of her mind were unusual. Her education had been
+carefully directed, and she had learnt with ease and interest. She could
+speak in several languages, her paintings were worthy of admiration, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>
+they were skillful and well executed; she could play with brilliancy on
+various instruments. She had also been taught to sing, but her voice was
+metallic and unpleasing. But she could discuss scientific and
+philosophical subjects with the sages of her father's kingdom like one of themselves.</p>
+
+<p>And besides all this care bestowed upon her training, no stone had been
+left unturned in hopes of awakening in the unfortunate girl some
+affection or emotion. Every day the most soul-stirring poetry was read
+aloud to her by the greatest elocutionists, the most exciting and moving
+dramas were enacted before her; she was taken to visit the poor of the
+city in their pitiable homes; she was encouraged to see sad sights from
+which most soft-hearted maidens would instinctively flee. But all was in
+vain. She would express interest and ask intelligent questions with
+calm, unmoved features and dry eyes. Even music, from which much had
+been hoped, was powerless to move her to aught but admiration of the
+performers' skill or curiosity as to the construction of their
+instruments. There was but one peculiarity about her, which sometimes,
+though they could not have explained why, seemed to Ice-Heart's unhappy
+parents to hint at some shadowy hope. The sight of tears was evidently
+disagreeable to her. More certainly than anything else did the signs of
+weeping arouse one of her rare fits of anger&mdash;so much so that now and
+then, for days together, the poor Queen dared not come near her child,
+and tears were to her a frequent relief from her lifelong regrets.</p>
+
+<p>So beautiful and wealthy and accomplished a maiden was naturally not
+without suitors; and from this direction, too, at first, Queen Claribel
+trusted fondly that cure might come.</p>
+
+<p>"If she could but fall in love," she said, the first time the idea struck her.</p>
+
+<p>"My poor dear!" replied the King, "to see,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> you must have eyes; to love,
+you must have a heart."</p>
+
+<p>"But a heart she has," persisted the mother. "It is only, as it were,
+asleep&mdash;frozen, like the winter stream which bursts forth again into
+ever fresh life and movement with the awaking spring."</p>
+
+<p>So lovers were invited, and lovers came and were made welcome by the
+dozen. Lovers of every description&mdash;rich and poor, old and young,
+handsome and ugly&mdash;so long as they were of passable birth and fair
+character, King Brave-Heart was not too particular&mdash;in the forlorn hope
+that among them one fortunate wight might rouse some sentiment in the
+lovely statue he desired to win. But all in vain. Each prince, or duke,
+or simple knight, duly instructed in the sad case, did his best: one
+would try poetry, another his lute, a third sighs and appeals, a fourth,
+imagining he had made some way, would attempt the bold stroke of telling
+Ice-Heart that unless she could respond to his adoration he would drown
+himself. She only smiled, and begged him to allow her to witness the
+performance&mdash;she had never seen anyone drown. So, one by one, the troupe
+of aspirants&mdash;some in disgust, some in strange fear, some in
+annoyance&mdash;took their departure, preferring a more ordinary spouse than
+the bewitched though beautiful Princess.</p>
+
+<p>And she saw them go with calmness, though, in one or two cases she had
+replied to her parents that she had no objection to marry Prince
+So-and-so, or Count Such-another, if they desired it&mdash;it would be rather
+agreeable to have a husband if he gave her plenty of presents and did
+all she asked. "Though a sighing and moaning lover, or a man who is
+always twiddling a fiddle or making verses I could not stand," she would add contemptuously.</p>
+
+<p>So King Brave-Heart thought it best to try no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> such experiment. And in
+future no gentleman was allowed to present himself except with the
+understanding that he alone who should succeed in making Princess
+Ice-Heart shed a tear would be accepted as her betrothed.</p>
+
+<p>This proclamation diminished at once the number of suitors. Indeed,
+after one or two candidates had failed, no more appeared&mdash;so well did it
+come to be known that the attempt was hopeless.</p>
+
+<p>And for more than a year Princess Ice-Heart was left to herself&mdash;very
+much, apparently, to her satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>But all this time the mystic sisters were not idle or forgetful. Several
+of the aspirants to Ice-Heart's hand had been chosen by them and
+conveyed to the neighborhood of the palace by their intermediacy from
+remote lands. And among these, one of the few who had found some slight
+favor in the maiden's eyes was a special prot&eacute;g&eacute; of the Western
+fairy&mdash;the young and spirited Prince Francolin.</p>
+
+<p>He was not one of the sighing or sentimental order of swains; he was
+full of life and adventure and brightness, and his heart was warm and
+generous. He admired the beautiful girl, but he pitied her still more,
+and this pity was the real motive which made him yield to the fairy's
+proposal that he should try again.</p>
+
+<p>"You pleased the poor child," she said, when she arrived one day at the
+Prince's home to talk over her new idea. "You made her smile by your
+liveliness and fun. For I was there when you little knew it. The girl
+has been overdosed with sentimentality and doleful strains. I believe we
+have been on a wrong track all this time."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you propose?" said Francolin, gravely, for he could be serious
+enough when seriousness was called for. "She did not actually dislike
+me, but that is the most that can be said;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> and however I may feel for
+her, however I may admire her beauty and intelligence, nothing would
+induce me to wed a bride who could not return my affection. Indeed, I
+could scarcely feel any for such a one."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah no! I agree with you entirely," said the fairy. "But listen&mdash;my
+power is great in some ways. I am well versed in ordinary enchantment,
+and am most willing to employ my utmost skill for my unfortunate god-daughter."</p>
+
+<p>She then unfolded to him her scheme, and obtained his consent to it.</p>
+
+<p>"Now is your time," she said, in conclusion. "I hear on the best
+authority that Ice-Heart is feeling rather dull and bored at present. It
+is some time since she has had the variety of a new suitor, and she will
+welcome any distraction."</p>
+
+<p>And she proceeded to arrange all the details of her plan.</p>
+
+<p>So it came to pass that very shortly after the conversation I have
+related there was great excitement in the capital city of the Kingdom of
+the Four Orts. After an interval of more than a year a new suitor had at
+length presented himself for the hand of the Princess Ice-Heart. Only
+the King and Queen received the news with melancholy indifference.</p>
+
+<p>"He may try as the others have done," said Brave-Heart to the messenger
+announcing the arrival of the stranger at the gates, accompanied by a
+magnificent retinue; "but it is useless." For the poor King was fast
+losing all hope of his daughter's case; he was growing aged and
+care-worn before his time.</p>
+
+<p>"Does he know the terms attached to his acceptance?" inquired the Queen.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, the messenger from the unknown candidate for the hand of the
+beautiful Ice-Heart had been expressly charged to say that the Prince
+Jocko<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>&mdash;such was the new-comer's name&mdash;was fully informed as to all
+particulars, and prepared to comply with the conditions.</p>
+
+<p>The Princess' parents smiled somewhat bitterly. They had no hope, but
+still they could not forbid the attempt.</p>
+
+<p>"Prince Jocko?" said the King, "not a very prince-like name. However, it matters little."</p>
+
+<p>A few hours later the royal pair and their daughter, with all their
+attendants, in great state and ceremony, were awaiting their guest. And
+soon a blast of trumpets announced his approach. His retinue was indeed
+magnificent; horsemen in splendid uniforms, followed by a troop of white
+mules with negro riders in gorgeous attire, then musicians, succeeded by
+the Prince's immediate attendants, defiled before the great marble steps
+in front of the palace, at the summit of which the King, with the Queen
+and Princess, was seated in state.</p>
+
+<p>Ice-Heart clapped her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis as good as a show," she said, "but where is the Prince?"</p>
+
+<p>As she said the word the cort&eacute;ge halted. A litter, with closely drawn
+curtains, drew up at the foot of the steps.</p>
+
+<p>"Gracious!" exclaimed the Princess, "I hope he is not a molly-coddle;"
+but before there was time to say more the curtains of the litter were
+drawn aside, and in another moment an attendant had lifted out its
+occupant, who forthwith proceeded to ascend the steps.</p>
+
+<p>The parents and their daughter stared at each other and gasped.</p>
+
+<p>Prince Jocko was neither more nor less than a monkey!</p>
+
+<p>But such a monkey as never before had been seen. He was more comical
+than words can express, and when at last he stood before them, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>
+bowed to the ground, a three-cornered hat in his hand, his sword
+sticking straight out behind, his tail sweeping the ground, the effect
+was irresistible. King Brave-Heart turned his head aside. Queen Claribel
+smothered her face in her handkerchief. Princess Ice-Heart opened her
+pretty mouth wide and forgot to close it again, while a curious
+expression stole into her beautiful eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Was it a trick?</p>
+
+<p>No; Prince Jocko proceeded to speak.</p>
+
+<p>He laid his little brown paw on his heart, bowed again, coughed,
+sneezed, and finally began an oration. If his appearance was too funny,
+his words and gestures were a hundred times more so. He rolled his eyes,
+he declaimed, he posed and pirouetted like a miniature dancing-master,
+and his little cracked voice rose higher and higher as his own fine
+words and expressions increased in eloquence.</p>
+
+<p>And at last a sound&mdash;which never before had been heard, save
+faintly&mdash;made everyone start. The Princess was laughing as if she could
+no longer contain herself. Clear, ringing, merry laughter, which it did
+one's heart good to hear. And on she went, laughing ever, till&mdash;she
+flung herself at her mother's feet, the tears rolling down her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mamma!" she exclaimed, "I never&mdash;" and then she went off again.</p>
+
+<p>But Prince Jocko suddenly grew silent. He stepped up to Ice-Heart and,
+respectfully raising her hand to his lips, gazed earnestly, beseechingly
+into her face, his own keen sharp eyes gradually growing larger and
+deeper in expression, till they assumed the pathetic, wistful look of
+appeal one often sees in those of a noble dog.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, Princess!" he murmured.</p>
+
+<p>And Ice-Heart stopped laughing. She pressed her hand to her side.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p><p>"Father! mother!" she cried, "help me! help me! Am I dying? What has
+happened to me?" And, with a strange, long drawn sigh she sank fainting to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>There was great excitement in the palace, hurrying to and fro, fetching
+of doctors, and much alarm. But when the Princess had been carried
+indoors and laid on a couch, she soon revived. And who can describe the
+feelings of the King and Queen when she turned to them with a smile such
+as they had never seen on her face before.</p>
+
+<p>"Dearest father, dearest mother," she said, "how I love you! Those
+strange warm drops that filled my eyes seem to have brought new life to
+me," and as the Queen passed her arm round the maiden she felt no chill
+of cold such as used to thrill her with misery every time she embraced her child.</p>
+
+<p>"Sweet-Heart! my own Sweet-Heart!" she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>And the Princess whispered back, "Yes, call me by that name always."</p>
+
+<p>All was rejoicing when the wonderful news of the miraculous cure spread
+through the palace and the city. But still the parents' hearts were
+sore, for was not the King's word pledged that his daughter should marry
+him who had effected this happy change? And this was no other than
+Jocko, the monkey!</p>
+
+<p>The Prince had disappeared at the moment that Ice-Heart fainted, and now
+with his retinue he was encamped outside the walls. All sorts of ideas
+occurred to the King.</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot break my word," he said, "but we might try to persuade the
+little monster to release me from it."</p>
+
+<p>But the Princess would not hear of this.</p>
+
+<p>"No," she said. "I owe him too deep a debt of gratitude to think of such
+a thing. And in his eyes I read more than I can put in words. No,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> dear
+father! you must summon him at once to be presented to our people as my affianced husband."</p>
+
+<p>So again the cort&eacute;ge of Prince Jocko made its way to the palace, and
+again the litter, with its closely drawn curtains, drew up at the marble
+steps. And Sweet-Heart stood, pale, but calm and smiling, to welcome her ridiculous betrothed.</p>
+
+<p>But who is this that quickly mounts the stairs with firm and manly
+tread? Sweet-Heart nearly swooned again.</p>
+
+<p>"Jocko?" she murmured. "Where is Jocko? Why, this is Prince Francolin!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear child," said a bright voice beside her; and, turning round,
+Sweet-Heart beheld the Western fairy, who, with her sisters, had
+suddenly arrived. "Yes, indeed! Francolin, and no other!"</p>
+
+<p>The universal joy may be imagined. Even the grave fairy of the North
+smiled with pleasure and delight, and, as she kissed her pretty
+god-daughter, she took the girl's hand and pressed it against her own heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Never misjudge me, Sweet-Heart," she whispered. "Cold as I seem to
+those who have not courage to approach me closely, my heart, under my
+icy mantle, is as warm as is now your own."</p>
+
+<p>And so it was.</p>
+
+<p>Where can we get a better ending than the time-honored one? Francolin
+and Sweet-Heart were married, and lived happy ever after, and who knows
+but what, in the Kingdom of the Four Orts, they are living happily still?</p>
+
+<p>If only we knew the way thither, we might see for ourselves if it is so.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="WIDOW_TOWNSENDS_VISITOR" id="WIDOW_TOWNSENDS_VISITOR"></a>WIDOW TOWNSEND'S VISITOR.</h2>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<p>The fire crackled cheerfully on the broad hearth of an old-fashioned
+fireplace in an old-fashioned public house in an old fashioned village,
+down in that part of the Old Dominion called the "Eastern Shore." A cat
+and three kittens basked in the warmth, and a decrepit yellow dog, lying
+full in the reflection of the blaze, wrinkled his black nose
+approvingly, as he turned his hind feet where his fore feet had been.
+Over the chimney hung several fine hams and pieces of dried beef. Apples
+were festooned along the ceiling, and other signs of plenty and good
+cheer were scattered profusely about. There were plants, too, on the
+window ledges, horse-shoe geraniums, and dew-plants, and a monthly rose,
+just budding, to say nothing of pots of violets that perfumed the whole
+place whenever they took it into their purple heads to bloom. The floor
+was carefully swept, the chairs had not a speck of dust upon leg or
+round, the long settle near the fireplace shone as if it had been just
+varnished, and the eight-day clock in the corner had had its white face
+newly washed, and seemed determined to tick the louder for it.</p>
+
+<p>Two arm-chairs were drawn up at cozy distance from the hearth and each
+other; a candle, a newspaper, a pair of spectacles, a dish of red
+cheeked apples, and a pitcher of cider, filled a little table between
+them. In one of these chairs sat a comfortable-looking woman about
+forty-five, with cheeks as red as the apples, and eyes as dark and
+bright as they had ever been, resting her elbow on the table and her
+head upon her hand, and looking thoughtfully into the fire.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p><p>This was Widow Townsend, "relict" of Mr. Levi Townsend, who had been
+mouldering into dust in the neighboring churchyard for seven years and
+more. She was thinking of her dead husband, possibly because all her
+work being done, and the servant gone to bed, the sight of his empty
+chair at the other side of the table, and the silence of the room, made
+her a little lonely.</p>
+
+<p>"Seven years," so the widow's reverie ran; "it seems as if it were more
+than fifty, and Christmas nigh here again, and yet I don't look so very
+old neither. Perhaps it's not having any children to bother my life out,
+as other people have. They may say what they like&mdash;children are more
+plague than profit, that's my opinion. Look at my sister Jerusha, with
+her six boys. She's worn to a shadow, and I am sure they have done it,
+though she never will own it."</p>
+
+<p>The widow took an apple from the dish and began to peel it.</p>
+
+<p>"How fond Mr. Townsend used to be of these apples! He'll never eat any
+more of them, poor fellow, for I don't suppose they have apples where he
+has gone to. Heigho! I remember very well how I used to throw apple-peel
+over my head when I was a girl to see who I was going to marry."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Townsend stopped short and blushed, for in those days she did not
+know Mr. T., and was always looking eagerly to see if the peel had
+formed a capital S. Her meditations took a new turn.</p>
+
+<p>"How handsome Sam Payson was, and how much I use to care about him! I
+wonder what has become of him! Jerusha says he went away from our
+village just after I did, and no one has ever heard of him since. What a
+silly thing that quarrel was! If it had not been for that&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Here came a long pause, during which the widow looked very steadfastly
+at the empty <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>arm-chair of Levi Townsend, deceased. Her fingers played
+carelessly with the apple-peel: she drew it safely towards her, and
+looked around the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Upon my word, it is very ridiculous, and I don't know what the
+neighbors would say if they saw me."</p>
+
+<p>Still the plump fingers drew the red peel nearer.</p>
+
+<p>"But then they can't see me, that's a comfort; and the cat and old Bose
+never will know what it means. Of course I don't <i>believe</i> anything about it."</p>
+
+<p>The peel hung gracefully from her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"But still, I should like to try; it would seem like old times, and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Over her head it went, and curled up quietly on the floor at a little
+distance. Old Bose, who always slept with one eye open, saw it fall, and
+marched deliberately up to smell it.</p>
+
+<p>"Bose&mdash;Bose&mdash;don't touch!" cried his mistress, and bending over it with
+beating heart, she turned as red as fire. There was as handsome a
+capital S as any one could wish to see.</p>
+
+<p>A great knock came suddenly at the door. Bose growled, and the widow
+screamed and snatched up the apple-peel.</p>
+
+<p>"It's Mr. T.&mdash;it's his spirit come back again, because I tried that
+silly trick," she thought fearfully to herself.</p>
+
+<p>Another knock&mdash;louder than the first, and a man's voice exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>"Hello&mdash;the house!"</p>
+
+<p>"Who is it?" asked the widow, somewhat relieved to find that the
+departed Levi was still safe in his grave on the hillside.</p>
+
+<p>"A stranger," said the voice.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want?"</p>
+
+<p>"To get a lodging here for the night."</p>
+
+<p>The widow deliberated.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p><p>"Can't you go on? There's a house half a mile farther, if you keep to
+the right-hand side of the road, and turn to the left after you get by&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It's raining cats and dogs, and I'm very delicate," said the stranger,
+coughing. "I'm wet to the skin: don't you think you can accommodate
+me?&mdash;I don't mind sleeping on the floor."</p>
+
+<p>"Raining, is it? I didn't know that," and the kind-hearted little woman
+unbarred the door very quickly. "Come in, whoever you may be; I only
+asked you to go on because I am a lone woman, with only one servant in the house."</p>
+
+<p>The stranger entered, shaking himself like a Newfoundland dog upon the
+step, and scattering a little shower of drops over his hostess and her
+nicely swept floor.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, that looks comfortable after a man has been out for hours in a
+storm," he said, as he caught sight of the fire; and striding along
+toward the hearth, followed by Bose, who sniffed suspiciously at his
+heels, he stationed himself in the arm-chair&mdash;<i>Mr. Townsend's
+arm-chair</i>! which had been kept "sacred to his memory" for seven years.
+The widow was horrified, but her guest looked so weary and worn-out that
+she could not ask him to move, but busied herself in stirring up the
+blaze that he might the sooner dry his dripping clothes.</p>
+
+<p>A new thought struck her: Mr. T. had worn a comfortable dressing-gown
+during his illness, which still hung in the closet at her right. She
+could not let this poor man catch his death, by sitting in that wet
+coat. If he was in Mr. Townsend's chair, why should he not be in Mr.
+Townsend's wrapper? She went nimbly to the closet, took it down, fished
+out a pair of slippers from a boot-rack below, and brought them to him.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you had better take off your coat and boots&mdash;you will have the
+rheumatic fever, or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> something like it, if you don't. Here are some
+things for you to wear while they are drying. And you must be hungry,
+too; I will go into the pantry and get you something to eat."</p>
+
+<p>She bustled away, "on hospitable thoughts intent," and the stranger made
+the exchange with a quizzical smile playing around his lips. He was a
+tall, well-formed man, with a bold but handsome face, sun-burned and
+heavily bearded, and looking anything but "delicate," though his blue
+eyes glanced out from under a forehead as white as snow. He looked
+around the kitchen with a mischievous air, and stretched out his feet
+decorated with the defunct Boniface's slippers.</p>
+
+<p>"Upon my word, this is stepping into the old man's shoes with a
+vengeance! And what a hearty, good-humored looking woman she is! Kind as
+a kitten," and he leaned forward and stroked the cat and her brood, and
+then patted old Bose upon the head. The widow, bringing in sundry good
+things, looked pleased at his attention to her dumb friends.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a wonder Bose does not growl; he generally does if strangers touch
+him. Dear me, how stupid!"</p>
+
+<p>The last remark was neither addressed to the stranger nor to the dog but
+to herself She had forgotten that the little stand was not empty, and
+there was no room on it for the things she held.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'll manage it," said her guest, gathering up paper, candle,
+apples, and spectacles (it was not without a little pang that she saw
+them in his hand, for they had been her husband's, and were placed each
+night, like the arm-chair, beside her) and depositing them on the settle.</p>
+
+<p>"Give me the table-cloth, ma'am, I can spread it as well as any woman;
+I've learned that along with scores of other things, in my wanderings.
+Now let me relieve you of those dishes; they are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> far too heavy for
+those hands"&mdash;the widow blushed; "and now please, sit down with me, or I
+cannot eat a morsel."</p>
+
+<p>"I had supper long ago, but really I think I can take something more,"
+said Mrs. Townsend, drawing her chair nearer to the table.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you can, my dear lady; in this cold fall weather people ought
+to eat twice as much as they do in warm. Let me give you a piece of this
+ham, your own curing, I dare say."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes: my poor husband was very fond of it. He used to say that no one
+understood curing ham and drying beef better than I."</p>
+
+<p>"He was a most sensible man, I am sure. I drink your health, ma'am, in this cider."</p>
+
+<p>He took a long draught, and set down his glass.</p>
+
+<p>"It is like nectar."</p>
+
+<p>The widow was feeding Bose and the cat (who thought they were entitled
+to a share of every meal eaten in the house), and did not quite hear what he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Fine dog, ma'am, and a very pretty cat."</p>
+
+<p>"They were my husband's favorites," and a sigh followed the answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, your husband must have been a very happy man."</p>
+
+<p>The blue eyes looked at her so long, that she grew flurried.</p>
+
+<p>"Is there anything more I can get for you, sir?" she asked, at last.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing, thank you; I have finished."</p>
+
+<p>She rose to clear the things away. He assisted her, and somehow their
+hands had a queer knack of touching as they carried the dishes to the
+pantry shelves. Coming back to the kitchen, she put the apples and cider
+in their old places, and brought out a clean pipe and a box of tobacco
+from an arched recess near the chimney.</p>
+
+<p>"My husband always said he could not sleep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> after eating supper late
+unless he smoked," she said. "Perhaps you would like to try it."</p>
+
+<p>"Not if it is to drive you away," he answered, for she had her candle in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no; I do not object to smoke at all." She put the candle down; some
+faint suggestion about "propriety" troubled her, but she glanced at the
+old clock, and felt reassured. It was only half-past nine.</p>
+
+<p>The stranger pushed the stand back after the pipe was lit, and drew her
+easy-chair a little nearer the fire, and his own.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, sit down," he said, pleadingly; "it's not late, and when a man
+has been knocking about in California and all sorts of places, for a
+score of years, he is glad enough to get into a berth like this, and to
+have a pretty woman to speak to once again."</p>
+
+<p>"California! Have you been in California?" she exclaimed, dropping into
+the chair at once. Unconsciously, she had long cherished the idea that
+Sam Payson, the lover of her youth, with whom she had so foolishly
+quarreled, had pitched his tent, after many wanderings, in that far-off
+land. Her heart warmed to one who, with something of Sam's looks and
+ways about him, had also been sojourning in that country, and who very
+possibly had met him&mdash;perhaps had known him intimately! At that thought
+her heart beat quick, and she looked very graciously at the bearded
+stranger, who, wrapped in Mr. Townsend's dressing-gown, wearing Mr.
+Townsend's slippers, and sitting in Mr. Townsend's chair, beside Mr.
+Townsend's wife, smoked Mr. Townsend's pipe with such an air of feeling
+most thoroughly and comfortably at home!</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'am. I've been in California for the last six years. And before
+that I went quite round the world in a whaling ship!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p><p>"Good gracious!"</p>
+
+<p>The stranger sent a puff of smoke curling gracefully over his head.</p>
+
+<p>"It's very strange, my dear lady, how often you see one thing as you go
+wandering about the world after that fashion."</p>
+
+<p>"And what is that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Men, without house or home above their heads, roving here and there,
+and turning up in all sorts of odd places; caring very little for life
+as a general thing, and making fortunes just to fling them away again,
+and all for one reason. You don't ask me what <i>that</i> is? No doubt you
+know already very well."</p>
+
+<p>"I think not, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Because a woman has jilted them!"</p>
+
+<p>Here was a long pause, and Mr. Townsend's pipe emitted short puffs with
+surprising rapidity. A guilty conscience needs no accuser, and the
+widow's cheek was dyed with blushes as she thought of the absent Sam.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder how women manage when <i>they</i> get served in the same way," said
+the stranger musingly; "you never meet <i>them</i> roaming up and down in that style."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Mrs. Townsend, with some spirit, "if a woman is in trouble
+she must stay at home and bear it, the best way she can. And there's
+more women bearing such things than we know of, I dare say."</p>
+
+<p>"Like enough. We never know whose hand gets pinched in a trap unless
+they scream. And women are too shy or too sensible&mdash;which you
+choose&mdash;for that."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever, in all your wanderings, meet any one by the name of
+Samuel Payson?" asked the widow, unconcernedly.</p>
+
+<p>The stranger looked toward her; she was rummaging the table-drawer for
+her knitting work,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> and did not notice him. When it was found, and the
+needles in motion, he answered her.</p>
+
+<p>"Payson&mdash;Sam Payson? Why, he was my most intimate friend! Do you know him?"</p>
+
+<p>"A little&mdash;that is, I used to, when I was a girl. Where did you meet him?"</p>
+
+<p>"He went with me on the whaling voyage I told you of, and afterward to
+California. We had a tent together, and some other fellows with us, and
+we worked the same claim for more than six months."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose he was quite well?"</p>
+
+<p>"Strong as an ox."</p>
+
+<p>"And&mdash;and happy?" pursued the widow, bending closer over her knitting.</p>
+
+<p>"Hum&mdash;the less said about that the better, perhaps. But he seemed to
+enjoy life after a fashion of his own. And he got rich out there, or
+rather, I will say, well off."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Townsend did not pay much attention to that part of the story.
+Evidently she had not finished asking questions, but she was puzzled
+about her next one. At last she brought it out beautifully:</p>
+
+<p>"Was his wife with him in California?"</p>
+
+<p>The stranger looked at her with twinkling eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"His wife, ma'am! Why, bless you, he has not got any wife."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I thought&mdash;I mean I heard"&mdash;here the little widow remembered the
+fate of Ananias and Sapphira, and stopped short before she told such a tremendous fib.</p>
+
+<p>"Whatever you heard of his marrying was all nonsense, I can assure you.
+I knew him well, and he had no thoughts of the kind about him. Some of
+the boys used to tease him about it, but he soon made them stop."</p>
+
+<p>"How?"</p>
+
+<p>"He just told them frankly that the only woman he ever loved had jilted
+him years before,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> and married another man. After that no one ever
+mentioned the subject to him, except me."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Townsend laid her knitting aside, and looked thoughtfully into the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"He was another specimen of the class of men I was speaking of. I have
+seen him face death a score of times as quietly as I face the fire. 'It
+matters very little what takes me off,' he used to say; 'I've nothing to
+live for, and there's no one that will shed a tear for me when I am
+gone.' It's a sad thought for a man to have, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Townsend sighed as she said she thought it was.</p>
+
+<p>"But did he ever tell you the name of the woman who jilted him?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know her <i>first</i> name."</p>
+
+<p>"What was it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maria."</p>
+
+<p>The plump little widow almost started out of her chair, the name was
+spoken so exactly as Sam would have said it.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you know her, too?" he asked, looking keenly at her.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Intimately?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Where is she now? Still happy with her husband, I suppose, and never
+giving a thought to the poor fellow she drove out into the world?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Mrs. Townsend, shading her face with her hand, and speaking
+unsteadily; "no, her husband is dead."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! but still she never thinks of Sam."</p>
+
+<p>There was a dead silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Does she?"</p>
+
+<p>"How can I tell?"</p>
+
+<p>"Are you still friends?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you ought to know, and you do. Tell me."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p><p>"I'm sure I don't know why I should. But if I do, you must promise me,
+on your honor, never to tell him, if you ever meet him again."</p>
+
+<p>"Madam, what you say to me never shall be repeated to any mortal man, upon my honor."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, she does remember him."</p>
+
+<p>"But how?"</p>
+
+<p>"As kindly, I think, as he could wish."</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad to hear it, for his sake. You and I are the friends of both
+parties: we can rejoice with each other."</p>
+
+<p>He drew his chair much nearer hers, and took her hand. One moment the
+widow resisted, but it was a magnetic touch, the rosy palm lay quietly
+in his, and the dark beard bent so low that it nearly touched her
+shoulder. It did not matter much. Was he not Samuel's dear friend? If he
+was not the rose, had he not dwelt very near it, for a long, long time?</p>
+
+<p>"It was a foolish quarrel that parted them," said the stranger, softly.</p>
+
+<p>"Did he tell you about it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, on board the whaler."</p>
+
+<p>"Did he blame her much?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not so much as himself. He said that his jealousy and ill-temper drove
+her to break off the match; but he thought sometimes if he had only gone
+back and spoken kindly to her, she would have married him after all."</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure she would," said the widow piteously. "She has owned it to me
+more than a thousand times."</p>
+
+<p>"She was not happy, then, with another."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr.&mdash;that is to say, her husband&mdash;was very good and kind," said the
+little woman, thinking of the lonely grave out on the hillside rather
+penitently, "and they lived very pleasantly together. There never was a
+harsh word between them."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p><p>"Still&mdash;might she not have been happier with Sam? Be honest, now, and
+say just what you think."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Bravo! that is what I wanted to come at. And now I have a secret to
+tell you, and you must break it to her."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Townsend looked rather scared.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want you to go and see her, wherever she may be, and say to her,
+'Maria,'&mdash;what makes you start so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing; only you speak so like some one I used to know, once in a while."</p>
+
+<p>"Do I? Well, take the rest of the message. Tell her that Sam loved her
+through the whole; that, when he heard she was free, he began to work
+hard at making a fortune. He has got it; and he is coming to share it
+with her, if she will let him. Will you tell her this?"</p>
+
+<p>The widow did not answer. She had freed her hand from his, and covered
+her face with it. By and by she looked up again&mdash;he was waiting patiently.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"I will tell her."</p>
+
+<p>He rose from his seat, and walked up and down the room. Then he came
+back, and leaning on the mantel-piece, stroked the yellow hide of Bose
+with his slipper.</p>
+
+<p>"Make her quite understand that he wants her for his wife. She may live
+where she likes and how she likes, only it must be with him."</p>
+
+<p>"I will tell her."</p>
+
+<p>"Say he has grown old, but not cold; that he loves her now perhaps
+better than he did twenty years ago; that he has been faithful to her
+all through his life, and that he will be faithful till he dies."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p><p>The Californian broke off suddenly. The widow answered still, "I will
+tell her."</p>
+
+<p>"And what do you think she will say?" he asked, in an altered tone.</p>
+
+<p>"What <i>can</i> she say but <i>Come</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hurrah!"</p>
+
+<p>The stranger caught her out of her chair as if she had been a child, and kissed her.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't&mdash;oh, don't!" she cried out. "I am Sam's Maria!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well&mdash;I am Maria's Sam!"</p>
+
+<p>Off went the dark wig and the black whiskers&mdash;there smiled the dear face
+she had not forgotten! I leave you to imagine the tableau; even the cat
+got up to look, and Bose sat on his stump of a tail, and wondered if he
+was on his heels or his head.</p>
+
+<p>The widow gave one little scream, and then she&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>But, stop! Quiet people like you and me, dear reader, who have got over
+all these follies, and can do nothing but turn up our noses at them,
+have no business here. I will only add that two hearts were very happy,
+that Bose concluded after a while that all was right, and so lay down to
+sleep again, and that one week afterward, on Christmas Eve, there was a
+wedding at the house that made the neighbors stare. The widow had
+married her First Love!</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="THE_OLD_MANS_CHRISTMAS" id="THE_OLD_MANS_CHRISTMAS"></a>THE OLD MAN'S CHRISTMAS.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.</h3>
+
+<h3>I.</h3>
+
+<p>Though there was wrong on both sides, they never would have separated
+had it not been for the old man.</p>
+
+<p>He was Ben's father, and Ben was an only child&mdash;a spoiled, selfish,
+high-tempered lad, who had grown up with the idea that his father, Anson
+English, or the "old man," as his dutiful son called him, was much
+richer than he really was, and that he had no need of any personal
+effort&mdash;any object in life, aside from the pursuit of pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>Ben's mother had died when he was fifteen years old and his father had
+never married again. Yet it was not any allegiance to her memory which
+had kept Anson English from a second marriage. He remembered her, to be
+sure, and scarcely a day passed without his mentioning her. But after
+her death, as during her weary life, he used her name as a synonym for
+all that was undesirable. He compared everybody to "'Liz'beth," and
+always to her disadvantage. He had a word of praise and encouragement
+and approval for every housewife in the neighborhood except&mdash;his own.
+Whatever went wrong, in doors or out, "'Liz'beth" was the direct or indirect cause.</p>
+
+<p>During the first five years of her married life, Elizabeth made
+strenuous exertions to please her husband. She wept her sweet eyes dim
+over her repeated failures. Then she found that she had been attempting
+an impossible labor, and grew passively indifferent&mdash;an indifference
+which lasted until death kindly released her.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p><p>Elizabeth had been a tidy housekeeper during these first years.</p>
+
+<p>"You'd scrub and scour a man out 'er house an' home!" was all the praise
+her husband gave her for her order and cleanliness; and to his
+neighbors, to whom he was fond of paying informal visits, he would often
+say&mdash;"Liz'beth's at it again&mdash;sweepin' and cleanin', so I cleared out.
+Never see <i>her</i> without out a broom in her hand. I'd a good deal rather
+have a little more dirt, than so much tearin' 'round. 'Liz'beth tires
+me, with her ways."</p>
+
+<p>Yet, when in the indifference of despair which seized upon Elizabeth
+before her death, she allowed her house to look after itself, Anson was
+no better satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>"I've come over to find a place to set down," he would tell his
+neighbors. "'Liz'beth's let things 'cumulate, till the house is a sight
+to see&mdash;she's gettin' dreadful slack, somehow. A man likes order when he
+goes home to rest from all his cares."</p>
+
+<p>Even when she died she displeased him by choosing a busy season for the occasion.</p>
+
+<p>"Just like 'Liz'beth, to die in hayin' time," he said. "Everything got
+to stop&mdash;hay spoilin'&mdash;men idle. Women never seem to have no system
+about work matters&mdash;no power of plannin' things, to make it convenient
+like for men folks."</p>
+
+<p>Yet after she was gone, Anson found how much help she had been to him,
+how wonderful her economy had been, how light her expenditures. He knew
+he could never find any one to replace her, in these respects, and as
+money considerations were the main ones in his mind he believed it would
+be the better economy to remain a widower, and hire his work done.</p>
+
+<p>So during those most critical years of Ben's life, he had been without a
+woman's guidance or care.</p>
+
+<p>At eighteen he was all that arrogance, conceit,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> selfishness, and high
+temper could render him. Yet he was a favorite with the fair sex for all
+that, as he had a manly figure, and a warm, caressing way when he chose,
+that won their admiration and pleased their vanity.</p>
+
+<p>Anson English favored early marriages, and began to think it would be
+better all around if Ben should bring a wife home.</p>
+
+<p>She could do the work better than hired help, and keep the money all in
+the family. And Ben would not waste his time and means on half a dozen,
+as he was now doing, but would stay at home, no doubt, and settle down
+into a sensible, practical business man. Yes, Ben ought to marry, and
+his father told him so.</p>
+
+<p>Ben smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm already thinking of it," he said. He had expected opposition from
+his father, and was surprised at his suggestion.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," continued the "old man," as Ben already designated him, "I'd like
+to see you settle down before you're twenty-one. But you want to make a
+good choice. There's Abby Wilson, now. She's got the muscle of a man,
+and ain't afraid of anything. And her father has a fine property&mdash;a
+growin' property. Abby'll make a man a good, vigorous helpmate, and
+she'll bring him money in time. You'd better shine up to Abby, Ben."</p>
+
+<p>Ben gave a contemptuous laugh. "I'd as soon marry a dressed-up boy," he
+said. "She's more like a boy than a girl in her looks and in her ways. I
+have other plans in my mind, father, more to my taste. I mean to marry
+Edith Gilman, if she'll take me, and I think she will."</p>
+
+<p>A dark frown contracted Anson English's brow.</p>
+
+<p>"Edith Gilman?" he repeated; "why, that puny schoolma'm, with her baby
+face and weak voice, 'll never help <i>you</i> to get a livin', Ben. What are
+you thinkin' of?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p><p>"Of love, father, I guess. I love her, and that's all there is of it.
+And I shall marry her, if she'll take me, and you can like it or lump
+it, as you please. She's a good girl, and if she's treated well all
+round, she'll make a good wife, and she's the only woman that can put
+the check rein on me, when I get in my tempers. She'll make a man of me
+yet."</p>
+
+<p>"But she can't work," insisted the father. "She looks as white and puny
+as 'Liz'beth did the year she died."</p>
+
+<p>"She's overworked in the school-room. I mean to take her home, and give
+her a rest. I don't ask any woman to marry me and be my drudge. I expect
+my wife will keep help."</p>
+
+<p>The old man groaned aloud. Ben's ideas were positively ruinous. If he
+married this girl, it would add to, not decrease, the family expenses.
+But it was useless to oppose. Ben would do as he pleased, the old man
+saw that plainly, and he might as well submit.</p>
+
+<p>He did submit, and Ben married Edith on his twenty-first birthday, and
+brought her home.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3>II.</h3>
+
+<p>Edith was a quiet little creature, with a soft voice, and a pale, sweet
+face, and frail figure. She came up to Anson English when she entered
+the house, and put her hands timidly upon his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"I want you to love me," she said; "I have had no father or mother since
+I can remember. I want to call you father, and I want to make you happy if I can."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'll tell you how," the old man retorted. "Discharge the hired
+girl, and make good bread. That'll make me happy,"&mdash;and he laughed harshly.</p>
+
+<p>Edith shrank from his rough words, so void of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> the sympathy and love she
+longed for. But she discharged the girl within a week, and tried to make
+good bread. It was not a success, however, and the old man was not slow
+to express his dissatisfaction. Edith left the table in tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Another dribbler&mdash;'Liz'beth was always cryin' just that way over every
+little thing," sighed the old man.</p>
+
+<p>Edith eventually conquered the difficulties of bread making, and became
+a famous cook. But she did not please her husband's father any the
+better by this achievement.</p>
+
+<p>"You're always a-fixin' up some new sort of trash for the table," he
+said to her one day. "<i>Dessert</i> is it, you call it? 'Nuff to make a
+man's patience <i>desert</i> him to see sugar and flour wasted so. 'Liz'beth
+liked your fancy cooking, but I cured her of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and you killed her too," cried Edith, for the first time since her
+marriage losing control of her temper and answering back. "Everybody
+says you worried her into the grave. But you won't succeed so well with
+me. I will live just to defy you, if no more. And I'll show you that
+I'll not bear everything, too."</p>
+
+<p>It was all over in a moment, and it was not repeated. Indeed, Edith was
+kinder and gentler and more submissive in her manner after that for
+days, as sweet natures always are when they have once broken over the
+rules which govern their lives.</p>
+
+<p>Yet the old man always spoke of Edith as a virago after that.</p>
+
+<p>"She's worse'n 'Liz'beth," he said, "and she had a temper of her own at
+times that would just <i>singe</i> things."</p>
+
+<p>Ben passed most of his evenings and a good part of his days at the
+village "store." He came home the worse for drink occasionally, and he
+was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> absolutely indifferent to all the work and care of the farm and
+family.</p>
+
+<p>"She's just like 'Liz'beth," the old man said to his neighbors; "she
+don't make home entertainin' for her husband. But Ben isn't balanced
+like me, and he goes wrong. He's excitable. I never was. The right kind
+of a woman could keep him at home."</p>
+
+<p>After a child came to them matters seemed to mend for a time. So long as
+the infant lay pink and helpless in its mother's arms or in its crib, it
+was a bond to unite them all.</p>
+
+<p>So soon as it began to be an active child, with naughty ways which
+needed correction, it was another element of discord.</p>
+
+<p>The old man did not think Edith capable of controlling the child, and
+Ben was hasty and harsh, and he did not like to hear the baby cry. So he
+stayed more and more at the store, and was an object of fear to the
+child and of reproach to the mother when he did return.</p>
+
+<p>They drifted farther apart, and the old man constantly widened the
+breach between them. They had been married six years, and the baby girl
+was four years old, when Ben struck Edith a blow, one day, and told her
+to take her child and leave the house.</p>
+
+<p>In less than an hour she had gone, no one knew whither.</p>
+
+<p>"She'll come back, more's the pity," the old man said. "'Liz'beth, she
+started off to leave me once, but she concluded to come back and try it
+over again."</p>
+
+<p>But Edith did not come back. Months afterward they heard of her in a
+distant part of the State teaching school and supporting her child.</p>
+
+<p>Ben applied for a divorce on the plea of desertion. Edith never appeared
+against him, and he obtained it.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3>III.</h3>
+
+<p>One year from the time Edith left him, he married Abby Wilson. She had
+grown into a voluptuous though coarse maturity, and was dashing in dress
+and manner. Her father had recently died, leaving her a fine property.
+She had always coveted Ben, and did not delay the nuptials from any
+sense of delicacy, but rather hastened the hour which should make him
+legally her own.</p>
+
+<p>The old man was highly pleased at the turn affairs had taken. After all
+these years Ben was united to the woman he had chosen for him so long
+ago, and now surely Ben would settle down, and take the care off his
+shoulders&mdash;shoulders which were beginning to feel the weight of years of
+labor. In truth, the old man was breaking down.</p>
+
+<p>He fell ill of a low fever soon after Ben's second marriage, and when he
+rose from his bed he seemed to have grown ten years older. He was more
+childish in his fault-finding, and more irritable than ever before, and
+this new wife of Ben's had little patience with him. She was not at all
+like Edith. She bullied him, and frightened him into silence when he
+began to find fault with her extravagances. For she was
+extravagant&mdash;there was no denying that. She cared only for show and
+outward appearance. She neglected her home duties, and often left the
+old man to prepare his own food, while she and Ben dashed over the
+country, or through the neighboring villages, behind the blooded span
+she had insisted upon his purchasing soon after their marriage.</p>
+
+<p>Poor old Anson English! He was nearing his sixtieth year now, and he
+looked and seemed much older. Ben was his only earthly tie, and the hope
+and stay of his old age. And he was but a reed&mdash;a reed. His father saw
+that at last. Ben would never develop into a practical business man. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>
+was unstable, lazy, and selfish. And this new wife seemed to encourage
+him in every extravagant folly, instead of restraining him as the old
+man had hoped. And someway Ben had never been the same since Edith went
+away. He had been none too good or kind to his father before that; but
+since then&mdash;well, when she went, it seemed to Anson that she took with
+her whatever of gentleness or kindness lurked in Ben's nature, and left
+only its brutality and selfishness.</p>
+
+<p>And strive as he would to banish the feeling, the old man missed the child.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, no! he was not happy in this new state of affairs, which he had so
+rejoiced over at the first. He grew very old during the next two years.
+Like all men who worry the lives of women in the domestic circle, he was
+cowardly at heart. And Ben's new wife frightened him into silent
+submission by her masculine assumption of authority and her loud voice
+and well-defined muscle.</p>
+
+<p>He spoke little at home now, but he still paid frequent visits to his
+neighbors, and he remained firm in the Adam-like idea that Elizabeth had
+been the root of all evil in his life.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Ben's letting the place run down pretty bad," he confessed to a
+neighbor who had broached the subject. "Ben's early trainin' wasn't
+right. 'Liz'beth, she let him do 'bout as he pleased. Liz'beth never had
+no notions of how a boy should be trained. He'd a' come out all right if
+I'd a' managed him from the start."</p>
+
+<p>Strange to say, he never was known to speak one disparaging word of
+Abby, Ben's second wife. Her harshness and neglect were matters of
+common discussion in the neighborhood, but the old man, who had been so
+bitter and unjust toward his own wife and Edith, seemed to feel a
+curious respect for this Amazon who had subjugated him. Or, perhaps, he
+remembered how eager he had been for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> the marriage, and his pride kept
+him silent. Certain it is that he bore her neglect, and later her abuse,
+with no word of complaint, and even spoke of her sometimes with praise.</p>
+
+<p>"She's a brave one, Abby is," he would say. "She ain't afraid of nothin'
+or nobody. Ef she'd a' been a man, she'd a' made a noise in the world."</p>
+
+<p>Ben drank more and more, and Abby dressed and drove in like ratio. The
+farm ran down, and debts accumulated&mdash;debts which Abby refused to pay
+with her money, and the old man saw the savings of a long life of labor
+squandered in folly and vice.</p>
+
+<p>People said it was turning his brain, for he talked constantly of his
+poverty, often walking the streets in animated converse with himself.
+And at length he fell ill again, and was wildly delirious for weeks. It
+was a high fever; and when it left him, he was totally blind, and quite helpless.</p>
+
+<p>He needed constant care and attention. He could not be left alone even
+for an hour; Ben was seldom at home, and Abby rebelled at the
+confinement and restraint it imposed upon her. Hired help refused to
+take the burden of the care of the troublesome old man without increased
+wages, and Ben could not and Abby would not incur this added expense.
+Servants gave warning; Ben drank more deeply and prolonged his absences
+from home, and Abby finally carried out a resolve which had at first
+caused even her hard heart some twinges.</p>
+
+<p>She made an application to the keeper of the County Poor to admit her
+husband's father to the department of the incurably insane, which was
+adjacent to the Poor House.</p>
+
+<p>"He's crazy," she said, "just as crazy as can be. We can't do anything
+with him. He needs a strong man to look after him. Ben's never at home,
+and he has everything to look after any way, and can't be broken of his
+rest, and the old man talks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> and cries half the night. I'm not able to
+take care of him&mdash;I seem to be breaking down myself, with all I have to
+endure, and besides it isn't safe to have him in the house. I think he's
+getting worse all the time. He'd be better off, and we all would, if he
+was in the care of the county."</p>
+
+<p>The authorities looked into the matter, and found that at least a
+portion of the lady's statements were true. It was quite evident that
+the old man would be better off in the County House than he was in the
+home of his only son. So he was taken away, and Abby had her freedom at last.</p>
+
+<p>"We are going to take you where you will have medical treatment and
+care; it is your daughter's request," they told him in answer to his trembling queries.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! yes, yes&mdash;Abby thinks I'll get my sight back, I suppose, if I'm
+doctored up. Well, maybe so, but I'm pooty old&mdash;pooty old for the
+doctors to patch up. But Abby has a powerful mind to plan things&mdash;a
+powerful mind. 'Liz'beth never would a' thought of sending me
+away&mdash;'Liz'beth was so easy like. Abby ought to a' been a man, she had.
+She'd a' flung things."</p>
+
+<p>So he babbled on as they carried him to the Poor House.</p>
+
+<p>It was November, and the holidays were close at hand. Thanksgiving,
+Christmas, New Year. Abby meant to enjoy them, and invited all her
+relatives to a time of general feasting and merrymaking.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel as if a great nightmare were lifted off my heart and brain, now
+the old man has gone," she said. "He will be so much better off, and get
+so much more skillful treatment, you know, in a place like that. They
+are very kind in that institution, and so clean and nice, and he will
+have plenty of company to keep him from being lonesome. We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> have been
+all through it, during the last year, or else we never should have sent
+him there. It is really an excellent home for him."</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3>IV.</h3>
+
+<p>It was just a year later when a delicate, sweet-faced woman was shown
+through the wards of that "excellent home" for the poor and unfortunate.
+She walked with nervous haste, and her eyes glanced from room to room,
+and from face to face, as if seeking, yet dreading, some object.</p>
+
+<p>Presently the attendant pushed open a partly closed door, which led into
+a small, close room, ventilated only by one high, narrow window.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the room, I believe," he said, and the lady stepped in&mdash;and
+paused. The air was close and impure, and almost stifled her.</p>
+
+<p>On the opposite side of the room she saw a large crib with a cover or
+lid which could be closed and locked when necessary, but which was
+raised now. In this crib, upon a hard mattress and soiled pillow, lay
+the emaciated form of an old man. He turned his sightless eyes toward
+the door as he heard the sound of footsteps.</p>
+
+<p>"What is wanted?" he asked, feebly; "does anybody want me? Has anybody come for me?"</p>
+
+<p>"O father, father!" cried the woman in a voice choked with sobs. "Don't
+you know me? It is I&mdash;and I have come to take you away&mdash;to take you away
+home with me. Will you go?"</p>
+
+<p>A glow of delight shone over the old man's wasted face, like the last
+rays of the sunlight over a winter landscape. He half arose upon his
+elbow, and leaned forward as if trying to see the speaker.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's Abby, it's Abby, come at last!" he said. "You called me
+father, didn't you&mdash;and you was crying, and it made your voice sound
+kind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> o' strange and broken like. But you must be Abby come to take me
+home. Oh, I thought you'd come at last, Abby. It seems a long, long time
+since I came away. And you've never been to see me; no, nor Ben, either.
+But you've come at last, Abby, you've come at last. Let me take your
+hand, daughter, for I can't see yet. They don't seem to help me here as
+you thought they would. And I'm <i>so hungry</i>, Abby!&mdash;do you think you
+could manage to get the old man a little something to eat before we start home?"</p>
+
+<p>The woman had grown paler and paler as she listened to these words which
+the old man poured out in eager haste, like one whose thoughts and
+feelings long pent within himself for want of a listener now rushed
+forth pell-mell into speech.</p>
+
+<p>"He does not know me," she whispered&mdash;"he does not know me. Well, I will
+not undeceive him now. He is happy in this delusion,&mdash;let him keep it
+for the present." Then, aloud, she said:</p>
+
+<p>"You are hungry, father? do you not have food enough here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I have my share, Abby; I have my share. But my appetite's varying,
+and sometimes when they bring it I can't eat it, and then when I want it
+most I can't get it. I'm one of many here, and I've been so lonesome,
+Abby. But then I knew you'd come for me all in good time. And, Ben&mdash;how
+is Ben, Abby? does he want to see his old father again? Ah, Ben was a
+nice little boy&mdash;a nice little boy. But 'Liz'beth wan't no kind of a
+mother for such a high-strung lad. And then he hadn't oughter married
+that sickly sort of girl that ran off an' left him. Sakes alive! what a
+temper she had! It sort of broke Ben down living with her as long as he
+did. But he remembers his old father at last, don't he? And he wants to
+have me home to die. Ah, Ben has a good heart after all!"</p>
+
+<p>"I must not tell him; I must not," whispered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> the woman as she listened.
+"Bitter to me as his deception is, I must let him remain in it." Then
+with a sudden bracing of the nerves, and a visible effort, she said:</p>
+
+<p>"Ben is away from home now, father. He will not be there to meet you,
+but you'll not mind that: I shall make you so comfortable; I want you at
+home during the holidays."</p>
+
+<p>So he went out from the horror and loneliness and gloom of the Poor
+House, to the comfortable home which Edith had provided for herself and
+child in the years since she left Ben. Eva was a precocious little
+maiden of nine now, wise and womanly beyond her years. So soon as Edith
+learned of the old man's desolate fate, she resolved to bring him home.
+Eva could attend to his wants during the day, while she was in the
+school-room, and the interrupted studies could be pursued in the
+evening. Or she could hire assistance if he were as troublesome as
+report had said. He had been a harsh old man, and had helped to widen
+the breach between her and Ben. But he was the father of the man she had
+married, and she could not let him die in the Poor House. So she brought him home.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't I hear a child's voice?" he asked, as Eva came dancing out to
+greet them. "Who is it, Abby?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's your own little granddaughter Eva," cried the child, clasping
+his withered hand in her two soft palms. "Don't you remember me? Mamma
+says you used to love me."</p>
+
+<p>Edith's heart stood still. Surely now he would understand. And would he
+be angry and harsh with her?</p>
+
+<p>The old man's face lighted.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, I see, I see," he said musingly, "Abby and Ben have taken the
+little one home. It must be Edith is dead. She was such a puny thing."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>
+Then turning his face to the woman who was guiding his faltering footsteps, he asked:</p>
+
+<p>"And is Edith dead?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she answered quietly, "Edith is dead." And added "to <i>you</i>," in a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"He must never be undeceived," she thought. "It would be too severe a
+blow; the truth might kill him." And to Eva she said a little later:</p>
+
+<p>"Dear, your grandfather is very ill, and not quite right in his mind. He
+thinks my name is Abby, and you must not correct him or dispute any
+strange thing he may say."</p>
+
+<p>The journey left the old man very weak indeed, but he talked almost constantly.</p>
+
+<p>"It was so good of you, Abby, to take the little girl home," he would
+say. "But I knowed you had a good heart, and Ben too. He was fond of his
+old father, spite of his rough ways. It was pooty lonesome&mdash;pooty
+lonesome, off there at that place&mdash;that Institute where you sent me.
+Some folks said it was the Poor House, but I knew better&mdash;I knew better.
+Ben and you would never send me there. I s'pose it was a good place, but
+they had too many patients. Sometimes I was cold and hungry and all
+alone for hours and hours. Oh, it's good to be back home with you&mdash;you,
+Abby&mdash;but why don't Ben come?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ben is away, father."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, yes. Business, I suppose. Ben'll turn out all right at last. I
+always thought so. After he sort o' outgrows 'Liz'beth's trainin'. But I
+hope he'll get back for Christmas. Somehow I've been thinkin' lately
+'bout the Christmas days when Ben was a little boy. We allus put
+something in his stockin' that night, no matter if twan't no more'n a
+sweet cake. Sakes alive! how he prized things he found in his stockin'
+Christmas mornin's! I got to thinkin' 'bout it all last Christmas out at
+that there Institute, and I just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> laid an' bawled like a baby, I was so
+home-sick like. Seemed to me if I could just <i>see</i> Ben's face again, I'd
+ask nothin' more of Heaven. And now I think if I can just hear his voice
+again, it'll be enough. Do you think he'll git home for Christmas, Abby?"</p>
+
+<p>"I hope so, dear father, but I cannot tell." Edith answered softly, her
+heart seeming to break in her breast as she listened.</p>
+
+<p>She knew very well that Ben would not go across the street to see the
+father he had deserted, and that she could never send for him to come to
+<i>her</i> house, to pay even a last visit of mercy.</p>
+
+<p>"What will I do&mdash;how can I explain to him, when Christmas comes and Ben
+does not appear?" she thought.</p>
+
+<p>But the way was shown her by that great Peace-Maker who helps us out of
+all difficulties at last.</p>
+
+<p>Christmas Eve, the old man's constant chatter grew flighty and
+incoherent. He talked of people and things unknown to Edith, and spoke
+his mother's name many times. Then he fell asleep. In the morning he
+seemed very weak, and his voice was fainter.</p>
+
+<p>"Such a strange dream as I have had, 'Lis'beth," he said, as Edith put
+her hand on his brow, and smoothed back the thin, white hair.</p>
+
+<p>"Such a strange dream, I thought Ben had grown into a man, and had left
+me alone&mdash;all alone to die. I'm so glad to be awake and find it isn't
+true. How dark it is, and how long the night seems! To-morrow is
+Christmas. Did you put something in Ben's stockings, 'Lis'beth? I have forgotten."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," answered Edith, in a choked voice.</p>
+
+<p>"And it's gettin' colder, 'Lis'beth. Hadn't you better look after Ben a
+little? See if he's covered up well in his crib. You're so careless,
+'Lis'beth, the boy'll take his death o' cold yet. And he's all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> I've
+got. He'll make a fine man, a fine man if you don't spoil him,
+'Lis'beth. But you hain't no real sense for trainin' a boy, somehow. Is
+he covered up? It's bitter, bitter cold."</p>
+
+<p>"He is well covered," Edith answered. The old man seemed to doze again.
+Then he roused a little.</p>
+
+<p>"It's dawn," he said. "I see the light breaking. Little Ben'll be
+crawling out for his stockin' pooty quick: I oughter had the fire made
+afore this, to warm his little toes. Strange you couldn't a' waked me,
+'Liz'beth! You don't never seem to have no foresight."</p>
+
+<p>Then the old man fell back on Edith's arm, dead.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="THE_CHRISTMAS_GOBLINS" id="THE_CHRISTMAS_GOBLINS"></a>THE CHRISTMAS GOBLINS.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY CHARLES DICKENS.</h3>
+
+<p>In an old abbey town, a long, long while ago there officiated as sexton
+and gravedigger in the churchyard one Gabriel Grubb. He was an ill
+conditioned cross-grained, surly fellow, who consorted with nobody but
+himself and an old wicker-bottle which fitted into his large, deep
+waistcoat pocket.</p>
+
+<p>A little before twilight one Christmas Eve, Gabriel shouldered his
+spade, lighted his lantern, and betook himself toward the old
+churchyard, for he had a grave to finish by next morning, and feeling
+very low, he thought it might raise his spirits, perhaps, if he went on
+with his work at once.</p>
+
+<p>He strode along until he turned into the dark lane which led to the
+churchyard&mdash;a nice, gloomy, mournful place into which the towns-people
+did not care to go except in broad daylight, consequently he was not a
+little indignant to hear a young urchin roaring out some jolly song
+about a Merry Christmas. Gabriel waited until the boy came up, then
+rapped him over the head with his lantern five or six times to teach him
+to modulate his voice. And as the boy hurried away, with his hand to his
+head, Gabriel Grubb chuckled to himself and entered the churchyard,
+locking the gate behind him.</p>
+
+<p>He took off his coat, put down his lantern, and getting into an
+unfinished grave, worked at it for an hour or so with right good will.
+But the earth was hardened with the frost, and it was no easy matter to
+break it up and shovel it out. At<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> any other time this would have made
+Gabriel very miserable, but he was so pleased at having stopped the
+small boy's singing that he took little heed of the scanty progress he
+had made when he had finished work for the night, and looked down into
+the grave with grim satisfaction, murmuring as he gathered up his
+things:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div>"Brave lodgings for one, brave lodgings for one,</div>
+<div>A few feet of cold earth when life is done."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"Ho! ho!" he laughed, as he set himself down on a flat tombstone, which
+was a favorite resting-place of his, and drew forth his wicker-bottle.
+"A coffin at Christmas! A Christmas box. Ho! ho! ho!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ho! ho! ho!" repeated a voice close beside him.</p>
+
+<p>"It was the echoes," said he, raising the bottle to his lips again.</p>
+
+<p>"It was not," said a deep voice.</p>
+
+<p>Gabriel started up and stood rooted to the spot with terror, for his
+eyes rested on a form that made his blood run cold.</p>
+
+<p>Seated on an upright tombstone close to him was a strange, unearthly
+figure. He was sitting perfectly still, grinning at Gabriel Grubb with
+such a grin as only a goblin could call up.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you here on Christmas Eve?" said the goblin, sternly.</p>
+
+<p>"I came to dig a grave, sir," stammered Gabriel.</p>
+
+<p>"What man wanders among graves on such a night as this?" cried the
+goblin.</p>
+
+<p>"Gabriel Grubb! Gabriel Grubb!" screamed a wild chorus of voices that
+seemed to fill the churchyard.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you got in that bottle?" said the goblin.</p>
+
+<p>"Hollands, sir," replied the sexton, trembling more than ever, for he
+had bought it of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> smugglers, and he thought his questioner might be
+in the excise department of the goblins.</p>
+
+<p>"Who drinks Hollands alone, and in a churchyard on such a night as this?"</p>
+
+<p>"Gabriel Grubb! Gabriel Grubb!" exclaimed the wild voices again.</p>
+
+<p>"And who, then, is our lawful prize?" exclaimed the goblin, raising his voice.</p>
+
+<p>The invisible chorus replied, "Gabriel Grubb! Gabriel Grubb!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Gabriel, what do you say to this?" said the goblin, as he grinned
+a broader grin than before.</p>
+
+<p>The sexton gasped for breath.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you think of this, Gabriel?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's&mdash;it's very curious, sir, very curious, sir, and very pretty,"
+replied the sexton, half-dead with fright. "But I think I'll go back and
+finish my work, sir, if you please."</p>
+
+<p>"Work!" said the goblin, "what work?"</p>
+
+<p>"The grave, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! the grave, eh? Who makes graves at a time when other men are merry,
+and takes a pleasure in it?"</p>
+
+<p>Again the voices replied, "Gabriel Grubb! Gabriel Grubb!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid my friends want you, Gabriel," said the goblin.</p>
+
+<p>"Under favor, sir," replied the horror-stricken sexton, "I don't think
+they can; they don't know me, sir; I don't think the gentlemen have ever seen me."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! yes, they have. We know the man who struck the boy in the envious
+malice of his heart because the boy could be merry and he could not."</p>
+
+<p>Here the goblin gave a loud, shrill laugh which the echoes returned twenty-fold.</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I am afraid I must leave you, sir," said the sexton, making an
+effort to move.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p><p>"Leave us!" said the goblin; "ho! ho! ho!"</p>
+
+<p>As the goblin laughed he suddenly darted toward Gabriel, laid his hand
+upon his collar, and sank with him through the earth. And when he had
+had time to fetch his breath he found himself in what appeared to be a
+large cavern, surrounded on all sides by goblins ugly and grim.</p>
+
+<p>"And now," said the king of the goblins, seated in the centre of the
+room on an elevated seat&mdash;his friend of the churchyard&mdash;"show the man of
+misery and gloom a few of the pictures from our great storehouses."</p>
+
+<p>As the goblin said this a cloud rolled gradually away and disclosed a
+small and scantily furnished but neat apartment. Little children were
+gathered round a bright fire, clinging to their mother's gown, or
+gamboling round her chair. A frugal meal was spread upon the table and
+an elbow-chair was placed near the fire. Soon the father entered and the
+children ran to meet him. As he sat down to his meal the mother sat by
+his side and all seemed happiness and comfort.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you think of that?" said the goblin.</p>
+
+<p>Gabriel murmured something about its being very pretty.</p>
+
+<p>"Show him some more," said the goblin.</p>
+
+<p>Many a time the cloud went and came, and many a lesson it taught to
+Gabriel Grubb. He saw that men who worked hard and earned their scanty
+bread were cheerful and happy. And he came to the conclusion it was a
+very respectable sort of a world after all. No sooner had he formed it
+than the cloud closed over the last picture seemed to settle on his
+senses and lull him to repose. One by one the goblins faded from his
+sight, and as the last one disappeared he sank to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>The day had broken when he awoke, and found himself lying on the flat
+gravestone, with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> wicker-bottle empty by his side. He got on his
+feet as well as he could, and brushing the frost off his coat, turned
+his face toward the town.</p>
+
+<p>But he was an altered man, he had learned lessons of gentleness and
+good-nature by his strange adventures in the goblin's cavern.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="THE_SONG_OF_THE_STAR" id="THE_SONG_OF_THE_STAR"></a>THE SONG OF THE STAR.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY REV. C. H. MEAD.</h3>
+
+<p>"Oh, boys; you can count me out on that&mdash;all I can get goes to my mother
+and sisters for Christmas."</p>
+
+<p>The speaker was a manly little newsboy, with good features, a clean face
+and bright eyes. His clothes looked neat, though they were adorned with
+numerous patches.</p>
+
+<p>"But see here, Will. Christmas only comes once a year, and why shouldn't
+we fellers have our banquet as well as the silk-stockings? What would
+they know about things going on in the world anyway, if we newsboys
+didn't supply 'em with papers? All in favor of having a banquet, hold up yer hands!"</p>
+
+<p>Up went a score of hands&mdash;some dirty, some clean and some speckled, but
+Will's hand remained down. "See here, Will, what's the reason you won't stay by us?"</p>
+
+<p>The boy hesitated a moment and then said: "Boys, it's mighty close times
+up at our house; fried chicken and pound cake don't come our way,
+turkeys roost too high for us, and, and&mdash;well, boys, if you must know
+it, about the only good thing we kids have up there is our mother's
+love. See these patches! My mother put them on. See these stockings! My
+mother has been mending this same pair of stockings for more than a
+year, and she washes and irons them after I've gone to bed at night.
+Every stitch of mother's needle and thread is a stitch of love, and one
+night not long ago, I opened my eyes and saw my mother's tears<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> dropping
+on the sleeve of my coat at the same time she was putting the patch on
+this elbow. I tell you, boys, the best thing I've got in the world is my
+mother, and the best Christmas gift I ever had is my mother's love. If I
+had a million dollars, I'd give them all to my mother in return for her
+love. No, no, boys; no banquet for me, as long as I know my mother is
+starving herself that we children may have more to eat."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," replied one of the boys, "if I had a mother like that, maybe I'd
+feel the same way; but all we get at our house is a good licking from a
+drunken mother, and I'm going in for a square meal at Christmas, if I
+never has another."</p>
+
+<p>The boys, gathered on the sidewalk by one of the parks, were suddenly
+startled by a cry "Look out there!" and the next moment a runaway horse
+dashed into their midst; little Will was knocked over, and was soon
+carried into a neighboring drug store, all unconscious of what had
+happened. It was soon discovered that his arm was broken, and his body
+bruised in a number of places. The moment he regained consciousness and
+found what had occurred, he said:</p>
+
+<p>"Take me to my mother; she will take care of me somehow, though this
+isn't exactly the kind of a Christmas gift I meant she should have. Say,
+boys, one of you go up to our house, and tell her easy about this; don't
+burst in sudden and scare her, but tell her it isn't dangerous,
+and&mdash;well, just tell her I love her."</p>
+
+<p>The boys wiped their eyes and one of them said, "This busts up our
+banquet, fellers; I'll go and tell Will's mother, and, say, fellers,
+shan't I tell her we will give our banquet money to help her out at
+Christmas?"</p>
+
+<p>A hearty "You bet we will," was the response, as big Tom sped away to
+carry the news to Will's mother, while kind hands helped carry the
+injured<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> boy to his home. It was a poor home into which he was borne,
+but everything was as neat and tidy as could be. A woman stood at the
+door, and it needed but one glance to know that she was the mother of
+Will. Poverty and hunger had failed to rob her of her beauty, and there
+was an air of refinement about her that told of better days and happier surroundings.</p>
+
+<p>"Christmas hasn't come yet, mother," said Will, "but I have. Don't you
+worry; I'll come out of this all right, and we will have a good Christmas yet."</p>
+
+<p>The mother kissed him tenderly as she said, "No, I will not worry, so
+long as I have God, and you, and Josie, and Maggie, and Tot. When
+Christmas comes round, Will, it will be a good day whatever it brings."</p>
+
+<p>"It will bring yer heaps of things, Mrs. Sandford," blurted out big Tom,
+"for we fellers has given up havin' a banquet, and are going to bring
+yer something that Will can't bring now. Don't yer worry a bit," and
+here the rough fellow burst into tears, and rushed out of the house.</p>
+
+<p>A few more days, and then Christmas Eve came round, and a bright night
+it was. Will lay sleeping on the bed, his mother near by, pretending to
+read, but in reality using the dear old Bible as a shield to hide the
+tears that trickled down her cheeks. The mother was thinking, and
+thinking fast, too. It was only a little over thirteen years since her
+father had closed the door in her face and told her never to return. The
+man she loved was not the fashionable fop her father had selected for
+her as a husband, and secretly she had given her hand to the man to whom
+long before she had given her heart. All went well, until three years
+ago, when her husband died suddenly, and she found herself with no means
+and four children to take care of. Too proud to apply to her father for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>
+help, she struggled on as best she could, leaning hard on the God whom
+her mother had taught her to love.</p>
+
+<p>Her children were a comfort to her, for they had inherited the natural
+goodness of both their parents. Her tears now fell fast, for as she
+thought, she also listened to the voices of her two youngest children
+who were standing over by the window together.</p>
+
+<p>"Say, Maggie, does yer see dat bright star up dere? I wonder if dat is
+de star what de shepherds seen! If it is, it seems to be looking right
+down at us. Maybe Jesus is in dat star, and if He is, He won't forget us, will He?"</p>
+
+<p>And Tot looked at Maggie as the latter said: "Jesus loved little
+children, Tot, when He was on the earth, and I guess He loves them yet.
+That's a very bright star&mdash;it must be the one that was seen by the
+shepherds at Bethlehem."</p>
+
+<p>"I think so, too," said Tot, "and may be Josie will hear some of dem
+'good tidings' while she is out. Oh! Maggie, Jesus must love mother; she
+is so good, and I think He has sent that star to tell us to look out for good news."</p>
+
+<p>And where was Josie all this time? The mother thought she had gone into
+a neighbor's, where she frequently went, and so felt no anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>Out in the streets of the big city, side by side walked plenty and
+poverty, wealth and wretchedness, happiness and hunger, gladness and
+grief. Some carried bundles in their arms, while others carried burdens
+in their hearts. Over all, the good God watched, and down upon all the
+bright star shone. But what is that? Suddenly on one of the streets the
+people stopped and listened. On the steps of a stoop leading up to a
+lighted mansion stood a little girl who looked like a bright angel from
+heaven. Far above, overhead, shone the bright star that Maggie and Tot
+had seen; it was their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> star and it was her star, for Josie, too, had
+discovered it, and somehow felt that the star that had brought "good
+tidings of great joy" to the shepherds on Bethlehem's plains, had come
+again and to bring once more "good tidings." She had mounted the steps
+to get nearer the star, and then all unconscious of the people, in a
+rich, sweet voice, she sang:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div>I think, when I read that sweet story of old,</div>
+<div class="i1">When Jesus was here among men;</div>
+<div>How He called little children, as lambs to His fold;</div>
+<div class="i1">I should like to have been with Him then.</div>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<div>I wish that His hands had been placed on my head,</div>
+<div class="i1">That His arms had been thrown around me;</div>
+<div>That I might have seen His kind look, when He said,</div>
+<div class="i1">"Let the little ones come unto Me."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>As she sang, her gaze was fixed on the star, and even her hands were
+lifted toward it. The people looked at her; an angel had appeared in
+their midst&mdash;her face, her voice, her upturned eyes, her uplifted hands,
+held them spell-bound, until some one looking up in the direction she
+pointed, cried out: "See that star!" Heavenward went the gaze of the
+multitude, and once more there seemed to come to them a voice, saying:
+"Fear not, for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall
+be to all people." The face of Josie was illumined and even the
+multitude that had gathered, failed to alarm her. The star with its
+"good tidings" was over her head and in her heart as well. "Who are you,
+my child?" said a gentleman who had come up on the steps where she
+stood. "Please, sir, I am Josie Sandford." The gentleman gave a start
+and said, "Sandford, Josie Sandford? Pray where do you live, Josie?" She
+told him, and in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> response to other questions, told of mother, brother
+and sisters.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, sir; do you see the star? I am sure it has some 'good tidings' for
+us at our house, and I must hurry home and tell mother all about it. Good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>Away sped the child until she reached her home, and then entering the
+room quietly, she went up to her mother and said: "Have you seen the
+star, mother?" Maggie and Tot cried out, "We've seen it; come, mother,
+and look quick." The mother went quietly to the window, and there beheld
+a star of wonderful brightness, and as she gazed, her face took on a new
+light and into her heart came a great peace. The sleeping boy was
+awakened by the voices, and he, too, made his way to the window and
+looked at the star. "At evening time it shall be light."</p>
+
+<p>It had come, and&mdash;something else had come, too, for steps were heard on
+the stairs, followed by a knock on the door, on opening which, in came a
+company of newsboys headed by big Tom. They bore bundles and baskets,
+provisions and poultry, sunshine and sugar, toys and turnips, good-will
+and grapes, cheer and celery, and things that no one but those who had
+lacked for them, would ever have thought of. Big Tom was the spokesman
+for the happy company.</p>
+
+<p>"If yer please, Mrs. Sandford," he said, "there's our banquet. We wasn't
+going to come until to-morrow morning, but when we got the things all
+together, we just couldn't wait any longer, so we've brought 'em
+to-night, and if it isn't too soon, ma'am, we wishes you, and Will, and
+Josie, and Maggie, and Tot a 'Merry Christmas,' doesn't we, boys?"</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed we does!" responded the boys. The faces of that mother and her
+children were a sight to behold. Smiles and tears greeted the boys, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>
+the mother and her three girls had a kiss for each of them. Then Tot
+said: "I knowed it. I knowed it! De star had Jesus in it, and I knowed
+He see Maggie and me looking up at it."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, boys," said Mrs. Sandford, "you shall have your banquet, for I
+want you all to take Christmas dinner with us to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, boys, you shall all take dinner with Mrs. Sandford and her
+children to-morrow, but it must be at the home of her parents and not
+here," said a gentleman who had not been noticed as he stood in the hallway.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Sandford started as the owner of the voice entered the room, and
+little Josie sprang toward him at the same moment. She resembled her
+mother and was her namesake as well. The gentleman stretched out his
+arms toward Mrs. Sandford as he said to her:</p>
+
+<p>"Josie, can you forgive me for the harshness with which I drove you
+years ago from my door? God only knows how I have suffered, and for
+years I have hunted high and low for you, and have advertised time and
+again. But all was in vain, until to-night I saw your face and heard
+your voice once more, as my grandchild, Josie, stood singing on the
+steps and gazing at the star. In her I found you again, and oh, how your
+mother and I have prayed for this time to come."</p>
+
+<p>Long before he had finished, the daughter was in her father's arms once
+more, and the children were clinging to their new-found grandparent. The
+newsboys looked on in wonder, and suddenly little Tot ran to the window
+and then cried out&mdash;"Oh, grandpa, the star is here yet, and it shines
+brighter than before," and she threw a kiss up to the star.</p>
+
+<p>Christmas morning came and found them all in a home of plenty. A chair
+that had long stood vacant at that table, was once more filled, and
+near<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> it were four other chairs for the new-found grand-children. Was it
+a "Merry Christmas," did you inquire? Just ask those newsboys who came
+at two o'clock if they ever had such a banquet before or since, or
+whether they ever saw a home in which the "Star of Bethlehem" shone with
+greater splendor. And over the earth the star still shines, and will
+continue to shine until all mankind shall yet have a "Merry Christmas."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="INDIAN_PETES_CHRISTMAS_GIFT" id="INDIAN_PETES_CHRISTMAS_GIFT"></a>INDIAN PETE'S CHRISTMAS GIFT.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY HERBERT W. COLLINGWOOD.</h3>
+
+<p>The moon was just peeping over the pines as Pete Shivershee slunk down
+the road from the lumber camp into the forest. Pete did not present a
+surpassingly dignified appearance as he skulked through the clearing,
+but he was not a very dignified person even at his best.</p>
+
+<p>Most persons would have said, I think, that Pete's method of departure
+was hardly appropriate for one who had been selected by the citizens of
+Carter's Camp to go on an important mission. But Pete had his own
+reasons for his actions. He crept along behind the stumps and logs till
+he reached the forest. Then, as if the shadow gave him fresh courage and
+dignity, he drew himself upright, and started at a sharp trot down the
+road toward the village.</p>
+
+<p>We have said that Pete had reasons for his conduct. They were good ones.
+In the first place, he was an Indian. Not a "noble son of the forest,"
+such as Cooper loved to picture, but a mean, dirty, yellow-faced
+"<i>Injun</i>." Lazy and worthless, picking up a living about the lumber
+camps, working as little as he could, and eating and drinking as much as
+possible: such was the messenger. The mission was worse yet.</p>
+
+<p>It was Christmas Eve. The snow covered the ground, and the ice had
+stilled for the time the mouth of the roaring river. It was Saturday
+night as well; and for some time past the lumbermen had been considering
+the advisability of keeping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> the good old holiday with some form of
+celebration suited to the occasion.</p>
+
+<p>The citizens of Carter's Camp were not remarkably fastidious. They knew
+but one form of celebration, and they had no thought of hunting out new
+ones. The one thing needful to make a celebration completely successful
+was&mdash;liquor. This they must have in order to do justice to the day.</p>
+
+<p>The temperance laws of Carter's were very strict. Not that the moral
+sentiment of the place was particularly high, but it had been noticed
+that the amounts of labor and whisky were in inverse proportion. The
+more whisky, the less labor. It was a pure question of political
+economy. The foreman had often stated that he would prosecute to the
+fullest extent of the law the first man caught bringing whisky into
+camp. The foreman did not attempt, perhaps, to deny that his knowledge
+of the law was somewhat crude. He had forcibly stated, however, that
+should a case be brought before him, he would himself act as judge and
+jury, while his fist and foot would take the place of witness and
+counsel. There was something so terrible in this statement, coming as it
+did from the largest man in camp, that very little whisky had thus far been brought in.</p>
+
+<p>Christmas had come, and the drinking element in Carter's Camp proposed
+that Pete Shivershee&mdash;the "Injun"&mdash;be sent to town for a quantity of the
+liquid poison, that the drinkers might "enjoy" themselves.</p>
+
+<p>Bill Gammon found Pete curled up by the stove. He took him out of doors
+and explained the business in hand. Bill prided himself somewhat on his
+ability to "git work out of Injuns." Pete muttered only "all right." He
+took the money Bill gave him, and then slunk away down the road for the
+forest, as we have seen him.</p>
+
+<p class="center">*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p><p>Bill felt so confident of the success of his experiment that he did not
+hesitate to inform the boys that Pete was "dead sure" to return. He
+would stake his reputation upon it.</p>
+
+<p>Pete was in a hard position. If he loved anything in this world, it was
+whisky. If there was anything he feared, it was Bill's fist. The two
+were sure to go together. The money jingling in his pocket suggested
+unlimited pleasures, but over every one hung Bill's hard fist. He ran
+several miles through the forest, till, turning a corner of the road, he
+came upon a little clearing, in which stood a small log house. Pete knew
+the place well. Here lived Jeff Hunt with his wife, a French woman, and
+their troop of children.</p>
+
+<p>Jeff was a person of little importance by the side of his wife, though,
+like all "lords of creation," he considered himself the legal and proper
+head of the family, as well as one of the mainstays of society. His part
+of the family government consisted, for the most part, in keeping the
+house supplied with wood and water, and in smoking his comfortable pipe
+in the corner, while his wife bent over her tub.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Hunt was the only woman near the camp, and so all the laundry work
+fell to her. Laundry work in the pine woods implies mending and darning,
+as well as washing and ironing, and the poor little woman had her hands
+full of work surely. It was rub, rub, rub, day after day, over the
+steaming tub, with the children running about like little wolves, and
+Jeff kindly giving his advice from his comfortable corner. And even
+after the children were in bed at night, she must sit up and mend the clean clothes.</p>
+
+<p>What a pack of children there were! How rough and strong they seemed,
+running about all day, all but poor little Marie, the oldest. She had
+never been strong, and now at last she was dying of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> consumption. She
+could not sit up at all, but lay all day on the little bed in the
+corner, watching her mother with sad, beautiful eyes.</p>
+
+<p>The brave little Frenchwoman's heart almost failed her at times, as she
+saw how day by day the little form grew thinner, the eyes more
+beautiful, the cheeks more flushed. She knew the signs too well, but
+there was nothing she could do.</p>
+
+<p>Pete was a regular visitor at Jeff's and always a welcome one. His work
+was to carry the washing to and from camp. He came nearer to feeling
+like a man at Jeff's house than at any other place he knew of. Everyone
+but Mrs. Hunt and little Marie called him only "Injun," but they always
+said "Mr. Shivershee." The "Meester Shivershee" of the little
+Frenchwoman was the nearest claim to respectability that Pete felt able
+to make. One night while carrying home the clothes, he dropped them in
+the mud. He never minded the whipping Bill Gammon gave him half as much
+as he did poor Mrs. Hunt's tears, to think how her work had gone for nothing.</p>
+
+<p>As Pete came trotting down the road, Jeff stood in front of his house
+chopping stove-wood from a great log. A lantern, hung on a stump,
+provided light for his purpose. Pete stopped from sheer force of habit
+in front of the house, and Jeff, glad of any chance to interrupt his
+work, paused to talk with him.</p>
+
+<p>"Walk in, Injun," said Jeff, hospitably. "Yer clo'es ain't quite ready,
+but the woman will hev 'em all up soon&mdash;walk in."</p>
+
+<p>It suddenly came over Pete that this was his night for taking the
+clothes home, but his present errand was of far more importance than
+mere laundry work.</p>
+
+<p>"Me no stop. I goin' ter town. Great work. Large bizness." By which
+vague hints he meant no doubt to impress Jeff with a sense of the
+dignity<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> of his mission, and yet cunningly to keep its object concealed.</p>
+
+<p>"Goin' to town, be ye? Great doin's ter camp ter-morrer, I s'pose. I'll
+be round ef I kin git away, but walk in, Injun, an' git yer supper, an'
+see the wimmin," and Jeff opened the door for Pete to pass in.</p>
+
+<p>The thought of supper was too much for Pete and he slunk in after Jeff
+and stood in the corner by the door. The room was hardly an inviting
+one, and yet if Pete had been a white man some thoughts of "home, sweet
+home," must have passed through his mind. But he was only a despised "Injun."</p>
+
+<p>A rough board table was laid for supper at one side of the room. In the
+corner little Marie lay with the firelight falling over her poor thin
+face. Pete must have felt, as he looked at her, like some hopeless
+convict gazing through his prison bars upon some fair saint passing
+before him. She seemed to be in another world than his; there seemed
+between them a gulf that could not be bridged. Three of the larger
+children were sobbing in the corner, while the rest formed a sorrowful
+group about an old box in which were two or three simple plants frozen
+and yellow. Mrs. Hunt was frying pork over the hot stove. As she looked
+up at Pete, he noticed that she had been crying.</p>
+
+<p>Jeff was the very prince of hosts. He made haste to make Pete feel at home.</p>
+
+<p>"Set by, Injun. So the boys is goin' ter kinder cellybrate ter-morrer, be they?"</p>
+
+<p>But Pete felt that his mission must not be disclosed. "What matter is
+with kids?" he asked, to change the subject.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, they're jest a-yellin' about them flowers," explained Jeff. "Ye see
+they hev been a-trainin' some posies indoors against ter-morrer, ye
+know. Ter-morrer's Christmas, ye see, an' them kids they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> hed an idee
+they'd hev some flowers fer ter dekerate thet corner where the little
+gal is. Little gals, when they ain't well, like sech things, ye know."</p>
+
+<p>Pete nodded. He was not aware of this love of diminutive females, but it
+would not show very good breeding to appear ignorant.</p>
+
+<p>"Wall, ye see," continued Jeff, "they kep the flowers away from the
+little gal, meanin' ter s'prise her like. But jest this afternoon they
+gut ketched by the frost, an' now there they be stiffer'n stakes. It is
+kinder bad, ain't it&mdash;'specially ez it's Christmas, too?"</p>
+
+<p>"What Crissmus?" put in Pete.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Christmas? Wall, it's a sorter <i>day</i> like. It's somethin' like
+other days, an' yet it ain't. But then, Injun, I don't s'pose ye would
+understand ef I wuz ter tell ye." And Jeff concealed his own ignorance,
+as many wiser and better men have done, by assuming a tone too lofty for his audience.</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Hunt could explain, even if Jeff could not. She paused on the
+way to the stove with a dish of pork in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"It eez the day of the good Lord, Meester Shivershee. It eez the day
+when the good Lord He was born, and when all people should be glad." But
+the little woman belied her own creed as she thought of little Marie and the dead flowers.</p>
+
+<p>I hardly think Pete gained a very clear idea of the day, even from Mrs.
+Hunt's explanation. It was, I fear, all Greek to him.</p>
+
+<p>"What flowers fer?" he asked, as, in response to Jeff's polite
+invitation, he "sat by" and began supper.</p>
+
+<p>"Wall, it's a sorter idee of the wimmin," explained Jeff. "Looks kinder
+pooty to see flowers round; ye see, kinder slicks up a room like. All
+these things hez ter come inter keepin' house, ye<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> see, Injun." With
+which broad explanation Jeff helped himself to a piece of pork.</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Hunt was bound to explain too. Her explanation was certainly more poetic.</p>
+
+<p>"It eez the way we show our love for the good Lord, Meester Shivershee.
+What is more beautiful than the flowers? We take the flowers, and with
+much love we place them upon the walls, and we make others happy with
+them, and the good Lord, who loves us all, He is pleased,"&mdash;but here,
+seeing the sobbing children and the frozen plants, she could not help
+wiping her eyes upon her apron.</p>
+
+<p>The little sufferer on the bed saw this action. Her voice was almost
+gone. "Never mind, mamma," she whispered; but the beautiful eyes were
+filled with tears, for she knew that mamma <i>would</i> mind&mdash;that she could not help it.</p>
+
+<p>Pete listened to all this attentively. "Injun" that he was, of course he
+could not understand it all, and yet he could hardly help seeing
+something of the sorrow that the loss of the flowers had brought upon
+the family. He finished his supper, and then slunk out at the door
+again. Jeff followed him out.</p>
+
+<p>"Little gal ever git well?" asked Pete.</p>
+
+<p>"No; I don't s'pose she will," answered Jeff. "There ain't no hopes held
+out fer her. Makes it kinder bad, ye see. Nice, clever little gal as
+ever lived, too. Stop in an' git yer clo'es when ye come back, will ye?"</p>
+
+<p>"All right," muttered Pete, as he trotted away toward the town.</p>
+
+<p class="center">*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*</p>
+
+<p>I wonder what Pete was thinking about as he ran through the forest. An
+"Injun's" thoughts on any ordinary subject cannot be very deep, yet when
+one comes from such a scene as Pete had just witnessed, and when such
+sad eyes as Marie's haunt one all along a lonely road, even an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>
+"Injun's" thoughts must be worth noticing. Let us imagine what Pete's
+thoughts were as he shuffled mile after mile through the snow. The scene
+he had just left rose before his dulled "Injun" mind. How kind Mrs. Hunt
+had always been to him! She was the only one that called him "Mister."
+How queer it was that the children should cry because the flowers were
+killed! How little Marie had looked at him! Somehow Pete could not drive
+those sad eyes away. They seemed to be looking at him from every stump,
+from every tree. They were filled with tears now&mdash;could it be because
+the flowers were frozen?</p>
+
+<p>It is no wonder that when at last the few lingering village lights came
+into view, Pete was wondering how he could help matters out.</p>
+
+<p>It was quite late, and most of the shops were closed. Only here and
+there some late worker showed a light. The bar-rooms were open full
+blast, and as Pete glided down the sawdust street it needed all the
+remembrance of Bill's fist to keep him from parting with a portion of
+the jingling money for an equal amount of good cheer. But the fist had
+the best of it, and he went straight on to the last bar-room. Surely
+Bill was right. Nothing but a miracle could stop him.</p>
+
+<p>But the miracle was performed, and when Pete least expected it.</p>
+
+<p>Pete knew better than to go into the front door of the bar-room. He knew
+how well he and all his race are protected by the government. It had
+been decided that no one should be allowed to sell liquor to an
+"Injun"&mdash;at least at the regular bar. If an "Injun," however, could so
+far lose sight of his personal dignity as to come sneaking in at the
+back door, and pay an extra price for his liquor, whose business was it?</p>
+
+<p>Pete knew the way of bar-tenders. He had been in the business before. He
+did not go in at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> the front door where the higher-bred white men were
+made welcome, but slunk down an alley by the side of the building,
+meaning to go in the back way.</p>
+
+<p>There was no light in the store next the bar-room. It was a milliner's
+store and had been closed for some hours. But in the back room two women
+were working away anxious to finish a hat, evidently intended for some
+village belle's Christmas. Pete stopped in the dark alley for a moment to watch them.</p>
+
+<p>A man sat asleep in a chair by the stove, but the women worked on with
+tireless fingers. The hat was growing more and more brilliant under
+their quick touches. By their side stood a basket of artificial flowers
+and bright ribbons. It seemed to Pete that he had never before seen
+anything so beautiful. Here were flowers&mdash;why could he not get some for
+the little sick girl?</p>
+
+<p>It was a severe struggle for the poor "Injun," out there in the dark
+alley. The thought of the thrashing he would receive on the one hand,
+and the sad eyes of Marie on the other. What could he do? But even an
+"Injun" can remember a kindness. It may have been a miracle, or it may
+have been just the out-cropping of the desire to repay a kindness which
+even an "Injun" is said to possess. At any rate the eyes conquered and
+Pete braved the fist of Bill. For fear that he should lose courage, he
+pushed against the door of the room, and entered without ceremony.</p>
+
+<p>There was a great commotion, I can assure you. The idea of an "Injun"
+pushing his way into the back parlor of a milliner's shop was too much
+of a revolutionary proceeding to pass unnoticed. The women dropped their
+work with a little scream, while the man started from his chair with
+most violent intent upon poor Pete.</p>
+
+<p>"What be ye after here, Injun?" he growled. "Hump yerself outer
+here&mdash;git a-goin'!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p><p>But Pete pulled out his money, at the sight of which the standing army
+of the milliner's store paused. Money has smoothed over many an outrage.
+It might perhaps excuse even such an action on the part of an "Injun."</p>
+
+<p>"I want flowers," Pete said, pointing to the basket. "Give me flowers&mdash;I pay."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, ye wanter buy sum of them artyficial flowers, do ye? This is a
+pooty time o' night ter come flower huntin,' ain't it? Jest pick out yer
+flowers, an' then climb out!"&mdash;and he held the basket out at arm's
+length for Pete to select.</p>
+
+<p>Pete took a great red rose, and a white flower. There was not very much
+of a stock to select from, but Pete, with "Injun" instinct, selected the
+largest and gaudiest.</p>
+
+<p>"Them is wurth about ten shillins," figured up the merchant, taking the
+money from Pete's hand.</p>
+
+<p>Pete carefully placed the flowers in the pocket of his ragged coat, and
+started for the door. The milliner's man, rendered affable by the most
+surprising bargain he had just made, naturally wished to retain the
+patronage of such a model customer.</p>
+
+<p>"Want anything in our line, Injun, jest call round an' we'll please ye.
+Only come a little afore bed-time when ye come again." But Pete slunk
+out at the door and did not hear him.</p>
+
+<p>Pete's money was nearly gone, but he had a scheme in his head. He slunk
+in at the back door of the bar-room, and obtained his jug, and what
+whiskey he could buy with the rest of his money. Then up the street he
+ran again, out of town, stopping only once at the pump to fill the jug
+to the top with water. Resolutely fastening in the stopper, and not even
+raising the jug to his mouth, he started for camp at his long, swinging
+trot, with the jug in his hand. Mile after mile was passed over, yet
+Pete did not stop till Jeff Hunt's cabin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> came in sight. Hiding his jug
+behind a log, he crept up to the window and looked in.</p>
+
+<p>The light was burning on the table, while Mrs. Hunt sat nodding over her
+work. She had been mending the clothes so that Pete could take them back
+with him. Tired out, she had fallen asleep. The box of frozen plants
+still stood by the table. Pete grinned as he saw them, thinking of the
+great flowers in his pocket. Marie was asleep. Over her head were hung
+long clusters of moss, with masses of ground pine and red berries.</p>
+
+<p>Pete stole to the door and went in. Mrs. Hunt woke with a start, but at
+sight of Pete smiled in her weary way. Pete made up his bundle of
+clothes, and then pulled out the great red rose and the white flower. He
+laid them on the table with&mdash;"Flowers fer little gal. Sick. Make her
+think Crissmus. Good flowers. All color. No fade. No smell. No wear
+out." Then, catching up his bundle, he slunk away without waiting for
+Mrs. Hunt's thanks.</p>
+
+<p class="center">*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*</p>
+
+<p>When Bill Gammon woke in the morning, he found the jug at the foot of
+his bunk. But Pete was nowhere to be seen. He had left the jug and fled.</p>
+
+<p>The Christmas celebration at Carter's was a very tame affair. Many were
+the curses showered upon Pete, and had that worthy been present, I doubt
+if even the thought of the famous miracle would have sustained him in
+the beating he would have received. But if Pete's conduct produced such
+a sad effect upon the festivities at Carter's, the joy it caused at Jeff
+Hunt's cabin made matters even. The glad Christmas sun, glad with the
+promise of the "old, old story," came dancing and sparkling over the
+trees, and looked down in wonderful tenderness upon the humble cabin.
+The first bright beams fell upon the bed where little Marie was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> lying.
+They showed her the rose and the white flower nestling in the
+evergreens. The children came and stood in wonder before the rude
+flowers. How wonderful they were! Where could they have come from?</p>
+
+<p>The face of the little girl was more patient than before. The eyes
+seemed more tender, and yet not so sad. Perhaps the glad sun, the same
+good sun that had looked upon that far-away tomb from which the stone
+had rolled, whispered to her, as it played about her face, how soon the
+stone would roll from her life; how soon she would forget all her care
+and trouble, and enter the land of sunshine and flowers. It may be that
+the good old Christmas sun even hunted out poor despised Pete, and told
+him something of its happiness. I am sure he deserved it. Let us hope so at any rate.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="MY_CHRISTMAS_DINNER" id="MY_CHRISTMAS_DINNER"></a>MY CHRISTMAS DINNER.</h2>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<p>It was on the twentieth of December last that I received an invitation
+from my friend, Mr. Phiggins, to dine with him in Mark Lane, on
+Christmas Day. I had several reasons for declining this proposition. The
+first was that Mr. P. makes it a rule, at all these festivals, to empty
+the entire contents of his counting-house into his little dining parlor;
+and you consequently sit down to dinner with six white-waistcoated
+clerks, let loose upon a turkey. The second was that I am not
+sufficiently well read in cotton and sugar, to enter with any spirit
+into the subject of conversation. And the third was, and is, that I
+never drink Cape wine. But by far the most prevailing reason remains to
+be told. I had been anticipating for some days, and was hourly in the
+hope of receiving, an invitation to spend my Christmas Day in a most
+irresistible quarter. I was expecting, indeed, the felicity of eating
+plum-pudding with an angel; and, on the strength of my imaginary
+engagement, I returned a polite note to Mr. P., reducing him to the
+necessity of advertising for another candidate for Cape and turkey.</p>
+
+<p>The twenty-first came. Another invitation&mdash;to dine with a regiment of
+roast-beef eaters, at Clapham. I declined this also, for the above
+reason, and for one other, <i>viz.</i>, that, on dining there ten Christmas
+Days ago, it was discovered, on sitting down, that one little
+accompaniment of the roast beef had been entirely overlooked. Would it
+be believed!&mdash;but I will not stay to mystify&mdash;I merely mention the fact.
+They had forgotten the horseradish.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p><p>The next day arrived, and with it a neat epistle, sealed with
+violet-colored wax, from Upper Brook street. "Dine with the ladies&mdash;at
+home on Christmas Day." Very tempting, it is true; but not exactly the
+letter I was longing for. I began, however, to debate within myself upon
+the policy of securing this bird in hand, instead of waiting for the two
+that were still hopping about the bush, when the consultation was
+suddenly brought to a close, by a prophetic view of the portfolio of
+drawings fresh from boarding-school&mdash;moths and roses on embossed
+paper;&mdash;to say nothing of the album, in which I stood engaged to write
+an elegy on a Java sparrow, that had been the favorite in the family for
+three days. I rung for gilt-edged, pleaded a world of polite regret, and again declined.</p>
+
+<p>The twenty-third dawned; time was getting on rather rapidly; but no card
+came. I began to despair of any more invitations, and to repent of my
+refusals. Breakfast was hardly over, however, when the servant brought
+up&mdash;not a letter&mdash;but an aunt and a brace of cousins from Bayswater.
+They would listen to no excuse; consanguinity required me, and Christmas
+was not my own. Now my cousins kept no albums; they are really as pretty
+as cousins can be; and when violent hands, with white kid gloves, are
+laid on one, it is sometimes difficult to effect an escape with becoming
+elegance. I could not, however, give up my darling hope of a pleasanter
+prospect. They fought with me in fifty engagements&mdash;that I pretended to
+have made. I showed them the Court Guide, with ten names
+obliterated&mdash;being those of persons who had <i>not</i> asked me to mince-meat
+and mistletoe; and I ultimately gained my cause by quartering the
+remains of an infectious fever on the sensitive fears of my aunt, and by
+dividing a rheumatism and a sprained ankle between my sympathetic cousins.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p><p>As soon as they were gone, I walked out, sauntering involuntarily in
+the direction of the only house in which I felt I could spend a "happy"
+Christmas. As I approached, a porter brought a large hamper to the door.
+"A present from the country," thought I, "yes, they <i>do</i> dine at home;
+they must ask me; they know that I am in town." Immediately afterward a
+servant issued with a letter; he took the nearest way to my lodgings,
+and I hurried back by another street to receive the so-much-wished-for
+invitation. I was in a state of delirious delight.</p>
+
+<p>I arrived&mdash;but there was no letter. I sat down to wait, in a spirit of
+calmer enjoyment than I had experienced for some days; and in less than
+half an hour a note was brought to me. At length, the desired despatch
+had come; it seemed written on the leaf of a lily with a pen dipped in
+dew. I opened it&mdash;and had nearly fainted with disappointment. It was
+from a stock-broker, who begins an anecdote of Mr. Rothschild before
+dinner, and finishes it with the fourth bottle&mdash;and who makes his eight
+children stay up to supper and snap-dragon. In macadamizing a stray
+stone in one of his periodical puddings, I once lost a tooth, and with
+it an heiress of some reputation. I wrote a most irritable apology, and
+despatched my warmest regards in a whirlwind.</p>
+
+<p>December the twenty-fourth&mdash;I began to count the hours, and uttered many
+poetical things about the wings of Time. Alack! no letter came;&mdash;yes, I
+received a note from a distinguished dramatist, requesting the honor,
+etc. But I was too cunning for this, and practiced wisdom for once. I
+happened to reflect that his pantomime was to make its appearance on the
+night after, and that his object was to perpetrate the whole programme
+upon me. Regret that I could not have the pleasure of meeting Mr. Paulo,
+and the rest of the <i>literati</i> to be then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> and there assembled, was of
+course immediately expressed.</p>
+
+<p>My mind became restless and agitated. I felt, amidst all these
+invitations, cruelly neglected. They served, indeed, but to increase my
+uneasiness, as they opened prospects of happiness in which I could take
+no share. They discovered a most tempting dessert, composed of forbidden
+fruit. I took down "Childe Harold," and read myself into a sublime
+contempt of mankind. I began to perceive that merriment is only malice
+in disguise, and that the chief cardinal virtue is misanthropy.</p>
+
+<p>I sat "nursing my wrath," till it scorched me; when the arrival of
+another epistle suddenly charmed me from this state of delicious
+melancholy and delightful endurance of wrong. I sickened as I surveyed,
+and trembled as I opened it. It was dated&mdash;&mdash;, but no matter; it was not
+<i>the</i> letter. In such a frenzy as mine, raging to behold the object of
+my admiration condescend, not to <i>eat</i> a custard, but to render it
+invisible&mdash;to be invited perhaps to a tart fabricated by her own
+ethereal fingers; with such possibilities before me, how could I think
+of joining a "friendly party,"&mdash;where I should inevitably sit next to a
+deaf lady, who had been, when a little girl, patted on the head by
+Wilkes, or my Lord North, she could not recollect which&mdash;had taken tea
+with the author of "Junius," but had forgotten his name&mdash;and who once
+asked me "whether Mr. Munden's monument was in Westminster Abbey or St.
+Paul's?"&mdash;I seized a pen, and presented my compliments. I hesitated&mdash;for
+the peril of precariousness of my situation flashed on my mind; but hope
+had still left me a straw to catch at, and I at length succeeded in
+resisting this late and terrible temptation.</p>
+
+<p>After the first burst of excitement, I sunk into still deeper
+despondency. My spirit became a prey to anxiety and remorse. I could not
+eat; dinner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> was removed with unlifted covers. I went out. The world
+seemed to have acquired a new face; nothing was to be seen but raisins
+and rounds of beef. I wandered about like Lear&mdash;I had given up all! I
+felt myself grated against the world like a nutmeg. It grew dark&mdash;I
+sustained a still gloomier shock. Every chance seemed to have expired,
+and everybody seemed to have a delightful engagement for the next day. I
+alone was disengaged&mdash;I felt like the Last Man! To-morrow appeared to
+have already commenced its career; mankind had anticipated the future;
+"and coming mince pies cast their shadows before."</p>
+
+<p>In this state of desolation and dismay, I called&mdash;I could not help
+it&mdash;at the house to which I had so fondly anticipated an invitation, and
+a welcome. My protest must here however be recorded, that though I
+called in the hope of being asked, it was my fixed determination not to
+avail myself of so protracted a piece of politeness. No: my triumph
+would have been to have annihilated them with an engagement made in
+September, payable three months after date. With these feelings, I gave
+an agitated knock&mdash;they were stoning the plums, and did not immediately
+attend. I rung&mdash;how unlike a dinner bell it sounded! A girl at length
+made her appearance, and, with a mouthful of citron, informed me that
+the family had gone to spend their Christmas Eve in Portland Place. I
+rushed down the steps, I hardly knew whither. My first impulse was to go
+to some wharf and inquire what vessels were starting for America. But it
+was a cold night&mdash;I went home and threw myself on my miserable couch. In
+other words, I went to bed.</p>
+
+<p>I dozed and dreamed away the hours till day-break. Sometimes I fancied
+myself seated in a roaring circle, roasting chestnuts at a blazing log:
+at others, that I had fallen into the Serpentine while skating, and that
+the Humane Society were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> piling upon me a Pelion, or rather a Vesuvius
+of blankets. I awoke a little refreshed. Alas! it was the twenty-fifth
+of the month&mdash;It was Christmas Day! Let the reader, if he possess the
+imagination of Milton, conceive my sensations.</p>
+
+<p>I swallowed an atom of dry toast&mdash;nothing could calm the fever of my
+soul. I stirred the fire and read Zimmermann alternately. Even
+reason&mdash;the last remedy one has recourse to in such cases&mdash;came at
+length to my relief: I argued myself into a philosophic fit. But,
+unluckily, just as the Lethean tide within me was at its height, my
+landlady broke in upon my lethargy, and chased away by a single word all
+the little sprites and pleasures that were acting as my physicians, and
+prescribing balm for my wounds. She paid me the usual compliment, and
+then&mdash;"Do you dine at home to-day, sir?" abruptly inquired she. Here was
+a question. No Spanish inquisitor ever inflicted such complete dismay in
+so short a sentence. Had she given me a Sphynx to expound, a Gordian
+tangle to untwist; had she set me a lesson in algebra, or asked me the
+way to Brobdingnag; had she desired me to show her the North Pole, or
+the meaning of a melodrama:&mdash;any or all of these I might have
+accomplished. But to request me to define my dinner&mdash;to inquire into its
+latitude&mdash;to compel me to fathom that sea of appetite which I now felt
+rushing through my frame&mdash;to ask me to dive into futurity, and become
+the prophet of pies and preserves!&mdash;My heart died within me at the
+impossibility of a reply.</p>
+
+<p>She had repeated the question before I could collect my senses around
+me. Then, for the first time it occurred to me that, in the event of my
+having no engagement abroad, my landlady meant to invite me! "There will
+at least be the two daughters," I whispered to myself; "and after all,
+Lucy Matthews is a charming girl, and touches the harp divinely. She has
+a very small, pretty hand, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> recollect; only her fingers are so
+punctured by the needle&mdash;and I rather think she bites her nails. No, I
+will not even now give up my hope. It was yesterday but a straw&mdash;to-day
+it is but the thistledown; but I will cling to it to the last moment.
+There are still four hours left; they will not dine till six. One
+desperate struggle, and the peril is past; let me not be seduced by this
+last golden apple, and I may yet win my race." The struggle was made&mdash;"I
+should not dine at home." This was the only phrase left me, for I could
+not say that "I should dine out." Alas! that an event should be at the
+same time so doubtful and so desirable. I only begged that if any letter
+arrived, it might be brought to me immediately.</p>
+
+<p>The last plank, the last splinter, had now given way beneath me. I was
+floating about with no hope but the chance of something almost
+impossible. They had "left me alone," not with my glory, but with an
+appetite that resembled an avalanche seeking whom it might devour. I had
+passed one dinnerless day, and half of another; yet the promised land
+was as far from sight as ever. I recounted the chances I had missed. The
+dinners I might have enjoyed, passed in a dioramic view before my eyes.
+Mr. Phiggins and his six clerks&mdash;the Clapham beef-eaters&mdash;the charms of
+Upper Brook street&mdash;my pretty cousins, and the pantomime writer&mdash;the
+stock broker, whose stories one forgets, and the elderly lady who
+forgets her stories&mdash;they all marched by me, a procession of
+apparitions. Even my landlady's invitation, though unborn, was not
+forgotten in summing up my sacrifices. And for what?</p>
+
+<p>Four o'clock. Hope was perfectly ridiculous. I had been walking upon the
+hair-bridge over a gulf, and could not get into Elysium after all. I had
+been catching moonbeams, and running after notes of music. Despair was
+my only convenient refuge;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> no chance remained, unless something should
+drop from the clouds. In this last particular I was not disappointed;
+for, on looking up, I perceived a heavy shower of snow, yet I was
+obliged to venture forth; for being supposed to dine out, I could not of
+course remain at home. Where to go I knew not: I was like my first
+father&mdash;"the world was all before me." I flung my coat round me, and
+hurried forth with the feelings of a bandit longing for a stiletto. At
+the foot of the stairs, I staggered against two or three smiling
+rascals, priding themselves upon their punctuality. They had just
+arrived&mdash;to make the tour of Turkey. How I hated them!&mdash;As I rushed by
+the parlor, a single glance disclosed to me a blazing fire, with Lucy
+and several lovely creatures in a semi-circle. Fancy, too, gave me a
+glimpse of a sprig of mistletoe&mdash;I vanished from the house, like a
+spectre at day-break.</p>
+
+<p>How long I wandered about is doubtful. At last I happened to look
+through a kitchen window, with an area in front, and saw a villain with
+a fork in his hand, throwing himself back in his chair choked with
+ecstasy. Another was feasting with a graver air; he seemed to be
+swallowing a bit of Paradise, and criticising its flavor. This was too
+much for mortality&mdash;my appetite fastened upon me like an alligator. I
+darted from the spot; and only a few yards further discerned a house
+with rather an elegant exterior, and with some ham in the window that
+looked perfectly sublime. There was no time for consideration&mdash;to
+hesitate was to perish. I entered; it was indeed "a banquet-hall
+deserted." The very waiters had gone home to their friends. There,
+however, I found a fire; and there&mdash;to sum up all my folly and felicity
+in a single word&mdash;I <span class="smaller">DINED</span>.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="THE_POOR_TRAVELER" id="THE_POOR_TRAVELER"></a>THE POOR TRAVELER.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY CHARLES DICKENS.</h3>
+
+<blockquote><p>[Dickens' introduction to this story describes his going to
+Rochester on Christmas Eve and seeing there a quaint old charity,
+which provided for the entertainment of "six poor travelers who not
+being rogues or proctors might receive gratis for one night
+lodging, entertainment and fourpence each." In honor of the day a
+special meal is provided for the travelers then in the charity.
+After the meal, when the travelers have gathered around the fire,
+their entertainer gives them the reason for the unwonted feast as
+"Christmas Eve, my friends, when the Shepherds, who were poor
+travelers, too, in their way, heard the Angels sing, 'On earth,
+peace: Good will toward men.'" Then each traveler was invited to
+relate a story, and among those told was the following.]</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>In the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine, a relative of
+mine came limping down, on foot, to the town of Chatham. He was a poor
+traveler, with not a farthing in his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>My relative came down to Chatham to enlist in a cavalry regiment, if a
+cavalry regiment would have him; if not, to take King George's shilling
+from any corporal or sergeant who would put a bunch of ribbons in his
+hat. His object was to get shot; but he thought he might as well ride to
+death as be at the trouble of walking.</p>
+
+<p>My relative's Christian name was Richard, but he was better known as
+Dick. He dropped his own surname on the road down, and took up that of
+Doubledick. He was passed as Richard Doubledick; age, twenty-two;
+height, five foot ten; native place, Exmouth, which he had never been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>
+near in his life. There was no cavalry in Chatham when he limped over
+the bridge with half a shoe to his dusty feet, so he enlisted into a
+regiment of the line, and was glad to get drunk and forget all about it.</p>
+
+<p>You are to know that this relative of mine had gone wrong, and run wild.
+His heart was in the right place, but it was sealed up. He had been
+betrothed to a good and beautiful girl, whom he had loved better than
+she&mdash;or perhaps even he&mdash;believed; but in an evil hour he had given her
+cause to say to him solemnly, "Richard, I will never marry any other
+man. I will live single for your sake, but Mary Marshall's lips"&mdash;her
+name was Mary Marshall&mdash;"never address another word to you on earth. Go,
+Richard! Heaven forgive you!" This finished him. This brought him down
+to Chatham. This made him Private Richard Doubledick, with a
+determination to be shot.</p>
+
+<p>There was not a more dissipated and reckless soldier in Chatham
+barracks, in the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine, than
+Private Richard Doubledick. He associated with the dregs of every
+regiment; he was as seldom sober as he could be, and was constantly
+under punishment. It became clear to the whole barracks that Private
+Richard Doubledick would very soon be flogged.</p>
+
+<p>Now the Captain of Richard Doubledick's company was a young gentleman
+not above five years his senior, whose eyes had an expression in them
+which affected Private Richard Doubledick in a very remarkable way. They
+were bright, handsome, dark eyes,&mdash;what are called laughing eyes
+generally, and, when serious, rather steady than severe,&mdash;but they were
+the only eyes now left in his narrowed world that Private Richard
+Doubledick could not stand. Unabashed by evil report and punishment,
+defiant of everything else and everybody else, he had but to know that
+those eyes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> looked at him for a moment, and he felt ashamed. He could
+not so much as salute Captain Taunton in the street like any other
+officer. He was reproached and confused,&mdash;troubled by the mere
+possibility of the Captain's looking at him. In his worst moments, he
+would rather turn back, and go any distance out of his way, than
+encounter those two handsome, dark, bright eyes.</p>
+
+<p>One day, when Private Richard Doubledick came out of the Black hole,
+where he had been passing the last eight and forty hours, and in which
+retreat he spent a good deal of his time, he was ordered to betake
+himself to Captain Taunton's quarters. In the stale and squalid state of
+a man just out of the Black hole, he had less fancy than ever for being
+seen by the Captain; but he was not so mad yet as to disobey orders, and
+consequently went up to the terrace overlooking the parade-ground, where
+the officers' quarters were; twisting and breaking in his hands, as he
+went along, a bit of the straw that had formed the decorative furniture
+of the Black hole.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in!" cried the Captain, when he knocked with his knuckles at the
+door. Private Richard Doubledick pulled off his cap, took a stride
+forward, and felt very conscious that he stood in the light of the dark, bright eyes.</p>
+
+<p>There was a slight pause. Private Richard Doubledick had put the straw
+in his mouth, and was gradually doubling it up into his windpipe and choking himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Doubledick," said the Captain, "do you know where you are going to?"</p>
+
+<p>"To the devil, sir," faltered Doubledick.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," returned the Captain. "And very fast."</p>
+
+<p>Private Richard Doubledick turned the straw of the Black hole in his
+mouth, and made a miserable salute of acquiescence.</p>
+
+<p>"Doubledick," said the Captain, "since I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> entered his Majesty's service,
+a boy of seventeen, I have been pained to see many men of promise going
+that road; but I have never been so pained to see a man determined to
+make the shameful journey as I have been, ever since you joined the regiment, to see you."</p>
+
+<p>Private Richard Doubledick began to find a film stealing over the floor
+at which he looked; also to find the legs of the Captain's
+breakfast-table turning crooked, as if he saw them through water.</p>
+
+<p>"I am only a common soldier, sir," said he. "It signifies very little
+what such a poor brute comes to."</p>
+
+<p>"You are a man," returned the Captain, with grave indignation, "of
+education and superior advantages; and if you say that, meaning what you
+say, you have sunk lower than I had believed. How low that must be, I
+leave you to consider, knowing what I know of your disgrace, and seeing what I see."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope to get shot soon, sir," said Private Richard Doubledick; "and
+then the regiment and the world together will be rid of me."</p>
+
+<p>The legs of the table were becoming very crooked. Doubledick, looking up
+to steady his vision, met the eyes that had so strong an influence over
+him. He put his hand before his own eyes, and the breast of his
+disgrace-jacket swelled as if it would fly asunder.</p>
+
+<p>"I would rather," said the young Captain, "see this in you, Doubledick,
+than I would see five thousand guineas counted out upon this table for a
+gift to my good mother. Have you a mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am thankful to say she is dead, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"If your praises," returned the Captain, "were sounded from mouth to
+mouth through the whole regiment, through the whole army, through the
+whole country, you would wish she had lived to say, with pride and joy, 'He is my son!'"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p><p>"Spare me, sir," said Doubledick. "She would never have heard any good
+of me. She would never have had any pride and joy in owning herself my
+mother. Love and compassion she might have had, and would have always
+had, I know; but not&mdash;Spare me, sir! I am a broken wretch, quite at your
+mercy!" And he turned his face to the wall, and stretched out his
+imploring hand.</p>
+
+<p>"My friend&mdash;" began the Captain.</p>
+
+<p>"God bless you, sir!" sobbed Private Richard Doubledick.</p>
+
+<p>I have heard from Private Richard Doubledick's own lips, that he dropped
+down upon his knee, kissed that officer's hand, arose, and went out of
+the light of the dark, bright eyes, an altered man.</p>
+
+<p>In that year, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine, the French
+were in Egypt, in Italy, in Germany, where not? Napoleon Bonaparte had
+likewise begun to stir against England in India, and most men could read
+the signs of the great troubles that were coming on. In the very next
+year, when we formed an alliance with Austria against him. Captain
+Taunton's regiment was on service in India. And there was not a finer
+non-commissioned officer in it,&mdash;no, nor in the whole line,&mdash;than
+Corporal Richard Doubledick.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<p>In eighteen hundred and one, the Indian army were on the coast of Egypt.
+Next year was the year of the proclamation of the short peace, and they
+were recalled. It had then become well known to thousands of men, that
+wherever Captain Taunton, with the dark, bright eyes, led, there, close
+to him, ever at his side, firm as a rock, true as the sun, and brave as
+Mars, would be certain to be found, while life beat in their hearts,
+that famous soldier, <i>Sergeant</i> Richard Doubledick.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p><p>Eighteen hundred and five, besides being the great year of Trafalgar,
+was a year of hard fighting in India. That year saw such wonders done by
+a Sergeant-Major, who cut his way single-handed through a solid mass of
+men, recovered the colors of his regiment, which had been seized from
+the hand of a poor boy shot through the heart, and rescued his wounded
+Captain, who was down, and in a very jungle of horses' hoofs and
+sabres,&mdash;saw such wonders done, I say, by this brave Sergeant-Major,
+that he was specially made the bearer of the colors he had won; and
+<i>Ensign</i> Richard Doubledick had risen from the ranks.</p>
+
+<p>Sorely cut up in every battle, but always reinforced by the bravest of
+men,&mdash;for the fame of following the old colors, shot through and
+through, which Ensign Richard Doubledick had saved, inspired all
+breasts,&mdash;this regiment fought its way through the Peninsular war, up to
+the investment of Badajos in eighteen hundred and twelve. Again and
+again it had been cheered through the British ranks until the tears had
+sprung into men's eyes at the mere hearing of the mighty British voice,
+so exultant in their valor; and there was not a drummer boy but knew the
+legend, that wherever the two friends, Major Taunton, with the dark,
+bright eyes, and Ensign Richard Doubledick, who was devoted to him, were
+seen to go, there the boldest spirits in the English army became wild to follow.</p>
+
+<p>One day, at Badajos,&mdash;not in the great storming, but in repelling a hot
+sally of the besieged upon our men at work in the trenches, who had
+given way,&mdash;the two officers found themselves hurrying forward, face to
+face, against a party of French infantry, who made a stand. There was an
+officer at their head, encouraging his men,&mdash;a courageous, handsome,
+gallant officer of five-and-thirty, whom Doubledick saw hurriedly,
+almost momentarily,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> but saw well. He particularly noticed this officer
+waving his sword, and rallying his men with an eager and excited cry,
+when they fired in obedience to his gesture, and Major Taunton dropped.</p>
+
+<p>It was over in ten minutes more, and Doubledick returned to the spot
+where he had laid the best friend man ever had, on a coat spread upon
+the wet clay. Major Taunton's uniform was opened at the breast, and on
+his shirt were three little spots of blood.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear Doubledick," said he, "I am dying."</p>
+
+<p>"For the love of Heaven, no!" exclaimed the other, kneeling down beside
+him, and passing his arm round his neck to raise his head. "Taunton! My
+preserver, my guardian angel, my witness! Dearest, truest, kindest of
+human beings! Taunton! For God's sake!"</p>
+
+<p>The bright, dark eyes&mdash;so very, very dark, now, in the pale face&mdash;smiled
+upon him; and the hand he had kissed thirteen years ago laid itself
+fondly on his breast.</p>
+
+<p>"Write to my mother. You will see home again. Tell her how we became
+friends. It will comfort her, as it comforts me."</p>
+
+<p>He spoke no more, but faintly signed for a moment toward his hair as it
+fluttered in the wind. The Ensign understood him. He smiled again when
+he saw that, and, gently turning his face over on the supporting arm as
+if for rest, died, with his hand upon the breast in which he had revived a soul.</p>
+
+<p>No dry eye looked on Ensign Richard Doubledick that melancholy day. He
+buried his friend on the field, and became a lone, bereaved man. Beyond
+his duty he appeared to have but two remaining cares in life,&mdash;one, to
+preserve the little packet of hair he was to give to Taunton's mother;
+the other, to encounter that French officer who had rallied the men
+under whose fire Taunton fell.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> A new legend now began to circulate
+among our troops; and it was, that when he and the French officer came
+face to face once more, there would be weeping in France.</p>
+
+<p>The war went on&mdash;and through it went the exact picture of the French
+officer on the one side, and the bodily reality upon the other&mdash;until
+the battle of Toulouse was fought. In the returns sent home appeared
+these words: "Severely wounded, but not dangerously, <i>Lieutenant</i> Richard Doubledick."</p>
+
+<p>At midsummer-time, in the year eighteen hundred and fourteen, Lieutenant
+Richard Doubledick, now a browned soldier, seven-and-thirty years of
+age, came home to England invalided. He brought the hair with him, near
+his heart. Many a French officer had he seen since that day; many a
+dreadful night, in searching with men and lanterns for his wounded, had
+he relieved French officers lying disabled; but the mental picture and
+the reality had never come together.</p>
+
+<p>Though he was weak and suffered pain, he lost not an hour in getting
+down to Frome in Somersetshire, where Taunton's mother lived. In the
+sweet, compassionate words that naturally present themselves to the mind
+to-night, "he was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow."</p>
+
+<p>It was a Sunday evening, and the lady sat at her quiet garden-window,
+reading the Bible; reading to herself, in a trembling voice, that very
+passage in it, as I have heard him tell. He heard the words: "Young man,
+I say unto thee, arise!"</p>
+
+<p>He had to pass the window; and the bright, dark eyes of his debased time
+seemed to look at him. Her heart told her who he was; she came to the
+door quickly, and fell upon his neck.</p>
+
+<p>"He saved me from ruin, made me a human creature, won me from infamy and
+shame. O God, forever bless him! As He will, He will!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p><p>"He will!" the lady answered. "I know he is in heaven!" Then she
+piteously cried, "But O my darling boy, my darling boy!"</p>
+
+<p>Never from the hour when Private Richard Doubledick enlisted at Chatham
+had the Private, Corporal, Sergeant, Sergeant-Major, Ensign, or
+Lieutenant breathed his right name, or the name of Mary Marshall, or a
+word of the story of his life, into any ear except his reclaimer's. That
+previous scene in his existence was closed. He had firmly resolved that
+his expiation should be to live unknown; to disturb no more the peace
+that had long grown over his old offences; to let it be revealed, when
+he was dead, that he had striven and suffered, and had never forgotten;
+and then, if they could forgive him and believe him&mdash;well, it would be
+time enough&mdash;time enough!</p>
+
+<p>But that night, remembering the words he had cherished for two years,
+"Tell her how we became friends. It will comfort her, as it comforts
+me," he related everything. It gradually seemed to him as if in his
+maturity he had recovered a mother; it gradually seemed to her as if in
+her bereavement she had found a son. During his stay in England, the
+quiet garden into which he had slowly and painfully crept, a stranger,
+became the boundary of his home; when he was able to rejoin his regiment
+in the spring, he left the garden, thinking was this indeed the first
+time he had ever turned his face toward the old colors with a woman's blessing!</p>
+
+<p>He followed them&mdash;so ragged, so scarred and pierced now, that they would
+scarcely hold together&mdash;to Quatre Bras and Ligny. He stood beside them,
+in an awful stillness of many men, shadowy through the mist and drizzle
+of a wet June forenoon, on the field of Waterloo. And down to that hour
+the picture in his mind of the French officer had never been compared
+with the reality.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p><p>The famous regiment was in action early in the battle, and received its
+first check in many an eventful year, when he was seen to fall. But it
+swept on to avenge him, and left behind it no such creature in the world
+of consciousness as Lieutenant Richard Doubledick.</p>
+
+<p>Through pits of mire and pools of rain; along deep ditches, once roads,
+that were pounded and ploughed to pieces by artillery, heavy wagons,
+tramp of men and horses, and the struggle of every wheeled thing that
+could carry wounded soldiers; jolted among the dying and the dead, so
+disfigured by blood and mud as to be hardly recognizable for humanity;
+dead, as to any sentient life that was in it, and yet alive,&mdash;the form
+that had been Lieutenant Richard Doubledick, with whose praises England
+rang, was conveyed to Brussels. There it was tenderly laid down in
+hospital; and there it lay, week after week, through the long, bright
+summer days, until the harvest, spared by war, had ripened and was gathered in.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly laboring, at last, through a long, heavy dream of confused time
+and place, presenting faint glimpses of army surgeons whom he knew, and
+of faces that had been familiar to his youth,&mdash;dearest and kindest among
+them, Mary Marshall's, with a solicitude upon it more like reality than
+anything he could discern,&mdash;Lieutenant Richard Doubledick came back to
+life. To the beautiful life of a calm autumn evening sunset, to the
+peaceful life of a fresh, quiet room with a large window standing open;
+a balcony beyond, in which were moving leaves and sweet-smelling
+flowers; beyond, again, the clear sky, with the sun full in his sight,
+pouring its golden radiance on his bed.</p>
+
+<p>It was so tranquil and so lovely that he thought he had passed into
+another world. And he said in a faint voice, "Taunton, are you near me?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p><p>A face bent over him. Not his, his mother's.</p>
+
+<p>"I came to nurse you. We have nursed you many weeks. You were moved here
+long ago. Do you remember nothing?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing."</p>
+
+<p>The lady kissed his cheek, and held his hand, soothing him.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is the regiment? What has happened? Let me call you mother. What
+has happened, mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"A great victory, dear. The war is over, and the regiment was the
+bravest in the field."</p>
+
+<p>His eyes kindled, his lips trembled, he sobbed, and the tears ran down
+his face. He was very weak, too weak to move his hand.</p>
+
+<p>From that time, he recovered. Slowly, for he had been desperately
+wounded in the head, and had been shot in the body, but making some
+little advance every day. When he had gained sufficient strength to
+converse as he lay in bed, he soon began to remark that Mrs. Taunton
+always brought him back to his own history. Then he recalled his
+preserver's dying words, and thought, "It comforts her."</p>
+
+<p>One day he awoke out of a sleep, refreshed, and asked her to read to
+him. But the curtain of the bed, softening the light, which she always
+drew back when he awoke, that she might see him from her table at the
+bedside where she sat at work, was held undrawn; and a woman's voice
+spoke, which was not hers.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you bear to see a stranger?" it said softly. "Will you like to see a stranger?"</p>
+
+<p>"Stranger!" he repeated. The voice awoke old memories, before the days
+of Private Richard Doubledick.</p>
+
+<p>"A stranger now, but not a stranger once," it said in tones that
+thrilled him. "Richard, dear Richard, lost through so many years, my name&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p><p>He cried out her name "Mary," and she held him in her arms, and his
+head lay on her bosom.</p>
+
+<p class="center">*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;*</p>
+
+<p>Well! They were happy. It was a long recovery, but they were happy
+through it all. The snow had melted on the ground, and the birds were
+singing in the leafless thickets of the early spring, when those three
+were first able to ride out together, and when people flocked about the
+open carriage to cheer and congratulate <i>Captain</i> Richard Doubledick.</p>
+
+<p>But even then it became necessary for the Captain, instead of returning
+to England, to complete his recovery in the climate of Southern France.
+They found a spot upon the Rh&ocirc;ne, within a ride of the old town of
+Avignon, and within view of its broken bridge, which was all they could
+desire; they lived there, together, six months; then returned to
+England. Mrs. Taunton, growing old after three years&mdash;though not so old
+as that her bright, dark eyes were dimmed&mdash;and remembering that her
+strength had been benefited by the change, resolved to go back for a
+year to those parts. So she went with a faithful servant, who had often
+carried her son in his arms; and she was to be rejoined and escorted
+home, at the year's end, by Captain Richard Doubledick.</p>
+
+<p>She wrote regularly to her children (as she called them now), and they
+to her. She went to the neighborhood of Aix; and there, in their own
+ch&acirc;teau near the farmer's house she rented, she grew into intimacy with
+a family belonging to that part of France. The intimacy began in her
+often meeting among the vineyards a pretty child, a girl with a most
+compassionate heart, who was never tired of listening to the solitary
+English lady's stories of her poor son and the cruel wars. The family
+were as gentle as the child, and at length she came to know them so well
+that she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> accepted their invitation to pass the last month of her
+residence abroad under their roof. All this intelligence she wrote home,
+piecemeal as it came about, from time to time; and at last enclosed a
+polite note, from the head of the ch&acirc;teau, soliciting, on the occasion
+of his approaching mission to that neighborhood, the honor of the
+company of that man so justly celebrated, Captain Richard Doubledick.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Doubledick, now a hardy, handsome man in the full vigor of life,
+broader across the chest and shoulders than he had ever been before,
+dispatched a courteous reply, and followed it in person. Traveling
+through all that extent of country after three years of peace, he
+blessed the better days on which the world had fallen. The corn was
+golden, not drenched in unnatural red; was bound in sheaves for food,
+not trodden underfoot by men in mortal fight. The smoke rose up from
+peaceful hearths, not blazing ruins. The carts were laden with the fair
+fruits of the earth, not with wounds and death. To him who had so often
+seen the terrible reverse, these things were beautiful indeed; and they
+brought him in a softened spirit to the old ch&acirc;teau near Aix upon a deep blue evening.</p>
+
+<p>It was a large ch&acirc;teau of the genuine old ghostly kind, with round
+towers, and extinguishers, and a high leaden roof, and more windows than
+Aladdin's palace. The entrance doors stood open, as doors often do in
+that country when the heat of the day is past; and the Captain saw no
+bell or knocker, and walked in.</p>
+
+<p>He walked into a lofty stone hall, refreshingly cool and gloomy after
+the glare of a Southern day's travel. Extending along the four sides of
+this hall was a gallery, leading to suites of rooms; and it was lighted
+from the top. Still no bell was to be seen.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p><p>"Faith," said the Captain, halting, ashamed of the clanking of his
+boots, "this is a ghostly beginning!"</p>
+
+<p>He started back, and felt his face turn white. In the gallery, looking
+down at him, stood the French officer&mdash;the officer whose picture he had
+carried in his mind so long and so far. Compared with the original, at
+last&mdash;in every lineament how like it was!</p>
+
+<p>He moved and disappeared, and Captain Richard Doubledick heard his steps
+coming quickly down into the hall. He entered through an archway. There
+was a bright, sudden look upon his face, much such a look as it had worn
+in that fatal moment.</p>
+
+<p>Monsieur le Capitaine Richard Doubledick? Enchanted to receive him!</p>
+
+<p>"He has not remembered me, as I have remembered him; he did not take
+such a note of my face, that day, as I took of his," thought Captain
+Richard Doubledick. "How shall I tell him?"</p>
+
+<p>"You were at Waterloo," said the French officer.</p>
+
+<p>"I was," said Captain Richard Doubledick. "And at Badajos."</p>
+
+<p>Left alone with the sound of his own stern voice in his ears, he sat
+down to consider. What shall I do, and how shall I tell him? At that
+time, unhappily, many deplorable duels had been fought between English
+and French officers arising out of the recent war; and these duels, and
+how to avoid this officer's hospitality, were the uppermost thought in
+Captain Richard Doubledick's mind.</p>
+
+<p>"His mother, above all," the Captain thought. "How shall I tell <i>her</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"Spirit of my departed friend," said he, "is it through thee these
+better thoughts are rising in my mind? Is it thou who hast shown me, all
+the way I have drawn to meet this man, the blessings of the altered
+time? Is it thou who hast sent thy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> stricken mother to me, to stay my
+angry hand? Is it from thee the whisper comes, that this man did his
+duty as thou didst,&mdash;and as I did, through thy guidance, which has
+wholly saved me here on earth,&mdash;and that he did no more?"</p>
+
+<p>He sat down, with his head buried in his hands, and, when he rose up,
+made the second strong resolution in his life,&mdash;that neither to the
+French officer, nor to the mother of his departed friend, nor to any
+soul, while either of the two was living, would he breathe what only he
+knew. And when he touched that French officer's glass with his own, that
+day at dinner, he secretly forgave him in the name of the Divine Forgiver of Injuries.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="THE_LEGEND_OF_THE_CHRISTMAS_TREE" id="THE_LEGEND_OF_THE_CHRISTMAS_TREE"></a>THE LEGEND OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE.</h2>
+
+<p>Most children have seen a Christmas tree, and many know that the pretty
+and pleasant custom of hanging gifts on its boughs comes from Germany;
+but perhaps few have heard or read the story that is told to little
+German children, respecting the origin of this custom. The story is
+called "The Little Stranger," and runs thus:</p>
+
+<p>In a small cottage on the borders of a forest lived a poor laborer, who
+gained a scanty living by cutting wood. He had a wife and two children
+who helped him in his work. The boy's name was Valentine, and the girl
+was called Mary. They were obedient, good children, and a great comfort
+to their parents. One winter evening, this happy little family were
+sitting quietly round the hearth, the snow and the wind raging outside,
+while they ate their supper of dry bread, when a gentle tap was heard on
+the window, and a childish voice cried from without: "Oh, let me in,
+pray! I am a poor little child, with nothing to eat, and no home to go
+to, and I shall die of cold and hunger unless you let me in."</p>
+
+<p>Valentine and Mary jumped up from the table and ran to open the door,
+saying: "Come in, poor little child! We have not much to give you, but
+whatever we have we will share with you."</p>
+
+<p>The stranger-child came in and warmed his frozen hands and feet at the
+fire, and the children gave him the best they had to eat, saying: "You
+must be tired, too, poor child! Lie down on our bed; we can sleep on the
+bench for one night."</p>
+
+<p>Then said the little stranger-child: "Thank God for all your kindness to me!"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p><p>So they took their little guest into their sleeping-room, laid him on
+the bed, covered him over, and said to each other: "How thankful we
+ought to be! We have warm rooms and a cozy bed, while this poor child
+has only heaven for his roof and the cold earth for his sleeping-place."</p>
+
+<p>When their father and mother went to bed, Mary and Valentine lay quite
+contentedly on the bench near the fire, saying, before they fell asleep:
+"The stranger-child will be so happy to-night in his warm bed!"</p>
+
+<p>These kind children had not slept many hours before Mary awoke and
+softly whispered to her brother: "Valentine, dear, wake, and listen to
+the sweet music under the window."</p>
+
+<p>Then Valentine rubbed his eyes and listened. It was sweet music indeed,
+and sounded like beautiful voices singing to the tones of a harp:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<div>"O holy Child, we greet thee! bringing</div>
+<div>Sweet strains of harp to aid our singing.</div>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<div>"Thou, holy Child, in peace art sleeping,</div>
+<div>While we our watch without are keeping.</div>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<div>"Blest be the house wherein thou liest.</div>
+<div>Happiest on earth, to heaven the highest."</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The children listened, while a solemn joy filled their hearts; then they
+stepped softly to the window to see who might be without.</p>
+
+<p>In the east was a streak of rosy dawn, and in its light they saw a group
+of children standing before the house, clothed in silver garments,
+holding golden harps in their hands. Amazed at this sight, the children
+were still gazing out of the window, when a light tap caused them to
+turn round. There stood the stranger-child before them clad in a golden
+dress, with a gleaming radiance round his curling hair. "I am the little
+Christ-child," he said, "who wanders through the world bringing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> peace
+and happiness to good children. You took me in and cared for me when you
+thought me a poor child, and now you shall have my blessing for what you have done."</p>
+
+<p>A fir tree grew near the house; and from this he broke a twig, which he
+planted in the ground, saying: "This twig shall become a tree, and shall
+bring forth fruit year by year for you."</p>
+
+<p>No sooner had he done this than he vanished, and with him the little
+choir of angels. But the fir-branch grew and became a Christmas tree,
+and on its branches hung golden apples and silver nuts every Christmas-tide.</p>
+
+<p>Such is the story told to German children concerning their beautiful
+Christmas trees, though we know that the real little Christ-child can
+never be wandering, cold and homeless, again in our world, inasmuch as
+he is safe in heaven by his Father's side; yet we may gather from this
+story the same truth which the Bible plainly tells us&mdash;that any one who
+helps a Christian child in distress, it will be counted unto him as if
+he had indeed done it unto Christ himself. "Inasmuch as ye have done it
+unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="THE_PEACE_EGG" id="THE_PEACE_EGG"></a>THE PEACE EGG.</h2>
+
+<h3>BY JULIANA HORATIA EWING.</h3>
+
+<p>Every one ought to be happy at Christmas. But there are many things
+which ought to be, and yet are not; and people are sometimes sad even in
+the Christmas holidays.</p>
+
+<p>The Captain and his wife were sad, though it was Christmas Eve. Sad,
+though they were in the prime of life, blessed with good health, devoted
+to each other and to their children, with competent means, a comfortable
+house on a little freehold property of their own, and, one might say,
+everything that heart could desire. Sad, though they were good people,
+whose peace of mind had a firmer foundation than their earthly goods
+alone; contented people, too, with plenty of occupation for mind and
+body. Sad&mdash;and in the nursery this was held to be past all
+reason&mdash;though the children were performing that ancient and most
+entertaining play or Christmas mystery, known as "The Peace Egg," for
+their benefit and behoof alone.</p>
+
+<p>The play was none the worse that most of the actors were too young to
+learn parts, so that there was very little of the rather tedious
+dialogue, only plenty of dress and ribbons, and of fighting with the
+wooden swords. But though Robert, the eldest of the five children,
+looked bonny enough to warm any father's heart, as he marched up and
+down with an air learned by watching many a parade in barrack-square and
+drill ground, and though Nicholas did not cry in spite of falling hard,
+and Dora, who took the part of the Doctor, treading accidentally on his
+little finger in picking him up,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> still the Captain and his wife sighed
+nearly as often as they smiled, and the mother dropped tears as well as
+pennies into the cap which Tom, as the King of Egypt, brought round
+after the performance.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3>II.</h3>
+
+<p>Many, many years back the Captain's wife had been a child herself, and
+had laughed to see the village mummers act "The Peace Egg," and had been
+quite happy on Christmas Eve. Happy, though she had no mother. Happy,
+though her father was a stern man, very fond of his only child, but with
+an obstinate will that not even she dared thwart. She had lived to
+thwart it, and he had never forgiven her. It was when she married the
+Captain. The old man had a prejudice against soldiers, which was quite
+reason enough, in his opinion, for his daughter to sacrifice the
+happiness of her future life by giving up the soldier she loved. At last
+he gave her her choice between the Captain and his own favor and money.
+She chose the Captain, and was disowned and disinherited.</p>
+
+<p>The Captain bore a high character, and was a good and clever officer,
+but that went for nothing against the old man's whim. He made a very
+good husband too; but even this did not move his father-in-law, who had
+never held any intercourse with him or his wife since the day of their
+marriage, and who had never seen his own grand-children.</p>
+
+<p>Amid the ups and downs of their wanderings, the discomforts of shipboard
+and of stations in the colonies, bad servants, and unwonted sicknesses,
+the Captain's tenderness never failed. If the life was rough the Captain
+was ready. He had been, by turns, in one strait or another, sick-nurse,
+doctor, carpenter, nursemaid and cook to his family, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> had, moreover,
+an idea that nobody filled these offices quite so well as himself.
+Withal, his very profession kept him neat, well-dressed, and active. In
+the roughest of their ever-changing quarters he was a smart man, and
+never changed his manner from that of the lover of his wife's young days.</p>
+
+<p>As years went and children came, the Captain and his wife grew tired of
+traveling. New scenes were small comfort when they heard of the death of
+old friends. One foot of the dear, old, dull home sky was dearer, after
+all, than miles of the unclouded heavens of the South. The grey hills
+and over-grown lanes of her old home haunted the Captain's wife by night
+and day, and home-sickness (that weariest of all sicknesses) began to
+take the light out of her eyes before their time. It preyed upon the
+Captain too. Now and then he would say, fretfully, "I <i>should</i> like a
+resting-place in our own country, however small, before <i>every</i>body is
+dead! But the children's prospects have to be considered." The continued
+estrangement from the old man was an abiding sorrow also, and they had
+hopes that, if only they could get home, he might be persuaded to peace
+and charity this time.</p>
+
+<p>At last they were sent home. But the hard old father still would not
+relent. He returned their letters unopened. This bitter disappointment
+made the Captain's wife so ill that she almost died, and in one month
+the Captain's hair became iron gray. He reproached himself for having
+ever taken the daughter from her father, "to kill her at last," as he
+said. And (thinking of his own children) he even reproached himself for
+having robbed the old widower of his only child. After two years at home
+his regiment was ordered again on foreign duty. He failed to effect an
+exchange, and they prepared to move once more&mdash;from Chatham to Calcutta.
+Never before had the packing to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> which she was so well accustomed, been
+so bitter a task to the Captain's wife.</p>
+
+<p>It was at the darkest hour of this gloomy time that the Captain came in,
+waving above his head a letter which changed all their plans.</p>
+
+<p>Now close by the old home of the Captain's wife there had lived a man,
+much older than herself, who yet had loved her with a devotion as great
+as that of the young Captain. She never knew it, for when he saw that
+she had given her heart to his younger rival, he kept silence, and he
+never asked for what he knew he might have had&mdash;the old man's authority
+in his favor. So generous was the affection which he could never
+conquer, that he constantly tried to reconcile the father to his
+children whilst he lived, and, when he died, he bequeathed his house and
+small estate to the woman he had loved.</p>
+
+<p>"It will be a legacy of peace," he thought, on his death bed. "The old
+man cannot hold out when she and her children are constantly in sight.
+And it may please <span class="smcap">God</span> that I shall know of the reunion I have not been
+permitted to see with my eyes."</p>
+
+<p>And thus it came about that the Captain's regiment went to India without
+him, and that the Captain's wife and her father lived on opposite sides of the same road.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3>III.</h3>
+
+<p>The eldest of the Captain's children was a boy. He was named Robert,
+after his grandfather, and seemed to have inherited a good deal of the
+old gentleman's character, mixed with gentler traits. He was a fair,
+fine boy, tall and stout for his age, with the Captain's regular
+features, and (he flattered himself) the Captain's firm step and martial
+bearing. He was apt&mdash;like his grandfather&mdash;to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> hold his own will to be
+other people's law, and (happily for the peace of the nursery) this
+opinion was devoutly shared by his brother Nicholas. Though the Captain
+had left the army, Robin continued to command an irregular force of
+volunteers in the nursery, and never was colonel more despotic. His
+brothers and sisters were by turn infantry, cavalry, engineers, and
+artillery, according to his whim.</p>
+
+<p>The Captain alone was a match for his strong-willed son.</p>
+
+<p>"If you please, sir," said Sarah, one morning, flouncing in upon the
+Captain, just as he was about to start for the neighboring town,&mdash;"If
+you please, sir, I wish you'd speak to Master Robert. He's past my powers."</p>
+
+<p>"I've no doubt of it," thought the Captain, but he only said, "Well,
+what's the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Night after night do I put him to bed," said Sarah, "and night after
+night does he get up as soon as I'm out of the room, and says he's
+orderly officer for the evening, and goes about in his night-shirt and
+his feet as bare as boards."</p>
+
+<p>The Captain fingered his heavy moustache to hide a smile, but he
+listened patiently to Sarah's complaints.</p>
+
+<p>"It ain't so much <i>him</i> I should mind, sir," she continued, "but he goes
+round the beds and wakes up the other young gentlemen and Miss Dora, one
+after another, and when I speak to him, he gives me all the sauce he can
+lay his tongue to, and says he's going round the guards. The other night
+I tried to put him back in his bed, but he got away and ran all over the
+house, me hunting him everywhere, and not a sign of him, till he jumps
+out on me from the garret stairs and nearly knocks me down. 'I've
+visited the outposts, Sarah,' says he; 'all's well.' And off he goes to
+bed as bold as brass."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p><p>"Have you spoken to your mistress?" asked the Captain.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," said Sarah. "And missis spoke to him, and he promised not to
+go round the guards again."</p>
+
+<p>"Has he broken his promise?" asked the Captain, with a look of anger,
+and also of surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"When I opened the door last night, sir," continued Sarah, in her shrill
+treble, "what should I see in the dark but Master Robert a-walking up
+and down with the carpet-brush stuck in his arm. 'Who goes there?' says
+he. 'You awdacious boy!' says I, 'Didn't you promise your ma you'd leave
+off them tricks?' 'I'm not going round the guards,' says he; 'I promised
+not. But I'm for sentry-duty to-night.' And say what I would to him, all
+he had for me was, 'You mustn't speak to a sentry on duty.' So I says,
+'As sure as I live till morning, I'll go to your pa,' for he pays no
+more attention to his ma than to me, nor to any one else."</p>
+
+<p>"Please to see that the bed is taken out of my dressing-room," said the
+Captain. "I will attend to Master Robert."</p>
+
+<p>With this Sarah had to content herself, and she went back to the
+nursery. Robert was nowhere to be seen, and made no reply to her
+summons. On this the unwary nursemaid flounced into the bed-room to look
+for him, when Robert, who was hidden beneath a table, darted forth, and
+promptly locked her in.</p>
+
+<p>"You're under arrest," he shouted, through the keyhole.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me out!" shrieked Sarah.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll send a file of the guard to fetch you to the orderly-room,
+by-and-by," said Robert, "for 'preferring frivolous complaints.'" And he
+departed to the farmyard to look at the ducks.</p>
+
+<p>That night, when Robert went up to bed, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> Captain quietly locked him
+into his dressing-room, from which the bed had been removed.</p>
+
+<p>"You're for sentry duty, to-night," said the Captain. "The carpet-brush
+is in the corner. Good-evening."</p>
+
+<p>As his father anticipated, Robert was soon tired of the sentry game in
+these new circumstances, and long before the night had half worn away he
+wished himself safely undressed and in his own comfortable bed. At
+half-past twelve o'clock he felt as if he could bear it no longer, and
+knocked at the Captain's door.</p>
+
+<p>"Who goes there?" said the Captain.</p>
+
+<p>"Mayn't I go to bed, please?" whined poor Robert.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly not," said the Captain. "You're on duty."</p>
+
+<p>And on duty poor Robert had to remain, for the Captain had a will as
+well as his son. So he rolled himself up in his father's railway rug,
+and slept on the floor.</p>
+
+<p>The next night he was very glad to go quietly to bed, and remain there.</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3>IV.</h3>
+
+<p>The Captain's children sat at breakfast in a large, bright nursery. It
+was the room where the old bachelor had died, and now <i>her</i> children
+made it merry. This was just what he would have wished.</p>
+
+<p>They all sat round the table, for it was breakfast-time. There were five
+of them, and five bowls of boiled bread-and-milk smoked before them.
+Sarah (a foolish, gossiping girl, who acted as nurse till better could
+be found) was waiting on them, and by the table sat Darkie, the black
+retriever, his long, curly back swaying slightly from the difficulty of
+holding himself up, and his solemn hazel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> eyes fixed very intently on
+each and all of the breakfast bowls. He was as silent and sagacious as
+Sarah was talkative and empty-headed. Though large, he was unassuming.
+Pax, the pug, on the contrary, who came up to the first joint of
+Darkie's leg, stood defiantly on his dignity (and his short stumps). He
+always placed himself in front of the bigger dog, and made a point of
+hustling him in doorways and of going first downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>Robert's tongue was seldom idle, even at meals. "Sarah, who is that tall
+old gentleman at church, in the seat near the pulpit?" he asked. "He
+wears a cloak like what the Blues wear, only all blue, and is tall
+enough for a Life-guardsman. He stood when we were kneeling down, and
+said, <i>Almighty and most merciful Father</i>, louder than anybody."</p>
+
+<p>Sarah knew who the old gentleman was, and knew also that the children
+did not know, and that their parents did not see fit to tell them as
+yet. But she had a passion for telling and hearing news, and would
+rather gossip with a child than not gossip at all. "Never you mind,
+Master Robin," she said, nodding sagaciously. "Little boys aren't to know everything."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, then, I know you don't know," replied Robert; "if you did, you'd tell."</p>
+
+<p>"I do," said Sarah.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't," said Robin.</p>
+
+<p>"Your ma's forbid you to contradict, Master Robin," said Sarah; "and if
+you do I shall tell her. I know well enough who the old gentleman is,
+and perhaps I might tell you, only you'd go straight off and tell again."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, I wouldn't!" shouted Robin. "I can keep a secret, indeed I can!
+Pinch my little finger, and try. Do, do tell me, Sarah, there's a dear
+Sarah, and then I shall know you know." And he danced round her,
+catching at her skirts.</p>
+
+<p>To keep a secret was beyond Sarah's powers.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p><p>"Do let my dress be, Master Robin," she said, "you're ripping out all
+the gathers, and listen while I whisper. As sure as you're a living boy,
+that gentleman's your own grandpapa."</p>
+
+<p>Robin lost his hold on Sarah's dress; his arms fell by his side, and he
+stood with his brows knit for some minutes, thinking. Then he said,
+emphatically, "What lies you do tell, Sarah!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Robin!" cried Nicholas, who had drawn near, his thick curls
+standing stark with curiosity, "Mamma said 'lies' wasn't a proper word,
+and you promised not to say it again."</p>
+
+<p>"I forgot," said Robin, "I didn't mean to break my promise. But she does
+tell&mdash;ahem!&mdash;<i>you know what</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"You wicked boy!" cried the enraged Sarah; "how dare you say such a
+thing, and everybody in the place knows he's your ma's own pa."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go and ask her," said Robin, and he was at the door in a moment;
+but Sarah, alarmed by the thought of getting into a scrape herself,
+caught him by the arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you go, love; it'll only make your ma angry. There; it was all my nonsense."</p>
+
+<p>"Then it's not true?" said Robin, indignantly. "What did you tell me so for?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was all my jokes and nonsense," said the unscrupulous Sarah, "But
+your ma wouldn't like to know I've said such a thing. And Master Robert
+wouldn't be so mean as to tell tales, would he, love?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not mean," said Robin stoutly; "and I don't tell tales; but you do,
+and you tell <i>you know what</i>, besides. However, I won't go this time;
+but I'll tell you what&mdash;if you tell tales of me to papa any more, I'll
+tell him what you said about the old gentleman in the blue cloak." With
+which parting threat Robin strode off to join his brothers and sisters.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3>V.</h3>
+
+<p>After Robert left the nursery he strolled out of doors, and, peeping
+through the gate at the end of the drive, he saw a party of boys going
+through what looked like a military exercise with sticks and a good deal
+of stamping; but, instead of mere words of command, they all spoke by
+turns, as in a play. Not being at all shy, he joined them, and asked so
+many questions that he soon got to know all about it. They were
+practicing a Christmas mumming-play, called "The Peace Egg." Why it was
+called thus they could not tell him, as there was nothing whatever about
+eggs in it, and so far from being a play of peace, it was made up of a
+series of battles between certain valiant knights and princes. The
+rehearsal being over, Robin went with the boys to the sexton's house (he
+was father to one of the characters called the "King of Egypt") where
+they showed him the dresses they were to wear. These were made of
+gay-colored materials, and covered with ribbons, except that of the
+"Black Prince of Paradine," which was black, as became his title. The
+boys also showed him the book from which they learned their parts, and
+which was to be bought at the post-office store.</p>
+
+<p>"Then are you the mummers who come round at Christmas, and act in
+people's kitchens, and people give them money, that mamma used to tell
+us about?" said Robin.</p>
+
+<p>The boy hesitated a moment and then said, "Well, I suppose we are."</p>
+
+<p>"And do you go out in the snow from one house to another at night; and
+oh, don't you enjoy it?" cried Robin.</p>
+
+<p>"We like it well enough," the lad admitted.</p>
+
+<p>Robin bought a copy of "The Peace Egg." He was resolved to have a
+nursery performance, and to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> take the chief part himself. The others
+were willing for what he wished, but there were difficulties. In the
+first place, there are eight characters in the play, and there were only
+five children. They decided among themselves to leave out the "Fool,"
+and Mamma said that another character was not to be acted by any of
+them, or indeed mentioned; "the little one who comes in at the end,"
+Robin explained. Mamma had her reasons, and these were always good. She
+had not been altogether pleased that Robin had bought the play. It was a
+very old thing, she said, and very queer; not adapted for a child's
+play. If Mamma thought the parts not quite fit for the children to
+learn, they found them much too long: so in the end she picked out some
+bits for each, which they learned easily, and which, with a good deal of
+fighting, made quite as good a story of it as if they had done the
+whole. What may have been wanting otherwise was made up for by the
+dresses, which were charming.</p>
+
+<p>Robin was St. George, Nicholas the valiant Slasher, Dora the Doctor, and
+the other two Hector and the King of Egypt. "And now we've no Black
+Prince!" cried Robin in dismay.</p>
+
+<p>"Let Darkie be the Black Prince," said Nicholas.</p>
+
+<p>"When you wave your stick he'll jump for it, and then you can pretend to
+fight with him."</p>
+
+<p>"It's not a stick, it's a sword," said Robin.</p>
+
+<p>"However, Darkie may be the Black Prince."</p>
+
+<p>"And what's Pax to be?" asked Dora; "for you know he will come if Darkie
+does, and he'll run in before everybody else too."</p>
+
+<p>"Then he must be the Fool," said Robin, "and it will do very well, for
+the Fool comes in before the rest, and Pax can have his red coat on, and
+the collar with the little bells."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3>VI.</h3>
+
+<p>Robin thought that Christmas would never come. To the Captain and his
+wife it seemed to come too fast. They had hoped it might bring
+reconciliation with the old man, but it seemed they had hoped in vain.</p>
+
+<p>There were times now when the Captain almost regretted the old
+bachelor's bequest. The familiar scenes of her old home sharpened his
+wife's grief. To see her father every Sunday in church, with marks of
+age and infirmity upon him, but with not a look of tenderness for his
+only child, this tried her sorely.</p>
+
+<p>"She felt it less abroad," thought the Captain. "A home in which she
+frets herself to death, is after all, no great boon."</p>
+
+<p>Christmas Eve came.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure it's quite Christmas enough now," said Robin. "We'll have 'The
+Peace Egg' to-night."</p>
+
+<p>So as the Captain and his wife sat sadly over their fire, the door
+opened, and Pax ran in shaking his bells, and followed by the nursery
+mummers. The performance was most successful. It was by no means
+pathetic, and yet, as has been said, the Captain's wife shed tears.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter, mamma?" said Robert, abruptly dropping his sword
+and running up to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't tease mamma with questions," said the Captain; "she is not very
+well, and rather sad. We must all be very kind and good to poor dear
+mamma;" and the Captain raised his wife's hand to his lips as he spoke.
+Robin seized the other hand and kissed it tenderly. He was very fond of
+his mother. At this moment Pax took a little run, and jumped on to
+mamma's lap, where, sitting facing the company, he opened his black
+mouth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> and yawned, with a ludicrous inappropriateness worthy of any
+clown. It made everybody laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"And now we'll go and act in the kitchen," said Nicholas.</p>
+
+<p>"Supper at nine o'clock, remember," shouted the Captain. "And we are
+going to have real frumenty and Yule cakes, such as mamma used to tell
+us of when we were abroad."</p>
+
+<p>"Hurray!" shouted the mummers, and they ran off, Pax leaping from his
+seat just in time to hustle the Black Prince in the doorway. When the
+dining-room door was shut, Robert raised his hand, and said "Hush!"</p>
+
+<p>The mummers pricked their ears, but there was only a distant harsh and
+scraping sound, as of stones rubbed together.</p>
+
+<p>"They're cleaning the passages," Robert went on, "and Sarah told me they
+meant to finish the mistletoe, and have everything cleaned up by
+supper-time. They don't want us, I know. Look here, we'll go <i>real
+mumming</i> instead. That <i>will</i> be fun!"</p>
+
+<p>Nicholas grinned with delight.</p>
+
+<p>"But will mamma let us?" he enquired.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it will be all right if we're back by supper-time," said Robert,
+hastily. "Only of course we must take care not to catch cold. Come and
+help me to get some wraps."</p>
+
+<p>The old oak chest in which spare shawls, rugs, and coats were kept was
+soon ransacked, and the mummers' gay dresses hidden by motley wrappers.
+But no sooner did Darkie and Pax behold the coats, etc., than they at
+once began to leap and bark, as it was their custom to do when they saw
+any one dressing to go out. Robin was sorely afraid that this would
+betray them; but though the Captain and his wife heard the barking they
+did not guess the cause.</p>
+
+<p>So the front door being very gently opened and closed, the nursery
+mummers stole away.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3>VII.</h3>
+
+<p>It was a very fine night. The snow was well-trodden on the drive, so
+that it did not wet their feet, but on the trees and shrubs it hung soft
+and white.</p>
+
+<p>"It's much jollier being out at night than in the daytime," said Robin.</p>
+
+<p>"Much," responded Nicholas, with intense feeling.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll go a wassailing next week," said Robin. "I know all about it, and
+perhaps we shall get a good lot of money, and then we'll buy tin swords
+with scabbards for next year. I don't like these sticks. Oh, dear, I
+wish it wasn't so long between one Christmas and another."</p>
+
+<p>"Where shall we go first?" asked Nicholas, as they turned into the high road.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the first house," he said. "We'll act here;" and all pressed in
+as quickly as possible. Once safe within the grounds, they shouldered
+their sticks, and marched with composure.</p>
+
+<p>"You're going to the front door," said Nicholas. "Mummers ought to go to the back."</p>
+
+<p>"We don't know where it is," said Robin, and he rang the front-door
+bell. There was a pause. Then lights shone, steps were heard, and at
+last a sound of much unbarring, unbolting, and unlocking. It might have
+been a prison. Then the door was opened by an elderly, timid-looking
+woman, who held a tallow candle above her head.</p>
+
+<p>"Who's there?" she said, "at this time of night."</p>
+
+<p>"We're Christmas mummers," said Robin, stoutly; "we didn't know the way
+to the back door, but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And don't you know better than to come here?" said the woman. "Be off
+with you, as fast as you can."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p><p>"You're only the servant," said Robin. "Go and ask your master and
+mistress if they wouldn't like to see us act. We do it very well."</p>
+
+<p>"You impudent boy, be off with you!" repeated the woman. "Master'd no
+more let you nor any other such rubbish set foot in this house&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Woman!" shouted a voice close behind her, which made her start as if
+she had been shot, "who authorizes you to say what your master will or
+will not do, before you've asked him? The boy is right. You <i>are</i> the
+servant, and it is not your business to choose for me whom I shall or shall not see."</p>
+
+<p>"I meant no harm, sir, I'm sure," said the housekeeper; "but I thought
+you'd never&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"My good woman," said her master, "if I had wanted somebody to think for
+me, you're the last person I should have employed. I hire you to obey
+orders, not to think."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure, sir," said the housekeeper, whose only form of argument was
+reiteration, "I never thought you would have seen them&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Then you were wrong," shouted her master. "I will see them. Bring them in."</p>
+
+<p>He was a tall, gaunt old man, and Robin stared at him for some minutes,
+wondering where he could have seen somebody very like him. At last he
+remembered. It was the old gentleman of the blue cloak.</p>
+
+<p>The children threw off their wraps, the housekeeper helping them, and
+chattering ceaselessly, from sheer nervousness.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, to be sure," said she, "their dresses are pretty, too. And they
+seem quite a better sort of children, they talk quite genteel. I might
+ha' knowed they weren't like common mummers, but I was so flusterated
+hearing the bell go so late, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Are they ready?" said the old man, who had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> stood like a ghost in the
+dim light of the flaring tallow candle, grimly watching the proceedings.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir. Shall I take them to the kitchen, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"&mdash;&mdash;for you and the other idle hussies to gape and grin at? No. Bring
+them to the library," he snapped, and then stalked off, leading the way.</p>
+
+<p>The housekeeper accordingly led them to the library, and then withdrew,
+nearly falling on her face as she left the room by stumbling over
+Darkie, who slipped in last like a black shadow.</p>
+
+<p>The old man was seated in a carved oak chair by the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"I never said the dogs were to come in," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"But we can't do without them, please," said Robin, boldly. "You see
+there are eight people in 'The Peace Egg,' and there are only five of
+us; and so Darkie has to be the Black Prince, and Pax has to be the
+Fool, and so we have to have them."</p>
+
+<p>"Five and two make seven," said the old man, with a grim smile; "what do
+you do for the eighth?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's the little one at the end," said Robin, confidently. "Mamma
+said we weren't to mention him, but I think that's because we're
+children.&mdash;You're grown up, you know, so I'll show you the book, and you
+can see for yourself," he went on, drawing "The Peace Egg" from his
+pocket: "there, that's the picture of him, on the last page; black, with
+horns and a tail."</p>
+
+<p>The old man's stern face relaxed into a broad smile as he examined the
+grotesque woodcut; but when he turned to the first page the smile
+vanished in a deep frown, and his eyes shone like hot coals with anger.
+He had seen Robin's name.</p>
+
+<p>"Who sent you here?" he asked, in a hoarse voice. "Speak, and speak the
+truth! Did your mother send you here?"</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p><p>Robin thought the old man was angry with them for playing truant. He
+said, slowly, "N&mdash;no. She didn't exactly send us; but I don't think
+she'll mind our having come if we get back in time for supper. Mamma
+never <i>forbid</i> our going mumming, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't suppose she ever thought of it," Nicholas said candidly,
+wagging his curly head from side to side.</p>
+
+<p>"She knows we're mummers," said Robin, "for she helped us. When we were
+abroad, you know, she used to tell us about the mummers acting at
+Christmas, when she was a little girl; and so we thought we'd be
+mummers, and so we acted to papa and mamma, and so we thought we'd act
+to the maids, but they were cleaning the passages, and so we thought
+we'd really go mumming; and we've got several other houses to go to
+before supper-time; we'd better begin, I think," said Robin; and without
+more ado he began to march round and round, raising his sword, and the
+performance went off quite as creditably as before.</p>
+
+<p>As the children acted the old man's anger wore off. He watched them with
+an interest he could not repress. When Nicholas took some hard thwacks
+from Robert without flinching, the old man clapped his hands; and after
+the encounter was over, he said he would not have had the dogs excluded
+on any consideration. It was just at the end, when they were all
+marching round and round, holding on by each other's swords "over the
+shoulder," and singing "A mumming we will go, etc.," that Nicholas
+suddenly brought the circle to a stand-still by stopping dead short, and
+staring up at the wall before him.</p>
+
+<p>"What <i>are</i> you stopping for?" said Robert, turning indignantly around.</p>
+
+<p>"Look there!" cried Nicholas, pointing to a little painting which hung
+above the old man's head.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p><p>Robin looked, and said abruptly, "It's Dora."</p>
+
+<p>"Which is Dora?" asked the old man in a strange, sharp tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Here she is," said Robin and Nicholas in one breath, as they dragged her forward.</p>
+
+<p>"She's the Doctor," said Robin, "and you can't see her face for her
+things. Dor, take off your cap and pull back that hood. There! Oh, it <i>is</i> like her!"</p>
+
+<p>It was the portrait of her mother as a child; but of this the nursery
+mummers knew nothing. The old man looked as the peaked cap and hood fell
+away from Dora's face and fair curls, and then he uttered a sharp cry,
+and buried his head upon his hands. The boys stood stupefied, but Dora
+ran up to him, and putting her little hands on his arms, said, in
+childish pitying tones, "Oh, I am so sorry! Have you got a headache? May
+Robin put the shovel in the fire for you? Mamma has hot shovels for her
+headaches." And though the old man did not speak or move, she went on
+coaxing him, and stroking his head, on which the hair was white. At this
+moment Pax took one of his unexpected runs, and jumped on to the old
+man's knee, in his own particular fashion, and then yawned at the
+company. The old man was startled, and lifted his face suddenly. It was wet with tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, you're crying!" exclaimed the children with one breath.</p>
+
+<p>"It's very odd," said Robin, fretfully. "I can't think what's the matter
+to-night. Mamma was crying too when we were acting, and papa said we
+weren't to tease her with questions, and he kissed her hand, and I
+kissed her hand too. And papa said we must all be very good and kind to
+poor dear mamma, and so I mean to be, she's so good. And I think we'd
+better go home, or perhaps she'll be frightened," Robin added.</p>
+
+<p>"She's so good, is she?" asked the old man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> He had put Pax off his
+knee, and taken Dora on to it.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, isn't she!" said Nicholas, swaying his curly head from side to side as usual.</p>
+
+<p>"She's always good," said Robin, emphatically; "and so's papa. But I'm
+always doing something I oughtn't to," he added, slowly. "But then, you
+know, I don't pretend to obey Sarah. I don't care a fig for Sarah; and I
+won't obey any woman but mamma."</p>
+
+<p>"Who's Sarah?" asked the grandfather.</p>
+
+<p>"She's our nurse," said Robin, "and she tells&mdash;I mustn't say what she
+tells&mdash;but it's not the truth. She told one about <i>you</i> the other day," he added.</p>
+
+<p>"About me?" said the old man.</p>
+
+<p>"She said you were our grandpapa. So then I knew she was telling <i>you know what</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"How did you know it wasn't true?" the old man asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, of course," said Robin, "if you were our mamma's father, you'd
+know her, and be very fond of her, and come to see her. And then you'd
+be our grandfather, too, and you'd have us to see you, and perhaps give
+us Christmas-boxes. I wish you were," Robin added with a sigh. "It would
+be very nice."</p>
+
+<p>"Would <i>you</i> like it?" asked the old man of Dora.</p>
+
+<p>And Dora, who was half asleep and very comfortable, put her little arms
+about his neck as she was wont to put them around the Captain's, and
+said, "Very much."</p>
+
+<p>He put her down at last, very tenderly, almost unwillingly, and left the
+children alone. By-and-by he returned, dressed in the blue cloak, and
+took Dora up again.</p>
+
+<p>"I will see you home," he said.</p>
+
+<p>The children had not been missed. The clock had only just struck nine
+when there came a knock<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> on the door of the dining-room, where the
+Captain and his wife still sat by the Yule log. She said "Come in,"
+wearily, thinking it was the frumenty and the Christmas cakes.</p>
+
+<p>But it was her father, with her child in his arms!</p>
+
+<hr class="tiny" />
+
+<h3>VIII.</h3>
+
+<p>The Captain had many friends who knew of the sad estrangement between
+his wife and her father. Some of them were in church the next day, which
+was Christmas Day, when the Captain's wife came in. They would have hid
+their faces, but for the startling sight that met the gaze of the
+congregation. The old grandfather walked into church abreast of the
+Captain.</p>
+
+<p>"They've met in the porch," whispered one under the shelter of his hat.</p>
+
+<p>"They can't quarrel publicly in a place of worship," said another,
+turning pale.</p>
+
+<p>"She's gone into his seat," cried a girl in a shrill whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"And the children after her," added her sister, incautiously aloud.</p>
+
+<p>There was now no doubt about the matter. The old man in his blue cloak
+stood for a few moments politely disputing the question of precedence
+with his handsome son-in-law. Then the Captain bowed and passed in, and
+the old man followed him.</p>
+
+<p>By the time that the service was ended everybody knew of the happy
+peacemaking, and was glad. One old friend after another came up with
+blessings and good wishes. This was a proper Christmas, indeed, they
+said. There was a general rejoicing.</p>
+
+<p>But only the grandfather and his children knew that it was hatched from
+"The Peace Egg."</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BUDGET OF CHRISTMAS TALES BY CHARLES DICKENS AND OTHERS***</p>
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@@ -0,0 +1,10768 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Budget of Christmas Tales by Charles
+Dickens and Others, by Various
+
+
+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.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: A Budget of Christmas Tales by Charles Dickens and Others
+
+
+Author: Various
+
+
+
+Release Date: February 26, 2009  [eBook #28198]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BUDGET OF CHRISTMAS TALES BY
+CHARLES DICKENS AND OTHERS***
+
+
+E-text prepared by David Edwards, Martin Pettit, and the Project Gutenberg
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from digital
+material generously made available by Internet Archive
+(http://www.archive.org/)
+
+
+
+Note: Images of the original pages are available through
+      Internet Archive. See
+      http://www.archive.org/details/budgetofchristma00dick
+
+
+
+
+
+A BUDGET OF CHRISTMAS TALES.
+
+By Charles Dickens and Others.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Published by The Christian Herald
+Louis Klopsch, Proprietor.
+Bible House, New York.
+
+Copyright 1895.
+by Louis Klopsch.
+
+Press and Bindery of Historical Publishing Co.,
+Philadelphia.
+
+
+
+
+TABLE OF CONTENTS.
+
+                                     PAGE
+
+A Christmas Carol                      13
+CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+The Christmas Babe                     73
+MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
+
+A Western Christmas                    74
+MRS. W. H. CORNING.
+
+Joe's Search for Santa Claus           83
+IRVING BACHELLER.
+
+Angela's Christmas                     87
+JULIA SCHAYER.
+
+The First Puritan Christmas Tree      100
+(ANONYMOUS.)
+
+First New England Christmas           103
+HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH.
+
+The Chimes                            106
+CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+Billy's Santa Claus Experience        170
+CORNELIA REDMOND.
+
+Christmas in Poganuc                  173
+MRS. H. B. STOWE.
+
+The Christmas Princess                192
+MRS. MOLESWORTH.
+
+Widow Townsend's Visitor              210
+(ANONYMOUS.)
+
+The Old Man's Christmas               223
+ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
+
+The Christmas Goblin                  239
+CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+The Song of the Star                  244
+C. H. MEAD.
+
+Indian Pete's Christmas Gift          252
+H. W. COLLINGWOOD.
+
+My Christmas Dinner                   264
+(ANONYMOUS.)
+
+The Poor Traveler                     272
+CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+The Legend of the Christmas Tree      287
+(ANONYMOUS.)
+
+The Peace Egg                         290
+JULIANA HORATIA EWING.
+
+
+
+
+CHRISTMAS TALES.
+
+
+
+
+A CHRISTMAS CAROL.
+
+BY CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+
+STAVE ONE.
+
+MARLEY'S GHOST.
+
+
+Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that.
+The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the
+undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name
+was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to.
+
+Old Marley was dead as a door-nail.
+
+Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise?
+Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know how many years. Scrooge
+was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole
+residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge
+was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an
+excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnized
+it with an undoubted bargain.
+
+The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started
+from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly
+understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to
+relate.
+
+Scrooge never painted out Old Marley's name. There it stood, years
+afterward, above the warehouse door: Scrooge and Marley. The firm was
+known as Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called
+Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names. It
+was all the same to him.
+
+Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a
+squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old
+sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out
+generous fire; secret and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The
+cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose,
+shriveled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin
+lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime on
+his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin.
+
+External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could
+warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than
+he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain
+less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to have him. The
+heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast of the
+advantage over him in only one respect. They often "came down"
+handsomely, and Scrooge never did.
+
+Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, "My
+dear Scrooge, how are you? When will you come to see me?" No beggars
+implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was
+o'clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to
+such and such a place, of Scrooge.
+
+But what did Scrooge care? It was the very thing he liked. To edge his
+way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep
+its distance, was what the knowing ones call "nuts" to Scrooge.
+
+Once upon a time--of all the good days in the year, on Christmas
+Eve--old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house. It was cold, bleak,
+biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the people in the court
+outside, go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their
+breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them.
+The city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark
+already--it had not been light all day--and candles were flaring in the
+windows of the neighboring offices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable
+brown air.
+
+The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open, that he might keep his
+eye upon his clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank,
+was copying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire, but the clerk's fire
+was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal. But he couldn't
+replenish it, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room; and so
+surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that
+it would be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his
+white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which
+effort, not being a man of strong imagination, he failed.
+
+"A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!" cried a cheerful voice. It was
+the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this
+was the first intimation he had of his approach.
+
+"Bah!" said Scrooge. "Humbug!"
+
+He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this
+nephew of Scrooge's, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and
+handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.
+
+"Christmas a humbug, uncle!" said Scrooge's nephew. "You don't mean
+that, I am sure?"
+
+"I do," said Scrooge. "Merry Christmas! What right have you to be
+merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough."
+
+"Come then," returned the nephew gaily. "What right have you to be
+dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough."
+
+Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said,
+"Bah!" again; and followed it up with, "Keep Christmas in your own way,
+and let me keep it in mine."
+
+"Keep it!" repeated Scrooge's nephew. "But you don't keep it."
+
+"Let me leave it alone, then," said Scrooge. "Much good may it do you!
+Much good it has ever done you!"
+
+"There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I
+have not profited, I dare say," returned the nephew, "Christmas among
+the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it
+has come round--apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and
+origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that--as a good
+time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know
+of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one
+consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people
+below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and
+not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore,
+uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I
+believe that it _has_ done me good, and _will_ do me good; and I say,
+God bless it!"
+
+The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded. Becoming immediately
+sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished the
+last frail spark for ever.
+
+"Let me hear another sound from _you_," said Scrooge, "and you'll keep
+your Christmas by losing your situation. You're quite a powerful
+speaker, sir," he added, turning to his nephew. "I wonder you don't go
+into Parliament."
+
+"Don't be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with us to-morrow."
+
+Scrooge said that he would see him--yes, indeed he did. He went the
+whole length of the expression, and said that he would see him in that
+extremity first.
+
+"But why?" cried Scrooge's nephew, "Why?"
+
+"Why did you get married?" said Scrooge.
+
+"Because I fell in love."
+
+"Because you fell in love!" growled Scrooge, as if that were the only
+one thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. "Good
+afternoon!"
+
+"Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that happened. Why give
+it as a reason for not coming now?"
+
+"Good afternoon," said Scrooge.
+
+"I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be
+friends?"
+
+"Good afternoon," said Scrooge.
+
+"I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never
+had any quarrel, to which I have been a party. But I have made the trial
+in homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So
+a Merry Christmas, uncle!"
+
+"Good afternoon!" said Scrooge.
+
+"And a Happy New Year!"
+
+"Good afternoon!" said Scrooge.
+
+His nephew left the room without an angry word, notwithstanding. He
+stopped at the outer door to bestow the greetings of the season on the
+clerk, who, cold as he was, was warmer than Scrooge; for he returned
+them cordially.
+
+"There's another fellow," muttered Scrooge; who overheard him: "my
+clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife and family, talking
+about a merry Christmas. I'll retire to Bedlam."
+
+This lunatic, in letting Scrooge's nephew out, had let two other people
+in. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, with
+their hats off, in Scrooge's office. They had books and papers in their
+hands, and bowed to him.
+
+"Scrooge and Marley's, I believe," said one of the gentlemen, referring
+to his list. "Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr.
+Marley?"
+
+"Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years," Scrooge replied. "He died
+seven years ago, this very night."
+
+"We have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his surviving
+partner," said the gentleman, presenting his credentials.
+
+It certainly was; for they had been two kindred spirits. At the ominous
+word "liberality," Scrooge frowned, and shook his head, and handed the
+credentials back.
+
+"At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge," said the gentleman,
+taking up a pen, "it is more than usually desirable that we should make
+some slight provision for the poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at
+the present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries;
+hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, sir."
+
+"Are there no prisons?" asked Scrooge.
+
+"Plenty of prisons," said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.
+
+"And the Union workhouses?" demanded Scrooge. "Are they still in
+operation?"
+
+"They are. Still," returned the gentleman, "I wish I could say they were
+not. Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of
+mind or body to the multitude, a few of us are endeavoring to raise a
+fund to buy the poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. We choose
+this time, because it is a time, of all others, when Want is keenly
+felt, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for?"
+
+"Nothing!" Scrooge replied.
+
+"You wish to be anonymous?"
+
+"I wish to be left alone," said Scrooge. "Since you ask me what I wish,
+gentlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christmas,
+and I can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the
+establishments I have mentioned--they cost enough; and those who are
+badly off must go there."
+
+"Many can't go there; and many would rather die."
+
+"If they would rather die," said Scrooge, "they had better do it, and
+decrease the surplus population. Besides--excuse me--I don't know that."
+
+"But you might know it," observed the gentleman.
+
+"It's not my business," Scrooge returned. "It's enough for a man to
+understand his own business, and not to interfere with other people's.
+Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen!"
+
+Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, the
+gentlemen withdrew. Scrooge resumed his labors with an improved opinion
+of himself, and in a more facetious temper than was usual with him.
+
+At length the hour of shutting up the counting-house arrived. With an
+ill-will Scrooge dismounted from his stool, and tacitly admitted the
+fact to the expectant clerk in the tank, who instantly snuffed his
+candle out, and put on his hat.
+
+"You'll want all day to-morrow, I suppose?" said Scrooge.
+
+"If quite convenient, sir."
+
+"It's not convenient," said Scrooge, "and it's not fair. If I was to
+stop half-a-crown for it, you'd think yourself ill-used, I'll be bound?"
+
+The clerk smiled faintly.
+
+"And yet," said Scrooge, "you don't think _me_ ill-used, when I pay a
+day's wages for no work."
+
+The clerk observed that it was only once a year.
+
+"A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth of
+December!" said Scrooge, buttoning his great coat to the chin. "But I
+suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next
+morning."
+
+The clerk promised that he would; and Scrooge walked out with a growl.
+The office was closed in a twinkling, and the clerk, with the long ends
+of his white comforter dangling below his waist (for he boasted no great
+coat), went down a slide on Cornhill, at the end of a lane of boys,
+twenty times, in honor of its being Christmas-eve, and then ran home to
+Camden Town as hard as he could pelt, to play at blindman's buff.
+
+Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy tavern; and
+having read all the newspapers, and beguiled the rest of the evening
+with his banker's-book, went home to bed. He lived in chambers which had
+once belonged to his deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite of
+rooms, in a lowering pile of building up a yard, where it had so little
+business to be, that one could scarcely help fancying it must have run
+there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other
+houses, and have forgotten the way out again. It was old enough now, and
+dreary enough; for nobody lived in it but Scrooge, the other rooms being
+all let out as offices.
+
+Every room above, and every cask in the wine-merchant's cellars below,
+appeared to have a separate peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge was not a
+man to be frightened by echoes. He fastened the door, and walked across
+the hall, and up the stairs; slowly too: trimming his candle as he went.
+Half a dozen gas-lamps out of the street wouldn't have lighted the
+entry too well, so you may suppose that it was pretty dark with
+Scrooge's dip.
+
+Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for that. Darkness is cheap, and
+Scrooge liked it. But before he shut his heavy door, he walked through
+his rooms to see that all was right.
+
+Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in;
+double-locked himself in, which was not his custom. Thus secured against
+surprise, he, took off his cravat; put on his dressing gown and
+slippers, and his night-cap; and sat down before the fire to take his
+gruel. As he threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to
+rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the room, and
+communicated for some purpose now forgotten with a chamber in the
+highest story of the building. It was with great astonishment, and with
+a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin
+to swing. It swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a
+sound; but soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house.
+
+This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it seemed an
+hour. The bells ceased as they had begun, together. They were succeeded
+by a clanking noise deep down below, as if some person were dragging a
+heavy chain over the casks in the wine-merchant's cellar. Scrooge then
+remembered to have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as
+dragging chains.
+
+The cellar-door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the
+noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then
+coming straight toward his door.
+
+"It's humbug still!" said Scrooge. "I won't believe it."
+
+His color changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the
+heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming
+in, the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried "I know him! Marley's
+ghost!" and fell again.
+
+The same face: the very same. The chain he drew was clasped about his
+middle. It was long and wound about him like a tail; and it was made
+(for Scrooge observed it closely) of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks,
+ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel.
+
+"How now" said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. "What do you want with
+me?"
+
+"Much!"--Marley's voice, no doubt about it.
+
+"Who are you?"
+
+"Ask me who I _was_."
+
+"Who _were_ you then?" said Scrooge, raising his voice. "You're
+particular, for a shade." He was going to say "_to_ a shade," but
+substituted this, as more appropriate.
+
+"In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley."
+
+"Can you--can you sit down?" asked Scrooge, looking doubtfully at him.
+
+"I can."
+
+"Do it, then."
+
+Scrooge asked the question, because he didn't know whether a ghost so
+transparent might find himself in a condition to take a chair; and felt
+that in the event of its being impossible, it might involve the
+necessity of an embarrassing explanation. But the Ghost sat down on the
+opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it.
+
+Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face.
+
+"Mercy!" he said, "Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?"
+
+"Man of the worldly mind!" replied the Ghost, "do you believe in me or
+not?"
+
+"I do," said Scrooge. "I must. But why do spirits walk the earth, and
+why do they come to me?"
+
+"It is required of every man," the Ghost returned, "that the spirit
+within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and
+wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do
+so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world--oh, woe is
+me!--and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth,
+and turned to happiness!"
+
+The spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain and wrung its shadowy
+hands.
+
+"You are fettered," said Scrooge, trembling. "Tell me why?"
+
+"I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the Ghost. "I made it link
+by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my
+own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to _you_?"
+
+Scrooge trembled more and more.
+
+"Or would you know," pursued the Ghost, "the weight and length of the
+strong coil you bear yourself? It was full as heavy and as long as this,
+seven Christmas Eves ago. You have labored on it since. It is a
+ponderous chain!"
+
+Scrooge glanced about him on the floor, in the expectation of finding
+himself surrounded by some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron cable; but he
+could see nothing.
+
+"Jacob," he said imploringly. "Old Jacob Marley, tell me more. Speak
+comfort to me, Jacob!"
+
+"I have none to give," the Ghost replied. "It comes from other regions,
+Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of
+men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more, is all
+permitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere.
+My spirit never walked beyond our counting-house--mark me!--in life my
+spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole;
+and weary journeys lie before me!"
+
+It was a habit with Scrooge, whenever he became thoughtful, to put his
+hands in his breeches' pockets. Pondering on what the Ghost had said, he
+did so now, but without lifting up his eyes, or getting off his knees.
+
+"You must have been very slow about it, Jacob," Scrooge observed, in a
+business-like manner, though with humility and deference.
+
+"Slow!" the Ghost repeated.
+
+"Seven years dead," mused Scrooge. "And traveling all the time?"
+
+"The whole time," said the Ghost. "No rest, no peace. Incessant torture
+of remorse."
+
+"You travel fast?" said Scrooge.
+
+"On the wings of the wind," replied the Ghost.
+
+"You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years,"
+said Scrooge.
+
+The Ghost, on hearing this set up another cry, and clanked its chain
+hideously.
+
+"Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed," cried the Phantom, "not to know
+that ages of incessant labor, by immortal creatures, for this earth must
+pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all
+developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its
+little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short
+for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret
+can make amends for one life's opportunities misused! Yet such was I!
+Oh! such was I!"
+
+"But you were always a good man of business, Jacob," faltered Scrooge,
+who now began to apply this to himself.
+
+"Business!" cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. "Mankind was my
+business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy,
+forbearance, and benevolence, were, all my business. The dealings of my
+trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my
+business!"
+
+It held up its chain at arm's length, as if that were the cause of all
+its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again.
+
+"At this time of the rolling year," the Spectre said, "I suffer most.
+Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down,
+and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a
+poor abode? Were there no poor homes to which its light would have
+conducted _me_?"
+
+Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the Spectre going on at this
+rate, and began to quake exceedingly.
+
+"Hear me!" cried the Ghost. "My time is nearly gone."
+
+"I will," said Scrooge. "But don't be hard upon me! Don't be flowery,
+Jacob! Pray!"
+
+"How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see, I may
+not tell. I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day."
+
+It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge shivered, and wiped the
+perspiration from his brow.
+
+"That is no light part of my penance," pursued the Ghost. "I am here
+to-night to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my
+fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer."
+
+"You were always a good friend to me," said Scrooge. "Thank'ee!"
+
+"You will be haunted," resumed the Ghost, "by Three Spirits."
+
+Scrooge's countenance fell.
+
+"Is that the chance and hope you mentioned. Jacob?" he demanded, in a
+faltering voice.
+
+"It is."
+
+"I--I think I'd rather not," said Scrooge.
+
+"Without their visits," said the Ghost, "you cannot hope to shun the
+path I tread. Expect the first to-morrow, when the bell tolls One."
+
+"Couldn't I take 'em all at once, and have it over, Jacob?" hinted
+Scrooge.
+
+"Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third, upon
+the next night when the last stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate.
+Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember
+what has passed between us!"
+
+The apparition walked backward from him toward the window, and floated
+out upon the bleak, dark night.
+
+Scrooge followed to the window; desperate in his curiosity. He looked
+out.
+
+The air was filled with phantoms, wandering hither and thither in
+restless haste, and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chains
+like Marley's ghost; some few (they might be guilty governments) were
+linked together; none were free. Many had been personally known to
+Scrooge in their lives. He had been quite familiar with one old ghost,
+in a white waistcoat, with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle,
+who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with an
+infant, whom it saw below upon a door-step. The misery with them all
+was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters
+and had lost the power for ever.
+
+Whether these creatures faded into mist, or mist enshrouded them, he
+could not tell. But they and their spirit voices faded together; and the
+night became as it had been when he walked home.
+
+Scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by which the Ghost had
+entered. It was double-locked, as he had locked it with his own hands,
+and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say "Humbug!" but stopped at
+the first syllable. And being, from the emotion he had undergone, or the
+fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the Invisible World, or the dull
+conversation of the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need of
+repose, went straight to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep upon
+the instant.
+
+
+STAVE TWO.
+
+THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS.
+
+
+When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that, looking out of bed, he could
+scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his
+chamber. He was endeavoring to pierce the darkness with his ferret eyes,
+when the chimes of a neighboring church clock struck twelve.
+
+"Why it isn't possible," said Scrooge, "that I can have slept through a
+whole day and far into another night!"
+
+Scrooge lay and thought and thought it over and over, and could make
+nothing of it. The more he thought, the more perplexed he was, and the
+more he endeavored not to think, the more he thought. Marley's ghost
+bothered him exceedingly. "Was it a dream or not?"
+
+Scrooge lay in this state until he remembered, on a sudden, that the
+Ghost had warned him of a visitation when the bell tolled One. He
+resolved to lie awake until the hour was passed; and considering that he
+could not go to sleep, this was perhaps the wisest resolution in his
+power.
+
+He was more than once convinced he must have sunk into a doze
+unconsciously, and missed the clock. At length it broke upon his
+listening ear.
+
+"The hour itself," said Scrooge, triumphantly, "nothing else!"
+
+He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep,
+dull, hollow, melancholy ONE. Light flashed up in the room upon the
+instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn.
+
+The curtains of his bed were drawn aside, I tell you, by a hand. Not the
+curtains at his feet, nor the curtains at his back, but those to which
+his face was addressed. The curtains of his bed were drawn aside; and
+Scrooge, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found himself face
+to face with the visitor who drew them.
+
+It was a strange figure--like a child: yet not so like a child as like
+an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him the
+appearance of having receded from the view, and being diminished to a
+child's proportions. Its hair, which hung about its neck and down its
+back, was white as if with age; and yet the face had not a wrinkle in
+it, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin. The arms were very long and
+muscular; the hands the same, as if its hold were of uncommon strength.
+Its legs and feet, most delicately formed, were, like those upper
+members, bare. It wore a tunic of the purest white; and round its waist
+was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful. It held a
+branch of fresh green holly in its hand; and, in singular contradiction
+of that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers. But
+the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head there
+sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible; and
+which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, a
+great extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm.
+
+"Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?" asked
+Scrooge.
+
+"I am!"
+
+The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so
+close beside him, it were at a distance.
+
+"Who, and what are you?" Scrooge demanded.
+
+"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."
+
+"Long Past?" inquired Scrooge; observant of its dwarfish stature.
+
+"No. Your past."
+
+Scrooge then made bold to inquire what business brought him there.
+
+"Your welfare!" said the Ghost.
+
+Scrooge expressed himself much obliged, but could not help thinking that
+a night of unbroken rest would have been more conducive to that end. The
+Spirit must have heard him thinking, for it said immediately:
+
+"Your reclamation, then. Take heed!"
+
+It put out its strong hand as it spoke, and clasped him gently by the
+arm.
+
+"Rise! and walk with me!"
+
+It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the weather and the
+hour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes; that bed was warm and the
+thermometer a long way below freezing; that he was clad but lightly in
+his slippers, dressing-gown, and night-cap; and that he had a cold upon
+him at the time. The grasp, though gentle as a woman's hand, was not to
+be resisted. He rose: but finding that the Spirit made toward the
+window, clasped its robe in supplication.
+
+"I am a mortal," Scrooge remonstrated, "and liable to fall."
+
+"Bear but a touch of my hand _there_," said the Spirit, laying it upon
+his heart, "and you shall be upheld in more than this!"
+
+As the words were spoken, they passed out, and stood upon an open
+country road, with fields on either hand. The city had entirely
+vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist
+had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow
+upon the ground.
+
+"Good Spirit!" said Scrooge, clasping his hands together, as he looked
+about him. "I was bred in this place. I was a boy here!"
+
+The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its gentle touch, though it had been
+light and instantaneous, appeared still present to the old man's sense
+of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odors floating in the air,
+each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and
+cares long, long, forgotten!
+
+"Your lip is trembling," said the Ghost. "And what is that upon your
+cheek?"
+
+Scrooge muttered, with an unusual catching in his voice, that it was a
+pimple; and begged the Ghost to lead him where he would.
+
+"You recollect the way?" inquired the Spirit.
+
+"Remember it!" cried Scrooge with fervor; "I could walk it blindfold."
+
+"Strange to have forgotten it for so many years!" observed the Ghost.
+"Let us go on."
+
+They walked along the road, Scrooge recognizing every gate, and post,
+and tree; until a little market-town appeared in the distance, with its
+bridge, its church, and winding river. Some shaggy ponies now were seen
+trotting toward them with boys upon their backs, who called to other
+boys in country gigs and carts, driven by farmers. All these boys were
+in great spirits, and shouted to each other, until the broad fields were
+so full of merry music, that the crisp air laughed to hear it.
+
+"These are but shadows of the things that have been," said the Ghost.
+"They have no consciousness of us."
+
+The jocund travelers came on; and as they came, Scrooge knew and named
+them every one. Why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see them? Why
+did his cold eye glisten, and his heart leap up as they went past? Why
+was he filled with gladness when he heard them give each other Merry
+Christmas, as they parted at cross-roads and bye-ways, for their several
+homes? What was Merry Christmas to Scrooge? Out upon Merry Christmas!
+What good had it ever done to him?
+
+"The school is not quite deserted," said the Ghost. "A solitary child,
+neglected by his friends, is left there still."
+
+Scrooge said he knew it. And he sobbed.
+
+They left the high-road, by a well remembered lane, and soon approached
+a mansion of dull red brick, with a little weathercock-surmounted
+cupola, on the roof, and a bell hanging in it. It was a large house, but
+one of broken fortunes; for the spacious offices were little used, their
+walls were damp and mossy, their windows broken, and their gates
+decayed. Fowls clucked and strutted in the stables; and the coach-houses
+and sheds were overrun with grass. Nor was it more retentive of its
+ancient state within; for entering the dreary hall, and glancing through
+the open doors of many rooms, they found them poorly furnished, cold,
+and vast. There was an earthy savor in the air, a chilly bareness in the
+place, which associated itself somehow with too much getting up by
+candle-light, and not too much to eat.
+
+They went, the Ghost and Scrooge, across the hall, to a door at the back
+of the house. It opened before them, and disclosed a long, bare,
+melancholy room, made barer still by lines of plain deal forms and
+desks. At one of these a lonely boy was reading near a feeble fire; and
+Scrooge sat down upon a form, and wept to see his poor forgotten self as
+he had used to be.
+
+"I wish," Scrooge muttered, putting his hand in his pocket, and looking
+about him, after drying his eyes with his cuff: "but it's too late now."
+
+"What is the matter?" asked the Spirit.
+
+"Nothing," said Scrooge. "Nothing. There was a boy singing a Christmas
+Carol at my door last night. I should like to have given him something:
+that's all."
+
+The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its hand: saying as it did so,
+"Let us see another Christmas!"
+
+Scrooge's former self grew larger at the words, and the room became a
+little darker and more dirty. The panels shrunk, the windows cracked;
+fragments of plaster fell out of the ceiling, and the naked laths were
+shown instead; but how all this was brought about, Scrooge knew no more
+than you do. He only knew that it was quite correct: that everything had
+happened so: that there he was, alone again, when all the other boys had
+gone home for the jolly holidays.
+
+He was not reading now, but walking up and down despairingly. Scrooge
+looked at the Ghost, and with a mournful shaking of his head, glanced
+anxiously toward the door.
+
+It opened; and a little girl much younger than the boy, came darting in,
+and putting her arms about his neck, and often kissing him, addressed
+him as her "Dear, dear brother."
+
+"I have come to bring you home, dear brother!" said the child, clapping
+her tiny hands, and bending down to laugh. "To bring you home, home,
+home!"
+
+"Home, little Fan?" returned the boy.
+
+"Yes," said the child, brimful of glee. "Home, for good and all. Home,
+for ever and ever. Father is so much kinder than he used to be, that
+home's like Heaven! He spoke so gently to me one dear night when I was
+going to bed, that I was not afraid to ask him once more if you might
+come home; and he said Yes, you should; and sent me in a coach to bring
+you. And you're to be a man!" said the child, opening her eyes; "and are
+never to come back here: but first, we're to be together all the
+Christmas long, and have the merriest time in all the world."
+
+"You are quite a woman, little Fan!" exclaimed the boy.
+
+She clapped her hands and laughed, and tried to touch his head; but
+being too little, laughed again, and stood on tiptoe to embrace him.
+Then she began to drag him, in her childish eagerness, toward the door;
+and he, nothing loth to go, accompanied her.
+
+A terrible voice in the hall cried, "Bring down Master Scrooge's box,
+there!" and in the hall appeared the schoolmaster himself, who glared on
+Master Scrooge with a ferocious condescension, and threw him into a
+dreadful state of mind by shaking hands with him. Master Scrooge's trunk
+being tied on to the top of the chaise, the children bade the
+schoolmaster good-bye right willingly; and getting into it, drove gaily
+down the garden-sweep: the quick wheels dashing the hoar-frost and snow
+from off the dark leaves of the evergreens like spray.
+
+"Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered," said
+the Ghost. "But she had a large heart!"
+
+"So she had," cried Scrooge. "You're right. I will not gainsay it
+Spirit. God forbid!"
+
+"She died a woman," said the Ghost, "and had, as I think, children."
+
+"One child," Scrooge returned.
+
+"True," said the Ghost. "Your nephew!"
+
+Scrooge seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered briefly, "Yes."
+
+Although they had but that moment left the school behind them, they were
+now in the busy thoroughfares of a city, where shadowy passengers passed
+and repassed; where shadowy carts and coaches battled for the way, and
+all the strife and tumult of a real city were. It was made plain
+enough, by the dressing of the shops, that here too it was Christmas
+time again; but it was evening, and the streets were lighted up.
+
+The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked Scrooge if he
+knew it.
+
+"Know it!" said Scrooge. "Was not I apprenticed here!"
+
+They went in. At sight of an old gentleman in a Welsh wig, sitting
+behind such a high desk, that if he had been two inches taller he must
+have knocked his head against the ceiling, Scrooge cried in great
+excitement:
+
+"Why, it's old Fezziwig! Bless his heart; it's Fezziwig alive again!"
+
+Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which
+pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his
+capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his
+organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat,
+jovial voice:
+
+"Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!"
+
+Scrooge's former self, now grown a young man, came briskly in,
+accompanied by his fellow-'prentice.
+
+"Dick Wilkins, to be sure!" said Scrooge to the Ghost. "Bless me, yes.
+There he is. He was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear,
+dear!"
+
+"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig, "No more work to-night. Christmas Eve,
+Dick, Christmas, Ebenezer. Let's have the shutters up," cried old
+Fezziwig, with a sharp clap of his hands, "before a man can say Jack
+Robinson!"
+
+You wouldn't believe how those two fellows went at it! They charged into
+the street with the shutters--one, two, three--had 'em up in their
+places--four, five, six--barred 'em and pinned 'em--seven, eight,
+nine--and came back before you could have got to twelve, panting like
+race-horses.
+
+"Hilli-ho!" cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk, with
+wonderful agility. "Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room
+here!"
+
+Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or
+couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in
+a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from
+public life for evermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps
+were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as
+snug, and warm, and dry, and bright a play-room as you would desire to
+see upon a winter's night.
+
+In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and
+made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came
+Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss
+Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came all the young men and women
+employed in the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin, the
+baker. In came the cook, with her brother's particular friend, the
+milkman. In they all came, one after another; some shyly, some boldly,
+some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all
+came, anyhow and everyhow.
+
+There were dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there
+was cake, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a
+great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince-pies.
+
+When the clock struck eleven, this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs.
+Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side the door, and shaking
+hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him
+or her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two
+'prentices they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died
+away, and the lads were left to their beds; which were under a counter
+in the back-shop.
+
+During the whole of this time, Scrooge had acted like a man out of his
+wits. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self. He
+corroborated everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and
+underwent the strangest agitation. It was not until now, when the bright
+faces of his former self and Dick were turned from them, that he
+remembered the Ghost, and became conscious that it was looking full upon
+him, while the light upon its head burnt very clear.
+
+"A small matter," said the Ghost, "to make these silly folks so full of
+gratitude."
+
+"Small!" echoed Scrooge.
+
+The spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices, who were
+pouring out their hearts in praise of Fezziwig; and when he had done so
+said,
+
+"Why! Is it not? He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money:
+three or four, perhaps. Is that so much that he deserves this praise?"
+
+"It isn't that," said Scrooge, heated by the remark, and speaking
+unconsciously like his former, not his latter self. "It isn't that,
+Spirit. He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our
+service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power
+lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it
+is impossible to add and count 'em up; what then? The happiness he
+gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune."
+
+He felt the Spirit's glance, and stopped.
+
+"What is the matter?" asked the Ghost.
+
+"Nothing particular," said Scrooge.
+
+"Something, I think?" the Ghost insisted.
+
+"No," said Scrooge, "No. I should like to be able to say a word or two
+to my clerk just now. That's all."
+
+His former self turned down the lamps as he gave utterance to the wish:
+and Scrooge and the Ghost again stood side by side in the open air.
+
+"My time grows short," observed the Spirit. "Quick!"
+
+This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to any one whom he could see, but
+it produced an immediate effect. For again Scrooge saw himself. He was
+older now; a man in the prime of life. His face had not the harsh and
+rigid lines of later years; but it had begun to wear the signs of care
+and avarice. There was an eager, greedy, restless motion in the eye,
+which showed the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow of
+the growing tree would fall.
+
+He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a
+mourning-dress: in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the
+light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.
+
+"It matters little," she said, softly. "To you, very little. Another
+idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to
+come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve."
+
+"What idol has displaced you?" he rejoined.
+
+"A golden one."
+
+"This is the even-handed dealing of the world!" he said. "There is
+nothing on which it is so hard as poverty; and there is nothing it
+professes to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth!"
+
+"You fear the world too much," she answered, gently. "All your other
+hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid
+reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until
+the master-passion, Gain, engrosses you. Have I not?"
+
+"What then?" he retorted. "Even if I have grown so much wiser, what
+then? I am not changed toward you."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Am I?"
+
+"Our contract is an old one. It was made when we were both poor and
+content to be so, until, in good season, we could improve our worldly
+fortune by our patient industry. You _are_ changed. When it was made,
+you were another man."
+
+"I was a boy," he said impatiently.
+
+"Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are," she
+returned. "I am. That which promised happiness when we were one in
+heart, is fraught with misery now that we are two. How often and how
+keenly I have thought of this, I will not say. It is enough that I
+_have_ thought of it, and can release you."
+
+"Have I ever sought release?"
+
+"In words. No. Never."
+
+"In what, then?"
+
+"In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of
+life; another Hope as its great end. In everything that made my love of
+any worth or value in your sight. If this had never been between us,"
+said the girl, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him; "can even
+I believe that you would choose a dowerless girl: or, choosing her, do I
+not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and
+I release you. With a full heart, for the love of him you once were."
+
+He was about to speak; but she left him and they parted.
+
+"Spirit!" said Scrooge, "show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do you
+delight to torture me?"
+
+"I told you these were shadows of the things that have been," said the
+Ghost. "That they are what they are, do not blame me!"
+
+"Remove me!" Scrooge exclaimed. "I cannot bear it!"
+
+He turned upon the Ghost, and seeing that it looked upon him with a
+face, in which some strange way there were fragments of all the faces it
+had shown him, wrestled with it.
+
+"Leave me! Take me back. Haunt me no longer!"
+
+In the struggle--if that can be called a struggle in which the Ghost,
+with no visible resistance on its own part was undisturbed by any effort
+of its adversary--Scrooge was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome
+by an irresistible drowsiness; and, further, of being in his own
+bed-room. He had barely time to reel to bed, before he sank into a heavy
+sleep.
+
+
+STAVE THREE.
+
+THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS.
+
+
+Awaking in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore, and sitting up in
+bed to get his thoughts together, Scrooge had no occasion to be told
+that the bell was again upon the stroke of One. He felt that he was
+restored to consciousness in the right nick of time, for the especial
+purpose of holding a conference with the second messenger despatched to
+him through Jacob Marley's intervention. But, finding that he turned
+uncomfortably cold when he began to wonder which of his curtains this
+new spectre would draw back, he put them every one aside with his own
+hands, and lying down again, established a sharp look-out all round the
+bed. For he wished to challenge the Spirit on the moment of its
+appearance, and did not wish to be taken by surprise and made nervous.
+
+Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means
+prepared for nothing; and, consequently, when the bell struck One, and
+no shape appeared, he was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Five
+minutes, ten minutes a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All
+this time, he lay upon his bed, the very core and centre of a blaze of
+ruddy light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour;
+and which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts, as
+he was powerless to make out what it meant. At last, however, he began
+to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in
+the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to
+shine. This idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly
+and shuffled in his slippers to the door.
+
+The moment Scrooge's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called him by
+his name, and bade him enter. He obeyed.
+
+It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone
+a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with
+living green, that it looked a perfect grove; from every part of which,
+bright gleaming berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe,
+and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been
+scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as
+that dull petrifaction of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's time, or
+Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the
+floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry,
+brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages,
+mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red hot chestnuts,
+cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears and immense
+twelfth-cakes, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. In
+easy state upon this couch there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see; who
+bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and held it
+up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge, as he came peeping round the
+door.
+
+"Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost "Come in! and know me better, man!"
+
+Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before this Spirit. He was
+not the dogged Scrooge he had been; and though the Spirit's eyes were
+clear and kind, he did not like to meet them.
+
+"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present," said the Spirit: "Look upon me!
+You have never seen the like of me before!" exclaimed the Spirit.
+
+"Never," Scrooge made answer to it.
+
+"Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family; meaning
+(for I am very young) my elder brothers born in these later years?"
+pursued the Phantom.
+
+"I don't think I have," said Scrooge. "I am afraid I have not. Have you
+had many brothers, Spirit?"
+
+"More than eighteen hundred," said the Ghost.
+
+"A tremendous family to provide for," muttered Scrooge.
+
+The Ghost of Christmas Present rose.
+
+"Spirit," said Scrooge, submissively, "conduct me where you will. I went
+forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson which is working
+now. To-night, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it."
+
+"Touch my robe!"
+
+Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast.
+
+The whole scene vanished instantly and they stood in the city streets on
+Christmas morning, where (for the weather was severe) the people made a
+rough, but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow
+from the pavement in front of their dwellings, and from the tops of
+their houses, whence it was mad delight to the boys to see it come
+plumping down into the road below, and splitting into artificial little
+snowstorms.
+
+Perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing his sympathy
+with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge's clerk's; for there
+he went, and took Scrooge with him, holding to his robe; and on the
+threshold of the door the spirit smiled, and stopped to bless Bob
+Cratchit's dwelling with the sprinklings of his torch.
+
+Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in a
+twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a
+goodly show; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit,
+second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while Master Peter
+Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes. And now two
+smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside
+the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own.
+
+"What has ever got your precious father, then?" said Mrs. Cratchit. "And
+your brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by
+half-an-hour!"
+
+"Here's Martha, mother," said a girl appearing as she spoke.
+
+"Here's Martha, mother," cried the two young Cratchits. "Hurrah! There's
+_such_ a goose, Martha!"
+
+"Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!" said Mrs.
+Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet
+for her with officious zeal.
+
+"We'd a deal of work to finish up last night," replied the girl, "and
+had to clear away this morning, mother!"
+
+"Well! never mind so long as you are come," said Mrs. Cratchit. "Sit ye
+down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!"
+
+"No no! There's father coming," cried the two young Cratchits, who were
+everywhere at once. "Hide, Martha, hide!"
+
+So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at least
+three feet of comforter exclusive of the fringe hanging down before him;
+and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look seasonable;
+and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little
+crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame!
+
+"Why, Where's our Martha?" cried Bob Cratchit looking round.
+
+"Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit.
+
+"Not coming!" said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high spirits;
+for he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church, and had come
+home rampant. "Not coming upon Christmas Day!"
+
+Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so
+she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into his
+arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off
+into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the
+copper.
+
+"And how did little Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had
+rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his
+heart's content.
+
+"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful,
+sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever
+heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the
+church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to
+remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk and blind men
+see."
+
+Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when
+he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty.
+
+His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny
+Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister
+to his stool beside the fire; and Master Peter and the two ubiquitous
+young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned
+in high procession.
+
+Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan)
+hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigor;
+Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple sauce; Martha dusted the hot-plates;
+Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two
+young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and
+mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest
+they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At
+last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a
+breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the
+carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did,
+and when the long-expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of
+delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two
+young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and
+feebly cried Hurrah!
+
+There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was
+such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavor, size and cheapness, were
+the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple sauce and mashed
+potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as
+Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a
+bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet every one had
+had enough. But now the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs.
+Cratchit left the room alone--too nervous to bear witnesses--to take the
+pudding up, and bring it in.
+
+Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he
+regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since
+their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind,
+she would confess she had her doubts about the quantity of flour.
+Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it
+was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat
+heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a
+thing.
+
+At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth
+swept, and the fire made up. Apples and oranges were put upon the table
+and a shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family
+drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning
+half a one. Then Bob proposed: "A Merry Christmas to all, my dears. God
+bless us!"
+
+Which all the family re-echoed.
+
+"God bless us, every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all.
+
+He sat very close to his father's side, upon his little stool. Bob held
+his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child and wished to
+keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him.
+
+"Spirit," said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt before, "tell
+me if Tiny Tim will live."
+
+"I see a vacant seat," replied the Ghost, "in the poor chimney corner,
+and a crutch without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows
+remain unaltered by the Future the child will die."
+
+"No, no," said Scrooge. "Oh, no, kind Spirit! say he will be spared."
+
+"If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future none other of my race,"
+returned the Ghost, "will find him here. What then? If he be like to
+die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population."
+
+Scrooge hung his head to hear his own words quoted by the Spirit, and
+was overcome with penitence and grief.
+
+"Man," said the Ghost, "if man you be in heart, not adamant, forbear
+that wicked cant until you have discovered what the surplus is and where
+it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? It may
+be that in the sight of Heaven you are more worthless and less fit to
+live than millions like this poor man's child. Oh, God! to hear the
+insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry
+brothers in the dust!"
+
+Scrooge bent before the Ghost's rebuke, and trembling cast his eyes upon
+the ground. But he raised them speedily on hearing his own name.
+
+"Mr. Scrooge!" said Bob; "I'll give you Mr. Scrooge, the Founder of the
+Feast!"
+
+"The Founder of the Feast indeed!" cried Mrs. Cratchit, reddening. "I
+wish I had him here. I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and
+I hope he'd have a good appetite for it."
+
+"My dear," said Bob, "the children! Christmas day."
+
+Scrooge was the Ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a dark
+shadow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes.
+
+After it had passed away, they were ten times merrier than before, from
+the mere relief of Scrooge the Baleful being done with. Bob Cratchit
+told them how he had a situation in his eye for Master Peter. The two
+young Cratchits laughed tremendously at the idea of Peter's being a man
+of business; and Peter himself looked thoughtfully at the fire from
+between his collars, as if he were deliberating what particular
+investments he should favor when he came into receipt of the bewildering
+income. Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a milliner's, then told
+them what kind of work she had to do, and how many hours she worked at
+a stretch, and how she meant to be abed to-morrow morning for a good
+long rest, to-morrow being a holiday she passed at home. Also how she
+had seen a countess and a lord some days before, and how the lord "was
+much about as tall as Peter," at which Peter pulled up his collars so
+high that you couldn't have seen his head if you had been there. By and
+by they had a song, about a lost child traveling in the snow, from Tiny
+Tim, who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it very well indeed.
+
+There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a handsome family;
+they were not well dressed; their shoes were far from being waterproof;
+their clothes were scanty; and Peter might have known, and very likely
+did, the inside of a pawnbroker's. But they were happy, grateful,
+pleased with one another, and contented with the time; and when they
+faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit's
+torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny
+Tim, until the last.
+
+By this time it was getting dark and snowing pretty heavily; and as
+Scrooge and the Spirit went along the streets, the brightness of the
+roaring fires in kitchens, parlors, and all sorts of rooms, was
+wonderful. Here, the flickering of the blaze showed preparations for a
+cosy dinner, with hot plates baking through and through before the fire,
+and deep red curtains, ready to be drawn to shut out cold and darkness.
+There, all the children of the house were running out into the snow to
+meet their married sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, and be the
+first to greet them.
+
+It was a great surprise to Scrooge, as he meditated on these scenes, to
+hear a hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise to Scrooge to
+recognize it as his own nephew's, and to find himself in a bright, dry,
+gleaming room, with the Spirit standing smiling by his side, and looking
+at that same nephew with approving affability!
+
+"Ha! ha!" laughed Scrooge's nephew. "Ha! ha! ha!"
+
+If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know a man more blessed
+in a laugh than Scrooge's nephew, all I can say is, I should like to
+know him too. Introduce him to me, and I'll cultivate his acquaintance.
+
+It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things that while there
+is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so
+irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humor. When Scrooge's
+nephew laughed in this way, holding his sides, rolling his head, and
+twisting his face into the most extravagant contortions, Scrooge's
+niece, by marriage, laughed as heartily as he. And their assembled
+friends being not a bit behindhand, roared out lustily.
+
+"Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha!"
+
+"He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I live!" cried Scrooge's
+nephew. "He believed it, too."
+
+"More shame for him, Fred!" said Scrooge's niece, indignantly. Bless
+those women! they never do anything by halves. They are always in
+earnest.
+
+She was very pretty; exceedingly pretty. With a dimpled,
+surprised-looking, capital face; a ripe little mouth that seemed made to
+be kissed--as no doubt it was; all kinds of good little dots about her
+chin, that melted into one another when she laughed; and the sunniest
+pair of eyes you ever saw in any little creature's head. Altogether she
+was what you would have called provoking, you know; but satisfactory,
+too. Oh, perfectly satisfactory.
+
+"He's a comical old fellow," said Scrooge's nephew, "that's the truth:
+and not so pleasant as he might be. However, his offences carry their
+own punishment, and I have nothing to say against him."
+
+"I have no patience with him," observed Scrooge's niece. Scrooge's
+niece's sisters, and all the other ladies, expressed the same opinion.
+
+"Oh, I have!" said Scrooge's nephew. "I am sorry for him; I couldn't be
+angry with him if I tried. Who suffers by his ill whims! Himself,
+always. Here, he takes it into his head to dislike us, and he won't come
+and dine with us. What's the consequence? He don't lose much of a
+dinner."
+
+"Indeed, I think he loses a very good dinner," interrupted Scrooge's
+niece. Everybody else said the same, and they must be allowed to have
+been competent judges, because they had just had dinner; and with the
+dessert upon the table, were clustered round the fire, by lamp-light.
+
+"Well! I am very glad to hear it," said Scrooge's nephew, "because I
+haven't any great faith in these young housekeepers. What do _you_ say,
+Topper?"
+
+Topper had clearly got his eye upon one of Scrooge's niece's sisters,
+for he answered that a bachelor was a wretched outcast, who had no right
+to express an opinion on the subject. Whereat Scrooge's niece's
+sister--the plump one with the lace tucker: not the one with the
+roses--blushed.
+
+"Do go on, Fred," said Scrooge's niece, clapping her hands. "He never
+finishes what he begins to say! He is such a ridiculous fellow!"
+
+"I was only going to say," said Scrooge's nephew, "that the consequence
+of his taking a dislike to us, and not making merry with us, is, as I
+think, that he loses some pleasant moments, which could do him no harm.
+I am sure he loses pleasanter companions than he can find in his own
+thoughts, either in his mouldy old office, or his dusty chambers. I mean
+to give him the same chance every year, whether he likes it or not, for
+I pity him. He may rail at Christmas till he dies, but he can't help
+thinking better of it--I defy him--if he finds me going there, in good
+temper, year after year, and saying, 'Uncle Scrooge, how are you?' If it
+only puts him in the vein to leave his poor clerk fifty pounds, _that's_
+something; and I think I shook him yesterday."
+
+It was their turn to laugh now, at the notion of his shaking Scrooge.
+But being thoroughly goodnatured, and not much caring what they laughed
+at, so that they laughed at any rate, he encouraged them in their
+merriment.
+
+After tea they had some music, Scrooge's niece played well; and played
+among other tunes a simple little air (a mere nothing: you might learn
+to whistle it in two minutes), which had been familiar to the child who
+fetched Scrooge from the boarding-school, as he had been reminded by the
+Ghost of Christmas Past. When this strain of music sounded, all the
+things that the Ghost had shown him, came upon his mind; he softened
+more and more; and thought that if he could have listened to it often,
+years ago, he might have cultivated the kindnesses of life for his own
+happiness with his own hands, without resorting to the sexton's spade
+that buried Jacob Marley.
+
+But they didn't devote the whole evening to music. After awhile they
+played at forfeits; for it is good to be children sometimes, and never
+better than at Christmas, when its mighty founder was a child himself.
+
+Stop! There was first a glorious game at blindman's buff. Of course
+there was. And I no more believe Topper was really blind than I believe
+he had eyes in his boots. My opinion is, that it was a done thing
+between him and Scrooge's nephew; and that the Ghost of Christmas
+Present knew it. The way he went after that plump sister in the lace
+tucker, was an outrage on the credulity of human nature. Knocking down
+the fire-irons, tumbling over the chairs, bumping up against the piano,
+smothering himself amongst the curtains, wherever she went, there went
+he! He always knew where the plump sister was. He wouldn't catch anybody
+else. If you had fallen up against him, (as some of them did) on
+purpose, he would have made a feint of endeavoring to seize you, which
+would have been an affront to your understanding, and would instantly
+have sidled off in the direction of the plump sister. She often cried
+out that it wasn't fair; and it really was not. But when at last, he
+caught her; when, in spite of all her silken rustlings, and her rapid
+flutterings past him, he got her into a corner whence there was no
+escape; then his conduct was the most execrable. For his pretending not
+to know her; his pretending that it was necessary to touch her
+head-dress, and further to assure himself of her identity by pressing a
+certain ring upon her finger, and a certain chain about her neck; was
+vile, monstrous! No doubt she told him her opinion of it when, another
+blind-man being in office, they were so very confidential together,
+behind the curtains.
+
+Scrooge's niece was not one of the blind-man's buff party, but was made
+comfortable with a large chair and a footstool, in a snug corner where
+the Ghost and Scrooge were close behind her. But she joined in the
+forfeits, and loved her love to admiration with all the letters of the
+alphabet. Likewise at the game of How, When, and Where, she was very
+great, and, to the secret joy of Scrooge's nephew, beat her sisters
+hollow: though they were sharp girls too, as Topper could have told you.
+There might have been twenty people there, young and old, but they all
+played, and so did Scrooge; for, wholly forgetting in the interest he
+had in what was going on, that his voice made no sound in their ears, he
+sometimes came out with his guess quite loud, and very often guessed
+right, too; for the sharpest needle, warranted not to cut in the eye,
+was not sharper than Scrooge; blunt as he took it in his head to be.
+
+The Ghost was greatly pleased to find him in this mood, and looked upon
+him with such favor, that he begged like a boy to be allowed to stay
+until the guests departed. But this the Spirit said could not be done.
+The whole scene passed off; and he and the Spirit were again upon their
+travels.
+
+Much they saw, and far they went, and many homes they visited, but
+always with a happy end. The Spirit stood beside sick beds, and they
+were cheerful; on foreign lands, and they were close at home; by
+struggling men, and they were patient in their greater hope; by poverty,
+and it was rich. In almshouse, hospital, and jail, in misery's every
+refuge, where vain man in his little brief authority had not made fast
+the door, and barred the Spirit out, he left his blessing, and taught
+Scrooge his precepts.
+
+It was a long night, if it were only a night; but Scrooge had his doubts
+of this, because the Christmas Holidays appeared to be condensed into
+the space of time they passed together. It was strange, too, that while
+Scrooge remained unaltered in his outward form, the Ghost grew older,
+clearly older!
+
+"Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask," said Scrooge, looking
+intently at the Spirit's robe, "but I see something strange, and not
+belonging to yourself, protruding from your skirts. Is it a foot or a
+claw?"
+
+"It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it," was the Spirit's
+sorrowful reply. "Look here."
+
+From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children; wretched,
+abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and
+clung upon the outside of its garment.
+
+They were a boy and girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but
+prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have
+filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a
+stale and shriveled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted
+them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat
+enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no
+degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the
+mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and
+dread.
+
+Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him in this way, he
+tried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves,
+rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude.
+
+"Spirit, are they yours?" Scrooge could say no more.
+
+"They are Man's," said the Spirit, looking down upon them. "And they
+cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This
+girl is Want. Beware of them both, and all of their degree, but most of
+all beware of this boy."
+
+"Have they no refuge or resource?" cried Scrooge.
+
+"Are there no prisons?" said the Spirit, turning on him for the last
+time with his own words. "Are there no work-houses?"
+
+The bell struck twelve.
+
+Scrooge looked about him for the Ghost, and saw it not. As the last
+stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the prediction of old Jacob
+Marley, and lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and
+hooded, coming like a mist along the ground toward him.
+
+
+STAVE FOUR.
+
+THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS.
+
+
+The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently, approached. When it came near
+him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which
+this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery.
+
+It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its
+face, its form, and left nothing of it visible, save one outstretched
+hand. But for this it would have been difficult to detach its figure
+from the night, and separate it from the darkness by which it was
+surrounded.
+
+He felt that it was tall and stately when it came beside him, and that
+its mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. He knew no more,
+for the Spirit neither spoke nor moved.
+
+"I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?" said
+Scrooge.
+
+The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its hand.
+
+"You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened,
+but will happen in the time before us," Scrooge pursued. "Is that so,
+Spirit?"
+
+The upper portion of the garment was contracted for an instant in its
+folds, as if the Spirit had inclined its head. That was the only answer
+he received.
+
+Although well used to ghostly company by this time, Scrooge feared the
+silent shape so much that his legs trembled beneath him, and he found
+that he could hardly stand when he prepared to follow it. The Spirit
+paused a moment, as observing his condition, and giving him time to
+recover.
+
+But Scrooge was all the worse for this. It thrilled him with a vague
+uncertain horror, to know that behind the dusky shroud, there were
+ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he, though he stretched his
+own to the utmost, could see nothing but a spectral hand and one great
+heap of black.
+
+"Ghost of the Future!" he exclaimed, "I fear you more than any spectre I
+have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good and as I hope to
+live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you
+company, and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?"
+
+It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them.
+
+"Lead on!" said Scrooge. "Lead on! The night is waning fast, and it is
+precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit!"
+
+The Phantom moved away as it had come toward him. Scrooge followed in
+the shadow of its dress, which bore him up, he thought, and carried him
+along.
+
+They scarcely seemed to enter the city; for the city rather seemed to
+spring up about them, and encompass them of its own act. But there they
+were in the heart of it; on 'Change, amongst the merchants; who hurried
+up and down, and chinked the money in their pockets, and conversed in
+groups, and looked at their watches, and trifled thoughtfully with their
+great gold seals; and so forth, as Scrooge had seen them often.
+
+The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men. Observing
+that the hand was pointed to them, Scrooge advanced to listen to their
+talk.
+
+"No," said a great fat man with a monstrous chin, "I don't know much
+about it either way. I only know he's dead."
+
+"When did he die?" inquired another.
+
+"Last night, I believe."
+
+"What has he done with his money?" asked a red-faced gentleman with a
+pendulous excrescence on the end of his nose, that shook like the gills
+of a turkey-cock.
+
+"I haven't heard," said the man with the large chin, yawning again.
+"Left it to his company, perhaps. He hasn't left it to _me_. That's all
+I know."
+
+This pleasantry was received with a general laugh.
+
+"It's likely to be a very cheap funeral," said the same speaker; "for
+upon my life I don't know of anybody to go to it. Suppose we make up a
+party and volunteer?"
+
+"I don't mind going if a lunch is provided," observed the gentleman with
+the excrescence on his nose. "But I must be fed, if I make one."
+
+Another laugh.
+
+"Well, I am the most disinterested among you, after all," said the first
+speaker, "for I never wear black gloves, and I never eat lunch. But I'll
+offer to go, if anybody else will. When I come to think of it, I'm not
+at all sure that I wasn't his most particular friend; for we used to
+stop and speak whenever we met. Bye, bye!"
+
+Speakers and listeners strolled away, and mixed with other groups.
+Scrooge knew the men, and looked toward the Spirit for explanation. He
+was at first inclined to be surprised that the Spirit should attach
+importance to conversations apparently so trivial; but feeling assured
+that they must have some hidden purpose, he set himself to consider what
+it was likely to be. They could scarcely be supposed to have any bearing
+on the death of Jacob, his old partner, for that was past, and this
+Ghost's province was the future. Nor could he think of any one
+immediately connected with himself, to whom he could apply them.
+
+They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part of the town,
+where Scrooge had never penetrated before, although he recognized its
+situation and its bad repute. The ways were foul and narrow; the shops
+and houses wretched; the people half-naked, drunken, slipshod, ugly.
+Alleys and archways, like so many cesspools, disgorged their offences of
+smell, and dirt, and life, upon the straggling streets; and the whole
+quarter reeked with crime, with filth and misery.
+
+Far in this den of infamous resort, there was a low-browed, beetling
+shop, below a pent-house roof, where iron, old rags, bottles, bones, and
+greasy offal were bought. Upon the floor within, were piled up heaps of
+rusty keys, nails, chains, hinges, files, scales, weights, and refuse
+iron of all kinds. Secrets that few would like to scrutinize were bred
+and hidden in mountains of unseemly rags, masses of corrupted fat, and
+sepulchres of bones. Sitting in among the wares he dealt in, by a
+charcoal stove, made of old bricks, was a grey-haired rascal, nearly
+seventy years of age; who had screened himself from the cold air
+without, by a frowsy curtaining of miscellaneous tatters hung upon a
+line; and smoked his pipe in all the luxury of calm retirement.
+
+Scrooge and the Phantom came into the presence of this man, just as a
+woman with a heavy bundle slunk into the shop. But she had scarcely
+entered, when another woman, similarly laden, came in too; and she was
+closely followed by a man in faded black, who was no less startled by
+the sight of them, than they had been upon the recognition of each
+other. After a short period of blank astonishment, in which the old man
+with a pipe had joined them, they all three burst into a laugh.
+
+"Let the charwoman alone to be the first!" cried she who had entered
+first. "Let the laundress alone to be the second; and let the
+undertaker's man alone to be the third. Look here, old Joe, here's a
+chance! If we haven't all three met here without meaning it!"
+
+"You couldn't have met in a better place," said old Joe, removing his
+pipe from his mouth. "Come into the parlor."
+
+The parlor was the space behind the screen of rags. The old man raked
+the fire together with an old stair-rod, and having trimmed his smoky
+lamp (for it was night), with the stem of his pipe, put it into his
+mouth again.
+
+While he did this, the woman who had already spoken threw her bundle on
+the floor and sat down in a flaunting manner on a stool; crossing her
+elbows on her knees, and looking with a bold defiance at the other two.
+"Now, then!" cried the woman. "Who's the worse for the loss of a few
+things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose."
+
+"No, indeed," said Mrs. Dilber, laughing.
+
+"If he wanted to keep 'em after he was dead, a wicked old screw,"
+pursued the woman, "why wasn't he natural in his lifetime? If he had
+been, he'd have had somebody to look after him when he was struck with
+Death, instead of lying gasping out his last there, alone by himself."
+
+"It's the truest word that ever was spoke," said Mrs. Dilber. "It's a
+judgment on him."
+
+"I wish it was a little heavier judgment," replied the woman; "and it
+should have been, you may depend upon it, if I could have laid my hands
+on anything else. Open that bundle, old Joe, and let me know the value
+of it. Speak out plain. I'm not afraid to be the first, nor afraid for
+them to see it. We knew pretty well that we were helping ourselves,
+before we met here, I believe. Open the bundle, Joe."
+
+But the gallantry of her friends would not allow of this; and the man in
+faded black, mounting the breach first, produced _his_ plunder. It was
+not extensive. A seal or two, a pencil-case, a pair of sleeve buttons,
+and a brooch of no great value, were all. They were severally examined
+and appraised by old Joe, who chalked the sums he was disposed to give
+for each, upon the wall, and added them up into a total when he found
+that there was nothing more to come.
+
+"That's your account," said Joe, "and I wouldn't give another sixpence,
+if I was to be boiled for not doing it. Who's next?"
+
+Mrs. Dilber was next. Sheets and towels, a little wearing apparel, two
+old-fashioned silver teaspoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, and a few boots.
+Her account was stated on the wall in the same manner.
+
+"I always give too much to ladies. It's a weakness of mine, and that's
+the way I ruin myself," said old Joe. "That's your account. If you asked
+me for another penny, and made it an open question, I'd repent of being
+so liberal, and knock off half-a-crown."
+
+"And now undo _my_ bundle, Joe," said the first woman.
+
+Joe went down on his knees for the greater convenience of opening it,
+and having unfastened a great many knots, dragged out a large heavy roll
+of some dark stuff.
+
+"What do you call this?" said Joe. "Bed curtains!"
+
+"Ah!" returned the woman, laughing and leaning forward on her crossed
+arms. "Bed curtains!"
+
+"You don't mean to say you took 'em down rings and all, with him lying
+there?" said Joe.
+
+"Yes, I do," replied the woman. "Why not?"
+
+"You were born to make your fortune," said Joe, "and you'll certainly do
+it."
+
+"I certainly shan't hold my hand, when I can get anything in it by
+reaching it out, for the sake of such a man as he was, I promise you,
+Joe," returned the woman coolly. "Don't drop that oil upon the blankets,
+now."
+
+"His blankets?" asked Joe.
+
+"Whose else's do you think?" replied the woman. "He isn't likely to take
+cold without 'em, I dare say."
+
+"I hope he didn't die of anything catching? Eh?" said old Joe, stopping
+in his work, and looking up.
+
+"Don't you be afraid of that," returned the woman. "I an't so fond of
+his company that I'd loiter about him for such things, if he did. Ah!
+you may look through that shirt till your eyes ache; but you won't find
+a hole in it, nor a threadbare place. It's the best he had, and a fine
+one too. They'd have wasted it, if it hadn't been for me."
+
+"What do you call wasting of it?" asked old Joe.
+
+"Putting it on him to be buried in, to be sure," replied the woman with
+a laugh. "Somebody was fool enough to do it, but I took it off again. If
+calico ain't good enough for such a purpose, it isn't good enough for
+anything. It's quite as becoming to the body. He can't look uglier than
+he did in that one."
+
+Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror. As they sat grouped about
+their spoil, in the scanty light afforded by the old man's lamp, he
+viewed them with a detestation and disgust, which could hardly have been
+greater, though they had been obscene demons, marketing the corpse
+itself.
+
+"Ha, ha!" laughed the same woman, when old Joe, producing a flannel bag
+with money in it, told out their several gains upon the ground. "This is
+the end of it, you see? He frightened everyone away from him when he was
+alive, to profit us when he was dead! Ha! ha! ha!"
+
+"Spirit!" said Scrooge, shuddering from head to foot, "I see, I see. The
+case of this unhappy man might be my own. My life tends that way, now.
+Merciful Heaven, what is this?"
+
+He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he almost
+touched a bed: a bare, uncurtained bed: on which, beneath a ragged
+sheet, there lay a something covered up which, though it was dumb,
+announced itself in awful language.
+
+The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any accuracy,
+though Scrooge glanced round it in obedience to a secret impulse,
+anxious to know what kind of room it was. A pale light rising in the
+outer air, fell straight upon the bed: and on it, plundered and bereft,
+unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this man.
+
+Scrooge glanced toward the Phantom. Its steady hand was pointed to the
+head. The cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of
+it, the motion of a finger upon Scrooge's part, would have disclosed the
+face. He thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to
+do it; but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss the
+spectre at his side.
+
+"Spirit!" he said, "this is a fearful place. In leaving it, I shall not
+leave its lesson, trust me. Let us go!"
+
+Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the head.
+
+"I understand you," Scrooge returned, "and I would do it if I could. But
+I have not the power, Spirit. I have not the power."
+
+Again it seemed to look upon him.
+
+"If there is any person in the town, who feels emotion caused by this
+man's death," said Scrooge, quite agonized, "show that person to me,
+Spirit, I beseech you!"
+
+The phantom spread its dark robe before him for a moment, like a wing;
+and withdrawing it, revealed a room by daylight, where a mother and her
+children were.
+
+She was expecting some one, and with anxious eagerness; for she walked
+up and down the room; started at every sound; looked out from the
+window; glanced at the clock; tried, but in vain, to work with her
+needle; and could hardly bear the voices of her children in their play.
+
+At length the long-expected knock was heard. She hurried to the door and
+met her husband; a man whose face was care-worn and depressed, though he
+was young. There was a remarkable expression in it now; a kind of
+serious delight of which he felt ashamed, and which he struggled to
+repress.
+
+He sat down to the dinner that had been hoarding for him by the fire,
+and when she asked him faintly what news (which was not until after a
+long silence), he appeared embarrassed how to answer.
+
+"Is it good," she said, "or bad?"--to help him.
+
+"Bad," he answered.
+
+"We are quite ruined?"
+
+"No. There is hope yet, Caroline."
+
+"If _he_ relents," she said, amazed, "there is! Nothing is past hope, if
+such a miracle has happened."
+
+"He is past relenting," said her husband. "He is dead."
+
+She was a mild and patient creature, if her face spoke truth; but she
+was thankful in her soul to hear it, and she said so, with clasped
+hands. She prayed forgiveness the next moment, and was sorry: but the
+first was the emotion of her heart.
+
+"What the half-drunken woman, whom I told you of last night, said to
+me, when I tried to see him and obtain a week's delay: and what I
+thought was a mere excuse to avoid me, turns out to have been quite
+true. He was not only very ill, but dying, then."
+
+"To whom will our debt be transferred?"
+
+"I don't know. But before that time we shall be ready with the money;
+and even though we were not, it would be bad fortune indeed to find so
+merciless a creditor in his successor. We may sleep to-night with light
+hearts, Caroline!"
+
+Yes. Soften it as they would, their hearts were lighter. The children's
+faces, hushed and clustered round to hear what they so little
+understood, were brighter; and it was a happier house for this man's
+death! The only emotion that the Ghost could show him, caused by the
+event, was one of pleasure.
+
+"Let me see some tenderness connected with the death," said Scrooge; "or
+that dark chamber, Spirit, which we left just now, will be for ever
+present to me."
+
+The Ghost conducted him through several streets to poor Bob Cratchit's
+house; the dwelling he had visited before: and found the mother and the
+children seated round the fire.
+
+Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as still as statues
+in one corner, and sat looking up at Peter, who had a book before him.
+The mother and her daughters were sewing. But surely they were very
+quiet!
+
+"'And He took a child, and set him in the midst of them.'"
+
+Where had Scrooge heard those words? He had not dreamed them. The boy
+must have read them out, as he and the Spirit crossed the threshold. Why
+did he not go on?
+
+The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her hand up to her
+face.
+
+"The color hurts my eyes," she said.
+
+The color? Ah, poor Tiny Tim!
+
+"They're better now again," said Cratchit's wife. "It makes them weak by
+candle-light; and I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father when he comes
+home, for the world. It must be near his time."
+
+"Past it rather," Peter answered, shutting up his book. "But I think he
+has walked a little slower than he used, these few last evenings,
+mother."
+
+They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in a steady, cheerful
+voice, that only faltered once:
+
+"I have known him walk with--I have known him walk with Tiny Tim upon
+his shoulder, very fast indeed."
+
+"And so have I," cried Peter. "Often."
+
+"And so have I," exclaimed another. So had all.
+
+"But he was very light to carry," she resumed, intent upon her work,
+"and his father loved him so, that it was no trouble: no trouble. And
+there is your father at the door!"
+
+She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in his comforter--he had
+need of it, poor fellow--came in. His tea was ready for him, and they
+all tried who should help him to it most. Then the two young Cratchits
+got upon his knees and laid, each child, a little cheek against his
+face, as if they said, "Don't mind it, father. Don't be grieved!"
+
+Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to all the family.
+He looked at the work upon the table, and praised the industry and speed
+of Mrs. Cratchit and the girls. They would be done long before Sunday,
+he said.
+
+"Sunday! You went to-day, then, Robert?" said his wife.
+
+"Yes, my dear," returned Bob. "I wish you could have gone. It would
+have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you'll see it
+often. I promised him that I would walk there on a Sunday. My little,
+little child!" cried Bob. "My little child!"
+
+He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it. If he could have helped
+it, he and his child would have been farther apart perhaps than they
+were.
+
+"Spectre," said Scrooge, "something informs me that our parting moment
+is at hand. I know it, but I know not how. Tell me what man that was
+whom we saw lying dead?"
+
+The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come conveyed him as before into the
+resorts of business men, but showed him not himself. Indeed, the Spirit
+did not stay for anything, but went straight on, as to the end just now
+desired, until besought by Scrooge to tarry for a moment.
+
+"This court," said Scrooge, "through which we hurry now, is where my
+place of occupation is, and has been for a length of time. I see the
+house. Let me behold what I shall be, in days to come."
+
+The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.
+
+"The house is yonder" Scrooge exclaimed. "Why do you point away?"
+
+The inexorable finger underwent no change.
+
+Scrooge hastened to the window of his office, and looked in. It was an
+office still, but not his. The furniture was not the same, and the
+figure in the chair was not himself. The Phantom pointed as before.
+
+He joined it once again, and wondering why and whither he had gone,
+accompanied it until they reached an iron gate. He paused to look round
+before entering.
+
+A churchyard. Here, then, the wretched man whose name he had now to
+learn, lay underneath the ground. It was a worthy place. Walled in by
+houses; overrun by grass and weeds, the growth of vegetation's death,
+not life; choked up with too much burying; fat with repleted appetite. A
+worthy place!
+
+The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to one. He advanced
+toward it trembling. The Phantom was exactly as it had been, but he
+dreaded that he saw new meaning in its solemn shape.
+
+"Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point," said Scrooge,
+"answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that will
+be, or are they shadows of the things that may be, only?"
+
+Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood.
+
+"Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in,
+they must lead," said Scrooge, "But if the courses be departed from, the
+ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me!"
+
+The Spirit was immovable as ever.
+
+Scrooge crept toward it, trembling as he went; and following the finger,
+read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, EBENEZER
+SCROOGE.
+
+"Am _I_ that man who lay upon the bed?" he cried, upon his knees.
+
+The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again.
+
+"No, Spirit! Oh, no, no!"
+
+The finger still was there.
+
+Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw
+an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and
+dwindled down into a bedpost.
+
+
+STAVE FIVE.
+
+THE END OF IT.
+
+
+Yes! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, and the room was
+his own. Best and happiest of all, the time before him was his own, to
+make amends in!
+
+He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions, that his
+broken voice would scarcely answer to his call. He had been sobbing
+violently in his conflict with the Spirit, and his face was wet with
+tears.
+
+"They are not torn down," cried Scrooge, folding one of his bed curtains
+in his arms, "they are not torn down, rings and all. They are here--I am
+here--the shadows of the things that would have been, may be dispelled.
+They will be. I know they will!"
+
+He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there:
+perfectly winded.
+
+"There's the saucepan that the gruel was in!" cried Scrooge, starting
+off again, and going round the fire-place. "There's the door by which
+the Ghost of Jacob Marley entered! There's the corner where the Ghost of
+Christmas Present sat! There's the window where I saw the wandering
+Spirits! It's all right, it's all true, it all happened. Ha, ha, ha!"
+
+Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was
+a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long
+line of brilliant laughs!
+
+"I don't know what day of the month it is," said Scrooge. "I don't know
+how long I have been among the Spirits. I don't know anything. I'm quite
+a baby. Never mind. I don't care. I'd rather be a baby. Hallo! Whoop!
+Hallo here!"
+
+He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the
+lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clash, hammer; ding, dong,
+bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious!
+
+Running to the window, he opened it and put out his head.
+
+"What's to-day?" cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday
+clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.
+
+"Eh?" returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.
+
+"What's to-day, my fine fellow?" said Scrooge.
+
+"To-day!" replied the boy. "Why, CHRISTMAS DAY."
+
+"It's Christmas Day!" said Scrooge to himself. "I haven't missed it. The
+Spirits have done it all in one night. Hallo, my fine fellow!"
+
+"Hallo!" returned the boy.
+
+"Do you know the Poulterer's, in the next street but one, at the
+corner?" Scrooge inquired.
+
+"I should hope I did," replied the lad.
+
+"An intelligent boy!" said Scrooge. "A remarkable boy! Do you know
+whether they've sold the prize turkey that was hanging up there?"
+
+"It's hanging there now," replied the boy.
+
+"Is it?" said Scrooge. "Go and buy it."
+
+"Walk-ER!" exclaimed the boy.
+
+"No, no," said Scrooge, "I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell 'em to
+bring it here, that I may give them the directions where to take it.
+Come back with the man, and I'll give you a shilling."
+
+The boy was off like a shot.
+
+"I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's," whispered Scrooge, rubbing his hands,
+and splitting with a laugh. "He shan't know who sends it. It's twice the
+size of Tiny Tim."
+
+The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one; but write
+it he did, somehow, and went down-stairs to open the street door, ready
+for the coming of the poulterer's man.
+
+The chuckle with which he paid for the Turkey, and the chuckle with
+which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle
+with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and chuckled till
+he cried.
+
+He dressed himself "all in his best," and got out into the streets. The
+people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen them with the
+Ghost of Christmas Present; and walking with his hands behind him,
+Scrooge regarded every one with a delighted smile. He looked so
+irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humored
+fellows said "Good morning, sir! A Merry Christmas to you!" And Scrooge
+said often afterward, that of all the blithe sounds he ever heard, those
+were the blithest in his ears.
+
+He had not gone far, when coming on toward him he beheld the portly
+gentleman, who had walked into his counting-house the day before, and
+said "Scrooge and Marley's, I believe?" It sent a pang across his heart
+to think how this old gentleman would look upon him when they met; but
+he knew what path lay straight before him, and he took it.
+
+"My dear sir," said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and taking the old
+gentleman by both his hands, "how do you do? I hope you succeeded
+yesterday. It was very kind of you. A Merry Christmas to you, sir!"
+
+"Mr. Scrooge?"
+
+"Yes," said Scrooge. "That is my name, and I fear it may not be pleasant
+to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the
+goodness"--here Scrooge whispered in his ear.
+
+"Lord bless me!" cried the gentleman, as if his breath were taken away.
+"My dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?"
+
+"If you please," said Scrooge. "Not a farthing less. A great many back
+payments are included in it, I assure you. Will you do me that favor?"
+
+"My dear sir," said the other, shaking hands with him, "I don't know
+what to say to such munifi--"
+
+"Don't say anything, please," retorted Scrooge. "Come and see me. Will
+you come and see me?"
+
+"I will!" cried the old gentleman. And it was clear he meant to do it.
+
+"Thank'ee," said Scrooge. "I am much obliged to you. I thank you fifty
+times. Bless you!"
+
+He went to church, and walked about the streets and watched the people
+hurrying to and fro, and patted the children on the head, and looked
+down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows; and found
+everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any
+walk--that any thing--could give him so much happiness. In the
+afternoon, he turned his steps toward his nephew's house.
+
+He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the courage to go up and
+knock. But he made a dash, and did it.
+
+"Is your master at home, my dear?" said Scrooge to the girl. Nice girl!
+Very.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Where is he?" said Scrooge.
+
+"He's in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I'll show you
+up-stairs, if you please."
+
+"Thank'ee. He knows me," said Scrooge, with his hand already on the
+dining-room lock. "I'll go in here, my dear."
+
+He turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the door. They were
+looking at the table (which was spread out in great array); for these
+young housekeepers are always nervous on such points, and like to see
+that everything is right.
+
+"Fred!" said Scrooge.
+
+"Why, bless my soul!" cried Fred, "who's that?"
+
+"It's I. Your Uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you let me in,
+Fred?"
+
+Let him in! It is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. He was at home in
+five minutes. Nothing could be heartier.
+
+But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early there. If
+he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That
+was the thing he had set his heart upon.
+
+And he did it; yes, he did! The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter
+past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time.
+Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the
+tank.
+
+His hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was on
+his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to
+overtake nine o'clock.
+
+"Hallo!" growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice as near as he could
+feign it. "What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?"
+
+"I am very sorry, sir," said Bob. "I _am_ behind my time."
+
+"You are!" repeated Scrooge. "Yes. I think you are. Step this way, sir,
+if you please."
+
+"It's only once a year, sir," pleaded Bob, appearing from the tank. "It
+shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir."
+
+"Now, I'll tell you what, my friend," said Scrooge. "I am not going to
+stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore I am about to raise
+your salary!"
+
+"A Merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could
+not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back, "A Merrier Christmas,
+Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year! I'll raise
+your salary, and endeavor to assist your struggling family, and we will
+discuss your affairs this very afternoon. Make up the fires, and buy
+another coal scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!"
+
+Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more;
+and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was a second father. He became as
+good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city
+knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old
+world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them
+laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that
+nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did
+not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as
+these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they
+should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less
+attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for
+him.
+
+He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total
+Abstinence Principle, ever afterward; and it was always said of him,
+that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the
+knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny
+Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!
+
+
+
+
+THE CHRISTMAS BABE.
+
+BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
+
+
+     We love to think of Bethlehem,
+             That little mountain town,
+       To which, on earth's first Christmas Day,
+             Our blessed Lord came down.
+       A lowly manger for His bed,
+             The cattle near in stall,
+       There, cradled close in Mary's arms,
+             He slept, the Lord of all.
+
+     If we had been in Bethlehem,
+             We too had hasted fain
+       To see the Babe whose little face
+             Knew neither care nor pain.
+       Like any little child of ours,
+             He came unto His own,
+       Through Cross and shame before Him stretched,--
+             His pathway to His Throne.
+
+     If we had dwelt in Bethlehem,
+             We would have followed fast,
+       And where the Star had led our feet
+             Have knelt ere dawn was past.
+       Our gifts, our songs, our prayers had been
+             An offering, as He lay,
+       The blessed Babe of Bethlehem,
+             In Mary's arms that day.
+
+     Now breaks the latest Christmas Morn!
+             Again the angels sing,
+       And far and near the children throng
+             Their happy hymns to bring.
+       All heaven is stirred! All earth is glad!
+             For down the shining way,
+       The Lord who came to Bethlehem,
+             Comes yet, on Christmas Day.
+
+
+
+
+A WESTERN CHRISTMAS IN THE OLD DAYS.
+
+BY MRS. W. H. CORNING.
+
+
+Christmas week there was no school, but such a succession of dining
+days, and visiting days, and day parties, and night parties, that Fanny,
+who looked forward to the week as a season of rest, thought that the
+regular routine of school duties would be less fatiguing.
+
+Christmas at La Belle Prairie was the one jubilee of the year, something
+to be talked about for six months beforehand, and to be remembered as
+long after. It was a time of feasting and recreation for both master and
+servant. Days before, preparations commenced in the kitchen. Various
+smells issued from thence--savory smells of boiled, baked, and roasted
+meats; and sweet delicious smells of warm pastry and steaming cakes.
+Aunt Tibby was rolling pie-crust or stirring cake all day long, and the
+chopping of sausage-meat, the pounding of spices, and the beating of
+eggs were constantly heard. Everything was carried on with the greatest
+secrecy. The children were all kept out of the kitchen, and when
+"somefin' good" was to be transferred therefrom to Miss Car'line's
+store-room, Aunt Tibby came sailing in, holding it high above the reach
+of the curious little heads.
+
+"I don't care," said Cal. "There's six pound-cakes all in a row on the
+store-room shelf. I see 'em when ma opened the door; and Marthy says one
+of 'em got currants in it, and there's a little shoat thar roasted
+whole. O! how I wish Christmas was come."
+
+Coming suddenly upon Maud one day, Fanny found her with her apron half
+full of bran, while her fingers were busily at work upon a few pieces of
+faded silk. Maud tried to hide them at first, but finding by Fanny's
+question of "What is it, Maud?" that it was too late, she had looked up
+with a tired, flushed face and said:
+
+"Miss Fanny, don't you tell now! will you? I'm makin' a pin-cushion for
+Aunt Phoebe, but it won't come square, all I can do. It acts awfully."
+
+"Let me see what the trouble is," said Fanny, and sitting down, she
+examined the poor cushion; which, indeed, under Maud's hands, was not
+soon likely to come into shape.
+
+"You see," said Maud, "I want to give aunty a Christmas gift, and I
+thought a cushion would be so nice, 'cause her old one that she wears
+pinned to her waist, you know, has burst a great hole, and the bran
+keeps tumbling out. I'm going to make her a right nice one, only I wish
+'twas brighter, 'cause aunty likes red, and yellow, and all them, so
+bad."
+
+Fanny searched her piece bag and brought forth bits of gay ribbon, the
+sight of which threw Maud into ecstasies of delight, then giving up the
+morning to the job, she cut and planned, and fitted and basted together,
+getting all in order, so that Maud could do the sewing herself.
+
+"Aunty wouldn't think half so much of it if I didn't," said the child.
+
+Well and faithfully Maud performed her labor of love, giving up her
+much-prized runs on the prairie, and resisting all the children's
+entreaties to play with them, till the Christmas gift was finished. It
+was no small task, for Maud most heartily hated to sew, and her fingers
+were anything but nimble in the operation. "I always did despise to sew,
+Miss Fanny," she said, "but I'm going to make this cushion for aunty
+anyhow."
+
+It was finished at last, and, as Maud expressed it, "was just as
+beautiful as it could be." There never was a prouder, happier child. She
+did not thank Fanny in words for her assistance, but that night she came
+softly behind her, and putting her arms around her neck, gave her an
+earnest kiss, a proceeding which called forth an exclamation of surprise
+from Mrs. Catlett, for Maud was very chary of her caresses.
+
+Christmas morning came, and long before daylight, every child upon the
+place, both black and white, was up ready to "march in Christmas." There
+had been mysterious preparations the night before, such as the hiding of
+tin pans and glass bottles under the bed, and the faint tooting of an
+old horn, heard down at the quarters, as though some one was rehearsing
+a part. Fanny was also astonished by an application from little "darky
+Tom" for permission to use her school-bell, the said cow-tinkler not
+being remarkable for sweetness of sound.
+
+"O, yes, Tom, you may take it; but what can you want of it?"
+
+"Couldn't tell no ways, Miss Fanny," said Tom, with a grin. "Mebbe Miss
+Fanny know in de mornin'."
+
+Morning did indeed bring an explanation of the mystery. Assembling in
+the yard, the children marshaled themselves into marching order; Maud,
+of course, being captain, and taking the lead, bearing an old tin horn,
+while little black Tom brought up the rear with Fanny's unfortunate
+cow-bell.
+
+In this order they commenced "marching in Christmas" to the music of the
+horn, the beating of tin pans, the rattling of bits of iron and pieces
+of wood, the jingling of bells, and the clapping of hands. Into the
+house, and up-stairs to the very doors of the sleeping-rooms, they all
+marched with their horrid din. It was received with tolerable
+good-humor by all but Nanny, who, deprived of her morning nap by the
+tumult, raved at the juvenile disturbers of the peace, and finally threw
+her shoes at them as they stood on the stairway. These were directly
+seized upon as trophies, and carried off in triumph to the quarters,
+where the young performers went through with the same operations.
+
+"Christmas gift! Christmas gift!" was the first salutation from the
+servants this morning, and it was well worth while to give them some
+trifling present, were it only to hear their extravagant expressions of
+gratitude and delight. It was impossible to forget for a moment that it
+was Christmas. One could see it in the faces of the servants, released
+for a whole week from their daily tasks, and rejoicing in the prospect
+of dances, and parties, and visits to friends and kindred on distant
+plantations. The children, too, with their boisterous merriment and
+constant talk about the holidays, seemed determined to bear it in mind,
+and the great dinner--the one dinner of the year--in the preparation of
+which Aunt Tibby had exercised all her skill; this, in itself, seemed to
+proclaim that it was Christmas.
+
+"Oh, Miss Fanny," said little Joy, "don't you wish Christmas lasted the
+whole year round?"
+
+The short December day was fast drawing to a close, as a party of four
+rode leisurely along the road crossing La Belle Prairie. The ladies,
+though scarcely recognizable in their close hoods, long blue cotton
+riding skirts, and thick gloves, were none other than Miss Nancy Catlett
+and our friend Fanny, while their attendants were Mr. Chester, the town
+gentleman, and Massa Dave Catlett, who had come over from his new home
+in Kansas, on purpose to enjoy the Christmas festivities on the prairie.
+One of those night parties, of which Nanny had talked so much, was to
+come off at Col. Turner's, and this was the place of their destination.
+In accordance with the customs of society in these parts, they were to
+remain until the next day, and, accordingly, black Viny rode a little in
+the rear, mounted upon old "Poke Neck," and bearing sundry carpet-bags
+and valises, containing the ladies' party-dresses.
+
+Just at dusk, our party reached their journey's end, and dismounting one
+by one from the horse-block in front of the house, they walked up the
+road, and were met in the porch by Miss Bell Turner, Nanny's particular
+friend. This young lady, with long curls and a very slender waist,
+performed the duties of hostess in a free and easy manner, ushering the
+gentlemen into the parlor, where a fire was blazing on the hearth, while
+the ladies, with their attendants, were conducted up-stairs to the
+dressing-room.
+
+Here a dozen or more were engaged in the mysteries of the toilet,
+braiding, twisting, and curling, while as many servants were flying
+about, stumbling over each other, and creating the most dire confusion
+in their efforts to supply the wants of their respective mistresses. The
+beds and chairs were covered with dresses, capes, ribbons,
+curling-irons, flowers, combs, and brushes, and all the paraphernalia of
+the toilet, while the ladies themselves kept up a continual stream of
+conversation with each other and their attendants.
+
+Into this scene Nanny entered with great spirit. Shaking hands all
+round, and introducing Fanny, she hastily threw off her bonnet and
+shawl, and bidding Viny unpack the things, she set about dressing in
+good earnest.
+
+"How nice to get here so early," she said. "Now we can have a chance at
+the glass, and plenty of room to move about in."
+
+Fanny wondered what she called plenty of room, but had yet to learn the
+signification of the term when applied to the dressing-room of a western
+party. Thicker and faster came the arrivals, and it being necessary that
+each lady should undergo a thorough transformation in dress, before
+making her appearance down-stairs, the labor and confusion necessary to
+bring this about can be imagined. Such hurryings to and fro, such
+knockings down and pickings up, such scolding and laughing, in short
+such a Babel of sounds as filled the room for an hour or two, Fanny had
+never heard before. Completing her own toilet as soon as possible, she
+seated herself upon one of the beds, and watched the proceedings with
+great interest.
+
+"You Suke, bring me some more pins, directly." "O please, Miss Ellen,
+mind my wreath!" "Jule, how much longer are you goin' to keep the
+wash-bowl?" "Dar now, Miss Eveline done get her coat all wet." "Did you
+know Tom Walton was here? I see him in the passage." "Miss Belle, that's
+_my_ starch-bag." "There, now! don't them slippers fit beautiful?" "Why
+don't that girl come back?" "O, Liza, just fasten up my dress, that's a
+dear girl!" "Come, girls, do hurry, we shan't be dressed to-night."
+
+How it was all brought about, Fanny could not tell, but at last the
+ladies were dressed, the last sash pinned, and the last curl adjusted.
+Dresses of thin material, cut low in the neck, with short sleeves,
+seemed to be the order of the night, which with wreaths, and bunches of
+artificial flowers in the hair, gave the ladies a handsome appearance.
+With Miss Belle at the head, they all descended to the parlor, and found
+the gentlemen strolling about, employing themselves as they could, till
+the night's amusements commenced; and, indeed, both ladies and gentlemen
+manifested such eagerness to adjourn to the play-room, that the signal
+was soon given, and they proceeded forthwith to a log building in the
+yard, formerly used as a school-room.
+
+Games soon commenced, and were carried on with great vigor, the young
+people making up in activity what was lacking in gracefulness of motion.
+Game after game was made out, the ladies vying with each other to see
+who should laugh the most, while those who were left chatted gayly
+together in groups, or tried their powers of fascination upon some
+long-limbed specimen of humanity.
+
+"What calls the gentlemen up-stairs so frequently?" inquired Fanny,
+innocently, as groups of two and three disappeared up the steps leading
+to the room above.
+
+"You are not aware, then, what a formidable rival the ladies have up in
+the loft?" said Mr. Chester, gravely, though there was a comical
+expression about the corners of his mouth.
+
+"No, indeed."
+
+"Well, I only hope you may not witness the overpowering influence
+sometimes exerted by this same rival," said Mr. Chester; "but honestly,
+Miss Hunter, there is serious danger that some of these light-footed
+young gentlemen may, ere long, be obliged to relinquish their places in
+our party, all through the attractions presented to them up yonder."
+
+"I don't in the least know what you mean."
+
+"In plain words, then, they are talking about horses up there; men are
+crazy over horses you know."
+
+"Are you in earnest, Mr. Chester?"
+
+"Certainly I am. It would not answer, I suppose, for ladies to intrude
+upon their modest retirement, or I could convince you in a moment."
+
+"How can you joke about it, Mr. Chester? I think it is perfectly
+scandalous."
+
+"Well, it is bad enough," said her companion, more gravely. "One living
+at the west becomes accustomed to such things."
+
+"_I_ never will," said Fanny. "If I had known these Christmas parties
+countenanced such impoliteness, I would have stayed at home."
+
+"A set supper," Nanny had several times expressed a hope that Mrs.
+Turner would provide, and she was not disappointed. The long table was
+bountifully spread with the substantials of this life, and though not in
+the style of an entertainment in Fifth Avenue, it was admirably suited
+to the guests who partook of it. A roasted "shoat" graced each end of
+the board, a side of bacon the centre, while salted beef, cut in thin
+slices, with pickles and cheese, constituted the side-dishes. Hot
+coffee, corn bread and biscuit were passed to each guest, and a piece of
+pound-cake and a little preserved fruit for dessert.
+
+There was plenty of laughter and hearty joking at the table, and the
+flushed faces and increased volubility of the gentlemen gave too certain
+evidence of the truth of Mr. Chester's assertions.
+
+"The langest day maun hae an end," says the old Scotch proverb, audit
+was with a sigh of relief that Fanny at last saw Uncle Jake lay down the
+tortured fiddle, and the guests with lingering steps and wishful eyes
+retire to seek the few hours of repose that were left of the night.
+"Confusion worse confounded" reigned for a time in the apartment
+appropriated to the ladies' use, and the numerous couches spread upon
+the floor increased the difficulty of navigation. At last, when quiet
+seemed restored, and Fanny was sinking into a peaceful sleep, she was
+aroused by her neighbors in an adjoining bed, three young ladies who
+declared that they were "all but starved, and must have something to eat
+before they could go to sleep." One of the black women was despatched to
+the store-room for some slices of cold bacon, and sitting up in bed,
+with the candle before them, they made a hearty repast.
+
+"Of course, you can't eat half as much as you want at table," said one
+of the young ladies, apologetically; "one always wants to appear
+delicate-like before the gentlemen."
+
+"What in goodness' name, Nan, made breakfast so late?" said Dave the
+next morning, or rather noon, as they were returning home; "I thought
+one while we wasn't goin' to get any." "Why, you see, they hadn't any
+wheat flour in the house for the biscuit," said Nanny, "and they had to
+send three miles over the prairie to Mr. John Turner's to borrow some."
+
+"Twenty people invited to stay over night, and no flour in the house?"
+said Fanny, in amazement.
+
+"It rather shocks your Yankee ideas of looking out ahead, Miss Hunter,"
+said Mr. Chester, laughing. "We are used to such things out this way."
+
+"Oh! Miss Fanny, people can't remember everything, you know," said
+Nanny; "Belle says they never thought a word about it till this
+morning."
+
+
+
+
+JOE'S SEARCH FOR SANTA CLAUS.
+
+BY IRVING BACHELLER
+
+
+     A story, my child? Well, there's none that I know
+     As good as the story about little Joe.
+     He lived with his mother, just under the eaves
+     Of a tenement high, where the telegraph weaves
+     Its highway of wire, that everywhere goes,
+     And makes the night musical when the wind blows.
+     Their home had no father--the two were bereft
+     Of all but their appetites--those never left!
+     Joe's grew with his thought; a day never passed
+     He spent not in hunger to make the food last;
+     And days when his mother silently went
+     And stood by the windows--Joe knew what it meant.
+     They'd nothing for supper! The words were so sad
+     That somehow they drowned all the hunger he had.
+     And surely God's miracles never have ceased--
+     Joe's hunger grew less when his sorrows increased.
+     When the coal ran out in winter's worst storm,
+     The fire burnt the harder that kept their hearts warm.
+     Their windows revealed many wonderful sights,
+     Long acres of roofing and high-flying kites;
+     At sunset, the great vault of heaven aglow,
+     The lining of gold on the clouds hanging low,
+     The cross on the top of St. Mary's high tower
+     Ablaze with the light of that magical hour;
+     And still, as the arrows of light slanted higher,
+     The last thing in sight was the great cross of fire.
+     Each day, as it vanished, the history old
+     Of Christ's crucifixion was reverently told;
+     To Him the boy learned to confide all his woes,
+     But oftenest prayed for a new suit of clothes,
+     Since those that he wore didn't fit him at all--
+     The coat was too large and the trousers too small,
+     And Joe looked so queer, from his head to his feet,
+     It grieved his proud soul to be seen in the street.
+     And sometimes he cherished a secret desire
+     To own a hand-sled, or to build a bonfire;
+     But reached one conclusion by various routes--
+     He could have better fun with a new pair of boots.
+     He thought how the old pair, when shiny and whole.
+     Had squeaked in a way that delighted his soul,
+     And remembrance grew sad as he strutted around
+     And tried hard, but vainly, to waken that sound.
+     The day before Christmas brought trouble for Joe,
+     A thousand times worse. 'Twas a terrible blow
+     To hear that old Santa Claus, god of his dreams.
+     Would not come that year with his fleet-footed teams.
+     He'd seen them. Why, once, of a night's witching hour
+     He saw them jump over the cross on the tower
+     And scamper away o'er the snow-covered roofs,
+     His heart beating time to the sound of their hoofs.
+     Not coming this year? Santa Claus must be dead,
+     He thought, as with sad tears he crept into bed.
+     And, as he lay thinking, the long strings of wire
+     Sang low in the wind like a deep-sounding lyre,
+     And Joe caught the notes of this solemn refrain--
+     "He'll not come again! no, he'll not come again!"
+     And oh! how the depths of his spirit were stirred
+     By thoughts that were born of the music he heard!
+     How cold were the winds, and they sang in their strife,
+     Of storms yet to come in the winters of life.
+     They mocked him, but mark how the faith of the child
+     Stood firm as a fortress, its hope undefiled;
+     For still the boy thought that, if Santa Claus knew
+     How great were their needs and their comforts how few,
+     He would come; and at length, when the first rays of light
+     Had fathomed the infinite depths of the night,
+     And brightened the windows, Joe cautiously crept
+     Out of bed: and he dressed while his mother still slept,
+     And down the long stairways on tiptoe he ran;
+     Then out in the snow, with the will of a man,
+     He went, looking hither and thither, because,
+     Poor boy! he was trying to find Santa Claus.
+     He hurried along through the snow-burdened street
+     As if the good angels were guiding his feet;
+     And as the sun rose in the heavens apace,
+     A radiance fell on his uplifted face
+     That came from the cross gleaming far overhead--
+     A symbol of hope for the living and dead.
+     A moment he looked at the great house of prayer,
+     Then slyly peeked in to see what was there;
+     And entering softly he wandered at will
+     Through pathways of velvet, deserted and still,
+     And saw the light grow on a wonderful scene
+     Of ivy-twined columns and arches of green,
+     And back of the rail, where the clergyman knelt,
+     He sat on the cushions to see how they felt.
+     How soft was that velvet he stroked with his hand!
+     But when he lay down, oh, the feeling was grand!
+     And while he was musing the walls seemed to sway,
+     And slowly the windows went moving away.
+     What, ho! there he comes! with his big pack and all,
+     Down the sunbeams that slope from the high-windowed wall,
+     And Joe tried to speak, but could not, if he died,
+     When Santa Claus came and sat down by his side.
+     "A tenement boy! humph! he probably swears."
+     (Joe trembled, and tried hard to think of his prayers.)
+     He lifted Joe's eyelids, he patted his brow,
+     And said. "He is not a bad boy, anyhow."
+     But hark! there is music; a deep-swelling sound
+     Is sweeping on high as if heavenward bound.
+     And suddenly waking, Joe saw kneeling there
+     The rector, long-robed, who was reading a prayer.
+     "Provide for the fatherless children," said he
+     "The widowed, the helpless, the bond and the free."
+     The rector stops praying--his face wears a frown;
+     A ragged young gamin is pulling his gown.
+     "I knowed you would come," said the boy, half in fright--
+     "I knowed you would come--I was watchin' all night.
+     Say! what are ye goin' t'give mother an' me?
+     Le'me see what 'tis, Santa Claus--please le'me see!"
+     The rector looked down into Joe's honest face,
+     And a great wave of feeling swept over the place;
+     And tenderly laying his hand on Joe's head,
+     He turned to the people and solemnly said:
+     "We pray that the poor may be sheltered and fed,
+     And we leave it to Heaven to furnish the bread.
+     Ye know, while He feedeth the fowls in the air.
+     The children of mankind He leaves to man's care;"
+     And kissing Joe's face the preacher said then;
+     "Of such is the kingdom of Heaven. Amen!"
+     That day Santa Claus came to many a door
+     He'd forgotten to call at the evening before.
+     Was little Joe lucky? Well, now, you are right.
+     And the wires sang merrily all the next night.
+
+
+
+
+ANGELA'S CHRISTMAS.
+
+BY JULIA SCHAYER.
+
+
+"Then it is 'yes,' father dear?" said Angela, looking across the
+breakfast table with a smile. It was her mother's smile, and the girl
+had filled her mother's vacant chair for more than a year.
+
+The eyes of the father and daughter met, and Angela knew, before a word
+was said, that she had conquered.
+
+"I hate to see you at your age, beginning to worry over these things,"
+Ephraim Frazier said, regretfully. "Let the _old_ women take care of the
+charities, dear. You keep on dancing in the sunshine a while longer,
+daughter."
+
+Angela's smile grew graver, but not less sweet.
+
+"I am twenty, dear," she said. "Too old to dance _all_ the time, and I
+cannot help _thinking_, you know. And--it's no use, papa dear! I _must_
+do something! It _is_ 'yes,' isn't it?"
+
+"You are sure you won't mind being criticised and ridiculed?"
+
+"Quite sure!" answered Angela.
+
+"And sure you won't take your failures and disappointments to heart too
+deeply?"
+
+"Quite sure I can bear them bravely," answered the girl. "If only one,
+_just one_, of those poor creatures may be helped, and lifted up, and
+brought out of darkness, it will be worth trying for!"
+
+"And what does Robert Johns say about it?"
+
+A glow kindled in Angela's face.
+
+"Robert is in perfect sympathy with me," she said softly. Then again,
+this time having risen and gone around to his side, to speak with her
+face against the old banker's smoothly shaven cheek, "It _is_ 'yes,'
+isn't it, daddy dear?"
+
+"Well, yes! Only you must go slow, dear. You are not over strong, you
+know."
+
+And soon it came to pass that on a vacant lot, hitherto given over to
+refuse heaps, haunted by stray cats, ragpickers, and vagrant children,
+in one of the vilest quarters of the metropolis, there sprang up, with
+magic swiftness, a commodious frame building, surrounded by smooth green
+sod, known in the lower circles as the Locust Street Home; in upper
+circles, laughingly denominated "Angela's Experiment."
+
+Angela did not mind. It was mostly goodnatured laughter, and many of the
+laughers ended by lending willing hands and hearts to the cause. It was
+wonderful how the news spread through the city's purlieus that here was
+a sanctuary into which cold, hunger, and fatigue dared not intrude; a
+place which the lowest might enter and be made welcome, and go
+unquestioned, his personal rights as carefully respected as though he
+were one of the Four Hundred.
+
+That was Angela's theory. No man, woman, or child should be _compelled_
+to anything. First make their bodies comfortable, then surround them
+with ennobling influences and examples, entertain them, arouse them,
+stimulate them, hold out the helping hand, _and leave the rest to God_.
+"They shall not even be _compelled_ to be clean!" she said, laughing.
+"If the beautiful clean bathrooms and clean clothing do not tempt them
+to cleanliness, then so be it! I will have no rules; only influences.
+You will see!"
+
+And people did see, and wondered.
+
+Sometimes, on warm, pleasant evenings, the spacious, cheerful hall, with
+its tables and chairs, would be almost empty; but on nights like that on
+which this story opens, a dark, cold December night, the seats were apt
+to be well filled, mostly with slatternly, hard-featured women, and
+dull-faced children, who sat staring stolidly about, while the music and
+speaking went on; half stupefied by the warmth and tranquillity so
+foreign to their lives.
+
+Outside, a dismal sleet was falling, but from the open door of the
+vestibule a great sheet of light fell upon the wet pavement, and above
+it glowed a transparency bearing the words:
+
+"A Merry Christmas to all! Come in!"
+
+It was while the singing was going on, led by a high, sweet girl's
+voice, that a human figure came hobbling out from a side street, and
+stopped short at the very edge of the lighted space.
+
+A woman by her dress, an old, old woman, with a seamed, blotched face;
+an ugly, human wreck, all torn and battered and discolored by the storms
+of life. Such was old Marg--"Luny Marg," as she was called in the haunts
+that knew her best. Her history? She had forgotten it herself, very
+likely, and there was no one to know or care--no one in the wide world
+to care if she should at any moment be trampled to death, or slip from
+the dock into the black river. The garret which lodged her would find
+another tenant; the children of the gutters another target for their
+missiles. Not that she was worse than others--only that she was old and
+ugly and sharp of tongue, and the world--even _her_ world--has no use
+for such as she.
+
+For some time this forlorn creature continued to hover on the edge of
+the lighted space. The sleet had become snow, and already a thin white
+film covered the pavement, promising "a white Christmas," and the cold
+increased from moment to moment.
+
+The woman drew her filthy shawl closer; her jaws chattered, yet she
+seemed unable to tear herself from the spot. Her eyes, alert under
+their gray brows, as a rat's, were fixed now upon the open door, now
+upon the transparency, yet she made no motion toward the proffered
+shelter. Two men, hirsute and ragged, stopped near her and, after a
+moments consultation, slunk across the square of light and disappeared
+in the building. As the door was opened, there came a fuller burst of
+song, and a rush of warm air, fragrant with the aroma of coffee and
+oysters.
+
+The old woman's body quivered with desire; food, warmth, rest--all that
+her miserable frame demanded--were there within easy reach, for the mere
+asking; nay for the mere taking; yet still the devils of stubbornness
+and spite would not let go their hold upon her. But finally, as a bitter
+blast swept the snow stingingly against her face, she uttered a hoarse
+snarl, and glancing about to see that no jeering eye was upon her, the
+poor creature crept across the pavement, clambered up the stone steps,
+and, pushing open the door, slipped into the nearest vacant seat.
+
+The chairs and benches were unusually well filled. Numbers of women and
+children were in the foreground. A few men were also present, sitting
+with their bodies hanging forward, their hats tightly clutched between
+their knees, their eyes fixed on the floor. The women and children, on
+the contrary, followed every movement of the young women on the platform
+with furtive eagerness.
+
+The simplicity of attire which Angela and her friends had assumed did
+not deceive even the tiniest gutter-child present--these were "ladies,"
+and one and all accorded them the same tribute of genuine, if reluctant,
+admiration.
+
+Old Marg, after the embarrassment of the first moment, took everything
+in with one hawk-like glance--the Christmas greens upon the clean, white
+walls, the curtained space in the rear which hid some pleasant mystery,
+the men and women on the platform.
+
+At the organ sat a young girl, leaning upon the now silent keys, her
+face toward the young man who was speaking. Old Marg could not take her
+eyes from this face--white, serious, sweet, set in a halo of pale golden
+hair. The sight of it aroused strange feelings in the bosom of the old
+outcast. Fascinated, tortured, bewildered, she sat and gazed. It was
+long since she had thought of her youth. This girl reminded her of that
+forgotten time. Like a violet flung upon a refuse-heap, the thought of
+her own innocent girlhood lay for an instant upon the foul mass of
+memories accumulated by sixty-miserable years. "_I_ was light-haired,
+too!" ran old Marg's thoughts. "Light-haired, an' light-complected, like
+her!"
+
+The perfume of that thought breathed across her soul, and was gone.
+Still she gazed from under her shaggy brows, and, without meaning to
+listen, found herself hearing what the speaker was saying. He was
+telling without rhetoric or cant the story of Christ, and with
+simplicity and tact presenting the lesson of His life.
+
+"This joy of giving, of sacrificing for others," the young man was
+saying in his earnest, musical voice, "so far beyond the joy of
+receiving, is within the reach of every human being. Think of that! The
+poorest man or woman or child who breathes on earth to-night may know
+this joy, may give some pleasure, some help, some comfort, to some
+fellow-creature. Whether it be a human creature or a dumb beast, matters
+not. It is all one in God's sight, being an act of love and kindness and
+sacrifice."
+
+Old Marg looked down upon her squalid rags; her rough features writhed
+with a scornful smile. "That's a lie!" she muttered. "What could the
+likes of _me_ do for anybody, I'd like to know!"
+
+Still she listened; but at last, as the warmth stole through her sodden
+garments, and into her chilled veins, and the peace of the place
+penetrated the turbulent recesses of her soul, the man's voice became
+like a voice heard in a dream, and the old outcast slept.
+
+
+A confused sound greeted her awakening. Some one was playing the organ
+jubilantly; people were moving about--girls with trays loaded with
+steaming dishes; children were talking and laughing excitedly. The
+curtain had been drawn, and a great Christmas-tree almost blinded her
+with its splendor. She stared about in bewilderment. She looked at the
+tree, at the people, at her own foul rags. A fierce revulsion of feeling
+swept over her. Rage, shame, a desire to get out of sight, to be
+swallowed up in the darkness and misery which were her proper element,
+seized and mastered her. She staggered to her feet. A young girl
+approached her with a tray of tempting food. The sight and smell of it
+goaded the starved creature to madness. She could have fallen upon it
+like a wolf, but instead she pushed the girl roughly aside and fumbled
+dizzily at the door-knob.
+
+A hand was laid upon her arm. The girl with the sweet, white face was
+looking at her with a friendly smile.
+
+"Won't you stay and have something warm to eat before going into the
+cold?" the girl asked gently.
+
+Old Marg shook the hand from her arm.
+
+"No!" she snarled. "I don't want nothin'! Let me go!"
+
+With a patient smile Angela opened the door.
+
+"I am sorry you will not stay," she said softly. "It would give me great
+pleasure. There is a gift for you on the tree, too. It is Christmas Eve,
+you know!"
+
+A hoarse, choking sound came from the woman's lips. She pushed by into
+the vestibule. Angela followed.
+
+"If you should feel differently to-morrow," she said, in her kind,
+gentle voice, "come here again, about eleven o'clock. I shall be here."
+Without waiting for a reply, she re-entered the hall. A young man, the
+same who had been speaking, met her at the door.
+
+"Angela!" he exclaimed. "You should not be out there in the cold!" She
+smiled absently. "Did you see her, Robert?"
+
+"That terrible old woman? Yes, I saw her. A hopeless case, I fear."
+
+Angela's eyes kept their absent look.
+
+"It was awful to see her go away like that, into the cold and snow,
+hungry and half-clad!" she said.
+
+The young man leaned nearer. "Angela," he whispered. "You must not let
+these things sink into your heart as you do, or you cannot bear the work
+you have undertaken. As for that old creature, it is terrible to think
+of her, but she seemed to me beyond our reach."
+
+"But not beyond God's reach _through us_!" said Angela.
+
+
+Meantime old Marg was facing the storm with rage and pain in her face
+and in her heart. The streets were deserted, and lighted only by such
+beams as found their way through the dirty windows of shops and saloons.
+From these last came sounds of revelry and contention, and at one or
+another the poor creature paused, listening without fear to the familiar
+hubbub. Should she go in? Some one might give her a drink, to ease for a
+time the terrible gnawing at her breast. Might? Yes; but more likely she
+would be thrust out with jeers and curses, and, for some reason, old
+Marg was in no mood to use the caustic wit and ready tongue that were
+her only weapons. So she staggered on until the swarming tenement was
+reached, stumbled up the five flights of unillumined stairs, and almost
+fell headlong into the dismal garret which she called her home.
+
+Feeling about in the darkness, she found a match and lit a bit of candle
+which stopped the neck of an empty bottle. It burned uncertainly as if
+reluctant to disclose the scene upon which its light fell. A
+smoke-stained, sloping ceiling, a blackened floor, a shapeless mattress
+heaped with rags, a deal box, a rusty stove resting upon two bricks,
+supporting in its turn an ancient frying-pan, a chipped saucer, and a
+battered tin can from which, when the scavenger business was good, old
+Marg served afternoon tea--such were her home and all her personal
+belongings.
+
+There was no fire, nor any means of producing one, but upon the box was
+spread a piece of paper containing a slice of bread and a soup-bone,
+whereto clung some fragments of meat--the gift of a neighbor hardly less
+wretched than herself.
+
+The old woman's eyes glittered at the sight, and, seizing the food, she
+sank weakly upon the box and began gnawing at it; but her toothless
+jaws, stiff with cold, made no impression upon the tough meat and hard
+crust, and letting them drop to the floor, the poor creature fell to
+rocking to and fro, whimpering tearlessly, like a suffering dog.
+Strangely enough, within the withered bosom of this most wretched
+creature there had welled up, from some hidden source of womanly
+feeling, a passionate self-pity, a no less passionate self-loathing.
+This was what a moment's contact with all that she had so long
+abjured--purity, order, gentleness--had brought to pass.
+
+That fair young girl-tall, pale, sweet as an Easter lily--stood before
+her like an incarnate memory, pointing toward the past, the far-distant
+past, when she, too, was young, and pretty, and innocent, and gay--too
+pretty and too gay for a poor working girl! That was where the trouble
+began.
+
+"I was light haired, too," moaned old Marg, twisting her withered
+fingers restlessly. "Light-haired, and light-complected! A pretty girl,
+an' a good girl, too! Not like _her_. No! How could I be? Little the
+likes o' her knows what the likes o' me has to face! Lord!"
+
+The bit of candle guttered and went out. The cold increased. It had
+ceased snowing, and a keen wind had arisen, tearing the clouds into
+shreds through which the stars gleamed. And presently the moon climbed
+up behind the belfry of the old church across the square, and sent one
+broad white ray through the dingy window and across the floor. All at
+once the great bell began to strike the midnight hour, its mingled
+vibrations filling the garret with tumultuous sounds. The vision of the
+fair girl faded, and old Marg was herself again, a hard, bitter,
+rebellious old woman, with a burning care where her heart had been, and
+only one thought, one desire, left in her desperate mind--the thought
+and the desire of death.
+
+In young and passionate days she had often thought of seeking that way
+out of life's agonies, but at its worst there is always some sweetness
+left in the cup--when one is young! It was not so now. The dregs only
+had been hers for many a year, and she had enough. Death--yes, that was
+best.
+
+Her eyes glittered as she cast a look about the silent room. Bare, even
+of the means to this end! Ah, the window!
+
+With an inarticulate cry the woman arose and hobbled along the shining
+moon-ray to the window, and threw open the sash. Awed by the stern
+beauty of the heavens, the splendor of the moon tangled in the lace-like
+carvings of the belfry as in a net, she leaned some moments against the
+sill, looking out and down. Far below lay the deserted square, its white
+bosom traced with the sharp shadow of the tower. With a keen eye old
+Marg measured the distance, a sheer descent of fifty feet. Nothing to
+break the fall--nothing!
+
+One movement, a swift fall, and that white surface would be broken by a
+black shapeless heap. A policeman would find it on his next round, or
+some drunken reveler would stumble over it, or the good people on their
+way to early mass--ah! The seamed countenance lit up suddenly with a
+malignant joy.
+
+Why not wait until they began to pass--those pious, respectable people
+in their comfortable furs and wools--and cast herself into their midst,
+a ghastly Christmas offering from Poverty to Riches, from Sin to Virtue?
+This suggestion commended itself highly to her sense of humor. With a
+hoarse chuckle she was about to close the window when a portion of the
+shadow that lay alongside the chimney showed signs of life, and, rising
+on four long and skinny legs, became a cat--a lean, black cat, which
+crept meekly toward the window, its phosphorescent eyes gleaming, its
+lank jaws parted in a vain effort to mew. Startled, old Marg drew back
+for an instant; then, glancing from the animal to the pavement below, a
+brutal cunning, a malicious pleasure, lit up the witch-like features.
+Reaching out one skinny arm, she called coaxingly: "Puss! Puss!"
+
+The cat dragged herself up to the outstretched arm, rubbing her lank
+body caressingly against it.
+
+The cruel, cunning old face softened suddenly. "Lord!" muttered old
+Marg, "if she ain't a-tryin' to _purr_! Wall, that beats me!"
+
+The poor beast continued its piteous appeal for aid, arching its
+starved frame, waving its tail, fawning unsuspectingly against the arm
+that had threatened.
+
+With an impulse new to her misery-hardened heart, old Marg drew the
+animal in and closed the window. Far from resisting, the cat nestled
+against her with every sign of pleasure.
+
+"She's been somebody's pet," said the old woman, placing her on the
+floor. "She ain't always been like this."
+
+The divine emotion of pity, so new to this forlorn creature, grew and
+swelled in her bosom. The man at the hall had _not_ lied, after all.
+Here was another of God's creatures as miserable as herself--nay, more
+so, for she had a roof to shelter her! And she could share it with this
+homeless one.
+
+"Poor puss!" muttered old Marg, stroking the rough fur. "You're
+starvin', too, ain't ye? an' I ain't got nothin' to give ye, not a bite
+or a sup. Ah!"
+
+Her eyes had fallen upon the discarded food. Eagerly she seized it and
+placed it before the cat; the starving creature gnawed greedily at the
+bone an instant, then looked up with a hopeless mew.
+
+The old woman felt a keener pang of pity.
+
+"Poor beast!" she said, with a bitter smile. "Ye can't eat 'em, can ye?
+No more could I! We're in the same box, puss! Old, an' toothless, an'
+nobody belongin' to us. We'll have to starve together, I guess. An' it's
+Christmas day! Did ye know that, puss? Christmas day! Lord! Lord!"
+
+The cat rubbed against her skirts, her eyes fixed upon her benefactor's.
+"Seems to understand every word I say!" old Marg muttered. "If only I
+had a drop o' milk for her now!"
+
+Hobbling to the stove, she examined the battered tin can, letting the
+moonlight shine into its rusty depths. A little water or tea remained in
+it, and with this she moistened some of the bread and placed it before
+the cat, which devoured it now eagerly. Then she took the animal in her
+arms and laid herself down on the mattress, drawing the ragged covers
+over them. The cat nestled against her side; the warmth of the two poor
+bodies mingled, and both slept.
+
+The moon-ray crept along and spread itself over the heap of rags, the
+knotted fingers resting on the cat's rough fur, the seamed old face; it
+passed away, and morning dawned, with a peal of bells and the sound of
+footsteps on the pavement below, and still the two slept on.
+
+
+Angela stood near the door, receiving her Christmas guests. They came
+straggling in, in twos and threes, some boldly and impudently, some
+shame-faced and shy, some eager, some indifferent, but all
+poverty-pinched. Each one was pleasantly welcomed, and passed on to the
+feast. Angela watched and waited, and at last the door opened slowly to
+admit old Marg, who stopped short on the threshold, with a look at once
+stubborn, appealing, suspicious, ashamed. Like a wild animal on the
+alert for the faintest sign of repulsion or danger, she stood there, but
+Angela only smiled, proffering her white, soft hand, destitute of
+jewels, but the hand of a lady.
+
+"A Merry Christmas!" she said brightly.
+
+"I was ugly to ye last night," said old Marg huskily, ignoring the
+beautiful hand she dared not touch.
+
+"Never mind!" Angela answered sweetly. "You were tired."
+
+"I am a bad old woman!" said old Marg, mistrustfully.
+
+"Never mind that, either!" said Angela. "Let me be your friend. If you
+will, you shall never be cold or hungry again."
+
+A profound wonder came into the old face--then it began to writhe, and
+from each eye oozed scant tears, seeking a channel amid the seams and
+wrinkles of the sunken cheeks.
+
+"You will let me be your friend," urged Angela.
+
+Still old Marg wept silently, the scant tears of age.
+
+"You shall have a pleasant home and----"
+
+A swift, suspicious glance darted from the wet eyes.
+
+"Not a 'sylum, miss, please!" said the old woman.
+
+"No," said Angela quietly. "Not an asylum, A home--a bright, clean,
+comfortable home----"
+
+"I can work, miss!" put in old Marg, doubling her knotted hands to show
+their strength. "I can wash, an' scrub----"
+
+"Yes," said Angela, "you may work all you are able, helping to keep
+things clean and comfortable."
+
+Still old Marg looked doubtful. Wiping her cheeks with a corner of the
+shawl, she half turned toward the door.
+
+"Have you a family, or any one belonging to you?" asked Angela, thinking
+to have reached the root of the difficulty.
+
+"Yes," said the old woman stoutly. "I have a cat. Where I go, she must
+go, too!"
+
+Angela patted the grimy hand, with a laugh which was good to hear.
+
+"I understand you perfectly," she said. "I have a cat of my own. You and
+_your_ cat shall not be separated."
+
+
+A half-hour later entered the young man Robert. Angela pointed silently
+to old Marg, sitting in a warm corner, contentedly munching her
+Christmas dinner. "What have you done to her?" he asked. "She looks more
+human already."
+
+Angela laughed again, that same laugh which goes to one's heart so. "I
+have adopted her--and her cat!" she answered. "That's all!"
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST PURITAN CHRISTMAS TREE.
+
+(ANONYMOUS.)
+
+
+Mrs. Olcott called her boys, and bade them go to the pine woods and get
+the finest, handsomest young hemlock tree that they could find.
+
+"Get one that is straight and tall, with well-boughed branches on it,
+and put it where you can draw it under the wood-shed after dark," she
+added.
+
+The boys went to Pine Hill, and there they picked out the finest young
+tree on all the hill, and said, "We will take this one." So, with their
+hatchets they hewed it down and brought it safely home the next night
+when all was dark. And when Roger was quietly sleeping in the adjoining
+room, they dragged the tree into the kitchen. It was too tall, so they
+took it out again and cut it off two or three feet at the base. Then
+they propped it up, and the curtains being down over the windows, and
+blankets being fastened over the curtains to prevent any one looking in,
+and the door being doubly barred to prevent any one coming in, they all
+went to bed.
+
+Very early the next morning, while the stars shone on the snow-covered
+hills--the same stars that shone sixteen hundred years before on the
+hills when Christ was born in Bethlehem--the little Puritan mother in
+New England arose very softly. She went out and lit the kitchen fire
+anew from the ash-covered embers. She fastened upon the twigs of the
+tree the gifts she had bought in Boston for her boys and girl. Then she
+took as many as twenty pieces of candle and fixed them upon the
+branches. After that she softly called Rupert, Robert and Lucy, and told
+them to get up and come into the kitchen.
+
+Hurrying back, she began, with a bit of a burning stick, to light the
+candles. Just as the last one was set aflame, in trooped the three
+children.
+
+Before they had time to say a word, they were silenced by their mother's
+warning.
+
+"I wish to fetch Roger in and wake him up before it," she said. "Keep
+still until I come back!"
+
+The little lad, fast asleep, was lifted in a blanket and gently carried
+by his mother into the beautiful presence.
+
+"See! Roger, my boy, see!" she said, arousing him. "It is Christmas
+morning now! In England they only have Christmas-boughs, but here in New
+England we have a whole Christmas-tree."
+
+"O mother!" he cried. "O Lucy! Is it really, really true, and no dream
+at all? Yes, I see! I see! O mother, it is so beautiful! Were all the
+trees on all the hills lighted up that way when Christ was born? And,
+mother," he added, clapping his little hands with joy at the thought,
+"why, yes, the stars did sing when Christ was born! They must be glad,
+then, and keep Christmas, too, in heaven. I know they must, and there
+will be good times there."
+
+"Yes," said his mother; "there will be good times there, Roger."
+
+"Then," said the boy, "I sha'n't mind going, now that I've seen the
+Christmas-bough. I--What is that, mother?"
+
+What was it that they heard? The little Olcott home had never before
+seemed to tremble so. There were taps at the window, there were knocks
+at the door--and it was as yet scarcely the break of day! There were
+voices also, shouting something to somebody.
+
+"Shall I put out the candles, mother?" whispered Robert.
+
+"What will they do to us for having the tree? I wish we hadn't it,"
+regretted Rupert; while Lucy clung to her mother's gown and shrieked
+with all her strength, "It's Indians!"
+
+Pale and white and still, ready to meet her fate, stood Mrs. Olcott,
+until, out of the knocking and the tapping at her door, her heart caught
+a sound. It was a voice calling, "Rachel! Rachel! Rachel!"
+
+"Unbar the door!" she cried back to her boys; "it's your father
+calling!" Down came the blankets; up went the curtain; open flew the
+door, and in walked Captain Olcott, followed by every man and woman in
+Plymouth who had heard at break of day the glorious news that the
+expected ship had arrived at Boston, and with it the long lost Captain
+Olcott. For an instant nothing was thought of except the joyous
+welcoming of the Captain in his new home.
+
+"What's this? What is it? What does this mean?" was asked again and
+again, when the first excitement was passed, as the tall young pine
+stood aloft, its candles ablaze, its gifts still hanging.
+
+"It's welcome home to father!" said Lucy, her only thought to screen her
+mother.
+
+"No, child, no!" sternly spoke Mrs. Olcott. "Tell the truth!"
+
+"It's--a--Christmas-tree!" faltered poor Lucy.
+
+One and another and another, Pilgrims and Puritans all, drew near with
+faces stern and forbidding, and gazed and gazed, until one and another
+and yet another softened slowly into a smile as little Roger's piping
+voice sung out:
+
+"She made it for me, mother did. But you may have it now, and all the
+pretty things that are on it, too, because you've brought my father back
+again; if mother will let you," he added.
+
+Neither Pilgrim nor Puritan frowned at the gift. One man, the sternest
+there, broke off a little twig and said:
+
+"I'll take it for the sake of the good old times at home."
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST CHRISTMAS IN NEW ENGLAND.
+
+BY HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH.
+
+
+     They thought they had come to their port that day,
+       But not yet was their journey done;
+     And they drifted away from Provincetown Bay
+       In the fireless light of the sun.
+     With rain and sleet were the tall masts iced,
+       And gloomy and chill was the air,
+     But they looked from the crystal sails to Christ,
+       And they came to a harbor fair.
+               The white hills silent lay,--
+           For there were no ancient bells to ring,
+           No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,
+           No chapel of baron, or lord, or king,
+               That gray, cold winter day.
+
+     The snow came down on the vacant seas,
+       And white on the lone rocks lay,--
+     But rang the axe 'mong the evergreen trees
+       And followed the Sabbath day.
+     Then rose the sun in a crimson haze,
+       And the workmen said at dawn:
+     "Shall our axes swing on this day of days,
+       When the Lord of Life was born?"
+               The white hills silent lay,--
+           For there were no ancient bells to ring,
+           No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,
+           No chapel of baron, or lord, or king,
+               That gray, cold Christmas Day.
+
+       "The old town's bells we seem to hear:
+       They are ringing sweet on the Dee;
+     They are ringing sweet on the Harlem Meer,
+       And sweet on the Zuyder Zee.
+     The pines are frosted with snow and sleet.
+       Shall we our axes wield
+     When the chimes at Lincoln are ringing sweet
+       And the bells of Austerfield?"
+               The air was cold and gray,--
+           And there were no ancient bells to ring,
+           No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,
+           No chapel of baron, or lord, or king,
+               That gray, cold Christmas Day.
+
+     Then the master said, "Your axes wield,
+       Remember ye Malabarre Bay;
+     And the covenant there with the Lord ye sealed;
+       Let your axes ring to-day.
+     You may talk of the old town's bells to-night,
+       When your work for the Lord is done,
+     And your boats return, and the shallop's light
+       Shall follow the light of the sun.
+               The sky is cold and gray,--
+           And here are no ancient bells to ring,
+           No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,
+           No chapel of baron, or lord, or king.
+               This gray, cold Christmas Day.
+
+     "If Christ was born on Christmas Day,
+       And the day by Him is blest,
+     Then low at His feet the evergreens lay
+       And cradle His church in the West.
+     Immanuel waits at the temple gates
+       Of the nation to-day ye found,
+     And the Lord delights in no formal rites;
+       To-day let your axes sound!"
+               The sky was cold and gray,--
+           And there were no ancient bells to ring,
+           No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,
+           No chapel of baron, or lord, or king,
+               That gray, cold Christmas Day.
+
+     Their axes rang through the evergreen trees
+       Like the bells on the Thames and Tay;
+     And they cheerily sang by the windy seas,
+       And they thought of Malabarre Bay.
+     On the lonely heights of Burial Hill
+       The old Precisioners sleep;
+     But did ever men with a nobler will
+       A holier Christmas keep,
+               When the sky was cold and gray,--
+           And there were no ancient bells to ring,
+           No priests to chant, no choirs to sing,
+           No chapel of baron, or lord, or king,
+               That gray, cold Christmas Day?
+
+
+
+
+THE CHIMES.
+
+BY CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+
+FIRST QUARTER.
+
+There are not many people--and as it is desirable that a story-teller
+and a story-reader should establish a mutual understanding as soon as
+possible, I beg it to be noticed that I confine this observation neither
+to young people nor to little people, but extend it to all conditions of
+people: little and big, young and old: yet growing up, or already
+growing down again--there are not, I say, many people who would care to
+sleep in a church. I don't mean at sermon time in warm weather (when the
+thing has actually been done, once or twice), but in the night, and
+alone. A great multitude of persons will be violently astonished, I
+know, by this position, in the broad bold Day. But it applies to Night.
+It must be argued by night. And I will undertake to maintain it
+successfully on any gusty winter's night appointed for the purpose, with
+any one opponent chosen from the rest, who will meet me singly in an old
+churchyard, before an old church door; and will previously empower me to
+lock him in, if needful to his satisfaction, until morning.
+
+For the night-wind has a dismal trick of wandering round and round a
+building of that sort, and moaning as it goes; and of trying with its
+unseen hand, the windows and the doors; and seeking out some crevices by
+which to enter. And when it has got in; as one not finding what it
+seeks, whatever that may be, it wails and howls to issue forth again;
+and not content with stalking through the aisles, and gliding round and
+round the pillars, and tempting the deep organ, soars up to the roof,
+and strives to rend the rafters; then flings itself despairingly upon
+the stones below, and passes, muttering, into the vaults. Ugh! Heaven
+preserve us, sitting snugly round the fire! It has an awful voice, that
+wind at midnight, singing in a church!
+
+But, high up in the steeple! There the foul blast roars and whistles!
+High up in the steeple, where it is free to come and go through many an
+airy arch and loophole, and to twist and twine itself about the giddy
+stair, and twirl the groaning weathercock, and make the very tower shake
+and shiver!
+
+High up in the steeple of an old church, far above the light and murmur
+of the town and far below the flying clouds that shadow it, is the wild
+and dreary place at night: and high up in the steeple of an old church,
+dwelt the Chimes I tell of.
+
+They were old Chimes, trust me. Centuries ago, these Bells had been
+baptized by bishops: so many centuries ago, that the register of their
+baptism was lost long, long before the memory of man, and no one knew
+their names. They had had their Godfathers and Godmothers, these Bells
+(for my part, by the way, I would rather incur the responsibility of
+being Godfather to a Bell than a Boy), and had had their silver mugs, no
+doubt, besides. But Time had mowed down their sponsors, and Henry the
+Eighth had melted down their mugs; and they now hung, nameless and
+mugless, in the church tower.
+
+Not speechless, though. Far from it. They had clear, loud, lusty,
+sounding voices, had these Bells; and far and wide they might be heard
+upon the wind. Much too sturdy Chimes were they, to be dependent on the
+pleasure of the wind, moreover; for, fighting gallantly against it when
+it took an adverse whim, they would pour their cheerful notes into a
+listening ear right royally; and bent on being heard, on stormy nights,
+by some poor mother watching a sick child, or some lone wife whose
+husband was at sea, they had been sometimes known to beat a blustering
+Nor'Wester; ay, "all to fits," as Toby Veck said;--for though they chose
+to call him Trotty Veck, his name was Toby, and nobody could make it
+anything else either (except Tobias); he having been as lawfully
+christened in his day as the bells had been in theirs, though with not
+quite so much of solemnity or public rejoicing.
+
+For my part, I confess myself of Toby Veck's belief, for I am sure he
+had opportunities enough of forming a correct one. And whatever Toby
+Veck said, I say. And I take my stand by Toby Veck, although he _did_
+stand all day long (and weary work it was) just outside the church-door.
+In fact he was a ticket-porter, Toby Veck, and waited there for jobs.
+
+And a breezy, goose-skinned, blue-nosed, red-eyed, stony-toed,
+tooth-chattering place it was to wait in, in the winter-time, as Toby
+Veck well knew. The wind came tearing round the corner--especially the
+east wind--as if it had sallied forth, express, from the confines of the
+earth, to have a blow at Toby. And oftentimes it seemed to come upon him
+sooner than it had expected, for bouncing round the corner, and passing
+Toby, it would suddenly wheel round again, as if it cried "Why, here he
+is!"
+
+Toby was curious about the Bells because there were points of
+resemblance between them and him. They hung there in all weathers, with
+the wind and rain driving in upon them; facing only the outsides of all
+the houses; never getting any nearer to the blazing fires that gleamed
+and shone upon the windows or came puffing out of the chimney tops; and
+incapable of participating in any of the good things that were
+constantly being handed through the street doors and iron railings to
+prodigious cooks. Being but a simple man, he invested the Bells with a
+strange and solemn character. They were so mysterious, often heard and
+never seen; so high up, so far off, so full of such a deep, strong
+melody, that he regarded them with a species of awe; and sometimes when
+he looked up at the dark arched windows in the tower, he half expected
+to be beckoned to by something which was not a Bell, and yet was what he
+heard so often sounding in the Chimes. For all this Toby scouted with
+indignation a certain flying rumor that the Chimes were haunted, as
+implying the possibility of their being connected with any Evil thing.
+In short, they were very often in his ears, and very often in his
+thoughts, but always in his good opinion; and he very often got such a
+crick in his neck by staring with his mouth wide open, at the steeple
+where they hung, that he was fain to take an extra trot or two,
+afterward, to cure it.
+
+The very thing he was in the act of doing one cold day, when the last
+drowsy sound of Twelve o'clock, just struck, was humming like a
+melodious monster of a Bee, and not by any means a busy Bee, all through
+the steeple?
+
+"Dinner time, eh!" said Toby, trotting up and down before the church.
+"Ah!"
+
+Toby's nose was very red, and his eyelids were very red, and he winked
+very much, and his shoulders were very near his ears, and his legs were
+very stiff, and altogether he was evidently a long way upon the frosty
+side of cool.
+
+"Dinner time, eh!" repeated Toby, using his right hand muffler like an
+infantine boxing-glove, and punishing his chest for being cold.
+"Ah-h-h-h!"
+
+He took a silent trot, after that, for a minute or two.
+
+"There's nothing," said Toby, "more regular in its coming round than
+dinner time, and nothing less regular in its coming round than dinner.
+That's the great difference between 'em. It's took me a long time to
+find it out. I wonder whether it would be worth any gentleman's while,
+now, to buy that obserwation for the Papers; or the Parliament!"
+
+Tony was only joking, for he gravely shook his head in
+self-depreciation.
+
+"Why! Lord!" said Toby. "The Papers is full of obserwations as it is;
+and so's the Parliament. Here's last week's paper, now;" taking a very
+dirty one from his pocket, and holding it from him at arm's length;
+"full of obserwations! Full of obserwations! I like to know the news as
+well as any man," said Toby, slowly; folding it a little smaller, and
+putting it in his pocket again: "but it almost goes against the grain
+with me to read a paper now. It frightens me almost. I don't know what
+we poor people are coming to. Lord send we may be coming to something
+better in the New Year nigh upon us!"
+
+"Why, father, father!" said a pleasant voice, hard by.
+
+But Toby, not hearing it continued to trot backward and forward: musing
+as he went, and talking to himself.
+
+"It seems as if we can't go right, or do right, or be righted," said
+Toby. "I hadn't much schooling, myself, when I was young; and I can't
+make out whether we have any business on the face of the earth, or not.
+Sometimes I think we must have--a little; and sometimes I think we must
+be intruding. I get so puzzled sometimes that I am not even able to make
+up my mind whether there is any good at all in us, or whether we are
+born bad. We seem to do dreadful things; we seem to give a deal of
+trouble; we are always being complained of and guarded against. One way
+or another, we fill the papers. Talk of a New Year!" said Toby,
+mournfully. "I can bear up as well as another man at most times; better
+than a good many, for I am as strong as a lion, and all men an't; but
+supposing it should really be that we have no right to a New
+Year--supposing we really _are_ intruding----"
+
+"Why, father, father!" said the pleasant voice again.
+
+Toby heard it this time; started; stopped; and shortening his sight,
+which had been directed a long way off as seeking for enlightenment in
+the very heart of the approaching year, found himself face to face with
+his own child, and looking close into her eyes.
+
+Bright eyes they were. Eyes that would bear a world of looking in,
+before their depth was fathomed. Dark eyes, that reflected back the eyes
+which searched them; not flashingly or at the owner's will, but with a
+clear, calm, honest, patient radiance, claiming kindred with that light
+which Heaven called into being. Eyes that were beautiful and true, and
+beaming with Hope. With Hope so young and fresh; with Hope so buoyant,
+vigorous and bright, despite the twenty years of work and poverty on
+which they had looked; that they became a voice to Trotty Veck, and
+said: "I think we have some business here--a little!"
+
+Trotty kissed the lips belonging to the eyes, and squeezed the blooming
+face between his hands.
+
+"Why, Pet," said Trotty. "What's to-do? I didn't expect you, to-day,
+Meg."
+
+"Neither did I expect to come, father," cried the girl, nodding her head
+and smiling as she spoke. "But here I am! And not alone; not alone!"
+
+"Why you don't mean to say," observed Trotty, looking curiously at a
+covered basket which she carried in her hand, "that you----"
+
+"Smell it, father dear," said Meg, "Only smell it!"
+
+Trotty was going to lift up the cover at once, in a great hurry, when
+she gayly interposed her hand.
+
+"No, no, no," said Meg, with the glee of a child. "Lengthen it out a
+little. Let me just lift up the corner; just the lit-tle ti-ny cor-ner,
+you know," said Meg, suiting the action to the word with the utmost
+gentleness, and speaking very softly, as if she were afraid of being
+overheard by something inside the basket; "there. Now. What's that!"
+
+Toby took the shortest possible sniff at the edge of the basket, and
+cried out in a rapture:
+
+"Why, it's hot!"
+
+"It is burning hot!" cried Meg. "Ha, ha, ha! It's scalding hot!"
+
+"Ha, ha, ha!" roared Toby, with a sort of kick. "It's scalding hot!"
+
+"But what is it father?" said Meg. "Come! you haven't guessed what it
+is. And you must guess what it is. I can't think of taking it out till
+you guess what it is. Don't be in such a hurry! Wait a minute! A little
+bit more of the cover. Now guess!"
+
+Meg was in a perfect fright lest he should guess right too soon;
+shrinking away, as she held the basket toward him; curling up her pretty
+shoulders; stopping her ear with her hand, as if by so doing she could
+keep the right word out of Toby's lips; and laughing softly the whole
+time.
+
+Meanwhile Toby, putting a hand on each knee, bent down his nose to the
+basket, and took a long inspiration at the lid; the grin upon his
+withered face expanded in the process, as if he were inhaling laughing
+gas.
+
+"Ah! It's very nice," said Toby. "It ain't--I suppose it ain't
+Polonies?"
+
+"No, no, no!" cried Meg, delighted. "Nothing like Polonies!"
+
+"No," said Toby, after another sniff. "It's--it's mellower than
+Polonies. It's very nice. It improves every moment. It's too decided for
+Trotters. Ain't it?"
+
+Meg was in ecstasy. He could _not_ have gone wider of the mark than
+Trotters--except Polonies.
+
+"Liver?" said Toby, communing with himself. "No. There's a mildness
+about it that don't answer to liver. Pettitoes? No. It an't faint enough
+for pettitoes. It wants the stringiness of Cocks' heads. And I know it
+an't sausages. I'll tell you what it is. It's chitterlings!"
+
+"No, it an't!" cried Meg, in a burst of delight "No, it an't!"
+
+"Why, what am I a thinking of!" said Toby, suddenly recovering a
+position as near the perpendicular as it was possible for him to assume.
+"I shall forget my own name next. It's tripe!"
+
+Tripe it was; and Meg, in high joy, protested he should say, in half a
+minute more, it was the best tripe ever stewed.
+
+"And so," said Meg, busying herself exultingly with her basket; "I'll
+lay the cloth at once, father; for I have brought the tripe in a basin,
+and tied the basin up in a pocket-handkerchief; and if I like to be
+proud for once, and spread that for a cloth, and call it a cloth,
+there's no law to prevent me; is there father?"
+
+"Not that I know of, my dear," said Toby. "But they're always a bringing
+up some new law or other."
+
+"And according to what I was reading you in the paper the other day,
+father; what the Judge said, you know; we poor people are supposed to
+know them all. Ha, ha! What a mistake! My goodness me, how clever they
+think us!"
+
+"Yes, my dear," cried Trotty; "and they'd be very fond of any one of us
+that _did_ know 'em all. He'd grow fat upon the work he'd get, that man,
+and be popular with the gentlefolks in his neighborhood. Very much so!"
+
+"He'd eat his dinner with an appetite, whoever he was, if it smelt like
+this," said Meg, cheerfully. "Make haste, for there's a potato besides.
+Where will you dine, father? On the Post, or on the Steps? Dear, dear,
+how grand we are. Two places to choose from!"
+
+"The steps to day, my Pet," said Trotty. "Steps in dry weather. Post in
+wet. There's a great conveniency in the steps at all times, because of
+the sitting down; but they're rheumatic in the damp."
+
+"Then here," said Meg, clapping her hands, after a moment's bustle;
+"here it is, all ready! And beautiful it looks! Come, father. Eat it
+while it's hot. Come!"
+
+Since his discovery of the contents of the basket, Trotty had been
+standing looking at her--and had been speaking too--in an abstracted
+manner, which showed that though she was the object of his thoughts and
+eyes, to the exclusion even of tripe, he neither saw nor thought about
+her as she was at that moment, but had before him some imaginary rough
+sketch or drama of her future life. Roused, now, by her cheerful
+summons, he shook off a melancholy shake of the head which was just
+coming upon him, and trotted to her side. As he was stooping to sit
+down, the Chimes rang.
+
+"Amen!" said Trotty, pulling off his hat and looking up toward them.
+
+"Amen to the Bells, father?" cried Meg.
+
+"They broke in like a grace, my dear," said Trotty, taking his seat.
+"They'd say a good one, I am sure, if they could. Many's the kind thing
+they say to me."
+
+"The Bells do, father!" laughed Meg, as she set the basin, and a knife
+and fork before him. "Well!"
+
+"Seem to, my Pet," said Trotty, falling to with great vigor. "And
+where's the difference? If I hear 'em, what does it matter whether they
+speak it or not? Why bless you, my dear," said Toby, pointing at the
+tower with his fork, and becoming more animated under the influence of
+dinner, "how often have I heard them bells say, 'Toby Veck, Toby Veck,
+keep a good heart Toby! Toby Veck, Toby Veck, keep a good heart Toby!' A
+million times? More!"
+
+"Well, I never!" cried Meg.
+
+She had, though--over and over again. For it was Toby's constant topic.
+
+"When things is very bad," said Trotty; "very bad indeed, I mean; almost
+at the worst; then it's 'Toby Veck, Toby Veck, job coming soon, Toby!
+Toby Veck, Toby Veck, job coming soon, Toby!' That way."
+
+"And it comes--at last, father," said Meg, with a touch of sadness in
+her pleasant voice.
+
+"Always," answered the unconscious Toby. "Never fails."
+
+While this discourse was holding, Trotty made no pause in his attack
+upon the savory meat before him, but cut and ate, and cut and drank, and
+cut and chewed, and dodged about, from tripe to hot potato, and from hot
+potato back again to tripe, with an unctuous and unflagging relish. But
+happening now to look all round the street--in case anybody should be
+beckoning from any door or window, for a porter--his eyes, in coming
+back again, encountered Meg: sitting opposite to him, with her arms
+folded; and only busy in watching his progress with a smile of
+happiness.
+
+"Why, Lord forgive me!" said Trotty, dropping his knife and fork. "My
+love! Meg! why didn't you tell me what a beast I was?"
+
+"Father?"
+
+"Sitting here," said Trotty, in penitent explanation, "cramming and
+stuffing, and gorging myself; and you before me there, never so much as
+breaking your precious fast, nor wanting to, when----"
+
+"But I have broken it, father," interposed his daughter, laughing, "all
+to bits. I have had my dinner."
+
+"Nonsense," said Trotty. "Two dinners in one day! It an't possible! You
+might as well tell me that two New Year's Days will come together, or
+that I have had a gold head all my life, and never changed it."
+
+"I have had my dinner, father, for all that," said Meg, coming nearer to
+him. "And if you'll go on with yours, I'll tell you how and where; and
+how your dinner came to be brought; and--something else besides."
+
+Toby still appeared incredulous; but she looked into his face with her
+clear eyes, and laying her hand upon his shoulder, motioned him to go on
+while the meat was hot. So Trotty took up his knife and fork again, and
+went to work. But much more slowly than before, and shaking his head, as
+if he were not at all pleased with himself.
+
+"I had my dinner, father," said Meg, after a little hesitation,
+"with--with Richard. His dinner-time was early; and as he brought his
+dinner with him when he came to see me, we--we had it together, father."
+
+Trotty said, "Oh!"--because she waited.
+
+"And Richard says, father--" Meg resumed. Then stopped.
+
+"What does Richard say, Meg?" asked Toby.
+
+"Richard says, father--" Another stoppage.
+
+"Richard's a long time saying it," said Toby.
+
+"He says then, father," Meg continued, lifting up her eyes at last, and
+speaking in a tremble, but quite plainly; "another year is nearly gone,
+and where is the use of waiting on from year to year, when it is so
+unlikely we shall ever be better off than we are now? He says we are
+poor now, father, and we shall be poor then, but we are young now, and
+years will make us old before we know it. He says that if we wait,
+people in our condition, until we see our way quite clearly, the way
+will be a narrow one indeed--the common way--the Grave, father."
+
+A bolder man than Trotty Veck must needs have drawn upon his boldness
+largely, to deny it. Trotty held his peace.
+
+"And how hard, father, to grow old and die, and think we might have
+cheered and helped each other! How hard in all our lives to love each
+other; and to grieve, apart, to see each other working, changing,
+growing old and gray. Even if I got the better of it, and forgot him
+(which I never could), oh, father dear, how hard to have a heart so full
+as mine is now, and live to have it slowly drained out every drop,
+without the recollection of one happy moment of a woman's life, to stay
+behind and comfort me, and make me better!"
+
+Trotty sat quite still, Meg dried her eyes, and said more gayly: that is
+to say, with here a laugh, and there a sob, and here a laugh and sob
+together:
+
+"So Richard says, father; as his work was yesterday made certain for
+some time to come, and as I love him and have loved him fully three
+years--ah! longer than that, if he knew it!--will I marry him on New
+Year's Day; the best and happiest day, he says, in the whole year, and
+one that is almost sure to bring good fortune with it. It's a short
+notice, father--isn't it?--but I haven't my fortune to be settled, or my
+wedding dresses to be made, like the great ladies, father, have I? And
+he said so much, and said it in his way; so strong and earnest, and all
+the time so kind and gentle; that I said I'd come and talk to you,
+father. And as they paid the money for that work of mine this morning
+(unexpectedly, I am sure!), and as you have fared very poorly for a
+whole week, and as I couldn't help wishing there should be something to
+make this day a sort of holiday to you as well as a dear and happy day
+to me, father, I made a little treat and brought it to surprise you."
+
+"And see how he leaves it cooling on the step!" said another voice.
+
+It was the voice of the same Richard, who had come upon them unobserved,
+and stood before the father and daughter; looking down upon them with a
+face as glowing as the iron on which his stout sledge-hammer daily rung.
+A handsome, well-made, powerful youngster he was; with eyes that
+sparkled like the red-hot droppings from a furnace fire; black hair that
+curled about his swarthy temples rarely; and a smile--a smile that bore
+out Meg's eulogium on his style of conversation.
+
+"See how he leaves it cooling on the step!" said Richard. "Meg don't
+know what he likes. Not she!"
+
+Trotty, all action and enthusiasm, immediately reached up his hand to
+Richard, and was going to address him in a great hurry, when the
+house-door opened without any warning, and a footman very nearly put his
+foot in the tripe.
+
+"Out of the vays here, will you! You must always go and be a-settin on
+our steps, must you! You can't go and give a turn to none of the
+neighbors never, can't you? _Will_ you clear the road, or won't you?"
+
+Strictly speaking, the last question was irrelevant, as they had already
+done it.
+
+"What's the matter, what's the matter?" said the gentleman for whom the
+door was opened; coming out of the house at that kind of light, heavy
+pace--that peculiar compromise between a walk and jog-trot--with which a
+gentleman upon the smooth down-hill of life, wearing creaking boots, a
+watch-chain, and clean linen, _may_ come out of his house: not only
+without any abatement of his dignity, but with an expression of having
+important and wealthy engagements elsewhere. "What's the matter? What's
+the matter?"
+
+"You're always a-being begged, and prayed, upon your bended knees, you
+are," said the footman with great emphasis to Trotty Veck, "to let our
+door-steps be. Why don't you let 'em be? CAN'T you let 'em be?"
+
+"There! That'll do, that'll do!" said the gentleman, "Halloa there!
+Porter!" beckoning with his head to Trotty Veck, "Come here. What's
+that? Your dinner?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said Trotty, leaving it behind him in a corner.
+
+"Don't leave it there!" exclaimed the gentleman. "Bring it here, bring
+it here! So! this is your dinner, is it?"
+
+"Yes, sir," repeated Trotty, looking with a fixed eye and a watery mouth
+at the piece of tripe he had reserved for a last delicious tit-bit,
+which the gentleman was now turning over and over on the end of a fork.
+
+Two other gentlemen had come out with him. One was a low-spirited
+gentleman of middle age, of a meagre habit, and a disconsolate face; who
+kept his hands continually in the pockets of his scanty pepper-and-salt
+trousers, very large and dog's-eared from that custom; and was not
+particularly well brushed or washed. The other, a full sized, sleek,
+well-conditioned gentleman, in a blue coat, with bright buttons, and a
+white cravat. This gentleman had a very red face, as if an undue
+proportion of the blood in his body were squeezed up into his head,
+which perhaps accounted for his having also the appearance of being
+rather cold about the heart.
+
+He who had Toby's meat upon the fork called to the first one by the name
+of Filer, and they both drew near together. Mr. Filer being exceedingly
+short sighted, was obliged to go so close to the remnant of Toby's
+dinner before he could make out what it was, that Toby's heart leaped up
+into his mouth. But Mr. Filer didn't eat it.
+
+"This is a description of animal food, Alderman," said Filer, making
+little punches in it with a pencil-case, "commonly known to the laboring
+population of this country by the name of tripe."
+
+The Alderman laughed, and winked; for he was a merry fellow. Alderman
+Cute. Oh, and a sly fellow too! A knowing fellow. Up to everything. Not
+to be imposed upon. Deep in the people's hearts! He knew them, Cute did.
+I believe you!
+
+"But who eats tripe?" said Mr. Filer, looking round. "Tripe is without
+an exception the least economical, and the most wasteful article of
+consumption that the markets of this country can by possibility produce.
+The loss upon a pound of tripe has been found to be, in the boiling,
+seven-eighths of a fifth more than the loss upon a pound of any other
+animal substance whatever. Tripe is more expensive, properly understood,
+than the hot-house pine-apple. Taking into account the number of animals
+slaughtered yearly within the bills of mortality alone; and forming a
+low estimate of the quantity of tripe which the carcases of these
+animals, reasonably well butchered, would yield--I find that the waste
+on that amount of tripe, if boiled, would victual a garrison of five
+hundred men for five months of thirty-one days each, and a February
+over. The Waste, the Waste!"
+
+Trotty stood aghast, and his legs shook under him. He seemed to have
+starved a garrison of five hundred men with his own hand.
+
+"Who eats tripe?" said Mr. Filer, warmly. "Who eats tripe?"
+
+Trotty made a miserable bow.
+
+"You do, do you?" said Mr. Filer. "Then I'll tell you something. You
+snatch your tripe, my friend, out of the mouths of widows and orphans."
+
+"I hope not, sir," said Trotty, faintly. "I'd sooner die of want!"
+
+"Divide the amount of tripe before-mentioned, Alderman," said Mr. Filer,
+"by the estimated number of existing widows and orphans, and the result
+will be one pennyweight of tripe to each. Not a grain is left for that
+man. Consequently, he's a robber."
+
+Trotty was so shocked that it gave him no concern to see the Alderman
+finish the tripe himself. It was a relief to get rid of it, anyhow.
+
+"And what do you say?" asked the Alderman, jocosely, of the red-faced
+gentleman in the blue coat. "You have heard friend Filer. What do _you_
+say?"
+
+"What's it possible to say?" returned the gentleman. "What _is_ to be
+said? Who can take any interest in a fellow like this," meaning Trotty,
+"in such degenerate times as these? Look at him! What an object! The
+good old times, the grand old times, the great old times! _Those_ were
+the times for a bold peasantry, and all that sort of thing. Those were
+the times for every sort of thing, in fact. There's nothing now-a-days.
+Ah!" sighed the red-faced gentleman. "The good old times, the good old
+times!"
+
+It is possible that poor Trotty's faith in these very vague Old Times
+was not entirely destroyed, for he felt vague enough, at that moment.
+One thing, however, was plain to him, in the midst of his distress; to
+wit, that however these gentlemen might differ in details, his
+misgivings of that morning, and of many other mornings, were well
+founded. "No, no. We can't go right or do right," thought Trotty in
+despair. "There is no good in us. We are born bad!"
+
+But Trotty had a father's heart within him; which had somehow got into
+his breast in spite of this decree; and he could not bear that Meg, in
+the blush of her brief joy, should have her fortune read by these wise
+gentlemen. "God help her," thought poor Trotty. "She will know it soon
+enough."
+
+He anxiously signed, therefore, to the young smith, to take her away.
+But he was so busy, talking to her softly at a little distance, that he
+only became conscious of this desire, simultaneously with Alderman Cute.
+Now, the Alderman had not yet had his say, but _he_ was a philosopher,
+too--practical though! Oh, very practical!--and, as he had no idea of
+losing any portion of his audience, he cried "Stop!"
+
+Trotty took Meg's hand and drew it through his arm. He didn't seem to
+know what he was doing though.
+
+"Your daughter, eh?" said the Alderman, chucking her familiarly under
+the chin.
+
+"And you're making love to her, are you?" said Cute to the young smith.
+
+"Yes," returned Richard quickly, for he was nettled by the question.
+"And we are going to be married on New Year's Day."
+
+"What do you mean?" cried Filer sharply. "Married!"
+
+"Why, yes, we were thinking of it. Master," said Richard. "We're rather
+in a hurry you see, in case it should be Put Down first."
+
+"Ah!" cried Filer, with a groan. "Put _that_ down indeed. Alderman, and
+you'll do something. Married! Married!! The ignorance of the first
+principles of political economy on the part of these people; their
+improvidence; their wickedness is by Heavens! enough to--Now look at
+that couple, will you!"
+
+Well! They were worth looking at. And marriage seemed as reasonable and
+fair a deed as they need have in contemplation.
+
+"A man may live to be as old as Methuselah," said Mr. Filer, "and may
+labor all his life for the benefit of such people as those; and may heap
+up facts on figures, facts on figures, facts on figures, mountains high
+and dry; and he can no more hope to persuade 'em that they have no right
+or business to be married than he can hope to persuade 'em that they
+have no earthly right or business to be born. And _that_ we know they
+haven't. We reduced that to a mathematical certainty long ago!"
+
+"Come here, my girl!" said Alderman Cute.
+
+The young blood of her lover had been mounting, wrathfully, within the
+last few minutes; and he was indisposed to let her come. But, setting a
+constraint upon himself, he came forward with a stride as Meg approached
+and stood beside her. Trotty kept her hand within his arm still, but
+looked from face to face as wildly as a sleeper in a dream.
+
+"Now, I'm going to give you a word or two of good advice, my girl," said
+the Alderman, in his nice easy way. "It's my place to give advice, you
+know, because I'm a Justice. You know I'm a Justice, don't you?"
+
+Meg timidly said, "Yes." But everybody knew Alderman Cute was a Justice!
+Oh dear, so active a Justice always! Who such a mote of brightness in
+the public eye, as Cute!
+
+"You are going to be married, you say," pursued the Alderman. "Very
+unbecoming and indelicate in one of your sex! But never mind that.
+After you're married, you'll quarrel with your husband, and come to be a
+distressed wife. You may think not; but you will, because I tell you so.
+Now, I give you fair warning, that I have made up my mind to Put
+distressed wives Down. So, don't be brought before me. You'll have
+children--boys. Those boys will grow up bad, of course, and run wild in
+the streets without shoes or stockings. Mind, my young friend! I'll
+convict 'em summarily every one, for I am determined to Put boys without
+shoes or stockings, Down. Perhaps your husband will die young (most
+likely) and leave you with a baby. Then you'll be turned out of doors,
+and wander up and down the streets. Now don't wander near me, my dear,
+for I am resolved to Put all wandering mothers Down. All young mothers,
+of all sorts and kinds, it's my determination to Put Down. Don't think
+to plead illness as an excuse with me; or babies as an excuse with me;
+for all sick persons and young children (I hope you know the
+church-service, but I'm afraid not) I am determined to Put Down. And if
+you attempt, desperately and ungratefully, and impiously, and
+fraudulently attempt, to drown yourself, or hang yourself, I'll have no
+pity on you, for I have made up my mind to Put all suicide Down! If
+there is one thing," said the Alderman, with his self-satisfied smile,
+"on which I can be said to have made up my mind more than on another, it
+is to Put suicide Down. So don't try it on. That's the phrase, isn't it!
+Ha, ha! now we understand each other."
+
+Toby knew not whether to be agonized or glad, to see that Meg had turned
+deadly white, and dropped her lover's hand.
+
+"As for you, you dull dog," said the Alderman, turning with even
+increased cheerfulness and urbanity to the young smith, "what are you
+thinking of being married for? What do you want to be married for, you
+silly fellow? If I was a fine, young, strapping chap like you, I should
+be ashamed of being milksop enough to pin myself to a woman's
+apron-strings! Why, she'll be an old woman before you're a middle-aged
+man! And a pretty figure you'll cut then, with a draggle-tailed wife and
+a crowd of squalling children crying after you wherever you go!"
+
+Oh, he knew how to banter the common people, Alderman Cute!
+
+"There! Go along with you," said the Alderman, "and repent. Don't make
+such a fool of yourself as to get married on New Year's Day. You'll
+think very differently of it, long before next New Year's Day: a trim
+young fellow like you, with all the girls looking after you. There! Go
+along with you!"
+
+They went along. Not arm in arm, or hand in hand, or interchanging
+bright glances; but she in tears; he gloomy and down-looking. Were these
+the hearts that had so lately made old Toby's leap up from its
+faintness? No, no. The Alderman (a blessing on his head!) had Put _them_
+Down.
+
+"As you happen to be here," said the Alderman to Toby, "you shall carry
+a letter for me. Can you be quick? You're an old man."
+
+Toby, who had been looking after Meg, quite stupidly, made shift to
+murmur out that he was very quick, and very strong.
+
+"How old are you?" inquired the Alderman.
+
+"I am over sixty, sir," said Toby.
+
+"Oh! This man's a great deal past the average age, you know," cried Mr.
+Filer, breaking in as if his patience would bear some trying, but this
+was really carrying matters a little too far.
+
+"I feel I'm intruding, sir," said Toby. "I--I misdoubted it this
+morning. Oh dear me!"
+
+The Alderman cut him short by giving him the letter from his pocket.
+Toby would have got a shilling too; but Mr. Filer clearly showing that
+in that case he would rob a certain given number of persons of
+ninepence-half-penny a-piece, he only got sixpence; and thought himself
+very well off to get that.
+
+Then the Alderman gave an arm to each of his friends, and walked off in
+high feather; but, he immediately came hurrying back alone, as if he had
+forgotten something.
+
+"Porter!" said the Alderman.
+
+"Sir!" said Toby.
+
+"Take care of that daughter of yours. She's much too handsome."
+
+"Even her good looks are stolen from somebody or other I suppose,"
+thought Toby, looking at the sixpence in his hand, and thinking of the
+tripe. "She's been and robbed five hundred ladies of a bloom a-piece, I
+shouldn't wonder. It's very dreadful!"
+
+"She's much too handsome, my man," repeated the Alderman. "The chances
+are, that she'll come to no good, I clearly see. Observe what I say.
+Take care of her!" With which, he hurried off again.
+
+"Wrong every way. Wrong every way!" said Trotty clasping his hands.
+"Born bad. No business here!"
+
+The Chimes came clashing in upon him as he said the last words. Full,
+loud, and sounding--but with no encouragement. No, not a drop.
+
+"The tune's changed," cried the old man, as he listened. "There's not a
+word of all that fancy in it. Why should there be? I have no business
+with the New Year nor with the old one neither. Let me die!"
+
+Still the Bells, pealing forth their changes, made the very air spin.
+Put 'em down. Put 'em down! Good old Times, Good old Times! Facts and
+Figures, Facts and Figures! Put 'em down, Put 'em down! If they said
+anything they said this, until the brain of Toby reeled.
+
+He pressed his bewildered head between his hands as if to keep it from
+splitting asunder. A well-timed action, as it happened; for finding the
+letter in one of them, and being by that means reminded of his charge,
+he fell, mechanically, into his usual trot, and trotted off.
+
+
+SECOND QUARTER.
+
+The letter Toby had received from Alderman Cute, was addressed to a
+great man in the great district of the town. The greatest district of
+the town. It must have been the greatest district of the town, because
+it was commonly called "the world" by its inhabitants.
+
+The Year was Old, that day. The patient Year had lived through the
+reproaches and misuses of its slanderers, and faithfully performed its
+work. Spring, summer, autumn, winter. It had labored through the
+destined round, and now laid down its weary head to die.
+
+Trotty had no portion, to his thinking, in the New Year or the Old.
+
+"Put 'em down. Put 'em down! Facts and Figures, Facts and Figures! Good
+old Times, Good old Times! Put 'em down, Put 'em down!"--his trot went
+to that measure, and would fit itself to nothing else.
+
+But, even that one, melancholy as it was, brought him, in due time, to
+the end of his journey. To the mansion of Sir Joseph Bowley, Member of
+Parliament.
+
+The door was opened by a Porter. Such a Porter! Not of Toby's order.
+Quite another thing. His place was the ticket, though; not Toby's.
+
+This Porter underwent some hard panting before he could speak; having
+breathed himself by coming incautiously out of his chair, without first
+taking time to think about it and compose his mind. When he had found
+his voice--which it took him some time to do, for it was a long way off
+and hidden under a load of meat--he said in a fat whisper:
+
+"Who's it from?"
+
+Toby told him.
+
+"You're to take it in yourself," said the Porter, pointing to a room at
+the end of a long passage, opening from the hall. "Everything goes
+straight in, on this day of the year. You're not a bit too soon; for the
+carriage is at the door now, and they have only come to town for a
+couple of hours, a'purpose."
+
+Toby wiped his feet (which were quite dry already) with great care, and
+took the way pointed out to him, observing as he went that it was an
+awfully grand house, but hushed and covered up, as if the family were in
+the country. Knocking at the room door, he was told to enter from
+within; and doing so found himself in a spacious library, where, at a
+table strewn with files and papers, were a stately lady in a bonnet, and
+a not very stately gentleman in black, who wrote from her dictation;
+while another, and an older, and a much statelier gentleman, whose hat
+and cane were on the table, walked up and down, with one hand in his
+breast, and looked complacently from time to time at his own picture--a
+full length; a very full length--hanging over the fire-place.
+
+"What is this?" said the last-named gentleman. "Mr. Fish, will you have
+the goodness to attend?"
+
+Mr. Fish begged pardon, and taking the letter from Toby, handed it, with
+great respect.
+
+"From Alderman Cute, Sir Joseph."
+
+"Is this all? Have you nothing else, Porter?" inquired Sir Joseph.
+
+Toby replied in the negative.
+
+"You have no bill or demand upon me--my name is Bowley, Sir Joseph
+Bowley--of any kind from anybody, have you?" said Sir Joseph. "If you
+have, present it. There is a cheque-book by the side of Mr. Fish. I
+allow nothing to be carried into the New Year. Every description of
+account is settled in this house at the close of the old one. So that if
+death was to--to--"
+
+"To cut," suggested Mr. Fish.
+
+"To sever, sir," returned Sir Joseph, with great asperity, "the cord of
+existence--my affairs would be found, I hope, in a state of
+preparation."
+
+"My dear Sir Joseph!" said the lady, who was greatly younger than the
+gentleman. "How shocking!"
+
+"My Lady Bowley," returned Sir Joseph, floundering now and then, as in
+the great depth of his observations, "at this season of the year we
+should think of--of--ourselves. We should look into our--our accounts.
+We should feel that every return of so eventful a period in human
+transactions involves matter of deep moment between a man and his--and
+his banker."
+
+Sir Joseph delivered these words as if he felt the full morality of what
+he was saying, and desired that even Trotty should have an opportunity
+of being improved by such discourse. Possibly he had this end before him
+in still forbearing to break the seal of the letter, and in telling
+Trotty to wait where he was a minute.
+
+"I _am_ the Poor Man's Friend," observed Sir Joseph, glancing at the
+poor man present. "As such I may be taunted. As such I have been
+taunted. But I ask no other title."
+
+"Bless him for a noble gentleman!" thought Trotty.
+
+"I don't agree with Cute here, for instance," said Sir Joseph, holding
+out the letter. "I don't agree with the Filer party. I don't agree with
+any party. My friend, the Poor Man, has no business with any thing of
+that sort, and nothing of that sort has any business with him. My
+friend, the Poor Man, in my district, is my business. No man or body of
+men has any right to interfere between my friend and me. That is the
+ground I take. I assume a--a paternal character toward my friend. I say,
+'My good fellow, I will treat you paternally.'"
+
+With that great sentiment, he opened the Alderman's letter, and read it.
+
+"Very polite and attentive, I am sure!" exclaimed Sir Joseph. "My lady,
+the Alderman is so obliging as to remind me that he has had 'the
+distinguished honor'--he is very good--of meeting me at the house of our
+mutual friend Deedles, the banker, and he does me the favor to inquire
+whether it will be agreeable to me to have Will Fern put down. He came
+up to London, it seems, to look for employment (trying to better
+himself--that's his story), and being found at night asleep in a shed,
+was taken into custody, and carried next morning before the Alderman.
+The Alderman observes (very properly) that he is determined to put this
+sort of thing down, and that if it will be agreeable to me to have Will
+Fern put down, he will be happy to begin with him."
+
+"Let him be made an example of, by all means," returned the lady. "Last
+winter, when I introduced pinking and eyelet-holing among the men and
+boys in the village as a nice evening employment, and had the lines,
+
+
+     Oh let us love our occupations,
+     Bless the squire and his relations,
+     Live upon our daily rations,
+     And always know our proper stations,
+
+
+set to music on the new system, for them to sing the while; this very
+Fern--I see him now--touched that hat of his, and said, 'I humbly ask
+your pardon, my lady, but _an't_ I something different from a great
+girl?' I expected it, of course; who can expect anything but insolence
+and ingratitude from that class of people? That is not to the purpose,
+however. Sir Joseph! Make an example of him!"
+
+Trotty, who had long ago relapsed, and was very low-spirited, stepped
+forward with a rueful face to take the letter Sir Joseph held out to
+him.
+
+"You have heard, perhaps," said Sir Joseph, oracularly, "certain remarks
+into which I have been led respecting the solemn period of time at which
+we have arrived, and the duty imposed upon us of settling our affairs,
+and being prepared. Now, my friend, can you lay your hand upon your
+heart, and say that you also have made preparation for a New Year?"
+
+"I am afraid, sir," stammered Trotty, looking meekly at him, "that I am
+a--a--little behind-hand with the world."
+
+"Behind-hand with the world!" repeated Sir Joseph Bowley, in a tone of
+terrible distinctness.
+
+"I am afraid, sir," faltered Trotty, "that there's a matter of ten or
+twelve shillings owing to Mrs. Chickenstalker."
+
+"To Mrs. Chickenstalker!" repeated Sir Joseph, in the same tone as
+before.
+
+"A shop, sir," exclaimed Toby, "in the general line. Also a--a little
+money on account of rent. A very little, sir. It oughtn't to be owing, I
+know, but we have been hard put to it, indeed!"
+
+Sir Joseph looked at his lady, and at Mr. Fish, and at Trotty, one after
+another, twice all round. He then made a despondent gesture with both
+hands at once, as if he gave the thing up altogether.
+
+"How a man, even among this improvident and impracticable race; an old
+man; a man grown grey; can look a New Year in the face with his affairs
+in this condition; how he can lie down on his bed at night, and get up
+again in the morning, and--There!" he said, turning his back on Trotty.
+
+"Take the letter! Take the letter!"
+
+"I heartily wish it was otherwise, sir," said Trotty, anxious to excuse
+himself. "We have been tried very hard."
+
+Sir Joseph still repeating "Take the letter, take the letter!" and Mr.
+Fish not only saying the same thing, but giving additional force to the
+request by motioning the bearer to the door, he had nothing for it but
+to make his bow and leave the house. And in the street, poor Trotty
+pulled his worn old hat down on his head to hide the grief he felt at
+getting no hold on the New Year, anywhere.
+
+He didn't even lift his hat to look up at the Bell tower when he came to
+the old church on his return. He halted there a moment, from habit; and
+knew that it was growing dark and that the steeple rose above him
+indistinct and faint in the murky air. He knew, too, that the Chimes
+would ring immediately, and that they sounded to his fancy, at such a
+time, like voices in the clouds. But he only made the more haste to
+deliver the Alderman's letter and get out of the way before they began;
+for he dreaded to hear them tagging "Friends and Fathers, Friends and
+Fathers," to the burden they had rung out last.
+
+Toby discharged himself of his commission, therefore, with all possible
+speed and set off trotting homeward. But what with his pace, which was
+at best an awkward one in the street; and what with his hat, which
+didn't improve it; he trotted against somebody in less than no time and
+was sent staggering out into the road.
+
+"I beg your pardon, I'm sure!" said Trotty, pulling up his hat in great
+confusion, and between the hat and the torn lining, fixing his head
+into a kind of bee-hive. "I hope I haven't hurt you."
+
+As to hurting anybody, Toby was not such an absolute Samson, but that he
+was much more likely to be hurt himself; and indeed he had flown out
+into the road like a shuttle-cock. He had such an opinion of his own
+strength, however, that he was in real concern for the other party, and
+said again,
+
+"I hope I haven't hurt you?"
+
+The man against whom he had run, a sun-browned, sinewy, country-looking
+man, with grizzled hair and a rough chin, stared at him for a moment, as
+if he suspected him to be in jest. But, satisfied of his good faith, he
+answered:
+
+"No, friend. You have not hurt me."
+
+"Nor the child, I hope?" said Trotty.
+
+"Nor the child," returned the man. "I thank you kindly."
+
+As he said so, he glanced at a little girl he carried in his arms,
+asleep, and shading her face with the long end of the poor handkerchief
+he wore about his throat, went slowly on.
+
+The tone in which he said "I thank you kindly," penetrated Trotty's
+heart. He was so jaded and foot sore, and so soiled with travel, and
+looked about him so forlorn and strange, that it was a comfort to him to
+be able to thank anyone, no matter for how little. Toby stood gazing
+after him as he plodded wearily away, with the child's arm clinging
+round his neck.
+
+At the figure in the worn shoes--now the very shade and ghost of
+shoes--rough leather leggings, common frock and broad slouched hat,
+Trotty stood gazing, blind to the whole street. And at the child's arm,
+clinging round its neck.
+
+Before he merged into the darkness the traveler stopped, and looking
+round and seeing Trotty standing there yet, seemed undecided whether to
+return or go on. After doing first the one and then the other, he came
+back, and Trotty went half way to meet him.
+
+"You can tell me, perhaps," said the man with a faint smile, "and if you
+can I am sure will, and I'd rather ask you than another--where Alderman
+Cute lives."
+
+"Close at hand," replied Toby, "I'll show you his house with pleasure."
+
+"I was to have gone to him elsewhere to-morrow," said the man,
+accompanying Toby, "but I am uneasy under suspicion, and want to clear
+myself and to be free to go and seek my bread--I don't know where. So,
+maybe he'll forgive my going to his house to-night."
+
+"It's impossible," cried Toby with a start, "that your name's Fern!"
+
+"Eh!" cried the other, turning on him in astonishment.
+
+"Fern! Will Fern!" said Trotty.
+
+"That's my name," replied the other.
+
+"Why, then," cried Trotty, seizing him by the arm and looking cautiously
+round, "for Heaven's sake don't go to him! Don't go to him! He'll put
+you down as sure as ever you were born. Here, come up this alley, and
+I'll tell you what I mean. Don't go to _him_."
+
+His new acquaintance looked as if he thought him mad, but he bore him
+company, nevertheless. When they were shrouded from observation, Trotty
+told him what he knew, and what character he had received, and all about
+it.
+
+The subject of his history listened to it with a calmness that surprised
+him. He did not contradict or interrupt it once. He nodded his head now
+and then--more in corroboration of an old and worn-out story, it
+appeared, than in refutation of it; and once or twice threw back his
+hat, and passed his freckled hand over a brow, where every furrow he
+had ploughed seemed to have set its image in little. But he did no more.
+
+"It's true enough in the main," he said, "master, I could sift grain
+from the husk here and there, but let it be as 'tis. What odds? I have
+gone against his plans; to my misfortun'. I can't help it; I should do
+the like to-morrow. As to character, them gentlefolks will search and
+search, and pry and pry, and have it as free from spot or speck in us,
+afore they'll help us to a dry good word!--Well! I hope they don't lose
+good opinion as easy as we do, or their lives is strict indeed, and
+hardly worth the keeping. For myself, master, I never took with that
+hand"--holding it before him--"what wasn't my own; and never held it
+back from work, however hard, or poorly paid. Whoever can deny it, let
+him chop it off! But when work won't maintain me like a human creetur;
+when my living is so bad, that I am Hungry, out of doors and in; when I
+see a whole working life begin that way, go on that way, and end that
+way, without a chance or change; then I say to the gentlefolks 'Keep
+away from me! Let my cottage be. My doors is dark enough without your
+darkening of 'em more. Don't look for me to come up into the Park to
+help the show when there's a Birthday, or a fine Speechmaking, or what
+not. Act your Plays and Games without me, and be welcome to 'em and
+enjoy 'em. We've now to do with one another. I'm best let alone!'"
+
+Seeing that the child in his arms had opened her eyes, and was looking
+about in wonder, he checked himself to say a word or two of foolish
+prattle in her ear, and stand her on the ground beside him. Then slowly
+winding one of her long tresses round and round his rough forefinger
+like a ring, while she hung about his dusty leg, he said to Trotty,
+
+"I'm not a cross-grained man by natur', I believe; and easy satisfied,
+I'm sure. I bear no ill will against none of 'em. I only want to live
+like one of the Almighty's creeturs. I can't--I don't--and so there's a
+pit dug between me, and them that can and do. There's others like me.
+You might tell 'em off by hundreds and by thousands, sooner than by
+ones."
+
+Trotty knew that he spoke the truth in this, and shook his head to
+signify as much.
+
+"I've got a bad name this way," said Fern; "and I'm not likely, I'm
+afeared, to get a better. 'Tan't lawful to be out of sorts, and I AM out
+of sorts, though God knows, I'd sooner bear a cheerful spirit if I
+could. Well! I don't know as this Alderman could hurt _me_ much by
+sending me to gaol; but without a friend to speak a word for me, he
+might do it; and you see--!" pointing downward with his finger, at the
+child.
+
+He sunk his voice so low, and gazed upon her with an air so stern and
+strange, that Toby, to divert the current of his thoughts, inquired if
+his wife were living.
+
+"I never had one," he returned, shaking his head. "She's my brother's
+child: a orphan. Nine year old, though you'd hardly think it; but she's
+tired and worn out now. They'd have taken care on her in the
+Union--eight and twenty mile away from where we live--between four walls
+(as they took care of my old father when he couldn't work no more,
+though he didn't trouble 'em long); but I took her instead, and she's
+lived with me ever since. Her mother had a friend once, in London here.
+We are trying to find her, and to find work too; but it's a large place.
+Never mind. More room for us to walk about in, Lilly!"
+
+Meeting the child's eyes with a smile which melted Toby more than tears,
+he shook him by the hand.
+
+"I don't so much as know your name," he said, "but I've opened my heart
+free to you, for I'm thankful to you; with good reason. I'll take your
+advice and keep clear of this--"
+
+"Justice," suggested Toby.
+
+"Ah!" he said. "If that's the name they give him. This Justice. And
+to-morrow will try whether there's better fortun' to be met with
+somewheres near London. Goodnight. A Happy New Year!"
+
+"Stay!" cried Trotty, catching at his hand, as he relaxed his grip.
+"Stay! The New Year never can be happy to me, if we part like this. The
+New Year can never be happy to me, if I see the child and you go
+wandering away, you don't know where, without a shelter for your heads.
+Come home with me! I'm a poor man, living in a poor place; but I can
+give you lodging for one night and never miss it. Come home with me!
+Here! I'll take her!" cried Trotty, lifting up the child. "A pretty one!
+I'd carry twenty times her weight, and never know I'd got it. Tell me if
+I go too quick for you. I'm very fast. I always was!" Trotty said this,
+taking about six of his trotting paces to one stride of his fatigued
+companion; and with his thin legs quivering again, beneath the load he
+bore.
+
+"Down the Mews here, Uncle Will, and step at the black door, with 'T.
+Veck, Ticket Porter,' wrote upon a board; and here we are, and here we
+go, and here we are indeed, my precious Meg, surprising you!"
+
+With which words Trotty, in a breathless state, set the child down
+before his daughter in the middle of the floor. The little visitor
+looked once at Meg; and doubting nothing in that face, but trusting
+everything she saw there; ran into her arms.
+
+"Here we are, and here we go!" cried Trotty, running round the room and
+choking audibly. "Here, Uncle Will, here's a fire you know! Why don't
+you come to the fire? Oh here we are and here we go! Meg, my precious
+darling, where's the kettle? Here it is and here it goes, and it'll bile
+in no time!"
+
+Trotty really had picked up the kettle somewhere or other in the course
+of his wild career, and now put it on the fire; while Meg, seating the
+child in a warm corner, knelt down on the ground before her, and pulled
+off her shoes, and dried her wet feet on a cloth. Ay, and she laughed at
+Trotty too--so pleasantly, so cheerfully, that Trotty could have blessed
+her where she kneeled; for he had seen that, when they entered, she was
+sitting by the fire in tears.
+
+"Why, father!" said Meg. "You're crazy to-night, I think. I don't know
+what the Bells would say to that."
+
+Meg looked toward him and saw that he had elaborately stationed himself
+behind the chair of their male visitor, where with many mysterious
+gestures he was holding up the six-pence he had earned.
+
+"I see, my dear," said Trotty, "as I was coming in, half an ounce of tea
+lying somewhere on the stairs; and I'm pretty sure there was a bit of
+bacon too. As I don't remember where it was exactly, I'll go myself and
+try to find 'em."
+
+With this inscrutable artifice, Toby withdrew to purchase the viands he
+had spoken of, for ready money, at Mrs. Chickenstalker's; and presently
+came back, pretending that he had not been able to find them, at first
+in the dark.
+
+"But here they are at last," said Trotty, setting out the tea things,
+"all correct! I was pretty sure it was tea and a rasher. So it is. Meg
+my pet, if you'll just make the tea, while your unworthy father toasts
+the bacon, we shall be ready immediate. It's a curious circumstance,"
+said Trotty, proceeding in his cookery, with the assistance of the
+toasting-fork, "curious, but well known to my friends, that I never
+care, myself, for rashers, nor for tea. I like to see other people enjoy
+'em," said Trotty, speaking very loud to impress the fact upon his
+guest, "but to me, as food, they are disagreeable."
+
+Yet Trotty sniffed the savor of the hissing bacon--ah!--as if he liked
+it; and when he poured the boiling water in the tea-pot, looked lovingly
+down into the depths of that snug caldron, and suffering the fragrant
+steam to curl about his nose, and wreathe his head and face in a thick
+cloud. However, for all this, he neither ate nor drank, except at the
+very beginning, a mere morsel for form's sake, which he appeared to eat
+with infinite relish, but declared was perfectly uninteresting to him.
+
+"Now, I'll tell you what," said Trotty after tea. "The little one, she
+sleeps with Meg, I know."
+
+"With good Meg!" cried the child, caressing her. "With Meg."
+
+"That's right," said Trotty. "And I shouldn't wonder if she'll kiss
+Meg's father, won't she? _I_'m Meg's father."
+
+Mightily delighted Trotty was, when the child went timidly toward him,
+and having kissed him, fell back upon Meg again.
+
+Meg looked toward their guest, who leaned upon her chair, and with his
+face turned from her, fondled the child's head, half hidden in her lap.
+
+"To be sure," said Toby. "To be sure! I don't know what I am rambling on
+about, to-night. My wits are wool-gathering, I think. Will Fern, you
+come along with me. You're tired to death, and broken down for want of
+rest. You come along with me."
+
+The hand released from the child's hair, had fallen, trembling, into
+Trotty's hand. So Trotty, talking without intermission, led him out as
+tenderly and easily as if he had been a child himself.
+
+Returning before Meg, he listened for an instant at the door of her
+little chamber; an adjoining room. The child was murmuring a simple
+Prayer before lying down to sleep; and when she had remembered Meg's
+name, "Dearly, Dearly"--so her words ran--Trotty heard her stop and ask
+for his.
+
+It was some short time before the foolish little old fellow could
+compose himself to mend the fire, and draw his chair to the warm hearth.
+But when he had done so, and had trimmed the light, he took his
+newspaper from his pocket and began to read. Carelessly at first, and
+skimming up and down the columns; but with an earnest and a sad
+attention, very soon.
+
+For this same dreaded paper re-directed Trotty's thoughts into the
+channel they had taken all that day, and which the day's events had so
+marked out and shaped. His interest in the two wanderers had set him on
+another course of thinking, and a happier one, for the time; but being
+alone again, and reading of the crimes and violences of the people, he
+relapsed into his former train.
+
+"It's too true, all I've heard to-day," Toby muttered; "too just, too
+full of proof. We're Bad!"
+
+The Chimes took up the words so suddenly--burst out so loud, and clear,
+and sonorous--that the Bells seemed to strike him in his chair.
+
+And what was that, they said?
+
+"Toby Veck, Toby Veck, waiting for you Toby! Toby Veck, Toby Veck,
+waiting for you Toby! Come and see us, come and see us, Drag him to us,
+drag him to us, Haunt and hunt him, haunt and hunt him, Break his
+slumbers, break his slumbers! Toby Veck, Toby Veck, door open wide Toby,
+Toby Veck, Toby Veck, door open wide Toby--" then fiercely back to their
+impetuous strain again, and ringing in the very bricks and plaster on
+the walls.
+
+Toby listened. Fancy, fancy! His remorse for having run away from them
+that afternoon! No, no. Nothing of the kind. Again, again, and yet a
+dozen times again. "Haunt and hunt him, haunt and hunt him, Drag him to
+us, drag him to us!" Deafening the whole town!
+
+"Meg," said Trotty, softly; tapping at her door. "Do you hear anything?"
+
+"I hear the Bells, father. Surely they're very loud to-night."
+
+"Is she asleep?" said Toby, making an excuse for peeping in.
+
+"So peacefully and happily! I can't leave her yet though, father. Look
+how she holds my hand!"
+
+"Meg!" whispered Trotty. "Listen to the Bells!"
+
+She listened, with her face toward him all the time. But it underwent no
+change. She didn't understand them.
+
+Trotty withdrew, resumed his seat by the fire, and once more listened by
+himself. He remained here a little time.
+
+It was impossible to bear it; their energy was dreadful.
+
+"If the tower-door is really open," said Toby, hastily laying aside his
+apron, but never thinking of his hat, "what's to hinder me from going up
+in the steeple and satisfying myself? If it's shut, I don't want any
+other satisfaction. That's enough."
+
+He was pretty certain as he slipped out quietly into the street that he
+should find it shut and locked, for he knew the door well, and had so
+rarely seen it open, that he couldn't reckon above three times in all.
+It was a low-arched portal outside the church, in a dark nook behind a
+column; and had such great iron hinges, and such a monstrous lock, that
+there was more hinge and lock than door.
+
+But what was his astonishment when, coming bare-headed to the church,
+and putting his hand into this dark nook, with a certain misgiving that
+it might be unexpectedly seized, and a shivering propensity to draw it
+back again, he found that the door, which opened outward, actually stood
+ajar!
+
+He thought, on the first surprise, of going back; or of getting a light,
+or a companion; but his courage aided him immediately, and he determined
+to ascend alone.
+
+"What have I to fear?" said Trotty. "It's a church! Besides the ringers
+may be there, and have forgotten to shut the door."
+
+So he went in, feeling his way as he went, like a blind man; for it was
+very dark. And very quiet, for the Chimes were silent.
+
+The dust from the street had blown into the recess; and lying there,
+heaped up, made it so soft and velvet-like to the foot, that there was
+something startling even in that. The narrow stair was so close to the
+door, too, that he stumbled at the very first; and shutting the door
+upon himself by striking it with his foot, and causing it to rebound
+back heavily, he couldn't open it again.
+
+This was another reason, however, for going on. Trotty groped his way,
+and went on. Up, up, up, and round and round; and up, up, up, higher,
+higher, higher up!
+
+Until, ascending through the floor, and pausing with his head just
+raised above its beams, he came among the Bells. It was barely possible
+to make out their great shapes in the gloom; but there they were.
+Shadowy, and dark, and dumb.
+
+A heavy sense of dread and loneliness fell instantly upon him, as he
+climbed into this airy nest of stone and metal. His head went round and
+round. He listened and then raised a wild "Halloa!"
+
+Halloa! was mournfully protracted by the echoes.
+
+Giddy, confused, and out of breath, and frightened, Toby looked about
+him vacantly, and sunk down in a swoon.
+
+
+THIRD QUARTER.
+
+When and how the darkness of the night-black steeple changed to shining
+light; and how the solitary tower was peopled with a myriad figures;
+when and how the whispered "Haunt and hunt him," breathing monotonously
+through his sleep or swoon, became a voice exclaiming in the waking ears
+of Trotty, "Break his slumbers;" when and how he ceased to have a
+sluggish and confused idea that such things were, companioning a host of
+others that were not; there are no dates or means to tell. But, awake,
+and standing on his feet upon the boards where he had lately lain, he
+saw this Goblin Sight.
+
+Then and not before, did Trotty see in every Bell a bearded figure of
+the bulk and stature of the Bell--incomprehensibly, a figure and the
+Bell itself. Gigantic, grave, and darkly watchful of him, as he stood
+rooted to the ground.
+
+Mysterious and awful figures! Resting on nothing; poised in the night
+air of the tower, with their draped and hooded heads merged in the dim
+roof; motionless and shadowy. Shadowy and dark, although he saw them by
+some light belonging to themselves--none else was there--each with its
+muffled hand upon its goblin mouth.
+
+He could not plunge down wildly through the opening in the floor; for,
+all power of motion had deserted him. Otherwise he would have done
+so--ay, would have thrown himself, head-foremost, from the steeple-top,
+rather than have seen them watching him with eyes that would have waked
+and watched, although the pupils had been taken out.
+
+A blast of air--how cold and shrill!--came moaning through the tower. As
+it died away, the Great Bell, or the Goblin of the Great Bell, spoke.
+
+"What visitor is this?" it said. The voice was low and deep, and Trotty
+fancied that it sounded in the other figures as well.
+
+"I thought my name was called by the Chimes!" said Trotty, raising his
+hands in an attitude of supplication. "I hardly know why I am here, or
+how I came. I have listened to the Chimes these many years. They have
+cheered me often."
+
+"And you have thanked them?" said the bell.
+
+"A thousand times!" cried Trotty.
+
+"How?"
+
+"I am a poor man," faltered Trotty, "and could only thank them in
+words."
+
+"And always so?" inquired the Goblin of the Bell. "Have you never done
+us wrong in words?"
+
+"No!" cried Trotty, eagerly.
+
+"Never done us foul, and false, and wicked wrong, in words?" pursued the
+Goblin of the Bell.
+
+Trotty was about to answer "Never!" But he stopped and was confused.
+
+"The voice of Time," said the Phantom, "cries to man, Advance! Time is
+for his advancement and improvement; for his greater worth, his greater
+happiness, his better life; his progress onward to that goal within its
+knowledge and its view, and set there, in the period when Time and he
+began. Ages of darkness, wickedness, and violence, have come and
+gone--millions uncountable, have suffered, lived, and died--to point
+the way before him. Who seeks to turn him back, or stay him on his
+course, arrests a mighty engine which will strike the meddler dead; and
+be the fiercer and the wilder, ever, for its momentary check!"
+
+"I never did so to my knowledge, sir," said Trotty. "It was quite by
+accident if I did. I wouldn't go to do it, I'm sure."
+
+"Who puts into the mouth of Time, or of its servants," said the Goblin
+of the Bell, "a cry of lamentation for days which have had their trial
+and their failure, and have left deep traces of it which the blind may
+see--a cry that only serves the present time, by showing men how much it
+needs their help when any ears can listen to regrets for such a
+past--who does this, does a wrong. And you have done that wrong to us,
+the Chimes."
+
+Trotty's first excess of fear was gone. But he had felt tenderly and
+gratefully toward the Bells, as you have seen; and when he heard himself
+arraigned as one who had offended them so weightily, his heart was
+touched with penitence and grief.
+
+"If you knew," said Trotty, clasping his hands earnestly--"or perhaps
+you do know--if you know how often you have kept me company; how often
+you have cheered me up when I've been low; how you were quite the
+plaything of my little daughter Meg (almost the only one she ever had)
+when first her mother died, and she and me were left alone; you won't
+bear malice for a hasty word!"
+
+"Who hears in us, the Chimes, one note bespeaking disregard, or stern
+regard, of any hope, or joy, or pain, or sorrow, of the many-sorrowed
+throng; who hears us make response to any creed that gauges human
+passions and affections, as it gauges the amount of miserable food on
+which humanity may pine and wither; does us wrong. That wrong you have
+done us!" said the Bell.
+
+"I have!" said Trotty. "Oh, forgive me!"
+
+"Spare me," cried Trotty, falling on his knees; "for Mercy's sake!"
+
+"Listen!" said the Shadow.
+
+"Listen!" cried the other Shadows.
+
+"Listen!" said a clear and child-like voice, which Trotty thought he
+recognized as having heard before.
+
+The organ sounded faintly in the church below. Swelling by degrees, the
+melody ascended to the roof, and filled the choir and nave. Expanding
+more and more, it rose up, up, up, up; higher, higher, higher up;
+awakening agitated hearts within the burly piles of oak, the hollow
+bells, the iron-bound doors, the stairs of solid stone; until the tower
+walls were insufficient to contain it, and it soared into the sky.
+
+No wonder that an old man's breast could not contain a sound so vast and
+mighty. It broke from that weak prison in a rush of tears; and Trotty
+put his hands before his face.
+
+"Listen!" said the Shadow.
+
+"Listen!" said the other Shadows.
+
+"Listen!" said the child's voice.
+
+A solemn strain of blended voices rose into the tower.
+
+It was a very low and mournful strain--a Dirge--and as he listened,
+Trotty heard his child among the singers.
+
+"She is dead!" exclaimed the old man. "Meg is dead. Her spirit calls to
+me. I hear it!"
+
+"The Spirit of your child bewails the dead, and mingles with the
+dead--dead hopes, dead fancies, dead imaginings of youth," returned the
+Bell, "but she is living. Learn from her life, a living truth. Learn
+from the creature dearest to your heart, how bad the bad are born. See
+every bud and leaf plucked one by one from off the fairest stem, and
+know how bare and wretched it may be. Follow her! To desperation!"
+
+Each of the shadowy figures stretched its right arm forth, and pointed
+downward.
+
+"The Spirit of the Chimes is your companion," said the figure. "Go! It
+stands behind you!"
+
+Trotty turned, and saw--the child! The child Will Fern had carried in
+the street; the child whom Meg had watched, but now, asleep!
+
+"I carried her myself, to-night," said Trotty. "In these arms!"
+
+"Show him what he calls himself," said the dark figures, one and all.
+
+The tower opened at his feet. He looked down, and beheld his own form,
+lying at the bottom, on the outside: crushed and motionless.
+
+"No more a living man!" cried Trotty. "Dead!"
+
+"Dead!" said the figures altogether.
+
+"Gracious Heaven! And the New Year--'
+
+"Past," said the figures.
+
+"What!" he cried, shuddering, "I missed my way, and coming on the
+outside of this tower in the dark, fell down--a year ago?"
+
+"Nine years ago!" replied the figures.
+
+As they gave the answer, they recalled their outstretched hands; and
+where their figures had been, there the Bells were.
+
+"What are these?" he asked his guide. "If I am not mad, what are these?"
+
+"Spirits of the Bells. Their sound upon the air," returned the child.
+"They take such shapes and occupations as the hopes and thoughts of
+mortals, and the recollections they have stored up, give them."
+
+"And you," said Trotty, wildly. "What are you?"
+
+"Hush, hush!" returned the child. "Look here!"
+
+In a poor, mean room; working at the same kind of embroidery, which he
+had often, often, seen before her; Meg, his own dear daughter, was
+presented to his view. He made no effort to imprint his kisses on her
+face; he did not strive to clasp her to his loving heart; he knew that
+such endearments were, for him, no more. But he held his trembling
+breath, and brushed away the blinding tears, that he might look upon
+her; that he might only see her.
+
+Ah! Changed. Changed. The light of the clear eye, how dimmed. The bloom,
+how faded from the cheek. Beautiful she was, as she had ever been, but
+Hope, Hope, Hope, oh, where was the fresh Hope that had spoken to him
+like a voice!
+
+She looked up from her work, at a companion. Following her eyes, the old
+man started back.
+
+In the woman grown, he recognized her at a glance. In the long silken
+hair, he saw the self-same curls; around the lips, the child's
+expression lingering still. See! In the eyes, now turned inquiringly on
+Meg, there shone the very look that scanned those features when he
+brought her home!
+
+Then what was this, beside him?
+
+Looking with awe into its face, he saw a something reigning there: a
+lofty something, undefined and indistinct, which made it hardly more
+than a remembrance of that child--as yonder figure might be--yet it was
+the same: the same: and wore the dress.
+
+Hark! They were speaking!
+
+"Meg," said Lilian, hesitating. "How often you raise your head from your
+work to look at me!"
+
+"Are my looks so altered, that they frighten you?" asked Meg.
+
+"Nay, dear! But you smile at that yourself! Why not smile when you look
+at me, Meg?"
+
+"I do so. Do I not?" she answered: smiling on her.
+
+"Now you do," said Lilian, "but not usually. When you think I'm busy,
+and don't see you, you look so anxious and so doubtful, that I hardly
+like to raise my eyes. There is little cause for smiling in this hard
+and toilsome life, but you were once so cheerful."
+
+"Am I not now?" cried Meg, speaking in a tone of strange alarm, and
+rising to embrace her. "Do _I_ make our weary life more weary to you,
+Lilian?"
+
+"You have been the only thing that made it life," said Lilian, fervently
+kissing her; "sometimes the only thing that made me care to live so,
+Meg. Such work, such work! So many hours, so many days, so many long,
+long nights of hopeless, cheerless, never-ending work--not to heap up
+riches, not to live grandly or gayly, not to live upon enough, however
+coarse; but to earn bare bread; to scrape together just enough to toil
+upon, and want upon, and keep alive in us the consciousness of our hard
+fate! Oh, Meg, Meg!" she raised her voice and twined her arms about her
+as she spoke, like one in pain. "How can the cruel world go round, and
+bear to look upon such lives!"
+
+"Lilly!" said Meg, soothing her, and putting back her hair from her wet
+face. "Why, Lilly! You! So pretty and so young!"
+
+"Oh, Meg!" she interrupted, holding her at arm's-length, and looking in
+her face imploringly. "The worst of all! The worst of all! Strike me
+old, Meg! Wither me and shrivel me, and free me from the dreadful
+thoughts that tempt me in my youth!"
+
+Trotty turned to look upon his guide. But, the Spirit of the child had
+taken flight. Was gone.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FOURTH QUARTER.
+
+Some new remembrance of the ghostly figures in the Bells; some faint
+impression of the ringing of the Chimes; some giddy consciousness of
+having seen the swarm of phantoms reproduced and reproduced until the
+recollection of them lost itself in the confusion of their numbers; some
+hurried knowledge, how conveyed to him he knew not, that more years had
+passed; and Trotty, with the Spirit of the child attending him, stood
+looking on at mortal company.
+
+Fat company, rosy-cheeked company, comfortable company. They were but
+two, but they were red enough for ten. They sat before a bright fire,
+with a small low table between them; and unless the fragrance of hot tea
+and muffins lingered longer in that room than in most others, the table
+had seen service very lately. But all the cups and saucers being clean,
+and in their proper places in the corner cupboard; and the brass
+toasting fork hanging in its usual nook, and spreading its four idle
+fingers out, as if it wanted to be measured for a glove; there remained
+no other visible tokens of the meal just finished, than such as purred
+and washed their whiskers in the person of the basking cat, and
+glistened in the gracious, not to say the greasy, faces of her patrons.
+
+This cosy couple (married, evidently) had made a fair division of the
+fire between them, and sat looking at the glowing sparks that dropped
+into the grate; now nodding off into a doze; now waking up again when
+some hot fragment, larger than the rest, came rattling down, as if the
+fire were coming with it.
+
+It was in no danger of sudden extinction, however; for it gleamed not
+only in the little room, and on the panes of window-glass in the door,
+and on the curtain half drawn across them, but in the little shop
+beyond. A little shop, quite crammed and choked with the abundance of
+its stock; a perfectly voracious little shop, with a maw as
+accommodating and full as any shark's. Cheese, butter, firewood, soap,
+pickles, matches, bacon, table-beer, peg-tops, sweetmeats, boys' kites,
+bird-seed, cold ham, birch brooms, hearth-stones, salt, vinegar,
+blacking, red herrings, stationery, lard, mushroom ketchup, stay-laces,
+loaves of bread, shuttlecocks, eggs, and slate-pencils; everything was
+fish that came to the net of this greedy little shop, and all articles
+were in its net.
+
+Glancing at such of these items as were visible in the shining of the
+blaze, and the less cheerful radiance of two smoky lamps which burnt but
+dimly in the shop itself, as though its plethora sat heavy on their
+lungs; and glancing, then, at one of the two faces by the parlor-fire,
+Trotty had small difficulty in recognizing in the stout old lady, Mrs.
+Chickenstalker: always inclined to corpulency, even in the days when he
+had known her as established in the general line, and having a small
+balance against him in her books.
+
+The features of her companion were less easy to him. The great broad
+chin, with creases in it large enough to hide a finger in; the
+astonished eyes, that seemed to expostulate with themselves for sinking
+deeper and deeper into the yielding fat of the soft face; the nose
+afflicted with that disordered action of its functions which is
+generally termed The Snuffles; the short thick throat and laboring
+chest, with other beauties of the like description, though calculated to
+impress the memory, Trotty could at first allot to nobody he had ever
+known: and yet he had some recollection of them too. At length, in Mrs.
+Chickenstalker's partner in the general line, and in the crooked and
+eccentric line of life, he recognized the former porter of Sir Joseph
+Bowley; an apoplectic innocent, who had connected himself in Trotty's
+mind with Mrs. Chickenstalker years ago, by giving him admission to the
+mansion where he had confessed his obligations to that lady, and drawn
+on his unlucky head such grave reproach.
+
+Trotty had little interest in a change like this, after the changes he
+had seen; but association is very strong sometimes; and he looked
+involuntarily behind the parlor-door, where the accounts of credit
+customers were usually kept in chalk. There was no record of his name.
+Some names were there, but they were strange to him, and infinitely
+fewer than of old; from which he argued that the porter was an advocate
+of ready money transactions, and on coming into the business had looked
+pretty sharp after the Chickenstalker defaulters.
+
+So desolate was Trotty, and so mournful for the youth and promise of his
+blighted child, that it was a sorrow to him, even to have no place in
+Mrs. Chickenstalker's ledger.
+
+"What sort of a night is it, Anne?" inquired the former porter of Sir
+Joseph Bowley, stretching out his legs before the fire, and rubbing as
+much of them as his short arms could reach; with an air that added,
+"Here I am if it's bad, and I don't want to go out if it's good."
+
+"Hard weather indeed," returned his wife, shaking her head.
+
+"Ay, ay! Years," said Mr. Tugby, "are like Christians in that respect.
+Some of 'em die hard; some of 'em die easy. This one hasn't many days to
+run, and is making a fight for it. I like him all the better. There's a
+customer, my love!"
+
+Attentive to the rattling door, Mrs. Tugby had already risen.
+
+"Now, then!" said that lady, passing out into the little shop. "What's
+wanted? Oh! I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure. I didn't think it was
+you."
+
+She made this apology to a gentleman in black, who, with his wristbands
+tucked up, and his hat cocked loungingly on one side, and his hand in
+his pocket, sat down astride on the table-beer barrel, and nodded in
+return.
+
+"This is a bad business up-stairs, Mrs. Tugby," said the gentleman.
+"The man can't live."
+
+"Not the back-attic can't!" cried Tugby, coming out into the shop to
+join the conference.
+
+"The back-attic, Mr. Tugby," said the gentleman, "is coming down-stairs
+fast, and will be below the basement very soon."
+
+Looking by turns at Tugby and his wife, he sounded the barrel with his
+knuckles for the depth of beer, and having found it, played a tune upon
+the empty part.
+
+"The back-attic, Mr. Tugby," said the gentleman: Tugby having stood in
+silent consternation for some time; "is Going."
+
+"Then," said Tugby, turning to his wife, "he must Go, you know, before
+he's Gone."
+
+"I don't think you can move him," said the gentleman, shaking his head.
+"I wouldn't take the responsibility of saying it could be done, myself.
+You had better leave him where he is. He can't live long."
+
+"It's the only subject," said Tugby, bringing the butter-scale down upon
+the counter with a crash, by weighing his fist on it, "that we've ever
+had a word upon; she and me; and look what it comes to! He's going to
+die here, after all. Going to die upon the premises. Going to die in our
+house!"
+
+"And where should he have died, Tugby?" cried his wife.
+
+"In the workhouse," he returned. "What are workhouses made for?"
+
+"Not for that!" said Mrs. Tugby, with great energy. "Not for that!
+Neither did I marry you for that. Don't think it, Tugby. I won't have
+it. I won't allow it. I'd be separated first, and never see your face
+again. When my widow's name stood over that door, as it did for many,
+many years: the house being known as Mrs. Chickenstalker's far and
+wide, and never known but to its honest credit and its good report: when
+my widow's name stood over that door, Tugby, I knew him as a handsome,
+steady, manly, independent youth; I knew her as the sweetest looking,
+sweetest tempered girl, eyes ever saw; I knew her father (poor old
+creetur, he fell down from the steeple walking in his sleep, and killed
+himself), for the simplest, hardest working, childest-hearted man, that
+ever drew the breath of life; and when I turn them out of house and
+home, may angels turn me out of heaven. As they would! And serve me
+right!"
+
+Her old face, which had been a plump and dimpled one before the changes
+which had come to pass, seemed to shine out of her as she said these
+words; and when she dried her eyes, and shook her head and her
+handkerchief at Tugby, with an expression of firmness which it was quite
+clear was not to be easily resisted, Trotty said, "Bless her! Bless
+her!"
+
+Then he listened, with a panting heart, for what should follow. Knowing
+nothing yet, but that they spoke of Meg.
+
+The gentleman upon the table-beer cask, who appeared to be some
+authorized medical attendant upon the poor, was far too well accustomed,
+evidently, to little differences of opinion between man and wife, to
+interpose any remark in this instance. He sat softly whistling, and
+turning little drops of beer out of the tap upon the ground, until there
+was a perfect calm: when he raised his head and said to Mrs. Tugby, late
+Chickenstalker:
+
+"There's something interesting about the woman, even now. How did she
+come to marry him?"
+
+"Why, that," said Mrs. Tugby, taking a seat near him, "is not the least
+cruel part of her story, sir. You see they kept company, she and
+Richard, many years ago. When they were a young and beautiful couple,
+everything was settled, and they were to have been married on a New
+Year's Day. But, somehow, Richard got it into his head, through what the
+gentleman told him, that he might do better, and that he'd soon repent
+it, and that she wasn't good enough for him, and that a young man of
+spirit had no business to be married. And the gentleman frightened her,
+and made her melancholy, and timid of his deserting her, and of her
+children coming to the gallows, and of its being wicked to be man and
+wife, and a good deal more of it. And in short, they lingered and
+lingered, and their trust in one another was broken, and so at last was
+the match. But the fault was his. She would have married him, sir,
+joyfully. I've seen her heart swell, many times afterwards, when he
+passed her in a proud and careless way; and never did a woman grieve
+more truly for a man, than she for Richard when he first went wrong."
+
+"Oh! he went wrong, did he?" said the gentleman, pulling out the
+vent-peg of the table-beer, and trying to peep down into the barrel
+through the hole.
+
+"Well, sir, I don't know that he rightly understood himself, you see. I
+think his mind was troubled by their having broke with one another; and
+that but for being ashamed before the gentlemen, and perhaps for being
+uncertain too, how she might take it, he'd have gone through any
+suffering or trial to have had Meg's promise, and Meg's hand again.
+That's my belief. He never said so; more's the pity! He took to
+drinking, idling, bad companions: all the fine resources that were to be
+so much better for him than the Home he might have had. He lost his
+looks, his character, his health, his strength, his friends, his work:
+everything!"
+
+"He didn't lose everything, Mrs. Tugby," returned the gentleman,
+"because he gained a wife; and I want to know how he gained her."
+
+"I'm coming to it, sir, in a moment. This went on for years and years;
+he sinking lower and lower; she enduring, poor thing, miseries enough to
+wear her life away. At last he was so cast down, and cast out, that no
+one would employ or notice him; and doors were shut upon him, go where
+he would. Applying from place to place, and door to door; and coming for
+the hundredth time to one gentleman, who had often and often tried him
+(he was a good workman to the very end); that gentleman, who knew his
+history, said, 'I believe you are incorrigible; there's only one person
+in the world who has a chance of reclaiming you; ask me to trust you no
+more, until she tries to do it.' Something like that, in his anger and
+vexation."
+
+"Ah!" said the gentleman. "Well?"
+
+"Well, sir, he went to her, and kneeled to her; said it was so; said it
+ever had been so; and made a prayer to her to save him."
+
+"And she?--Don't distress yourself, Mrs. Tugby."
+
+"She came to me that night to ask me about living here. 'What he was
+once to me,' she said, 'is buried in a grave, side by side with what I
+was to him. But I have thought of this; and I will make the trial. In
+the hope of saving him; for the love of the light-hearted girl (you
+remember her) who was to have been married on a New Year's Day; and for
+the love of her Richard.' And he said he had come to her from Lilian,
+and Lilian had trusted to him, and she never could forget that. So they
+were married; and when they came home here, and I saw them, I hoped that
+such prophecies as parted them when they were young, may not often
+fulfill themselves as they did in this case, or I wouldn't be the
+makers of them for a Mine of Gold."
+
+The gentleman got off the cask, and stretched himself, observing:
+
+"I suppose he used her ill, as soon as they were married?"
+
+"I don't think he ever did that," said Mrs. Tugby, shaking her head and
+wiping her eyes. "He went on better for a short time; but, his habits
+were too old and strong to be got rid of; he soon fell back a little;
+and was falling fast back, when his illness came so strong upon him. I
+think he has always felt for her. I am sure he has. I've seen him in his
+crying fits and tremblings, try to kiss her hand; and I have heard him
+call her 'Meg,' and say it was her nineteenth birthday. There he has
+been lying, now, these weeks and months. Between him and her baby, she
+has not been able to do her old work; and by not being able to be
+regular, she has lost it, even if she could have done it. How they have
+lived, I hardly know!"
+
+"_I_ know," muttered Mr. Tugby, looking at the till, and round the shop,
+and at his wife; and rolling his head with immense intelligence.
+
+He was interrupted by a cry--a sound of lamentation--from the upper
+story of the house. The gentleman moved hurriedly to the door.
+
+"My friend," he said, looking back, "you needn't discuss whether he
+shall be removed or not. He has spared you that trouble, I believe."
+
+Saying so, he ran up-stairs, followed by Mrs. Tugby; while Mr. Tugby
+panted and grumbled after them at leisure: being rendered more than
+commonly short-winded by the weight of the till, in which there had been
+an inconvenient quantity of copper. Trotty, with the child beside him,
+floated up the staircase like mere air.
+
+"Follow her! Follow her! Follow her!" He heard the ghostly voices in
+the Bells repeat their words as he ascended. "Learn it, from the
+creature dearest to your heart!"
+
+It was over. It was over. And this was she, her father's pride and joy!
+This haggard, wretched woman, weeping by the bed, if it deserved that
+name, and pressing to her breast, and hanging down her head upon, an
+infant? Who can tell how spare, how sickly, and how poor an infant? Who
+can tell how dear?
+
+"Thank God!" cried Trotty, holding up his folded hands. "O, God be
+thanked! She loves her child!"
+
+Again Trotty heard the voices, saying, "Follow her!" He turned toward
+his guide, and saw it rising from him, passing through the air. "Follow
+her!" it said. And vanished.
+
+He hovered round her; sat down at her feet; looked up into her face for
+one trace of her old self; listened for one note of her old pleasant
+voice. He flitted round the child: so wan, so prematurely old, so
+dreadful in its gravity, so plaintive in its feeble, mournful, miserable
+wail. He almost worshiped it. He clung to it as her only safeguard; as
+the last unbroken link that bound her to endurance. He set his father's
+hope and trust on the frail baby; watched her every look upon it as she
+held it in her arms; and cried a thousand times, "She loves it! God be
+thanked, she loves it!"
+
+He saw the woman tend her in the night; return to her when her grudging
+husband was asleep, and all was still; encourage her, shed tears with
+her, set nourishment before her. He saw the day come, and the night
+again; the day, the night; the time go by; the house of death relieved
+of death; the room left to herself and to the child; he heard it moan
+and cry; he saw it harass her, and tire her out, and when she slumbered
+in exhaustion, drag her back to consciousness, and hold her with its
+little hands upon the rack; but she was constant to it, gentle with it,
+patient with it. Patient! Was its loving mother in her inmost heart and
+soul, and had its Being knitted up with hers as when she carried it
+unborn.
+
+All this time, she was in want: languishing away, in dire and pining
+want. With the baby in her arms, she wandered here and there in quest of
+occupation; and with its thin face lying in her lap, and looking up in
+hers, did any work for any wretched sum: a day and night of labor for as
+many farthings as there were figures on the dial. If she had quarreled
+with it; if she had neglected it; if she had looked upon it with a
+moment's hate! if, in the frenzy of an instant, she had struck it! No!
+His comfort was, She loved it always.
+
+She told no one of her extremity, and wandered abroad in the day lest
+she should be questioned by her only friend: for any help she received
+from her hands, occasioned fresh disputes between the good woman and her
+husband; and it was new bitterness to be the daily cause of strife and
+discord, where she owed so much.
+
+She loved it still. She loved it more and more. But a change fell on the
+aspect of her love.
+
+One night she was singing faintly to it in its sleep and walking to and
+fro to hush it, when her door was softly opened, and a man looked in.
+
+"For the last time," he said.
+
+"William Fern!"
+
+"For the last time."
+
+He listened like a man pursued: and spoke in whispers.
+
+"Margaret, my race is nearly run, I couldn't finish it, without a
+parting word with you. Without one grateful word."
+
+"What have you done?" she asked: regarding him with terror.
+
+He looked at her but gave no answer.
+
+After a short silence, he made a gesture with his hand, as if he set her
+question by; as if he brushed it aside; and said:
+
+"It's long ago, Margaret, now; but that night is as fresh in my memory
+as ever 'twas. We little thought then," he added, looking round, "that
+we should ever meet like this. Your child, Margaret? Let me have it in
+my arms. Let me hold your child."
+
+He put his hat upon the floor, and took it. And he trembled as he took
+it, from head to foot.
+
+"Is it a girl?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+He put his hand before its little face.
+
+"See how weak I'm grown, Margaret, when I want the courage to look at
+it! Let her be, a moment. I won't hurt her. It's long ago, but--What's
+her name?"
+
+"Margaret," she answered quickly.
+
+"I'm glad of that," he said. "I'm glad of that!"
+
+He seemed to breathe more freely; and after pausing for an instant, took
+away his hand, and looked upon the infant's face. But covered it again,
+immediately.
+
+"Margaret!" he said; and gave her back the child. "It's Lilian's."
+
+"Lilian's!"
+
+"I held the same face in my arms when Lilian's mother died and left
+her."
+
+"When Lilian's mother died and left her!" she repeated, wildly.
+
+"How shrill you speak! Why do you fix your eyes upon me so? Margaret!"
+
+She sunk down in a chair, and pressed the infant to her breast, and wept
+over it. Sometimes, she released it from her embrace, to look anxiously
+in its face: then strained it to her bosom again. At those times, when
+she gazed upon it, then it was that something fierce and terrible began
+to mingle with her love. Then it was that her old father quailed.
+
+"Follow her!" was sounded through the house. "Learn it, from the
+creature dearest to your heart!"
+
+"Margaret," said Fern, bending over her, and kissing her upon the brow:
+"I thank you for the last time. Good night. Good bye! Put your hand in
+mine, and tell me you'll forget me from this hour, and try to think the
+end of me was here."
+
+She called to him; but he was gone. She sat down stupefied, until her
+infant roused her to a sense of hunger, cold, and darkness. She paced
+the room with it the livelong night, hushing it and soothing it. She
+said at intervals, "Like Lilian when her mother died and left her!" Why
+was her step so quick, her eyes so wild, her love so fierce and
+terrible, whenever she repeated those words?
+
+"But, it is Love," said Trotty. "It is Love. She'll never cease to love
+it. My poor Meg!"
+
+She dressed the child next morning with unusual care--ah, vain
+expenditure of care upon such squalid robes!--and once more tried to
+find some means of life. It was the last day of the Old Year. She tried
+till night, and never broke her fast. She tried in vain.
+
+She mingled with an abject crowd, who tarried in the snow, until it
+pleased some officer appointed to dispense the public charity (the
+lawful charity; not that once preached upon a Mount), to call them in,
+and question them, and say to this one, "Go to such a place," to that
+one, "Come next week;" to make a foot-ball of another wretch, and pass
+him here and there, from hand to hand, from house to house, until he
+wearied and lay down to die; or started up and robbed, and so became a
+higher sort of criminal, whose claims allowed of no delay. Here, too,
+she failed.
+
+She loved her child, and wished to have it lying on her breast. And that
+was quite enough.
+
+It was night: a bleak, dark, cutting night: when pressing the child
+close to her for warmth, she arrived outside the house she called her
+home. She was so faint and giddy, that she saw no one standing in the
+doorway until she was close upon it, and about to enter. Then, she
+recognized the master of the house, who had so disposed himself--with
+his person it was not difficult--as to fill up the whole entry.
+
+"Oh!" he said softly. "You have come back?"
+
+She looked at the child and shook her head.
+
+"Don't you think you have lived here long enough without paying any
+rent? Don't you think that, without any money, you've been a pretty
+constant customer at this shop, now?" said Mr. Tugby.
+
+She repeated the same mute appeal.
+
+"Suppose you try and deal somewhere else," he said. "And suppose you
+provide yourself with another lodging. Come! Don't you think you could
+manage it?"
+
+She said, in a low voice, that it was very late. To-morrow.
+
+"Now I see what you want," said Tugby; "and what you mean. You know
+there are two parties in this house about you, and you delight in
+setting them by the ears. I don't want any quarrels; I'm speaking softly
+to avoid a quarrel; but if you don't go away, I'll speak out loud, and
+you shall cause words loud enough to please you. But you shan't come in,
+that I am determined."
+
+She put her hair back with her hand, and looked in a sudden manner at
+the sky, and the dark lowering distance.
+
+"This is the last night of an Old Year, and I won't carry ill-blood and
+quarrelings and disturbances into a New One, to please you nor anybody
+else," said Tugby, who was quite a retail Friend and Father. "I wonder
+you an't ashamed of yourself, to carry such practices into a New Year.
+If you haven't any business in the world, but to be always giving way,
+and always making disturbances between man and wife, you'd be better out
+of it. Go along with you!"
+
+"Follow her! To desperation!"
+
+Again the old man heard the voices. Looking up, he saw the figures
+hovering in the air, and pointing where she went, down the dark street.
+
+"She loves it!" he exclaimed in agonized entreaty for her. "Chimes! she
+loves it still!"
+
+"Follow her!" The shadows swept upon the track she had taken like a
+cloud.
+
+Oh, for something to awaken her! For any sight or sound, or scent, to
+call up tender recollections in a brain on fire! For any gentle image of
+the Past, to rise up before her!
+
+"I was her father! I was her father!" cried the old man, stretching out
+his hands to the dark shadows flying on above. "Have mercy on her, and
+on me! Where does she go? Turn her back! I was her father!"
+
+But, they only pointed to her, as she hurried on; "To desperation! Learn
+it from the creature dearest to your heart!"
+
+A hundred voices echoed it. The air was made of breath expended in those
+words. He seemed to take them in, at every gasp he drew. They were
+everywhere, and not to be escaped. And still she hurried on; the same
+light in her eyes.
+
+All at once she stopped.
+
+"Now, turn her back!" exclaimed the old man, tearing his white hair. "My
+child! Meg! Turn her back! Great Father, turn her back!"
+
+In her own scanty shawl, she wrapped the baby warm. With her fevered
+hands, she smoothed its limbs, composed its face, arranged its mean
+attire. In her wasted arms she folded it, as though she never would
+resign it more. And with her dry lips, kissed it in a final pang, and
+last long agony of Love.
+
+Putting its tiny hand up to her neck, and holding it there, within her
+dress, next to her distracted heart, she set its sleeping face against
+her: closely, steadily against her: and sped onward to the river.
+
+To the rolling River, swift and dim, where Winter Night sat brooding
+like the last dark thoughts of many who had sought a refuge there before
+her. Where scattered lights upon the banks gleamed sullen, red and dull,
+as torches that were burning there to show the way to Death. Where no
+abode of living people cast its shadow, on the deep, impenetrable,
+melancholy shade.
+
+To the River! To that portal of Eternity, her desperate footsteps tended
+with the swiftness of its rapid waters running to the sea. He tried to
+touch her as she passed him, going down to its dark level; but, the wild
+distempered form, the fierce and terrible love, the desperation that had
+left all human check or hold behind, swept by him like the wind.
+
+He followed her. She paused a moment on the brink, before the dreadful
+plunge. He fell down on his knees, and in a shriek addressed the figures
+in the Bells now hovering above them.
+
+"Have mercy on her!" he exclaimed, "as one in whom this dreadful crime
+has sprung from Love perverted; from the strongest, deepest Love we
+fallen creatures know! Think what her misery must have been, when such
+seed bears such fruit. Heaven meant her to be good. There is no loving
+mother on the earth who might not come to this, if such a life had gone
+before. Oh, have mercy on my child, who, even at this pass, means mercy
+to her own, and dies herself, and perils her immortal soul, to save
+it!"
+
+She was in his arms. He held her now. His strength was like a giant's.
+
+He might have said more; but the Bells, the old familiar Bells, his own
+dear, constant, steady friends, the Chimes, began to ring the joy-peals
+for a New Year; so lustily, so merrily, so happily, so gayly, that he
+leapt upon his feet, and broke the spell that bound him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"And whatever you do, father," said Meg, "don't eat tripe again without
+asking some doctor whether it's likely to agree with you; for how you
+_have_ been going on, Good gracious!"
+
+She was working with her needle at the little table by the fire,
+dressing her simple gown with ribbons for her wedding. So quietly happy,
+so blooming and youthful, so full of beautiful promise, that he uttered
+a great cry as if it were an Angel in his house; then flew to clasp her
+in his arms.
+
+But he caught his feet in the newspaper, which had fallen on the hearth,
+and somebody came rushing in between them.
+
+"No!" cried the voice of this same somebody; a generous and jolly voice
+it was. "Not even you. Not even you. The first kiss of Meg in the New
+Year is mine. Mine! I have been waiting outside the house this hour to
+hear the Bells and claim it. Meg, my precious prize, a happy year! A
+life of happy years, my darling wife!"
+
+And Richard smothered her with kisses.
+
+You never in all your life saw anything like Trotty after this. I don't
+care where you have lived or what you have seen, you never in all your
+life saw anything at all approaching him! He sat down in his chair and
+beat his knees and cried; he sat down in his chair and beat his knees
+and laughed; he sat down in his chair and beat his knees and laughed and
+cried together; he got out of his chair and hugged Meg; he got out of
+his chair and hugged Richard; he got out of his chair and hugged them
+both at once; he kept running up to Meg and squeezing her fresh face
+between his hands and kissing it, going from her backward not to lose
+sight of it, and running up again like a figure in a magic lantern; and
+whatever he did, he was constantly sitting himself down in this chair,
+and never stopping in it for one single moment, being--that's the
+truth--beside himself with joy.
+
+"And to-morrow's your wedding-day, my pet!" cried Trotty. "Your real,
+happy wedding-day!"
+
+"To-day!" cried Richard, shaking hands with him. "To-day. The Chimes are
+ringing in the New Year. Hear them!"
+
+They WERE ringing! Bless their sturdy hearts, they WERE ringing! Great
+Bells as they were; melodious, deep-mouthed, noble Bells; cast in no
+common metal; made by no common founder; when had they ever chimed like
+that before?
+
+"But to-day, my pet," said Trotty. "You and Richard had some words
+to-day."
+
+"Because he's such a bad fellow, father," said Meg. "An't you, Richard?
+Such a headstrong, violent man! He'd have made no more of speaking his
+mind to that great Alderman, and putting _him_ down I don't know where,
+than he would of--"
+
+"--Kissing Meg," suggested Richard. Doing it, too.
+
+"No. Not a bit more," said Meg. "But I wouldn't let him, father. Where
+would have been the use?"
+
+"Richard, my boy!" cried Trotty. "You was turned up Trumps originally,
+and Trumps you must be until you die! But you were crying by the fire
+to-night, my pet, when I came home. Why did you cry by the fire?"
+
+"I was thinking of the years we've passed together, father. Only that.
+And thinking you might miss me, and be lonely."
+
+Trotty was backing off to that extraordinary chair again, when the
+child, who had been awakened by the noise, came running in, half
+dressed.
+
+"Why, here she is!" cried Trotty catching her up. "Here's little Lilian!
+Ha, ha, ha! Here we are and here we go! O, here we are and here we go
+again! And here we are and here we go! And Uncle Will, too!" Stopping in
+his trot to greet him heartily. "O, Uncle Will, the vision that I've had
+to-night, through lodging you! O, Uncle Will, the obligations that
+you've laid me under by your coming, my good friend!"
+
+Before Will Fern could make the least reply, a band of music burst into
+the room, attended by a flock of neighbors, screaming: "A Happy New
+Year, Meg!" "A Happy Wedding!" "Many of 'em!" and other fragmentary good
+wishes of that sort. The Drum (who was a private friend of Trotty's)
+then stepped forward and said:
+
+"Trotty Veck, my boy! It's got about that your daughter is going to be
+married to-morrow. There an't a soul that knows you that don't wish you
+well, or that knows her and don't wish her well. Or that knows you both
+and don't wish you both all the happiness the New Year can bring. And
+here we are, to play it in accordingly."
+
+"What a happiness it is, I'm sure," said Trotty, "to be so esteemed. How
+kind and neighborly you are! It's all along of my dear daughter. She
+deserves it."
+
+At this moment a combination of prodigious sounds was heard outside, and
+a good-humored, comely woman of some fifty years of age, or thereabouts,
+came running in, closely followed by the marrow-bones and cleavers and
+the bells--not _the_ Bells, but a portable collection on a frame.
+
+Trotty said: "It's Mrs. Chickenstalker!" And sat down and beat his knees
+again.
+
+"Married, and not tell me, Meg!" cried the good woman. "Never! I
+couldn't rest on the last night of the Old Year without coming to wish
+you joy. I couldn't have done it, Meg. Not if I had been bed-ridden. So
+here I am."
+
+"Mrs. Tugby," said Trotty, who had been going round and round her in an
+ecstasy--"I _should_ say Chickenstalker--bless your heart and soul! A
+happy New Year, and many of 'em! Mrs. Tugby," said Trotty, when he had
+saluted her--"I _should_ say Chickenstalker--this is William Fern and
+Lilian."
+
+The worthy dame, to his surprise, turned very pale and very red.
+
+"Not Lilian Fern, whose mother died in Dorsetshire?" said she.
+
+Her uncle answered "Yes," and meeting hastily they exchanged some
+hurried words together, of which the upshot was that Mrs. Chickenstalker
+shook him by both hands, saluted Trotty on his cheek again of her own
+free will, and took the child to her capacious breast.
+
+"Will Fern," said Trotty, pulling on his right-hand muffler. "Not the
+friend that you was hoping to find?"
+
+"Ay," returned Will, putting a hand on each of Trotty's shoulders. "And
+like to prove a'most as good a friend, if that can be, as one I found."
+
+"O!" said Trotty. "Please to play up there. Will you have the goodness?"
+
+Had Trotty dreamed? Or are his joys and sorrows, and the actors in them,
+but a dream; himself a dream; the teller of this tale a dreamer, waking
+but now? If it be so, O listener, dear to him in all his visions, try to
+bear in mind the stern realities from which these shadows come; and in
+your sphere--none is too wide and none too limited for such an
+end--endeavor to correct, improve and soften them. So may the New Year
+be a happy one to you, happy to many more whose happiness depends on
+you! So may each year be happier than the last, and not the meanest of
+our brethren or sisterhood debarred their rightful share in what our
+great Creator formed them to enjoy.
+
+
+
+
+BILLY'S SANTA CLAUS EXPERIENCE.
+
+BY CORNELIA REDMOND.
+
+
+Of course I don't believe in any such person as Santa Claus, but Tommy
+does. Tommy is my little brother, aged six. Last Christmas I thought I'd
+make some fun for the young one by playing Santa Claus, but as always
+happens when I try to amuse anybody I jes' got myself into trouble.
+
+I went to bed pretty early on Christmas Eve so as to give my parents a
+chance to get the presents out of the closet in mamma's room, where they
+had been locked up since they were bought. I kep' my clo'es on except my
+shoes, and put my nightgown over them so as I'd look white if any of
+them came near me. Then I waited, pinchin' myself to keep awake. After a
+while papa came into the room with a lot of things that he dumped on
+Tommy's bed. Then mamma came in and put some things on mine and in our
+two stockings that were hung up by the chimney. Then they both went out
+very quiet, and soon all the lights went out too.
+
+I kep' on pinchin' myself and waitin' for a time, and then when I was
+sure that everybody was asleep I got up. The first thing I went into was
+my sister's room and got her white fur rug that mamma gave her on her
+birthday, and her sealskin cape that was hanging on the closet door. I
+tied the cape on my head with shoestrings and it made a good big cap.
+Then I put the fur rug around me and pinned it with big safety pins what
+I found on Tommy's garters. Then I got mamma's new scrap-basket, trimmed
+with roses, what Mrs. Simmons 'broidered for the church fair and piled
+all of the kid's toys into it. I fastened it to my back with papa's
+suspenders, and then I started for the roof.
+
+I hurt my fingers some opening the scuttle, but kept right on. It was
+snowing hard and I stood and let myself get pretty well covered with
+flakes. Then I crawled over to the chimney that went down into our room
+and climbed up on top of it. I had brought my bicycle lantern with me
+and I lighted it so as Tommy could see me when I came down the chimney
+into the room.
+
+There did not seem to be any places inside the chimney where I could
+hold on by my feet, but the ceiling in our room was not very high and I
+had often jumped most as far, so I jes' let her go, and I suppose I went
+down. Anyway, I did not know about anything for a long time. Then I woke
+up all in the dark with my head feeling queer, and when I tried to turn
+over in bed I found I wasn't in bed at all, and then my arms and legs
+began to hurt terrible, mostly one arm that was doubled up. I tried to
+get up but I couldn't because my bones hurt so and I was terrible cold
+and there was nothing to stand on. I was jes' stuck. Then I began to
+cry, and pretty soon I heard mamma's voice saying to papa:
+
+"Those must be sparrers that are making that noise in the chimney. Jes'
+touch a match to the wood in the boys' fireplace."
+
+I heard papa strike a light and then the wood began to crackle. Then, by
+jinks! it began to get hot and smoky and I screamed:
+
+"Help! Murder! Put out that fire lest you want to burn me up!"
+
+Then I heard papa stamping on the wood and mamma calling out:
+
+"Where's Billy? Where is my chile?"
+
+Next Tommy woke up and began to cry and everything was terrible,
+specially the pains all over me. Then papa called out very stern:
+
+"William, if you are in that chimney come down at once!" and I
+answered, cryin', that I would if I could, but I was stuck and couldn't.
+
+Then I heard papa gettin' dressed, and pretty soon he and John from the
+stable went up on the roof and let down ropes what I put around me and
+they hauled me up.
+
+It was jes' daylight and I was all black and sooty and scratched and my
+arm was broken.
+
+Everybody scolded me excep' mamma. I had spoiled my sister's white rug
+and broken all of Tommy's toys, and the snow what went in through the
+scuttle melted and marked the parlor ceiling, besides I guess it cost
+papa a good deal to get my arm mended. Nobody would believe that I had
+jes' meant to make some fun for Tommy, and my arm and all my bruised
+places hurt me awful for a long time. If I live to be a million I am
+never goin' to play Santa Claus ag'in.
+
+
+
+
+CHRISTMAS IN POGANUC.
+
+BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
+
+
+THE FIRST CHRISTMAS.
+
+Can any of us look back to the earlier days of our mortal pilgrimage and
+remember the helpless sense of desolation and loneliness caused by being
+forced to go off to the stillness and darkness of a solitary bed far
+from all the beloved voices and employments and sights of life? Can we
+remember lying, hearing distant voices, and laughs of more fortunate,
+older people and the opening and shutting of distant doors, that told of
+scenes of animation and interest from which we were excluded? How
+doleful sounded the tick of the clock, and how dismal was the darkness
+as sunshine faded from the window, leaving only a square of dusky
+dimness in place of daylight!
+
+All who remember these will sympathize with Dolly, who was hustled off
+to bed by Nabby the minute supper was over, that she might have the
+decks clear for action.
+
+"Now be a good girl; shut your eyes, and say your prayers, and go right
+to sleep," had been Nabby's parting injunction as she went out, closing
+the door after her.
+
+The little head sunk into the pillow, and Dolly recited her usual
+liturgy of "Our Father who art in heaven," and "I pray God to bless my
+dear father and mother and all my dear friends and relations, and make
+me a good girl," and ending with
+
+
+     "'Now I lay me down to sleep.'"
+
+
+But sleep she could not. The wide, bright, wistful blue eyes lay
+shining like two stars toward the fading light in the window, and the
+little ears were strained to catch every sound. She heard the shouts of
+Tom and Bill and the loud barking of Spring as they swept out of the
+door; and the sound went to her heart. Spring--her faithful attendant,
+the most loving and sympathetic of dogs, her friend and confidential
+counselor in many a solitary ramble--Spring had gone with the boys to
+see the sight, and left her alone. She began to pity herself and cry
+softly on her pillow. For a while she could hear Nabby's energetic
+movements below, washing up dishes, putting back chairs, and giving
+energetic thumps and bangs here and there, as her way was of producing
+order. But by and by that was all over, and she heard the loud shutting
+of the kitchen door and Nabby's voice chatting with her attendant as she
+went off to the scene of gaiety.
+
+In those simple, innocent days in New England villages nobody thought of
+locking house doors at night. There was in those times no idea either of
+tramps or burglars, and many a night in summer had Dolly lain awake and
+heard the voices of tree-toads and whip-poor-wills mingling with the
+whisper of leaves and the swaying of elm boughs, while the great outside
+door of the house lay broad open in the moonlight. But then this was
+when everybody was in the house and asleep, when the door of her
+parents' room stood open on the front hall, and she knew she could run
+to the paternal bed in a minute for protection. Now, however, she knew
+the house was empty. Everybody had gone out of it; and there is
+something fearful to a little lonely body in the possibilities of a
+great, empty house. She got up and opened her door, and the "tick-tock"
+of the old kitchen clock for a moment seemed like company; but pretty
+soon its ticking began to strike louder and louder with a nervous
+insistency on her ear, till the nerves quivered and vibrated, and she
+couldn't go to sleep. She lay and listened to all the noises outside. It
+was a still, clear, freezing night, when the least sound clinked with a
+metallic resonance. She heard the runners of sleighs squeaking and
+crunching over the frozen road, and the lively jingle of bells. They
+would come nearer, nearer, pass by the house, and go off in the
+distance. Those were the happy folks going to see the gold star and the
+Christmas greens in the church. The gold star, the Christmas greens, had
+all the more attraction from their vagueness. Dolly was a fanciful
+little creature, and the clear air and romantic scenery of a mountain
+town had fed her imagination. Stories she had never read, except in the
+Bible and the Pilgrim's Progress, but her very soul had vibrated with
+the descriptions of the celestial city--something vague, bright,
+glorious, lying beyond some dark river; and Nabby's rude account of what
+was going on in the church suggested those images.
+
+Finally a bright thought popped into her little head. She could see the
+church from the front windows of the house; she would go there and look.
+In haste she sprang out of bed and dressed herself. It was sharp and
+freezing in the fireless chamber, but Dolly's blood had a racing,
+healthy tingle to it; she didn't mind cold. She wrapped her cloak around
+her and tied on her hood and ran to the front windows. There it was, to
+be sure--the little church with its sharp-pointed windows, every pane of
+which was sending streams of light across the glittering snow. There was
+a crowd around the door, and men and boys looking in at the windows.
+Dolly's soul was fired. But the elm boughs a little obstructed her
+vision; she thought she would go down and look at it from the yard. So
+down-stairs she ran, but as she opened the door the sound of the chant
+rolled out into the darkness with sweet and solemn cadence:
+
+"_Glory be to God on high; and on earth peace, good will toward men._"
+
+Dolly's soul was all aglow--her nerves tingled and vibrated; she thought
+of the bells ringing in the celestial city; she could no longer contain
+herself, but faster and faster the little hooded form scudded across the
+snowy plain and pushed in among the dark cluster of spectators at the
+door. All made way for the child, and in a moment, whether in the body
+or out she could not tell, Dolly was sitting in a little nook under a
+bower of spruce, gazing at the star and listening to the voices:
+
+"_We praise Thee, we bless Thee, we worship Thee, we glorify Thee, we
+give thanks to Thee for Thy great glory, O Lord God, Heavenly King, God,
+the Father Almighty._"
+
+Her heart throbbed and beat; she trembled with a strange happiness and
+sat as one entranced till the music was over. Then came reading, the
+rustle and murmur of people kneeling, and then they all rose and there
+was the solemn buzz of voices repeating the Creed with a curious lulling
+sound to her ear. There was old Mr. Danforth with his spectacles on,
+reading with a pompous tone, as if to witness a good confession for the
+church; and there were Squire Lewis and old Ma'am Lewis; and there was
+one place where they all bowed their heads and all the ladies made
+courtesies--all of which entertained her mightily.
+
+When the sermon began Dolly got fast asleep, and slept as quietly as a
+pet lamb in a meadow, lying in a little warm roll back under the shadows
+of the spruces. She was so tired and so sound asleep that she did not
+wake when the service ended, lying serenely curled up, and having
+perhaps pleasant dreams. She might have had the fortunes of little
+Goody Two-Shoes, whose history was detailed in one of the few children's
+books then printed, had not two friends united to find her out.
+
+Spring, who had got into the slip with the boys, and been an equally
+attentive and edified listener, after service began a tour of
+investigation, dog-fashion, with his nose; for how could a minister's
+dog form a suitable judgment of any new procedure if he was repressed
+from the use of his own leading faculty? So, Spring went round the
+church conscientiously, smelling at pew doors, smelling of the greens,
+smelling at the heels of gentlemen and ladies, till he came near the
+door of the church, when he suddenly smelt something which called for
+immediate attention, and he made a side dart into the thicket where
+Dolly was sleeping, and began licking her face and hands and pulling her
+dress, giving short barks occasionally, as if to say, "Come, Dolly, wake
+up!" At the same instant Hiel, who had seen her from the gallery, came
+down just as the little one was sitting up with a dazed, bewildered air.
+
+"Why, Dolly, how came you out o' bed this time o' night? Don't ye know
+the nine o'clock bell's jest rung?"
+
+Dolly knew Hiel well enough--what child in the village did not? She
+reached up her little hands, saying in an apologetic fashion:
+
+"They were all gone away, and I was so lonesome!"
+
+Hiel took her up in his long arms and carried her home, and was just
+entering the house door with her as the sleigh drove up with Parson
+Cushing and his wife.
+
+"Wal, Parson, your folks has all ben to the 'lumination--Nabby and Bill
+and Tom and Dolly here; found her all rolled up in a heap like a rabbit
+under the cedars."
+
+"Why, Dolly Cushing!" exclaimed her mother. "What upon earth got you
+out of bed this time of night? You'll catch your death o' cold."
+
+"I was all alone," said Dolly, with a piteous bleat.
+
+"Oh, there, there, wife; don't say a word," put in the parson. "Get her
+off to bed. Never mind, Dolly, don't you cry;" for Parson Cushing was a
+soft-hearted gentleman and couldn't bear the sight of Dolly's quivering
+under lip. So Dolly told her little story, how she had been promised a
+sugar dog by Nabby if she'd be a good girl and go to sleep, and how she
+couldn't go to sleep, and how she just went down to look from the yard,
+and how the music drew her right over.
+
+"There, there," said Parson Cushing, "go to bed, Dolly; and if Nabby
+don't give you a sugar dog, I will. This Christmas dressing is all
+nonsense," he added, "but the child's not to blame--it was natural."
+
+"After all," he said to his wife the last thing after they were settled
+for the night, "our little Dolly is an unusual child. There were not
+many little girls that would have dared to do that. I shall preach a
+sermon right away that will set all this Christmas matter straight,"
+said the Doctor. "There is not a shadow of evidence that the first
+Christians kept Christmas. It wasn't kept for the first three centuries,
+nor was Christ born anywhere near the 25th of December."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next morning found little Dolly's blue eyes wide open with all the
+wondering eagerness of a new idea.
+
+Dolly had her wise thoughts about Christmas. She had been terribly
+frightened at first, when she was brought home from the church; but when
+her papa kissed her and promised her a sugar dog she was quite sure
+that, whatever the unexplained mystery might be, he did not think the
+lovely scene of the night before a wicked one. And when Mrs. Cushing
+came and covered the little girl up warmly in bed, she only said to her,
+"Dolly, you must never get out of bed again at night after you are put
+there; you might have caught a dreadful cold and been sick and died, and
+then we should have lost our little Dolly." So Dolly promised quite
+readily to be good and lie still ever after, no matter what attractions
+might be on foot in the community.
+
+Much was gained, however, and it was all clear gain; and forthwith the
+little fanciful head proceeded to make the most of it, thinking over
+every feature of the wonder. The child had a vibrating, musical
+organization, and the sway and rush of the chanting still sounded in her
+ears and reminded her of that wonderful story in the "Pilgrim's
+Progress", where the gate of the celestial city swung open, and there
+were voices that sung, "Blessing and honor and glory and power be unto
+Him who sitteth on the throne." And then that wonderful star, that shone
+just as if it were a real star--how could it be! For Miss Ida Lewis,
+being a young lady of native artistic genius, had cut a little hole in
+the centre of her gilt paper star, behind which was placed a candle, so
+that it gave real light, in a way most astonishing to untaught eyes. In
+Dolly's simple view it verged on the supernatural--perhaps it was _the_
+very real star read about in the Gospel story. Why not? Dolly was at the
+happy age when anything bright and heavenly seemed credible, and had the
+child-faith to which all things were possible.
+
+"I wish, my dear," said Mrs. Cushing, after they were retired to their
+room for the night, "that to-morrow morning you would read the account
+of the birth of Christ in St. Matthew, and give the children some advice
+upon the proper way of keeping Christmas."
+
+"Well, but you know we don't _keep_ Christmas; nobody knows anything
+about Christmas," said the Doctor.
+
+"You know what I mean, my dear," replied his wife. "You know that my
+mother and her family _do_ keep Christmas. I always heard of it when I
+was a child; and even now, though I have been out of the way of it so
+long, I cannot help a sort of kindly feeling toward these ways. I am not
+surprised at all that the children got drawn over last night to the
+service. I think it's the most natural thing in the world, and I know by
+experience just how attractive such things are. I shouldn't wonder if
+this other church should draw very seriously on your congregation; but I
+don't want it to begin by taking away our own children. Dolly is an
+inquisitive child; a child that thinks a good deal, and she'll be asking
+all sorts of questions about the why and wherefore of what she saw last
+night."
+
+"Oh, yes, Dolly is a bright one. Dolly's an uncommon child," said the
+Doctor, who had a pardonable pride in his children--they being, in fact,
+the only worldly treasure that he was at all rich in.
+
+He rose up early on the following Sabbath and proceeded to buy a sugar
+dog at the store of Lucius Jenks, and when Dolly came down to breakfast
+he called her to him and presented it, saying as he kissed her:
+
+"Papa gives you this, not because it is Christmas, but because he loves
+his little Dolly."
+
+"But _isn't_ it Christmas?" asked Dolly with a puzzled air.
+
+"No, child; nobody knows when Christ was born, and there is nothing in
+the Bible to tell us _when_ to keep Christmas."
+
+And then in family worship the Doctor read the account of the birth of
+Christ and of the shepherds abiding in the fields who came at the call
+of the angels, and they sung the old hymn:
+
+
+     "While shepherds watched their flocks by night."
+
+
+"Now, children," he said when all was over, "you must be good children
+and go to school. If we are going to keep any day on account of the
+birth of Christ, the best way to keep it is by doing all our duties on
+that day better than any other. Your duty is to be good children, go to
+school and mind your lessons."
+
+Tom and Bill were quite ready to fall in with their father's view of the
+matter. As for Dolly, she put her little tongue advisedly to the back of
+her sugar dog and found that he was very sweet indeed--a most tempting
+little animal. She even went so far as to nibble off a bit of the green
+ground he stood on--yet resolved heroically not to eat him at once, but
+to make him last as long as possible. She wrapped him tenderly in cotton
+and took him to the school with her, and when her confidential friend,
+Bessie Lewis, displayed her Christmas gifts, Dolly had something on her
+side to show, though she shook her curly head and informed Bessie in
+strict confidence that there wasn't any such thing as Christmas, her
+papa had told her so--a heresy which Bessie forthwith reported when she
+went home at noon.
+
+"Poor little child--and did she say so?" asked gentle old Grandmamma
+Lewis. "Well, dear, you mustn't blame her--she don't know any better.
+You bring the little one in here to-night and I'll give her a Christmas
+cooky. I'm sorry for such children."
+
+And so, after school, Dolly went in to see dear old Madam Lewis, who sat
+in her rocking-chair in the front parlor, where the fire was snapping
+behind great tall brass andirons and all the pictures were overshadowed
+with boughs of spruce and pine. Dolly gazed about her with awe and
+wonder. Over one of the pictures was suspended a cross of green with
+flowers of white everlasting.
+
+"What is _that_ for?" asked Dolly, pointing solemnly with her little
+forefinger, and speaking under her breath.
+
+"Dear child, that is the picture of my poor boy who died--ever so many
+years ago. That is my cross--we have all one--to carry."
+
+Dolly did not half understand these words, but she saw tears in the
+gentle old lady's eyes and was afraid to ask more.
+
+She accepted thankfully and with her nicest and best executed courtesy a
+Christmas cooky representing a good-sized fish, with fins all spread and
+pink sugar-plums for eyes, and went home marveling yet more about this
+mystery of Christmas.
+
+As she was crossing the green to go home the Poganuc stage drove in,
+with Hiel seated on high, whipping up his horses to make them execute
+that grand _entree_ which was the glory of his daily existence.
+
+Now that the stage was on runners, and slipped noiselessly over the
+smooth frozen plain, Hiel cracked his whip more energetically and
+shouted louder, first to one horse then to another, to make up for the
+loss of the rattling wheels; and he generally had the satisfaction of
+seeing all the women rushing distractedly to doors and windows, and
+imagined them saying, "There's Hiel; the stage is in!"
+
+"Hulloa, Dolly!" he called out, drawing up with a suddenness which threw
+the fore-horses back upon their haunches. "I've got a bundle for your
+folks. Want to ride? You may jest jump up here by me and I'll take you
+'round to your father's door;" and so Dolly reached up her little
+red-mittened hand, and Hiel drew her up beside him.
+
+"'Xpect ye want a bit of a ride, and I've got a bundle for Widder
+Badger, down on South Street, so I guess I'll go 'round that way to make
+it longer. I 'xpect this 'ere bundle is from some of your ma's folks in
+Boston--'Piscopals they be and keeps Christmas. Good-sized bundle 'tis;
+reckon it'll come handy in a good many ways."
+
+So, after finishing his detour, Hiel landed his little charge at the
+parsonage door.
+
+"Reckon I'll be over when I've put up my hosses," he said to Nabby when
+he handed down the bundle to her. "I hain't been to see you much lately,
+Nabby, and I know you've been a-pinin' after me, but fact is--"
+
+"Well, now, Hiel Jones, you jest shet up with your imperence," said
+Nabby, with flashing eyes; "you jest look out or you'll get suthin."
+
+"I 'xpect to get a kiss when I come 'round to-night," said Hiel,
+composedly. "Take care o' that air bundle, now; mebbe there's glass or
+crockery in't."
+
+"Hiel Jones," said Nabby, "don't give me none o' your saace, for I won't
+take it. Jim Sawin said last night you was the brassiest man he ever
+see. He said there was brass enough in your face to make a kettle of."
+
+"You tell him there's sap enough in his head to fill it, anyway," said
+Hiel. "Good bye, Nabby, I'll come 'round this evenin'," and he drove
+away at a rattling pace, while Nabby, with flushed cheeks and snapping
+eyes, soliloquized:
+
+"Well, I hope he will come! I'd jest like a chance to show him how
+little I care for him."
+
+Meanwhile the bundle was soon opened, and contained a store of
+treasures: a smart little red dress and a pair of red shoes for Dolly, a
+half dozen pocket-handkerchiefs for Dr. Cushing, and "Robinson Crusoe"
+and "Sanford and Merton," handsomely bound, for the boys, and a bonnet
+trimming for Mrs. Cushing. These were accompanied by a characteristic
+letter from Aunt Debby Kittery, opening as follows:
+
+
+     "DEAR SISTER:
+
+     "Mother worries because she thinks you won't get any Christmas
+     presents. However, this comes to give every one of you some of the
+     crumbs which fall from the church's table, and Mother says she
+     wishes you all a pious Christmas, which she thinks is better than a
+     merry one. If I didn't lay violent hands on her she would use all
+     our substance in riotous giving of Christmas presents to all the
+     beggars and chimney sweeps in Boston. She is in good health and
+     talks daily of wanting to see you and the children; and I hope
+     before long you will bring some of them, and come and make us a
+     visit.
+
+     "Your affectionate sister,
+
+     "DEBBY KITTERY."
+
+
+There was a scene of exultation and clamor in the parsonage as these
+presents were pulled out and discussed; and when all possible joy was
+procured from them in the sitting-room, the children rushed in a body
+into the kitchen and showed them to Nabby, calling on her to join their
+acclamations.
+
+On the whole, when Dolly had said her prayers that night and thought the
+matter over, she concluded that her Christmas Day had been quite a
+success.
+
+
+THE SECOND CHRISTMAS.
+
+Once more had Christmas come round in Poganuc; once more the Episcopal
+church was being dressed with ground-pine and spruce; but this year
+economy had begun to make its claims felt. An illumination might do very
+well to open a church, but there were many who said "to what purpose is
+this waste?" when the proposition was made to renew it yearly.
+Consequently it was resolved to hold the Christmas Eve service with only
+that necessary amount of light which would enable the worshipers to read
+the prayers.
+
+On this Christmas Eve Dolly went to bed at her usual hour with a
+resigned and quiet spirit. She felt herself a year older, and more than
+a year wiser, than when Christmas had first dawned upon her
+consciousness.
+
+Mis' Persis appeared on the ground by day-dawn. A great kettle was slung
+over the kitchen fire, in which cakes of tallow were speedily
+liquefying; a frame was placed quite across the kitchen to sustain
+candle-rods, with a train of boards underneath to catch the drippings,
+and Mis' Persis, with a brow like one of the Fates, announced: "Now we
+can't hev any young 'uns in this kitchen to-day;" and Dolly saw that
+there was no getting any attention in that quarter.
+
+Mis' Persis, in a gracious Saturday afternoon mood, sitting in her own
+tent-door dispensing hospitalities and cookies, was one thing; but Mis'
+Persis in her armor, with her loins girded and a hard day's work to be
+conquered, was quite another: she was terrible as Minerva with her
+helmet on.
+
+Dinner-baskets for all the children were hastily packed, and they were
+sent off to school with the injunction on no account to show their faces
+about the premises till night. The Doctor, warned of what was going on,
+retreated to his study at the top of the house, where, serenely above
+the lower cares of earth, he sailed off into President Edwards' treatise
+on the nature of true virtue, concerning which he was preparing a paper
+to read at the next association meeting.
+
+That candles were a necessity of life he was well convinced, and by
+faith he dimly accepted the fact that one day in the year the whole
+house was to be devoted and given up to this manufacture; and his part
+of the business, as he understood it, was, clearly, to keep himself out
+of the way till it was over.
+
+"There won't be much of a dinner at home, anyway," said Nabby to Dolly,
+as she packed her basket with an extra doughnut or two. "I've got to go
+to church to-day, 'cause I'm one of the singers, and your ma'll be busy
+waitin' on _her_; so we shall just have a pick-up dinner, and you be
+sure not to come home till night; by that time it'll be all over."
+
+Dolly trotted off to school well content with the prospect before her: a
+nooning, with leave to play with the girls at school, was not an
+unpleasant idea.
+
+But the first thing that saluted her on her arrival was that Bessie
+Lewis--her own dear, particular Bessie--was going to have a Christmas
+party at her house that afternoon, and was around distributing
+invitations right and left among the scholars with a generous freedom.
+
+"We are going to have nuts, and raisins, and cakes, and mottoes," said
+Bessie, with artless triumph. The news of this bill of fare spread like
+wildfire through the school.
+
+Never had a party been heard of which contemplated such a liberal
+entertainment, for the rising generation of Poganuc were by no means
+wearied with indulgence, and raisins and almonds stood for grandeur with
+them. But these _mottoes_, which consisted of bits of confectionery
+wrapped up in printed couplets of sentimental poetry, were an unheard-of
+refinement. Bessie assured them that her papa had sent clear to Boston
+for them, and whoever got one would have his or her fortune told by it.
+
+The school was a small, select one, comprising the children of all ages
+from the best families of Poganuc. Both boys and girls, and all with
+great impartiality, had been invited. Miss Titcome, the teacher, quite
+readily promised to dismiss at three o'clock that afternoon any scholar
+who should bring a permission from parents, and the children nothing
+doubted that such a permission was obtainable.
+
+Dolly alone saw a cloud in the horizon. She had been sent away with
+strict injunctions not to return till evening, and children in those
+days never presumed to make any exceptions in obeying an absolute
+command of their parents.
+
+"But, of course, you will go home at noon and ask your mother, and of
+course she'll let you; won't she, girls?" said Bessie.
+
+"Oh, certainly; of course she will," said all the older girls, "because
+you know a party is a thing that don't happen every day, and your mother
+would think it strange if you _didn't_ come and ask her." So, too,
+thought Miss Titcome, a most exemplary, precise and proper young lady,
+who always moved and spoke and thought as became a schoolmistress, so
+that, although she was in reality only twenty years old, Dolly
+considered her as a very advanced and ancient person--if anything, a
+little older than her father and mother.
+
+Even she was of opinion that Dolly might properly go home to lay a case
+of such importance before her mother; and so Dolly rushed home after the
+morning school was over, running with all her might, and increasing in
+mental excitement as she ran. Her bonnet blew off upon her shoulders,
+her curls flew behind her in the wind, and she most inconsiderately used
+up the little stock of breath that she would want to set her cause in
+order before her mother.
+
+Just here we must beg any mother and housekeeper to imagine herself in
+the very midst of the most delicate, perplexing and laborious of
+household tasks, when interruption is most irksome and perilous,
+suddenly called to discuss with a child some new and startling
+proposition to which at the moment she cannot even give a thought.
+
+Mrs. Cushing was sitting in the kitchen with Mis' Persis, by the side of
+a caldron of melted tallow, kept in a fluid state by the heat of a
+portable furnace on which it stood. A long train of half-dipped candles
+hung like so many stalactites from the frames on which the rods rested,
+and the two were patiently dipping set after set and replacing them
+again on the frame.
+
+"As sure as I'm alive! if there isn't Dolly Cushing comin' back--runnin'
+and tearin' like a wild cretur'," said Mis' Persis. "She'll be in here
+in a minute and knock everything down!"
+
+Mrs. Cushing looked, and with a quick movement stepped to the door.
+
+"Dolly! what are you here for? Didn't I tell you not to come home this
+noon?"
+
+"Oh, mamma, there's going to be a party at General Lewis'--Bessie's
+party--and the girls are all going; mayn't I go?"
+
+"No, you can't; it's impossible," said her mother. "Your best dress
+isn't ready to wear, and there's nobody can spend time to get you ready.
+Go right back to school."
+
+"But, mamma--"
+
+"Go!" said her mother, in the decisive tone that mothers used in the old
+days, when arguing with children was not a possibility.
+
+"What's all this about?" asked the Doctor, looking out of the door.
+
+"Why," said Mrs. Cushing, "there's going to be a party at General
+Lewis', and Dolly is wild to go. It's just impossible for me to attend
+to her now."
+
+"Oh, I don't want her intimate at Lewis's," said the Doctor, and
+immediately he came out behind his wife.
+
+"There; run away to school, Dolly," he said. "Don't trouble your mother;
+you don't want to go to parties; why, it's foolish to think of it. Run
+away now, and don't think any more about it--there's a good girl!"
+
+Dolly turned and went back to school, the tears freezing on her cheek as
+she went. As for not thinking any more about it--that was impossible.
+
+When three o'clock came, scholar after scholar rose and departed, until
+at last Dolly was the only one remaining in the school-room.
+
+When Dolly came home that night the coast was clear, and the candles
+were finished and put away to harden in a freezing cold room; the
+kitchen was once more restored, and Nabby bustled about getting supper
+as if nothing had happened.
+
+"I really feel sorry about poor little Dolly," said Mrs. Cushing to her
+husband.
+
+"Do you think she cared much?" asked the Doctor, looking as if a new
+possibility had struck his mind.
+
+"Yes, indeed, poor child, she went away crying; but what could I do
+about it? I couldn't stop to dress her."
+
+"Wife, we must take her somewhere to make up for it," said the Doctor.
+
+Just then the stage stopped at the door and a bundle from Boston was
+handed in. Dolly's tears were soon wiped and dried, and her mourning was
+turned into joy when a large jointed London doll emerged from the
+bundle, the Christmas gift of her grandmother in Boston.
+
+Dolly's former darling was old and shabby, but this was of twice the
+size, and with cheeks exhibiting a state of the most florid health.
+
+Besides this there was, as usual in grandmamma's Christmas bundle,
+something for every member of the family; and so the evening went on
+festive wings.
+
+Poor little Dolly! only that afternoon she had watered with her tears,
+at school, the dismal long straight seam, which stretched on before her
+as life sometimes does to us, bare, disagreeable and cheerless. She had
+come home crying, little dreaming of the joy just approaching; but
+before bed-time no cricket in the hearth was cheerier or more noisy. She
+took the new dolly to bed with her, and could hardly sleep, for the
+excitement of her company.
+
+Meanwhile, Hiel had brought the Doctor a message to the following
+effect:
+
+"I was drivin' by Tim Hawkins', and Mis' Hawkins she comes out and says
+they're goin' to hev an apple-cuttin' there to-morrow night, and she
+would like to hev you and Mis' Cushin' and all your folks come--Nabby
+and all."
+
+The Doctor and his lady of course assented.
+
+"Wal, then, Doctor--ef it's all one to you," continued Hiel, "I'd like
+to take ye over in my new double sleigh. I've jest got two new strings
+o' bells up from Boston, and I think we'll sort o' make the snow fly.
+S'pose there'd be no objections to takin' my mother 'long with ye?"
+
+"Oh, Hiel, we shall be delighted to go in company with your mother, and
+we're ever so much obliged to you," said Mrs. Cushing.
+
+"Wal, I'll be round by six o'clock," said Hiel.
+
+"Then, wife," said the Doctor, "we'll take Dolly, and make up for the
+loss of her party."
+
+Punctually at six, Hiel's two horses, with all their bells jingling,
+stood at the door of the parsonage, whence Tom and Bill, who had been
+waiting with caps and mittens on for the last half hour, burst forth
+with irrepressible shouts of welcome.
+
+"Take care now, boys; don't haul them buffalo skins out on t' the snow,"
+said Hiel. "Don't get things in a muss gen'ally; wait for your ma and
+the Doctor. Got to stow the grown folks in fust; boys kin hang on
+anywhere."
+
+And so first came Mrs. Cushing and the Doctor, and were installed on the
+back seat, with Dolly in between. Then hot bricks were handed in to keep
+feet warm, and the buffalo robe was tucked down securely. Then Nabby
+took her seat by Hiel in front, and the sleigh drove round for old Mrs.
+Jones. The Doctor insisted on giving up his place to her and tucking her
+warmly under the buffalo robe, while he took the middle seat and acted
+as moderator between the boys, who were in a wild state of hilarity.
+Spring, with explosive barks, raced first on this and then on that side
+of the sleigh as it flew swiftly over the smooth frozen road.
+
+The stars blinked white and clear out of a deep blue sky, and the path
+wound up-hill among cedars and junipers and clumps of mountain laurel,
+on whose broad green leaves the tufts of snow lay like clusters of white
+roses. The keen clear air was full of stimulus and vigor; and so Hiel's
+proposition to take the longest way met with enthusiastic welcome from
+all the party. Next to being a bird, and having wings, is the sensation
+of being borne over the snow by a pair of spirited horses who enjoy the
+race, apparently, as much as those they draw. Though Hiel contrived to
+make the ride about eight miles, it yet seemed but a short time before
+the party drove up to the great red farmhouse, whose lighted windows
+sent streams of radiant welcome far out into the night.
+
+Our little Dolly had had an evening of unmixed bliss. Everybody had
+petted her, and talked to her, and been delighted with her sayings and
+doings, and she was carrying home a paper parcel of sweet things which
+good Mrs. Hawkins had forced into her hand at parting. She had spent a
+really happy Christmas!
+
+
+
+
+THE CHRISTMAS PRINCESS.
+
+BY MRS. MOLESWORTH.
+
+
+In the olden times there lived a king who was worthy of the name. He
+loved his people, and his people loved him in return. His kingdom must
+have been large; at least it appears to be beyond doubt that it extended
+a good way in different directions, for it was called the Kingdom of the
+Four Orts, which, of course, as everybody knows, means that he had
+possessions north, south, east, and west.
+
+It was not so large, however, but that he was able to manage it well for
+himself--that is to say, with certain help which I will tell you of. A
+year never passed without his visiting every part of his dominions and
+inquiring for himself into the affairs of his subjects. Perhaps--who can
+say?--the world was not so big in those days; doubtless, however that
+may have been, there were not so many folk living on it.
+
+Many things were different in those times: many things existed which
+nowadays would be thought strange and incredible. Human beings knew much
+more than they do now about the other dwellers on the earth. For
+instance, it was no uncommon case to find learned men who were able to
+converse with animals quite as well as with each other. Fairies, of
+course, were often visible to mortal eyes, and it was considered quite
+natural that they should interfere for good--sometimes, perhaps, for
+evil; as to that I cannot say--in human affairs. And good King
+Brave-Heart was especially favored in this way. For the help which, as I
+said, was his in governing his people was that of four very wise
+counselors indeed--the four fairies of the North and the South, the East
+and the West.
+
+These sisters were very beautiful as well as very wise. Though older
+than the world itself, they always looked young. They were very much
+attached to each other, though they seldom met, and it must be confessed
+that sometimes on such occasions there were stormy scenes, though they
+made it up afterward. And the advice they gave was always to be relied
+upon.
+
+Now, King Brave-Heart was married. His wife was young and charming, and
+devotedly fond of him. But she was of a rather jealous and exacting
+disposition, and she had been much spoilt in her youth at her own home.
+She was sweet and loving, however, which makes up for a good deal, and
+always ready to take part in any scheme for the good of their people,
+provided it did not separate her from her husband.
+
+They had no children, though they had been married for some years; but
+at last there came the hope of an heir, and the Queen's delight was
+unbounded--nor was the King's joy less than hers.
+
+It was late autumn, or almost winter, when a great trouble befell the
+pretty Queen. The weather had grown suddenly cold, and a few snowflakes
+even had fallen before their time. But Queen Claribel only clapped her
+hands at the sight, for with the winter she hoped the baby would come,
+and she welcomed the signs of its approach on this account. The King,
+however, looked grave, and when the next morning the ground was all
+white, the trees and the bushes covered with silvery foliage, he looked
+graver still.
+
+"Something is amiss," he said. "The Fairy of the North must be on her
+way, and it is not yet time for her visit."
+
+And that very afternoon the snow fell again, more heavily than before,
+and the frost-wind whistled down the chimneys and burst open the doors
+and windows, and all the palace servants went hurrying and scurrying
+about to make great fires and hang up thick curtains and get everything
+in order for the cold season, which they had not expected so soon.
+
+"It will not last," said the King, quietly. "In a few days there will be
+milder weather again." But, nevertheless, he still looked grave.
+
+And early the next morning, as he was sitting with the Queen, who was
+beginning to feel a little frightened at the continuance of the storm,
+the double doors of her boudoir suddenly flew open, an icy blast filled
+the room, and a tall, white-shrouded figure stood before them.
+
+"I have come to fetch you, Brave-Heart," she said abruptly. "You are
+wanted, sorely wanted, in my part of the world. The people are starving:
+the season has been a poor one, and there has been bad faith. Some few
+powerful men have bought up the grain, which was already scarce, and
+refuse to let the poor folk have it. Nothing will save their lives or
+prevent sad suffering but your own immediate presence. Are you ready?
+You must have seen I was coming."
+
+She threw off her mantle as she spoke and sank on to a couch. Strong as
+she was, she seemed tired with the rate at which she had traveled, and
+the warm air of the room was oppressive to her. Her clear, beautiful
+features looked harassed; her gray eyes full of anxiety. For the moment
+she took no notice of the Queen.
+
+"Are you ready?" she repeated.
+
+"Yes, I am ready!" said Brave-Heart, as he rose to his feet.
+
+But the Queen threw herself upon him, with bitter crying and reproaches.
+Would he leave _her_, and at such a time, a prey to all kinds of
+terrible anxiety? Then she turned to the fairy and upbraided her in
+unmeasured language. But the spirit of the North glanced at her with
+calm pity.
+
+"Poor child!" she said, "I had almost forgotten you. The sights I have
+seen of late have been so terrible that they absorb me. Take courage,
+Claribel! Show yourself a queen. Think of the suffering mothers and
+their little ones whom your husband hastens to aid. All will be well
+with you, believe me. But you, too, must be brave and unselfish."
+
+It was no use. All she said but made the Queen more indignant. She would
+scarcely bid her husband farewell: she turned her back to the fairy with
+undignified petulance.
+
+"Foolish child," said the Northern spirit. "She will learn better some
+day."
+
+Then she gave all her attention to the matter she had come about,
+explaining to the King as they journeyed exactly the measures he must
+take and the difficulties to be overcome. But though the King had the
+greatest faith in her advice, and never doubted that it was his duty to
+obey, his heart was sore, as you can understand.
+
+Things turned out as he had said. The severe weather disappeared again
+as if by magic, and some weeks of unusually mild days followed. And when
+the winter did set in for good at last, it was with no great rigor. From
+time to time news reached the palace of the King's welfare. The tidings
+were cheering. His presence was effecting all that the fairy had hoped.
+
+So Queen Claribel ought to have been happy. But she was determined not
+to be. She did nothing but cry and abuse the fairy, declaring that she
+would never see her dear Brave-Heart again, and that if ever her baby
+came she was sure it would not live, or that there would be something
+dreadful the matter with it.
+
+"It is not fair," she kept saying, "it is a shame that I should suffer
+so."
+
+And even when on Christmas Eve a beautiful little girl was born, as
+pretty and lively and healthy as could be wished, and even though the
+next day brought the announcement of the King's immediate return,
+Claribel still nursed her resentment, though in the end it came to be
+directed entirely against the fairy. For when she saw Brave-Heart again,
+his tender affection and his delight in his little daughter made it
+impossible for her not to "forgive him," as she expressed it, though she
+could not take any interest in his accounts of his visit to the north
+and all he had been able to do there.
+
+A great feast was arranged in honor of the christening of the little
+Princess. All the grand people of the neighborhood were bidden to it,
+nor, you may be sure, did the good King forget the poorer folk. The four
+fairies were invited, for it was a matter of course that they should be
+the baby's godmothers. And though the Queen would gladly have excluded
+the Northern fairy, she dared not even hint at such a thing.
+
+But she resolved in her own mind to do all in her power to show that she
+was not the welcome fairy.
+
+On such occasions, when human beings were honored by the presence of
+fairy visitors, these distinguished guests were naturally given
+precedence of all others, otherwise very certainly they would never have
+come again. Even among fairies themselves there are ranks and
+formalities, and the Queen well knew that the first place was due to the
+Northern spirit. But she gave instructions that this rule should be
+departed from, and the Snow fairy, as she was sometimes called, found
+herself placed at the King's left hand, separated from him by her sister
+of the West, instead of next to him on the right, which seat, on the
+contrary, was occupied by the fairy of the South. She glanced round her
+calmly, but took no notice; and the King, imagining that by her own
+choice perhaps, she had chosen the unusual position, made no remark. And
+the feast progressed with the accustomed splendor and rejoicing.
+
+But at the end, when the moment arrived at which the four godmothers
+were expected to state their gifts to the baby, the Queen's spite could
+be no longer concealed.
+
+"I request," she exclaimed, "that for reasons well known to herself, to
+the King, and to myself, the Northern fairy's gift may be the last in
+order instead of the first."
+
+The King started and grew pale. The beautiful, soft-voiced fairy of the
+South, in her glowing golden draperies, would fain have held back, for
+her affection for her sterner sister was largely mingled with awe. But
+the Snow fairy signed to her imperiously to speak.
+
+"I bestow upon the Princess Sweet-Heart," she said, half tremblingly,
+"the gift of great beauty."
+
+"And I," said the spirit of the East, who came next, her red robes
+falling majestically around her, her dark hair lying smoothly in its
+thick masses on her broad, low forehead, "I give her great powers of
+intellect and intelligence."
+
+"And I," said the Western fairy, with a bright, breezy flutter of her
+sea-green garments, "health--perfect health and strength of body, as my
+gift to the pretty child."
+
+"And you," said the Queen bitterly, "you, cold-hearted fairy, who have
+done your best to kill me with misery, who came between my husband and
+me, making him neglect me as he never would have done but for your
+influence--what will _you_ give my child? Will you do something to make
+amends for the suffering you caused? I would rather my pretty baby were
+dead than that she lived to endure what I have of late endured."
+
+"Life and death are not mine to bestow or to withhold," said the
+Northern spirit calmly, as she drew her white garments more closely
+round her with a majestic air. "So your rash words, foolish woman,
+fortunately for you all, cannot touch the child. But something--much--I
+can do, and I will. She shall not know the suffering you dread for her
+with so cowardly a fear. She shall be what you choose to fancy _I_ am.
+And instead of the name you have given her, she shall be known for what
+she is--Princess Ice-Heart."
+
+She turned to go, but the King on one hand, her three sisters on the
+other, started forward to detain her.
+
+"Have pity!" exclaimed the former.
+
+"Sister, bethink you," said the latter; the Western fairy adding
+beseechingly, the tears springing in her blue eyes, which so quickly
+changed from bright to sad, "Say something to soften this hard fate.
+Undo it you cannot, I know. Or, at least, allow me to mitigate it if I
+can."
+
+The Snow fairy stopped; in truth, she was far from hard-hearted or
+remorseless, and already she was beginning to feel half sorry for what
+she had done.
+
+"What would you propose?" she said coldly.
+
+The fairy of the West threw back her auburn hair with a gesture of
+impatience.
+
+"I would I knew!" she said. "'Tis a hard knot you have tied, my sister.
+For that which would mend the evil wrought seems to me impossible while
+the evil exists--the cure and the cessation of the disease are one. How
+could the heart of ice be melted till tender feelings warm it, and how
+can tender feelings find entrance into a feelingless heart? Alas! alas!
+I can but predict what sounds like a mockery of your trouble," she went
+on, turning to the King, though indeed by this time she might have
+included the Queen in her sympathy, for Claribel stood, horrified at the
+result of her mad resentment, as pale as Brave-Heart himself. "Hearken!"
+and her expressive face, over which sunshine and showers were wont to
+chase each other as on an April day--for such, as all know, is the
+nature of the changeful, lovable spirit of the West--for once grew still
+and statue-like, while her blue eyes pierced far into the distance. "The
+day on which the Princess of the Icy Heart shall shed a tear, that heart
+shall melt--but then only."
+
+The Northern fairy murmured something under her breath, but what the
+words were no one heard, for it was not many that dared stand near to
+her, so terribly cold was her presence. The graceful spirit of the South
+fluttered her golden locks, and with a little sigh drew her radiant
+mantle round her, and kissed her hand in farewell, while the
+thoughtful-eyed, mysterious Eastern fairy linked her arm in that of her
+Western sister, and whispered that the solution of the problem should
+have her most earnest study. And the green-robed spirit tried to smile
+through her tears in farewell as she suffered herself to be led away.
+
+So the four strange guests departed; but their absence was not followed
+by the usual outburst of unconstrained festivity. On the contrary, a
+sense of sorrow and dread hung over all who remained, and before long
+everyone not immediately connected with the palace respectfully but
+silently withdrew, leaving the King and Queen to their mysterious
+sorrow.
+
+Claribel flew to the baby's cradle. The little Princess was sleeping
+soundly; she looked rosy and content--a picture of health. Her mother
+called eagerly to the King.
+
+"She seems just as usual," she exclaimed. "Perhaps--oh! perhaps after
+all I have done no harm."
+
+For, strange to say, her resentment against the Northern fairy had died
+away. She now felt nothing but shame and regret for her own wild temper.
+"Perhaps," she went on, "it was but to try me, to teach me a lesson,
+that the Snow fairy uttered those terrible words."
+
+Brave-Heart pitied his wife deeply, but he shook his head.
+
+"I dare not comfort you with any such hopes," he said, "my poor
+Claribel. The fairy is true--true as steel--if you could but have
+trusted her! Had you seen her, as I have done--full of tenderest pity
+for suffering--you could never have so maligned her."
+
+Claribel did not answer, but her tears dropped on the baby's face. The
+little Princess seemed annoyed by them. She put up her tiny hand and,
+with a fretful expression, brushed them off.
+
+And that very evening the certainty came.
+
+The head nurse sent for the Queen while she was undressing the child,
+and the mother hastened to the nursery. The attendants were standing
+round in the greatest anxiety, for, though the baby looked quite well
+otherwise, there was the strangest coldness over her left side, in the
+region of the heart. The skin looked perfectly colorless, and the soft
+cambric and still softer flannel of the finest which had covered the
+spot were stiff, as if they had been exposed to a winter night's frost.
+
+"Alas!" exclaimed Claribel, but that was all. It was no use sending for
+doctors--no use doing anything. Her own delicate hand when she laid it
+on the baby's heart was, as it were, blistered with cold. The next
+morning she found it covered with chilblains.
+
+But the baby did not mind. She flourished amazingly, heart or no heart.
+She was perfectly healthy, ate well, slept well, and soon gave signs of
+unusual intelligence. She was seldom put out, but when angry she
+expressed her feelings by loud roars and screams, though with never a
+tear! At first this did not seem strange, as no infant sheds tears
+during the earliest weeks of its life. But when she grew to six months
+old, then to a year, then to two and three, and was near her fourth
+birthday without ever crying, it became plain that the prediction was
+indeed to be fulfilled.
+
+And the name "Ice-Heart" clung to her. In spite of all her royal
+parents' commands to the contrary, "Princess Ice-Heart" she was called
+far and near. It seemed as if people could not help it. "Sweet-Heart we
+cannot name her, for sweet she is not," was murmured by all who came in
+contact with her.
+
+And it was true. Sweet she certainly was not. She was beautiful and
+healthy and intelligent, but she had no feeling. In some ways she gave
+little trouble. Her temper, though occasionally violent, was, as a rule,
+placid; she seemed contented in almost all circumstances. When her good
+old nurse died, she remarked coolly that she hoped her new attendant
+would dress her hair more becomingly; when King Brave-Heart started on
+some of his distant journeys she bade him good-bye with a smile,
+observing that if he never came home again it would be rather amusing,
+as she would then reign instead of him, and when she saw her mother
+break into sobs at her unnatural speech she stared at her in blank
+astonishment.
+
+And so things went on until Ice-Heart reached her seventeenth year. By
+this time she was, as regarded her outward appearance, as beautiful as
+the fondest of parents could desire; she was also exceedingly strong and
+healthy, and the powers of her mind were unusual. Her education had been
+carefully directed, and she had learnt with ease and interest. She could
+speak in several languages, her paintings were worthy of admiration, as
+they were skillful and well executed; she could play with brilliancy on
+various instruments. She had also been taught to sing, but her voice was
+metallic and unpleasing. But she could discuss scientific and
+philosophical subjects with the sages of her father's kingdom like one
+of themselves.
+
+And besides all this care bestowed upon her training, no stone had been
+left unturned in hopes of awakening in the unfortunate girl some
+affection or emotion. Every day the most soul-stirring poetry was read
+aloud to her by the greatest elocutionists, the most exciting and moving
+dramas were enacted before her; she was taken to visit the poor of the
+city in their pitiable homes; she was encouraged to see sad sights from
+which most soft-hearted maidens would instinctively flee. But all was in
+vain. She would express interest and ask intelligent questions with
+calm, unmoved features and dry eyes. Even music, from which much had
+been hoped, was powerless to move her to aught but admiration of the
+performers' skill or curiosity as to the construction of their
+instruments. There was but one peculiarity about her, which sometimes,
+though they could not have explained why, seemed to Ice-Heart's unhappy
+parents to hint at some shadowy hope. The sight of tears was evidently
+disagreeable to her. More certainly than anything else did the signs of
+weeping arouse one of her rare fits of anger--so much so that now and
+then, for days together, the poor Queen dared not come near her child,
+and tears were to her a frequent relief from her lifelong regrets.
+
+So beautiful and wealthy and accomplished a maiden was naturally not
+without suitors; and from this direction, too, at first, Queen Claribel
+trusted fondly that cure might come.
+
+"If she could but fall in love," she said, the first time the idea
+struck her.
+
+"My poor dear!" replied the King, "to see, you must have eyes; to love,
+you must have a heart."
+
+"But a heart she has," persisted the mother. "It is only, as it were,
+asleep--frozen, like the winter stream which bursts forth again into
+ever fresh life and movement with the awaking spring."
+
+So lovers were invited, and lovers came and were made welcome by the
+dozen. Lovers of every description--rich and poor, old and young,
+handsome and ugly--so long as they were of passable birth and fair
+character, King Brave-Heart was not too particular--in the forlorn hope
+that among them one fortunate wight might rouse some sentiment in the
+lovely statue he desired to win. But all in vain. Each prince, or duke,
+or simple knight, duly instructed in the sad case, did his best: one
+would try poetry, another his lute, a third sighs and appeals, a fourth,
+imagining he had made some way, would attempt the bold stroke of telling
+Ice-Heart that unless she could respond to his adoration he would drown
+himself. She only smiled, and begged him to allow her to witness the
+performance--she had never seen anyone drown. So, one by one, the troupe
+of aspirants--some in disgust, some in strange fear, some in
+annoyance--took their departure, preferring a more ordinary spouse than
+the bewitched though beautiful Princess.
+
+And she saw them go with calmness, though, in one or two cases she had
+replied to her parents that she had no objection to marry Prince
+So-and-so, or Count Such-another, if they desired it--it would be rather
+agreeable to have a husband if he gave her plenty of presents and did
+all she asked. "Though a sighing and moaning lover, or a man who is
+always twiddling a fiddle or making verses I could not stand," she would
+add contemptuously.
+
+So King Brave-Heart thought it best to try no such experiment. And in
+future no gentleman was allowed to present himself except with the
+understanding that he alone who should succeed in making Princess
+Ice-Heart shed a tear would be accepted as her betrothed.
+
+This proclamation diminished at once the number of suitors. Indeed,
+after one or two candidates had failed, no more appeared--so well did it
+come to be known that the attempt was hopeless.
+
+And for more than a year Princess Ice-Heart was left to herself--very
+much, apparently, to her satisfaction.
+
+But all this time the mystic sisters were not idle or forgetful. Several
+of the aspirants to Ice-Heart's hand had been chosen by them and
+conveyed to the neighborhood of the palace by their intermediacy from
+remote lands. And among these, one of the few who had found some slight
+favor in the maiden's eyes was a special protege of the Western
+fairy--the young and spirited Prince Francolin.
+
+He was not one of the sighing or sentimental order of swains; he was
+full of life and adventure and brightness, and his heart was warm and
+generous. He admired the beautiful girl, but he pitied her still more,
+and this pity was the real motive which made him yield to the fairy's
+proposal that he should try again.
+
+"You pleased the poor child," she said, when she arrived one day at the
+Prince's home to talk over her new idea. "You made her smile by your
+liveliness and fun. For I was there when you little knew it. The girl
+has been overdosed with sentimentality and doleful strains. I believe we
+have been on a wrong track all this time."
+
+"What do you propose?" said Francolin, gravely, for he could be serious
+enough when seriousness was called for. "She did not actually dislike
+me, but that is the most that can be said; and however I may feel for
+her, however I may admire her beauty and intelligence, nothing would
+induce me to wed a bride who could not return my affection. Indeed, I
+could scarcely feel any for such a one."
+
+"Ah no! I agree with you entirely," said the fairy. "But listen--my
+power is great in some ways. I am well versed in ordinary enchantment,
+and am most willing to employ my utmost skill for my unfortunate
+god-daughter."
+
+She then unfolded to him her scheme, and obtained his consent to it.
+
+"Now is your time," she said, in conclusion. "I hear on the best
+authority that Ice-Heart is feeling rather dull and bored at present. It
+is some time since she has had the variety of a new suitor, and she will
+welcome any distraction."
+
+And she proceeded to arrange all the details of her plan.
+
+So it came to pass that very shortly after the conversation I have
+related there was great excitement in the capital city of the Kingdom of
+the Four Orts. After an interval of more than a year a new suitor had at
+length presented himself for the hand of the Princess Ice-Heart. Only
+the King and Queen received the news with melancholy indifference.
+
+"He may try as the others have done," said Brave-Heart to the messenger
+announcing the arrival of the stranger at the gates, accompanied by a
+magnificent retinue; "but it is useless." For the poor King was fast
+losing all hope of his daughter's case; he was growing aged and
+care-worn before his time.
+
+"Does he know the terms attached to his acceptance?" inquired the Queen.
+
+Yes, the messenger from the unknown candidate for the hand of the
+beautiful Ice-Heart had been expressly charged to say that the Prince
+Jocko--such was the new-comer's name--was fully informed as to all
+particulars, and prepared to comply with the conditions.
+
+The Princess' parents smiled somewhat bitterly. They had no hope, but
+still they could not forbid the attempt.
+
+"Prince Jocko?" said the King, "not a very prince-like name. However, it
+matters little."
+
+A few hours later the royal pair and their daughter, with all their
+attendants, in great state and ceremony, were awaiting their guest. And
+soon a blast of trumpets announced his approach. His retinue was indeed
+magnificent; horsemen in splendid uniforms, followed by a troop of white
+mules with negro riders in gorgeous attire, then musicians, succeeded by
+the Prince's immediate attendants, defiled before the great marble steps
+in front of the palace, at the summit of which the King, with the Queen
+and Princess, was seated in state.
+
+Ice-Heart clapped her hands.
+
+"'Tis as good as a show," she said, "but where is the Prince?"
+
+As she said the word the cortege halted. A litter, with closely drawn
+curtains, drew up at the foot of the steps.
+
+"Gracious!" exclaimed the Princess, "I hope he is not a molly-coddle;"
+but before there was time to say more the curtains of the litter were
+drawn aside, and in another moment an attendant had lifted out its
+occupant, who forthwith proceeded to ascend the steps.
+
+The parents and their daughter stared at each other and gasped.
+
+Prince Jocko was neither more nor less than a monkey!
+
+But such a monkey as never before had been seen. He was more comical
+than words can express, and when at last he stood before them, and
+bowed to the ground, a three-cornered hat in his hand, his sword
+sticking straight out behind, his tail sweeping the ground, the effect
+was irresistible. King Brave-Heart turned his head aside. Queen Claribel
+smothered her face in her handkerchief. Princess Ice-Heart opened her
+pretty mouth wide and forgot to close it again, while a curious
+expression stole into her beautiful eyes.
+
+Was it a trick?
+
+No; Prince Jocko proceeded to speak.
+
+He laid his little brown paw on his heart, bowed again, coughed,
+sneezed, and finally began an oration. If his appearance was too funny,
+his words and gestures were a hundred times more so. He rolled his eyes,
+he declaimed, he posed and pirouetted like a miniature dancing-master,
+and his little cracked voice rose higher and higher as his own fine
+words and expressions increased in eloquence.
+
+And at last a sound--which never before had been heard, save
+faintly--made everyone start. The Princess was laughing as if she could
+no longer contain herself. Clear, ringing, merry laughter, which it did
+one's heart good to hear. And on she went, laughing ever, till--she
+flung herself at her mother's feet, the tears rolling down her cheeks.
+
+"Oh, mamma!" she exclaimed, "I never--" and then she went off again.
+
+But Prince Jocko suddenly grew silent. He stepped up to Ice-Heart and,
+respectfully raising her hand to his lips, gazed earnestly, beseechingly
+into her face, his own keen sharp eyes gradually growing larger and
+deeper in expression, till they assumed the pathetic, wistful look of
+appeal one often sees in those of a noble dog.
+
+"Ah, Princess!" he murmured.
+
+And Ice-Heart stopped laughing. She pressed her hand to her side.
+
+"Father! mother!" she cried, "help me! help me! Am I dying? What has
+happened to me?" And, with a strange, long drawn sigh she sank fainting
+to the ground.
+
+There was great excitement in the palace, hurrying to and fro, fetching
+of doctors, and much alarm. But when the Princess had been carried
+indoors and laid on a couch, she soon revived. And who can describe the
+feelings of the King and Queen when she turned to them with a smile such
+as they had never seen on her face before.
+
+"Dearest father, dearest mother," she said, "how I love you! Those
+strange warm drops that filled my eyes seem to have brought new life to
+me," and as the Queen passed her arm round the maiden she felt no chill
+of cold such as used to thrill her with misery every time she embraced
+her child.
+
+"Sweet-Heart! my own Sweet-Heart!" she whispered.
+
+And the Princess whispered back, "Yes, call me by that name always."
+
+All was rejoicing when the wonderful news of the miraculous cure spread
+through the palace and the city. But still the parents' hearts were
+sore, for was not the King's word pledged that his daughter should marry
+him who had effected this happy change? And this was no other than
+Jocko, the monkey!
+
+The Prince had disappeared at the moment that Ice-Heart fainted, and now
+with his retinue he was encamped outside the walls. All sorts of ideas
+occurred to the King.
+
+"I cannot break my word," he said, "but we might try to persuade the
+little monster to release me from it."
+
+But the Princess would not hear of this.
+
+"No," she said. "I owe him too deep a debt of gratitude to think of such
+a thing. And in his eyes I read more than I can put in words. No, dear
+father! you must summon him at once to be presented to our people as my
+affianced husband."
+
+So again the cortege of Prince Jocko made its way to the palace, and
+again the litter, with its closely drawn curtains, drew up at the marble
+steps. And Sweet-Heart stood, pale, but calm and smiling, to welcome her
+ridiculous betrothed.
+
+But who is this that quickly mounts the stairs with firm and manly
+tread? Sweet-Heart nearly swooned again.
+
+"Jocko?" she murmured. "Where is Jocko? Why, this is Prince Francolin!"
+
+"Yes, dear child," said a bright voice beside her; and, turning round,
+Sweet-Heart beheld the Western fairy, who, with her sisters, had
+suddenly arrived. "Yes, indeed! Francolin, and no other!"
+
+The universal joy may be imagined. Even the grave fairy of the North
+smiled with pleasure and delight, and, as she kissed her pretty
+god-daughter, she took the girl's hand and pressed it against her own
+heart.
+
+"Never misjudge me, Sweet-Heart," she whispered. "Cold as I seem to
+those who have not courage to approach me closely, my heart, under my
+icy mantle, is as warm as is now your own."
+
+And so it was.
+
+Where can we get a better ending than the time-honored one? Francolin
+and Sweet-Heart were married, and lived happy ever after, and who knows
+but what, in the Kingdom of the Four Orts, they are living happily
+still?
+
+If only we knew the way thither, we might see for ourselves if it is so.
+
+
+
+
+WIDOW TOWNSEND'S VISITOR.
+
+
+The fire crackled cheerfully on the broad hearth of an old-fashioned
+fireplace in an old-fashioned public house in an old fashioned village,
+down in that part of the Old Dominion called the "Eastern Shore." A cat
+and three kittens basked in the warmth, and a decrepit yellow dog, lying
+full in the reflection of the blaze, wrinkled his black nose
+approvingly, as he turned his hind feet where his fore feet had been.
+Over the chimney hung several fine hams and pieces of dried beef. Apples
+were festooned along the ceiling, and other signs of plenty and good
+cheer were scattered profusely about. There were plants, too, on the
+window ledges, horse-shoe geraniums, and dew-plants, and a monthly rose,
+just budding, to say nothing of pots of violets that perfumed the whole
+place whenever they took it into their purple heads to bloom. The floor
+was carefully swept, the chairs had not a speck of dust upon leg or
+round, the long settle near the fireplace shone as if it had been just
+varnished, and the eight-day clock in the corner had had its white face
+newly washed, and seemed determined to tick the louder for it.
+
+Two arm-chairs were drawn up at cozy distance from the hearth and each
+other; a candle, a newspaper, a pair of spectacles, a dish of red
+cheeked apples, and a pitcher of cider, filled a little table between
+them. In one of these chairs sat a comfortable-looking woman about
+forty-five, with cheeks as red as the apples, and eyes as dark and
+bright as they had ever been, resting her elbow on the table and her
+head upon her hand, and looking thoughtfully into the fire.
+
+This was Widow Townsend, "relict" of Mr. Levi Townsend, who had been
+mouldering into dust in the neighboring churchyard for seven years and
+more. She was thinking of her dead husband, possibly because all her
+work being done, and the servant gone to bed, the sight of his empty
+chair at the other side of the table, and the silence of the room, made
+her a little lonely.
+
+"Seven years," so the widow's reverie ran; "it seems as if it were more
+than fifty, and Christmas nigh here again, and yet I don't look so very
+old neither. Perhaps it's not having any children to bother my life out,
+as other people have. They may say what they like--children are more
+plague than profit, that's my opinion. Look at my sister Jerusha, with
+her six boys. She's worn to a shadow, and I am sure they have done it,
+though she never will own it."
+
+The widow took an apple from the dish and began to peel it.
+
+"How fond Mr. Townsend used to be of these apples! He'll never eat any
+more of them, poor fellow, for I don't suppose they have apples where he
+has gone to. Heigho! I remember very well how I used to throw apple-peel
+over my head when I was a girl to see who I was going to marry."
+
+Mrs. Townsend stopped short and blushed, for in those days she did not
+know Mr. T., and was always looking eagerly to see if the peel had
+formed a capital S. Her meditations took a new turn.
+
+"How handsome Sam Payson was, and how much I use to care about him! I
+wonder what has become of him! Jerusha says he went away from our
+village just after I did, and no one has ever heard of him since. What a
+silly thing that quarrel was! If it had not been for that--"
+
+Here came a long pause, during which the widow looked very steadfastly
+at the empty arm-chair of Levi Townsend, deceased. Her fingers played
+carelessly with the apple-peel: she drew it safely towards her, and
+looked around the room.
+
+"Upon my word, it is very ridiculous, and I don't know what the
+neighbors would say if they saw me."
+
+Still the plump fingers drew the red peel nearer.
+
+"But then they can't see me, that's a comfort; and the cat and old Bose
+never will know what it means. Of course I don't _believe_ anything
+about it."
+
+The peel hung gracefully from her hand.
+
+"But still, I should like to try; it would seem like old times, and--"
+
+Over her head it went, and curled up quietly on the floor at a little
+distance. Old Bose, who always slept with one eye open, saw it fall, and
+marched deliberately up to smell it.
+
+"Bose--Bose--don't touch!" cried his mistress, and bending over it with
+beating heart, she turned as red as fire. There was as handsome a
+capital S as any one could wish to see.
+
+A great knock came suddenly at the door. Bose growled, and the widow
+screamed and snatched up the apple-peel.
+
+"It's Mr. T.--it's his spirit come back again, because I tried that
+silly trick," she thought fearfully to herself.
+
+Another knock--louder than the first, and a man's voice exclaimed:
+
+"Hello--the house!"
+
+"Who is it?" asked the widow, somewhat relieved to find that the
+departed Levi was still safe in his grave on the hillside.
+
+"A stranger," said the voice.
+
+"What do you want?"
+
+"To get a lodging here for the night."
+
+The widow deliberated.
+
+"Can't you go on? There's a house half a mile farther, if you keep to
+the right-hand side of the road, and turn to the left after you get
+by--"
+
+"It's raining cats and dogs, and I'm very delicate," said the stranger,
+coughing. "I'm wet to the skin: don't you think you can accommodate
+me?--I don't mind sleeping on the floor."
+
+"Raining, is it? I didn't know that," and the kind-hearted little woman
+unbarred the door very quickly. "Come in, whoever you may be; I only
+asked you to go on because I am a lone woman, with only one servant in
+the house."
+
+The stranger entered, shaking himself like a Newfoundland dog upon the
+step, and scattering a little shower of drops over his hostess and her
+nicely swept floor.
+
+"Ah, that looks comfortable after a man has been out for hours in a
+storm," he said, as he caught sight of the fire; and striding along
+toward the hearth, followed by Bose, who sniffed suspiciously at his
+heels, he stationed himself in the arm-chair--_Mr. Townsend's
+arm-chair_! which had been kept "sacred to his memory" for seven years.
+The widow was horrified, but her guest looked so weary and worn-out that
+she could not ask him to move, but busied herself in stirring up the
+blaze that he might the sooner dry his dripping clothes.
+
+A new thought struck her: Mr. T. had worn a comfortable dressing-gown
+during his illness, which still hung in the closet at her right. She
+could not let this poor man catch his death, by sitting in that wet
+coat. If he was in Mr. Townsend's chair, why should he not be in Mr.
+Townsend's wrapper? She went nimbly to the closet, took it down, fished
+out a pair of slippers from a boot-rack below, and brought them to him.
+
+"I think you had better take off your coat and boots--you will have the
+rheumatic fever, or something like it, if you don't. Here are some
+things for you to wear while they are drying. And you must be hungry,
+too; I will go into the pantry and get you something to eat."
+
+She bustled away, "on hospitable thoughts intent," and the stranger made
+the exchange with a quizzical smile playing around his lips. He was a
+tall, well-formed man, with a bold but handsome face, sun-burned and
+heavily bearded, and looking anything but "delicate," though his blue
+eyes glanced out from under a forehead as white as snow. He looked
+around the kitchen with a mischievous air, and stretched out his feet
+decorated with the defunct Boniface's slippers.
+
+"Upon my word, this is stepping into the old man's shoes with a
+vengeance! And what a hearty, good-humored looking woman she is! Kind as
+a kitten," and he leaned forward and stroked the cat and her brood, and
+then patted old Bose upon the head. The widow, bringing in sundry good
+things, looked pleased at his attention to her dumb friends.
+
+"It's a wonder Bose does not growl; he generally does if strangers touch
+him. Dear me, how stupid!"
+
+The last remark was neither addressed to the stranger nor to the dog but
+to herself She had forgotten that the little stand was not empty, and
+there was no room on it for the things she held.
+
+"Oh, I'll manage it," said her guest, gathering up paper, candle,
+apples, and spectacles (it was not without a little pang that she saw
+them in his hand, for they had been her husband's, and were placed each
+night, like the arm-chair, beside her) and depositing them on the
+settle.
+
+"Give me the table-cloth, ma'am, I can spread it as well as any woman;
+I've learned that along with scores of other things, in my wanderings.
+Now let me relieve you of those dishes; they are far too heavy for
+those hands"--the widow blushed; "and now please, sit down with me, or I
+cannot eat a morsel."
+
+"I had supper long ago, but really I think I can take something more,"
+said Mrs. Townsend, drawing her chair nearer to the table.
+
+"Of course you can, my dear lady; in this cold fall weather people ought
+to eat twice as much as they do in warm. Let me give you a piece of this
+ham, your own curing, I dare say."
+
+"Yes: my poor husband was very fond of it. He used to say that no one
+understood curing ham and drying beef better than I."
+
+"He was a most sensible man, I am sure. I drink your health, ma'am, in
+this cider."
+
+He took a long draught, and set down his glass.
+
+"It is like nectar."
+
+The widow was feeding Bose and the cat (who thought they were entitled
+to a share of every meal eaten in the house), and did not quite hear
+what he said.
+
+"Fine dog, ma'am, and a very pretty cat."
+
+"They were my husband's favorites," and a sigh followed the answer.
+
+"Ah, your husband must have been a very happy man."
+
+The blue eyes looked at her so long, that she grew flurried.
+
+"Is there anything more I can get for you, sir?" she asked, at last.
+
+"Nothing, thank you; I have finished."
+
+She rose to clear the things away. He assisted her, and somehow their
+hands had a queer knack of touching as they carried the dishes to the
+pantry shelves. Coming back to the kitchen, she put the apples and cider
+in their old places, and brought out a clean pipe and a box of tobacco
+from an arched recess near the chimney.
+
+"My husband always said he could not sleep after eating supper late
+unless he smoked," she said. "Perhaps you would like to try it."
+
+"Not if it is to drive you away," he answered, for she had her candle in
+her hand.
+
+"Oh, no; I do not object to smoke at all." She put the candle down; some
+faint suggestion about "propriety" troubled her, but she glanced at the
+old clock, and felt reassured. It was only half-past nine.
+
+The stranger pushed the stand back after the pipe was lit, and drew her
+easy-chair a little nearer the fire, and his own.
+
+"Come, sit down," he said, pleadingly; "it's not late, and when a man
+has been knocking about in California and all sorts of places, for a
+score of years, he is glad enough to get into a berth like this, and to
+have a pretty woman to speak to once again."
+
+"California! Have you been in California?" she exclaimed, dropping into
+the chair at once. Unconsciously, she had long cherished the idea that
+Sam Payson, the lover of her youth, with whom she had so foolishly
+quarreled, had pitched his tent, after many wanderings, in that far-off
+land. Her heart warmed to one who, with something of Sam's looks and
+ways about him, had also been sojourning in that country, and who very
+possibly had met him--perhaps had known him intimately! At that thought
+her heart beat quick, and she looked very graciously at the bearded
+stranger, who, wrapped in Mr. Townsend's dressing-gown, wearing Mr.
+Townsend's slippers, and sitting in Mr. Townsend's chair, beside Mr.
+Townsend's wife, smoked Mr. Townsend's pipe with such an air of feeling
+most thoroughly and comfortably at home!
+
+"Yes, ma'am. I've been in California for the last six years. And before
+that I went quite round the world in a whaling ship!"
+
+"Good gracious!"
+
+The stranger sent a puff of smoke curling gracefully over his head.
+
+"It's very strange, my dear lady, how often you see one thing as you go
+wandering about the world after that fashion."
+
+"And what is that?"
+
+"Men, without house or home above their heads, roving here and there,
+and turning up in all sorts of odd places; caring very little for life
+as a general thing, and making fortunes just to fling them away again,
+and all for one reason. You don't ask me what _that_ is? No doubt you
+know already very well."
+
+"I think not, sir."
+
+"Because a woman has jilted them!"
+
+Here was a long pause, and Mr. Townsend's pipe emitted short puffs with
+surprising rapidity. A guilty conscience needs no accuser, and the
+widow's cheek was dyed with blushes as she thought of the absent Sam.
+
+"I wonder how women manage when _they_ get served in the same way," said
+the stranger musingly; "you never meet _them_ roaming up and down in
+that style."
+
+"No," said Mrs. Townsend, with some spirit, "if a woman is in trouble
+she must stay at home and bear it, the best way she can. And there's
+more women bearing such things than we know of, I dare say."
+
+"Like enough. We never know whose hand gets pinched in a trap unless
+they scream. And women are too shy or too sensible--which you
+choose--for that."
+
+"Did you ever, in all your wanderings, meet any one by the name of
+Samuel Payson?" asked the widow, unconcernedly.
+
+The stranger looked toward her; she was rummaging the table-drawer for
+her knitting work, and did not notice him. When it was found, and the
+needles in motion, he answered her.
+
+"Payson--Sam Payson? Why, he was my most intimate friend! Do you know
+him?"
+
+"A little--that is, I used to, when I was a girl. Where did you meet
+him?"
+
+"He went with me on the whaling voyage I told you of, and afterward to
+California. We had a tent together, and some other fellows with us, and
+we worked the same claim for more than six months."
+
+"I suppose he was quite well?"
+
+"Strong as an ox."
+
+"And--and happy?" pursued the widow, bending closer over her knitting.
+
+"Hum--the less said about that the better, perhaps. But he seemed to
+enjoy life after a fashion of his own. And he got rich out there, or
+rather, I will say, well off."
+
+Mrs. Townsend did not pay much attention to that part of the story.
+Evidently she had not finished asking questions, but she was puzzled
+about her next one. At last she brought it out beautifully:
+
+"Was his wife with him in California?"
+
+The stranger looked at her with twinkling eyes.
+
+"His wife, ma'am! Why, bless you, he has not got any wife."
+
+"Oh, I thought--I mean I heard"--here the little widow remembered the
+fate of Ananias and Sapphira, and stopped short before she told such a
+tremendous fib.
+
+"Whatever you heard of his marrying was all nonsense, I can assure you.
+I knew him well, and he had no thoughts of the kind about him. Some of
+the boys used to tease him about it, but he soon made them stop."
+
+"How?"
+
+"He just told them frankly that the only woman he ever loved had jilted
+him years before, and married another man. After that no one ever
+mentioned the subject to him, except me."
+
+Mrs. Townsend laid her knitting aside, and looked thoughtfully into the
+fire.
+
+"He was another specimen of the class of men I was speaking of. I have
+seen him face death a score of times as quietly as I face the fire. 'It
+matters very little what takes me off,' he used to say; 'I've nothing to
+live for, and there's no one that will shed a tear for me when I am
+gone.' It's a sad thought for a man to have, isn't it?"
+
+Mrs. Townsend sighed as she said she thought it was.
+
+"But did he ever tell you the name of the woman who jilted him?"
+
+"I know her _first_ name."
+
+"What was it?"
+
+"Maria."
+
+The plump little widow almost started out of her chair, the name was
+spoken so exactly as Sam would have said it.
+
+"Did you know her, too?" he asked, looking keenly at her.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Intimately?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Where is she now? Still happy with her husband, I suppose, and never
+giving a thought to the poor fellow she drove out into the world?"
+
+"No," said Mrs. Townsend, shading her face with her hand, and speaking
+unsteadily; "no, her husband is dead."
+
+"Ah! but still she never thinks of Sam."
+
+There was a dead silence.
+
+"Does she?"
+
+"How can I tell?"
+
+"Are you still friends?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then you ought to know, and you do. Tell me."
+
+"I'm sure I don't know why I should. But if I do, you must promise me,
+on your honor, never to tell him, if you ever meet him again."
+
+"Madam, what you say to me never shall be repeated to any mortal man,
+upon my honor."
+
+"Well, then, she does remember him."
+
+"But how?"
+
+"As kindly, I think, as he could wish."
+
+"I am glad to hear it, for his sake. You and I are the friends of both
+parties: we can rejoice with each other."
+
+He drew his chair much nearer hers, and took her hand. One moment the
+widow resisted, but it was a magnetic touch, the rosy palm lay quietly
+in his, and the dark beard bent so low that it nearly touched her
+shoulder. It did not matter much. Was he not Samuel's dear friend? If he
+was not the rose, had he not dwelt very near it, for a long, long time?
+
+"It was a foolish quarrel that parted them," said the stranger, softly.
+
+"Did he tell you about it?"
+
+"Yes, on board the whaler."
+
+"Did he blame her much?"
+
+"Not so much as himself. He said that his jealousy and ill-temper drove
+her to break off the match; but he thought sometimes if he had only gone
+back and spoken kindly to her, she would have married him after all."
+
+"I am sure she would," said the widow piteously. "She has owned it to me
+more than a thousand times."
+
+"She was not happy, then, with another."
+
+"Mr.--that is to say, her husband--was very good and kind," said the
+little woman, thinking of the lonely grave out on the hillside rather
+penitently, "and they lived very pleasantly together. There never was a
+harsh word between them."
+
+"Still--might she not have been happier with Sam? Be honest, now, and
+say just what you think."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Bravo! that is what I wanted to come at. And now I have a secret to
+tell you, and you must break it to her."
+
+Mrs. Townsend looked rather scared.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"I want you to go and see her, wherever she may be, and say to her,
+'Maria,'--what makes you start so?"
+
+"Nothing; only you speak so like some one I used to know, once in a
+while."
+
+"Do I? Well, take the rest of the message. Tell her that Sam loved her
+through the whole; that, when he heard she was free, he began to work
+hard at making a fortune. He has got it; and he is coming to share it
+with her, if she will let him. Will you tell her this?"
+
+The widow did not answer. She had freed her hand from his, and covered
+her face with it. By and by she looked up again--he was waiting
+patiently.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"I will tell her."
+
+He rose from his seat, and walked up and down the room. Then he came
+back, and leaning on the mantel-piece, stroked the yellow hide of Bose
+with his slipper.
+
+"Make her quite understand that he wants her for his wife. She may live
+where she likes and how she likes, only it must be with him."
+
+"I will tell her."
+
+"Say he has grown old, but not cold; that he loves her now perhaps
+better than he did twenty years ago; that he has been faithful to her
+all through his life, and that he will be faithful till he dies."
+
+The Californian broke off suddenly. The widow answered still, "I will
+tell her."
+
+"And what do you think she will say?" he asked, in an altered tone.
+
+"What _can_ she say but _Come_!"
+
+"Hurrah!"
+
+The stranger caught her out of her chair as if she had been a child, and
+kissed her.
+
+"Don't--oh, don't!" she cried out. "I am Sam's Maria!"
+
+"Well--I am Maria's Sam!"
+
+Off went the dark wig and the black whiskers--there smiled the dear face
+she had not forgotten! I leave you to imagine the tableau; even the cat
+got up to look, and Bose sat on his stump of a tail, and wondered if he
+was on his heels or his head.
+
+The widow gave one little scream, and then she--
+
+But, stop! Quiet people like you and me, dear reader, who have got over
+all these follies, and can do nothing but turn up our noses at them,
+have no business here. I will only add that two hearts were very happy,
+that Bose concluded after a while that all was right, and so lay down to
+sleep again, and that one week afterward, on Christmas Eve, there was a
+wedding at the house that made the neighbors stare. The widow had
+married her First Love!
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD MAN'S CHRISTMAS.
+
+BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
+
+
+I.
+
+Though there was wrong on both sides, they never would have separated
+had it not been for the old man.
+
+He was Ben's father, and Ben was an only child--a spoiled, selfish,
+high-tempered lad, who had grown up with the idea that his father, Anson
+English, or the "old man," as his dutiful son called him, was much
+richer than he really was, and that he had no need of any personal
+effort--any object in life, aside from the pursuit of pleasure.
+
+Ben's mother had died when he was fifteen years old and his father had
+never married again. Yet it was not any allegiance to her memory which
+had kept Anson English from a second marriage. He remembered her, to be
+sure, and scarcely a day passed without his mentioning her. But after
+her death, as during her weary life, he used her name as a synonym for
+all that was undesirable. He compared everybody to "'Liz'beth," and
+always to her disadvantage. He had a word of praise and encouragement
+and approval for every housewife in the neighborhood except--his own.
+Whatever went wrong, in doors or out, "'Liz'beth" was the direct or
+indirect cause.
+
+During the first five years of her married life, Elizabeth made
+strenuous exertions to please her husband. She wept her sweet eyes dim
+over her repeated failures. Then she found that she had been attempting
+an impossible labor, and grew passively indifferent--an indifference
+which lasted until death kindly released her.
+
+Elizabeth had been a tidy housekeeper during these first years.
+
+"You'd scrub and scour a man out 'er house an' home!" was all the praise
+her husband gave her for her order and cleanliness; and to his
+neighbors, to whom he was fond of paying informal visits, he would often
+say--"Liz'beth's at it again--sweepin' and cleanin', so I cleared out.
+Never see _her_ without out a broom in her hand. I'd a good deal rather
+have a little more dirt, than so much tearin' 'round. 'Liz'beth tires
+me, with her ways."
+
+Yet, when in the indifference of despair which seized upon Elizabeth
+before her death, she allowed her house to look after itself, Anson was
+no better satisfied.
+
+"I've come over to find a place to set down," he would tell his
+neighbors. "'Liz'beth's let things 'cumulate, till the house is a sight
+to see--she's gettin' dreadful slack, somehow. A man likes order when he
+goes home to rest from all his cares."
+
+Even when she died she displeased him by choosing a busy season for the
+occasion.
+
+"Just like 'Liz'beth, to die in hayin' time," he said. "Everything got
+to stop--hay spoilin'--men idle. Women never seem to have no system
+about work matters--no power of plannin' things, to make it convenient
+like for men folks."
+
+Yet after she was gone, Anson found how much help she had been to him,
+how wonderful her economy had been, how light her expenditures. He knew
+he could never find any one to replace her, in these respects, and as
+money considerations were the main ones in his mind he believed it would
+be the better economy to remain a widower, and hire his work done.
+
+So during those most critical years of Ben's life, he had been without a
+woman's guidance or care.
+
+At eighteen he was all that arrogance, conceit, selfishness, and high
+temper could render him. Yet he was a favorite with the fair sex for all
+that, as he had a manly figure, and a warm, caressing way when he chose,
+that won their admiration and pleased their vanity.
+
+Anson English favored early marriages, and began to think it would be
+better all around if Ben should bring a wife home.
+
+She could do the work better than hired help, and keep the money all in
+the family. And Ben would not waste his time and means on half a dozen,
+as he was now doing, but would stay at home, no doubt, and settle down
+into a sensible, practical business man. Yes, Ben ought to marry, and
+his father told him so.
+
+Ben smiled.
+
+"I'm already thinking of it," he said. He had expected opposition from
+his father, and was surprised at his suggestion.
+
+"Yes," continued the "old man," as Ben already designated him, "I'd like
+to see you settle down before you're twenty-one. But you want to make a
+good choice. There's Abby Wilson, now. She's got the muscle of a man,
+and ain't afraid of anything. And her father has a fine property--a
+growin' property. Abby'll make a man a good, vigorous helpmate, and
+she'll bring him money in time. You'd better shine up to Abby, Ben."
+
+Ben gave a contemptuous laugh. "I'd as soon marry a dressed-up boy," he
+said. "She's more like a boy than a girl in her looks and in her ways. I
+have other plans in my mind, father, more to my taste. I mean to marry
+Edith Gilman, if she'll take me, and I think she will."
+
+A dark frown contracted Anson English's brow.
+
+"Edith Gilman?" he repeated; "why, that puny schoolma'm, with her baby
+face and weak voice, 'll never help _you_ to get a livin', Ben. What are
+you thinkin' of?"
+
+"Of love, father, I guess. I love her, and that's all there is of it.
+And I shall marry her, if she'll take me, and you can like it or lump
+it, as you please. She's a good girl, and if she's treated well all
+round, she'll make a good wife, and she's the only woman that can put
+the check rein on me, when I get in my tempers. She'll make a man of me
+yet."
+
+"But she can't work," insisted the father. "She looks as white and puny
+as 'Liz'beth did the year she died."
+
+"She's overworked in the school-room. I mean to take her home, and give
+her a rest. I don't ask any woman to marry me and be my drudge. I expect
+my wife will keep help."
+
+The old man groaned aloud. Ben's ideas were positively ruinous. If he
+married this girl, it would add to, not decrease, the family expenses.
+But it was useless to oppose. Ben would do as he pleased, the old man
+saw that plainly, and he might as well submit.
+
+He did submit, and Ben married Edith on his twenty-first birthday, and
+brought her home.
+
+
+II.
+
+Edith was a quiet little creature, with a soft voice, and a pale, sweet
+face, and frail figure. She came up to Anson English when she entered
+the house, and put her hands timidly upon his arms.
+
+"I want you to love me," she said; "I have had no father or mother since
+I can remember. I want to call you father, and I want to make you happy
+if I can."
+
+"Well, I'll tell you how," the old man retorted. "Discharge the hired
+girl, and make good bread. That'll make me happy,"--and he laughed
+harshly.
+
+Edith shrank from his rough words, so void of the sympathy and love she
+longed for. But she discharged the girl within a week, and tried to make
+good bread. It was not a success, however, and the old man was not slow
+to express his dissatisfaction. Edith left the table in tears.
+
+"Another dribbler--'Liz'beth was always cryin' just that way over every
+little thing," sighed the old man.
+
+Edith eventually conquered the difficulties of bread making, and became
+a famous cook. But she did not please her husband's father any the
+better by this achievement.
+
+"You're always a-fixin' up some new sort of trash for the table," he
+said to her one day. "_Dessert_ is it, you call it? 'Nuff to make a
+man's patience _desert_ him to see sugar and flour wasted so. 'Liz'beth
+liked your fancy cooking, but I cured her of it."
+
+"Yes, and you killed her too," cried Edith, for the first time since her
+marriage losing control of her temper and answering back. "Everybody
+says you worried her into the grave. But you won't succeed so well with
+me. I will live just to defy you, if no more. And I'll show you that
+I'll not bear everything, too."
+
+It was all over in a moment, and it was not repeated. Indeed, Edith was
+kinder and gentler and more submissive in her manner after that for
+days, as sweet natures always are when they have once broken over the
+rules which govern their lives.
+
+Yet the old man always spoke of Edith as a virago after that.
+
+"She's worse'n 'Liz'beth," he said, "and she had a temper of her own at
+times that would just _singe_ things."
+
+Ben passed most of his evenings and a good part of his days at the
+village "store." He came home the worse for drink occasionally, and he
+was absolutely indifferent to all the work and care of the farm and
+family.
+
+"She's just like 'Liz'beth," the old man said to his neighbors; "she
+don't make home entertainin' for her husband. But Ben isn't balanced
+like me, and he goes wrong. He's excitable. I never was. The right kind
+of a woman could keep him at home."
+
+After a child came to them matters seemed to mend for a time. So long as
+the infant lay pink and helpless in its mother's arms or in its crib, it
+was a bond to unite them all.
+
+So soon as it began to be an active child, with naughty ways which
+needed correction, it was another element of discord.
+
+The old man did not think Edith capable of controlling the child, and
+Ben was hasty and harsh, and he did not like to hear the baby cry. So he
+stayed more and more at the store, and was an object of fear to the
+child and of reproach to the mother when he did return.
+
+They drifted farther apart, and the old man constantly widened the
+breach between them. They had been married six years, and the baby girl
+was four years old, when Ben struck Edith a blow, one day, and told her
+to take her child and leave the house.
+
+In less than an hour she had gone, no one knew whither.
+
+"She'll come back, more's the pity," the old man said. "'Liz'beth, she
+started off to leave me once, but she concluded to come back and try it
+over again."
+
+But Edith did not come back. Months afterward they heard of her in a
+distant part of the State teaching school and supporting her child.
+
+Ben applied for a divorce on the plea of desertion. Edith never appeared
+against him, and he obtained it.
+
+
+III.
+
+One year from the time Edith left him, he married Abby Wilson. She had
+grown into a voluptuous though coarse maturity, and was dashing in dress
+and manner. Her father had recently died, leaving her a fine property.
+She had always coveted Ben, and did not delay the nuptials from any
+sense of delicacy, but rather hastened the hour which should make him
+legally her own.
+
+The old man was highly pleased at the turn affairs had taken. After all
+these years Ben was united to the woman he had chosen for him so long
+ago, and now surely Ben would settle down, and take the care off his
+shoulders--shoulders which were beginning to feel the weight of years of
+labor. In truth, the old man was breaking down.
+
+He fell ill of a low fever soon after Ben's second marriage, and when he
+rose from his bed he seemed to have grown ten years older. He was more
+childish in his fault-finding, and more irritable than ever before, and
+this new wife of Ben's had little patience with him. She was not at all
+like Edith. She bullied him, and frightened him into silence when he
+began to find fault with her extravagances. For she was
+extravagant--there was no denying that. She cared only for show and
+outward appearance. She neglected her home duties, and often left the
+old man to prepare his own food, while she and Ben dashed over the
+country, or through the neighboring villages, behind the blooded span
+she had insisted upon his purchasing soon after their marriage.
+
+Poor old Anson English! He was nearing his sixtieth year now, and he
+looked and seemed much older. Ben was his only earthly tie, and the hope
+and stay of his old age. And he was but a reed--a reed. His father saw
+that at last. Ben would never develop into a practical business man. He
+was unstable, lazy, and selfish. And this new wife seemed to encourage
+him in every extravagant folly, instead of restraining him as the old
+man had hoped. And someway Ben had never been the same since Edith went
+away. He had been none too good or kind to his father before that; but
+since then--well, when she went, it seemed to Anson that she took with
+her whatever of gentleness or kindness lurked in Ben's nature, and left
+only its brutality and selfishness.
+
+And strive as he would to banish the feeling, the old man missed the
+child.
+
+Ah, no! he was not happy in this new state of affairs, which he had so
+rejoiced over at the first. He grew very old during the next two years.
+Like all men who worry the lives of women in the domestic circle, he was
+cowardly at heart. And Ben's new wife frightened him into silent
+submission by her masculine assumption of authority and her loud voice
+and well-defined muscle.
+
+He spoke little at home now, but he still paid frequent visits to his
+neighbors, and he remained firm in the Adam-like idea that Elizabeth had
+been the root of all evil in his life.
+
+"Yes, Ben's letting the place run down pretty bad," he confessed to a
+neighbor who had broached the subject. "Ben's early trainin' wasn't
+right. 'Liz'beth, she let him do 'bout as he pleased. Liz'beth never had
+no notions of how a boy should be trained. He'd a' come out all right if
+I'd a' managed him from the start."
+
+Strange to say, he never was known to speak one disparaging word of
+Abby, Ben's second wife. Her harshness and neglect were matters of
+common discussion in the neighborhood, but the old man, who had been so
+bitter and unjust toward his own wife and Edith, seemed to feel a
+curious respect for this Amazon who had subjugated him. Or, perhaps, he
+remembered how eager he had been for the marriage, and his pride kept
+him silent. Certain it is that he bore her neglect, and later her abuse,
+with no word of complaint, and even spoke of her sometimes with praise.
+
+"She's a brave one, Abby is," he would say. "She ain't afraid of nothin'
+or nobody. Ef she'd a' been a man, she'd a' made a noise in the world."
+
+Ben drank more and more, and Abby dressed and drove in like ratio. The
+farm ran down, and debts accumulated--debts which Abby refused to pay
+with her money, and the old man saw the savings of a long life of labor
+squandered in folly and vice.
+
+People said it was turning his brain, for he talked constantly of his
+poverty, often walking the streets in animated converse with himself.
+And at length he fell ill again, and was wildly delirious for weeks. It
+was a high fever; and when it left him, he was totally blind, and quite
+helpless.
+
+He needed constant care and attention. He could not be left alone even
+for an hour; Ben was seldom at home, and Abby rebelled at the
+confinement and restraint it imposed upon her. Hired help refused to
+take the burden of the care of the troublesome old man without increased
+wages, and Ben could not and Abby would not incur this added expense.
+Servants gave warning; Ben drank more deeply and prolonged his absences
+from home, and Abby finally carried out a resolve which had at first
+caused even her hard heart some twinges.
+
+She made an application to the keeper of the County Poor to admit her
+husband's father to the department of the incurably insane, which was
+adjacent to the Poor House.
+
+"He's crazy," she said, "just as crazy as can be. We can't do anything
+with him. He needs a strong man to look after him. Ben's never at home,
+and he has everything to look after any way, and can't be broken of his
+rest, and the old man talks and cries half the night. I'm not able to
+take care of him--I seem to be breaking down myself, with all I have to
+endure, and besides it isn't safe to have him in the house. I think he's
+getting worse all the time. He'd be better off, and we all would, if he
+was in the care of the county."
+
+The authorities looked into the matter, and found that at least a
+portion of the lady's statements were true. It was quite evident that
+the old man would be better off in the County House than he was in the
+home of his only son. So he was taken away, and Abby had her freedom at
+last.
+
+"We are going to take you where you will have medical treatment and
+care; it is your daughter's request," they told him in answer to his
+trembling queries.
+
+"Oh! yes, yes--Abby thinks I'll get my sight back, I suppose, if I'm
+doctored up. Well, maybe so, but I'm pooty old--pooty old for the
+doctors to patch up. But Abby has a powerful mind to plan things--a
+powerful mind. 'Liz'beth never would a' thought of sending me
+away--'Liz'beth was so easy like. Abby ought to a' been a man, she had.
+She'd a' flung things."
+
+So he babbled on as they carried him to the Poor House.
+
+It was November, and the holidays were close at hand. Thanksgiving,
+Christmas, New Year. Abby meant to enjoy them, and invited all her
+relatives to a time of general feasting and merrymaking.
+
+"I feel as if a great nightmare were lifted off my heart and brain, now
+the old man has gone," she said. "He will be so much better off, and get
+so much more skillful treatment, you know, in a place like that. They
+are very kind in that institution, and so clean and nice, and he will
+have plenty of company to keep him from being lonesome. We have been
+all through it, during the last year, or else we never should have sent
+him there. It is really an excellent home for him."
+
+
+IV.
+
+It was just a year later when a delicate, sweet-faced woman was shown
+through the wards of that "excellent home" for the poor and unfortunate.
+She walked with nervous haste, and her eyes glanced from room to room,
+and from face to face, as if seeking, yet dreading, some object.
+
+Presently the attendant pushed open a partly closed door, which led into
+a small, close room, ventilated only by one high, narrow window.
+
+"This is the room, I believe," he said, and the lady stepped in--and
+paused. The air was close and impure, and almost stifled her.
+
+On the opposite side of the room she saw a large crib with a cover or
+lid which could be closed and locked when necessary, but which was
+raised now. In this crib, upon a hard mattress and soiled pillow, lay
+the emaciated form of an old man. He turned his sightless eyes toward
+the door as he heard the sound of footsteps.
+
+"What is wanted?" he asked, feebly; "does anybody want me? Has anybody
+come for me?"
+
+"O father, father!" cried the woman in a voice choked with sobs. "Don't
+you know me? It is I--and I have come to take you away--to take you away
+home with me. Will you go?"
+
+A glow of delight shone over the old man's wasted face, like the last
+rays of the sunlight over a winter landscape. He half arose upon his
+elbow, and leaned forward as if trying to see the speaker.
+
+"Why, it's Abby, it's Abby, come at last!" he said. "You called me
+father, didn't you--and you was crying, and it made your voice sound
+kind o' strange and broken like. But you must be Abby come to take me
+home. Oh, I thought you'd come at last, Abby. It seems a long, long time
+since I came away. And you've never been to see me; no, nor Ben, either.
+But you've come at last, Abby, you've come at last. Let me take your
+hand, daughter, for I can't see yet. They don't seem to help me here as
+you thought they would. And I'm _so hungry_, Abby!--do you think you
+could manage to get the old man a little something to eat before we
+start home?"
+
+The woman had grown paler and paler as she listened to these words which
+the old man poured out in eager haste, like one whose thoughts and
+feelings long pent within himself for want of a listener now rushed
+forth pell-mell into speech.
+
+"He does not know me," she whispered--"he does not know me. Well, I will
+not undeceive him now. He is happy in this delusion,--let him keep it
+for the present." Then, aloud, she said:
+
+"You are hungry, father? do you not have food enough here?"
+
+"Oh, I have my share, Abby; I have my share. But my appetite's varying,
+and sometimes when they bring it I can't eat it, and then when I want it
+most I can't get it. I'm one of many here, and I've been so lonesome,
+Abby. But then I knew you'd come for me all in good time. And, Ben--how
+is Ben, Abby? does he want to see his old father again? Ah, Ben was a
+nice little boy--a nice little boy. But 'Liz'beth wan't no kind of a
+mother for such a high-strung lad. And then he hadn't oughter married
+that sickly sort of girl that ran off an' left him. Sakes alive! what a
+temper she had! It sort of broke Ben down living with her as long as he
+did. But he remembers his old father at last, don't he? And he wants to
+have me home to die. Ah, Ben has a good heart after all!"
+
+"I must not tell him; I must not," whispered the woman as she listened.
+"Bitter to me as his deception is, I must let him remain in it." Then
+with a sudden bracing of the nerves, and a visible effort, she said:
+
+"Ben is away from home now, father. He will not be there to meet you,
+but you'll not mind that: I shall make you so comfortable; I want you at
+home during the holidays."
+
+So he went out from the horror and loneliness and gloom of the Poor
+House, to the comfortable home which Edith had provided for herself and
+child in the years since she left Ben. Eva was a precocious little
+maiden of nine now, wise and womanly beyond her years. So soon as Edith
+learned of the old man's desolate fate, she resolved to bring him home.
+Eva could attend to his wants during the day, while she was in the
+school-room, and the interrupted studies could be pursued in the
+evening. Or she could hire assistance if he were as troublesome as
+report had said. He had been a harsh old man, and had helped to widen
+the breach between her and Ben. But he was the father of the man she had
+married, and she could not let him die in the Poor House. So she brought
+him home.
+
+"Don't I hear a child's voice?" he asked, as Eva came dancing out to
+greet them. "Who is it, Abby?"
+
+"Why, it's your own little granddaughter Eva," cried the child, clasping
+his withered hand in her two soft palms. "Don't you remember me? Mamma
+says you used to love me."
+
+Edith's heart stood still. Surely now he would understand. And would he
+be angry and harsh with her?
+
+The old man's face lighted.
+
+"Ah, I see, I see," he said musingly, "Abby and Ben have taken the
+little one home. It must be Edith is dead. She was such a puny thing."
+Then turning his face to the woman who was guiding his faltering
+footsteps, he asked:
+
+"And is Edith dead?"
+
+"Yes," she answered quietly, "Edith is dead." And added "to _you_," in a
+whisper.
+
+"He must never be undeceived," she thought. "It would be too severe a
+blow; the truth might kill him." And to Eva she said a little later:
+
+"Dear, your grandfather is very ill, and not quite right in his mind. He
+thinks my name is Abby, and you must not correct him or dispute any
+strange thing he may say."
+
+The journey left the old man very weak indeed, but he talked almost
+constantly.
+
+"It was so good of you, Abby, to take the little girl home," he would
+say. "But I knowed you had a good heart, and Ben too. He was fond of his
+old father, spite of his rough ways. It was pooty lonesome--pooty
+lonesome, off there at that place--that Institute where you sent me.
+Some folks said it was the Poor House, but I knew better--I knew better.
+Ben and you would never send me there. I s'pose it was a good place, but
+they had too many patients. Sometimes I was cold and hungry and all
+alone for hours and hours. Oh, it's good to be back home with you--you,
+Abby--but why don't Ben come?"
+
+"Ben is away, father."
+
+"Oh, yes, yes. Business, I suppose. Ben'll turn out all right at last. I
+always thought so. After he sort o' outgrows 'Liz'beth's trainin'. But I
+hope he'll get back for Christmas. Somehow I've been thinkin' lately
+'bout the Christmas days when Ben was a little boy. We allus put
+something in his stockin' that night, no matter if twan't no more'n a
+sweet cake. Sakes alive! how he prized things he found in his stockin'
+Christmas mornin's! I got to thinkin' 'bout it all last Christmas out at
+that there Institute, and I just laid an' bawled like a baby, I was so
+home-sick like. Seemed to me if I could just _see_ Ben's face again, I'd
+ask nothin' more of Heaven. And now I think if I can just hear his voice
+again, it'll be enough. Do you think he'll git home for Christmas,
+Abby?"
+
+"I hope so, dear father, but I cannot tell." Edith answered softly, her
+heart seeming to break in her breast as she listened.
+
+She knew very well that Ben would not go across the street to see the
+father he had deserted, and that she could never send for him to come to
+_her_ house, to pay even a last visit of mercy.
+
+"What will I do--how can I explain to him, when Christmas comes and Ben
+does not appear?" she thought.
+
+But the way was shown her by that great Peace-Maker who helps us out of
+all difficulties at last.
+
+Christmas Eve, the old man's constant chatter grew flighty and
+incoherent. He talked of people and things unknown to Edith, and spoke
+his mother's name many times. Then he fell asleep. In the morning he
+seemed very weak, and his voice was fainter.
+
+"Such a strange dream as I have had, 'Lis'beth," he said, as Edith put
+her hand on his brow, and smoothed back the thin, white hair.
+
+"Such a strange dream, I thought Ben had grown into a man, and had left
+me alone--all alone to die. I'm so glad to be awake and find it isn't
+true. How dark it is, and how long the night seems! To-morrow is
+Christmas. Did you put something in Ben's stockings, 'Lis'beth? I have
+forgotten."
+
+"Yes," answered Edith, in a choked voice.
+
+"And it's gettin' colder, 'Lis'beth. Hadn't you better look after Ben a
+little? See if he's covered up well in his crib. You're so careless,
+'Lis'beth, the boy'll take his death o' cold yet. And he's all I've
+got. He'll make a fine man, a fine man if you don't spoil him,
+'Lis'beth. But you hain't no real sense for trainin' a boy, somehow. Is
+he covered up? It's bitter, bitter cold."
+
+"He is well covered," Edith answered. The old man seemed to doze again.
+Then he roused a little.
+
+"It's dawn," he said. "I see the light breaking. Little Ben'll be
+crawling out for his stockin' pooty quick: I oughter had the fire made
+afore this, to warm his little toes. Strange you couldn't a' waked me,
+'Liz'beth! You don't never seem to have no foresight."
+
+Then the old man fell back on Edith's arm, dead.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHRISTMAS GOBLINS.
+
+BY CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+
+In an old abbey town, a long, long while ago there officiated as sexton
+and gravedigger in the churchyard one Gabriel Grubb. He was an ill
+conditioned cross-grained, surly fellow, who consorted with nobody but
+himself and an old wicker-bottle which fitted into his large, deep
+waistcoat pocket.
+
+A little before twilight one Christmas Eve, Gabriel shouldered his
+spade, lighted his lantern, and betook himself toward the old
+churchyard, for he had a grave to finish by next morning, and feeling
+very low, he thought it might raise his spirits, perhaps, if he went on
+with his work at once.
+
+He strode along until he turned into the dark lane which led to the
+churchyard--a nice, gloomy, mournful place into which the towns-people
+did not care to go except in broad daylight, consequently he was not a
+little indignant to hear a young urchin roaring out some jolly song
+about a Merry Christmas. Gabriel waited until the boy came up, then
+rapped him over the head with his lantern five or six times to teach him
+to modulate his voice. And as the boy hurried away, with his hand to his
+head, Gabriel Grubb chuckled to himself and entered the churchyard,
+locking the gate behind him.
+
+He took off his coat, put down his lantern, and getting into an
+unfinished grave, worked at it for an hour or so with right good will.
+But the earth was hardened with the frost, and it was no easy matter to
+break it up and shovel it out. At any other time this would have made
+Gabriel very miserable, but he was so pleased at having stopped the
+small boy's singing that he took little heed of the scanty progress he
+had made when he had finished work for the night, and looked down into
+the grave with grim satisfaction, murmuring as he gathered up his
+things:
+
+
+     "Brave lodgings for one, brave lodgings for one,
+     A few feet of cold earth when life is done."
+
+
+"Ho! ho!" he laughed, as he set himself down on a flat tombstone, which
+was a favorite resting-place of his, and drew forth his wicker-bottle.
+"A coffin at Christmas! A Christmas box. Ho! ho! ho!"
+
+"Ho! ho! ho!" repeated a voice close beside him.
+
+"It was the echoes," said he, raising the bottle to his lips again.
+
+"It was not," said a deep voice.
+
+Gabriel started up and stood rooted to the spot with terror, for his
+eyes rested on a form that made his blood run cold.
+
+Seated on an upright tombstone close to him was a strange, unearthly
+figure. He was sitting perfectly still, grinning at Gabriel Grubb with
+such a grin as only a goblin could call up.
+
+"What do you here on Christmas Eve?" said the goblin, sternly.
+
+"I came to dig a grave, sir," stammered Gabriel.
+
+"What man wanders among graves on such a night as this?" cried the
+goblin.
+
+"Gabriel Grubb! Gabriel Grubb!" screamed a wild chorus of voices that
+seemed to fill the churchyard.
+
+"What have you got in that bottle?" said the goblin.
+
+"Hollands, sir," replied the sexton, trembling more than ever, for he
+had bought it of the smugglers, and he thought his questioner might be
+in the excise department of the goblins.
+
+"Who drinks Hollands alone, and in a churchyard on such a night as
+this?"
+
+"Gabriel Grubb! Gabriel Grubb!" exclaimed the wild voices again.
+
+"And who, then, is our lawful prize?" exclaimed the goblin, raising his
+voice.
+
+The invisible chorus replied, "Gabriel Grubb! Gabriel Grubb!"
+
+"Well, Gabriel, what do you say to this?" said the goblin, as he grinned
+a broader grin than before.
+
+The sexton gasped for breath.
+
+"What do you think of this, Gabriel?"
+
+"It's--it's very curious, sir, very curious, sir, and very pretty,"
+replied the sexton, half-dead with fright. "But I think I'll go back and
+finish my work, sir, if you please."
+
+"Work!" said the goblin, "what work?"
+
+"The grave, sir."
+
+"Oh! the grave, eh? Who makes graves at a time when other men are merry,
+and takes a pleasure in it?"
+
+Again the voices replied, "Gabriel Grubb! Gabriel Grubb!"
+
+"I'm afraid my friends want you, Gabriel," said the goblin.
+
+"Under favor, sir," replied the horror-stricken sexton, "I don't think
+they can; they don't know me, sir; I don't think the gentlemen have ever
+seen me."
+
+"Oh! yes, they have. We know the man who struck the boy in the envious
+malice of his heart because the boy could be merry and he could not."
+
+Here the goblin gave a loud, shrill laugh which the echoes returned
+twenty-fold.
+
+"I--I am afraid I must leave you, sir," said the sexton, making an
+effort to move.
+
+"Leave us!" said the goblin; "ho! ho! ho!"
+
+As the goblin laughed he suddenly darted toward Gabriel, laid his hand
+upon his collar, and sank with him through the earth. And when he had
+had time to fetch his breath he found himself in what appeared to be a
+large cavern, surrounded on all sides by goblins ugly and grim.
+
+"And now," said the king of the goblins, seated in the centre of the
+room on an elevated seat--his friend of the churchyard--"show the man of
+misery and gloom a few of the pictures from our great storehouses."
+
+As the goblin said this a cloud rolled gradually away and disclosed a
+small and scantily furnished but neat apartment. Little children were
+gathered round a bright fire, clinging to their mother's gown, or
+gamboling round her chair. A frugal meal was spread upon the table and
+an elbow-chair was placed near the fire. Soon the father entered and the
+children ran to meet him. As he sat down to his meal the mother sat by
+his side and all seemed happiness and comfort.
+
+"What do you think of that?" said the goblin.
+
+Gabriel murmured something about its being very pretty.
+
+"Show him some more," said the goblin.
+
+Many a time the cloud went and came, and many a lesson it taught to
+Gabriel Grubb. He saw that men who worked hard and earned their scanty
+bread were cheerful and happy. And he came to the conclusion it was a
+very respectable sort of a world after all. No sooner had he formed it
+than the cloud closed over the last picture seemed to settle on his
+senses and lull him to repose. One by one the goblins faded from his
+sight, and as the last one disappeared he sank to sleep.
+
+The day had broken when he awoke, and found himself lying on the flat
+gravestone, with the wicker-bottle empty by his side. He got on his
+feet as well as he could, and brushing the frost off his coat, turned
+his face toward the town.
+
+But he was an altered man, he had learned lessons of gentleness and
+good-nature by his strange adventures in the goblin's cavern.
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF THE STAR.
+
+BY REV. C. H. MEAD.
+
+
+"Oh, boys; you can count me out on that--all I can get goes to my mother
+and sisters for Christmas."
+
+The speaker was a manly little newsboy, with good features, a clean face
+and bright eyes. His clothes looked neat, though they were adorned with
+numerous patches.
+
+"But see here, Will. Christmas only comes once a year, and why shouldn't
+we fellers have our banquet as well as the silk-stockings? What would
+they know about things going on in the world anyway, if we newsboys
+didn't supply 'em with papers? All in favor of having a banquet, hold up
+yer hands!"
+
+Up went a score of hands--some dirty, some clean and some speckled, but
+Will's hand remained down. "See here, Will, what's the reason you won't
+stay by us?"
+
+The boy hesitated a moment and then said: "Boys, it's mighty close times
+up at our house; fried chicken and pound cake don't come our way,
+turkeys roost too high for us, and, and--well, boys, if you must know
+it, about the only good thing we kids have up there is our mother's
+love. See these patches! My mother put them on. See these stockings! My
+mother has been mending this same pair of stockings for more than a
+year, and she washes and irons them after I've gone to bed at night.
+Every stitch of mother's needle and thread is a stitch of love, and one
+night not long ago, I opened my eyes and saw my mother's tears dropping
+on the sleeve of my coat at the same time she was putting the patch on
+this elbow. I tell you, boys, the best thing I've got in the world is my
+mother, and the best Christmas gift I ever had is my mother's love. If I
+had a million dollars, I'd give them all to my mother in return for her
+love. No, no, boys; no banquet for me, as long as I know my mother is
+starving herself that we children may have more to eat."
+
+"Well," replied one of the boys, "if I had a mother like that, maybe I'd
+feel the same way; but all we get at our house is a good licking from a
+drunken mother, and I'm going in for a square meal at Christmas, if I
+never has another."
+
+The boys, gathered on the sidewalk by one of the parks, were suddenly
+startled by a cry "Look out there!" and the next moment a runaway horse
+dashed into their midst; little Will was knocked over, and was soon
+carried into a neighboring drug store, all unconscious of what had
+happened. It was soon discovered that his arm was broken, and his body
+bruised in a number of places. The moment he regained consciousness and
+found what had occurred, he said:
+
+"Take me to my mother; she will take care of me somehow, though this
+isn't exactly the kind of a Christmas gift I meant she should have. Say,
+boys, one of you go up to our house, and tell her easy about this; don't
+burst in sudden and scare her, but tell her it isn't dangerous,
+and--well, just tell her I love her."
+
+The boys wiped their eyes and one of them said, "This busts up our
+banquet, fellers; I'll go and tell Will's mother, and, say, fellers,
+shan't I tell her we will give our banquet money to help her out at
+Christmas?"
+
+A hearty "You bet we will," was the response, as big Tom sped away to
+carry the news to Will's mother, while kind hands helped carry the
+injured boy to his home. It was a poor home into which he was borne,
+but everything was as neat and tidy as could be. A woman stood at the
+door, and it needed but one glance to know that she was the mother of
+Will. Poverty and hunger had failed to rob her of her beauty, and there
+was an air of refinement about her that told of better days and happier
+surroundings.
+
+"Christmas hasn't come yet, mother," said Will, "but I have. Don't you
+worry; I'll come out of this all right, and we will have a good
+Christmas yet."
+
+The mother kissed him tenderly as she said, "No, I will not worry, so
+long as I have God, and you, and Josie, and Maggie, and Tot. When
+Christmas comes round, Will, it will be a good day whatever it brings."
+
+"It will bring yer heaps of things, Mrs. Sandford," blurted out big Tom,
+"for we fellers has given up havin' a banquet, and are going to bring
+yer something that Will can't bring now. Don't yer worry a bit," and
+here the rough fellow burst into tears, and rushed out of the house.
+
+A few more days, and then Christmas Eve came round, and a bright night
+it was. Will lay sleeping on the bed, his mother near by, pretending to
+read, but in reality using the dear old Bible as a shield to hide the
+tears that trickled down her cheeks. The mother was thinking, and
+thinking fast, too. It was only a little over thirteen years since her
+father had closed the door in her face and told her never to return. The
+man she loved was not the fashionable fop her father had selected for
+her as a husband, and secretly she had given her hand to the man to whom
+long before she had given her heart. All went well, until three years
+ago, when her husband died suddenly, and she found herself with no means
+and four children to take care of. Too proud to apply to her father for
+help, she struggled on as best she could, leaning hard on the God whom
+her mother had taught her to love.
+
+Her children were a comfort to her, for they had inherited the natural
+goodness of both their parents. Her tears now fell fast, for as she
+thought, she also listened to the voices of her two youngest children
+who were standing over by the window together.
+
+"Say, Maggie, does yer see dat bright star up dere? I wonder if dat is
+de star what de shepherds seen! If it is, it seems to be looking right
+down at us. Maybe Jesus is in dat star, and if He is, He won't forget
+us, will He?"
+
+And Tot looked at Maggie as the latter said: "Jesus loved little
+children, Tot, when He was on the earth, and I guess He loves them yet.
+That's a very bright star--it must be the one that was seen by the
+shepherds at Bethlehem."
+
+"I think so, too," said Tot, "and may be Josie will hear some of dem
+'good tidings' while she is out. Oh! Maggie, Jesus must love mother; she
+is so good, and I think He has sent that star to tell us to look out for
+good news."
+
+And where was Josie all this time? The mother thought she had gone into
+a neighbor's, where she frequently went, and so felt no anxiety.
+
+Out in the streets of the big city, side by side walked plenty and
+poverty, wealth and wretchedness, happiness and hunger, gladness and
+grief. Some carried bundles in their arms, while others carried burdens
+in their hearts. Over all, the good God watched, and down upon all the
+bright star shone. But what is that? Suddenly on one of the streets the
+people stopped and listened. On the steps of a stoop leading up to a
+lighted mansion stood a little girl who looked like a bright angel from
+heaven. Far above, overhead, shone the bright star that Maggie and Tot
+had seen; it was their star and it was her star, for Josie, too, had
+discovered it, and somehow felt that the star that had brought "good
+tidings of great joy" to the shepherds on Bethlehem's plains, had come
+again and to bring once more "good tidings." She had mounted the steps
+to get nearer the star, and then all unconscious of the people, in a
+rich, sweet voice, she sang:--
+
+
+     I think, when I read that sweet story of old,
+       When Jesus was here among men;
+     How He called little children, as lambs to His fold;
+       I should like to have been with Him then.
+
+     I wish that His hands had been placed on my head,
+       That His arms had been thrown around me;
+     That I might have seen His kind look, when He said,
+       "Let the little ones come unto Me."
+
+
+As she sang, her gaze was fixed on the star, and even her hands were
+lifted toward it. The people looked at her; an angel had appeared in
+their midst--her face, her voice, her upturned eyes, her uplifted hands,
+held them spell-bound, until some one looking up in the direction she
+pointed, cried out: "See that star!" Heavenward went the gaze of the
+multitude, and once more there seemed to come to them a voice, saying:
+"Fear not, for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall
+be to all people." The face of Josie was illumined and even the
+multitude that had gathered, failed to alarm her. The star with its
+"good tidings" was over her head and in her heart as well. "Who are you,
+my child?" said a gentleman who had come up on the steps where she
+stood. "Please, sir, I am Josie Sandford." The gentleman gave a start
+and said, "Sandford, Josie Sandford? Pray where do you live, Josie?" She
+told him, and in response to other questions, told of mother, brother
+and sisters.
+
+"Oh, sir; do you see the star? I am sure it has some 'good tidings' for
+us at our house, and I must hurry home and tell mother all about it.
+Good-bye."
+
+Away sped the child until she reached her home, and then entering the
+room quietly, she went up to her mother and said: "Have you seen the
+star, mother?" Maggie and Tot cried out, "We've seen it; come, mother,
+and look quick." The mother went quietly to the window, and there beheld
+a star of wonderful brightness, and as she gazed, her face took on a new
+light and into her heart came a great peace. The sleeping boy was
+awakened by the voices, and he, too, made his way to the window and
+looked at the star. "At evening time it shall be light."
+
+It had come, and--something else had come, too, for steps were heard on
+the stairs, followed by a knock on the door, on opening which, in came a
+company of newsboys headed by big Tom. They bore bundles and baskets,
+provisions and poultry, sunshine and sugar, toys and turnips, good-will
+and grapes, cheer and celery, and things that no one but those who had
+lacked for them, would ever have thought of. Big Tom was the spokesman
+for the happy company.
+
+"If yer please, Mrs. Sandford," he said, "there's our banquet. We wasn't
+going to come until to-morrow morning, but when we got the things all
+together, we just couldn't wait any longer, so we've brought 'em
+to-night, and if it isn't too soon, ma'am, we wishes you, and Will, and
+Josie, and Maggie, and Tot a 'Merry Christmas,' doesn't we, boys?"
+
+"Indeed we does!" responded the boys. The faces of that mother and her
+children were a sight to behold. Smiles and tears greeted the boys, and
+the mother and her three girls had a kiss for each of them. Then Tot
+said: "I knowed it. I knowed it! De star had Jesus in it, and I knowed
+He see Maggie and me looking up at it."
+
+"Well, boys," said Mrs. Sandford, "you shall have your banquet, for I
+want you all to take Christmas dinner with us to-morrow."
+
+"Yes, boys, you shall all take dinner with Mrs. Sandford and her
+children to-morrow, but it must be at the home of her parents and not
+here," said a gentleman who had not been noticed as he stood in the
+hallway.
+
+Mrs. Sandford started as the owner of the voice entered the room, and
+little Josie sprang toward him at the same moment. She resembled her
+mother and was her namesake as well. The gentleman stretched out his
+arms toward Mrs. Sandford as he said to her:
+
+"Josie, can you forgive me for the harshness with which I drove you
+years ago from my door? God only knows how I have suffered, and for
+years I have hunted high and low for you, and have advertised time and
+again. But all was in vain, until to-night I saw your face and heard
+your voice once more, as my grandchild, Josie, stood singing on the
+steps and gazing at the star. In her I found you again, and oh, how your
+mother and I have prayed for this time to come."
+
+Long before he had finished, the daughter was in her father's arms once
+more, and the children were clinging to their new-found grandparent. The
+newsboys looked on in wonder, and suddenly little Tot ran to the window
+and then cried out--"Oh, grandpa, the star is here yet, and it shines
+brighter than before," and she threw a kiss up to the star.
+
+Christmas morning came and found them all in a home of plenty. A chair
+that had long stood vacant at that table, was once more filled, and
+near it were four other chairs for the new-found grand-children. Was it
+a "Merry Christmas," did you inquire? Just ask those newsboys who came
+at two o'clock if they ever had such a banquet before or since, or
+whether they ever saw a home in which the "Star of Bethlehem" shone with
+greater splendor. And over the earth the star still shines, and will
+continue to shine until all mankind shall yet have a "Merry Christmas."
+
+
+
+
+INDIAN PETE'S CHRISTMAS GIFT.
+
+BY HERBERT W. COLLINGWOOD.
+
+
+The moon was just peeping over the pines as Pete Shivershee slunk down
+the road from the lumber camp into the forest. Pete did not present a
+surpassingly dignified appearance as he skulked through the clearing,
+but he was not a very dignified person even at his best.
+
+Most persons would have said, I think, that Pete's method of departure
+was hardly appropriate for one who had been selected by the citizens of
+Carter's Camp to go on an important mission. But Pete had his own
+reasons for his actions. He crept along behind the stumps and logs till
+he reached the forest. Then, as if the shadow gave him fresh courage and
+dignity, he drew himself upright, and started at a sharp trot down the
+road toward the village.
+
+We have said that Pete had reasons for his conduct. They were good ones.
+In the first place, he was an Indian. Not a "noble son of the forest,"
+such as Cooper loved to picture, but a mean, dirty, yellow-faced
+"_Injun_." Lazy and worthless, picking up a living about the lumber
+camps, working as little as he could, and eating and drinking as much as
+possible: such was the messenger. The mission was worse yet.
+
+It was Christmas Eve. The snow covered the ground, and the ice had
+stilled for the time the mouth of the roaring river. It was Saturday
+night as well; and for some time past the lumbermen had been considering
+the advisability of keeping the good old holiday with some form of
+celebration suited to the occasion.
+
+The citizens of Carter's Camp were not remarkably fastidious. They knew
+but one form of celebration, and they had no thought of hunting out new
+ones. The one thing needful to make a celebration completely successful
+was--liquor. This they must have in order to do justice to the day.
+
+The temperance laws of Carter's were very strict. Not that the moral
+sentiment of the place was particularly high, but it had been noticed
+that the amounts of labor and whisky were in inverse proportion. The
+more whisky, the less labor. It was a pure question of political
+economy. The foreman had often stated that he would prosecute to the
+fullest extent of the law the first man caught bringing whisky into
+camp. The foreman did not attempt, perhaps, to deny that his knowledge
+of the law was somewhat crude. He had forcibly stated, however, that
+should a case be brought before him, he would himself act as judge and
+jury, while his fist and foot would take the place of witness and
+counsel. There was something so terrible in this statement, coming as it
+did from the largest man in camp, that very little whisky had thus far
+been brought in.
+
+Christmas had come, and the drinking element in Carter's Camp proposed
+that Pete Shivershee--the "Injun"--be sent to town for a quantity of the
+liquid poison, that the drinkers might "enjoy" themselves.
+
+Bill Gammon found Pete curled up by the stove. He took him out of doors
+and explained the business in hand. Bill prided himself somewhat on his
+ability to "git work out of Injuns." Pete muttered only "all right." He
+took the money Bill gave him, and then slunk away down the road for the
+forest, as we have seen him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Bill felt so confident of the success of his experiment that he did not
+hesitate to inform the boys that Pete was "dead sure" to return. He
+would stake his reputation upon it.
+
+Pete was in a hard position. If he loved anything in this world, it was
+whisky. If there was anything he feared, it was Bill's fist. The two
+were sure to go together. The money jingling in his pocket suggested
+unlimited pleasures, but over every one hung Bill's hard fist. He ran
+several miles through the forest, till, turning a corner of the road, he
+came upon a little clearing, in which stood a small log house. Pete knew
+the place well. Here lived Jeff Hunt with his wife, a French woman, and
+their troop of children.
+
+Jeff was a person of little importance by the side of his wife, though,
+like all "lords of creation," he considered himself the legal and proper
+head of the family, as well as one of the mainstays of society. His part
+of the family government consisted, for the most part, in keeping the
+house supplied with wood and water, and in smoking his comfortable pipe
+in the corner, while his wife bent over her tub.
+
+Mrs. Hunt was the only woman near the camp, and so all the laundry work
+fell to her. Laundry work in the pine woods implies mending and darning,
+as well as washing and ironing, and the poor little woman had her hands
+full of work surely. It was rub, rub, rub, day after day, over the
+steaming tub, with the children running about like little wolves, and
+Jeff kindly giving his advice from his comfortable corner. And even
+after the children were in bed at night, she must sit up and mend the
+clean clothes.
+
+What a pack of children there were! How rough and strong they seemed,
+running about all day, all but poor little Marie, the oldest. She had
+never been strong, and now at last she was dying of consumption. She
+could not sit up at all, but lay all day on the little bed in the
+corner, watching her mother with sad, beautiful eyes.
+
+The brave little Frenchwoman's heart almost failed her at times, as she
+saw how day by day the little form grew thinner, the eyes more
+beautiful, the cheeks more flushed. She knew the signs too well, but
+there was nothing she could do.
+
+Pete was a regular visitor at Jeff's and always a welcome one. His work
+was to carry the washing to and from camp. He came nearer to feeling
+like a man at Jeff's house than at any other place he knew of. Everyone
+but Mrs. Hunt and little Marie called him only "Injun," but they always
+said "Mr. Shivershee." The "Meester Shivershee" of the little
+Frenchwoman was the nearest claim to respectability that Pete felt able
+to make. One night while carrying home the clothes, he dropped them in
+the mud. He never minded the whipping Bill Gammon gave him half as much
+as he did poor Mrs. Hunt's tears, to think how her work had gone for
+nothing.
+
+As Pete came trotting down the road, Jeff stood in front of his house
+chopping stove-wood from a great log. A lantern, hung on a stump,
+provided light for his purpose. Pete stopped from sheer force of habit
+in front of the house, and Jeff, glad of any chance to interrupt his
+work, paused to talk with him.
+
+"Walk in, Injun," said Jeff, hospitably. "Yer clo'es ain't quite ready,
+but the woman will hev 'em all up soon--walk in."
+
+It suddenly came over Pete that this was his night for taking the
+clothes home, but his present errand was of far more importance than
+mere laundry work.
+
+"Me no stop. I goin' ter town. Great work. Large bizness." By which
+vague hints he meant no doubt to impress Jeff with a sense of the
+dignity of his mission, and yet cunningly to keep its object concealed.
+
+"Goin' to town, be ye? Great doin's ter camp ter-morrer, I s'pose. I'll
+be round ef I kin git away, but walk in, Injun, an' git yer supper, an'
+see the wimmin," and Jeff opened the door for Pete to pass in.
+
+The thought of supper was too much for Pete and he slunk in after Jeff
+and stood in the corner by the door. The room was hardly an inviting
+one, and yet if Pete had been a white man some thoughts of "home, sweet
+home," must have passed through his mind. But he was only a despised
+"Injun."
+
+A rough board table was laid for supper at one side of the room. In the
+corner little Marie lay with the firelight falling over her poor thin
+face. Pete must have felt, as he looked at her, like some hopeless
+convict gazing through his prison bars upon some fair saint passing
+before him. She seemed to be in another world than his; there seemed
+between them a gulf that could not be bridged. Three of the larger
+children were sobbing in the corner, while the rest formed a sorrowful
+group about an old box in which were two or three simple plants frozen
+and yellow. Mrs. Hunt was frying pork over the hot stove. As she looked
+up at Pete, he noticed that she had been crying.
+
+Jeff was the very prince of hosts. He made haste to make Pete feel at
+home.
+
+"Set by, Injun. So the boys is goin' ter kinder cellybrate ter-morrer,
+be they?"
+
+But Pete felt that his mission must not be disclosed. "What matter is
+with kids?" he asked, to change the subject.
+
+"Oh, they're jest a-yellin' about them flowers," explained Jeff. "Ye see
+they hev been a-trainin' some posies indoors against ter-morrer, ye
+know. Ter-morrer's Christmas, ye see, an' them kids they hed an idee
+they'd hev some flowers fer ter dekerate thet corner where the little
+gal is. Little gals, when they ain't well, like sech things, ye know."
+
+Pete nodded. He was not aware of this love of diminutive females, but it
+would not show very good breeding to appear ignorant.
+
+"Wall, ye see," continued Jeff, "they kep the flowers away from the
+little gal, meanin' ter s'prise her like. But jest this afternoon they
+gut ketched by the frost, an' now there they be stiffer'n stakes. It is
+kinder bad, ain't it--'specially ez it's Christmas, too?"
+
+"What Crissmus?" put in Pete.
+
+"Oh, Christmas? Wall, it's a sorter _day_ like. It's somethin' like
+other days, an' yet it ain't. But then, Injun, I don't s'pose ye would
+understand ef I wuz ter tell ye." And Jeff concealed his own ignorance,
+as many wiser and better men have done, by assuming a tone too lofty for
+his audience.
+
+But Mrs. Hunt could explain, even if Jeff could not. She paused on the
+way to the stove with a dish of pork in her hand.
+
+"It eez the day of the good Lord, Meester Shivershee. It eez the day
+when the good Lord He was born, and when all people should be glad." But
+the little woman belied her own creed as she thought of little Marie and
+the dead flowers.
+
+I hardly think Pete gained a very clear idea of the day, even from Mrs.
+Hunt's explanation. It was, I fear, all Greek to him.
+
+"What flowers fer?" he asked, as, in response to Jeff's polite
+invitation, he "sat by" and began supper.
+
+"Wall, it's a sorter idee of the wimmin," explained Jeff. "Looks kinder
+pooty to see flowers round; ye see, kinder slicks up a room like. All
+these things hez ter come inter keepin' house, ye see, Injun." With
+which broad explanation Jeff helped himself to a piece of pork.
+
+But Mrs. Hunt was bound to explain too. Her explanation was certainly
+more poetic.
+
+"It eez the way we show our love for the good Lord, Meester Shivershee.
+What is more beautiful than the flowers? We take the flowers, and with
+much love we place them upon the walls, and we make others happy with
+them, and the good Lord, who loves us all, He is pleased,"--but here,
+seeing the sobbing children and the frozen plants, she could not help
+wiping her eyes upon her apron.
+
+The little sufferer on the bed saw this action. Her voice was almost
+gone. "Never mind, mamma," she whispered; but the beautiful eyes were
+filled with tears, for she knew that mamma _would_ mind--that she could
+not help it.
+
+Pete listened to all this attentively. "Injun" that he was, of course he
+could not understand it all, and yet he could hardly help seeing
+something of the sorrow that the loss of the flowers had brought upon
+the family. He finished his supper, and then slunk out at the door
+again. Jeff followed him out.
+
+"Little gal ever git well?" asked Pete.
+
+"No; I don't s'pose she will," answered Jeff. "There ain't no hopes held
+out fer her. Makes it kinder bad, ye see. Nice, clever little gal as
+ever lived, too. Stop in an' git yer clo'es when ye come back, will ye?"
+
+"All right," muttered Pete, as he trotted away toward the town.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I wonder what Pete was thinking about as he ran through the forest. An
+"Injun's" thoughts on any ordinary subject cannot be very deep, yet when
+one comes from such a scene as Pete had just witnessed, and when such
+sad eyes as Marie's haunt one all along a lonely road, even an
+"Injun's" thoughts must be worth noticing. Let us imagine what Pete's
+thoughts were as he shuffled mile after mile through the snow. The scene
+he had just left rose before his dulled "Injun" mind. How kind Mrs. Hunt
+had always been to him! She was the only one that called him "Mister."
+How queer it was that the children should cry because the flowers were
+killed! How little Marie had looked at him! Somehow Pete could not drive
+those sad eyes away. They seemed to be looking at him from every stump,
+from every tree. They were filled with tears now--could it be because
+the flowers were frozen?
+
+It is no wonder that when at last the few lingering village lights came
+into view, Pete was wondering how he could help matters out.
+
+It was quite late, and most of the shops were closed. Only here and
+there some late worker showed a light. The bar-rooms were open full
+blast, and as Pete glided down the sawdust street it needed all the
+remembrance of Bill's fist to keep him from parting with a portion of
+the jingling money for an equal amount of good cheer. But the fist had
+the best of it, and he went straight on to the last bar-room. Surely
+Bill was right. Nothing but a miracle could stop him.
+
+But the miracle was performed, and when Pete least expected it.
+
+Pete knew better than to go into the front door of the bar-room. He knew
+how well he and all his race are protected by the government. It had
+been decided that no one should be allowed to sell liquor to an
+"Injun"--at least at the regular bar. If an "Injun," however, could so
+far lose sight of his personal dignity as to come sneaking in at the
+back door, and pay an extra price for his liquor, whose business was it?
+
+Pete knew the way of bar-tenders. He had been in the business before. He
+did not go in at the front door where the higher-bred white men were
+made welcome, but slunk down an alley by the side of the building,
+meaning to go in the back way.
+
+There was no light in the store next the bar-room. It was a milliner's
+store and had been closed for some hours. But in the back room two women
+were working away anxious to finish a hat, evidently intended for some
+village belle's Christmas. Pete stopped in the dark alley for a moment
+to watch them.
+
+A man sat asleep in a chair by the stove, but the women worked on with
+tireless fingers. The hat was growing more and more brilliant under
+their quick touches. By their side stood a basket of artificial flowers
+and bright ribbons. It seemed to Pete that he had never before seen
+anything so beautiful. Here were flowers--why could he not get some for
+the little sick girl?
+
+It was a severe struggle for the poor "Injun," out there in the dark
+alley. The thought of the thrashing he would receive on the one hand,
+and the sad eyes of Marie on the other. What could he do? But even an
+"Injun" can remember a kindness. It may have been a miracle, or it may
+have been just the out-cropping of the desire to repay a kindness which
+even an "Injun" is said to possess. At any rate the eyes conquered and
+Pete braved the fist of Bill. For fear that he should lose courage, he
+pushed against the door of the room, and entered without ceremony.
+
+There was a great commotion, I can assure you. The idea of an "Injun"
+pushing his way into the back parlor of a milliner's shop was too much
+of a revolutionary proceeding to pass unnoticed. The women dropped their
+work with a little scream, while the man started from his chair with
+most violent intent upon poor Pete.
+
+"What be ye after here, Injun?" he growled. "Hump yerself outer
+here--git a-goin'!"
+
+But Pete pulled out his money, at the sight of which the standing army
+of the milliner's store paused. Money has smoothed over many an outrage.
+It might perhaps excuse even such an action on the part of an "Injun."
+
+"I want flowers," Pete said, pointing to the basket. "Give me flowers--I
+pay."
+
+"Oh, ye wanter buy sum of them artyficial flowers, do ye? This is a
+pooty time o' night ter come flower huntin,' ain't it? Jest pick out yer
+flowers, an' then climb out!"--and he held the basket out at arm's
+length for Pete to select.
+
+Pete took a great red rose, and a white flower. There was not very much
+of a stock to select from, but Pete, with "Injun" instinct, selected the
+largest and gaudiest.
+
+"Them is wurth about ten shillins," figured up the merchant, taking the
+money from Pete's hand.
+
+Pete carefully placed the flowers in the pocket of his ragged coat, and
+started for the door. The milliner's man, rendered affable by the most
+surprising bargain he had just made, naturally wished to retain the
+patronage of such a model customer.
+
+"Want anything in our line, Injun, jest call round an' we'll please ye.
+Only come a little afore bed-time when ye come again." But Pete slunk
+out at the door and did not hear him.
+
+Pete's money was nearly gone, but he had a scheme in his head. He slunk
+in at the back door of the bar-room, and obtained his jug, and what
+whiskey he could buy with the rest of his money. Then up the street he
+ran again, out of town, stopping only once at the pump to fill the jug
+to the top with water. Resolutely fastening in the stopper, and not even
+raising the jug to his mouth, he started for camp at his long, swinging
+trot, with the jug in his hand. Mile after mile was passed over, yet
+Pete did not stop till Jeff Hunt's cabin came in sight. Hiding his jug
+behind a log, he crept up to the window and looked in.
+
+The light was burning on the table, while Mrs. Hunt sat nodding over her
+work. She had been mending the clothes so that Pete could take them back
+with him. Tired out, she had fallen asleep. The box of frozen plants
+still stood by the table. Pete grinned as he saw them, thinking of the
+great flowers in his pocket. Marie was asleep. Over her head were hung
+long clusters of moss, with masses of ground pine and red berries.
+
+Pete stole to the door and went in. Mrs. Hunt woke with a start, but at
+sight of Pete smiled in her weary way. Pete made up his bundle of
+clothes, and then pulled out the great red rose and the white flower. He
+laid them on the table with--"Flowers fer little gal. Sick. Make her
+think Crissmus. Good flowers. All color. No fade. No smell. No wear
+out." Then, catching up his bundle, he slunk away without waiting for
+Mrs. Hunt's thanks.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Bill Gammon woke in the morning, he found the jug at the foot of
+his bunk. But Pete was nowhere to be seen. He had left the jug and fled.
+
+The Christmas celebration at Carter's was a very tame affair. Many were
+the curses showered upon Pete, and had that worthy been present, I doubt
+if even the thought of the famous miracle would have sustained him in
+the beating he would have received. But if Pete's conduct produced such
+a sad effect upon the festivities at Carter's, the joy it caused at Jeff
+Hunt's cabin made matters even. The glad Christmas sun, glad with the
+promise of the "old, old story," came dancing and sparkling over the
+trees, and looked down in wonderful tenderness upon the humble cabin.
+The first bright beams fell upon the bed where little Marie was lying.
+They showed her the rose and the white flower nestling in the
+evergreens. The children came and stood in wonder before the rude
+flowers. How wonderful they were! Where could they have come from?
+
+The face of the little girl was more patient than before. The eyes
+seemed more tender, and yet not so sad. Perhaps the glad sun, the same
+good sun that had looked upon that far-away tomb from which the stone
+had rolled, whispered to her, as it played about her face, how soon the
+stone would roll from her life; how soon she would forget all her care
+and trouble, and enter the land of sunshine and flowers. It may be that
+the good old Christmas sun even hunted out poor despised Pete, and told
+him something of its happiness. I am sure he deserved it. Let us hope so
+at any rate.
+
+
+
+
+MY CHRISTMAS DINNER.
+
+
+It was on the twentieth of December last that I received an invitation
+from my friend, Mr. Phiggins, to dine with him in Mark Lane, on
+Christmas Day. I had several reasons for declining this proposition. The
+first was that Mr. P. makes it a rule, at all these festivals, to empty
+the entire contents of his counting-house into his little dining parlor;
+and you consequently sit down to dinner with six white-waistcoated
+clerks, let loose upon a turkey. The second was that I am not
+sufficiently well read in cotton and sugar, to enter with any spirit
+into the subject of conversation. And the third was, and is, that I
+never drink Cape wine. But by far the most prevailing reason remains to
+be told. I had been anticipating for some days, and was hourly in the
+hope of receiving, an invitation to spend my Christmas Day in a most
+irresistible quarter. I was expecting, indeed, the felicity of eating
+plum-pudding with an angel; and, on the strength of my imaginary
+engagement, I returned a polite note to Mr. P., reducing him to the
+necessity of advertising for another candidate for Cape and turkey.
+
+The twenty-first came. Another invitation--to dine with a regiment of
+roast-beef eaters, at Clapham. I declined this also, for the above
+reason, and for one other, _viz._, that, on dining there ten Christmas
+Days ago, it was discovered, on sitting down, that one little
+accompaniment of the roast beef had been entirely overlooked. Would it
+be believed!--but I will not stay to mystify--I merely mention the fact.
+They had forgotten the horseradish.
+
+The next day arrived, and with it a neat epistle, sealed with
+violet-colored wax, from Upper Brook street. "Dine with the ladies--at
+home on Christmas Day." Very tempting, it is true; but not exactly the
+letter I was longing for. I began, however, to debate within myself upon
+the policy of securing this bird in hand, instead of waiting for the two
+that were still hopping about the bush, when the consultation was
+suddenly brought to a close, by a prophetic view of the portfolio of
+drawings fresh from boarding-school--moths and roses on embossed
+paper;--to say nothing of the album, in which I stood engaged to write
+an elegy on a Java sparrow, that had been the favorite in the family for
+three days. I rung for gilt-edged, pleaded a world of polite regret, and
+again declined.
+
+The twenty-third dawned; time was getting on rather rapidly; but no card
+came. I began to despair of any more invitations, and to repent of my
+refusals. Breakfast was hardly over, however, when the servant brought
+up--not a letter--but an aunt and a brace of cousins from Bayswater.
+They would listen to no excuse; consanguinity required me, and Christmas
+was not my own. Now my cousins kept no albums; they are really as pretty
+as cousins can be; and when violent hands, with white kid gloves, are
+laid on one, it is sometimes difficult to effect an escape with becoming
+elegance. I could not, however, give up my darling hope of a pleasanter
+prospect. They fought with me in fifty engagements--that I pretended to
+have made. I showed them the Court Guide, with ten names
+obliterated--being those of persons who had _not_ asked me to mince-meat
+and mistletoe; and I ultimately gained my cause by quartering the
+remains of an infectious fever on the sensitive fears of my aunt, and by
+dividing a rheumatism and a sprained ankle between my sympathetic
+cousins.
+
+As soon as they were gone, I walked out, sauntering involuntarily in
+the direction of the only house in which I felt I could spend a "happy"
+Christmas. As I approached, a porter brought a large hamper to the door.
+"A present from the country," thought I, "yes, they _do_ dine at home;
+they must ask me; they know that I am in town." Immediately afterward a
+servant issued with a letter; he took the nearest way to my lodgings,
+and I hurried back by another street to receive the so-much-wished-for
+invitation. I was in a state of delirious delight.
+
+I arrived--but there was no letter. I sat down to wait, in a spirit of
+calmer enjoyment than I had experienced for some days; and in less than
+half an hour a note was brought to me. At length, the desired despatch
+had come; it seemed written on the leaf of a lily with a pen dipped in
+dew. I opened it--and had nearly fainted with disappointment. It was
+from a stock-broker, who begins an anecdote of Mr. Rothschild before
+dinner, and finishes it with the fourth bottle--and who makes his eight
+children stay up to supper and snap-dragon. In macadamizing a stray
+stone in one of his periodical puddings, I once lost a tooth, and with
+it an heiress of some reputation. I wrote a most irritable apology, and
+despatched my warmest regards in a whirlwind.
+
+December the twenty-fourth--I began to count the hours, and uttered many
+poetical things about the wings of Time. Alack! no letter came;--yes, I
+received a note from a distinguished dramatist, requesting the honor,
+etc. But I was too cunning for this, and practiced wisdom for once. I
+happened to reflect that his pantomime was to make its appearance on the
+night after, and that his object was to perpetrate the whole programme
+upon me. Regret that I could not have the pleasure of meeting Mr. Paulo,
+and the rest of the _literati_ to be then and there assembled, was of
+course immediately expressed.
+
+My mind became restless and agitated. I felt, amidst all these
+invitations, cruelly neglected. They served, indeed, but to increase my
+uneasiness, as they opened prospects of happiness in which I could take
+no share. They discovered a most tempting dessert, composed of forbidden
+fruit. I took down "Childe Harold," and read myself into a sublime
+contempt of mankind. I began to perceive that merriment is only malice
+in disguise, and that the chief cardinal virtue is misanthropy.
+
+I sat "nursing my wrath," till it scorched me; when the arrival of
+another epistle suddenly charmed me from this state of delicious
+melancholy and delightful endurance of wrong. I sickened as I surveyed,
+and trembled as I opened it. It was dated----, but no matter; it was not
+_the_ letter. In such a frenzy as mine, raging to behold the object of
+my admiration condescend, not to _eat_ a custard, but to render it
+invisible--to be invited perhaps to a tart fabricated by her own
+ethereal fingers; with such possibilities before me, how could I think
+of joining a "friendly party,"--where I should inevitably sit next to a
+deaf lady, who had been, when a little girl, patted on the head by
+Wilkes, or my Lord North, she could not recollect which--had taken tea
+with the author of "Junius," but had forgotten his name--and who once
+asked me "whether Mr. Munden's monument was in Westminster Abbey or St.
+Paul's?"--I seized a pen, and presented my compliments. I hesitated--for
+the peril of precariousness of my situation flashed on my mind; but hope
+had still left me a straw to catch at, and I at length succeeded in
+resisting this late and terrible temptation.
+
+After the first burst of excitement, I sunk into still deeper
+despondency. My spirit became a prey to anxiety and remorse. I could not
+eat; dinner was removed with unlifted covers. I went out. The world
+seemed to have acquired a new face; nothing was to be seen but raisins
+and rounds of beef. I wandered about like Lear--I had given up all! I
+felt myself grated against the world like a nutmeg. It grew dark--I
+sustained a still gloomier shock. Every chance seemed to have expired,
+and everybody seemed to have a delightful engagement for the next day. I
+alone was disengaged--I felt like the Last Man! To-morrow appeared to
+have already commenced its career; mankind had anticipated the future;
+"and coming mince pies cast their shadows before."
+
+In this state of desolation and dismay, I called--I could not help
+it--at the house to which I had so fondly anticipated an invitation, and
+a welcome. My protest must here however be recorded, that though I
+called in the hope of being asked, it was my fixed determination not to
+avail myself of so protracted a piece of politeness. No: my triumph
+would have been to have annihilated them with an engagement made in
+September, payable three months after date. With these feelings, I gave
+an agitated knock--they were stoning the plums, and did not immediately
+attend. I rung--how unlike a dinner bell it sounded! A girl at length
+made her appearance, and, with a mouthful of citron, informed me that
+the family had gone to spend their Christmas Eve in Portland Place. I
+rushed down the steps, I hardly knew whither. My first impulse was to go
+to some wharf and inquire what vessels were starting for America. But it
+was a cold night--I went home and threw myself on my miserable couch. In
+other words, I went to bed.
+
+I dozed and dreamed away the hours till day-break. Sometimes I fancied
+myself seated in a roaring circle, roasting chestnuts at a blazing log:
+at others, that I had fallen into the Serpentine while skating, and that
+the Humane Society were piling upon me a Pelion, or rather a Vesuvius
+of blankets. I awoke a little refreshed. Alas! it was the twenty-fifth
+of the month--It was Christmas Day! Let the reader, if he possess the
+imagination of Milton, conceive my sensations.
+
+I swallowed an atom of dry toast--nothing could calm the fever of my
+soul. I stirred the fire and read Zimmermann alternately. Even
+reason--the last remedy one has recourse to in such cases--came at
+length to my relief: I argued myself into a philosophic fit. But,
+unluckily, just as the Lethean tide within me was at its height, my
+landlady broke in upon my lethargy, and chased away by a single word all
+the little sprites and pleasures that were acting as my physicians, and
+prescribing balm for my wounds. She paid me the usual compliment, and
+then--"Do you dine at home to-day, sir?" abruptly inquired she. Here was
+a question. No Spanish inquisitor ever inflicted such complete dismay in
+so short a sentence. Had she given me a Sphynx to expound, a Gordian
+tangle to untwist; had she set me a lesson in algebra, or asked me the
+way to Brobdingnag; had she desired me to show her the North Pole, or
+the meaning of a melodrama:--any or all of these I might have
+accomplished. But to request me to define my dinner--to inquire into its
+latitude--to compel me to fathom that sea of appetite which I now felt
+rushing through my frame--to ask me to dive into futurity, and become
+the prophet of pies and preserves!--My heart died within me at the
+impossibility of a reply.
+
+She had repeated the question before I could collect my senses around
+me. Then, for the first time it occurred to me that, in the event of my
+having no engagement abroad, my landlady meant to invite me! "There will
+at least be the two daughters," I whispered to myself; "and after all,
+Lucy Matthews is a charming girl, and touches the harp divinely. She has
+a very small, pretty hand, I recollect; only her fingers are so
+punctured by the needle--and I rather think she bites her nails. No, I
+will not even now give up my hope. It was yesterday but a straw--to-day
+it is but the thistledown; but I will cling to it to the last moment.
+There are still four hours left; they will not dine till six. One
+desperate struggle, and the peril is past; let me not be seduced by this
+last golden apple, and I may yet win my race." The struggle was made--"I
+should not dine at home." This was the only phrase left me, for I could
+not say that "I should dine out." Alas! that an event should be at the
+same time so doubtful and so desirable. I only begged that if any letter
+arrived, it might be brought to me immediately.
+
+The last plank, the last splinter, had now given way beneath me. I was
+floating about with no hope but the chance of something almost
+impossible. They had "left me alone," not with my glory, but with an
+appetite that resembled an avalanche seeking whom it might devour. I had
+passed one dinnerless day, and half of another; yet the promised land
+was as far from sight as ever. I recounted the chances I had missed. The
+dinners I might have enjoyed, passed in a dioramic view before my eyes.
+Mr. Phiggins and his six clerks--the Clapham beef-eaters--the charms of
+Upper Brook street--my pretty cousins, and the pantomime writer--the
+stock broker, whose stories one forgets, and the elderly lady who
+forgets her stories--they all marched by me, a procession of
+apparitions. Even my landlady's invitation, though unborn, was not
+forgotten in summing up my sacrifices. And for what?
+
+Four o'clock. Hope was perfectly ridiculous. I had been walking upon the
+hair-bridge over a gulf, and could not get into Elysium after all. I had
+been catching moonbeams, and running after notes of music. Despair was
+my only convenient refuge; no chance remained, unless something should
+drop from the clouds. In this last particular I was not disappointed;
+for, on looking up, I perceived a heavy shower of snow, yet I was
+obliged to venture forth; for being supposed to dine out, I could not of
+course remain at home. Where to go I knew not: I was like my first
+father--"the world was all before me." I flung my coat round me, and
+hurried forth with the feelings of a bandit longing for a stiletto. At
+the foot of the stairs, I staggered against two or three smiling
+rascals, priding themselves upon their punctuality. They had just
+arrived--to make the tour of Turkey. How I hated them!--As I rushed by
+the parlor, a single glance disclosed to me a blazing fire, with Lucy
+and several lovely creatures in a semi-circle. Fancy, too, gave me a
+glimpse of a sprig of mistletoe--I vanished from the house, like a
+spectre at day-break.
+
+How long I wandered about is doubtful. At last I happened to look
+through a kitchen window, with an area in front, and saw a villain with
+a fork in his hand, throwing himself back in his chair choked with
+ecstasy. Another was feasting with a graver air; he seemed to be
+swallowing a bit of Paradise, and criticising its flavor. This was too
+much for mortality--my appetite fastened upon me like an alligator. I
+darted from the spot; and only a few yards further discerned a house
+with rather an elegant exterior, and with some ham in the window that
+looked perfectly sublime. There was no time for consideration--to
+hesitate was to perish. I entered; it was indeed "a banquet-hall
+deserted." The very waiters had gone home to their friends. There,
+however, I found a fire; and there--to sum up all my folly and felicity
+in a single word--I DINED.
+
+
+
+
+THE POOR TRAVELER.
+
+BY CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+     [Dickens' introduction to this story describes his going to
+     Rochester on Christmas Eve and seeing there a quaint old charity,
+     which provided for the entertainment of "six poor travelers who not
+     being rogues or proctors might receive gratis for one night
+     lodging, entertainment and fourpence each." In honor of the day a
+     special meal is provided for the travelers then in the charity.
+     After the meal, when the travelers have gathered around the fire,
+     their entertainer gives them the reason for the unwonted feast as
+     "Christmas Eve, my friends, when the Shepherds, who were poor
+     travelers, too, in their way, heard the Angels sing, 'On earth,
+     peace: Good will toward men.'" Then each traveler was invited to
+     relate a story, and among those told was the following.]
+
+
+In the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine, a relative of
+mine came limping down, on foot, to the town of Chatham. He was a poor
+traveler, with not a farthing in his pocket.
+
+My relative came down to Chatham to enlist in a cavalry regiment, if a
+cavalry regiment would have him; if not, to take King George's shilling
+from any corporal or sergeant who would put a bunch of ribbons in his
+hat. His object was to get shot; but he thought he might as well ride to
+death as be at the trouble of walking.
+
+My relative's Christian name was Richard, but he was better known as
+Dick. He dropped his own surname on the road down, and took up that of
+Doubledick. He was passed as Richard Doubledick; age, twenty-two;
+height, five foot ten; native place, Exmouth, which he had never been
+near in his life. There was no cavalry in Chatham when he limped over
+the bridge with half a shoe to his dusty feet, so he enlisted into a
+regiment of the line, and was glad to get drunk and forget all about it.
+
+You are to know that this relative of mine had gone wrong, and run wild.
+His heart was in the right place, but it was sealed up. He had been
+betrothed to a good and beautiful girl, whom he had loved better than
+she--or perhaps even he--believed; but in an evil hour he had given her
+cause to say to him solemnly, "Richard, I will never marry any other
+man. I will live single for your sake, but Mary Marshall's lips"--her
+name was Mary Marshall--"never address another word to you on earth. Go,
+Richard! Heaven forgive you!" This finished him. This brought him down
+to Chatham. This made him Private Richard Doubledick, with a
+determination to be shot.
+
+There was not a more dissipated and reckless soldier in Chatham
+barracks, in the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine, than
+Private Richard Doubledick. He associated with the dregs of every
+regiment; he was as seldom sober as he could be, and was constantly
+under punishment. It became clear to the whole barracks that Private
+Richard Doubledick would very soon be flogged.
+
+Now the Captain of Richard Doubledick's company was a young gentleman
+not above five years his senior, whose eyes had an expression in them
+which affected Private Richard Doubledick in a very remarkable way. They
+were bright, handsome, dark eyes,--what are called laughing eyes
+generally, and, when serious, rather steady than severe,--but they were
+the only eyes now left in his narrowed world that Private Richard
+Doubledick could not stand. Unabashed by evil report and punishment,
+defiant of everything else and everybody else, he had but to know that
+those eyes looked at him for a moment, and he felt ashamed. He could
+not so much as salute Captain Taunton in the street like any other
+officer. He was reproached and confused,--troubled by the mere
+possibility of the Captain's looking at him. In his worst moments, he
+would rather turn back, and go any distance out of his way, than
+encounter those two handsome, dark, bright eyes.
+
+One day, when Private Richard Doubledick came out of the Black hole,
+where he had been passing the last eight and forty hours, and in which
+retreat he spent a good deal of his time, he was ordered to betake
+himself to Captain Taunton's quarters. In the stale and squalid state of
+a man just out of the Black hole, he had less fancy than ever for being
+seen by the Captain; but he was not so mad yet as to disobey orders, and
+consequently went up to the terrace overlooking the parade-ground, where
+the officers' quarters were; twisting and breaking in his hands, as he
+went along, a bit of the straw that had formed the decorative furniture
+of the Black hole.
+
+"Come in!" cried the Captain, when he knocked with his knuckles at the
+door. Private Richard Doubledick pulled off his cap, took a stride
+forward, and felt very conscious that he stood in the light of the dark,
+bright eyes.
+
+There was a slight pause. Private Richard Doubledick had put the straw
+in his mouth, and was gradually doubling it up into his windpipe and
+choking himself.
+
+"Doubledick," said the Captain, "do you know where you are going to?"
+
+"To the devil, sir," faltered Doubledick.
+
+"Yes," returned the Captain. "And very fast."
+
+Private Richard Doubledick turned the straw of the Black hole in his
+mouth, and made a miserable salute of acquiescence.
+
+"Doubledick," said the Captain, "since I entered his Majesty's service,
+a boy of seventeen, I have been pained to see many men of promise going
+that road; but I have never been so pained to see a man determined to
+make the shameful journey as I have been, ever since you joined the
+regiment, to see you."
+
+Private Richard Doubledick began to find a film stealing over the floor
+at which he looked; also to find the legs of the Captain's
+breakfast-table turning crooked, as if he saw them through water.
+
+"I am only a common soldier, sir," said he. "It signifies very little
+what such a poor brute comes to."
+
+"You are a man," returned the Captain, with grave indignation, "of
+education and superior advantages; and if you say that, meaning what you
+say, you have sunk lower than I had believed. How low that must be, I
+leave you to consider, knowing what I know of your disgrace, and seeing
+what I see."
+
+"I hope to get shot soon, sir," said Private Richard Doubledick; "and
+then the regiment and the world together will be rid of me."
+
+The legs of the table were becoming very crooked. Doubledick, looking up
+to steady his vision, met the eyes that had so strong an influence over
+him. He put his hand before his own eyes, and the breast of his
+disgrace-jacket swelled as if it would fly asunder.
+
+"I would rather," said the young Captain, "see this in you, Doubledick,
+than I would see five thousand guineas counted out upon this table for a
+gift to my good mother. Have you a mother?"
+
+"I am thankful to say she is dead, sir."
+
+"If your praises," returned the Captain, "were sounded from mouth to
+mouth through the whole regiment, through the whole army, through the
+whole country, you would wish she had lived to say, with pride and joy,
+'He is my son!'"
+
+"Spare me, sir," said Doubledick. "She would never have heard any good
+of me. She would never have had any pride and joy in owning herself my
+mother. Love and compassion she might have had, and would have always
+had, I know; but not--Spare me, sir! I am a broken wretch, quite at your
+mercy!" And he turned his face to the wall, and stretched out his
+imploring hand.
+
+"My friend--" began the Captain.
+
+"God bless you, sir!" sobbed Private Richard Doubledick.
+
+I have heard from Private Richard Doubledick's own lips, that he dropped
+down upon his knee, kissed that officer's hand, arose, and went out of
+the light of the dark, bright eyes, an altered man.
+
+In that year, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine, the French
+were in Egypt, in Italy, in Germany, where not? Napoleon Bonaparte had
+likewise begun to stir against England in India, and most men could read
+the signs of the great troubles that were coming on. In the very next
+year, when we formed an alliance with Austria against him. Captain
+Taunton's regiment was on service in India. And there was not a finer
+non-commissioned officer in it,--no, nor in the whole line,--than
+Corporal Richard Doubledick.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In eighteen hundred and one, the Indian army were on the coast of Egypt.
+Next year was the year of the proclamation of the short peace, and they
+were recalled. It had then become well known to thousands of men, that
+wherever Captain Taunton, with the dark, bright eyes, led, there, close
+to him, ever at his side, firm as a rock, true as the sun, and brave as
+Mars, would be certain to be found, while life beat in their hearts,
+that famous soldier, _Sergeant_ Richard Doubledick.
+
+Eighteen hundred and five, besides being the great year of Trafalgar,
+was a year of hard fighting in India. That year saw such wonders done by
+a Sergeant-Major, who cut his way single-handed through a solid mass of
+men, recovered the colors of his regiment, which had been seized from
+the hand of a poor boy shot through the heart, and rescued his wounded
+Captain, who was down, and in a very jungle of horses' hoofs and
+sabres,--saw such wonders done, I say, by this brave Sergeant-Major,
+that he was specially made the bearer of the colors he had won; and
+_Ensign_ Richard Doubledick had risen from the ranks.
+
+Sorely cut up in every battle, but always reinforced by the bravest of
+men,--for the fame of following the old colors, shot through and
+through, which Ensign Richard Doubledick had saved, inspired all
+breasts,--this regiment fought its way through the Peninsular war, up to
+the investment of Badajos in eighteen hundred and twelve. Again and
+again it had been cheered through the British ranks until the tears had
+sprung into men's eyes at the mere hearing of the mighty British voice,
+so exultant in their valor; and there was not a drummer boy but knew the
+legend, that wherever the two friends, Major Taunton, with the dark,
+bright eyes, and Ensign Richard Doubledick, who was devoted to him, were
+seen to go, there the boldest spirits in the English army became wild to
+follow.
+
+One day, at Badajos,--not in the great storming, but in repelling a hot
+sally of the besieged upon our men at work in the trenches, who had
+given way,--the two officers found themselves hurrying forward, face to
+face, against a party of French infantry, who made a stand. There was an
+officer at their head, encouraging his men,--a courageous, handsome,
+gallant officer of five-and-thirty, whom Doubledick saw hurriedly,
+almost momentarily, but saw well. He particularly noticed this officer
+waving his sword, and rallying his men with an eager and excited cry,
+when they fired in obedience to his gesture, and Major Taunton dropped.
+
+It was over in ten minutes more, and Doubledick returned to the spot
+where he had laid the best friend man ever had, on a coat spread upon
+the wet clay. Major Taunton's uniform was opened at the breast, and on
+his shirt were three little spots of blood.
+
+"Dear Doubledick," said he, "I am dying."
+
+"For the love of Heaven, no!" exclaimed the other, kneeling down beside
+him, and passing his arm round his neck to raise his head. "Taunton! My
+preserver, my guardian angel, my witness! Dearest, truest, kindest of
+human beings! Taunton! For God's sake!"
+
+The bright, dark eyes--so very, very dark, now, in the pale face--smiled
+upon him; and the hand he had kissed thirteen years ago laid itself
+fondly on his breast.
+
+"Write to my mother. You will see home again. Tell her how we became
+friends. It will comfort her, as it comforts me."
+
+He spoke no more, but faintly signed for a moment toward his hair as it
+fluttered in the wind. The Ensign understood him. He smiled again when
+he saw that, and, gently turning his face over on the supporting arm as
+if for rest, died, with his hand upon the breast in which he had revived
+a soul.
+
+No dry eye looked on Ensign Richard Doubledick that melancholy day. He
+buried his friend on the field, and became a lone, bereaved man. Beyond
+his duty he appeared to have but two remaining cares in life,--one, to
+preserve the little packet of hair he was to give to Taunton's mother;
+the other, to encounter that French officer who had rallied the men
+under whose fire Taunton fell. A new legend now began to circulate
+among our troops; and it was, that when he and the French officer came
+face to face once more, there would be weeping in France.
+
+The war went on--and through it went the exact picture of the French
+officer on the one side, and the bodily reality upon the other--until
+the battle of Toulouse was fought. In the returns sent home appeared
+these words: "Severely wounded, but not dangerously, _Lieutenant_
+Richard Doubledick."
+
+At midsummer-time, in the year eighteen hundred and fourteen, Lieutenant
+Richard Doubledick, now a browned soldier, seven-and-thirty years of
+age, came home to England invalided. He brought the hair with him, near
+his heart. Many a French officer had he seen since that day; many a
+dreadful night, in searching with men and lanterns for his wounded, had
+he relieved French officers lying disabled; but the mental picture and
+the reality had never come together.
+
+Though he was weak and suffered pain, he lost not an hour in getting
+down to Frome in Somersetshire, where Taunton's mother lived. In the
+sweet, compassionate words that naturally present themselves to the mind
+to-night, "he was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow."
+
+It was a Sunday evening, and the lady sat at her quiet garden-window,
+reading the Bible; reading to herself, in a trembling voice, that very
+passage in it, as I have heard him tell. He heard the words: "Young man,
+I say unto thee, arise!"
+
+He had to pass the window; and the bright, dark eyes of his debased time
+seemed to look at him. Her heart told her who he was; she came to the
+door quickly, and fell upon his neck.
+
+"He saved me from ruin, made me a human creature, won me from infamy and
+shame. O God, forever bless him! As He will, He will!"
+
+"He will!" the lady answered. "I know he is in heaven!" Then she
+piteously cried, "But O my darling boy, my darling boy!"
+
+Never from the hour when Private Richard Doubledick enlisted at Chatham
+had the Private, Corporal, Sergeant, Sergeant-Major, Ensign, or
+Lieutenant breathed his right name, or the name of Mary Marshall, or a
+word of the story of his life, into any ear except his reclaimer's. That
+previous scene in his existence was closed. He had firmly resolved that
+his expiation should be to live unknown; to disturb no more the peace
+that had long grown over his old offences; to let it be revealed, when
+he was dead, that he had striven and suffered, and had never forgotten;
+and then, if they could forgive him and believe him--well, it would be
+time enough--time enough!
+
+But that night, remembering the words he had cherished for two years,
+"Tell her how we became friends. It will comfort her, as it comforts
+me," he related everything. It gradually seemed to him as if in his
+maturity he had recovered a mother; it gradually seemed to her as if in
+her bereavement she had found a son. During his stay in England, the
+quiet garden into which he had slowly and painfully crept, a stranger,
+became the boundary of his home; when he was able to rejoin his regiment
+in the spring, he left the garden, thinking was this indeed the first
+time he had ever turned his face toward the old colors with a woman's
+blessing!
+
+He followed them--so ragged, so scarred and pierced now, that they would
+scarcely hold together--to Quatre Bras and Ligny. He stood beside them,
+in an awful stillness of many men, shadowy through the mist and drizzle
+of a wet June forenoon, on the field of Waterloo. And down to that hour
+the picture in his mind of the French officer had never been compared
+with the reality.
+
+The famous regiment was in action early in the battle, and received its
+first check in many an eventful year, when he was seen to fall. But it
+swept on to avenge him, and left behind it no such creature in the world
+of consciousness as Lieutenant Richard Doubledick.
+
+Through pits of mire and pools of rain; along deep ditches, once roads,
+that were pounded and ploughed to pieces by artillery, heavy wagons,
+tramp of men and horses, and the struggle of every wheeled thing that
+could carry wounded soldiers; jolted among the dying and the dead, so
+disfigured by blood and mud as to be hardly recognizable for humanity;
+dead, as to any sentient life that was in it, and yet alive,--the form
+that had been Lieutenant Richard Doubledick, with whose praises England
+rang, was conveyed to Brussels. There it was tenderly laid down in
+hospital; and there it lay, week after week, through the long, bright
+summer days, until the harvest, spared by war, had ripened and was
+gathered in.
+
+Slowly laboring, at last, through a long, heavy dream of confused time
+and place, presenting faint glimpses of army surgeons whom he knew, and
+of faces that had been familiar to his youth,--dearest and kindest among
+them, Mary Marshall's, with a solicitude upon it more like reality than
+anything he could discern,--Lieutenant Richard Doubledick came back to
+life. To the beautiful life of a calm autumn evening sunset, to the
+peaceful life of a fresh, quiet room with a large window standing open;
+a balcony beyond, in which were moving leaves and sweet-smelling
+flowers; beyond, again, the clear sky, with the sun full in his sight,
+pouring its golden radiance on his bed.
+
+It was so tranquil and so lovely that he thought he had passed into
+another world. And he said in a faint voice, "Taunton, are you near me?"
+
+A face bent over him. Not his, his mother's.
+
+"I came to nurse you. We have nursed you many weeks. You were moved here
+long ago. Do you remember nothing?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+The lady kissed his cheek, and held his hand, soothing him.
+
+"Where is the regiment? What has happened? Let me call you mother. What
+has happened, mother?"
+
+"A great victory, dear. The war is over, and the regiment was the
+bravest in the field."
+
+His eyes kindled, his lips trembled, he sobbed, and the tears ran down
+his face. He was very weak, too weak to move his hand.
+
+From that time, he recovered. Slowly, for he had been desperately
+wounded in the head, and had been shot in the body, but making some
+little advance every day. When he had gained sufficient strength to
+converse as he lay in bed, he soon began to remark that Mrs. Taunton
+always brought him back to his own history. Then he recalled his
+preserver's dying words, and thought, "It comforts her."
+
+One day he awoke out of a sleep, refreshed, and asked her to read to
+him. But the curtain of the bed, softening the light, which she always
+drew back when he awoke, that she might see him from her table at the
+bedside where she sat at work, was held undrawn; and a woman's voice
+spoke, which was not hers.
+
+"Can you bear to see a stranger?" it said softly. "Will you like to see
+a stranger?"
+
+"Stranger!" he repeated. The voice awoke old memories, before the days
+of Private Richard Doubledick.
+
+"A stranger now, but not a stranger once," it said in tones that
+thrilled him. "Richard, dear Richard, lost through so many years, my
+name--"
+
+He cried out her name "Mary," and she held him in her arms, and his
+head lay on her bosom.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Well! They were happy. It was a long recovery, but they were happy
+through it all. The snow had melted on the ground, and the birds were
+singing in the leafless thickets of the early spring, when those three
+were first able to ride out together, and when people flocked about the
+open carriage to cheer and congratulate _Captain_ Richard Doubledick.
+
+But even then it became necessary for the Captain, instead of returning
+to England, to complete his recovery in the climate of Southern France.
+They found a spot upon the Rhone, within a ride of the old town of
+Avignon, and within view of its broken bridge, which was all they could
+desire; they lived there, together, six months; then returned to
+England. Mrs. Taunton, growing old after three years--though not so old
+as that her bright, dark eyes were dimmed--and remembering that her
+strength had been benefited by the change, resolved to go back for a
+year to those parts. So she went with a faithful servant, who had often
+carried her son in his arms; and she was to be rejoined and escorted
+home, at the year's end, by Captain Richard Doubledick.
+
+She wrote regularly to her children (as she called them now), and they
+to her. She went to the neighborhood of Aix; and there, in their own
+chateau near the farmer's house she rented, she grew into intimacy with
+a family belonging to that part of France. The intimacy began in her
+often meeting among the vineyards a pretty child, a girl with a most
+compassionate heart, who was never tired of listening to the solitary
+English lady's stories of her poor son and the cruel wars. The family
+were as gentle as the child, and at length she came to know them so well
+that she accepted their invitation to pass the last month of her
+residence abroad under their roof. All this intelligence she wrote home,
+piecemeal as it came about, from time to time; and at last enclosed a
+polite note, from the head of the chateau, soliciting, on the occasion
+of his approaching mission to that neighborhood, the honor of the
+company of that man so justly celebrated, Captain Richard Doubledick.
+
+Captain Doubledick, now a hardy, handsome man in the full vigor of life,
+broader across the chest and shoulders than he had ever been before,
+dispatched a courteous reply, and followed it in person. Traveling
+through all that extent of country after three years of peace, he
+blessed the better days on which the world had fallen. The corn was
+golden, not drenched in unnatural red; was bound in sheaves for food,
+not trodden underfoot by men in mortal fight. The smoke rose up from
+peaceful hearths, not blazing ruins. The carts were laden with the fair
+fruits of the earth, not with wounds and death. To him who had so often
+seen the terrible reverse, these things were beautiful indeed; and they
+brought him in a softened spirit to the old chateau near Aix upon a deep
+blue evening.
+
+It was a large chateau of the genuine old ghostly kind, with round
+towers, and extinguishers, and a high leaden roof, and more windows than
+Aladdin's palace. The entrance doors stood open, as doors often do in
+that country when the heat of the day is past; and the Captain saw no
+bell or knocker, and walked in.
+
+He walked into a lofty stone hall, refreshingly cool and gloomy after
+the glare of a Southern day's travel. Extending along the four sides of
+this hall was a gallery, leading to suites of rooms; and it was lighted
+from the top. Still no bell was to be seen.
+
+"Faith," said the Captain, halting, ashamed of the clanking of his
+boots, "this is a ghostly beginning!"
+
+He started back, and felt his face turn white. In the gallery, looking
+down at him, stood the French officer--the officer whose picture he had
+carried in his mind so long and so far. Compared with the original, at
+last--in every lineament how like it was!
+
+He moved and disappeared, and Captain Richard Doubledick heard his steps
+coming quickly down into the hall. He entered through an archway. There
+was a bright, sudden look upon his face, much such a look as it had worn
+in that fatal moment.
+
+Monsieur le Capitaine Richard Doubledick? Enchanted to receive him!
+
+"He has not remembered me, as I have remembered him; he did not take
+such a note of my face, that day, as I took of his," thought Captain
+Richard Doubledick. "How shall I tell him?"
+
+"You were at Waterloo," said the French officer.
+
+"I was," said Captain Richard Doubledick. "And at Badajos."
+
+Left alone with the sound of his own stern voice in his ears, he sat
+down to consider. What shall I do, and how shall I tell him? At that
+time, unhappily, many deplorable duels had been fought between English
+and French officers arising out of the recent war; and these duels, and
+how to avoid this officer's hospitality, were the uppermost thought in
+Captain Richard Doubledick's mind.
+
+"His mother, above all," the Captain thought. "How shall I tell _her_?"
+
+"Spirit of my departed friend," said he, "is it through thee these
+better thoughts are rising in my mind? Is it thou who hast shown me, all
+the way I have drawn to meet this man, the blessings of the altered
+time? Is it thou who hast sent thy stricken mother to me, to stay my
+angry hand? Is it from thee the whisper comes, that this man did his
+duty as thou didst,--and as I did, through thy guidance, which has
+wholly saved me here on earth,--and that he did no more?"
+
+He sat down, with his head buried in his hands, and, when he rose up,
+made the second strong resolution in his life,--that neither to the
+French officer, nor to the mother of his departed friend, nor to any
+soul, while either of the two was living, would he breathe what only he
+knew. And when he touched that French officer's glass with his own, that
+day at dinner, he secretly forgave him in the name of the Divine
+Forgiver of Injuries.
+
+
+
+
+THE LEGEND OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE.
+
+
+Most children have seen a Christmas tree, and many know that the pretty
+and pleasant custom of hanging gifts on its boughs comes from Germany;
+but perhaps few have heard or read the story that is told to little
+German children, respecting the origin of this custom. The story is
+called "The Little Stranger," and runs thus:
+
+In a small cottage on the borders of a forest lived a poor laborer, who
+gained a scanty living by cutting wood. He had a wife and two children
+who helped him in his work. The boy's name was Valentine, and the girl
+was called Mary. They were obedient, good children, and a great comfort
+to their parents. One winter evening, this happy little family were
+sitting quietly round the hearth, the snow and the wind raging outside,
+while they ate their supper of dry bread, when a gentle tap was heard on
+the window, and a childish voice cried from without: "Oh, let me in,
+pray! I am a poor little child, with nothing to eat, and no home to go
+to, and I shall die of cold and hunger unless you let me in."
+
+Valentine and Mary jumped up from the table and ran to open the door,
+saying: "Come in, poor little child! We have not much to give you, but
+whatever we have we will share with you."
+
+The stranger-child came in and warmed his frozen hands and feet at the
+fire, and the children gave him the best they had to eat, saying: "You
+must be tired, too, poor child! Lie down on our bed; we can sleep on the
+bench for one night."
+
+Then said the little stranger-child: "Thank God for all your kindness to
+me!"
+
+So they took their little guest into their sleeping-room, laid him on
+the bed, covered him over, and said to each other: "How thankful we
+ought to be! We have warm rooms and a cozy bed, while this poor child
+has only heaven for his roof and the cold earth for his sleeping-place."
+
+When their father and mother went to bed, Mary and Valentine lay quite
+contentedly on the bench near the fire, saying, before they fell asleep:
+"The stranger-child will be so happy to-night in his warm bed!"
+
+These kind children had not slept many hours before Mary awoke and
+softly whispered to her brother: "Valentine, dear, wake, and listen to
+the sweet music under the window."
+
+Then Valentine rubbed his eyes and listened. It was sweet music indeed,
+and sounded like beautiful voices singing to the tones of a harp:
+
+
+     "O holy Child, we greet thee! bringing
+     Sweet strains of harp to aid our singing.
+
+     "Thou, holy Child, in peace art sleeping,
+     While we our watch without are keeping.
+
+     "Blest be the house wherein thou liest.
+     Happiest on earth, to heaven the highest."
+
+
+The children listened, while a solemn joy filled their hearts; then they
+stepped softly to the window to see who might be without.
+
+In the east was a streak of rosy dawn, and in its light they saw a group
+of children standing before the house, clothed in silver garments,
+holding golden harps in their hands. Amazed at this sight, the children
+were still gazing out of the window, when a light tap caused them to
+turn round. There stood the stranger-child before them clad in a golden
+dress, with a gleaming radiance round his curling hair. "I am the little
+Christ-child," he said, "who wanders through the world bringing peace
+and happiness to good children. You took me in and cared for me when you
+thought me a poor child, and now you shall have my blessing for what you
+have done."
+
+A fir tree grew near the house; and from this he broke a twig, which he
+planted in the ground, saying: "This twig shall become a tree, and shall
+bring forth fruit year by year for you."
+
+No sooner had he done this than he vanished, and with him the little
+choir of angels. But the fir-branch grew and became a Christmas tree,
+and on its branches hung golden apples and silver nuts every
+Christmas-tide.
+
+Such is the story told to German children concerning their beautiful
+Christmas trees, though we know that the real little Christ-child can
+never be wandering, cold and homeless, again in our world, inasmuch as
+he is safe in heaven by his Father's side; yet we may gather from this
+story the same truth which the Bible plainly tells us--that any one who
+helps a Christian child in distress, it will be counted unto him as if
+he had indeed done it unto Christ himself. "Inasmuch as ye have done it
+unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
+
+
+
+
+THE PEACE EGG.
+
+BY JULIANA HORATIA EWING.
+
+
+Every one ought to be happy at Christmas. But there are many things
+which ought to be, and yet are not; and people are sometimes sad even in
+the Christmas holidays.
+
+The Captain and his wife were sad, though it was Christmas Eve. Sad,
+though they were in the prime of life, blessed with good health, devoted
+to each other and to their children, with competent means, a comfortable
+house on a little freehold property of their own, and, one might say,
+everything that heart could desire. Sad, though they were good people,
+whose peace of mind had a firmer foundation than their earthly goods
+alone; contented people, too, with plenty of occupation for mind and
+body. Sad--and in the nursery this was held to be past all
+reason--though the children were performing that ancient and most
+entertaining play or Christmas mystery, known as "The Peace Egg," for
+their benefit and behoof alone.
+
+The play was none the worse that most of the actors were too young to
+learn parts, so that there was very little of the rather tedious
+dialogue, only plenty of dress and ribbons, and of fighting with the
+wooden swords. But though Robert, the eldest of the five children,
+looked bonny enough to warm any father's heart, as he marched up and
+down with an air learned by watching many a parade in barrack-square and
+drill ground, and though Nicholas did not cry in spite of falling hard,
+and Dora, who took the part of the Doctor, treading accidentally on his
+little finger in picking him up, still the Captain and his wife sighed
+nearly as often as they smiled, and the mother dropped tears as well as
+pennies into the cap which Tom, as the King of Egypt, brought round
+after the performance.
+
+
+II.
+
+Many, many years back the Captain's wife had been a child herself, and
+had laughed to see the village mummers act "The Peace Egg," and had been
+quite happy on Christmas Eve. Happy, though she had no mother. Happy,
+though her father was a stern man, very fond of his only child, but with
+an obstinate will that not even she dared thwart. She had lived to
+thwart it, and he had never forgiven her. It was when she married the
+Captain. The old man had a prejudice against soldiers, which was quite
+reason enough, in his opinion, for his daughter to sacrifice the
+happiness of her future life by giving up the soldier she loved. At last
+he gave her her choice between the Captain and his own favor and money.
+She chose the Captain, and was disowned and disinherited.
+
+The Captain bore a high character, and was a good and clever officer,
+but that went for nothing against the old man's whim. He made a very
+good husband too; but even this did not move his father-in-law, who had
+never held any intercourse with him or his wife since the day of their
+marriage, and who had never seen his own grand-children.
+
+Amid the ups and downs of their wanderings, the discomforts of shipboard
+and of stations in the colonies, bad servants, and unwonted sicknesses,
+the Captain's tenderness never failed. If the life was rough the Captain
+was ready. He had been, by turns, in one strait or another, sick-nurse,
+doctor, carpenter, nursemaid and cook to his family, and had, moreover,
+an idea that nobody filled these offices quite so well as himself.
+Withal, his very profession kept him neat, well-dressed, and active. In
+the roughest of their ever-changing quarters he was a smart man, and
+never changed his manner from that of the lover of his wife's young
+days.
+
+As years went and children came, the Captain and his wife grew tired of
+traveling. New scenes were small comfort when they heard of the death of
+old friends. One foot of the dear, old, dull home sky was dearer, after
+all, than miles of the unclouded heavens of the South. The grey hills
+and over-grown lanes of her old home haunted the Captain's wife by night
+and day, and home-sickness (that weariest of all sicknesses) began to
+take the light out of her eyes before their time. It preyed upon the
+Captain too. Now and then he would say, fretfully, "I _should_ like a
+resting-place in our own country, however small, before _every_body is
+dead! But the children's prospects have to be considered." The continued
+estrangement from the old man was an abiding sorrow also, and they had
+hopes that, if only they could get home, he might be persuaded to peace
+and charity this time.
+
+At last they were sent home. But the hard old father still would not
+relent. He returned their letters unopened. This bitter disappointment
+made the Captain's wife so ill that she almost died, and in one month
+the Captain's hair became iron gray. He reproached himself for having
+ever taken the daughter from her father, "to kill her at last," as he
+said. And (thinking of his own children) he even reproached himself for
+having robbed the old widower of his only child. After two years at home
+his regiment was ordered again on foreign duty. He failed to effect an
+exchange, and they prepared to move once more--from Chatham to Calcutta.
+Never before had the packing to which she was so well accustomed, been
+so bitter a task to the Captain's wife.
+
+It was at the darkest hour of this gloomy time that the Captain came in,
+waving above his head a letter which changed all their plans.
+
+Now close by the old home of the Captain's wife there had lived a man,
+much older than herself, who yet had loved her with a devotion as great
+as that of the young Captain. She never knew it, for when he saw that
+she had given her heart to his younger rival, he kept silence, and he
+never asked for what he knew he might have had--the old man's authority
+in his favor. So generous was the affection which he could never
+conquer, that he constantly tried to reconcile the father to his
+children whilst he lived, and, when he died, he bequeathed his house and
+small estate to the woman he had loved.
+
+"It will be a legacy of peace," he thought, on his death bed. "The old
+man cannot hold out when she and her children are constantly in sight.
+And it may please GOD that I shall know of the reunion I have not been
+permitted to see with my eyes."
+
+And thus it came about that the Captain's regiment went to India without
+him, and that the Captain's wife and her father lived on opposite sides
+of the same road.
+
+
+III.
+
+The eldest of the Captain's children was a boy. He was named Robert,
+after his grandfather, and seemed to have inherited a good deal of the
+old gentleman's character, mixed with gentler traits. He was a fair,
+fine boy, tall and stout for his age, with the Captain's regular
+features, and (he flattered himself) the Captain's firm step and martial
+bearing. He was apt--like his grandfather--to hold his own will to be
+other people's law, and (happily for the peace of the nursery) this
+opinion was devoutly shared by his brother Nicholas. Though the Captain
+had left the army, Robin continued to command an irregular force of
+volunteers in the nursery, and never was colonel more despotic. His
+brothers and sisters were by turn infantry, cavalry, engineers, and
+artillery, according to his whim.
+
+The Captain alone was a match for his strong-willed son.
+
+"If you please, sir," said Sarah, one morning, flouncing in upon the
+Captain, just as he was about to start for the neighboring town,--"If
+you please, sir, I wish you'd speak to Master Robert. He's past my
+powers."
+
+"I've no doubt of it," thought the Captain, but he only said, "Well,
+what's the matter?"
+
+"Night after night do I put him to bed," said Sarah, "and night after
+night does he get up as soon as I'm out of the room, and says he's
+orderly officer for the evening, and goes about in his night-shirt and
+his feet as bare as boards."
+
+The Captain fingered his heavy moustache to hide a smile, but he
+listened patiently to Sarah's complaints.
+
+"It ain't so much _him_ I should mind, sir," she continued, "but he goes
+round the beds and wakes up the other young gentlemen and Miss Dora, one
+after another, and when I speak to him, he gives me all the sauce he can
+lay his tongue to, and says he's going round the guards. The other night
+I tried to put him back in his bed, but he got away and ran all over the
+house, me hunting him everywhere, and not a sign of him, till he jumps
+out on me from the garret stairs and nearly knocks me down. 'I've
+visited the outposts, Sarah,' says he; 'all's well.' And off he goes to
+bed as bold as brass."
+
+"Have you spoken to your mistress?" asked the Captain.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Sarah. "And missis spoke to him, and he promised not to
+go round the guards again."
+
+"Has he broken his promise?" asked the Captain, with a look of anger,
+and also of surprise.
+
+"When I opened the door last night, sir," continued Sarah, in her shrill
+treble, "what should I see in the dark but Master Robert a-walking up
+and down with the carpet-brush stuck in his arm. 'Who goes there?' says
+he. 'You awdacious boy!' says I, 'Didn't you promise your ma you'd leave
+off them tricks?' 'I'm not going round the guards,' says he; 'I promised
+not. But I'm for sentry-duty to-night.' And say what I would to him, all
+he had for me was, 'You mustn't speak to a sentry on duty.' So I says,
+'As sure as I live till morning, I'll go to your pa,' for he pays no
+more attention to his ma than to me, nor to any one else."
+
+"Please to see that the bed is taken out of my dressing-room," said the
+Captain. "I will attend to Master Robert."
+
+With this Sarah had to content herself, and she went back to the
+nursery. Robert was nowhere to be seen, and made no reply to her
+summons. On this the unwary nursemaid flounced into the bed-room to look
+for him, when Robert, who was hidden beneath a table, darted forth, and
+promptly locked her in.
+
+"You're under arrest," he shouted, through the keyhole.
+
+"Let me out!" shrieked Sarah.
+
+"I'll send a file of the guard to fetch you to the orderly-room,
+by-and-by," said Robert, "for 'preferring frivolous complaints.'" And he
+departed to the farmyard to look at the ducks.
+
+That night, when Robert went up to bed, the Captain quietly locked him
+into his dressing-room, from which the bed had been removed.
+
+"You're for sentry duty, to-night," said the Captain. "The carpet-brush
+is in the corner. Good-evening."
+
+As his father anticipated, Robert was soon tired of the sentry game in
+these new circumstances, and long before the night had half worn away he
+wished himself safely undressed and in his own comfortable bed. At
+half-past twelve o'clock he felt as if he could bear it no longer, and
+knocked at the Captain's door.
+
+"Who goes there?" said the Captain.
+
+"Mayn't I go to bed, please?" whined poor Robert.
+
+"Certainly not," said the Captain. "You're on duty."
+
+And on duty poor Robert had to remain, for the Captain had a will as
+well as his son. So he rolled himself up in his father's railway rug,
+and slept on the floor.
+
+The next night he was very glad to go quietly to bed, and remain there.
+
+
+IV.
+
+The Captain's children sat at breakfast in a large, bright nursery. It
+was the room where the old bachelor had died, and now _her_ children
+made it merry. This was just what he would have wished.
+
+They all sat round the table, for it was breakfast-time. There were five
+of them, and five bowls of boiled bread-and-milk smoked before them.
+Sarah (a foolish, gossiping girl, who acted as nurse till better could
+be found) was waiting on them, and by the table sat Darkie, the black
+retriever, his long, curly back swaying slightly from the difficulty of
+holding himself up, and his solemn hazel eyes fixed very intently on
+each and all of the breakfast bowls. He was as silent and sagacious as
+Sarah was talkative and empty-headed. Though large, he was unassuming.
+Pax, the pug, on the contrary, who came up to the first joint of
+Darkie's leg, stood defiantly on his dignity (and his short stumps). He
+always placed himself in front of the bigger dog, and made a point of
+hustling him in doorways and of going first downstairs.
+
+Robert's tongue was seldom idle, even at meals. "Sarah, who is that tall
+old gentleman at church, in the seat near the pulpit?" he asked. "He
+wears a cloak like what the Blues wear, only all blue, and is tall
+enough for a Life-guardsman. He stood when we were kneeling down, and
+said, _Almighty and most merciful Father_, louder than anybody."
+
+Sarah knew who the old gentleman was, and knew also that the children
+did not know, and that their parents did not see fit to tell them as
+yet. But she had a passion for telling and hearing news, and would
+rather gossip with a child than not gossip at all. "Never you mind,
+Master Robin," she said, nodding sagaciously. "Little boys aren't to
+know everything."
+
+"Ah, then, I know you don't know," replied Robert; "if you did, you'd
+tell."
+
+"I do," said Sarah.
+
+"You don't," said Robin.
+
+"Your ma's forbid you to contradict, Master Robin," said Sarah; "and if
+you do I shall tell her. I know well enough who the old gentleman is,
+and perhaps I might tell you, only you'd go straight off and tell
+again."
+
+"No, no, I wouldn't!" shouted Robin. "I can keep a secret, indeed I can!
+Pinch my little finger, and try. Do, do tell me, Sarah, there's a dear
+Sarah, and then I shall know you know." And he danced round her,
+catching at her skirts.
+
+To keep a secret was beyond Sarah's powers.
+
+"Do let my dress be, Master Robin," she said, "you're ripping out all
+the gathers, and listen while I whisper. As sure as you're a living boy,
+that gentleman's your own grandpapa."
+
+Robin lost his hold on Sarah's dress; his arms fell by his side, and he
+stood with his brows knit for some minutes, thinking. Then he said,
+emphatically, "What lies you do tell, Sarah!"
+
+"Oh, Robin!" cried Nicholas, who had drawn near, his thick curls
+standing stark with curiosity, "Mamma said 'lies' wasn't a proper word,
+and you promised not to say it again."
+
+"I forgot," said Robin, "I didn't mean to break my promise. But she does
+tell--ahem!--_you know what_."
+
+"You wicked boy!" cried the enraged Sarah; "how dare you say such a
+thing, and everybody in the place knows he's your ma's own pa."
+
+"I'll go and ask her," said Robin, and he was at the door in a moment;
+but Sarah, alarmed by the thought of getting into a scrape herself,
+caught him by the arm.
+
+"Don't you go, love; it'll only make your ma angry. There; it was all my
+nonsense."
+
+"Then it's not true?" said Robin, indignantly. "What did you tell me so
+for?"
+
+"It was all my jokes and nonsense," said the unscrupulous Sarah, "But
+your ma wouldn't like to know I've said such a thing. And Master Robert
+wouldn't be so mean as to tell tales, would he, love?"
+
+"I'm not mean," said Robin stoutly; "and I don't tell tales; but you do,
+and you tell _you know what_, besides. However, I won't go this time;
+but I'll tell you what--if you tell tales of me to papa any more, I'll
+tell him what you said about the old gentleman in the blue cloak." With
+which parting threat Robin strode off to join his brothers and sisters.
+
+
+V.
+
+After Robert left the nursery he strolled out of doors, and, peeping
+through the gate at the end of the drive, he saw a party of boys going
+through what looked like a military exercise with sticks and a good deal
+of stamping; but, instead of mere words of command, they all spoke by
+turns, as in a play. Not being at all shy, he joined them, and asked so
+many questions that he soon got to know all about it. They were
+practicing a Christmas mumming-play, called "The Peace Egg." Why it was
+called thus they could not tell him, as there was nothing whatever about
+eggs in it, and so far from being a play of peace, it was made up of a
+series of battles between certain valiant knights and princes. The
+rehearsal being over, Robin went with the boys to the sexton's house (he
+was father to one of the characters called the "King of Egypt") where
+they showed him the dresses they were to wear. These were made of
+gay-colored materials, and covered with ribbons, except that of the
+"Black Prince of Paradine," which was black, as became his title. The
+boys also showed him the book from which they learned their parts, and
+which was to be bought at the post-office store.
+
+"Then are you the mummers who come round at Christmas, and act in
+people's kitchens, and people give them money, that mamma used to tell
+us about?" said Robin.
+
+The boy hesitated a moment and then said, "Well, I suppose we are."
+
+"And do you go out in the snow from one house to another at night; and
+oh, don't you enjoy it?" cried Robin.
+
+"We like it well enough," the lad admitted.
+
+Robin bought a copy of "The Peace Egg." He was resolved to have a
+nursery performance, and to take the chief part himself. The others
+were willing for what he wished, but there were difficulties. In the
+first place, there are eight characters in the play, and there were only
+five children. They decided among themselves to leave out the "Fool,"
+and Mamma said that another character was not to be acted by any of
+them, or indeed mentioned; "the little one who comes in at the end,"
+Robin explained. Mamma had her reasons, and these were always good. She
+had not been altogether pleased that Robin had bought the play. It was a
+very old thing, she said, and very queer; not adapted for a child's
+play. If Mamma thought the parts not quite fit for the children to
+learn, they found them much too long: so in the end she picked out some
+bits for each, which they learned easily, and which, with a good deal of
+fighting, made quite as good a story of it as if they had done the
+whole. What may have been wanting otherwise was made up for by the
+dresses, which were charming.
+
+Robin was St. George, Nicholas the valiant Slasher, Dora the Doctor, and
+the other two Hector and the King of Egypt. "And now we've no Black
+Prince!" cried Robin in dismay.
+
+"Let Darkie be the Black Prince," said Nicholas.
+
+"When you wave your stick he'll jump for it, and then you can pretend to
+fight with him."
+
+"It's not a stick, it's a sword," said Robin.
+
+"However, Darkie may be the Black Prince."
+
+"And what's Pax to be?" asked Dora; "for you know he will come if Darkie
+does, and he'll run in before everybody else too."
+
+"Then he must be the Fool," said Robin, "and it will do very well, for
+the Fool comes in before the rest, and Pax can have his red coat on, and
+the collar with the little bells."
+
+
+VI.
+
+Robin thought that Christmas would never come. To the Captain and his
+wife it seemed to come too fast. They had hoped it might bring
+reconciliation with the old man, but it seemed they had hoped in vain.
+
+There were times now when the Captain almost regretted the old
+bachelor's bequest. The familiar scenes of her old home sharpened his
+wife's grief. To see her father every Sunday in church, with marks of
+age and infirmity upon him, but with not a look of tenderness for his
+only child, this tried her sorely.
+
+"She felt it less abroad," thought the Captain. "A home in which she
+frets herself to death, is after all, no great boon."
+
+Christmas Eve came.
+
+"I'm sure it's quite Christmas enough now," said Robin. "We'll have 'The
+Peace Egg' to-night."
+
+So as the Captain and his wife sat sadly over their fire, the door
+opened, and Pax ran in shaking his bells, and followed by the nursery
+mummers. The performance was most successful. It was by no means
+pathetic, and yet, as has been said, the Captain's wife shed tears.
+
+"What is the matter, mamma?" said Robert, abruptly dropping his sword
+and running up to her.
+
+"Don't tease mamma with questions," said the Captain; "she is not very
+well, and rather sad. We must all be very kind and good to poor dear
+mamma;" and the Captain raised his wife's hand to his lips as he spoke.
+Robin seized the other hand and kissed it tenderly. He was very fond of
+his mother. At this moment Pax took a little run, and jumped on to
+mamma's lap, where, sitting facing the company, he opened his black
+mouth and yawned, with a ludicrous inappropriateness worthy of any
+clown. It made everybody laugh.
+
+"And now we'll go and act in the kitchen," said Nicholas.
+
+"Supper at nine o'clock, remember," shouted the Captain. "And we are
+going to have real frumenty and Yule cakes, such as mamma used to tell
+us of when we were abroad."
+
+"Hurray!" shouted the mummers, and they ran off, Pax leaping from his
+seat just in time to hustle the Black Prince in the doorway. When the
+dining-room door was shut, Robert raised his hand, and said "Hush!"
+
+The mummers pricked their ears, but there was only a distant harsh and
+scraping sound, as of stones rubbed together.
+
+"They're cleaning the passages," Robert went on, "and Sarah told me they
+meant to finish the mistletoe, and have everything cleaned up by
+supper-time. They don't want us, I know. Look here, we'll go _real
+mumming_ instead. That _will_ be fun!"
+
+Nicholas grinned with delight.
+
+"But will mamma let us?" he enquired.
+
+"Oh, it will be all right if we're back by supper-time," said Robert,
+hastily. "Only of course we must take care not to catch cold. Come and
+help me to get some wraps."
+
+The old oak chest in which spare shawls, rugs, and coats were kept was
+soon ransacked, and the mummers' gay dresses hidden by motley wrappers.
+But no sooner did Darkie and Pax behold the coats, etc., than they at
+once began to leap and bark, as it was their custom to do when they saw
+any one dressing to go out. Robin was sorely afraid that this would
+betray them; but though the Captain and his wife heard the barking they
+did not guess the cause.
+
+So the front door being very gently opened and closed, the nursery
+mummers stole away.
+
+
+VII.
+
+It was a very fine night. The snow was well-trodden on the drive, so
+that it did not wet their feet, but on the trees and shrubs it hung soft
+and white.
+
+"It's much jollier being out at night than in the daytime," said Robin.
+
+"Much," responded Nicholas, with intense feeling.
+
+"We'll go a wassailing next week," said Robin. "I know all about it, and
+perhaps we shall get a good lot of money, and then we'll buy tin swords
+with scabbards for next year. I don't like these sticks. Oh, dear, I
+wish it wasn't so long between one Christmas and another."
+
+"Where shall we go first?" asked Nicholas, as they turned into the high
+road.
+
+"This is the first house," he said. "We'll act here;" and all pressed in
+as quickly as possible. Once safe within the grounds, they shouldered
+their sticks, and marched with composure.
+
+"You're going to the front door," said Nicholas. "Mummers ought to go to
+the back."
+
+"We don't know where it is," said Robin, and he rang the front-door
+bell. There was a pause. Then lights shone, steps were heard, and at
+last a sound of much unbarring, unbolting, and unlocking. It might have
+been a prison. Then the door was opened by an elderly, timid-looking
+woman, who held a tallow candle above her head.
+
+"Who's there?" she said, "at this time of night."
+
+"We're Christmas mummers," said Robin, stoutly; "we didn't know the way
+to the back door, but----"
+
+"And don't you know better than to come here?" said the woman. "Be off
+with you, as fast as you can."
+
+"You're only the servant," said Robin. "Go and ask your master and
+mistress if they wouldn't like to see us act. We do it very well."
+
+"You impudent boy, be off with you!" repeated the woman. "Master'd no
+more let you nor any other such rubbish set foot in this house----"
+
+"Woman!" shouted a voice close behind her, which made her start as if
+she had been shot, "who authorizes you to say what your master will or
+will not do, before you've asked him? The boy is right. You _are_ the
+servant, and it is not your business to choose for me whom I shall or
+shall not see."
+
+"I meant no harm, sir, I'm sure," said the housekeeper; "but I thought
+you'd never----"
+
+"My good woman," said her master, "if I had wanted somebody to think for
+me, you're the last person I should have employed. I hire you to obey
+orders, not to think."
+
+"I'm sure, sir," said the housekeeper, whose only form of argument was
+reiteration, "I never thought you would have seen them----"
+
+"Then you were wrong," shouted her master. "I will see them. Bring them
+in."
+
+He was a tall, gaunt old man, and Robin stared at him for some minutes,
+wondering where he could have seen somebody very like him. At last he
+remembered. It was the old gentleman of the blue cloak.
+
+The children threw off their wraps, the housekeeper helping them, and
+chattering ceaselessly, from sheer nervousness.
+
+"Well, to be sure," said she, "their dresses are pretty, too. And they
+seem quite a better sort of children, they talk quite genteel. I might
+ha' knowed they weren't like common mummers, but I was so flusterated
+hearing the bell go so late, and----"
+
+"Are they ready?" said the old man, who had stood like a ghost in the
+dim light of the flaring tallow candle, grimly watching the proceedings.
+
+"Yes, sir. Shall I take them to the kitchen, sir?"
+
+"----for you and the other idle hussies to gape and grin at? No. Bring
+them to the library," he snapped, and then stalked off, leading the way.
+
+The housekeeper accordingly led them to the library, and then withdrew,
+nearly falling on her face as she left the room by stumbling over
+Darkie, who slipped in last like a black shadow.
+
+The old man was seated in a carved oak chair by the fire.
+
+"I never said the dogs were to come in," he said.
+
+"But we can't do without them, please," said Robin, boldly. "You see
+there are eight people in 'The Peace Egg,' and there are only five of
+us; and so Darkie has to be the Black Prince, and Pax has to be the
+Fool, and so we have to have them."
+
+"Five and two make seven," said the old man, with a grim smile; "what do
+you do for the eighth?"
+
+"Oh, that's the little one at the end," said Robin, confidently. "Mamma
+said we weren't to mention him, but I think that's because we're
+children.--You're grown up, you know, so I'll show you the book, and you
+can see for yourself," he went on, drawing "The Peace Egg" from his
+pocket: "there, that's the picture of him, on the last page; black, with
+horns and a tail."
+
+The old man's stern face relaxed into a broad smile as he examined the
+grotesque woodcut; but when he turned to the first page the smile
+vanished in a deep frown, and his eyes shone like hot coals with anger.
+He had seen Robin's name.
+
+"Who sent you here?" he asked, in a hoarse voice. "Speak, and speak the
+truth! Did your mother send you here?"
+
+Robin thought the old man was angry with them for playing truant. He
+said, slowly, "N--no. She didn't exactly send us; but I don't think
+she'll mind our having come if we get back in time for supper. Mamma
+never _forbid_ our going mumming, you know."
+
+"I don't suppose she ever thought of it," Nicholas said candidly,
+wagging his curly head from side to side.
+
+"She knows we're mummers," said Robin, "for she helped us. When we were
+abroad, you know, she used to tell us about the mummers acting at
+Christmas, when she was a little girl; and so we thought we'd be
+mummers, and so we acted to papa and mamma, and so we thought we'd act
+to the maids, but they were cleaning the passages, and so we thought
+we'd really go mumming; and we've got several other houses to go to
+before supper-time; we'd better begin, I think," said Robin; and without
+more ado he began to march round and round, raising his sword, and the
+performance went off quite as creditably as before.
+
+As the children acted the old man's anger wore off. He watched them with
+an interest he could not repress. When Nicholas took some hard thwacks
+from Robert without flinching, the old man clapped his hands; and after
+the encounter was over, he said he would not have had the dogs excluded
+on any consideration. It was just at the end, when they were all
+marching round and round, holding on by each other's swords "over the
+shoulder," and singing "A mumming we will go, etc.," that Nicholas
+suddenly brought the circle to a stand-still by stopping dead short, and
+staring up at the wall before him.
+
+"What _are_ you stopping for?" said Robert, turning indignantly around.
+
+"Look there!" cried Nicholas, pointing to a little painting which hung
+above the old man's head.
+
+Robin looked, and said abruptly, "It's Dora."
+
+"Which is Dora?" asked the old man in a strange, sharp tone.
+
+"Here she is," said Robin and Nicholas in one breath, as they dragged
+her forward.
+
+"She's the Doctor," said Robin, "and you can't see her face for her
+things. Dor, take off your cap and pull back that hood. There! Oh, it
+_is_ like her!"
+
+It was the portrait of her mother as a child; but of this the nursery
+mummers knew nothing. The old man looked as the peaked cap and hood fell
+away from Dora's face and fair curls, and then he uttered a sharp cry,
+and buried his head upon his hands. The boys stood stupefied, but Dora
+ran up to him, and putting her little hands on his arms, said, in
+childish pitying tones, "Oh, I am so sorry! Have you got a headache? May
+Robin put the shovel in the fire for you? Mamma has hot shovels for her
+headaches." And though the old man did not speak or move, she went on
+coaxing him, and stroking his head, on which the hair was white. At this
+moment Pax took one of his unexpected runs, and jumped on to the old
+man's knee, in his own particular fashion, and then yawned at the
+company. The old man was startled, and lifted his face suddenly. It was
+wet with tears.
+
+"Why, you're crying!" exclaimed the children with one breath.
+
+"It's very odd," said Robin, fretfully. "I can't think what's the matter
+to-night. Mamma was crying too when we were acting, and papa said we
+weren't to tease her with questions, and he kissed her hand, and I
+kissed her hand too. And papa said we must all be very good and kind to
+poor dear mamma, and so I mean to be, she's so good. And I think we'd
+better go home, or perhaps she'll be frightened," Robin added.
+
+"She's so good, is she?" asked the old man. He had put Pax off his
+knee, and taken Dora on to it.
+
+"Oh, isn't she!" said Nicholas, swaying his curly head from side to side
+as usual.
+
+"She's always good," said Robin, emphatically; "and so's papa. But I'm
+always doing something I oughtn't to," he added, slowly. "But then, you
+know, I don't pretend to obey Sarah. I don't care a fig for Sarah; and I
+won't obey any woman but mamma."
+
+"Who's Sarah?" asked the grandfather.
+
+"She's our nurse," said Robin, "and she tells--I mustn't say what she
+tells--but it's not the truth. She told one about _you_ the other day,"
+he added.
+
+"About me?" said the old man.
+
+"She said you were our grandpapa. So then I knew she was telling _you
+know what_."
+
+"How did you know it wasn't true?" the old man asked.
+
+"Why, of course," said Robin, "if you were our mamma's father, you'd
+know her, and be very fond of her, and come to see her. And then you'd
+be our grandfather, too, and you'd have us to see you, and perhaps give
+us Christmas-boxes. I wish you were," Robin added with a sigh. "It would
+be very nice."
+
+"Would _you_ like it?" asked the old man of Dora.
+
+And Dora, who was half asleep and very comfortable, put her little arms
+about his neck as she was wont to put them around the Captain's, and
+said, "Very much."
+
+He put her down at last, very tenderly, almost unwillingly, and left the
+children alone. By-and-by he returned, dressed in the blue cloak, and
+took Dora up again.
+
+"I will see you home," he said.
+
+The children had not been missed. The clock had only just struck nine
+when there came a knock on the door of the dining-room, where the
+Captain and his wife still sat by the Yule log. She said "Come in,"
+wearily, thinking it was the frumenty and the Christmas cakes.
+
+But it was her father, with her child in his arms!
+
+
+VIII.
+
+The Captain had many friends who knew of the sad estrangement between
+his wife and her father. Some of them were in church the next day, which
+was Christmas Day, when the Captain's wife came in. They would have hid
+their faces, but for the startling sight that met the gaze of the
+congregation. The old grandfather walked into church abreast of the
+Captain.
+
+"They've met in the porch," whispered one under the shelter of his hat.
+
+"They can't quarrel publicly in a place of worship," said another,
+turning pale.
+
+"She's gone into his seat," cried a girl in a shrill whisper.
+
+"And the children after her," added her sister, incautiously aloud.
+
+There was now no doubt about the matter. The old man in his blue cloak
+stood for a few moments politely disputing the question of precedence
+with his handsome son-in-law. Then the Captain bowed and passed in, and
+the old man followed him.
+
+By the time that the service was ended everybody knew of the happy
+peacemaking, and was glad. One old friend after another came up with
+blessings and good wishes. This was a proper Christmas, indeed, they
+said. There was a general rejoicing.
+
+But only the grandfather and his children knew that it was hatched from
+"The Peace Egg."
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BUDGET OF CHRISTMAS TALES BY
+CHARLES DICKENS AND OTHERS***
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