"I know we could n't do it."
"I say we could, if we all helped."
"How can we?"
"I've planned lots of ways; only you mustn't laugh at them, and you must
n't say a word to mother. I want it to be all a surprise."
"She 'll find us out."
"No, she won't, if we tell her we won't get into mischief."
"Fire away, then, and let's hear your fine plans."
"We must talk softly, or we shall wake father. He's got a headache."
A curious change came over the faces of the two boys as their sister
lowered her voice, with a nod toward a half-opened door. They looked
sad and ashamed, and Kitty sighed as she spoke, for all knew that
father's headaches always began by his coming home stupid or cross, with
only a part of his wages; and mother always cried when she thought they
did not see her, and after the long sleep father looked as if he did n't
like to meet their eyes, but went off early.
They knew what it meant, but never spoke of it,--only pondered over it,
and mourned with mother at the change which was slowly altering their
kind industrious father into a moody man, and mother into an anxious
over-worked woman.
Kitty was thirteen, and a very capable girl, who helped with the
housekeeping, took care of the two little ones, and went to school.
Tommy and Sammy looked up to her and thought her a remarkably good
sister. Now, as they sat round the stove having "a go-to-bed warm," the
three heads were close together; and the boys listened eagerly to
Kitty's plans, while the rattle of the sewing-machine in another room
went on as tirelessly as it had done all day, for mother's work was more
and more needed every month.
"Well!" began Kitty, in an impressive tone, "we all know that there
won't be a bit of Christmas in this family if we don't make it.
Mother's too busy, and father don't care, so we must see what we can do;
for I should be mortified to death to go to school and say I had n't had
any turkey or plum-pudding. Don't expect presents; but we _must_ have
some kind of a decent dinner."
"So I say; I'm tired of fish and potatoes," said Sammy, the younger.
"But where's the dinner coming from?" asked Tommy, who had already taken
some of the cares of life on his young shoulders, and knew that
Christmas dinners did not walk into people's houses without money.
"We 'll earn it;" and Kitty looked like a small Napoleon planning the
passage of the Alps. "You, Tom, must go early to-morrow to Mr. Brisket
and offer to carry baskets. He will be dreadfully busy, and want you, I
know; and you are so strong you can lug as much as some of the big
fellows. He pays well, and if he won't give much money, you can take
your wages in things to eat. We want everything."
"What shall I do?" cried Sammy, while Tom sat turning this plan over in
his mind.
"Take the old shovel and clear sidewalks. The snow came on purpose to
help you."
"It's awful hard work, and the shovel's half gone," began Sammy, who
preferred to spend his holiday coasting on an old tea-tray.
"Don't growl, or you won't get any dinner," said Tom, making up his mind
to lug baskets for the good of the family, like a manly lad as he was.
"I," continued Kitty, "have taken the hardest part of all; for after my
work is done, and the babies safely settled, I 'm going to beg for the
leavings of the holly and pine swept out of the church down below, and
make some wreaths and sell them."
"If you can," put in Tommy, who had tried pencils, and failed to make a
fortune.
"Not in the street?" cried Sam, looking alarmed.
"Yes, at the corner of the Park. I 'm bound to make some money, and
don't see any other way. I shall put on an old hood and shawl, and no
one will know me. Don't care if they do." And Kitty tried to mean what
she said, but in her heart she felt that it would be a trial to her
pride if any of her schoolmates should happen to recognize her.
"Don't believe you 'll do it."
"See if I don't; for I _will_ have a good dinner one day in the year."
"Well, it does n't seem right for us to do it. Father ought to take care
of us, and we only buy some presents with the little bit we earn. He
never gives us anything now." And Tommy scowled at the bedroom door,
with a strong sense of injury struggling with affection in his boyish
heart.
"Hush!" cried Kitty. "Don't blame him. Mother says we never must forget
he's our father. I try not to; but when she cries, it's hard to feel as
I ought." And a sob made the little girl stop short as she poked the
fire to hide the trouble in the face that should have been all smiles.
For a moment the room was very still, as the snow beat on the window,
and the fire-light flickered over the six shabby little boots put up on
the stove hearth to dry.
Tommy's cheerful voice broke the silence, saying stoutly, "Well, if I
've got to work all day, I guess I 'll go to bed early. Don't fret,
Kit. We 'll help all we can, and have a good time; see if we don't."
"I 'll go out real early, and shovel like fury. Maybe I 'll get a
dollar. Would that buy a turkey?" asked Sammy, with the air of a
millionnaire.
"No, dear; one big enough for us would cost two, I 'm afraid. Perhaps
we 'll have one sent us. We belong to the church, though folks don't
know how poor we are now, and we can't beg." And Kitty bustled about,
clearing up, rather exercised in her mind about going and asking for the
much-desired fowl.
Soon all three were fast asleep, and nothing but the whir of the machine
broke the quiet that fell upon the house. Then from the inner room a
man came and sat over the fire with his head in his hands and his eyes
fixed on the ragged little boots left to dry. He had heard the
children's talk; and his heart was very heavy as he looked about the
shabby room that used to be so neat and pleasant. What he thought no
one knows, what he did we shall see by-and-by; but the sorrow and shame
and tender silence of his children worked a miracle that night more
lasting and lovely than the white beauty which the snow wrought upon the
sleeping city.
Bright and early the boys were away to their work; while Kitty sang as
she dressed the little sisters, put the house in order, and made her
mother smile at the mysterious hints she gave of something splendid
which was going to happen. Father was gone, and though all rather
dreaded evening, nothing was said; but each worked with a will, feeling
that Christmas should be merry in spite of poverty and care.
All day Tommy lugged fat turkeys, roasts of beef, and every sort of
vegetable for other people's good dinners on the morrow, wondering
meanwhile where his own was coming from. Mr. Brisket had an army of boys
trudging here and there, and was too busy to notice any particular lad
till the hurry was over, and only a few belated buyers remained to be
served. It was late; but the stores kept open, and though so tired he
could hardly stand, brave Tommy held on when the other boys left, hoping
to earn a trifle more by extra work. He sat down on a barrel to rest
during a leisure moment, and presently his weary head nodded sideways
into a basket of cranberries, where he slept quietly till the sound of
gruff voices roused him.
It was Mr. Brisket scolding because one dinner had been forgotten.
"I told that rascal Beals to be sure and carry it, for the old gentleman
will be in a rage if it does n't come, and take away his custom. Every
boy gone, and I can't leave the store, nor you either, Pat, with all the
clearing up to do."
"Here's a by, sir, slapin illigant forninst the cranberries, bad luck to
him!" answered Pat, with a shake that set poor Tom on his legs, wide
awake at once.
"_Good_ luck to him, you mean. Here, What's-your-name, you take this
basket to that number, and I 'll make it worth your while," said Mr.
Brisket, much relieved by this unexpected help.
"All right, sir;" and Tommy trudged off as briskly as his tired legs
would let him, cheering the long cold walk with visions of the turkey
with which his employer might reward him, for there were piles of them,
and Pat was to have one for his family.
His brilliant dreams were disappointed, however, for Mr. Brisket
naturally supposed Tom's father would attend to that part of the dinner,
and generously heaped a basket with vegetables, rosy apples, and a quart
of cranberries.
"There, if you ain't too tired, you can take one more load to that
number, and a merry Christmas to you!" said the stout man, handing over
his gift with the promised dollar.
"Thank you, sir; good-night," answered Tom, shouldering his last load
with a grateful smile, and trying not to look longingly at the poultry;
for he had set his heart on at least a skinny bird as a surprise to Kit.
Sammy's adventures that day had been more varied and his efforts more
successful, as we shall see, in the end, for Sammy was a most engaging
little fellow, and no one could look into his blue eyes without wanting
to pat his curly yellow head with one hand while the other gave him
something. The cares of life had not lessened his confidence in people;
and only the most abandoned ruffians had the heart to deceive or
disappoint him. His very tribulations usually led to something
pleasant, and whatever happened, sunshiny Sam came right side up, lucky
and laughing.
Undaunted by the drifts or the cold wind, he marched off with the
remains of the old shovel to seek his fortune, and found it at the third
house where he called. The first two sidewalks were easy jobs; and he
pocketed his ninepences with a growing conviction that this was his
chosen work. The third sidewalk was a fine long one, for the house
stood on the corner, and two pavements must be cleared.
"It ought to be fifty cents; but perhaps they won't give me so much, I'm
such a young one. I'll show 'em I can work, though, like a man;" and
Sammy rang the bell with the energy of a telegraph boy.
Before the bell could be answered, a big boy rushed up, exclaiming
roughly, "Get out of this! I'm going to have the job. You can't do it.
Start, now, or I'll chuck you into a snow-bank."
"I won't!" answered Sammy, indignant at the brutal tone and unjust
claim. "I got here first, and it's my job. You let me alone. I ain't
afraid of you or your snow-banks either."
The big boy wasted no time in words, for steps were heard inside, but
after a brief scuffle hauled Sammy, fighting bravely all the way, down
the steps, and tumbled him into a deep drift. Then he ran up the steps,
and respectfully asked for the job when a neat maid opened the door. He
would have got it if Sam had not roared out, as he floundered in the
drift, "I came first. He knocked me down 'cause I 'm the smallest.
Please let me do it; please!"
Before another word could be said, a little old lady appeared in the
hall, trying to look stern, and failing entirely, because she was the
picture of a dear fat, cosey grandma.
"Send that _bad_ big boy away, Maria, and call in the poor little
fellow. I saw the whole thing, and _he_ shall have the job if he can do
it."
The bully slunk away, and Sammy came panting up the steps, white with
snow, a great bruise on his forehead, and a beaming smile on his face,
looking so like a jolly little Santa Claus who had taken a "header" out
of his sleigh that the maid laughed, and the old lady exclaimed, "Bless
the boy! he's dreadfully hurt, and does n't know it. Come in and be
brushed and get your breath, child, and tell me how that scamp came to
treat you so."
Nothing loath to be comforted, Sammy told his little tale while Maria
dusted him off on the mat, and the old lady hovered in the doorway of
the dining-room, where a nice breakfast smoked and smelled so
deliciously that the boy sniffed the odor of coffee and buckwheats like
a hungry hound.
"He 'll get his death if he goes to work till he's dried a bit. Put him
over the register, Maria, and I 'll give him a hot drink, for it's
bitter cold, poor dear!"
Away trotted the kind old lady, and in a minute came back with coffee
and cakes, on which Sammy feasted as he warmed his toes and told Kitty's
plans for Christmas, led on by the old lady's questions, and quite
unconscious that he was letting all sorts of cats out of the bag.
Mrs. Bryant understood the little story, and made her plans also, for
the rosy-faced boy was very like a little grandson who died last year,
and her sad old heart was very tender to all other small boys. So she
found out where Sammy lived, and nodded and smiled at him most cheerily
as he tugged stoutly away at the snow on the long pavements till all was
done, and the little workman came for his wages.
A bright silver dollar and a pocketful of gingerbread sent him off a
rich and happy boy to shovel and sweep till noon, when he proudly showed
his earnings at home, and feasted the babies on the carefully hoarded
cake, for Dilly and Dot were the idols of the household.
"Now, Sammy dear, I want you to take my place here this afternoon, for
mother will have to take her work home by-and-by, and I must sell my
wreaths. I only got enough green for six, and two bunches of holly; but
if I can sell them for ten or twelve cents apiece, I shall be glad.
Girls never _can_ earn as much money as boys somehow," sighed Kitty,
surveying the thin wreaths tied up with carpet ravellings, and vainly
puzzling her young wits over a sad problem.
"I 'll give you some of my money if you don't get a dollar; then we'll
be even. Men always take care of women, you know, and ought to," cried
Sammy, setting a fine example to his father, if he had only been there
to profit by it.
With thanks Kitty left him to rest on the old sofa, while the happy
babies swarmed over him; and putting on the shabby hood and shawl, she
slipped away to stand at the Park gate, modestly offering her little
wares to the passers-by. A nice old gentleman bought two, and his wife
scolded him for getting such bad ones; but the money gave more happiness
than any other he spent that day. A child took a ten-cent bunch of
holly with its red berries, and there Kitty's market ended. It was very
cold, people were in a hurry, bolder hucksters pressed before the timid
little girl, and the balloon man told her to "clear out."
Hoping for better luck, she tried several other places; but the short
afternoon was soon over, the streets began to thin, the keen wind
chilled her to the bone, and her heart was very heavy to think that in
all the rich, merry city, where Christmas gifts passed her in every
hand, there were none for the dear babies and boys at home, and the
Christmas dinner was a failure.
"I must go and get supper anyway; and I 'll hang these up in our own
rooms, as I can't sell them," said Kitty, wiping a very big tear from
her cold cheek, and turning to go away.
A smaller, shabbier girl than herself stood near, looking at the bunch
of holly with wistful eyes; and glad to do to others as she wished some
one would do to her, Kitty offered the only thing she had to give,
saying kindly, "You may have it; merry Christmas!" and ran away before
the delighted child could thank her.
I am very sure that one of the spirits who fly about at this season of
the year saw the little act, made a note of it, and in about fifteen
minutes rewarded Kitty for her sweet remembrance of the golden rule.
As she went sadly homeward she looked up at some of the big houses where
every window shone with the festivities of Christmas Eve, and more than
one tear fell, for the little girl found life pretty hard just then.
"There don't seem to be any wreaths at these windows; perhaps they 'd
buy mine. I can't bear to go home with so little for my share," she
said, stopping before one of the biggest and brightest of these fairy
palaces, where the sound of music was heard, and many little heads
peeped from behind the curtains as if watching for some one.
Kitty was just going up the steps to make another trial, when two small
boys came racing round the corner, slipped on the icy pavement, and both
went down with a crash that would have broken older bones. One was up
in a minute, laughing; the other lay squirming and howling, "Oh, my
knee! my knee!" till Kitty ran and picked him up with the motherly
consolations she had learned to give.
"It's broken; I know it is," wailed the small sufferer as Kitty carried
him up the steps, while his friend wildly rang the doorbell.
It was like going into fairy-land, for the house was all astir with a
children's Christmas party. Servants flew about with smiling faces; open
doors gave ravishing glimpses of a feast in one room and a splendid tree
in another; while a crowd of little faces peered over the balusters in
the hall above, eager to come down and enjoy the glories prepared for
them.
A pretty young girl came to meet Kitty, and listened to her story of the
accident, which proved to be less severe than it at first appeared; for
Bertie, the injured party, forgot his anguish at sight of the tree, and
hopped upstairs so nimbly that every one laughed.
"He said his leg was broken, but I guess he's all right," said Kitty,
reluctantly turning from this happy scene to go out into the night
again.
"Would you like to see our tree before the children come down?" asked
the pretty girl, seeing the wistful look in the child's eyes, and the
shine of half-dried tears on her cheek.
"Oh, yes; I never saw anything so lovely. I 'd like to tell the babies
all about it;" and Kitty's face beamed at the prospect, as if the kind
words had melted all the frost away.
"How many babies are there?" asked the pretty girl, as she led the way
into the brilliant room. Kitty told her, adding several other facts,
for the friendly atmosphere seemed to make them friends at once.
"I will buy the wreaths, for we have n't any," said the girl in silk, as
Kitty told how she was just coming to offer them when the boys fell.
It was pretty to see how carefully the little hostess laid away the
shabby garlands and slipped a half-dollar into Kitty's hand; prettier
still, to watch the sly way in which she tucked some bonbons, a red
ball, a blue whip, two china dolls, two pairs of little mittens, and
some gilded nuts into an empty box for "the babies;" and prettiest of
all, to see the smiles and tears make April in Kitty's face as she tried
to tell her thanks for this beautiful surprise.
The world was all right when she got into the street again and ran home
with the precious box hugged close, feeling that at last she had
something to make a merry Christmas of.
Shrieks of joy greeted her, for Sammy's nice old lady had sent a basket
full of pies, nuts and raisins, oranges and cake, and--oh, happy
Sammy!--a sled, all for love of the blue eyes that twinkled so merrily
when he told her about the tea-tray. Piled upon this red car of
triumph, Dilly and Dot were being dragged about, while the other
treasures were set forth on the table.
"I must show mine," cried Kitty; "we 'll look at them to-night, and have
them to-morrow;" and amid more cries of rapture _her_ box was unpacked,
_her_ money added to the pile in the middle of the table, where Sammy
had laid his handsome contribution toward the turkey.
Before the story of the splendid tree was over, in came Tommy with his
substantial offering and his hard-earned dollar.
"I 'm afraid I ought to keep my money for shoes. I 've walked the soles
off these to-day, and can't go to school barefooted," he said, bravely
trying to put the temptation of skates behind him.
"We 've got a good dinner without a turkey, and perhaps we 'd better not
get it," added Kitty, with a sigh, as she surveyed the table, and
remembered the blue knit hood marked seventy-five cents that she saw in
a shop-window.
"Oh, we _must_ have a turkey! we worked so hard for it, and it's so
Christmasy," cried Sam, who always felt that pleasant things ought to
happen.
"Must have turty," echoed the babies, as they eyed the dolls tenderly.
"You _shall_ have a turkey, and there he is," said an unexpected voice,
as a noble bird fell upon the table, and lay there kicking up his legs
as if enjoying the surprise immensely.
It was father's voice, and there stood father, neither cross nor stupid,
but looking as he used to look, kind and happy, and beside him was
mother, smiling as they had not seen her smile for months. It was not
because the work was well paid for, and more promised, but because she
had received a gift that made the world bright, a home happy
again,--father's promise to drink no more.
"I 've been working to-day as well as you, and you may keep your money
for yourselves. There are shoes for all; and never again, please God,
shall my children be ashamed of me, or want a dinner Christmas Day."
As father said this with a choke in his voice, and mother's head went
down on his shoulder to hide the happy tears that wet her cheeks, the
children did n't know whether to laugh or cry, till Kitty, with the
instinct of a loving heart, settled the question by saying, as she held
out her hands, "We have n't any tree, so let's dance around our goodies
and be merry."
Then the tired feet in the old shoes forgot their weariness, and five
happy little souls skipped gayly round the table, where, in the midst of
all the treasures earned and given, father's Christmas turkey proudly
lay in state.
[Illustration: Chapter II tailpiece]
[Illustration: "Grandpapa Ladle cheered them on, like a fine old
gentleman as he was."--PAGE 55.]