December snow was falling fast, and the wintry wind whistled through the
streets; but it was warm and cosey in the luxurious parlor where Di and
Do were sitting making Christmas presents, and planning what they would
wear at the party Fanny was to give on Christmas Eve.
"If I can get mamma to buy me a new dress, I shall have something
yellow. It is always becoming to brunettes, and I 'm so tired of red,"
said Di, giving a last touch to the lace that trimmed a blue satin
_sachet_ for Fanny.
"That will be lovely. I shall have pink, with roses of the same color.
Under muslin it is perfectly sweet." And Dora eyed the sunflower she
was embroidering as if she already saw the new toilet before her.
"Fan always wears blue, so we shall make a nice contrast. She is coming
over to show me about finishing off my banner-screen; and I asked Sophie
to come with her. I want to know what _she_ is going to wear," said Di,
taking a little sniff at the violet-scented bag.
"That old white cashmere. Just think! I asked her why she did n't get
a new one, and she laughed and said she could n't afford it. Fan told me
Sophie's father sent her a hundred dollars not long ago, yet she has n't
got a thing that we know of. I do think she 's mean."
"She bought a great bundle of books. I was there when the parcel came,
and I peeped while she was out of the room, because she put it away in a
great hurry. I 'm afraid she _is_ mean, for she never buys a bit of
candy, and she wears shabby boots and gloves, and she has made over her
old hat instead of having that lovely one with the pheasant's breast in
it."
"She's very queer; but I can't help liking her, she's so pretty and
bright and obliging. I 'd give anything if I could speak three languages
and play as she does."
"So would I. It seems so elegant to be able to talk to foreigners.
Papa had some Frenchmen to dinner the other day, and they were so
pleased to find they need n't speak English to Sophie. I could n't get
on at all; and I was so mortified when papa said all the money he had
spent on my languages was thrown away."
"I would n't mind. It's so much easier to learn those things abroad,
she would be a goose if she did n't speak French better than we do.
There's Fan! she looks as if something had happened. I hope no one is
ill and the party spoiled."
As Dora spoke, both girls looked out to see Fanny shaking the snow from
her seal-skin sack on the doorstep; then Do hastened to meet her, while
Di hid the _sachet_, and was hard at work on an old-gold sofa cushion
when the new-comer entered.
"What's the matter? Where's Sophie?" exclaimed the girls together, as
Fan threw off her wraps and sat down with a tragic sigh.
"She will be along in a few minutes. I 'm disappointed in her! I would
n't have believed it if I had n't seen them. Promise not to breathe a
word to a living soul, and I 'll tell you something dreadful," began
Fanny, in a tone that caused her friends to drop their work and draw
their chairs nearer, as they solemnly vowed eternal silence.
"I 've seen Sophie's Christmas presents,--all but mine; and they are
just nothing at all! She has n't bought a thing, not even ribbons,
lace, or silk, to make up prettily as we do. Only a painted shell for
one, an acorn emery for another, her ivory fan with a new tassel for a
third, and I suspect one of those nice handkerchiefs embroidered by the
nuns for me, or her silver filigree necklace. I saw the box in the
drawer with the other things. She's knit woollen cuffs and tippets for
the children, and got some eight-cent calico gowns for the servants. I
don't know how people do things in Switzerland, but I do know that if
_I_ had a hundred dollars in my pocket, I would be more generous than
that!"
As Fanny paused, out of breath, Di and Do groaned in sympathy, for this
was indeed a sad state of things; because the girls had a code that
Christmas being the season for gifts, extravagance would be forgiven
then as at no other time.
"I have a lovely smelling-bottle for her; but I 've a great mind not to
give it now," cried Di, feeling defrauded of the bracelet she had
plainly hinted she would like.
"I shall heap coals of fire on her head by giving her _that_;" and Dora
displayed a very useless but very pretty apron of muslin, lace, and
carnation ribbon.
"It is n't the worth of the things. I don't care for that so much as I
do for being disappointed in her; and I have been lately in more ways
than one," said Fanny, listlessly taking up the screen she was to
finish. "She used to tell me everything, and now she does n't. I 'm
sure she has some sort of a secret; and I do think _I_ ought to know it.
I found her smiling over a letter one day; and she whisked it into her
pocket and never said a word about it. I always stood by her, and I do
feel hurt."
"I should think you might! It's real naughty of her, and I shall tell
her so! Perhaps she 'll confide in you then, and you can just give _me_
a hint; I always liked Sophie, and never thought of not giving _my_
present," said Dora, persuasively, for both girls were now dying with
curiosity to know the secret.
"I 'll have it out of her, without any dodging or bribing. I 'm not
afraid of any one, and I shall ask her straight out, no matter how much
she scowls at me," said dauntless Di, with a threatening nod.
"There she is! Let us see you do it now!" cried Fanny, as the bell
rang, and a clear voice was heard a moment later asking if Mademoiselle
was in.
"You shall!" and Di looked ready for any audacity.
"I 'll wager a box of candy that you don't find out a thing," whispered
Do.
"Done!" answered Di, and then turned to meet Sophie, who came in looking
as fresh as an Alpine rose with the wintry wind.
"You dear thing! we were just talking of you. Sit here and get warm, and
let us show you our gifts. We are almost done, but it seems as if it
got to be a harder job each Christmas. Don't you find it so?"
"But no; I think it the most charming work of all the year," answered
Sophie, greeting her friend, and putting her well-worn boots toward the
fire to dry.
"Perhaps you don't make as much of Christmas as we do, or give such
expensive presents. That would make a great difference, you know," said
Di, as she lifted a cloth from the table where her own generous store of
gifts was set forth.
"I had a piano last year, a set of jewels, and many pretty trifles from
all at home. Here is one;" and pulling the fine gold chain hidden under
her frills, Sophie showed a locket set thick with pearls, containing a
picture of her mother.
"It must be so nice to be rich, and able to make such fine presents. I
've got something for you; but I shall be ashamed of it after I see your
gift to me, I 'm afraid."
Fan and Dora were working as if their bread depended on it, while Di,
with a naughty twinkle in her eye, affected to be rearranging her pretty
table as she talked.
"Do not fear that; my gifts this year are very simple ones. I did not
know your custom, and now it is too late. My comfort is that you need
nothing, and having so much, you will not care for my--what you
call--coming short."
Was it the fire that made Sophie's face look so hot, and a cold that
gave a husky sort of tone to her usually clear voice? A curious
expression came into her face as her eyes roved from the table to the
gay trifles in her friend's hands; and she opened her lips as if to add
something impulsively. But nothing came, and for a moment she looked
straight out at the storm as if she had forgotten where she was.
"'Shortcoming' is the proper way to speak it But never mind that, and
tell me why you say 'too late'?" asked Di, bent on winning her wager.
"Christmas comes in three days, and I have no time," began Sophie.
"But with money one can buy plenty of lovely things in one day," said
Di.
"No, it is better to put a little love and hard work into what we give
to friends, I have done that with my trifles, and another year I shall
be more ready."
There was an uncomfortable pause, for Sophie did not speak with her
usual frankness, but looked both proud and ashamed, and seemed anxious
to change the subject, as she began to admire Dora's work, which had
made very little progress during the last fifteen minutes.
Fanny glanced at Di with a smile that made the other toss her head and
return to the charge with renewed vigor.
"Sophie, will you do me a favor?"
"With much pleasure."
"Do has promised me a whole box of French bonbons, and if you will
answer three questions, you shall have it."
"_Allons_," said Sophie, smiling.
"Haven't you a secret?" asked Di, gravely.
"Yes."
"Will you tell us?"
"No."
Di paused before she asked her last question, and Fan and Dora waited
breathlessly, while Sophie knit her brows and looked uneasy.
"Why not?"
"Because I do not wish to tell it."
"Will you tell if we guess?"
"Try."
"You are engaged."
At this absurd suggestion Sophie laughed gayly, and shook her curly
head.
"Do you think we are betrothed at sixteen in my country?"
"I _know_ that is an engagement ring,--you made such a time about it
when you lost it in the water, and cried for joy when Tilly dived and
found it."
"Ah, yes, I was truly glad. Dear Tilly, never do I forget that
kindness!" and Sophie kissed the little pearl ring in her impulsive way,
while her eyes sparkled and the frown vanished.
"I _know_ a sweetheart gave it," insisted Di, sure now she had found a
clew to the secret.
"He did," and Sophie hung her head in a sentimental way that made the
three girls crowd nearer with faces full of interest.
"Do tell us all about it, dear. It's so interesting to hear
love-stories. What is his name?" cried Dora.
"Hermann," simpered Sophie, drooping still more, while her lips trembled
with suppressed emotion of some sort.
"How lovely!" sighed Fanny, who was very romantic.
"Tell on, do! Is he handsome?"
"To me the finest man in all the world," confessed Sophie, as she hid
her face.
"And you love him?"
"I adore him!" and Sophie clasped her hands so dramatically that the
girls were a little startled, yet charmed at this discovery.
"Have you his picture?" asked Di, feeling that she had won her wager
now.
"Yes," and pulling out the locket again, Sophie showed in the other side
the face of a fine old gentleman who looked very like herself.
"It's your father!" exclaimed Fanny, rolling her blue eyes excitedly.
"You are a humbug!" cried Dora. "Then you fibbed about the ring," said
Di, crossly.
"Never! It is mamma's betrothal ring; but her finger grew too plump,
and when I left home she gave the ring to me as a charm to keep me safe.
Ah, ha! I have my little joke as well as you, and the laugh is for me
this time." And falling back among the sofa cushions, Sophie enjoyed it
as only a gay girl could. Do and Fanny joined her; but Di was much
disgusted, and vowed she _would_ discover the secret and keep all the
bonbons to herself.
"You are most welcome; but I will not tell until I like, and then to
Fanny first. She will not have ridicule for what I do, but say it is
well, and be glad with me. Come now and work. I will plait these
ribbons, or paint a wild rose on this pretty fan. It is too plain now.
Will you that I do it, dear Di?"
The kind tone and the prospect of such an ornament to her gift appeased
Di somewhat; but the mirthful malice in Sophie's eyes made the other
more than ever determined to be even with her by and by.
Christmas Eve came, and found Di still in the dark, which fact nettled
her sadly, for Sophie tormented her and amused the other girls by
pretended confidences and dark hints at the mystery which might never,
never be disclosed.
Fan had determined to have an unusually jolly party; so she invited only
her chosen friends, and opened the festivities with a Christmas tree, as
the prettiest way of exchanging gifts and providing jokes for the
evening in the shape of delusive bottles, animals full of candy, and
every sort of musical instrument to be used in an impromptu concert
afterward. The presents to one another were done up in secure parcels,
so that they might burst upon the public eye in all their freshness. Di
was very curious to know what Fan was going to give her,--for Fanny was
a generous creature and loved to give. Di was a little jealous of her
love for Sophie, and could n't rest till she discovered which was to get
the finer gift.
So she went early and slipped into the room where the tree stood, to
peep and pick a bit, as well as to hang up a few trifles of her own.
She guessed several things by feeling the parcels; but one excited her
curiosity intensely, and she could not resist turning it about and
pulling up one corner of the lid. It was a flat box, prettily
ornamented with sea-weeds like red lace, and tied with scarlet ribbons.
A tantalizing glimpse of jeweller's cotton, gold clasps, and something
rose-colored conquered Di's last scruples; and she was just about to
untie the ribbons when she heard Fanny's voice, and had only time to
replace the box, pick up a paper that had fallen out of it, and fly up
the back stairs to the dressing-room, where she found Sophie and Dora
surveying each other as girls always do before they go down.
"You look like a daisy," cried Di, admiring Dora with great interest,
because she felt ashamed of her prying, and the stolen note in her
pocket.
"And you like a dandelion," returned Do, falling back a step to get a
good view of Di's gold-colored dress and black velvet bows.
"Sophie is a lily of the valley, all in green and white," added Fanny,
coming in with her own blue skirts waving in the breeze.
"It does me very well. Little girls do not need grand toilets, and I am
fine enough for a 'peasant,'" laughed Sophie, as she settled the fresh
ribbons on her simple white cashmere and the holly wreath in her brown
hair, but secretly longing for the fine dress she might have had.
"Why didn't you wear your silver necklace? It would be lovely on your
pretty neck," said Di, longing to know if she had given the trinket
away.
But Sophie was not to be caught, and said with a contented smile, "I do
not care for ornaments unless some one I love gives me them. I had red
roses for my _bouquet de corsage_; but the poor Madame Page was so
_triste_, I left them on her table to remember her of me. It seemed so
heartless to go and dance while she had only pain; but she wished it."
"Dear little Sophie, how good you are!" and warm-hearted Fan kissed the
blooming face that needed no roses to make it sweet and gay.
Half an hour later, twenty girls and boys were dancing round the
brilliant tree. Then its boughs were stripped. Every one seemed
contented; even Sophie's little gifts gave pleasure, because with each
went a merry or affectionate verse, which made great fun on being read
aloud. She was quite loaded with pretty things, and had no words to
express her gratitude and pleasure.
"Ah, you are all so good to me! and I have nothing beautiful for you. I
receive much and give little, but I cannot help it! Wait a little and I
will redeem myself," she said to Fanny, with eyes full of tears, and a
lap heaped with gay and useful things.
"Never mind that now; but look at this, for here's still another
offering of friendship, and a very charming one, to judge by the
outside," answered Fan, bringing the white box with the sea-weed
ornaments.
Sophie opened it, and cries of admiration followed, for lying on the
soft cotton was a lovely set of coral. Rosy pink branches, highly
polished and fastened with gold clasps, formed necklace, bracelets, and
a spray for the bosom. No note or card appeared, and the girls crowded
round to admire and wonder who could have sent so valuable a gift.
"Can't you guess, Sophie?" cried Dora, longing to own the pretty things.
"I should believe I knew, but it is too costly. How came the parcel,
Fan? I think you must know all," and Sophie turned the box about,
searching vainly for a name.
"An expressman left it, and Jane took off the wet paper and put it on my
table with the other things. Here's the wrapper; do you know that
writing?" and Fan offered the brown paper which she had kept.
"No; and the label is all mud, so I cannot see the place. Ah, well, I
shall discover some day, but I should like to thank this generous friend
at once. See now, how fine I am! I do myself the honor to wear them at
once."
Smiling with girlish delight at her pretty ornaments, Sophie clasped the
bracelets on her round arms, the necklace about her white throat, and
set the rosy spray in the lace on her bosom. Then she took a little
dance down the room and found herself before Di, who was looking at her
with an expression of naughty satisfaction on her face.
"Don't you wish you knew who sent them?"
"Indeed, yes;" and Sophie paused abruptly.
"Well, _I_ know, and _I_ won't tell till I like. It's my turn to have a
secret; and I mean to keep it."
"But it is not right," began Sophie, with indignation.
"Tell me yours, and I 'll tell mine," said Di, teasingly.
"I will not! You have no right to touch my gifts, and I am sure you
have done it, else how know you who sends this fine _cadeau_?" cried
Sophie, with the flash Di liked to see.
Here Fanny interposed, "If you have any note or card belonging to
Sophie, give it up at once. She shall not be tormented. Out with it,
Di. I see your hand in your pocket, and I 'm sure you have been in
mischief."
"Take your old letter, then. I know what's in it; and if I can't keep
my secret for fun, Sophie shall not have hers. That Tilly sent the
coral, and Sophie spent her hundred dollars in books and clothes for
that queer girl, who'd better stay among her lobsters than try to be a
lady," cried Di, bent on telling all she knew, while Sophie was reading
her letter eagerly.
"Is it true?" asked Dora, for the four girls were in a corner together,
and the rest of the company busy pulling crackers.
"Just like her! I thought it was that; but she would n't tell. Tell us
now, Sophie, for _I_ think it was truly sweet and beautiful to help that
poor girl, and let us say hard things of you," cried Fanny, as her
friend looked up with a face and a heart too full of happiness to help
overflowing into words.
"Yes; I will tell you now. It was foolish, perhaps; but I did not want
to be praised, and I loved to help that good Tilly. You know she worked
all summer and made a little sum. So glad, so proud she was, and
planned to study that she might go to school this winter. Well, in
October the uncle fell very ill, and Tilly gave all her money for the
doctors. The uncle had been kind to her, she did not forget; she was
glad to help, and told no one but me. Then I said, 'What better can I
do with my father's gift than give it to the dear creature, and let her
lose no time?' I do it; she will not at first, but I write and say, 'It
must be,' and she submits. She is made neat with some little dresses,
and she goes at last, to be so happy and do so well that I am proud of
her. Is not that better than fine toilets and rich gifts to those who
need nothing? Truly, yes! yet I confess it cost me pain to give up my
plans for Christmas, and to seem selfish or ungrateful. Forgive me
that."
"Yes, indeed, you dear generous thing!" cried Fan and Dora, touched by
the truth.
"But how came Tilly to send you such a splendid present?" asked Di.
"Should n't think you 'd like her to spend your money in such things."
"She did not. A sea-captain, a friend of the uncle, gave her these
lovely ornaments, and she sends them to me with a letter that is more
precious than all the coral in the sea. I cannot read it; but of all my
gifts _this_ is the dearest and the best!"
Sophie had spoken eagerly, and her face, her voice, her gestures, made
the little story eloquent; but with the last words she clasped the
letter to her bosom as if it well repaid her for all the sacrifices she
had made. They might seem small to others, but she was sensitive and
proud, anxious to be loved in the strange country, and fond of giving,
so it cost her many tears to seem mean and thoughtless, to go poorly
dressed, and be thought hardly of by those she wished to please. She
did not like to tell of her own generosity, because it seemed like
boasting; and she was not sure that it had been wise to give so much.
Therefore, she waited to see if Tilly was worthy of the trust reposed in
her; and she now found a balm for many wounds in the loving letter that
came with the beautiful and unexpected gift.
Di listened with hot cheeks, and when Sophie paused, she whispered
regretfully,--
"Forgive me, I was wrong! I 'll keep your gift all my life to remember
you by, for you are the best and dearest girl I know."
Then with a hasty kiss she ran away, carrying with great care the white
shell on which Sophie had painted a dainty little picture of the
mermaids waiting for the pretty boat that brought good fortune to poor
Tilly, and this lesson to those who were hereafter her faithful friends.
[Illustration: Chapter VII tailpiece]
[Illustration: "Everything is quite clean; I am sure of that, for I
washed the sheets and coverlet myself not long ago."--PAGE 207.]