shop, it was so sunny and cheerful, with Peterkin stretched out in lazy
comfort before the fire, his master busy at his work-table over some
lenses.
"Mother, do you know it will be Christmas in two weeks?" she asked, as
she entered the sitting room; "and Mark is coming home," she added. "Do
you think he will be nice?"
"We may as well give him the benefit of any doubt," said Mrs. Morrison,
answering the last question. "What do you want to do for Christmas,
Wink?"
"What can we do without father?" the little girl exclaimed, thinking of
the merrymakings of other years in which he had always been prime mover.
"We are so glad to know how well and strong he is getting that we can
manage to have some sort of a happy time without him, I think," her
mother replied. "Suppose you ask Miss Sherwin if she and Miss Moore will
be here through the holidays."
The air was full of Christmas plans, the streets were full of Christmas
shoppers, and the dwellers in the house of the Spectacle Man could not
escape the contagion. The girls on the third floor were not going home,
and were very willing to unite with their neighbors in a little
festivity.
Miss Moore proposed a tree, which, in kindergarten fashion, they should
all unite in trimming. Emma and Frances immediately offered to string
pop-corn and cranberries, and went to work with great ardor, having at
the same time to bribe the General to attend to his own affairs, with
wonderful stories of Santa Claus, and the toys he had in store for good
boys.
Emma was as happy as a lark. In past years the Sunday-school tree had
been all she had to look forward to, and the thought of having one in
the house was almost too much. Gladys also condescended to help with the
pop-corn, although she was rather scornful of such home-made
decorations.
"I suppose I may invite Gladys to our tree, mayn't I?" Frances asked one
evening of the busy circle gathered around the table in Miss Sherwin's
studio.
"I should think so," her mother replied.
"I know a girl I'd like to ask. She is in my class, and she lives in
Texas, and I do not believe she has a single friend in the city." As she
spoke, Miss Moore carefully smoothed out the photograph she was
mounting.
"You do it beautifully," said Mrs. Morrison, looking over her shoulder.
"It is the 'Holy Night' by Plockhorst, as you see; we are going to give
one to each of our infants, and I offered to mount them. I like to
paste; it is my one talent."
"For a Christmas picture, this is my favorite," and Miss Sherwin took
from a portfolio a photograph of the Magi on the way to Bethlehem.
Emma and Frances left their cranberries to look at it.
"How wonderfully simple and dignified it is! The wide sweep of the
desert, and the stately figures of the Wise Men, as they follow the
star," remarked Mrs. Morrison.
"But no one has answered Miss Moore. Wouldn't it be nice to invite her
girl?" said Frances, going back to her work again.
"Why, of course, and perhaps we'll find some one else who is not likely
to have a happy day," her mother answered.
"There's Mrs. Gray," said Frances meditatively; "I wonder if she likes
Christmas trees?"
So it began, and before they knew it the original plan was quite
outgrown.
When Mark arrived he proved to be a tall, bright-faced boy of sixteen,
overflowing with good spirits, who contrived to get acquainted with all
the inmates of the house before twenty-four hours had passed.
He took a lively interest in the tree, and suggested having it in his
uncle's study. Then on Christmas Eve the cases could be moved out of the
way in the shop, and both rooms be given up to the frolic.
As the Spectacle Man was more than willing, this was decided upon; and
as it would give them so much more room, Miss Moore thought she'd like
to ask two other young women, who were studying in a business college,
and boarded in the same house with her Texas friend. Mark knew two
fellows he'd like to have, and his uncle wished to invite a young man
who had come once or twice to his Bible class, and who was a stranger in
town.
"Perhaps," said Mrs. Morrison, when they were discussing it, "we had
better limit our invitations to those who are not likely to have a merry
Christmas."
"My young man doesn't look as if he knew the meaning of merry," said Mr.
Clark.
"My girls may know its meaning, but they haven't much chance to practise
it, in the dingy boarding house," added Miss Moore.
"I am sure Mrs. Gray doesn't have any fun," said Frances, who clung to
her idea of asking the old lady.
There couldn't have been found a merrier party in the whole city than
that at work in the Spectacle Man's study on Christmas Eve. Mark had
brought in a quantity of cedar and mistletoe, and while Mrs. Morrison
and Miss Sherwin trimmed the tree, the children and Miss Moore turned
the shop into a bower of fragrant green.
Mark was full of mischief, and romped with Frances, and teased Emma
until she wished she could crawl under the bookcase as Peterkin did
under the same circumstances. The General trotted about in a gale of
delight, getting in everybody's way, and was most unwilling to leave the
scene of action when his mother came to take him to bed.
Mrs. Bond lifted her hands in dismay at so much work for nothing.
"But isn't it pretty?" asked Mrs. Morrison, from the top of the
step-ladder.
"It is pretty enough, but it all has to come down, and then what a
mess!" was the reply.
"Still, it is fun, and Christmas comes but once a year. Here, Mark, this
is to decorate the immortal George. Can you reach?" and Miss Moore held
out a beautiful branch of holly.
"You'll come to the party, won't you, Mrs. Bond?" Frances asked.
"Come? of course she will; no one in this house can be excused," said
Mr. Clark, entering the room with some interesting packages under his
arm.
The little girls were extremely curious about some work Miss Sherwin and
Mrs. Morrison had been doing, which they kept a secret from everybody,
and now the sight of a number of flat parcels in tissue paper tied with
red ribbon excited them afresh.
"Is that what you have been making?" asked Frances.
"Just part of it," Miss Sherwin replied, as she hung them on the tree.
"Emma, what do you suppose they are? Everybody is to have one, for I
have counted," Frances whispered.
"I don't know, I am sure; but isn't it fun!" and Emma spun around like a
top in her excitement.
"And she says it is only part," continued Frances.
"I believe we have done all that can be done to-night," said Mrs.
Morrison, crossing the room to get a better view of the tree.
"It will be a beauty when it is lighted. I think even Gladys will
admire it," remarked Miss Moore.
Wilson, who had come in to sweep up, looked at it critically. "We had a
tree at the Institute last year that was lighted with inclandestine
lights," he said.
Mark giggled, and Mrs. Morrison looked puzzled for a minute, then she
smiled as she said, "Yes, I have heard of lighting them by electricity,
but ours is a home-made affair."
"Isn't Wilson absurd?" laughed Miss Sherwin as they all went into the
next room. "What do you think he said to me the other day? He complained
that Mrs. Bond was too unscrupulous to live with, and when I asked him
what he meant, he said she required him to wash off the front porch
every morning before he went to school, and that made him late for his
Greek lesson, and in his opinion it was very unscrupulous."
"If it wasn't for Zenobia I think he would try to find a place where
more respect was shown to Greek," said Mrs. Morrison.
Mrs. Marvin's housekeeper came in to see Mrs. Bond that evening, and on
her way out she had full view of the study, where work was still going
on. Seeing Frances and recognizing her, she asked her name, and seemed
very much surprised at Mrs. Bond's reply.
"Frances Morrison!" she repeated, "why that is--" she checked herself,
but stood watching the group as if deeply interested.
"Do you know her?" asked Mrs. Bond.
Caroline shook her head. "The name's familiar, that is all," she
replied.
Christmas Day was gloomy as to weather, but that was a small matter with
so much merriment going on indoors. After the excitement of examining
stockings was over the party was the event of the day, and was looked
forward to with eager anticipation by the children.
It was to be an early party, the guests having been invited to come at
six o'clock. Gladys was the first to arrive, and the three little girls
sat on the big hall sofa and waited for the others to come. The shop was
brilliantly lighted and looked quite unfamiliar with all the show-cases
moved back against the wall, and its trimmings of cedar and holly. In
the centre of the room on a table was the secret which had so excited
Emma and Frances. A dozen or more cards were arranged around a central
one, upon which was printed, "A Christmas Dinner"; on each of the other
cards was a picture representing some part of the dinner. Miss Sherwin
presided over this, and Frances presented each guest, as he or she
arrived, with a pencil and a blank card on which the names of the
various dishes were to be written as they were guessed. The one
guessing the largest number was to have a prize, and everybody was to
try except Mrs. Morrison and Miss Sherwin, who had prepared the
pictures, and of course knew what they meant.
This served to break the ice, and Miss Moore's girls, and Mark's
friends, and the Spectacle Man's shy student, all became sociable
directly, as they moved about the table.
To the delight of Frances, Mrs. Gray came. She was quite apologetic over
it, saying it seemed ridiculous for her to be going anywhere, but she
didn't know when she had seen a Christmas tree, and so at the last
minute she had decided to come.
"We take it as a great compliment," Mrs. Morrison said, helping her with
her wraps and leading her to Mr. Clark's arm-chair.
She was a sweet-looking old lady in her white cap and embroidered
kerchief, and Miss Sherwin said her presence gave just the grandmotherly
touch their party needed. Miss Moore decorated her with a sprig of
holly, and every one tried to make her have a good time. The guests were
all brought to her corner and introduced, and then, while the rest were
busy trying to guess the menu, Mr. Clark came and sat beside her and
talked of old times, and the changes that had come to the city since
they were young.
It may have been an odd sort of party, but it was a success; and the shy
young man proved himself more clever than any one else, for he guessed
all the dishes. Some of them were very easy, the first, for instance,
which was simply some points cut out of blue paper and pasted on a card.
"I know what they are," said Mark, "but three wouldn't be enough for
me."
Every one knew the map without a name must be _Turkey_, but the small
strips of different shades of green did not at first suggest _olives_; a
cat on the back of a chair puzzled some, but meant _catsup_ at once to
others. An infant in a high chair yelling for dear life, was of course
_ice cream_, but the medical student was the only one to guess the
meaning of a calf reposing on the grass. He explained his cleverness by
saying that his mother often made _veal loaf_, and he was very fond of
it.
When he had received his prize, which was a box of candy, it was time
for the tree. While they were all thinking of something else, Mr. Clark
had slipped in and lighted it, and there it was, all in a blaze of
glory!
The Spectacle Man was master of ceremonies, and it was worth something
to see his face as he stepped about taking things from the tree and
calling out names.
For each there was a photograph of the Magi on the way to Bethlehem,
and, besides these, there were other things both useful and amusing,
that had been picked up at the ten-cent store, or manufactured at home.
No one enjoyed it more than Mrs. Gray, unless it was the General, whose
enthusiasm knew no bounds, and who pranced about with a woolly lamb in
one hand and a Japanese baby in the other. Even Mrs. Bond relaxed, and
for at least an hour did nothing but look on and be amused.
When the tree was exhausted they had some light refreshments, and then
played old-fashioned games in which all could join.
"I don't know when I have had such a good time," said Mrs. Gray, as she
was getting ready to go; "and I don't see how you happened to think of
me."
"We had made up our minds to be lonely and homesick, but we have
laughed so much I don't see how we can ever be doleful again," remarked
Miss Moore's friend.
"It is the funniest party I ever went to," Gladys whispered to Frances,
"but I have had the loveliest time!"
The shy student had enjoyed himself more than he could express in words,
and his face spoke for him as he said good night.
"I am going to have a Christmas tree every year of my life till I die,"
the Spectacle Man declared; and if he had had the least encouragement,
he would have gone to work on the spot to plan another party.
CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.
ONE SUNDAY AFTERNOON.
In Frances' very own book there was a story of a boy who had a beautiful
voice, and who with a great many other boys sang in the choir of Christ
Church. The story was somewhat sad, for the boy, who loved dearly to
sing, lost his sweet voice one day and never found it again; but the
memory of the music as it floated up to the Gothic arches, and of the
sunlight from the great stained window falling a shaft of crimson and
gold across the chancel at vesper service, remained with him, and out of
it grew the story.
And the story became very real indeed to Frances when one Sunday
afternoon her father took her to the very church where the boy used to
sing. It was such a pleasure to her that after this she and her mother
often went together, and Frances pretended that one of the choir boys,
who happened to have dark eyes and a high clear voice, was little Jack,
and there were certain hymns she loved to hear because he used to sing
them.
It was the Sunday after Christmas, and Emma had just come up to know if
she might go to church with Frances, when Gladys walked in, gorgeously
arrayed in velvet and silk. Though rather over-dressed she looked very
pretty, but as soon as she spoke it became evident that she was not in a
very good humor.
"I don't like Sunday," she asserted, with the air of wishing to shock
somebody.
Emma exclaimed, "Oh, Gladys!" and looked at Mrs. Morrison to see the
effect of this remark upon her; but apparently it hadn't any, for the
lady went on turning the leaves of the book she held, half smiling.
"I do; why don't you like it, Gladys?" asked Frances.
"You can't do anything you want to do, and everybody is cross or taking
a nap. Mamma has a headache, and she said I shouldn't come over here,
but I just told her I was coming. I knew she wouldn't care if I didn't
bother her."
"Your mother is pretty funny, Gladys," Frances observed.
"Suppose you go with us to service this afternoon and hear the Christmas
music; we can stop and ask your mother on the way," Mrs. Morrison
suggested.
"Do come, Gladys, it is lovely to hear the choir boys, and perhaps they
will sing 'O little town of Bethlehem,'" said Frances, adding, with a
nod to Emma, who knew the story, "That is one of them."
Gladys did not decline the invitation, but she did not seem
enthusiastic, and presently announced, "Emma says you ought to like to
go to church better than to the circus, or anywhere, to any
entertainment, but I don't."
"Oh!" exclaimed Frances, with a long-drawn breath, "I suppose you ought
to, but-- Mother, ought you to like church better than tableaux? Don't
you remember those beautiful ones we saw in North Carolina?"
Emma again looked at Mrs. Morrison, confident in the strength of her
position. "Oughtn't you?" she urged.
"Let me ask you a question. Which would you rather do, stay at home
to-morrow afternoon, or go to see 'The Mistletoe Bough'?"
"'The Mistletoe Bough!'" cried three voices.
"Does that mean that you care more for tableaux than you do for your
homes?"
"No, mother, of course not, only--" Frances hesitated.
"No, of course you do not, but for the time the tableaux are more
amusing. It seems to me we must make a distinction between caring for
things and finding them entertaining. You may care a great deal for
church and yet not find it as amusing as some other places."
"I never thought of it in that way," said Mark, who had come in while
they were talking.
"We ought not to care too much for amusement, but try to learn to take
pleasure in other things," continued Mrs. Morrison. "We do not love
persons or things because we ought to, but because they seem to us
lovely; and yet when we think for how long people have gone on building
churches--plain little chapels, grand cathedrals--and have worshipped
God in them, and found help and blessing, surely we ought not to be
willing to say, 'I don't like church,' but should try to find out its
beautiful meaning for ourselves."
"I am afraid I am a good deal like Gladys; I have found it rather a
bore," said Mark.
"You remember our Christmas picture of the Wise Men," Mrs. Morrison went
on. "They had learning and wealth and distinction, and yet they took
that long, weary journey for what?"
"The star," said Gladys.
"To find Jesus," said Frances.
"Yes, with all their riches and learning they felt the need of something
else, and the star was sent to guide them. And to-day each one of us has
some heavenly vision which he must obey and follow as the Wise Men
followed the star."
Frances shook her head. "I never had a vision," she said.
"Yes, I think you have sometimes felt what a beautiful thing it would
be to be good. Perhaps when you have listened to the Christmas story you
have determined to let the Christ-Child into your heart. If you have, it
is your vision; and if you obey it, it will grow stronger and clearer.
In the midst of all our work and play, the vision often grows dim, but
going to God's house and thinking of Him and what He wants us to do,
helps to keep it bright."
"I wish we had a real star to follow; it would be easier," said Gladys.'
"We'd probably forget to watch it," said Mark. "I know how it is at
school. A fellow makes up his mind to grind away and do his very best,
and then before he knows it, the edge of his resolution wears off, and
he finds himself skinning along, taking it easy."
Mrs. Morrison smiled. "Yes, that is the way with most of us: we forget
so easily. And now let's go to church and try to think what the
Christmas star means for us."
The Spectacle Man who happened to be at the shop window when the little
party started out, smiled to himself at sight of Mark walking beside
Mrs. Morrison. "That is just what my boy needs," he said. "It isn't much
influence an old uncle can have."
The church was fragrant and beautiful in its Christmas dress, the light
came softly through the stained windows, and above the festoons and
wreaths of cedar shone the brilliant star. The children sat very still,
with earnest faces, till the service began, then, to Frances' delight,
the processional was "O little town of Bethlehem."
With their heads together over the book, she and Gladys sang too. At the
last stanza Frances, who knew the words, gazed straight at the star,
forgetful of everything but the music:--
"We hear the Christmas Angels
The great glad tidings tell;
Oh, come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Emmanuel."
But at the Amen something drew her eyes to the other side of the aisle
where, stately and handsome, stood Mrs. Marvin, watching her. She longed
to call her mother's attention to this lady of whom she had thought and
talked so much, but as Gladys sat between it was not possible.
All through the short service she kept stealing glances across the
aisle, but Mrs. Marvin did not turn again. The sight of the bright child
face had stirred the memory of an earnest little chorister who used
sometimes to smile at her over his book as he passed, and she did not
want to remember those old days; she wished she had not come.
Gladys, who did not often go to church, was interested and touched by
the simple service. She slipped her hand into Mrs. Morrison's when it
was over and whispered, "I am glad I came, and I mean to be good."
Perhaps her ideas of goodness were somewhat vague, and certainly there
was much in her surroundings to cloud the vision, but who can tell what
fruit an earnest wish may bear.
Frances hoped Mrs. Marvin would speak to her, but the crowd separated
them, and though she kept a careful watch she did not see her again.
As they walked home in the twilight Mark, who was still beside Mrs.
Morrison, said, "I'm afraid I don't care enough for church and that sort
of thing, and though I know of course there must be a great deal in it
for some people, I never thought of trying to find out what it was, as
you said. It seemed to me it was something that came of itself, if it
came at all." He spoke with real earnestness.
"Yet it doesn't seem quite logical to take care of our minds and bodies
and never think of our souls, does it?" his companion asked. "I remember
my own schooldays well enough to know how difficult it is not to be
entirely absorbed in what are called secular things. But after all, it
is the motive of a life that makes it fine; and if, in all you do, you
follow the best you know, are faithful and true and kind, that is
religion. The caring for church and things called sacred will come in
time; you can't be grown up spiritually all at once, any more than you
can physically."
"You make it seem reasonable and almost easy," Mark said; "but I thought
one had to understand a lot of things. You see my mother died when I was
a little chap, and there was only Aunt Emily. Uncle George is very
kind, but you can't believe he knows how a boy feels; people forget."
"Perhaps they remember more than impatient young persons give them
credit for," answered Mrs. Morrison, smiling. "There is one thing, Mark:
whatever you do, be in earnest."
In the city streets the electric lights had come out one by one, and
overhead the stars were shining. They walked the last block in silence,
and when they separated at the door, Mark said, "Thank you, Mrs.
Morrison."
"What was he thanking you for?" Frances asked.
"I don't know, Wink, unless it was for some advice."
"I think Mark is a nice boy; I am glad he came home," Frances remarked
as she took off her hat.
At the same moment, down in the study, Mark was saying: "How did you
ever happen to find them, Uncle George?-- Mrs. Morrison and Frances, I
mean. They are not like--everybody; they are the real thing. That
Frances is a regular little princess! How did they happen to come here?"
"I, too, have wondered at it, my boy, but I have learned to take the
good things that come my way without asking many questions," was the old
man's reply.
CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.
THREE OF A NAME.
Frances stood thoughtfully looking out of the window. To-morrow would be
New Year's Day and also her mother's birthday, and she had not
remembered it till this morning. She wondered if she could not in some
way get some flowers for her. She had her Christmas money from Uncle
Allan in California, and there was nothing her mother enjoyed more than
flowers, but who would go with her to get them? Zenobia was busy, and
Emma was taking care of the General, who had had an attack of croup.
As she stood there Mark came up the walk and lifted his hat to her.
"Perhaps he will take me," she said, and running into the hall she
called from the head of the stairs: "Mark, are you very busy? Could you
do something for me?"
"I am at your ladyship's command," was the reply.
"Then I'll come down and tell you, for it is a secret."
"Is it? Well, I'm splendid at keeping secrets."
Descending, Frances stated the case, and Mark not only said he would be
glad to go with her, but he knew a place where she could get flowers
much cheaper than down town.
"I'm so much obliged to you, and now I must ask mother if I can go,"
Frances said. "I can say you _want_ me to go, can't I? It will be true,
won't it?" she stopped halfway up the steps to inquire.
"Nothing could be truer," said Mark, laughing.
It did not take long to get her mother's permission, and in a very few
minutes she came flying down to join her escort at the door.
As they walked up the street, talking merrily, more than one passer-by
smiled at the pleasant sight, and turned to look again at the tall boy
and the bright-eyed little girl.