A CHRISTMAS STOCKING.
THE summer sped away without further excitement, and October found "the
flock" again established under Mrs. Joy's roof. Val had concluded to
take up special studies, and was talking of a possible trip to Europe
the next year. Nannie, too, was looking forward eagerly to going to
Paris for study; but Theo clung to auntie, and declared that nothing
should separate them.
"We'll go back to Roseville, to the old quiet life, auntie dear," she
said. "Won't it be nice to have Mammy at hand, with her queer old
homely ways, and to look out and always see trees and sky? I am getting
tired,—tired of brick walls and pavements," and Theo gave a quick
little sigh.
"And you wanted so much to come," returned her aunt.
"I know," and Theo took Miss Nelson's hand, softly laying her cheek
against it, "but I don't like the world, auntie. I want to be a little
girl again," and two bright drops fell on auntie's hand.
"Why, my blessed child, aren't you happy?"
"I shall be twenty-one next summer," replied Theo, regretfully.
"Then I shall have to think about Preston, and I shall have
responsibilities,—responsibilities are such wearing things."
"I know they are, dear, but we must not be cowards and shirk them. Duty
is a wonderful strengthener. My girl would not choose to live a life of
absolute ease, of mere animal enjoyment."
"Oh, no, no. I don't mean that. I love to work, but somehow here I have
come face to face with forces of whose existence I never knew. We lived
an ideal life in Roseville, I think, auntie."
"But you were the first to fly, my birdie."
"I know it, and that is why I am the first to tire, maybe."
"You are disappointed, then."
"Not exactly. I am only tired of jar and fret. I love my music. I enjoy
ever so many things that I should not have elsewhere. And if I had to
live here always, I should try to find a way to put my powers to the
best passible use. I should try to fit my life to its surroundings. But
now home seems dearer than anything. And sometimes, when I think of the
apple-trees and the robins, the garden whose every bush and shrub I
know by heart, our little town, in which every face is a familiar one,
my dear little room haunted by my girlhood's dreams, dear old Mammy so
devoted to us, and,—oh, everything,—I long for it all, and I feel as
if I should rather stand up in our little church and sing than to be
applauded in any concert-room here or anywhere else."
"I do not know that I am sorry, dear heart, that you feel so, and I
think this is likely to be our last winter here. I think Val would best
go to Europe with Mrs. Westerly, and Nannie's heart is bound up in her
work. Archie will have to decide soon about his own career, and then—we
can go home."
There was silence for a moment between the two. Then auntie bent over
the bright head leaning against her.
"Dear girlie," she said, "it is hard to give up our illusions, isn't
it?"
Theo nodded. Then she replied, softly,—
"That was one of the things I meant, you know, auntie, dear." And she
added, smiling, "Do you remember, auntie?
"'There was a young lady of Baddow,
Who, becoming enraged with a shadow,
In both hands she took it,
And to fragments she shook it.'
"That was what I did. It was only a shadow, nothing else. I found that
out very soon."
"I knew you would," replied Miss Janet. "I trusted you, sweetheart.
I knew that every good and true woman, with her feminine share of
ideality, must dream that the man she fancies approaches at least
nearly to her ideal."
"But," interrupted Theo, suddenly raising her head, "if life means
one thing to him and another to her—if love in its highest, noblest,
purest sense has never been revealed to him; if he cannot comprehend a
love from which self is eliminated; if he does not understand that a
human being is a human individual, and that she who is 'her'self to-day
cannot be 'him'self to-morrow, and that a life is not an apology, but a
life—what then?"
"Then fortunate is she who discovers it before it is too late. Large
natures allow to others large liberties. A weak, self-indulgent man is
apt to exercise a petty tyranny which must, in the end, win a noble
woman's contempt."
"I know that, and the same rule must apply where noble men are
concerned, and where the woman is narrow and petty."
"Yes, quite as well. If men, and women too, could only be true to their
highest natures, only willing to marry such as would respond to the
best within them, who would draw forth all their nobility and truth,
then there would be perfect faith, perfect confidence; there could be
no question of freedom, for there would be no question of bondage; it
would take the life of one to complete the life of the other, each
retaining his or her individuality, not the destroying of one that it
might be lost in the other, but the joining of two symmetrical parts,
the notes that make the music of one life finding the answering ones in
the other to complete the chord."
"I understand," replied Theo. "Better the simplest melody carried by
a single voice perfectly than an attempted concerto jarred and out of
tune."
"Hand me that green book, Theo," directed auntie. "I want to read you
what our friend Thoreau says." And Miss Janet turned over a few pages,
then read:
"'Is your friend such a one that an increase of worth on your part
will rarely make her more your friend? Is she retained, is she attracted
by more nobleness in you, by more of that virtue which is peculiarly
yours, or is she indifferent and blind to that? Is she to be flattered
and won by your meeting her on any other than the ascending path? Then
duty requires that you separate from her.'"
Theo held out her hand for the book, and for some time sat absorbed in
it. Then she lifted up her head, saying,—
"Auntie, dear, you have done me so much good. I have felt too far
away from you since we came to New York. Somehow, I don't know how it
happened, but I have had to lock myself up. It is very nice to get out
again and back to you, safe and sound. Oh, auntie, keep me very close:
I am so much happier so." And then, with arms close about auntie, she
whispered something in her ear, hiding her face on auntie's shoulder.
"My dear, my darling!" Miss Janet whispered back.
"Are you sorry?" asked Theo, again in a whisper.
"No, darling, no; very, very glad."
"Don't tell," again whispered Theo.
Auntie satisfied her on that point.
Then as the girl drew a long, quivering breath, she gathered her more
closely to her, and the two sat for a long time in silence, till Val's
energetic little rap gave notice of her approach.
"What are you doing here in the dark?" asked Val, feeling her way into
the room.
"It gets dark so early," explained Theo, lifting her head. "Where have
you been, Val? Archie would be highly indignant if he knew you were out
alone after dark."
"Oh, Archie is too particular," replied Val. "Anyhow, I have just left
him, 'a martyr going to the stake,' he said."
"Why, what did he mean?"
"His nonsense, of course. He was hard up, and was going to a cheap
restaurant for dinner. I begged him to take me, and offered to foot the
bill, but he said,—
"'No, that would be putting a premium on extravagance, that he needed
the discipline; maybe it would make him more saving in the future.'"
"I am afraid Archie is extravagant," was Theo's comment. "I wish he
could be more economical, for his own sake."
"He is so generous," explained auntie, "and has such a horror of
penuriousness, that he errs in the other direction. But I think he is
improving somewhat."
"Yes," replied Val; "he told me he could get through this month by
eating twenty-five-cent dinners for a week. Dear old Arch!" she said,
reflectively.
"Oh, by the way, Theo, what do you think we have been talking about?"
"I cannot imagine. It is difficult to guess the theme of conversation
when you two are together."
"So it is; but this has a flavor of sense in it, this plan. We think
it would be sort of cheery and nice to send Jack a Christmas stocking.
Maybe you think it is too soon to be talking of Christmas, but really
it isn't. We'll have to send it early, so as it will get to him in
time; and then we want to think up a lot of absurdities to put in it.
Don't you think it is a nice plan, auntie?"
"I do, indeed, and I'll venture to say Jack will enjoy it immeasurably."
As the time approached for the stocking to be sent, the ideas came
thick and fast, and finally, Nannie, Val, Theo, and Archie spent one
entire evening in preparation.
"Oh, Archie, do see!" "Oh, Archie, do look!" greeted his appearance as
the girls held up their various contributions.
"Come over here, Archie. There, now you can take them in properly."
And Val made room at the table, where a lighted lamp stood. "These are
Nan's," and she displayed three supposed handkerchiefs, made from an
old pillow-case. They were notched out with scissors, and decorated
by the use of colored crayons. Each bore such legends as "Merry
Christmas," "Happy New Year," "Good luck," "The rose is red," "The
violet blue," with appropriate designs.
"I think they are magnificent. What next?" Archie asked, as he put them
aside. "What in the world is this?" And he turned over a remarkably
constructed something, looking at it with a puzzled countenance. "What
on earth do you call it?" he inquired.
A broken wine-glass had been inverted, and surmounted with a rag
doll-head and body without arms. The glass served as a skirt; the
expression of the doll's face, rudely drawn in ink, was ludicrous
indeed, and gave Val a fit of mirth every time she looked at it. The
inscription read, "The Venus of Milo, as discovered by Miss Talcott."
"That is the most ridiculous thing I ever saw," said Archie. "Jack will
enjoy it. Anything more original is not likely to come his way."
"It certainly will bring to his mind our own special kind of nonsense,"
said Val.
"It is in his mind pretty often, anyhow, I imagine," returned Archie.
Then Theo displayed a neck-tie made from an old silk handkerchief; into
it was stuck a common pin of large size, with a knob of red sealing-wax
on the end, for ornament.
Val next handed out a trumpery medal fastened to a bit of ribbon, which
she had marked "Fool dres fob." Another medal was described as having
been presented to a great-great-uncle in the War of the Roses by Billy
the Kangaroo, "alias" William the Conqueror, such decidedly mixed
historical data being considered very witty.
"We are silly," remarked Theo, as she read this last label. "That is
worthy of a ten-year-old country school-boy's wit."
"Never mind," returned Val. "We want to be as silly as we know how to
be on this occasion. Nothing is too insignificant. Jack will appreciate
the effort."
"Effort?" repeated Theo, raising her eyebrows.
"Well, spontaneous jocosity, if you prefer a longer term. Don't throw
cold water on our innocent pleasantry. Theo, come, hand over the next
thing."
A small brass curtain-ring, carefully packed in jewellers' cotton, was
next shown, and then Theo produced a five-cent watch lying in a fine
velvet case.
"How elegant it looks!" commented Nannie. "The velvet case looks so
important. Where are your donations, Archie?"
And a very much bent and battered stick-pin, an eye-glass with glass
missing were added, and then an eye-glass hook was invented from a
curtain-hook and a safety-pin.
"The stocking isn't near full," announced Val, who had been doing the
packing, "and I thought we had so much. We'll have to rack our brains
for more."
Archie searched around and found two small bits of soap, which were
wrapped in a paper on which was written, "Good-morning, sir. Do you use
Bear's soap?" A horn collar-button and set of studs constituted the
next gift, and still there was room.
"I can't think of anything but relics," declared Archie. "Here is a
little corkscrew that I found over there in an ink-bottle."
"Just think of a good inscription," returned Nannie, "and that will
make it all right."
So Archie scribbled on the paper, "The corkscrew with which Columbus
screwed up his courage when he set forth to discover America."
That gave a new impetus, and each one produced something similar.
Nannie handed over an old pen, labelled "The pen that settled
Philadelphia."
Val added a small key, described as "The key to the broken heart of
an old Colonial dame from Virginia;" and Theo, seeking among odds and
ends, found one of the five-cent pewter spoons which she and Nannie had
bought during their first days in New York. This she marked as having
"seen stirring times during the Revolution."
And then for a short space of time, ideas failed.
But Val's wits were ready with the suggestion that they should in
someway illustrate the familiar French fables, and a small wooden
whistle went as "Le cor des Alpes," small photographs of Val and Archie
as "Le singe et la guenon," Nannie with a bit of wax, modelled "Une
tortne," and then the stocking was pronounced full.
"I had no idea it would hold so much," remarked Val. "Isn't it nice and
fat? We must tie it securely at the top and pack it in a box."
"Suppose you paint 'Merry Christmas from the flock' on the outside,"
suggested Archie to Nannie.
So she brought her colors and marked it in red letters according to the
suggestion.
"We ought to have sent him something really nice," said Nannie, as she
made a final flourish with her brush.
"No, no," interposed Theo, earnestly; "that would have spoiled it all.
Jack has always been so generous, and it would hurt him very much if he
could not return our gifts. These will show him that we forget nothing
in which he took part, and they will be more to him than anything we
could buy."
"That is so," responded Archie, heartily, seeming much pleased that
Theo had read Jack so well.
And truly, no Christmas stocking ever found its way to a lonelier
hearth. Long and lovingly Jack dwelt on its contents, and blessed
them all for the nonsense that gave him more cheer than any costly
gifts could have bestowed. And when a letter from Mr. Smith told him
of the legacy awaiting his twenty-fifth birthday, Jack felt as if the
world were not such a dreary place after all, and he went about softly
whistling, with the great hope in his heart of rejoining his friends in
a near future.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]