DOLLY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS DAY.
The next morning found little Dolly's blue eyes wide open with all
the wondering eagerness of a new idea. In those early times the life
of childhood was much more in the imagination than now. Children were
let alone, to think their own thoughts. There were no kindergartens
to train the baby to play philosophically, and infuse a stealthy
aroma of geometry and conic sections into the very toys of the
nursery. Parents were not anxiously watching every dawning idea of
the little mind to set it straight even before it was uttered; and
there were then no newspapers or magazines with a special corner for
the bright sayings of children.
Not that children were any less beloved, or motherhood a less holy
thing. There were many women of deep hearts, who, like the "most
blessed among women," kept all the sayings of their darlings and
pondered them in their hearts; but it was not deemed edifying or
useful to pay much apparent attention to these utterances and
actions of the youthful pilgrim.
Children's inquiries were freely put off with the general answer that
Mamma was busy and they must not talk--that when they were grown up
they would know all about these things, etc.; and so they lived apart
from older people in their own little child-world of uninvaded ideas.
Dolly, therefore, 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 center 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. She had even seriously pondered at times
the feasibility of walking some day to the end of the rainbow to look
for the pot of gold which Nabby had credibly assured her was to be
found there; and if at any time in her ramblings through the wood a
wolf had met her and opened a conversation, as in the case of little
Red Riding Hood, she would have been no way surprised, but kept up
her part of the interview with becoming spirit.
"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 good 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 towards 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 Episcopal 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.
"And as to that little dress-up affair over there," he continued, "I
don't think any real harm has been done as yet. I have my eyes open.
I know all about it, and I shall straighten out this whole matter
next Sunday," he said, with the comfortable certainty of a man in the
habit of carrying his points.
"I don't feel so very sure of that," said his wife; "at the same time
I shouldn't want anything like an open attack on the Episcopalians.
There are sincere good people of that way of thinking--my mother, for
instance, is a saint on earth, and so is good old Madam Lewis. So
pray be careful what you say."
"My dear, I haven't the least objection to their dressing their
church and having a good Christian service any day in the year if
they want to, but our people may just as well understand our own
ground. I know that the Democrats are behind this new move, and they
are just using this church to carry their own party purposes--to
break up the standing order and put down all the laws that are left
to protect religion and morals. They want to upset everything that
our fathers came to New England to establish. But I'm going to head
this thing off in Poganuc. I shall write a sermon to-morrow, and
settle matters."
Now, there is no religious organization in the world in its genius
and history less likely to assimilate with a democratic movement than
the Episcopal Church. It is essentially aristocratic in form, and, in
New England, as we have already noticed, had always been on the side
of monarchical institutions.
But, just at this point in the history of New England affairs, all
the minor denominations were ready to join any party that promised to
break the supremacy of the State Church and give them a foothold.
It was the "Democratic party" of that day that broke up the exclusive
laws in favor of the Congregational Church and consequently gained
large accessions to their own standard. To use a brief phrase, all
the _outs_ were Democrats, and all the _ins_ Federalists. But the
Democratic party had, as always, its radical train. Not satisfied
with wresting the scepter from the hands of the Congregational
clergyman, and giving equal rights and a fair field to other
denominations, the cry was now to abolish all laws in any way
protective of religious institutions, or restrictive of the fullest
personal individualism; in short, the cry was for the liberty of
every man to go to church or not, to keep the Sabbath or not, to
support a minister or not, as seemed good and proper in his own eyes.
This was in fact the final outcome of things in New England, and
experience has demonstrated that this wide and perfect freedom is
the best way of preserving religion and morals. But it was not given
to a clergyman in the day of Dr. Cushing, who had hitherto felt that
a state ought to be like a well-governed school, under the minister
for schoolmaster, to look on the movements of the Democratic party
otherwise than as tending to destruction and anarchy. This new
movement in the Episcopal Church he regarded as but a device by
appeals to the senses--by scenic effects, illuminations and music--to
draw people off to an unspiritual and superficial form of religion,
which, having once been the tool of monarchy and aristocracy, had now
fallen into the hands of the far more dangerous democracy; and he
determined to set the trumpet to his mouth on the following Sabbath,
and warn the watchmen on the walls of Zion.
He rose up early, however, 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, who had been at the show the evening before and
exhausted the capabilities of the scenic effects, were quite ready
to fall in with their father's view of the matter. The candles were
burnt out, the play over, for them, and forthwith they assumed to
look down on the whole with the contempt of superior intelligence.
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 wisely 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 Presbyterian--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 thing in here to-night and I'll give
her a Christmas cookey. 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 cookey 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 and 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 ye much
lately, Nabby, and I know you've been a pinin' after me, but fact
is--"
"Well, now, Hiel Beers, 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 Beers," said Nabby, "don't give me none o' your saase, 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, any way,"
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 Presbyterians won't get any
Christmas presents. I tell her it serves you right for being out of
the true church. 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.
And then in the evening Hiel came in, and Nabby prosecuted her
attacks upon him with great vigor and severity, actually carrying
matters to such a length that she was obliged, as a matter of pure
Christian charity, to "kiss and make up" with him at the end of the
evening. Of course Hiel took away an accurate inventory of every
article in the bundle, for the enlightenment of any of his particular
female friends who had a curiosity to know "what Mis' Cushin's folks
sent her in that air bundle from Boston."
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.