BEFORE DAYLIGHT.
On Christmas morning, at three o'clock, there was a great bustle and
pattering of little feet, and buzzing of little voices trying to speak
in whispers. Susy and Prudy were awake and astir.
"Where _do_ you s'pose the stockings are?" buzzed Prudy, in a very loud
whisper.
"Right by the bed-post, Prudy Parlin; and if you don't take care we'll
wake everybody up.--'Sh! 'Sh!"
"Mine's pinned on," said Prudy; "and I've pricked my fingers. O deary
me!"
"Well, of course you've waked 'em all now," exclaimed Susy,
indignantly: "I might have pricked my fingers to pieces, but I wouldn't
have said a word."
Mr. and Mrs. Parlin, who were in the next room, were wide awake by this
time; but they said nothing, only listened to the whispers of the
children, which grew fainter, being smothered and kept down by mouthfuls
of candy, lozenges, and peanuts.
The little girls longed for daybreak. The sun, however, seemed to be in
no haste, and it was a long while before there was a peep of light. Susy
and Prudy waited, wondering whether the sun would really forget to show
his face; but all the while they waited they were eating candy; so it
was neither dull nor lonely. As for closing their eyes again, they would
have scorned the idea. It would be a pity indeed to fall asleep, and
lose the pleasure of saying "Merry Christmas" to everybody. Norah, the
Irish servant, had said she should be up very early to attend High Mass:
they must certainly waylay her on the stairs. How astonished she would
be, when she supposed they were both soundly asleep!
"Let me do it myself," said Susy: "you stay here, Prudy, for you'll be
sure to make a noise."
"I'll go on my tippy toes," pleaded Prudy, her mouth half filled with
chocolate drops.
So through their mother's room they stole softly, only throwing over
one chair, and hitting Dotty's crib a little in their haste. Dotty made
a sleepy sound of alarm, and Prudy could not help laughing, but only "in
her sleeve," that is, in her "nightie" sleeve, which she put up to her
mouth to smother the noise.
When they had reached the back-stairs Susy whispered, "O, Norah is up
and gone down. I hear her in the kitchen. 'Sh! 'Sh!"
Susy thought there was no time to be lost, and she would have rushed
down stairs, two steps at a time, but her little sister was exactly in
the way.
"Somebody has been and tugged my little chair up here," said Prudy,
"and I must tug it back again."
So in the dim light the two children groped their way down stairs, Prudy
going first with the chair.
"O, what a little snail! Hurry--can't you?" said Susy, impatiently;
"Norah'll be gone! What's the use of our waking up in the night if we
can't say Merry Christmas to anybody?"
"Well, _ain't_ I a-hurryin' now?" exclaimed Prudy, plunging forward and
falling, chair and all, the whole length of the stairs.
All the house was awake now, for Prudy screamed lustily. Grandma Read
called out from the passage-way,--
"O, little Prudence, has thee broken thy neck?"
Mrs. Parlin rushed out, too frightened to speak, and Mr. Parlin ran down
stairs, and took Prudy up in his arms.
"It was--you--did it--Susy Parlin," sobbed the child. "I
shouldn't--have--fell, if you--hadn't--have--screamed."
The poor little girl spoke slowly and with difficulty, as if she dropped
a bucket into her full heart, and drew up the words one at a time.
"O, mother, I know it was me," said Susy meekly; "and I was careless,
and it was all in the dark. I'm sure I hope Prudy'll forgive me."
"No, it wasn't you, neither," said Prudy, whose good humor was restored
the moment Susy had made what she considered due confession. "You never
touched me, Susy! It was the _chair_; and I love you just as dearly as
ever I did."
Prudy lay on the sofa for some time, looking quite pale by the
gas-light, while her mother rubbed her side, and the rest of the family
stood looking at her with anxious faces.
It was quite an important occasion for Prudy, who always liked to be the
centre of attraction.
"O, mamma," said she, closing her eyes languidly, "when the room makes
believe whirl round, does it _truly_ whirl round?"
The truth was, she felt faint and dizzy, though only for a short time.
"I wish," said she, "it had been somebody else that fell down stairs,
and not me, for I didn't go down easy! The _prongs_ of the chair pushed
right into my side."
But it did not appear that Prudy was much injured, after all. In a few
minutes she was skipping about the room almost as nimbly as ever, only
stopping to groan every now and then, when she happened to think of it.
"It is a wonder," said Mr. Parlin, "that more children are not lamed for
life by such accidents."
"I have often thought of it," said aunt Madge. "Some little ones seem to
be making hair-breadth escapes almost every day of their lives. I
believe Prudy would have been in her grave long ago, if it had not been
for her guardian angel."
The long-expected Christmas had come at last, and Prudy had stumbled
into it, as she stumbled into everything else. But it is an ill wind
which blows no good to anybody; and it so happened that in all this
confusion Susy was able to "wish a Merry Christmas" to Norah, and to the
whole family besides.
When Mrs. Parlin found that the children were too thoroughly awake to go
to sleep again that morning, she told them they might dress themselves
in the parlor if they would keep as quiet as possible, and let the rest
of the household take another nap.
It all seemed very strange and delightful to the little girls. It was
like another sort of life, this new arrangement of stealing about the
house in the silent hours before daybreak. Susy thought she should like
to sit up all night, and sleep all day, if the mayor would only hush the
streets; it would be so odd!
"O, how dark the clouds are!" said Prudy, peeping out of the window; "it
_fogs_ so I can't see a single thing. Susy, I'm going to keep _at watch_
of the sky. Don't you s'pose, though, 'twill be Christmas all the same,
if there's a snow storm?"
"There's been snow," said Susy, "all in the night. Look down at the
pavement. Don't you wish that was frosted cake?"
"O, the snow came in the night, so not to wake us up," cried Prudy,
clapping her hands; "but it wouldn't have waked us, you know, even in
the night, for it came so still."
"But why don't the clouds go off?" she added, sadly.
"I don't know," replied Susy; "perhaps they are waiting till the sun
comes and smiles them away."
Such happy children as these were, as they sat peeping out of the window
at the dull gray sky!
They did not know that a great mischief was begun that morning--a
mischief which was no larger yet than "a midge's wing." They were
watching the clouds for a snow storm; but they never dreamed of such
things as clouds of _trouble_, which grow darker and darker, and which
even the beautiful Christmas sun cannot "smile away."