_AN ODD PARTY._
I cannot tell you about the giving of the broom-machine to the blind
broom-maker; of the ton of coal to Parm’ly, and of all the other things
that happened on Christmas Day when the presents were given. I must
leave these things out. As for Aunt Parm’ly, she said she did not know,
but dat dare coal seemed like it come from de sky.
But there was an ample feast yet for the boys at the Sunday-school,
for many biscuits, and cakes, and pies had been baked. But every time
Willie looked at the walking stick he thought of “the poor, the maimed,
the lame, and the blind.” And so he and Sammy Bantam soon set the whole
school, teachers and all, a-fire with the idea of inviting in the
inmates of the county poor-house. It was not half so hard to persuade
the members of the school to do this as it was to coax them to the
first move; for when people have found out how good it is to do good,
they like to do good again.
Such a company it was! There was old crazy Newberry, who had a game-bag
slung about his neck, and who imagined that the little pebbles in it
were of priceless value. Old Dorothy, who was nearly eighty, and who,
thanks to the meanness of the authorities, had not tasted any delicacy,
not so much as a cup of tea, since she had been in the alms-house; and
there were half-idiots, and whole idiots, and sick people, and crippled
people, armless people and legless people, blind people and deaf. Such
an assortment of men, women, and little children, you cannot often
find. They were fed with the good things provided for the Sunday-school
children, much to the disgust of Tommy Puffer and his mother. For Tommy
was bent on getting something to eat here.
There were plenty of people who claimed the credit of suggesting this
way of spending the Christmas. But Willie did not say anything about
it, for he remembered what Christ had said about blowing a trumpet
before you. But I think Sammy Bantam trumpeted Willie’s fame enough.
It would be hard to tell who enjoyed the Christmas the most. But I
think the givers found it more blessed than the receivers. What talk
Mr. Blake heard in his rounds I cannot tell. If you want to know, you
must ask the Old Ebony.
[Illustration]
End of Project Gutenberg's Mr. Blake's Walking-Stick, by Edward Eggleston