Lifting herself on her elbow, Carmencita listened. There was no sound
save the ticking of the little clock on the mantel. For a moment she
waited, then with a swift movement of her hand threw back the covering
on the cot, slipped from it, and stood, barefooted, in her nightgown,
in the middle of the floor. Head on the side, one hand to her mouth,
the other outstretched as if for silence from some one unseen, she
raised herself on tiptoe and softly, lightly, crossed the room to the
door opening into the smaller room wherein her father slept. Hand on
the knob, she listened, and, the soft breathing assuring her he was
asleep, she closed the door, gave a deep sigh of satisfaction, and
hurried back to the cot, close to which she sat down, put on her
stockings, and tied on her feet a pair of worn woolen slippers, once
the property of her prudent and practical friend, Miss Cattie Burns.
Slipping on her big coat over her gown, she tiptoed to the mantel,
lighted the candle upon it, and looked at the clock.
"Half past twelve," she said, "and Father's stocking not filled yet!"
As she got down from the chair on which she had stood to see the hour
her foot caught in the ripped hem of her coat. She tripped, and would
have fallen had she not steadied herself against the table close to
the stove, and as she did so she laughed under her breath.
"Really this kimono is much too long." She looked down on the loosened
hem. "And I oughtn't to wear my best accordion-pleated pale-blue crepe
de Chine and shadow lace when I am so busy. But dark-gray things are
so unbecoming, and, besides, I may have a good deal of company
to-night. The King of Love and the Queen of Hearts may drop in, and I
wouldn't have time to change. Miss Lucrecia Beck says I'm going to
write a book when I'm big, I'm so fond of making up and of
love-things. She don't know I've written one already. If he hadn't
happened to be standing on that corner looking so--so--I don't know
what, exactly, but so something I couldn't help running down and
asking him to come up--I never would have had the day I've had to-day
and am going to have to-morrow."
Stooping, she pinned the hem of her coat carefully, then, stretching
out her arms, stood on her tiptoes and spun noiselessly round and
round. "Can't help it!" she said, as if to some one who objected. "I'm
so glad I'm living, so glad I spoke to him, and know him, that I'm
bound to let it out. Father says I mustn't speak to strangers; but I'd
have to be dead not to talk, and I didn't think about his being a man.
He looked so lonely."
With quick movements a big gingham apron was tied over the bulky coat,
and, putting the candle on the table in the middle of the room,
Carmencita began to move swiftly from cot to cupboard, from chairs to
book-shelves, and from behind and under each bundles and boxes of
varying sizes were brought forth and arrayed in rows on the little
table near the stove. As the pile grew bigger so did her eyes, and in
her cheeks, usually without color, two spots burned deep and red.
Presently she stood off and surveyed her work and, hands clasped
behind, began to count, her head nodding with each number.
"Thirteen big ones and nineteen little ones," she said, "and I don't
know a thing that's in one of them. Gracious! this is a nice world to
live in! I wonder what makes people so good to me? Mrs. Robinsky
brought up those six biggest ones to-night." Lightly her finger was
laid on each. "She said they were left with her to be sent up
to-morrow morning, but there wouldn't be a thing to send if she
waited, as the children kept pinching and poking so to see what was in
them. I'd like to punch myself. Noodles gave me that." Her head nodded
at a queer-shaped package wrapped in brown paper and tied with green
cord. "He paid nineteen cents for it. He told me so. I didn't pay but
five for what I gave him. He won't brush his teeth or clean his
finger-nails, and I told him I wasn't going to give him a thing if he
didn't, but I haven't a bit of hold-out-ness at Christmas. I wonder
what's in that?"
Cautiously her hand was laid on a box wrapped in white tissue-paper
and tied with red ribbons. "I'll hate to open it and see, it looks so
lovely and Christmasy, but if I don't see soon I'll die from wanting
to know. It rattled a little when I put it on the table. It's Miss
Frances's present, and I know it isn't practical. She's like I am. She
don't think Christmas is for plain and useful things. She thinks it's
for pleasure and pretty ones. I wonder--" Her hands were pressed to
her breast, and on tiptoes she leaned quiveringly toward the table. "I
wonder if it could be a new tambourine with silver bells on it! If it
is I'll die for joy, I'll be so glad! I broke mine to-night. I shook
it so hard when I was dancing after I got home from the tree
that--Good gracious! I've caught my foot again! These diamond buckles
on my satin slippers are always catching the chiffon ruffles on my
petticoats. I oughtn't to wear my best things when I'm busy, but I
can't stand ugly ones, even to work in. Mercy! it's one o'clock, and
the things for Father's stocking aren't out yet."
Out of the bottom drawer of the old-fashioned chest at the end of the
room a box was taken and laid on the floor near the stove, into which
a small stick of wood was put noiselessly, and carefully Carmencita
sat down beside it. Taking off the top of the box, she lifted first a
large-size stocking and held it up.
"I wish I was one hundred children's mother at Christmas and had a
hundred stockings to fill! I mean, if I had things to fill them with.
But as I'm not a mother, just a daughter, I'm thankful glad I've got
a father to fill a stocking for. He's the only child I've got. If he
could just see how beautiful and red this apple is, and how yellow
this orange, and what a darling little candy harp _this_ is, I'd be
thankfuler still. But he won't ever see. The doctor said so--said I
must be his eyes."
One by one the articles were taken out of the box and laid on the
floor; and carefully, critically, each was examined.
"This cravat is an awful color." Carmencita's voice made an effort to
be polite and failed. "Mr. Robinsky bought it for father himself and
asked me to put it in his stocking, but I hate to put. I'll have to do
it, of course, and father won't know the colors, but what on earth
made him get a green-and-red plaid? Now listen at me! I'm doing just
what Miss Lucrecia does to everything that's sent her. The only
pleasure she gets out of her presents is making fun of them and
snapping at the people who send them. She's an awful snapper. The
Damanarkist sent these cigars. They smell good. He don't believe in
Christmas, but he sent Father and me both a present. I hope he'll like
the picture-frame I made for his mother's picture. His mother's dead,
but he believed in her. She was the only thing he did believe in. A
man who don't believe in his mother--Oh, _my_ precious mother!"
With a trembling movement the little locket was taken from the box and
opened and the picture in it kissed passionately; then, without
warning, the child crumpled up and hot tears fell fast over the
quivering face. "I do want you, my mother! Everybody wants a mother at
Christmas, and I haven't had one since I was seven. Father tries to
fill my stocking, but it isn't a mother-stocking, and I just ache and
ache to--to have one like you'd fix. I want--" The words came
tremblingly, and presently she sat up.
"Carmencita Bell, you are a baby. Behave--your--self!" With the end of
the gingham apron the big blue eyes were wiped. "You can't do much in
this world, but you can keep from crying. Suppose Father was to know."
Her back straightened and her head went up. "Father isn't ever going
to know, and if I don't fill this stocking it won't be hanging on the
end of the mantelpiece when he wakes up. The locket must go in the
toe."