In half an hour the stocking, big and bulging, was hung in its
accustomed place, the packages for her father put on a chair by
themselves, and those for her left on the table, and as she rearranged
the latter something about the largest one arrested her attention,
and, stopping, she gazed at it with eyes puzzled and uncertain.
It looked--Cautiously her fingers were laid upon it. Undoubtedly it
looked like the box in which had been put the beautiful dark-blue coat
she had bought for the little friend of her friend. And that other box
was the size of the one the two dresses had been put in; and that was
a hat-box, and that a shoe-box, and the sash and beads and gloves and
ribbons, all the little things, had been put in a box that size. Every
drop of blood surged hotly, tremblingly, and with eyes staring and
lips half parted her breath came unsteadily.
In the confusion of their coming she had not noticed when Mrs.
Robinsky had brought them up and put them under the cot, with the
injunction that they were not to be opened until the morning, and for
the first time their familiarity was dawning on her. Could it
be--could _she_ be the little friend he had said was rich? She wasn't
rich. He didn't mean money-rich, but she wasn't any kind of rich; and
she had been so piggy.
Hot color swept over her face, and her hands twitched. She had told
him again and again she was getting too much, but he had insisted on
her buying more, and made her tell him what little girls liked, until
she would tell nothing more. And they had all been for her. For her,
Carmencita Bell, who had never heard of him three days before.
In the shock of revelation, the amazement of discovery, the little
figure at the table stood rigid and upright, then it relaxed and with
a stifled sob Carmencita crossed the room and, by the side of her cot,
twisted herself into a little knot and buried her face in her arms and
her arms in the covering.
"I didn't believe! I didn't believe!"
Over and over the words came tremblingly. "I prayed and prayed, but I
didn't believe! He let it happen, and I didn't believe!"
For some moments there were queer movements of twitching hands and
twisting feet by the side of the cot, but after a while a
tear-stained, awed, and shy-illumined face looked up from the arms in
which it had been hidden and ten slender fingers intertwined around
the knees of a hunched-up little body, which on the floor drew itself
closer to the fire.
It was a wonderful world, this world in which she lived. Carmencita's
eyes were looking toward the window, through which she could see the
shining stars. Wonderful things happened in it, and quite beyond
explaining were these things, and there was no use trying to
understand. Two days ago she was just a little girl who lived in a
place she hated and was too young to go to work, and who had a blind
father and no rich friends or relations, and there was nothing nice
that could happen just so.
"But things don't happen just so. They happen--don't anybody know how,
I guess." Carmencita nodded at the stars. "I've prayed a good many
times before and nothing happened, and I don't know why all this
beautifulness should have come to me, and Mrs. Beckwith, who is good
as gold, though a poor manager with babies, shouldn't ever have any
luck. I don't understand, but I'm awful thankful. I wish I could let
God know, and the Christ-child know, how thankful I am. Maybe the way
they'd like me to tell is by doing something nice for somebody else. I
know. I'll ask Miss Parker to supper Christmas night. She's an awful
poky person and needs new teeth, but she says she's so sick of mending
pants, she wishes some days she was dead. And I'll ask the
Damanarkist. He hasn't anywhere to go, and he hates rich people so
it's ruined his stomach. Hate is an awful ruiner."
For some moments longer Carmencita sat in huddled silence, then
presently she spoke again.
"I didn't intend to give Miss Cattie Burns anything. I've tried to
like Miss Cattie and I can't. But it was very good in her to send us a
quarter of a cord of wood for a Christmas present. She can't help
being practical. I'll take her that red geranium to-morrow. I raised
it from a slip, and I hate to see it go, but it's all I've got to
give. It will have to go.
"And to-morrow. I mean to-day--this is Christmas day! Oh, a happy
Christmas, everybody!" Carmencita's arms swung out, then circled
swiftly back to her heart. "For everybody in all the world I'd make it
happy if I could! And I'm going to a wedding to-day--a wedding! I
don't wonder you're thrilly, Carmencita Bell!"
For a half-moment breath came quiveringly from the parted lips, then
again at the window and the stars beyond the little head nodded.
"But I'll never wonder at things happening any more. I'll just wonder
at there being so many nice people on this earth. All are not nice.
The Damanarkist says there is a lot of rot in them, a lot of meanness
and cheatingness, and nasty people who don't want other people to do
well or to get in their way; but there's bound to be more niceness
than nastiness, or the world couldn't go on. It couldn't without a lot
of love. It takes a lot of love to stand life. I read that in a book.
Maybe that's why we have Christmas--why the Christ-child came."
Shyly the curly head was bent on the upraised knees, and the palms of
two little hands were uplifted. "O God, all I've got to give is love.
Help me never to forget, and put a lot in my heart so I'll always
have it ready. And I thank You and thank You for letting such grand
things happen. I didn't dream there'd really be a marriage when I
asked You please to let it be if you could manage it; but there's
going to be two, and I'm going to both. I've got a new dress to wear,
and slippers with buckles, and amber beads, and lots of other things.
And most of all I thank You for Mr. Van and Miss Frances finding each
other. And please don't let them ever lose each other again. They
might, even if they are married, if they don't take care. Please help
them to take care, for Christ's sake. Amen."
* * * * *
On her feet, Carmencita patted the stocking hanging from the mantel,
took off the big coat, kicked the large, loose slippers across the
room, blew out the candle, and stood for a moment poised on the tip of
her toes.
"If I could"--the words came breathlessly--"if I could I'd dance like
the lady I was named for, but it might wake Father. I mustn't wake
Father. Good night, everybody--and a merry Christmas to all this nice,
big world!"
With a spring that carried her across the room Carmencita was on her
cot and beneath its covering, which she drew up to her face. Under
her breath she laughed joyously, and her arms were hugged to her
heart.
"To-morrow--I mean to-day--I am going to tell them. They don't
understand yet. They think it was just an accident." She shook her
head. "It wasn't an accident. After they're married I'm going to tell
them. Tell them how it happened."
THE END