oranges and two bunches of grapes, then he looked up two silver
half-dollars, and stealing into the hall, laid the fruit upon the towel,
and the money atop of the oranges. This addition improved the display
very much, and Mr. Chrome was stealing back, well pleased, when his eye
fell on Miss Kent's door, and he said to himself, "She too shall have a
little surprise, for she is a dear, kind-hearted soul."
In his room was a prettily painted plate, and this he filled with green
and purple grapes, tucked a sentimental note underneath, and leaving it
on her threshold, crept away as stealthily as a burglar.
The house was very quiet when Mrs. Smith, the landlady, came up to turn
off the gas. "Well, upon my word, here's fine doings, to be sure!" she
said, when she saw the state of the upper hall. "Now I wouldn't have
thought it of Miss Kent, she is such a giddy girl, nor of Mr. Chrome, he
is so busy with his own affairs. I meant to give those children each a
cake to-morrow, they are such good little things. I'll run down and get
them now, as my contribution to this fine set out."
Away trotted Mrs. Smith to her pantry, and picked out a couple of
tempting cakes, shaped like hearts and full of plums. There was a goodly
array of pies on the shelves, and she took two of them, saying, as she
climbed the stairs again, "They remembered the children, so I'll
remember them, and have my share of the fun."
So up went the pies, for Mrs. Smith had not much to give, and her spirit
was generous, though her pastry was not of the best. It looked very
droll to see pies sitting about on the thresholds of closed doors, but
the cakes were quite elegant, and filled up the corners of the towel
handsomely, for the apron lay in the middle, with the oranges right and
left, like two sentinels in yellow uniforms.
It was very late when the flicker of a candle came up stairs, and a pale
lady, with a sweet sad face, appeared, bringing a pair of red and a pair
of blue mittens for her Dolly and Polly. Poor Mrs. Blake did have a hard
time, for she stood all day in a great store that she might earn bread
for the poor children who staid at home and took care of one another.
Her heart was very heavy that night, because it was the first Christmas
she had ever known without gifts and festivity of some sort. But Petkin,
the youngest child, had been ill, times were very hard, the little
mouths gaped for food like the bills of hungry birds, and there was no
tender mate to help fill them.
If any elves had been hovering about the dingy hall just then, they
would have seen the mother's tired face brighten beautifully when she
discovered the gifts, and found that her little girls had been so kindly
remembered. Something more brilliant than the mock diamonds in Miss
Kent's best earrings fell and glittered on the dusty floor as Mrs. Blake
added the mittens to the other things, and went to her lonely room
again, smiling as she thought how she could thank them all in a sweet
and simple way.
Her windows were full of flowers, for the delicate tastes of the poor
lady found great comfort in their beauty. "I have nothing else to give,
and these will show how grateful I am," she said, as she rejoiced that
the scarlet geraniums were so full of gay clusters, the white
chrysanthemum stars were all out, and the pink roses at their loveliest.
They slept now, dreaming of a sunny morrow as they sat safely sheltered
from the bitter cold. But that night was their last, for a gentle hand
cut them all, and soon three pretty nosegays stood in a glass, waiting
for dawn, to be laid at three doors, with a few grateful words which
would surprise and delight the receivers, for flowers were rare in those
hard-working lives, and kind deeds often come back to the givers in
fairer shapes than they go.
Now one would think that there had been gifts enough, and no more could
possibly arrive, since all had added his or her mite except Betsey, the
maid, who was off on a holiday, and the babies fast asleep in their
trundle-bed, with nothing to give but love and kisses. Nobody dreamed
that the old cat would take it into her head that her kittens were in
danger, because Mrs. Smith had said she thought they were nearly old
enough to be given away. But she must have understood, for when all was
dark and still, the anxious mother went patting up stairs to the
children's door, meaning to hide her babies under their bed, sure they
would save them from destruction. Mrs. Blake had shut the door, however,
so poor Puss was disappointed; but finding a soft, clean spot among a
variety of curious articles, she laid her kits there, and kept them warm
all night, with her head pillowed on the blue mittens.
In the cold morning Dolly and Polly got up and scrambled into their
clothes, not with joyful haste to see what their stockings held, for
they had none, but because they had the little ones to dress while
mother got the breakfast.
Dolly opened the door, and started back with a cry of astonishment at
the lovely spectacle before her. The other people had taken in their
gifts, so nothing destroyed the magnificent effect of the treasures so
curiously collected in the night. Puss had left her kits asleep, and
gone down to get her own breakfast, and there, in the middle of the
ruffled apron, as if in a dainty cradle, lay the two Maltese darlings,
with white bibs and boots on, and white tips to the tiny tails curled
round their little noses in the sweetest way.
Polly and Dolly could only clasp their hands and look in rapturous
silence for a minute; then they went down on their knees and revelled in
the unexpected richness before them.
"I do believe there _is_ a Santa Claus, and that he heard us, for here
is everything we wanted," said Dolly, holding the carnelian heart in one
hand and the plummy one in the other.
"It must have been some kind of a fairy, for we didn't mention kittens,
but we wanted one, and here are two darlings," cried Polly, almost
purring with delight as the downy bunches unrolled and gaped till their
bits of pink tongues were visible.
"Mrs. Smith was one fairy, I guess, and Miss Kent was another, for that
is her apron. I shouldn't wonder if Mr. Chrome gave us the oranges and
the money: men always have lots, and his name is on this bit of paper,"
said Dolly.
"Oh, I'm _so_ glad! Now we shall have a Christmas like other people, and
I'll never say again that rich folks don't remember poor folks. Come and
show all our treasures to mother and the babies; they must have some,"
answered Polly, feeling that the world was all right, and life not half
as hard as she thought it last night.
Shrieks of delight greeted the sisters, and all that morning there was
joy and feasting in Mrs. Blake's room, and in the afternoon Dolly and
Polly went to the Museum, and actually saw _Puss in Boots_; for their
mother insisted on their going, having discovered how the hard-earned
quarters had been spent. This was such unhoped-for bliss that they could
hardly believe it, and kept smiling at one another so brightly that
people wondered who the happy little girls in shabby cloaks could be who
clapped their new mittens so heartily, and laughed till it was better
than music to hear them.
This was a very remarkable Christmas-day, and they long remembered it;
for while they were absorbed in the fortunes of the Marquis of Carabas
and the funny cat, who tucked his tail in his belt, washed his face so
awkwardly, and didn't know how to purr, strange things were happening at
home, and more surprises were in store for our little friends. You see,
when people once begin to do kindnesses, it is so easy and pleasant they
find it hard to leave off; and sometimes it beautifies them so that
they find they love one another very much--as Mr. Chrome and Miss Kent
did, though we have nothing to do with that except to tell how they made
the poor little tree grow and blossom.
They were very jolly at dinner, and talked a good deal about the Blakes,
who ate in their own rooms. Miss Kent told what the children said, and
it touched the soft spot in all their hearts to hear about the red
shirts, though they laughed at Polly's lament over the bird with only
one feather in its tail.
"I'd give them a better tree if I had any place to put it, and knew how
to trim it up," said Mr. Chrome, with a sudden burst of generosity,
which so pleased Miss Kent that her eyes shone like Christmas candles.
"Put it in the back parlor. All the Browns are away for a week, and
we'll help you trim it--won't we, my dear?" cried Mrs. Smith, warmly;
for she saw that he was in a sociable mood, and thought it a pity that
the Blakes should not profit by it.
"Yes, indeed; I should like it of all things, and it needn't cost much,
for I have some skill in trimmings, as you know." And Miss Kent looked
so gay and pretty as she spoke that Mr. Chrome made up his mind that
millinery must be a delightful occupation.
"Come on then, ladies, and we'll have a little frolic. I'm a lonely old
bachelor, with nowhere to go to-day, and I'd like some fun."
They had it, I assure you; for they all fell to work as busy as bees,
flying and buzzing about with much laughter as they worked their
pleasant miracle. Mr. Chrome acted more like the father of a large
family than a crusty bachelor, Miss Kent's skillful fingers flew as they
never did before, and Mrs. Smith trotted up and down as briskly as if
she were sixteen instead of being a stout old woman of sixty.
The children were so full of the play, and telling all about it, that
they forgot their tree till after supper; but when they went to look for
it they found it gone, and in its place a great paper hand with one
finger pointing down stairs, and on it these mysterious words in red
ink:
"Look in the Browns' back parlor!"
At the door of that interesting apartment they found their mother with
Will and Petkin, for another hand had suddenly appeared to them pointing
up. The door flew open quite as if it were a fairy play, and they went
in to find a pretty tree planted in a red box on the centre table,
lighted with candles, hung with gilded nuts, red apples, gay bonbons,
and a gift for each.
Mr. Chrome was hidden behind one folding-door, and fat Mrs. Smith
squeezed behind the other, and they both thought it a great improvement
upon the old-fashioned Santa Claus to have Miss Kent, in the white
dress she made for the party, with Mrs. Blake's roses in her hair, step
forward as the children gazed in silent rapture, and with a few sweet
words welcome them to the little surprise their friends had made.
There were many Christmas trees in the city that night, but none which
gave such hearty pleasure as the one which so magically took the place
of the broken branch and its few poor toys. They were all there,
however, and Dolly and Polly were immensely pleased to see that of all
her gifts Petkin chose the forlorn bird to carry to bed with her, the
one yellow feather being just to her taste.
Mrs. Blake put on her neat bonnet, and was so gratified that Miss Kent
thought it the most successful one she ever trimmed. She was well paid
for it by the thanks of one neighbor and the admiration of another; for
when she went to her party Mr. Chrome went with her, and said something
on the way which made her heart dance more lightly than her feet that
night.
Good Mrs. Smith felt that her house had covered itself with glory by
this event, and Dolly and Polly declared that it was the most perfect
and delightful surprise party ever seen.
It was all over by nine o'clock, and with good-night kisses for every
one the little girls climbed up to bed laden with treasures and too
happy for many words. But as they tied their round caps Dolly said,
thoughtfully:
"On the whole, I think it's rather nice to be poor when people are kind
to you."
"Well, I'd _rather_ be rich; but if I can't be, it is very good fun to
have Christmas trees like this one," answered truthful Polly, never
guessing that they had planted the seed from which the little pine-tree
grew so quickly and beautifully.
When the moon came to look in at the window on her nightly round, two
smiling faces lay on the pillow, which was no longer wet with tears, but
rather knobby with the mine of riches hidden underneath,--first fruits
of the neighborly friendship which flourished in that house until
another and a merrier Christmas came.
III.
THE DOLLS' JOURNEY FROM MINNESOTA TO MAINE.
Mr. Plum lived in St. Paul, Minnesota, U.S.A.
There were six little Plums, all girls, varying in ages from fourteen to
seven, and named Kate, Lucy, Susy, Lizzy, Marjory and Maggie. There was
no mamma, but Mrs. Gibbs, the housekeeper, was a kind old soul, and papa
did everything he could to make the small daughters good and happy.
One stormy Saturday afternoon the children were all together in the
school-room, and papa busy at his desk in the library, with the door
open because he liked to hear the pleasant voices and catch glimpses of
the droll plays that went on there.
Kate lay on the sofa reading "The Daisy Chain" for the fourth time.
Susy, Lucy and Lizzie were having a select tea party in their own
recess, the entrance to which was barricaded with chairs to keep out the
"babies," as they called the little ones, who were much offended at
being excluded and sat up in the cushioned window-seat pensively
watching the rain.
"If it had only waited till to-morrow we should have had time for our
journey; now we can't go till next Saturday. Flora is so disappointed
she would cry if I had not taught her to behave," said Maggie with a
sigh, as she surveyed the doll on her knee in its new summer suit.
"So is Dora. Just see how sweet she looks with her hat and cape on and
her travelling-bag all ready. Couldn't we play travel in the house? It
is such a pity to wait when the children are in such a hurry to go,"
answered Marjory, settling the tiny bag that held Dora's nightcap and
gown as well as the morsels of cake that were to serve for her lunch.
"No," said Maggie decidedly, "we can't do it, because there is no room
for carriages, and boats, and railroads, and hotels, and accidents. It
is a long journey from Minnesota to Maine, and we couldn't get it all
into one room I'm sure."
"I don't think papa would mind our coming into the library, if we didn't
ring the car bells very loud or scream much when the accidents happen,"
said Marjory, who hated to give up the plan they had been cherishing all
the week.
"What is it, little ones? Come and tell me what is the matter," called
Mr. Plum, hearing his name and the magic word "railroad," for he was the
president of one and had his hands full just then.
Down jumped the little girls and ran to perch on either arm of his
chair, pouring out their small tribulations as freely as if he had been
the most sympathizing of mothers.
"We planned to take a long, long journey round the garden with our dolls
to-day, and play go to Maine and see Aunt Maria. You know she asked us,
and we looked out the way on the map and got all ready, and now it rains
and we are dreadfully disappointed," said Maggie, while Marjory sighed
as she looked at the red D. worked on the inch square travelling-bag.
"As you can't go, why not send the dolls to make aunty a visit, and she
will send them back when they get homesick," proposed Mr. Plum, smiling,
as if a sudden idea had popped into his head.
"Really?" cried Maggie.
"How could we?" asked Marjory.
"They could go and come by mail, and tell you all about their adventures
when they got back," said papa.
Both children were speechless for a moment, then as the full splendor of
this proposition dawned upon them they clapped their hands, crying
eagerly:
"We will! we will! Let's do it at once."
"What? where? who?" asked Susy, Lucy and Lizzie, forgetting their tea
party to run and see what was going on.
They were told, and in their turn exclaimed so loudly that Kate came to
join in the fun.
After a great deal of talking and laughing, the dolls were prepared for
the long journey. They were common wooden-headed dollies, a hand long,
with stuffed bodies and stout legs ornamented with very small feet in
red and blue boots. Dora was a blonde and Flora a brunette, otherwise
they were just alike and nearly new. Usually when people go travelling
they put on their hats and cloaks, but these pilgrims, by papa's advice,
left all encumbrances behind them, for they were to travel in a peculiar
way, and blue gingham dresses were chosen for the expedition.
"It is possible that they may never come back. Accidents will happen you
know. Are you prepared for that?" asked Mr. Plum, pausing with the brown
paper spread out before him.
"I am," answered Maggie firmly, as she laid Flora on the table, her
black eyes staring as if rather alarmed at this sudden start.
Marjory hesitated a moment, clasping Dora to her bosom with a face full
of maternal anxiety. But Susy, Lucy and Lizzie cried: "Let her go, do
let her go, and if she is lost papa will give you a new doll."
"Good-by, my darling dear. Have a splendid time, and be sure you come
back to me," whispered Marjory, with a tender farewell kiss as she gave
up her child.
All stood watching silently while papa tied the dolls back to back with
the ribbon Kate pulled from her neck, then folded them carefully in
strong brown paper, leaving their heads out that they might see the
world as they went along. Being carefully fastened up with several turns
of cord, Mr. Plum directed the precious parcel to "Miss Maria Plum,
Portland, Maine. With care." Then it was weighed, stamped, and
pronounced ready for the post.
"I shall write and tell aunty they are coming, because she will want to
be prepared for such distinguished visitors," said papa, taking up his
pen with a glance at the six excited little faces round him.
Silence reigned while the letter was written, and as he sealed it up Mr.
Plum said solemnly, with his hand on the parcel:
"For the last time, shall they go?"
"Yes!" answered the Spartan mothers with one voice, while the other
sisters danced round them, and Kate patted the curly heads approvingly.
"Going, going, gone!" answered papa as he whisked on his coat and hat,
and slammed the door behind him.
The children clustered at the window to see him set out on this
momentous errand, and he often looked back waving his umbrella at them,
till he vanished round the corner, with a reassuring pat on the pocket
out of which dear Do and Flo popped their heads for a last look at their
sweet home.
"Now let us take out poor old Lucinda and Rose Augusta to play with. I
know their feelings were hurt at our leaving them for the new dolls,"
said Maggie, rummaging in the baby-house, whither Margery soon followed
her to reinstate the old darlings in the place of the departed new ones.
"Safely off," reported Mr. Plum, when he came into tea, "and we may
expect to hear from them in a week or two. Parcels go more slowly than
letters, and this is Aunty's busy season, so wait patiently and see what
will happen."
"We will," said the little girls; and they did, but week after week went
by and nothing was heard of the wanderers.
We, however, can follow them and learn much that their anxious mothers
never knew.
As soon as Flora and Dora recovered from the bewilderment occasioned by
the confusion of the post office, they found themselves in one of the
many leathern mail bags rumbling Eastward. As it was perfectly dark they
could not see their companions, so listened to the whispering and
rustling that went on about them. The newspapers all talked politics,
and some of them used such bad language that the dolls would have
covered their ears, if their hands had not been tied down. The letters
were better behaved and more interesting, for they told one another the
news they carried, because nothing is private in America, and even
gummed envelopes cannot keep gossip from leaking out.
"It is very interesting, but I should enjoy it more if I was not
grinding my nose against the rough side of this leather bag," whispered
Dora, who lay undermost just then.
"So should I, if a heavy book was not pinching my toes. I've tried to
kick it away, but it won't stir, and keeps droning on about reports and
tariffs and such dull things," answered Flora, with a groan.
"Do you like travelling?" asked Dora, presently, when the letters and
papers fell asleep, lulled by the motion of the cars.
"Not yet, but I shall when I can look about me. This bundle near by says
the mails are often sorted in the cars, and in that way we shall see
something of the world, I hope," answered Flora, cheering up, for, like
her mamma, she was of an enquiring turn.
The dolls took a nap of some hours, and were roused by a general
tumbling out on a long shelf, where many other parcels lay, and lively
men sent letters and papers flying here and there as if a whirlwind was
blowing. A long box lay beside the dolls who stood nearly erect leaning
against a pile of papers. Several holes were cut in the lid, and out of
one of them was thrust a little black nose, as if trying to get air.
"Dear me! what can be in it?" said Flora, who was nearest.
"I'm a poor little alligator, going to a boy in Chicago, if you please,
and I want my mother," sobbed a voice from the box, and there was a rap
on the lid as of an agitated tail.
"Mercy on us! I hope we shall not have to travel with the monster,"
whispered Dora, trying to see over her shoulder.
"I'm not afraid. He can't be very dreadful, for the box is not any
longer than we are. Natural history is very useful; I've heard mamma say
so, and I shall talk with him while we rest here," answered Flo, nodding
toward the eye which now took the place of the nose.
So the little alligator told her something of his home on the banks of a
great river, where he was just learning to play happily with his
brothers and sisters, when he was caught and sent away to pine in
captivity.
The dolls comforted him as well as they could, and a pair of baby's
shoes travelling in an envelope sympathized with him, while a shabby
bundle directed to "Michael Dolan, at Mrs. Judy Quin's, next door to Mr.
Pat Murphy, Boston, North street," told them to "Whisht and slape quite
till they came forninst the place."
"Such low people!" whispered Do to Flo, and both stood primly silent
till they were tumbled into another mail bag, and went rattling on again
with a new set of companions.
"I hope that poor baby will go safely and the boy be good to him," said
Flora, for the little alligator went with the live stock in some other
way.
"Thank goodness he didn't go with us! I shall dream about that black
nose and winking eye, I'm sure. The dangers of travelling are great, but
we are safe and comfortable now, I think," and Dora settled down in a
cozy corner of the bag, wondering when they should reach Chicago.
"I like adventures and hope we shall have some," answered Flora,
briskly, little dreaming how soon her wish was to be granted.
A few hours later there come a bump, a crash, a cry, and then all the
mail bags rolled one over the other with the car down an embankment into
a river.
"Now we are dead!" shrieked the poor dolls, clinging together as they
heard the splash of water, the shouting of men, the splintering of wood,
and the hiss of steam.
"Don't be frightened, ladies, mail bags are always looked after," said a
large envelope with an official seal and the name of a Senator on it.
"Any bones broken, dear madam?" asked a jaunty pink letter, with a scent
of musk about it, evidently a love-letter.
"I think one foot is hurt, and my clothes are dripping," sighed Dora,
faintly.
"Water won't hurt calico," called out a magazine full of fashion plates,
adding dolefully, as its gay colors began to run, "I shall be in a nice
mess if I ever get out of this. People will wear odd fashions if they
follow me this time."
"Hope they will telegraph news of this accident in time for the evening
papers," said a dingy sheet called the "Barahoo Thunderbolt," as it lay
atop of the heap in its yellow wrapper.
"Be calm, my friends, and wait with fortitude for death or deliverance,
as I do." With which philosophic remark "The St. Louis Cosmos" folded
the pages which for the first time since the paper was started, were not
dry.
Here the water rose over the topmost letter and a moist silence
prevailed till a sudden jerk fished up the bag, and before the dolls
could recover their wits they were spread out on the floor of a mail car
to dry, while several busy men sorted and saved such papers and letters
as still held together.
"Now we shall see something," said Flora, feeling the warm air blow over
her as they spun along, for a slight accident like this did not delay
the energetic Westerners a moment longer than absolutely necessary.