[Illustration]
"Santa Claus!" exclaimed Ned, half mockingly.
"Yes," insisted Mamie, "what's he going to bring you, Ned?"
"I don't know, and I don't care much," he answered, "for there isn't
any Santa Claus."
"Why, Ned!" cried Mamie, in astonishment. "Even my big brother Harry
believes in Santa Claus. He's coming home from school to-night, and
we're going to hang up our stockings."
"Pshaw!" said Ned, "I must go home. Good-bye."
Merry little Mamie stood in amazement, and then ran in-doors to her
mother with her perplexity.
"Why, mother!" she cried, "Ned Huntley said there wasn't any Santa
Claus--and he was real cross about it, too."
"Well, Mamie," said her mother, "I wouldn't take any notice of Ned's
being cross about Christmas-time. The Huntleys don't keep Christmas."
"Don't keep Christmas!" exclaimed Mamie, astonished beyond measure.
Seeing that her mother was busy, she took her doll, Helena Margaret
Constance Victorine, in her arms, and talked the matter over with her.
"What do you think, my dear," said she, "they don't keep Christmas
at Ned Huntley's house! I don't know just what mother means by not
keeping it, for you know Santa Claus comes down the chimney, and so he
can get in during the night and leave Christmas there. Oh, yes, but
they don't keep it. They turn it out, I suppose, just like mother told
me they acted about the dear little baby Savior; they hadn't any room
for him, and I guess Mrs. Huntley hasn't any room to keep Christmas
in. I wonder what she does with the Christmas things Santa Claus
brings? I wonder if she throws 'em away? I mean to go and ask her;"
and putting her child carefully in its cradle, Mamie started.
There was some truth in what Mrs. Gaston had told her little daughter;
the Huntleys did not keep Christmas in a loving, hearty way. They kept
it in so far that on this very afternoon Mrs. Huntley was busy making
the mince pies, dressing the turkey, and doing all she could to be
beforehand with the extra Christmas dinner. Mr. Huntley had just
stepped into the kitchen for a moment to say to his wife, "What have
you settled on for Ned's Christmas?"
"I've bought him a pair of arctics--he needed 'em; and if you want to
spend more than common, you might get him half a dozen handkerchiefs."
"Well, wife, I was thinking that perhaps"--the farmer tried to be
particular about his words, for Mrs. Huntley did not seem in a very
good humor--"I was remembering how you used to enjoy giving the young
ones candies and toys; so, perhaps--"
"Now, Noah Huntley, I'm surprised at you! Buy candies and toys for a
great lumbering boy like Ned? Why, you must be crazy, man! The next
thing will be that you'll want a Christmas-tree yourself!"
"Well, and it wouldn't be a bad idea," thought the father. "There's
my man, Fritz, he has been to the woods and cut a little tree for his
children, and he seems to get a heap of pleasure out of it. Ah! if
only little Polly had lived!" Strangely enough, the wife was thinking
the same thing, as she sliced and sifted and weighed. "If little Polly
had lived it would have been different, but we can't throw away money
on nonsense for Ned."
A little red cloak flashed by the window, a little bright face, just
about the age of "our little Polly's," peeped in at the door, and
Mamie asked, "May I come in, Mrs. Huntley?"
"Certainly, child. Here's a fresh cookie. I suppose you're full of
Christmas over at your house?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am! And I'm so sorry you don't keep it. What's the
reason?"
"Don't keep it! Why, we have a regular Christmas dinner as sure as
the 25th of December comes round, and Pa gives me a new dress, or
something that I need, and we give Ned a suit of clothes, or shoes, or
something that he needs."
"Well," said Mamie, "but I like our way best. May I tell you how we
keep Christmas?"
"Talk away. I can listen."
"Well, you see, a good while before Christmas my mother begins to get
ready, and I often see her hide up something quick when I come in, and
then she laughs, and I think, 'Oh, yes, something's coming,' and then
mother takes me in her lap and tells me how Jesus is coming, and how
He did come. Do you know, Mrs. Huntley?"
"You can tell me, child?"
"You see, He came a long, long time ago as a little baby. Mamma says
that he began at the beginning, so that no little child could say, 'I
can't be like Jesus, for Jesus never was so little as me.' That first
birthday of His, there wasn't any room for Him at the tavern, and when
the dear little baby Jesus was sleepy, they laid Him right in a stable
manger, and the shepherds found Him lying there. Christmas is His
Birthday, and I suppose they give all the children presents because
Jesus loved little children, and then Santa Claus--Oh, Mrs. Huntley,
that's what I came about, and I 'most forgot! If you don't keep
Christmas--I mean as we do," she added, as Mrs. Huntley frowned, "and
if you don't use the things that Santa Claus leaves here, can't I come
over and get 'em? Only I'd rather Ned should have 'em."
"Child alive! How your tongue runs! Here, now, take these cookies home
with you, I guess Ned's too busy to play with you."
"Thank you, ma'am. And you'll remember about Santa Claus?" said little
Mamie, as she walked away with her cookies.
Mrs. Huntley worked on for a few minutes longer, and then, leaving her
dishes, she went to her own room and opened a bureau drawer. There
lay a bright little dress and pretty white apron,--Polly's best
things,--the little clothes in which she used to look so lovely. There
were the last Christmas toys the mother had ever bought,--only a
little tin bank, a paper cornucopia, and a doll; but she remembered
that Christmas so well! Could it be that it was only three years ago?
How Polly had laughed and chattered over her stocking! And Ned,--now
that she thought about it,--she remembered that they bought him a pair
of skates that year. He had made a great time over those skates, and
had taken his little sister out to see him try to use them. Ned was
so loving and gentle in those days. And then the mother's heart
reproached her. Could she blame her boy because he seemed to care so
little for his parents and his home, when she had nursed her grief for
the loss of her baby-girl, and taken no pains to be bright or cheerful
with him? She thought how clearly Mamie had told the story of the
Savior's birthday. Could her boy, who was six years older, do as well?
He went to Sunday-school sometimes, but she had never talked with him
about Jesus--never since God took her Polly. And her eyes filled as
she shut the drawer.
Mrs. Huntley went back to the kitchen, but the room seemed different
to her. Ned brought in the milk, and looked at his mother curiously
at hearing her say, "Thank you, Ned." Wonders would never end, Ned
thought, when, after tea, she said, "Father, it's a moonlight night;
couldn't you and I drive to the village? Ned will excuse our leaving
him alone."
"Excuse!" When had his mother ever asked him to excuse her? And then,
as mother waited for the wagon to be got ready, she asked him to read
about the Savior's birth, and surely there were tears in her eyes as
father came in, just as Ned read, "And they came with haste and found
Mary and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger."
Mr. Huntley was bewildered, too. To start off for the village at seven
o'clock in the evening! When had such a thing happened?
On the road Mrs. Huntley told her husband what Mamie had said to her,
and she added, "Perhaps, as I tell it, it don't seem much, but it made
me think of our Polly, and"--the woman's voice broke, and the father,
saddened too, said, comfortingly, "She's safe, my dear, in heaven."
"Yes, father, but I'm thinking of the one that's left, for all I cried
a little. I guess you were near right about getting him something
nice. He's but a boy yet, and he'd think more of Christmas, and
perhaps of the child that was born on Christmas, if we show him that
Jesus has made our hearts a little more tender."
What it cost that hard, reserved woman to say that, none knew, but I
think her husband felt dimly how she must have fought with herself,
and he was silent for some time. At last he said, with a tone of
gladness in his voice, "My dear, I'm glad to get him something. He's a
good boy, Ned is."
What a pleasant time they had, and how they caught the spirit of
Christmas! They bought a sled and skates, a book or two, and candies,
and Mrs. Huntley found a jack-knife that was just the thing Ned
wanted. Then she said to her husband:
"I'd like to buy something for Mamie. It will be nice to buy a girl's
present."
Their hearts ached a little, as they chose a wonderful little wash-tub
and board, with a clothes-horse to match. How Polly's eyes would have
shone at these!
Meantime, Ned mused over his mother's tears and her strangely kind
tones, and thought: "I wonder if she's going to be as good to me as
she was to Polly! I hated to hear Mamie talk about Santa Claus. Polly
used to talk just that way, and we did have such good times. I used to
get skates and things at Christmas, but now I get some handkerchiefs
or a lot of shirts! It makes me mad." Then Ned fell asleep, and so
the mother found him. She woke him gently and he went off to bed,
bewildered by more kind words.
Morning dawned and Ned hurried down to light the fire in the kitchen,
but he went no further than the sitting-room. There was a sled,--a
splendid one,--a pair of skates, and books! He put his hands in his
pockets to take a long stare, and felt something strange in one of
them. Why! There was a beautiful knife!
Mother came in and watched his face, but at sight of her the boy
fairly broke down. Laying his head on her shoulder, "It's like Polly
coming back," he said.
And so it was, and so it continued to be.
[Illustration: BOGGS SHOULD NOT HAVE HAD HIS PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN ON
THANKSGIVING DAY, AND EATEN A HEARTY DINNER AFTERWARD.]