WITH Libby to hold the ball and unwind the yarn as fast as it was
needed, and Will'm to cut it with the witch scissors every time Miss
Santa Claus said "snip!" it was not long before half a dozen little wool
cherries lay in her lap. Then they helped twist the yarn into cords on
which to tie the balls, and watched with eyes that never lost a movement
of her deft fingers, while she fastened the cords to the front of a red
crocheted jacket, which she took from her suitcase.
"There!" she exclaimed, holding it up for them to admire. "That is to go
in the stocking of a poor little fellow no larger than Will'm. He's lame
and has to stay in bed all the time, and he asked Santa Claus to bring
him something soft and warm to put on when he is propped up in bed to
look at his toys."
Out of a dry throat Libby at last brought up the question she had been
trying to find courage for.
"Is Santa Claus your father?"
"No, but father and Uncle Norse are so much like him that people often
get them all mixed up, just as they do twins, and since Uncle Santa has
grown so busy, he gets father to attend to a great deal of his business.
In fact our whole family has to help. He couldn't possibly get around to
everybody as he used to when the cities were smaller and fewer. Lately
he has been leaving more and more of his work to us. He's even taken to
adopting people into his family so that they can help him. In almost
every city in the world now, he has an adopted brother or sister or
relative of some sort, and sometimes children not much bigger than you,
ask to be counted as members of his family. It's so much fun to help."
Libby pondered over this news a moment before she asked another
question. "Then does he come to see them and tell them what to do?"
"No, indeed! Nobody ever _sees_ him. He just sends messages, something
like wireless telegrams. You know what they are?"
Libby shook her head. She had never heard of them. Miss Santa Claus
explained. "And his messages pop into your head just that way," she
added. "I was as busy as I could be one day, studying my Algebra lesson,
when all of a sudden, pop came the thought into my head that little
Jamie Fitch wanted a warm red jacket to wear when he sat up in bed, and
that Uncle Santa wanted me to make it. I went down town that very
afternoon and bought the wool, and I knew that I was not mistaken by the
way I felt afterward, so glad and warm and Christmasy. That's why all
his family love to help him. He gives them such a happy feeling while
they are doing it."
It was Will'm's turn now for a question. He asked it abruptly with a
complete change of base.
"Did you ever see a stepmother?"
"Yes, indeed! And Cousin Rosalie has one. She's Uncle Norse's wife. I've
just been visiting them."
"Has she got a tush?"
"A _what_?" was the astonished answer.
"He means tusk," explained Libby. "All the cruel ones have'm, Susie
Peters says."
"Sticking out this way, like a pig's," Will'm added eagerly, at the same
time pulling his lip down at one side to show a little white tooth in
the place where the dreadful fang would have grown, had he been the
cruel creature in question.
"Mercy, _no_!" was the horrified exclamation. "That kind live only in
fairy tales along with ogres and giants. Didn't you know that?"
Will'm shook his head. "Me an' Libby was afraid ours would be that way,
and if she is we're going to do something to her. We're going to shut
her up in a nawful dark cellar, or--or _something_."
Miss Santa looked grave. Here was a dreadful misunderstanding. Somebody
had poisoned these baby minds with suspicions and doubts which might
embitter their whole lives. If she had been only an ordinary fellow
passenger she might not have felt it her duty to set them straight. But
no descendant of the family of which she was a member, could come face
to face with such a wrong, without the impulse to make it right. It was
an impulse straight from the Sky Road. In the carol service in the
chapel, the night before she left school, the dean had spoken so
beautifully of the way they might all follow the Star, this
Christmastide, with their gifts of frankincense and myrrh, even if they
had no gold. Here was her opportunity, she thought, if she were only
wise enough to say the right thing!
Before she could think of a way to begin, a waiter came through the car,
sounding the first call for dinner. Time was flying. She'd have to
hurry, and make the most of it before the journey came to an end.
Putting the little crocheted jacket back into her suitcase and snapping
the clasps she stood up.
"Come on," she said, holding out a hand to each. "We'll go into the
dining-car and get something to eat."
Libby thought of the generous supper in the pasteboard box which they
had been told to eat as soon as it was dark, but she allowed herself to
be led down the aisle without a word. A higher power was in authority
now. She was as one drawn into a fairy ring.
Now at last, the ride on the Pullman blossomed into all that Will'm had
pictured it to be. There was the gleam of glass, the shine of silver,
the glow of shaded candles, and himself at one of the little tables,
while the train went flying through the night like a mighty winged
dragon, breathing smoke and fire as it flew.
Miss Santa Claus studied the printed card beside her plate a moment,
and then looked into her pocketbook before she wrote the order. She
smiled a little while she was writing it. She wanted to make this meal
one that they would always remember, and was sure that children who
lived at such a place as the Junction had never before eaten
strawberries on Christmas eve; a snow-covered Christmas eve at that. She
had been afraid for just a moment, when she first peeped into her purse,
that there wasn't enough left for her to get them.
No one had anything to say while the order was being filled. Will'm and
Libby were too busy looking at the people and things around them, and
their companion was too busy thinking about something she wanted to tell
them after awhile. Presently the steward passed their table, and Will'm
gave a little start of recognition, but he said nothing. It was the same
man whose locket he had found, and who had promised to tell Santa Claus
about him. Evidently he had told, for here was Will'm in full enjoyment
of what he had longed for. The man did not look at Will'm, however. He
was too busy attending to the wants of impatient grown people to notice
a quiet little boy who sat next the wall and made no demands.
[Illustration: It was about the Princess Ina]
Then the waiter came, balancing an enormous tray on one hand, high above
his head, and the children watched him with the breathless fascination
with which they would have watched a juggler play his tricks. It was a
simple supper, for Miss Santa Claus was still young enough to remember
what had been served to her in her nursery days, but it was crowned by a
dish of enormous strawberries, such as Will'm had seen in the
refrigerator of the car kitchen, but nowhere else. They never grew that
royal size at the Junction.
But what made the meal more than one of mortal enjoyment, and
transformed the earthly food into ambrosia of the gods, was that while
they sifted the powdered sugar over their berries, Miss Santa Claus
began to tell them a story. It was about the Princess Ina, who had
six brothers whom a wicked witch changed into swans. It was a very
interesting story, the way she told it, and more than once both Libby
and Will'm paused with their spoons half way from berries to mouth, the
better to listen. It was quite sad, too, for only once in twenty-four
hours, and then just for a few moments, could the princes shed their
swan-skins and be real brothers again. At these times they would fly
back to their sister Ina, and with tears in their eyes, beg her to help
them break the cruel charm.
At last she found a way, but it would be a hard way for her. She must go
alone, and in the fearsome murk of the gloaming, to a spot where wild
asters grow. The other name for them is star-flower. If she could pick
enough of these star-flowers to weave into a mantle for each brother,
which would cover him from wing-tip to wing-tip, then they would be free
from the spell as soon as it was thrown over them. But the flowers must
be gathered in silence. A single word spoken aloud would undo all her
work. And it would be a hard task, for the star-flowers grew only among
briars and weeds, and her hands would be scratched with thorns and stung
by nettles. Yet no matter how badly she was torn or blistered she must
not break her silence by one word of complaint.
Now the way Miss Santa told that story made you feel that it was _you_
and not the Princess Ina who was groping through the fearsome gloaming
after the magic flowers. Once Libby felt the scratch of the thorns so
plainly that she said "oo-oh" in a whisper, and looked down at her own
hands, half expecting to see blood on them. And Will'm forgot to eat
entirely, when it came to the time of weaving the last mantle, and there
wasn't quite enough material to piece it out to the last wing-tip. Still
there was enough to change the last swan back into a real brother again,
even if one arm never was quite as it should be; and when all six
brothers stood around their dear sister, weeping tears of joy at their
deliverance, Will'm's face shone as if he had just been delivered from
the same fate himself.
"Now," said Miss Santa Claus, when the waiter had brought the bill and
gone back for some change, "you must never, never forget that story as
long as you live. I've told it to you because it's a true charm that can
be used for many things. Aunt Ruth told it to me. She used it long ago,
when she wanted to change Rosalie into a real daughter, and I used it
once when I wanted to change a girl who was just a pretend friend, into
a real one. _And you are to use it to change your stepmother into a real
mother!_ I'll tell you how when we go back to our seats."
On the way back they stopped in the vestibule between the cars for a
breath of fresh air, and to look out on the snow-covered country, lying
white in the moonlight. The flakes were no longer falling.
"I see the Sky Road!" sang out Will'm in a happy sort of chant, pointing
up at the glittering milky way. "Pretty soon the drate big reindeer'll
come running down that road!"
"And the Christmas Angels," added Libby reverently, in a half whisper.
"And there's where the star-flowers grow," Miss Santa Claus chimed in,
as if she were singing. "Once there was a dear poet who called the stars
'the forget-me-nots of the angels.' I believe I'll tell you about them
right now, while we're out here where we can look up at them. Oh, I
wonder if I can make it plain enough for you to understand me!"
With an arm around each child's shoulder to steady them while they stood
there, rocking and swaying with the motion of the lurching train, she
began:
"It's this way. When you go home, probably there'll be lots of things
that you won't like, and that you won't want to do. Things that will
seem as disagreeable as Ina's task was to her. They won't scratch and
blister your hands, but they'll make you _feel_ all scratchy and hot
and cross. But if you go ahead as Ina did, without opening your lips to
complain, _it will be like picking a little white star-flower whose name
is obedience_. The more you pick of them the more you will have to weave
into your mantle. And sometimes you will see a chance to do something to
help her or to please her, without waiting to be asked. You may have to
stop playing to do it, and give up your own pleasure. That will scratch
your feelings some, _but doing it will be like picking a big golden
star-flower whose name is kindness_. And if you keep on doing this, day
after day as Ina did, with never a word of complaint, the time will come
when you have woven a big, beautiful mantle whose name is love. And when
it is big enough to reach from 'wing-tip to wing-tip' you'll find that
she has grown to be just like a real mother. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered Libby solemnly. Will'm did not answer, but the
far-off look in his eyes showed that he was pondering over what she had
just told him.
"Now we must run along in," she said briskly. "It's cold out here."
Inside, she looked at her watch. It was after seven. Only a little more
than an hour, and the children would be at the end of their journey. Not
much longer than that and she would reach hers. It had been a tiresome
day for both Libby and Will'm. Although their eyes shone with the
excitement of it, the Sandman was not far away. It was their regular
bedtime, and they were yawning. At a word from Miss Santa Claus the
porter brought pillows and blankets. She made up a bed for each on
opposite seats and tucked them snugly in.
"Now," she said, bending over them, "You'll have time for a nice long
nap before your father comes to take you off. But before you go to
sleep, I want to tell you one more thing that you must remember forever.
_You must always get the right kind of start._ It's like hooking up a
dress, you know. If you start crooked it will keep on being crooked all
the way down to the bottom, unless you undo it and begin over. So if I
were you, I'd begin to work that star-flower charm the first thing in
the morning. Remember you can work it on anybody if you try hard enough.
And remember that it is _true_, just as true as it is that you're each
going to have a Christmas stocking!"
She stooped over each in turn and kissed their eyelids down with a soft
touch of her smiling lips that made Libby thrill for days afterward,
whenever she thought of it. It seemed as if some royal spell had been
laid upon them with those kisses; some spell to close their eyes to
nettles and briars, and help them to see only the star-flowers.
In less than five minutes both Libby and Will'm were sound asleep, and
the porter was carrying the holly wreaths and the red coat and the
suitcase back to the state-room which had been vacated at the last
stopping place. In two minutes more Miss Santa Claus had emptied her
suitcase out on the seat beside her, and was scrabbling over the
contents in wild haste. For no sooner had she mentioned stockings to the
children than pop had come one of those messages straight from the Sky
Road, which could not be disregarded. Knowing that she would be on the
train with the two children from the Junction, Santa Claus was leaving
it to her to provide stockings for them.
It worried her at first, for she couldn't see her way clear to doing it
on such short notice and in such limited quarters. But she had never
failed him since he had first allowed her the pleasure of helping him,
and she didn't intend to now. Her mind had to work as fast as her
fingers. There wasn't a single thing among her belongings that she could
make stockings of, unless--she sighed as she picked it up and shook out
the folds of the prettiest kimono she had ever owned. It was the softest
possible shade of gray with white cherry blossoms scattered over it, and
it was bordered in wide bands of satin the exact color of a shining
ripe red cherry. There was nothing else for it, the lovely kimono must
be shorn of its glory, at least on one side. Maybe she could split what
was left on the other side, and reborder it all with narrower bands. But
even if she couldn't, she must take it. The train was leaping on through
the night. There was no time to spare.
Snip! Snip! went the witch scissors, and the long strip of cherry satin
was loose in her hands. Twenty minutes later two bright red stockings
lay on the seat in front of her, bordered with silver tinsel. She had
run the seams hastily with white thread, all she had with her, but the
stitches did not show, being on the inside. Even if they had pulled
themselves into view in places, all defects in sewing were hidden by the
tinsel with which the stockings were bordered. She had unwound it from a
wand which she was carrying home with several other favors from the
german of the night before. The wand was so long that it went into her
suitcase only by laying it in diagonally. It had been wrapped around
and around with yards of tinsel, tipped with a silver-gauze butterfly.
While she stitched she tried to think of something to put into the
stockings. Her only hope was in the trainboy, and she sent the porter to
bring him. But when he came he had little to offer. As it was Christmas
eve everybody had wanted his wares and he was nearly sold out. Not a
nut, not an apple, not even a package of chewing gum could he produce.
But he did have somewhere among his things, he said, two little toy
lanterns, with red glass sides, filled with small mixed candies, and he
had several oranges left. Earlier in the day he had had small glass
pistols filled with candy. He departed to get the stock still on hand.
When the lanterns proved to be miniature conductor's lanterns Miss Santa
Claus could have clapped her hands with satisfaction. Children who
played train so much would be delighted with them. She thrust one into
each stocking with an orange on top. They just filled the legs, but
there was a dismal limpness of foot which sadly betrayed its emptiness.
With another glance at her watch Miss Santa Claus hurried back to the
dining-car. The tables were nearly empty, and she found the steward by
the door. She showed him the stockings and implored him to think of
something to help fill them. Hadn't he nuts, raisins, _anything_, even
little cakes, that she could get in a hurry?
He suggested salted almonds and after-dinner mints, and sent a waiter
flying down the aisle to get some. While she waited she explained that
they were for two children who had come by themselves all the way from
the Junction. It was little Will'm's first ride on a Pullman. The words
"Junction" and "Will'm" seemed to recall something to the steward.
"I wonder if it could be the same little chap who found my locket," he
said. "I took his name intending to send him something Christmas, but
was so busy I never thought of it again."
The waiter was back with the nuts and mints. Miss Santa Claus paid for
them, and hurriedly returned to the state-room. She had to search
through her things again to find some tissue paper to wrap the salted
almonds in. They'd spoil the red satin if put in without covering. While
she was doing it the steward came to the door.
"I beg pardon, Miss," he said. "But would you mind showing me the little
fellow? If it _is_ the same one, I'd like to leave him a small trick
I've got here."
She pointed down the aisle to the seat where Will'm lay sound asleep,
one dimpled fist cuddled under his soft chin. After a moment's smiling
survey the man came back.
"That's the kid all right," he told her. "And he seemed to be so
powerful fond of anything that has to do with a train, I thought it
would please him to find this in his stocking."
He handed her a small-sized conductor's punch. "I use it to keep tally
on the order cards," he explained, "but I won't need it on the rest of
this run."
"How lovely!" exclaimed Miss Santa Claus. "I know he'll be delighted,
and I'm much obliged to you myself, for helping me make his stocking
fuller and nicer."
She opened the magazine after he had gone, and just to try the punch
closed it down on one of the leaves. Clip, it went, and the next instant
she uttered a soft little cry of pleasure. The clean-cut hole that the
punch had made in the margin was star shaped, and on her lap, where it
had fallen from the punch, was a tiny white paper star.
"Oh, it will help him to remember the charm!" she whispered, her eyes
shining with the happy thought. "If I only had some kind of a reminder
for Libby, too!"
Then, all of a sudden came another message, straight from the Sky Road!
She could give Libby the little gold ring which had fallen to her lot
the night before in her slice of the birthday cake. There had been a
ring, a thimble and a dime in the cake, and she had drawn the ring. It
was so small, just a child's size, that she couldn't wear it, but she
was taking it home to put in her memory book. It had been such a
beautiful evening that she wanted to mark it with that little golden
circlet, although of course it wasn't possible for her to forget such a
lovely time, even in centuries. And Libby _might_ forget about the
star-flowers unless she had a daily reminder.
She held it in her hand a moment, hesitating, till the message came
again, "_Send it!_" Then there was no longer any indecision. When she
shut it in its little box, and stuffed the box down past the lantern and
the orange and the nuts and the peppermints into the very toe, such a
warm, glad Christmasy feeling sent its glow through her, that she knew
past all doubting she had interpreted the Sky Road message aright.
Many of the passengers had left the car by this time, and the greater
number of those who remained were nodding uncomfortably in their seats.
But those who happened to be awake and alert saw a picture they never
forgot, when a lovely young girl, her face alight with the joy of
Christmas love and giving, stole down the aisle and silently fastened
something on the back of the seat above each little sleeper. It was a
stocking, red and shining as a cherry, and silver-bordered with
glistening fairy fringe.
When they looked again she had disappeared, but the stockings still hung
there, tokens which were to prove to those same little sleepers on their
awakening that the star-flower charm is true. For love indeed works
miracles, and every message from the Sky Road is but an echo of the one
the Christmas angels sang when first they came along that shining
highway, the heralds of good-will and peace to all the earth.