laughed at. But he was full of what the walking-stick said. And at family
worship his father read the twentieth chapter of Acts. When he came to
the part about its being more blessed to give than to receive, Willie
said, "That's what the cane said."
"What did you say?" asked his father.
"I was only thinking out loud," said Willie.
"Don't think out loud while I am reading," said Mr. Blake.
Willie did not find time to look any further for the other verses. He
wished his father had happened on them instead of the first text which
the cane quoted.
In church he kept thinking all the time about the cane. "Now what could
it mean by the twelfth and thirteenth verses of the fourteenth chapter?
There isn't anything in the Bible against giving away presents to one's
friends. It was only a dream anyhow, and maybe there's nothing in it."
But he forgot the services, I am sorry to say, in his thoughts. At last
Mr. Blake arose to read his text. Willie looked at him, but thought of
what the cane said. But what was it that attracted his attention so
quickly?
"The twelfth and thirteenth verses----"
"Twelfth and thirteenth!" said Willie to himself.
"Of the fourteenth chapter," said the minister.
"Fourteenth chapter!" said Willie, almost aloud.
"Of Luke."
Willie was all ears, while Mr. Blake read: "Then said he also to him that
bade him, When thou makest a dinner or a supper, call not thy friends,
nor thy brethren, neither thy kinsmen, nor thy rich neighbors, lest they
also bid thee again, and a recompense be made thee. But when thou makest
a feast, call the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind."
"That's it!" he said, half aloud, but his mother jogged him.
Willie had never listened to a sermon as he did to that. He stopped two
or three times to wonder whether the cane had been actually about to
repeat his father's text to him, or whether he had not heard his father
repeat it at some time, and had dreamed about it.
I am not going to tell you much about Mr. Blake's sermon. It was a sermon
that he and the walking-stick had prepared while they were going round
among the poor. I think Mr. Blake did not strike his cane down on the
sidewalk for nothing. Most of that sermon must have been hammered out in
that way, when he and the walking-stick were saying, "Something must be
done!" For that was just what that sermon said. It told about the wrong
of forgetting, on the birthday of Christ, to do anything for the poor. It
made everybody think. But Mr. Blake did not know how much of that sermon
went into Willie Blake's long head, as he sat there with his white full
forehead turned up to his father.
V.
THE FATHER PREACHES AND THE SON PRACTISES.
That afternoon Willie was at Sunday-school long before the time. He had a
plan.
"I'll tell you what, boys," said he, "let's not give Mr. Marble anything
this year; and let's ask him not to give us anything. Let's get him to
put the money he would use for us with the money we should spend on a
present for him, and give it to buy coal for old Aunt Parm'ly."
"I mean to spend all my money on soft gum-drops and tarts," said Tommy
Puffer; "they're splendid!" and with that he began, as usual, to roll his
soft lips together in a half-chewing, half-sucking manner, as if he had a
half dozen cream-tarts under his tongue, and two dozen gum-drops in his
cheeks.
"Tommy," said stumpy little Sammy Bantam, "it's a good thing you didn't
live in Egypt, Tommy, in the days of Joseph."
"Why?" asked Tommy.
"Because," said Sammy, looking around the room absently, as if he hardly
knew what he was going to say, "because, you see"--and then he opened a
book and began to read, as if he had forgotten to finish the sentence.
"Well, why?" demanded Tommy, sharply.
"Well, because if Joseph had had to feed you during the seven years of
plenty, there wouldn't have been a morsel left for the years of famine!"
The boys laughed as boys will at a good shot, and Tommy reddened a little
and said, regretfully, that he guessed the Egyptians hadn't any
doughnuts.
Willie did not forget his main purpose, but carried the point in his own
class. He still had time to speak to some of the boys and girls in other
classes. Everybody liked to do what Willie asked; there was something
sweet and strong in his blue eyes, eyes that "did not seem to have any
bottom, they were so deep," one of the girls said. Soon there was an
excitement in the school, and about the door; girls and boys talking and
discussing, but as soon as any opposition came up Willie's half-coaxing
but decided way bore it down. I think he was much helped by Sammy's wit,
which was all on his side. It was agreed, finally, that whatever scholars
meant to give to teachers, or teachers to scholars, should go to the
poor.
The teachers caught the enthusiasm, and were very much in favor of the
project, for in the whole movement they saw the fruit of their own
teaching.
The superintendent had been detained, and was surprised to find the
school standing in knots about the room. He soon called them to order,
and expressed his regrets that they should get into such disorder. There
was a smile on all faces, and he saw that there was something more in the
apparent disorder than he thought. After school it was fixed that each
class should find its own case of poverty. The young men's and the young
women's Bible classes undertook to supply Sitles with a broom-machine, a
class of girls took Aunt Parm'ly under their wing, other classes knew of
other cases of need, and so each class had its hands full. But Willie
could not get any class to see that Widow Martin had a sewing-machine.
That was left for his own; and how should a class of eight boys do it?
VI.
SIXTY-FIVE DOLLARS.
Willie took the boys into the parsonage. They figured on it. There were
sixty-five dollars to be raised to buy the machine. The seven boys were
together, for Tommy Puffer had gone home. He said he didn't feel like
staying, and Sammy Bantam thought he must be a little hungry.
Willie attacked the problem--sixty-five dollars. Toward that amount they
had three dollars and a half that they had intended to spend on a present
for Mr. Marble. That left just sixty-one dollars and fifty cents to be
raised. Willie ran across the street and brought Mr. Marble. He said he
had made up his mind to give the boys a book apiece, and that each book
would cost a dollar. It was rather more than he could well afford; but as
he had intended to give eight dollars for their presents, and as he was
pleased with their unselfish behavior, he would make it ten.
"Good!" said Charley Somerset, who always saw the bright side of things,
"that makes it all, except fifty-one dollars and a half."
"Yes," said Sammy Bantam, "and you're eleven feet high, lacking a couple
of yards!"
Willie next called his father in, and inquired how much his Christmas
present was to cost.
"Three and a half," said his father.
"That's a lot! Will you give me the money instead?"
"Yes; but I meant to give you a Life of George Stephenson, and some other
books on engineering."
This made Willie think a moment; but seeing the walking-stick in the
corner, he said: "Mrs. Martin must have a machine, and that three and a
half makes seventeen dollars. How to get the other forty-eight is the
question."
Mr. Blake and Mr. Marble both agreed that the boys could not raise so
much money, and should not undertake it. But Willie said there was nobody
to do it, and he guessed it would come somehow. The other boys, when they
came to church that evening, told Willie that their presents were
commuted for money also; so they had twenty-five dollars toward the
amount. But that was the end of it, and there were forty dollars yet to
come!
Willie lay awake that night, thinking. Mr. Marble's class could not raise
the money. All the other classes had given all they could. And the
teachers would each give in their classes. And they had raised all they
could spare besides to buy nuts and candy! Good! That was just it; they
would do without candy!
At school the next morning, Willie's white head was bobbing about
eagerly. He made every boy and girl sign a petition, asking the
Sunday-school teachers not to give them any nuts or candy. They all
signed except Tommy Puffer. He said it was real mean not to have any
candy. They might just as well not have any Sunday-school, or any
Christmas either. But seeing a naughty twinkle in Sammy Bantam's eye, he
waddled away, while Sammy fired a shot after him, by remarking that, if
Tommy had been one of the shepherds in Bethlehem, he wouldn't have
listened to the angels till he had inquired if they had any lemon-drops
in their pockets!
That night the extra Teachers' Meeting was held, and in walked
white-headed Willie with stunted Sammy Bantam at his heels to keep him in
countenance. When their petition was presented, Miss Belden, who sat near
Willie, said, "Well done! Willie."
"But I protest," said Mrs. Puffer--who was of about as handsome a figure
as her son--"I protest against such an outrage on the children. My
Tommy's been a-feeling bad about it all day. It'll break his heart if he
don't get some candy."
Willie was shy, but for a moment he forgot it, and, turning his
intelligent blue eyes on Mrs. Puffer, he said--
"It will break Mrs. Martin's heart if her children are taken away from
her."
"Well," said Mrs. Puffer, "I always did hear that the preacher's boy was
the worst in the parish, and I won't take any impudence. My son will join
the Mission School, where they aren't too stingy to give him a bit of
candy!" And Mrs. Puffer left, and everybody was pleased.
Willie got the money; but the teachers had counted on making up their
festival mostly with cakes and other dainties, contributed by families.
So that the candy money was only sixteen dollars, and Willie was yet a
long way off from having the amount he needed. Twenty-four dollars were
yet wanting.
VII.
THE WIDOW AND THE FATHERLESS.
The husband of Widow Martin had been killed by a railroad accident. The
family were very poor. Mrs. Martin could sew, and she could have
sustained her family if she had had a machine. But fingers are not worth
much against iron wheels. And so, while others had machines, Mrs. Martin
could not make much without one. She had been obliged to ask help from
the overseer of the poor.
Mr. Lampeer, the overseer, was a hard man. He had not skill enough to
detect impostors, and so he had come to believe that everybody who was
poor was rascally. He had but one eye, and he turned his head round in a
curious way to look at you out of it. That dreadful one eye always seemed
to be going to shoot. His voice had not a chord of tenderness in it, but
was in every way harsh and hard. It was said that he had been a
school-master once. I pity the scholars.
Widow Martin lived--if you could call it living--in a tumble-down-looking
house, that would not have stood many earthquakes. She had tried
diligently to support her family and keep them together; but the wolf
stood always at the door. Sewing by hand did not bring in quite money
enough to buy bread and clothes for four well children, and pay the
expenses of poor little Harry's sickness; for all through the summer and
fall Harry had been sick. At last the food was gone, and there was
nothing to buy fuel with. Mrs. Martin had to go to the overseer of the
poor.
She was a little, shy, hard-working woman, this Mrs. Martin; so when she
took her seat among the paupers of every sort in Mr. Lampeer's office,
and waited her turn, it was with a trembling heart. She watched the hard
man, who didn't mean to be so hard, but who couldn't tell the difference
between a good face and a counterfeit; she watched him as he went through
with the different cases, and her heart beat every minute more and more
violently. When he came to her he broke out with--
"What's _your_ name?" in a voice that sounded for all the world as if he
were accusing her of robbing a safe.
"Sarah Martin," said the widow, trembling with terror, and growing red
and white in turns. Mr. Lampeer, who was on the lookout for any sign of
guiltiness, was now sure that Mrs. Martin could not be honest.
"Where do you live?" This was spoken with a half sneer.
"In Slab Alley," whispered the widow, for her voice was scared out of
her.
"How many children have you got?"
Mrs. Martin gave him the list of her five, with their ages, telling him
of little Harry, who was six years old and an invalid.
"Your oldest is twelve, and a girl. I have a place for her, and, I think,
for the boy, too. You must bind them out. Mr. Slicker, the landlord of
the Farmers' Hotel, will take the girl, and I think James Sweeny will
take the boy to run errands about the livery stable. I'll send you some
provisions and coal to-day; but you must let the children go. I'll come
to your house in a few days. Don't object; I won't hear a word. If you're
as poor as you let on to be, you'll be glad enough to get your young ones
into places where they'll get enough to eat. That's all--not a word,
now." And he turned to the next applicant, leaving the widow to go home
with her heart cold.
Let Susie go to Slicker's tavern! What kind of a house would it be
without her? Who would attend to the house while she sewed? And what
would become of her girl in such a place? And then to send George, who
had to wait on Harry--to send him away forever was to shut out all hope
of ever being in better circumstances. Then she could not sew, and the
children could never help her. God pity the people that fall into the
hands of public charity!
The next few days wore heavily on with the widow. What to do she did not
know. At night she scarcely slept at all. When she did drop into a sleep,
she dreamed that her children were starving, and woke in fright. Then she
slept again, and dreamed that a one-eyed robber had gotten in at the
window, and was carrying off Susie and George. At last morning came. The
last of the food was eaten for breakfast, and Widow Martin sat down to
wait. Her mind was in a horrible state of doubt. To starve to death
together, or to give up her children! That was the question which many a
poor mother's heart has had to decide. Mrs. Martin soon became so nervous
she could not sew. She could not keep back the tears, and when Susie and
George put their arms about her neck and asked what was the matter, it
made the matter worse. It was the day before Christmas. The sleigh-bells
jingled merrily. Even in Slab Alley one could hear sounds of joy at the
approaching festivities. But there was no joy in Widow Martin's house or
heart. The dinner-hour had come and passed. The little children were
hungry. And yet Mrs. Martin had not made up her mind.
At the appointed time Lampeer came. He took out the two indentures with
which the mother was to sign away all right to her two eldest children.
It was in vain that the widow told him that if she lost them she could do
no work for her own support, and must be forever a pauper. Lampeer had an
idea that no poor person had a right to love children. Parental love was,
in his eyes, or his eye, an expensive luxury that none but the rich
should indulge in.
"Mrs. Martin," he said, "you may either sign these indentures, by which
your girl will get a good place as a nurse and errand-girl for the
tavern-keeper's wife, and your boy will have plenty to eat and get to be
a good hostler, or you and your young ones may starve!" With that he took
his hat and opened the door.
"Stop!" said Mrs. Martin. "I must have medicine and food, or Harry will
not live till Sunday. I will sign."
The papers were again spread out. The poor-master jerked the folds out of
them impatiently, in a way that seemed to say, "You keep me an
unconscionable long time about a very small matter."
When the papers were spread out, Mrs. Martin's two oldest children, who
began to understand what was going on, cried bitterly. Mrs. Martin took
the pen and was about to sign. But it was necessary to have two
witnesses, and so Lampeer took his hat and called a neighbor-woman, for
the second witness.
Mrs. Martin delayed the signature as long as she could. But seeing no
other help, she took up the pen. She thought of Abraham with the knife in
his hand. She hoped that an angel would call out of heaven to her relief.
But as there was no voice from heaven, she dipped the pen in the ink.
Just then some one happened to knock at the door, and the poor woman's
nerves were so weak that she let the pen fall, and sank into a chair.
Lampeer, who stood near the door, opened it with an impatient jerk,
and--did the angel of deliverance enter?
It was only Willie Blake and Sammy Bantam.
VIII.
SHARPS AND BETWEENS.
Let us go back. We left Willie awhile ago puzzling over that twenty-four
dollars. After many hours of thought and talk with Sammy about how they
should manage it, two gentlemen gave them nine dollars, and so there was
but fifteen more to be raised. But that fifteen seemed harder to get than
the fifty they had already gotten. At last Willie thought of something.
They would try the sewing-machine man. Mr. Sharps would throw off fifteen
dollars.
But they did not know Mr. Sharps. Though he made more than fifteen
dollars on the machine, he hated to throw anything off. He was always
glad to put on. Sammy described him by saying that "Mr. Sharps was not
for-giving but he was for-getting."
They talked; they told the story; they begged. Mr. Sharps really could
not afford to throw off a cent. He was poor. Taxes were high. He gave a
great deal. (I do not know what he called a great deal. He had been to
church three times in a year, and twice he had put a penny in the plate.
I suppose Mr. Sharps thought that a great deal. And so it was, for him,
poor fellow.) And then the butcher had raised the price of meat; and he
had to pay twenty-three dollars for a bonnet for his daughter. Really, he
was too poor. So the boys went away down-hearted.
But Sammy went straight to an uncle of his, who was one of the editors
of the _Thornton Daily Bugle_. After a private talk with him he started
back to Mr. Sharps. Willie followed Sammy this time. What Sammy had in
his head Willie could not make out.
"I'll fix him!" That was the only word Sammy uttered on the way back.
"Now, Mr. Sharps," he began, "my uncle's name is Josiah Penn. Maybe you
know him. He's one of the editors of the _Thornton Daily Bugle_. I've
been talking with him. If you let me have a Feeler and Stilson
sewing-machine for fifty dollars, I will have a good notice put in the
_Daily Bugle_."
Mr. Sharps whistles a minute. He thought he could not do it. No, he was
too poor.
"Well, then, Willie," said Sammy, "we'll go across the street and try the
agent of the Hillrocks and Nibbs machine. I think Mr. Betweens will take
my offer."
"O!" said Mr. Sharps, "you don't want that machine. It's only a single
thread, and it will ravel, and--well--you don't want that."
"Indeed, my mother says there isn't a pin to choose between them," said
Sammy; "and I can give Mr. Betweens just as good a notice as I could give
you."
"Very well; take the machine for fifty dollars. I do it just out of pity
for the widow, you know. I never could stand by and see suffering and not
relieve it. You won't forget about that notice in the _Daily Bugle_,
though, will you?"
No, Sammy wouldn't forget.
It was now the day before Christmas, and the boys thought they had better
get the machine down there.
So they found Billy Horton, who belonged to their class, and who drove an
express wagon, and told him about it. He undertook to take it down. But
first, he drove around the town and picked up all the boys of the class,
that they might share in the pleasure.
Meantime, a gentleman who had heard of Willie's efforts, gave him a
five-dollar bill for Widow Martin. This Willie invested in provisions,
which he instructed the grocer to send to the widow.
He and Sammy hurried down to Widow Martin's and got there, as I told you
in the last chapter, just as she was about to sign away all right, title,
and interest in two of her children; to sign them away at the command of
the hard Mr. Lampeer, who was very much irritated that he should be
interrupted just at the moment when he was about to carry the point; for
he loved to carry a point better than to eat his breakfast.
IX.
THE ANGEL STAYS THE HAND.
When the boys came in, they told the widow that they wished to speak with
little sick Harry. They talked to Harry awhile, without noticing what was
going on in the other part of the room.
Presently Willie felt his arm pulled. Looking round, he saw Susie's
tearful face. "Please don't let mother give me and George away." Somehow
all the children in school had the habit of coming to this long-headed
Willie for help, and to him Susie came.
That word of Susie's awakened Willie. Up to that moment he had not
thought what Mr. Lampeer was there for. Now he saw Mrs. Martin holding
the pen with trembling hand, and making motions in the air preparatory to
writing her name. Most people not used to writing, write in the air
before they touch the paper. When Willie saw this, he flew across the
room and thrust his hand upon the place where the name ought to be,
saying,--
"Don't do that, Mrs. Martin! Don't give away your children!"
Poor woman! the pen dropped from her hand as the knife had dropped from
Abraham's. She grasped Willie's arm, saying,--
"How can I help it? Do tell me!"
But Lampeer had grasped the other arm, and broke out with--
"You rogue, what do you mean?"
Willie's fine blue eyes turned quickly into Lampeer's one muddy eye.
"Let go!" he said, very quietly but very determinedly; "don't strike me,
or my father will take the law on you."
Lampeer let go.
Just then the groceries came, and a minute later, Billy Horton's wagon
drove up with the machine, and all the other boys, who came in and shook
hands with the poor but delighted mother and her children. I cannot tell
you any more about that scene. I only know that Lampeer went out angry
and muttering.
X.
TOMMY PUFFER.
Willie was happy that night. He went down to the festival at the Mission.
There was Tommy Puffer's soft, oyster-like body among the scholars of the
Mission. He was waiting for something good. His mouth and eyes were
watering. He looked triumphantly at the boys from the other school. They
wouldn't get anything so nice. The superintendent announced that no boy's
name would be called for a paper bag of "refreshments" but those who had
been present two Sundays. And so poor starving Tommy Puffer had to carry
his pudding-bag of a body home again without a chance to give it an extra
stuffing.
XI.
AN ODD PARTY.
I cannot tell you about the giving of the broom-machine to the blind
broom-maker; of the ton of coal to Aunt Parm'ly, and of all the other
things that happened on Christmas Day when the presents were given. I
must leave these things out. As for Aunt Parm'ly, she said she did not
know, but dat dare coal seemed like it come from de sky.
But there was an ample feast yet for the boys at the Sunday-school, for
many biscuits, and cakes, and pies had been baked. But every time Willie
looked at the walking-stick he thought of "the poor, the maimed, the
lame, and the blind." And so he and Sammy Bantam soon set the whole
school, teachers and all, a-fire with the idea of inviting in the inmates
of the county poor-house. It was not half so hard to persuade the members
of the school, to do this as it was to coax them to the first move; for
when people have found out how good it is to do good, they like to do
good again.
Such a company it was! There was old crazy Newberry, who had a game-bag
slung about his neck, and who imagined that the little pebbles in it were
of priceless value. Old Dorothy, who was nearly eighty, and who, thanks
to the meanness of the authorities, had not tasted any delicacy, not so
much as a cup of tea, since she had been in the almshouse; and there were
half-idiots, and whole idiots, and sick people, and crippled people,
armless people and legless people, blind people and deaf. Such an
assortment of men, women, and little children, you cannot often find.
They were fed with the good things provided for the Sunday-school
children, much to the disgust of Tommy Puffer and his mother. For Tommy
was bent on getting something to eat here.
There were plenty of people who claimed the credit of suggesting this way
of spending the Christmas. Willie did not say anything about it, for he
remembered what Christ had said about blowing a trumpet before you. But I
think Sammy Bantam trumpeted Willie's fame enough.