MADAME'S ADVICE
One bright, warm, November day--for such days are the usual order in
sunny California--Tabitha stood at the little window in one end of the
long corridor, looking disconsolately down into the garden, shimmering
in its rain-washed greenness, and thinking of the approaching holidays
and her own slender purse. The other girls were making such elaborate
gifts for each other, to say nothing of the beautiful things laid by for
the home folks and friends, and she felt keenly the fact that she would
have so little to offer. To be sure, there were few to remember outside
the school circle of girls and teachers, but she longed as never before
to do as the others did and have what they had.
"Oh, dear," she sighed, "it's hard to be pinched _all_ the time! I wish
I could have as much money to spend as even Mercedes has, and that isn't
a great deal, either. Here I have only five dollars for Christmas, and
there are about twenty girls, who, I know, are going to give me
something, besides the other people I want to remember--Tom and the
Vanes and Carrie's mother and father. They are always giving me
something beautiful, and I never have anything for them but home-made
candy. There is Aunt Maria, too. I would like to send her a little
something so she won't think I have forgotten her; and then--Dad--but he
won't expect anything or care. I don't suppose he will even remember
that it is Christmas. Oh, hum! I wish there wasn't such a a day!"
"Such a day as what?" asked a soft, sweet voice behind her, and an arm
crept gently, almost shyly around her waist.
"Oh, Madame DuBois!" cried the startled girl, looking up into the
winning brown eyes of the little French teacher. "Did you hear what I
said? I was wishing there was no Christmas Day."
"No Christmas Day!" echoed the scandalized woman with charming accent,
"Ah, zat is ze Christ's birthday!"
"I was very wicked," murmured Tabitha, humbly. "I didn't stop to think
how we happen to have that holiday. I was mourning because I have not as
much to spend for pretty things as the other girls have."
"Oh, but zat is very wrong!" protested her companion, shaking her head
in a disapproving fashion. "You Americans sink only of how much money
you spend for Christmas and if your gift to your friend cost as much as
ze one she give you. Zat isn't _gift_! Zat is exchange. One should give
only from ze happiness of ze heart. If ze pocketbook is flat, zen pick a
little flower, write a little letter, give a merry smile. All true
friends like zat better zan silk dresses or gold watches. Do you forget
one of your great poets has said:
'Not what we give but what we share,
For ze gift without ze giver is bare.'"
"I see what you mean, Madame," said Tabitha slowly. "Folks think too
much about the cost of their gifts, instead of the spirit in which they
are given. But wouldn't you feel badly if you knew that fifteen or
twenty girls were planning splendid things for you and there was only
five dollars to buy remembrances for all of them, besides the other
friends? Cassandra told me yesterday that Bertha Peck is embroidering a
silk scarf for me, and here I haven't a thing for her!"
Madame smiled indulgently at the tragic tones, and gently shook the
slender maid, as she answered, "Wie, I understand some how you feel,
Tabitha; but it isn't worth fretting about. A little handkerchief, a
card maybe--"
"One can't get a really nice handkerchief for even two bits, and it
would take my whole five dollars for just the girls alone. I would have
nothing left for Tom or the rest."
The little French woman was silent for a moment, and a deep frown
wrinkled her usually placid brow; then she impulsively caught Tabitha's
brown hands in her own and skipped joyfully as if she, too, were a girl
in her teens, exclaiming excitedly, "I have it--zat what you say? You
crochet. I have seen you sometimes when you study and I wonder how you
count ze stitches and learn, too, but you always have your lessons
well."
Tabitha's face flushed with pleasure at this unexpected praise, and she
laughingly replied, "Oh, I can't always. It is just when I am
memorizing something or learning French conjugations. Now with algebra,
I have to use my hands as well as my brains."
"Sly-boots! But you make pretty sings with your crochet hook--ze lace on
Carrie's collar, n'est pas?"
"Yes, I made that for her birthday. Mrs. Vane taught me how last year in
Silver Bow so I wouldn't be so lonely."
"It takes only a little time?"
"Not very long now. I have made so much of it I can almost do it in my
sleep, and I can pick up new patterns from magazines by myself."
"Good! I, too, crochet--many sings once. I show you how if you wish."
"Oh, thank you, Madame DuBois! I shall be glad to learn."
"It is six, seven weeks before Christmas Day, and in zat time lots can
be done. Come now to my room and we plan out zat five dollars--if you
like--spend it on paper." She hurried the amazed girl down the long hall
to her cozy room and was soon deeply absorbed in making out lists and
figuring the cost of material.
"There are twenty-one girls I should like in particular to remember,"
said Tabitha, curiously watching every movement of her companion. "I
wish I had something for each scholar. And five people in Silver Bow,
and Tom in Reno, and--I wish Miss Pomeroy didn't limit us to such a
little bit for the teachers."
"Ah, but she is wise!" laughed Madame, rapidly turning the pages in a
fancy-work book. "See, here is what I mean. Twenty ties like zat take so
little time and are so pretty and very acceptable. Every girl this day
likes such sings. One spool of cotton thread, very fine, makes four or
five, maybe more; a little scrap of linen to mount it on, and voila! a
beautiful little gift that cost much at the store. Watch me now, how I
do it." She caught up her crochet hook and thread, and deftly, swiftly,
traced the delicate little pattern that Tabitha might see how it was
done.
"That looks so easy," murmured the girl, watching the flying fingers
with fascinated eyes. "I believe I could do it already."
"Yes? But you take the book to be sure. The directions are easy. That
settles the girls except maybe the little friend, Carrie. How would she
like some slippers? I make them very pretty and they cost so little; two
or three skeins of yarn for one pair and the soles are cheap, too."
"That would be fine for Carrie--and for Chrystobel. Cassandra says she
has something beautiful for me, but Chrystie threatened to give her
nothing for Christmas if she told; so she has managed to keep it secret
so far."
"Cassandra has a lively tongue," laughed Madame, "and she finds it hard
to control. Now for the rest of your friends, how would calendars do?
You make beautiful water-coloring. Miss White shows me her pretty work,
and always zere is one of your drawings. Cardboard is easy to get; a
little bunch of flowers or some ozer design in colors, maybe a picture
of yourself, and zat makes a nice gift."
"I had thought of pictures at first, but good ones cost so much that I
couldn't get enough to go around."
"Pictures? Photographs, you mean. But maybe some friend has a camera and
will take a--what you call it?--snap-shot? I know such a boy. He does
excellent work and I am sure Miss Pomeroy will let you go there some
day with me. He charges very low. I sink one dollar would be all. Zen
see! You have still one dollar and a half left out of your five dollars
to buy ribbon, tissue paper, Christmas cards, postals or what you will,
and all your friends are planned for."
Tabitha stared at the neat list with unbelieving eyes, then with a
little jump of delight, she threw both arms around Madame's neck, crying
happily, "Oh, you darling, you witch! I have been wondering and puzzling
for a week to know how I could possibly get thirty-three presents out of
five dollars, but it looks as easy as _a, b, c_, now. Thank you a
thousand times! I am going to begin right away on my gifts, so
everything will surely be finished in time."
"But you must attend to the lessons first," warned the teacher, shaking
her finger playfully at the excited girl.
"Oh, I will, I surely will," she promised, gathering up book and papers.
"I am so glad this is Saturday, for I can commence work at once. All my
Monday's lessons are learned, Chrystobel and Cassandra have gone home
for Sunday, and there is nothing to interfere."
"Then mind you don't work too hard, or I shall be sorry I helped you
stretch your little gold mine."
"I will be very careful, but I _must_ hurry, for there are only seven
weeks before Christmas."
With a parting smile she slipped out of the door and rushed away to her
own room, eager to make with her own hands the pretty lace Madame had
begun for her; and from that moment all her leisure time was devoted to
crocheting ties or painting calendars for her loved ones' Christmas Day.
With the first gleam of dawn she was up in the morning, busy with brush
or hook long before the breakfast bell called them to the day's routine;
at recess and during the noon hour, she was hidden away with Bertha or
Carrie in some nook of the great gardens, making frantic use of every
opportunity; and when the lessons were learned in the evening, back to
back with Chrystobel, she toiled with patient fingers, sighing with
relief as each dainty tie was laid in state beside its finished mates in
her big hat box.
Madame's young friend was glad to take some kodak pictures of the eager
girl, the prints were splendidly clear-cut, and Tabitha was delighted
with the result. So when her busy brush had painted all the cardboard
squares in soft colors, and the carefully trimmed snapshots were
mounted, Tabitha's calendars were really works of art; and her heart was
filled with happiness over what she had achieved.
Just a week before Christmas she slipped the last gift into the hat box
and sat down before it to gloat over her treasures with loving eyes.
"All done--everything! I didn't suppose I could do it when I began. Now,
I shan't be ashamed to receive gifts from the girls. It isn't right to
feel that way, I know, but really I hated to think of not being able to
give them something nice when they are so good to me. It isn't that I am
exchanging, as Madame calls it; for I shall appreciate whatever gifts I
get--silk dresses, Christmas cards, or just a friendly word; but this is
the very first time I ever made things myself to give away at such a
time, and I guess it has gone to my head. I like to receive presents,
but _I_ think it is lots more fun to give them. I have enjoyed making
every single one of those.
"There are twenty-two ties, nineteen for the girls, and one each for
Mrs. Vane, Carrie's mother and Aunt Maria; there's a silk tie for
Rosslyn McKittrick--I never would have thought of using up that bias
piece for such a thing if I hadn't seen Jessie making her little brother
one. I don't know which I like best, Carrie's blue slippers or
Chrystobel's pink ones--they are both so dear. But my calendars are my
darlings! When Madame suggested them, I was afraid they would be awfully
cheap-looking, but Miss White says the coloring is the best I ever did,
and those splendid pictures just finish them. I had no idea I was so
good-looking. There is one apiece for each teacher, one for Tom, one for
Dr. Vane, and one for Mr. Carson. That leaves me three over; and there
may be someone I have forgotten in my list, so these will probably come
in handy yet. And that prying Cassandra hasn't found out about a thing
that I have made!
"Now I must get my hat and coat if I go with Madame for the tissue
paper. How glad I am that I can get a pretty postcard for each of the
other girls! Even then, I will have more than half a dollar left.
Perhaps I can find a piece of linen and make Tom a handkerchief or two.
I'll ask--"
"Puss, Puss!" called an excited voice in the corridor, and an impatient
fist pounded loudly on the door. Tabitha started nervously, dropped the
cover down over her treasures and pushed the box hurriedly into the
closet, calling cheerily, "Come in, Carrie!"
"I can't; you have locked the door!"
The black-eyed girl flew to turn the key, and rosy, excited Carrie burst
into the room, crying, "See what I got for papa! It just came from the
store. Miss Pomeroy helped me choose it. I wanted to show it to you
first. Isn't it splendid? And won't he like it?" She laid a beautifully
carved box on the table and danced gleefully about the room while
Tabitha examined the purchase.
"Well, I should think he would," she said enthusiastically in answer to
Carrie's question. "What is it for?"
"It's a sort of a writing-desk for him to carry around in his grip when
he goes away, so he can write any time he wants to. See the paper,
business size, letter and note paper. Here is a box for stamps, and
there is a place for pen and pencils. I wanted to get him a fountain
pen, too, but mamma said she would attend to that, to be sure it was a
nice one. I can just see him now when he opens it. Oh, I wish Christmas
would hurry! What are you going to give your father, Puss?"
Tabitha's face flushed scarlet, and she murmured in embarrassment, "I
don't believe he cares anything about Christmas. He never has observed
it since I can remember."
"Oh!" said Carrie. "Well, I must take my box back and wrap it up. Where
are you going?"
"It is nearly time for our walk and Miss Pomeroy has promised some of us
a tramp to town for tissue paper, ribbon, cards and such little things
that won't take long to get. Didn't you know? Ask her if you can't go. I
think there are only six or seven of us so far. One more will only make
it the jollier."
"I would like to," answered Carrie wistfully, "but this is my hour to
practice for the cantata. Bye-bye!"
Carrie whisked across the hall to her room and Tabitha, haunted by that
careless question, descended the stairs to wait for the group of
shoppers to gather.
The day was bright and warm, the winter rains had washed the dusty
foliage clean, and it seemed as if spring had already begun in this
California city; but there was no answering note of joy in Tabitha's
heart. Why had Carrie shown her the pretty writing-desk? What had
prompted her to speak such disquieting words? Ought she to send
something to the stern father who did not care?
"One should give only from ze happiness of ze heart, Madeline."
Madame's gentle voice floated back to Tabitha, speaking the same
sentiment she had voiced to the black-haired girl a few weeks before. "A
gift from a sense of duty is no gift at all."
"Then," thought Tabitha, "that settles my difficulty. I could give only
from a sense of duty. I should like to love him, but he won't let me."
"But sink how lonely he may be, ze cross old uncle you talk about!
Doesn't it make you sorry?" came another snatch of conversation.
"Perhaps he loves you more zan you sink. Oh, yes, I should get him
somesing--a calendar or a card or maybe write a letter; but don't do it
because you sink you ought. If he feels zat you really want to cheer
him, it will make him happy even if he is cross."
The sunshine grew suddenly brighter to Tabitha, her heart grew
wonderfully lighter, her lips unconsciously hummed a little tune and the
walk the rest of the way to town was beautiful. But the first thing she
did when Ivy Hall was reached, was to run up to her room, select the
prettiest of the three left-over calendars, wrap it daintily in tissue
paper and gold cord and address it to her father at Silver Bow. Then
with a happy sigh she dropped it back into the box to await the proper
time for mailing, and skipped off to tell Madame that her Christmas work
was all done.