has saved us from the storm. Perhaps now we had better eat a bit. But,
boy, how about your mama and papa?”
“Oh, they’re safe enough, I hope.”
Sander did not propose to fall short in hospitality. He now brought
something from the cupboard. “My birthday cake,” he explained.
“What! On Christmas Eve, too?” exclaimed the young man.
“And how old are you, Sander?” asked the schoolma’m. For teachers
always want to know about such matters.
But let us make a long story short. And it was a very long story to
Sander. All that night the wind roared and howled. Snow seemed to get
in everywhere. The stove glowed with heat, yet all were shivering.
Every time Bigbeard put in a fresh chunk of coal he said a word of
thanksgiving.
“Good coal never was a bigger blessing than this night. God care for
the man who brought it here,” was his ejaculation. And then he would
sit down once more. And when he saw that Sander, the little host, was
at last getting sleepy, too tired to keep awake any longer, he pulled
a Testament out of his pocket. They all sat about the table, this odd
circle of strangers who had never before met nor even seen each other,
and, as beasts that flee for safety to some cave or swamp are friendly
in their common danger tho ever so hostile otherwise, were together,
drawn into fellowship by singular bonds of charity in this sod hut
amid the storm. The young man Bigbeard called John, and the teacher’s
name was Miss Stone. Sander, wide-eyed with fear and wonder, was still
sleepily waiting for his parents. The other children were in bed and
asleep.
Bigbeard opened his Testament and all bowed their heads devoutly as he
read from the holy pages the lesson so appropriate for the hour:
“And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the fields,
keeping watch over their flocks by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord
came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and
they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not; for,
behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all
people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior,
which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you: ye shall
find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And
suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host
praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth
peace, good will toward men. And it came to pass as the angels were
gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let
us go even unto Bethlehem and see this thing which is come to pass,
which the Lord had made known to us. And they came with haste, and
found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.”
When he had read these words Bigbeard closed the book, laid it on the
table, and said, “Let us pray.” And all bent reverently as he spoke:
“O Lord God, Heavenly Father, Thou great Shepherd of the sheep, Thou
who never failest Thy people in their need, we thank Thee that on this
night Thou didst send Jesus Thy Son to earth, that He might live and
die to be our Savior and Helper forever. And we pray Thee that Thou,
who dost temper the winds to the shorn lamb, wilt this night care for
the lost and wandering who are in the storm. We thank Thee for this
present safety. Graciously keep Sander’s father and mother from all
harm. Keep us now and forever from any storm of evil and temptation,
and, because we are the weak children of sin and death, bring us at
last into the sweet safety, warmth, and joy of heaven, out of this
world of cold and sorrow. As the shepherds went with gladness to the
manger on the first Christmas Eve, lead our hearts with joy to Jesus
this night. We ask all blessings in His name. Amen.” And we might add
that Sander slept very sweetly that night for all his trouble.
Bang! Bang!!
It seems that even Bigbeard had nodded, as he sat by the fire, tending
it from time to time. Certainly at the noise Sander opened his eyes out
of a dream, sat up and rubbed them, to become aware of bright daylight.
The noise at the door had awakened all. And they were on their feet
stirring when the lad crept out of bed. Another thump or two, and thru
the open door in came Sander’s mama and papa all frost—with the morning
cold. Imagine their surprise and joy to find their little boy safe, and
their sod hut a rescue home amid the broad prairie. The sun now beamed
as tho he never had set with an angry frown, and all nature was still
with the serene calm which comes after the terrific storm. The cold was
nipping but the day was cheery. And as Sander’s mama bustled about for
breakfast, all told their several stories. The night had been an awful
one, and the papers were later to bring the sad tale of how more than a
hundred school children had perished in the cold.
And when they had all eaten a good breakfast, and Papa and Mama had
told how they had put up at a house on the way to save being lost,
trusting to a higher help for the keeping of their little Sander,
Bigbeard again read a lesson and prayed, and there were tears, not of
fear but of thanksgiving. For Bigbeard was not only a good man with
whiskers, black and long, but was a missionary, who had gone forth to
seek the dwellers on the distant frontier and bring them the Gospel.
Truly he could say with St. Paul “in perils oft.” We ought probably to
give him something better than a nickname.
You may be sure that the lesson of his coming did not soon leave that
household, nor did the memory of it leave the heart of the little boy
in the sod hut in the distant valley of the Antelope. And who can tell
to what higher and better things Sander came when he grew up, because
of the night in the storm. There was indeed Christmas blessing for him,
besides the present that his parents brought back from the town in the
wagon.
[Illustration: Decoration]
_No Christmas_
“Why can’t we have Christmas, Mama?” begged little May, as she pulled
her mama’s dress. Mama was very busy, and of a sudden she wiped her
eyes, for a tear had come.
“Because Uncle Mark is so sick,” she answered, stooping to kiss the
little face turned up so anxiously. “We cannot be glad and happy here
at home when he is so very ill, can we, dear?”
“But Mama, can’t we have any tree then, and won’t there be any Santa
Claus?” begged little May, her eyes almost filling with tears.
“We shall see, my darling,” answered Mama.
You may be sure these things brought no little trouble to May and her
big sister Dorothy, who boasted eight years, while May only could claim
four. Like all children, they looked forward with great longing to
Christmas, its presents and its joys, its songs and gladness. But we
must know that all is not happiness in this world. There are great
sorrows, and many homes are dark even at Christmas time. So it was in
the otherwise sunny and cheerful home where May and Dorothy lived.
For alas, only a few days before, their dear Uncle Mark, always so
strong and happy, had come home to the city very sick. Indeed, he had
gone directly to the hospital. After a very serious operation, he did
not seem to get much better. The children missed his glad and cheerful
ways, for Uncle Mark was young and always had been full of fun. To be
sure, he would always greet them with smiles even now.
It was very sad, indeed. Poor Grandpa and Grandma had come to be with
their dying son, and every day they went to the hospital to sit with
him. Poor little May could not understand it all, and when she brought
flowers to her dear uncle, looked with big, round eyes of wonder to see
him so thin and pale.
She went away after talking with Mama and played a while. Then she came
back, with a question, of course, as usual.
“Isn’t Uncle Mark going to have any Christmas either, Mama?” she asked.
Mama looked into the earnest face and said, “Perhaps, darling.”
At that moment she caught a few words of the song Dorothy was singing
in the next room and said, “Would my little girls like to sing Uncle
Mark a Christmas song?”
“Of course,” they both cried with one breath.
You may be sure they practiced hard and willingly to get a good song
learned, and came at once whenever Mama called them.
On Christmas eve it was snowing as our two little friends came to the
hospital door. They stamped the snow off their feet, shook themselves,
and went in. All was bright and cheery. Some people think a hospital is
a very gloomy place. But when they came in with Mama and Papa out of
the dark and the snow, they thought the hospital a very cheerful and
bright place. For you see, the nurses had made everything bright and
beautiful. There was evergreen, and bells, and mottoes, and it looked
cheerful enough to make even the most sick well.
You can hardly imagine how happy May and Dorothy were to find a
beautiful Christmas tree right on the same floor where Uncle Mark’s
room was, and some of the kind nurses pulled it to his door, that he
might raise his head and take a look. Yes, even he caught the spirit
of Christmas joy as he saw the tinsel, and the candles, the stars, the
big round apples and oranges. Yes, Jesus has a Christmas blessing for
the sick also. Of course our two little girls did not clap their hands
or shout for glee, for they were in a hospital where little children
must keep very quiet. But little May had to point out and tell about
the angel figure hung in the tip-top, as tho to remind of the angels
that sang over Bethlehem to the shepherds.
Poor Uncle! He was very sick and could hardly raise his head, all
bandaged and covered, but he looked happy and smiled. Then he wanted
May and Dorothy to sing their Christmas carol. They were just a little
bit afraid at first, because it was in a strange place, but soon
Dorothy picked up courage. Then May joined in with her little song. For
they were glad to do something for poor Uncle Mark, you know. These
were the verses they sang:
_Oh, holy the night when the dear angels came
To Bethlehem lowly in days long ago;
The sky grew all light with a heavenly flame
As they sang o’er the plain soft and low._
_For sweet in a manger the dear Savior lay,
Whom the shepherds came quickly to see;
And the praises of God as they went on their way,
Filled the hearts of the worshippers three._
_Yes, happy they are who to angel refrain
Shall awaken ’mid glory divine,
And shall come to the manger as they of the plain
While the light from above round them shine._
_Yes, glad would I go to old Bethlehem town,
Thus nearer my Jesus to be,
And joyfully carol, as angels come down,
The grace He revealeth to me._
_For when Jesus doth nestle adown in the breast,
There is light, there is joy and content:
Oh, blessed Messiah, that mercy impart,
Ere my days upon earth shall be spent._
_Grant me then, O my Savior, a Christmas to know
All aglow with the message of peace;
And in life, or in death, or in joy, or in woe
My gratitude never shall cease._
Of course, Uncle Mark thanked them very much for the song, yes, even
with tears in his eyes. When they went away, he raised his head and
waved a good-bye with his hand, and smiled. But when they were gone,
the tears ran down his cheeks, for he never saw them again, and they
never sang another song to their dear uncle.
The next day, after Christmas day, a very sad company gathered in the
home of our two little friends. Uncle Mark was gone, never to return;
and when it was all over, they talked together of their sorrow.
“Uncle Mark had a Christmas anyway, didn’t he?” said little May, who
could not understand.
“Yes, yes, child,” said Mama.
“Wasn’t that a beautiful tree!” exclaimed Dorothy; but she should have
known better than to speak. For Uncle Mark had a Christmas indeed, with
Jesus in heaven, where there is no hospital, or sickness, or sorrow,
but only joy and praise for evermore. And I am sure both little girls,
when they came to understand, were glad that they sang him a Christmas
song, even if they had no tree and no Christmas at home.
[Illustration: Decoration]
_Buddy’s Christmas Tree_
“Whyfor no snow, Unc’e Don?”
Uncle John went right ahead at his walk and said nothing.
“Whyfor no snow, Unc’e Don? Kismas come soon.”
Buddy seemed to have the idea fixed in his head that there ought to be
snow at Christmas time. He had been sucking his thumb industriously for
some time, and finally broke out in the above remark.
“Well,” said Uncle John, “If Christmas comes soon, I shouldn’t be
surprised if we did get some snow. Why does Buddy want snow?”
“So dat Santa Claus can make his sleigh go.”
The two had been walking back and forth for quite a while in the
morning sunshine along the path to the garden gate. As a variation
they had sat upon the bench under the wide spreading pine tree that
stood near the corner of the house, its long branches reaching almost
to the porch. Of late the days had been almost summer-like, and old
gray-headed Uncle John enjoyed the change of being out in the fresh
air. Thus their companionship had grown from day to day.
The path from the porch and front door of the house was well beaten.
It led right out to the gate. On either side were bushes, bare of
leaves and dry with the winter season, as well as the withered stems of
flowers. Along the fence that lined the road was a row of locust trees,
from which practically every leaf was gone. This meant a good deal when
one remembers how small the leaves of the locust are.
“Look—look, Unc’e Don!”
“Well, Buddy, you know I can’t look,” was the answer.
“No look, Unc’e Don?”—Buddy seemed very much surprised. He looked up at
the tall figure beside him with a puzzled air.
“Whyfor, Unc’e Don, whyfor no look?”
“Well, Buddy, you know my eyes don’t see. I used to see pretty well—few
better, I should say—many is the squirrel I have hit right in the
fall—but I’m getting old, and some time ago, before Buddy came, my
eyes quit seeing.”
“Eye quit?”
Buddy looked up with sympathetic interest at the tall form of Uncle
John, tall even if bent with age, and square shouldered still. As we
said above they had come to be companions, now since Buddy had made his
home at the old home of his mother, the good farm place now owned and
run by two of his uncles, Will and Martin. As they walked about the
little fellow had never realized that he had been eyes to the old man,
and that his busy chatter told of what was passing about. The little
lad had been both eyes and ears as he talked. Everything attracted his
attention from the bird on the branch to the passing automobile, from
the sunshine glittering among the branches of the trees to the whistle
of the winds across the fields.
The farm home stood at the cross-roads and had been the only home of
which Buddy had any remembrance. Here his mama had been a little girl,
and here his “grannyfather” had lived his days. Grandfather had planted
the pine tree, which now rose way above the house top.
“Mail-man, mail-man!” Buddy was shouting.
“Me get ’em, me get ’em!” he added, running for the gate. Mr. Mail-man
handed a piece or two to Buddy, but waited for Uncle John before he
handed over the rest.
“Some advertising” he explained, “Buddy will give it to Uncle Martin.”
Buddy started for the house, very proud of the commission that had been
entrusted to him. He was met at the door, and by the arrival of Old
John everybody became busy about the mail. Buddy and Uncle John soon
found themselves on the bench once more under the tall pine.
“Letter my Daddy?”
Buddy had been quiet again for some time, and then broke out in this
remark.
“Well, I guess not—what made you think of that?”
Uncle John had been unable to suppress his surprise. Instinctively he
reached out to lay his hand upon the boy.
“I dno.” Buddy fell into a meditative sucking of his thumb once more.
The question of his daddy had been one never referred to in the house.
He had gone away with the soldiers when the Great War broke out. This
was before Buddy was born. For some time they had received letters, but
now for more than three years there had been no word. In secret Mama
had likely shed many tears. As far as Buddy was concerned, it never
seemed to make any difference. He had never known a father, and had
lived a happy child and taken all good things for granted. Like the
sparrows of the field, he had lived without a care. The thought of a
father had hardly come into his life. For this reason the words were
all the more a surprise, and old, gray-headed Uncle John sat struck
silent in wonder at the boy.
“Me got letter, too, Unc’e Don,” explained Buddy, and his old Uncle
laughed.
“Who wrote the letter, Buddy?” inquired Uncle.
“Aw—jes’ one o’ dem bill ones,” explained Buddy.
And Uncle John laughed again.
“Aw’fu’ big tree, Unc’e Don,” remarked Buddy, all of a sudden, changing
the subject.
“I suppose it has grown big,” answered Uncle; “I remember when your
grandfather planted that tree. It wasn’t so big then.”
“Grannyfader, he plant it?” Buddy showed a surprised interest.
“Yes, long ago. It must have grown big since then. Most of the trees he
planted have died I suppose.”
The pine tree was indeed a large one. Standing as it did away from
the corner of the house, it rose a straight pine trunk, its green
top reaching far above the roof of the house. The tree looked like a
pyramid or cone, had in fact grown more and more into the shape of a
cone. The branches reached out in a remarkably straight way, the lower
ones being of extraordinary length. The green spines with an occasional
cone contrasted with the brown and rough bark. It was indeed a noble
tree, and had grown nobly in its place since the day “Grannyfader” set
out the original little pine shoot.
“Santy Claus—he come—come way up in air,” explained Buddy.
“Well, maybe—if there is a Santa Claus—” answered Uncle John.
“Santy he come way up in air—come right down tree—he do,” explained
Buddy.
“Travels in an airship?—a Santa for boys and girls to talk about, I
suppose,” continued Uncle.
“Climb right down tree—huh?” added Buddy questioningly.
“Probably that would be a handy way, all right,” agreed Uncle, smiling
and bobbing his head. For a long time Buddy sat studying the tree and
the new idea that had gotten into his mind. About this time Mama’s
voice called from the doorway and told them that dinner was ready. When
dinner was over Buddy was to take his usual nap.
“No want sleep,” was his remark as he rubbed his eyes. Mama went on
rocking just as tho he had not spoken.
“Haint Buddy got no daddy?”
The big, round eye looked up sleepily and earnestly.
Mama did not answer, but she clasped her little boy tightly in her
arms. Soon the sandman began to trip around, at first on tip toe, ever
so quietly, and as Mama rocked and hummed Buddy little by little found
his eyes so heavy they would not keep open.
“Buddy’s papa indeed!” This was what Mama thought of, as she laid the
little boy down on his cot for a nap. Her eyes filled with tears as
she watched the quiet breathing of the little lad, now far away in the
still places of dreamland.
Papa indeed! Sooner or later the question must come from Buddy’s lips,
and the longing of the little heart speak from the big, inquiring
eyes. Buddy had never seen his daddy. Perhaps there had been unkind
words and misunderstandings. The letters had come back from the Great
War, and they were kind enough. But then they had ceased, and the heart
was torn between the question whether Daddy had forgotten or whether
something had happened to him, of which there was no report. Once or
twice, to begin with, there had been a gift, but now there had been no
word or message for a very long time. Mama sighed as she turned from
the quiet little cot.
During these years Buddy had been a great comfort to Mama in her
loneliness. Now he was approaching his fourth birthday. He was old
enough to catch the Christmas idea. Certainly it had taken full
possession of him. Mama had read and told the Christmas story of the
Savior. Night and day he had dwelt upon its prospects. At the most
unexpected moments and in the most unexpected ways he would break out
with the notion of what was coming. He was all the time referring to
the “Kismas Tree” and the “Kismas Time.” And now, as old, gray-headed,
blind Uncle John related, he had connected the Christmas idea with the
idea of Daddy. Singular what expectations may arise in the mind of a
little boy. Mama stood, the tears rolling down her face, and watched
the tousled head, the long, slender limbs, the high open brow, as Buddy
lay in his little bed.
The following days were busy with holiday preparations. Buddy ran
about in play, but came back every now and then to talk about his
expectations, and to get a cooky or a piece of bread and butter. Uncle
John entertained him and occupied his attention, so that Mama might be
able to assist Aunt Clara and the folks about the house in their work.
Uncle Martin and Uncle Will always had a word for Buddy. They brought
in the wood, saw to the fires, and went out to do the chores. Sometimes
Buddy went along, and always he had many things to say. The only thing
was that he kept everybody busy watching him if he happened to be along.
“Me nervy,” he explained, and in saying so he was only echoing Uncle
Will, who sometimes got out of patience with his antics. Uncle Martin
had most patience, in listening to his many little speeches and
answering his questions. Buddy inquired many times about the hanging
up of stockings and other matters that seemed to him very essential in
view of the coming event. On Christmas Eve he hung up his stocking,
and while the family sat about, some reading papers, others busy with
final preparations, he allowed Mama to rock him to sleep, while “Unc’e
Don” dozed in his big chair. The evening had foretokened a storm. Uncle
Will had even intimated that there were prospects of snow. Outside the
wind roared, at times it even howled. The night was a dark and cloudy
one. The comfort of a warm fire in a sheltered home was good indeed, as
they sat about on the blustering and stormy evening of the night before
Christmas.
The next morning was clear and bright. All had been very quiet, about
the house. Uncle Will had looked to the fire and had been to the barn
about his chores. And now, as he stamped his feet on the porch, he
entered with a loud
“Merry Christmas!”
Buddy found himself crawling out of bed with wide open eyes in response
to the sound of the voices calling in answer to Uncle Will.
“Mama, Mama,” he yelled, and Mama came at once on hearing that he was
awake.
“Mama!—See—See—Snow—lot o’ snow!”
“Why—sure enough, Buddy.”
“Kismas time, Mama!”
Before his mother was able to answer, Buddy had run out of the bedroom
and was on the way down stairs. It was not until he had reached the
foot of the lowest step that Mama caught up with him, and he would
likely have run right out doors into the cold and snow had he not
been stopped. Aunt Clara called from the kitchen to remind him of the
stockings he had hung up. In she came also. Uncle John was already
seated in his big chair, and Uncles Martin and Will were warming
themselves. With a shout Buddy hurried up and was soon very busy
digging out of his stockings the many presents that were there, bags of
candy, toys, nuts. He was so busy, as were they all, that they almost
forgot their breakfast. When Aunt Clara reminded them that breakfast
was ready, Buddy could only be persuaded to come to the table when he
was allowed to take with him a roly-poly policeman of celluloid and an
iron horse that he had found among his presents. They had all bowed
their heads quietly, while Uncle Will read the Christmas story from the
Gospel of St. Luke, and had bowed their heads in prayer.
The last words of the Lord’s Prayer were just being uttered, with the
“Amen,” when there was the sound of a rap at the door. All about the
table started with surprise. Uncle Martin arose to open the door. When
the door swung back there stood before them a tall figure dressed in a
heavy gray overcoat.
The sudden silence of a deep surprise fell upon them all. Uncle Martin
seemed at a loss. It was a very unusual time to get a visitor. The
stranger took off his cap. He said:
“Mary?” Why he put the word in the tone of a question seemed hard to
understand. Then suddenly Mama gave a scream, and rose from her chair.
The stranger came forward, and took her in his arms. Horse in one hand
and policeman in the other, Buddy looked up wonderingly.
“Oh, Buddy! Oh, Charles!”
These were the words with which Mama greeted Daddy. For it was no other
than Daddy, returned from the World War.