CHRISTMAS.
Mary never forgot that Midnight Mass. The beautiful altar decked with
countless lights and masses of crimson roses; the kind, old,
white-haired priest; the incense, the music, the wonderful Crib, which
she could see from where she knelt beside her uncle in one of the front
pews--all made her wish that her father and mother were there, too.
After the two morning Masses, the children rushed to the recreation
room for a peep at their gifts before breakfast. The great tree at the
far end of the room first caught their eyes. It was bright with
colored lights, and was turning slowly around in the metal box in which
it stood, and from which came forth the sweet tones of the _Adeste,
Holy Night_, and other Christmas hymns. The branches of the tree bent
low with the weight of gifts and goodies.
"Oh! oh! see the big bunches of white grapes and the raisins and the
oranges and--and everything!"
"Yes, and all those boxes tied up in white paper with holly ribbon, and
our names on them. Last year the tree wasn't half so splendid."
"You must thank Doctor Carlton for all the extra things," Sister Austin
explained. "He is one of Santa Claus' helpers, you know; and besides
many of the presents and good things, he brought with him the lights
and the musical stand which have been used every year for Mary's tree."
The covers of their boxes from home had been loosened so that the
children could remove them easily; and such ohs! and ahs! and cries of
delight as filled the big room! There were two boxes for Mary, who
could scarcely wait until her uncle had opened them. He first pried
off the cover of the one bearing a foreign label; and with eager hands,
the little girl unwrapped a beautiful, white marble statue of Our Lady
of Lourdes, her mother's gift. Then came a small mosaic picture of her
favorite Madonna and a blackeyed, dark-haired doll dressed in Italian
costume, from her father; an album of Kodak pictures of the babies with
a tiny card saying, "To our big sister from Berta and Beth;" a dear,
little, white, knitted sack for Amelia Anabelle from Aunt Mandy; and a
gay card from Tom. Two flat boxes for her uncle and aunt contained
some fine large photographs of famous paintings and other gifts
suitable for them.
The second box was filled with books and games which the Doctor had
told Santa Claus to bring her. Nor had the little suitcase been
forgotten; and opening it, Mary found a travelling case containing
brush, comb, tooth and nail-brush holders, and all that she would need
on the journey. A dear little prayer book from her aunt and holy
pictures and medals from a number of the Sisters made her feel that she
had fared very well indeed; and in spite of her great longing for the
dear ones so far away, Christmas was a very happy day for her.
The greatest fun came just after supper when the sound of sleighbells
outside the windows surprised the children. Presently, Mother Johanna
herself ushered Santa Claus into the room--a dear, roly-poly, little
old man, his hair and beard shining with frost. Effie and the younger
children took refuge in the folds of Sister Austin's habit; but Mary,
fearing that he might think he was not welcome, overcame her shyness,
and running to him, caught his hand in both of hers and led him to the
tree. The Doctor mounted a ladder, and beginning at the very top of
the tree, handed Santa Claus the presents and good things which he,
with funny little speeches, then presented to the children. But the
tree was not stripped by any means. All the lights and tinsel and gay
balls and other ornaments were left on it to delight the little folks
during the holidays.
The happy day closed with Benediction, and Mary went to bed looking
forward to her visit to Gene's home.
But when the Doctor came up from the chaplain's cottage the following
morning, he told her that it had grown so much colder during the night
that he really feared to take her with him. "It is ten below zero, and
your poor little nose would be frozen during the long drive from the
station to Mr. Donnelly's. I shall be back early."
At noon, however, Sister Madeline came to tell Mary that her uncle had
just telephoned to say that Mr. Donnelly was far worse than he had
expected to find him, and that they were preparing to take him to a
hospital in the city.
"And----and won't Uncle come back here this evening, Aunt Mary?"
"He wishes you to meet the four o'clock train and return home with him.
Several things make it impossible for him to stop off here again. So
we must lose our dear little guest."
"I am truly sorry to go, Aunt Mary, for I have had such a good time in
spite of----of----oh, it will be so lonely at home now without Gene.
Uncle can be there only in the morning for a little while and at noon
and in the evening."
"Don't borrow trouble, dear. Uncle has a beautiful plan; but as it is
a surprise for you, I think it would be unfair to tell it now. Come,
we shall pack your suitcase, and then you will still have some time to
play with the children."
Great was their disappointment when Mary told her little friends that
she was about to leave them. In spite of the intense cold, all
insisted on going to the station with her. The Doctor was on the
platform of the car when the train stopped, and springing off, he
lifted Mary aboard. Entering the car, the little girl spied Gene
coming down the aisle to meet her. Mr. Donnelly and his wife were in
the drawing-room, where the poor sufferer had been made as comfortable
as possible. Gene took Mary to meet her father and mother, and then
brought her back to the doctor, who at once began to explain matters to
her.
"I thought it best to bring Mr. Donnelly in to the city this evening as
it would make it easier for Gene and her mother to have me with them to
manage things. We drove him to the station in an ambulance, and one
will be waiting to meet this train. You will be glad to know that Gene
will be with us until we leave for Texas. She and her mother will stay
at our home while Mr. Donnelly is at the hospital, where he will
probably be for some months. I shall feel better knowing that someone
is looking after things during our absence. Liza and Susie are always
to be trusted, of course; but they have never been left alone for any
length of time."
This was merely the Doctor's way of making things easy for Gene and her
mother. Mary was delighted with the plan, as much for Gene's sake as
for her own.