It was fine Christmas weather. Several light snow-storms in the early
part of December had left the earth fair and white, and the sparkling,
cold days that followed were enough to make the most crabbed and
morose of mankind cheerful, as with a foretaste of the joyous season
at hand. Down town the sidewalks were crowded with mothers and
sisters, buying gifts for their sons, brothers, and husbands, who
found it impossible to get anywhere by taking the ordinary course of
foot-travel, and were obliged to stalk along the snowy streets beside
the curbstone, in a sober but not ill-humored row.
Among those who were looking forward to the holidays with keen
anticipations of pleasure, were Mr. and Mrs. Brownlow, of Elm Street,
Boston. They had quietly talked the matter over together, and decided
that, as there were three children in the family (not counting
themselves, as they might well have done), it would be a delightful
and not too expensive luxury to give a little Christmas party.
“You see, John,” said Mrs. Brownlow, “we’ve been asked, ourselves, to
half a dozen candy-pulls and parties since we’ve lived here, and it
seems nothin’ but fair that we should do it once ourselves.”
“That’s so, Clarissy,” replied her husband slowly; “but then--there’s
so many of us, and my salary’s--well, it would cost considerable,
little woman, wouldn’t it?”
“I’ll tell you what!” she exclaimed. “We needn’t have a regular
grown-up party, but just one for children. We can get a small tree,
and a bit of a present for each of the boys and girls, with ice-cream
and cake, and let it go at that. The whole thing sha’n’t cost ten
dollars.”
“Good!” said Mr. Brownlow heartily. “I knew you’d get some way out of
it. Let’s tell Bob and Sue and Polly, so they can have the fun of
looking forward to it.”
So it was settled and all hands entered into the plan with such a
degree of earnestness that one would have thought these people were
going to have some grand gift themselves, instead of giving to others,
and pinching for a month afterwards, in their own comforts, as they
knew they would have to do.
The first real difficulty they met was in deciding whom to invite.
John was for asking only the children of their immediate neighbors;
but Mrs. Brownlow said it would be a kindness, as well as polite, to
include those who were better off than themselves.
“I allus think, John,” she explained, laying her hand on his shoulder,
“that it’s just’s much despisin’ to look down on your rich
neighbors--as if all they’d got was money--as on your poor ones. Let’s
ask ’em all: Deacon Holsum’s, the Brights, and the Nortons.” The
Brights were Mr. Brownlow’s employers.
“Anybody else?” queried her husband, with his funny twinkle. “P’raps
you’d like to have me ask the governor’s family, or Jordan & Marsh!”
“Now, John, don’t you be saucy,” she laughed, relieved at having
carried her point. “Let’s put our heads together, and see who to set
down. Susie will write the notes in her nice hand, and Bob can deliver
them, to save postage.”
“Well, you’ve said three,” counted Mr. Brownlow on his fingers. “Then
there’s Mrs. Sampson’s little girl, and the four Williamses, and”--he
enumerated one family after another, till nearly thirty names were on
the list.
Once Susie broke in, “O Pa, _don’t_ invite that Mary Spenfield; she’s
awfully stuck-up and cross!”
“Good!” said her father again. “This will be just the thing for her.
Let her be coffee and you be sugar, and see how much you can sweeten
her that evening.”
In the few days that intervened before the twenty-fifth, the whole
family were busy enough, Mrs. Brownlow shopping, Susie writing the
notes, and the others helping wherever they got a chance. Every
evening they spread out upon the sitting-room floor such presents as
had been bought during the day. These were not costly, but they were
chosen lovingly, and seemed very nice indeed to Mr. Brownlow and the
children, who united in praising the discriminating taste of Mrs. B.,
as with justifiable pride she sat in the center of the room, bringing
forth her purchases from the depths of a capacious carpetbag.
The grand final expenditure was left until the day before Christmas.
Mr. Brownlow got off from his work early, with his month’s salary in
his pocket, and a few kind words from his employers tucked away even
more securely in his warm heart. He had taken special pains to include
their children for his party, and he was quietly enjoying the thought
of making them happy on the morrow.
By a preconcerted plan he met Mrs. Brownlow under the great golden
eagle at the corner of Summer and Washington streets; and, having thus
joined forces, the two proceeded in company toward a certain wholesale
toy-shop where Mr. Brownlow was acquainted, and where they expected to
secure such small articles as they desired, at dozen rates.
And now Mr. Brownlow realized what must have been his wife’s exertions
during the last fortnight. For having gallantly relieved her of her
carpetbag, and offered his unoccupied arm for her support, he was
constantly engaged in a struggle to maintain his hold upon either one
or the other of his charges, and rescuing them with extreme difficulty
from the crowd. At one time he was simultaneously attacked at both
vulnerable points, a very stout woman persisting in thrusting herself
between him and his already bulging carpetbag, on the one hand, and an
equally persistent old gentleman engaged in separating Mrs. Brownlow
from him, on the other. With flushed but determined face he held on to
both with all his might, when a sudden stampede, to avoid a passing
team, brought such a violent pressure upon him that he found both
Clarissa and bag dragged from him, while he himself was borne at least
a rod away before he could stem the tide. Fortunately, the stout woman
immediately fell over the bag, and Mr. Brownlow, having by this means
identified the spot where it lay, hewed his way, figuratively
speaking, to his wife and bore her off triumphantly. At last, to the
relief of both, they reached the entrance of the toy-dealer’s huge
store. Mr. Brownlow at once hunted up his friend, and all three set
about a tour of the premises.
It was beyond doubt a wonderful place. A little retail shop, in the
Christmas holidays, is of itself a marvel; but this immense
establishment, at the back doors of which stood wagons constantly
receiving cases on cases of goods directed to all parts of the
country, was quite another thing. Such long passageways there were,
walled in from floor to ceiling with boxes of picture-blocks, labeled
in German; such mysterious, gloomy alcoves, by the sides of which
lurked innumerable wild animals with glaring eyes and rigid tails;
such fleets of Noah’s arks, wherein were bestowed the patriarch’s
whole family (in tight-fitting garments of yellow and red) and
specimens of all creation, so promiscuously packed together that it
must have been extremely depressing to all concerned; such a delicious
smell of sawdust and paint and wax; in short such presentation of Toy
in the abstract, and Toy in particular, and Toy overhead, and
underfoot, and in the very air,--could never have existed outside of
Cottlow & Co.’s, Manufacturers, Dealers, and Importers of Toys.
Mrs. Brownlow was fairly at her wits’ end to choose. When she meekly
inquired for tin soldiers, solid regiments of them sprang up, like
Jason’s armed men, at her bidding. At the suggestion of a doll, the
world seemed suddenly and solely peopled with these little creatures,
and winking, crying, walking and talking dolls crowded about the
bewildered customers,--dolls with flaxen hair, and dolls with no hair
at all; dolls of imposing proportions when viewed in front, but of no
thickness to speak of, when held sideways; dolls as rigid as mummies,
and dolls who exhibited an alarming tendency to double their arms and
legs up backward. To add to the confusion, the air was filled with the
noise of trumpets, drums, musical boxes and other instruments, which
were being tested in various parts of the building, until poor Mrs.
Brownlow declared she should go distracted. At length, however, she
and her husband, with the assistance of their polite friend,
succeeded in selecting two or three dozen small gifts, and, when the
last purchase was concluded, started for home.
After a walk of ten minutes, they reached Boylston Market, where they
were at once beset by venders of evergreen and holly wreaths, crosses
and stars of every description. Mr. Brownlow bought half a dozen of
the cheaper sort of wreaths, which the owner kindly threaded upon his
arm, as if they were a sort of huge, fragrant beads. Then he selected
a tree, and, after a short consultation with Mrs. Brownlow, decided to
carry it home himself, to save a quarter. A horse-car opportunely
passing, they boarded it, Mrs. Brownlow and her bag being with some
difficulty squeezed in through the rear door, and Mr. Brownlow taking
his stand upon the front platform, from which the tree, which had been
tightly tied up, projected like a bowsprit, until they reached home.
Great was the bustle at 17 Elm Street that night. Parcels were
unwrapped; the whole house was pleasantly redolent of boiling
molasses; and from the kitchen there came at the same time a scratchy
and poppy sound, denoting the preparation of mounds of feathery corn.
Bob and his father took upon themselves the uprearing of the tree. On
being carried to the parlor it was found to be at least three feet too
long, and Mr. Brownlow, in his shirt-sleeves, accomplished wonders
with a saw, smearing himself in the process with pitch, from head to
foot.
The tree seemed at first inclined to be sulky, perhaps at having been
decapitated and curtailed; for it obstinately leaned backward, kicked
over the soapbox in which it was set, bumped against Mr. Brownlow,
tumbled forward, and in short, behaved itself like a tree which was
determined to lie on its precious back all the next day, or perish in
the attempt. At length, just as they were beginning to despair of ever
getting it firm and straight, it gave a little quiver of its limbs,
yielded gracefully to a final push by Bob, and stood upright, as fair
and comely a Christmas tree as one would wish to see. Mr. Brownlow
crept out backward from under the lower branches, (thereby throwing
his hair into the wildest confusion and adding more pitch to himself),
and regarded it with a sigh of content. Such presents as were to be
disposed of in this way were now hung upon the branches; then strings
of pop-corn, bits of wool, and glistening paper, a few red apples, and
lastly the candles. When all was finished, which was not before
midnight, the family withdrew to their beds, with weary limbs and
brains, but with light-hearted anticipation of to-morrow.
“Do you s’pose Mrs. Bright will come with her children, John?” asked
Mrs. Brownlow, as she turned out the gas.
“Shouldn’t--wonder”--sleepily from the four-poster.
“Did Mr. Bright say anything about the invitation we sent, when he
paid you off?”
Silence. More silence. Good Mr. Brownlow was asleep, and Clarissa soon
followed him.
Meanwhile the snow, which had been falling fast during the early part
of the evening, had ceased, leaving the earth as fair to look upon as
the fleece-drifted sky above it. Slowly the heavy banks of cloud
rolled away, disclosing star after star, until the moon itself looked
down, and sent a soft “Merry Christmas” to mankind. At last came the
dawn, with a glorious burst of sunlight and church-bells and glad
voices, ushering in the gladdest and dearest day of all the year.
The Brownlows were early astir, full of the joyous spirit of the day.
There was a clamor of Christmas greetings, and a delighted medley of
shouts from the children over the few simple gifts that had been
secretly laid aside for them. But the ruling thought in every heart
was the party. It was to come off at five o’clock in the afternoon,
when it would be just dark enough to light the candles on the tree.
In spite of all the hard work of the preceding days, there was not a
moment to spare that forenoon. The house, as the head of the family
facetiously remarked, was a perfect hive of B’s.
As the appointed hour drew near, their nervousness increased. The
children had been scrubbed from top to toe, and dressed in their very
best clothes; Mrs. Brownlow wore a cap with lavender ribbons, which
she had a misgiving were too gaudy for a person of her sedate years.
Nor was the excitement confined to the interior of the house. The
tree was placed in the front parlor, close to the window, and by
half-past four a dozen ragged children were gathered about the iron
fence of the little front yard, gazing open-mouthed and open-eyed at
the spectacular wonders within. At a quarter before five Mrs.
Brownlow’s heart beat hard every time she heard a strange footstep in
their quiet street. It was a little odd that none of the guests had
arrived; but then, it was fashionable to be late!
Ten minutes more passed. Still no arrivals. It was evident that each
was planning not to be the first to get there, and that they would all
descend on the house and assault the door-bell at once. Mrs. Brownlow
repeatedly smoothed the wrinkles out of her tidy apron, and Mr.
Brownlow began to perspire with responsibility.
Meanwhile the crowd outside, recognizing no rigid bonds of etiquette,
rapidly increased in numbers. Mr. Brownlow, to pass the time and
please the poor little homeless creatures, lighted two of the candles.
The response from the front-yard fence was immediate. A low murmur of
delight ran along the line, and several dull-eyed babies were hoisted,
in the arms of babies scarcely older than themselves, to behold the
rare vision of candles in a tree, just illumining the further
splendors glistening here and there among the branches.
The kind man’s heart warmed towards them, and he lighted two more
candles. The delight of the audience could now hardly be restrained,
and the babies, having been temporarily lowered by the aching little
arms of their respective nurses, were shot up once more to view the
redoubled grandeur.
The whole family had become so much interested in these small outcasts
that they had not noticed the flight of time. Now some one glanced
suddenly at the clock, and exclaimed, “It’s nearly half-past five!”
The Brownlows looked at one another blankly. Poor Mrs. Brownlow’s
smart ribbons drooped in conscious abasement, while mortification and
pride struggled in their wearer’s kindly face, over which, after a
moment’s silence, one large tear slowly rolled, and dropped off.
Mr. Brownlow gave himself a little shake and sat down, as was his wont
upon critical occasions. As his absent gaze wandered about the room,
so prettily decked for the guests who didn’t come, it fell upon a
little worn, gilt-edged volume on the table. At that sight, a new
thought occurred to him. “Clarissy,” he said softly, going over to his
wife and putting his arm around her, “Clarissy, seein’s the well-off
folks haven’t accepted, don’t you think we’d better invite some of the
others in?” And he pointed significantly toward the window.
Mrs. Brownlow, despatching another tear after the first, nodded. She
was not quite equal to words yet. Being a woman, the neglect of her
little party cut her even more deeply than it did her husband.
Mr. Brownlow stepped to the front door. Nay more, he walked down the
short flight of steps, took one little girl by the hand, and said in
his pleasant, fatherly way,
“Wouldn’t you like to go in and look at the tree? Come, Puss” (to the
waif at his side), “we’ll start first.”
With these words he led the way back through the open door, and into
the warm, lighted room. The children hung back a little, but seeing
that no harm came to the first guest, soon flocked in, each trying to
keep behind all the rest, but at the same time shouldering the babies
up into view as before.
In the delightful confusion that followed, the good hosts forgot all
about the miscarriage of their plans. They completely outdid
themselves, in efforts to please their hastily acquired company. Bob
spoke a piece, the girls sang duets. Mrs. Brownlow had held every
individual baby in her motherly arms before half an hour was over. And
as for Mr. Brownlow, it was simply marvelous to see him go among those
children, giving them the presents, and initiating their owners into
the mysterious impelling forces of monkeys with yellow legs and
gymnastic tendencies; filling the boys’ pockets with pop-corn, blowing
horns and tin whistles; now assaulting the tree (it had been lighted
throughout, and--bless it--how firm it stood now!) for fresh
novelties, now diving into the kitchen and returning in an unspeakably
cohesive state of breathlessness and molasses candy,--all the while
laughing, talking, patting heads, joking, until the kindly Spirit of
Christmas Present would have wept and smiled at once, for the
pleasure of the sight.
“And now, my young friends,” said Mr. Brownlow, raising his voice,
“we’ll have a little ice-cream in the back room. Ladies first,
gentlemen afterward!” So saying, he gallantly stood on one side, with
a sweep of his hand, to allow Mrs. Brownlow to precede him. But just
as the words left his mouth there came a sharp ring at the door-bell.
“It’s a carriage!” gasped Mrs. Brownlow, flying to the front window,
and backing precipitately. “Susie, go to that door an’ see who ’tis.
Land sakes, _what_ a mess this parlor’s in!” And she gazed with a true
housekeeper’s dismay at the littered carpet and dripping candles.
“Deacon Holsum and Mrs. Hartwell, Pa!” announced Susie, throwing open
the parlor door.
The lady thus mentioned came forward with outstretched hand. Catching
a glimpse of Mrs. Brownlow’s embarrassed face she exclaimed quickly--
“Isn’t this splendid! Father and I were just driving past, and we saw
your tree through the window, and couldn’t resist dropping in upon
you. You won’t mind us, will you?”
“Mind--you!” repeated Mrs. Brownlow, in astonishment. “Why of course
not--only you are so late--we didn’t expect”--
Mrs. Hartwell looked puzzled.
“Pardon me,--I don’t think I quite understand”--
“The invitation was for five, you know, ma’am.”
“But we received no invitation!”
Mr. Brownlow, who had greeted the deacon heartily and then listened
with amazement to this conversation, now turned upon Bob, with a
signally futile attempt at a withering glance.
Bob looked as puzzled as the rest, for a moment. Then his face fell,
and he flushed to the roots of his hair.
“I--I--must have--forgot”--he stammered.
“Forgotten what?”
“The invitations--they’re in my desk now!”
Thus Bob, with utterly despairing tone and self-abasement.
Mrs. Hartwell’s silvery little laugh rang out--it was as near
moonlight playing on the upper keys of an organ as anything you can
imagine--and grasped Mrs. Brownlow’s hand.
“You poor dear!” she cried, kissing her hostess, who stood speechless,
not knowing whether to laugh or cry, “so that’s why nobody came! But
who has cluttered--who has been having such a good time here, then?”
Mr. Brownlow silently led the last two arrivals to the door of the
next room, and pointed in. It was now the kind deacon’s turn to be
touched.
“‘Into the highways’!” he murmured, as he looked upon the unwashed,
hungry little circle about the table.
“I s’pose,” said Mr. Brownlow doubtfully, “they’d like to have you sit
down with ’em, just ’s if they were folks--if you didn’t mind?”
Mind! I wish you could have seen the rich furs and overcoat come off
and go down on the floor in a heap, before Polly could catch them!
When they were all seated, Mr. Brownlow looked over to the deacon, and
he asked a blessing on the little ones gathered there. “Thy servants,
the masters of this house, have suffered them to come unto thee,” he
said in his prayer. “Wilt thou take them into thine arms, O Father of
lights, and bless them!”
A momentary hush followed, and then the fun began again. Sweetly and
swiftly kind words flew back and forth across the table, each one
carrying its own golden thread and weaving the hearts of poor and rich
into the one fine fabric of brotherhood and humanity they were meant
to form.
Outside, the snow began to fall once more, each crystaled flake
whispering softly as it touched the earth that Christmas night,
“_Peace--peace_!”