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T is only quite natural that the little folks throughout these United
States should set less store by Thanksgiving day than Christmas. It may
seem all very fine to sit down to a Thanksgiving dinner, but, after all,
Thanksgiving may not hold a candle to Christmas,--to Christmas, with
its continued round of excitement, beginning in the small hours of the
morning with the inspection of Christmas presents, and ending, in all
probability, with the glory and glitter of a well-loaded Christmas tree
at night. Yet I doubt if the most favoured little darling in the world,
who knew every wish for a twelvemonth would find its fulfilment on
Christmas morning, ever looked forward to that day as eagerly as our
little friends to this Thanksgiving.
I will do them the credit to say that they gave little thought to
the good things that were to fall to their own share. They were each
conjuring pictures for themselves of how those Spanish sailors would
look when they sat down to that good dinner. Two of the sailors knew
nothing of English beyond the two words “thank you.” Nan could see them
now saying it with their funny accent every time anything was passed to
them. And when she wondered how they would look when the money was
handed to them, she could hardly wait for the glad moment to come and
see for herself. She did not have to wait long, for those were her last
thoughts before falling asleep, and when she awoke it was Thanksgiving
morning. Of course the weather would have much to do with the pleasure
of the day, so the first thing she did was to fly to the window and
throw open the blinds. The late November sun, rising out of the ocean,
flooded everything with a rosy light, and the air was mild enough for
early October.
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Three or four seagulls were sailing over the waves In search of their
breakfast, making a dive now and then when their wonderful far-reaching
gaze detected a fish near the surface of the water. Nan watched one of
them circling round and round, and clapped her hands from sheer delight
when she saw him rise from a desperate dive with a fish quivering in
his talons, then flying homeward to his nest on the bough of some inland
tree. It seemed as though even the seagulls ought to fare better than
on other days. To be sure it put a sad ending to the life of the poor
little fish, but no doubt it was as allowable for seagulls to dine
off men-haden, as for people to dine off roast turkeys and ducks.
This logical train of thought, and some other thoughts not as logical,
tripped through Nan's mind as she made her neat little toilet. The
brown hair was braided quickly but very evenly, and tied with a scarlet
ribbon; the whitest of little yoke-aprons was put on over the blue
flannel dress, and, notwithstanding it opened down the back and boasted
fifteen buttons, was carefully adjusted by Nan's own little fingers.
it is astonishing what “own little fingers” can do for the children who
must needs wait on themselves.
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A radiant embodiment of sweetness and freshness, Nan bustled into the
dining-room, to find the boys there before her. They were curled up on
the window-seat looking over, for perhaps the tenth time, the budget of
envelopes which Miss Vale had sent the night before.
“You look good enough to eat this morning,” said Harry, with a look of
honest admiration.
“Well. I guess I shall not be good enough to let you eat me,” Nan
answered, blushing a little.
Harry caught her dress as she passed him, and held her firmly while he
gave her the heartiest sort of a kiss. The truth is that two months ago
Harry would have done nothing of the sort. It might have occurred to
him, but he simply would not have done it. Regie had been teaching him
a lesson. Always gallant and thoughtful himself toward Nan, Harry had
watched him closely, and gradually had come to the conclusion that a
brother might really treat his sister with much consideration without
being set down for a spoony; indeed, might even go so far as to actually
express his admiration, not only in words, but in the deed of an
unexpected kiss now and then, without being silly. The lesson was well
worth learning, and would it might be taught to a host of well-meaning
little Harrys, who need to learn it every whit as much as this Harry in
particular! As soon as Sister Julia arrived they had breakfast. She ran
up every morning from the hospital, for the sake of the change and fresh
air. As soon as the meal was finished, preparations were at once begun
for the great Thanksgiving dinner. In the first place Dobbin was brought
to the door, and the two boys helped Captain Murray carry out from the
hall several well-filled boxes and baskets; for the dinner was to be
served in the rear end of the chapel, as Captain Murray's dining-room
was too small to accommodate so large a party comfortably; besides, one
or two of the men were not so far recovered as to be able to venture
out of doors. Pet and the cart were also pressed into service, and made
numerous trips to and fro, until at last, with the help of the sailors,
everything had been unloaded at the chapel door.
Mrs. Murray, in a long white apron, presided over the cooking, and soon
a strange new incense, which was none other than the smell of roasting
turkey, began to make its way to the rafters of the church.
The captain on his cot sniffed it gratefully, and he wished from the
bottom of his heart that he was up and about and able to enjoy it.
Sister Julia busied herself with setting the table. Rex and Harry sat
in one corner paring potatoes, and the sailors strolled about with their
hands in their pockets, and broad smiles on their dark faces, rendering
some little service whenever they could.
The one who could not speak English at all kept near Mrs. Murray,
watching her intently with his large black eyes, and trying to
anticipate any little thing he might do for her, such as lifting the
great pot, in which a Savoury soup was boiling away, or pushing more
wood into the cooking-stove.
“Well, Sister Julia, what can I do now?” asked Nan, when she had
finished the glasses.
“Let me see,” answered Sister Julia, pausing a second to count the
places at the table, to be sure she had made no mistake; “I think you
might arrange the fruit. The bananas and oranges will look the better
for a careful rubbing with one of the glass towels.”
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“All right,” Nan said, cheerily, glad to have so important a task
assigned to her. Just as she had gotten everything together a sudden
thought occurred to her, and seizing a fruit dish under each arm, she
travelled down the aisles and into the vestry.
During the week she and the Spanish captain had grown to be fast
friends, and his face brightened the moment he saw her.
“I was thinking you might be a little lonely,” she said; “if you like, I
can bring my work in here and do it.”
“Indeed, senorita, nothing would please me better,” the captain
answered, in musical broken English. The captain always addressed Nan as
“senorita,” the pretty word that stands for miss in his native tongue.
Nan asked two of the sailors to carry the great box of oranges and
bananas into the vestry, and seating herself on the floor, with a dish
on each side of her, she set to work.
“How do you feel to-day, captain?” she asked, by way of opening the
conversation, and rubbing vigorously away at an orange.
“Better, senorita; but one does not want to get well too fast, and say
good-bye to Sister Julia and the rest of you who have been so kind to us
all.”
“You are sorry, then, that you tried to do it, aren't you?”
“Do what, senorita?” and the colour came into his dark face.
“Why, kill yourself, captain,” polishing away at a banana without
looking up, and feeling pretty sure it would have been better not to
have said this.
“I had hoped the little senorita did not know about that,” sighed the
captain. “It was a cowardly and foolish thing to do.”
“It was a very wicked thing, captain. I hope you never will try to do it
again.”
“Never you fear,” he answered, smiling; “all my life I will try to make
amends for it; and I will tell you something you may think strange,
senorita, and that is, that this has been the happiest week in all my
life. Two or three times when I have been lying here, just at sunset,
where I could watch the great white breakers come rolling in, and Sister
Julia has been playing on the organ in the church there, I have thought
I must be dreaming in my berth in the poor _Christina_. Then I have
raised myself on my elbow, so that I could look into the chancel yonder
and see the cross on the altar cloth, and feel sure it was really all as
it seemed.”
“You are not exactly glad you were wrecked, though?” Nan asked,
practically.
“Yes, in a way, I am glad.”
“You don't forget about losing all your money and things, do you?”
“No, but perhaps it's worth while to have lost one's money to be wrecked
on a coast of big and little angels.”
“Big and little angels!”
“Yes, and if you want to know why it seems so to me you must listen to a
story.”
There was no “must listen” for Nan where a story was concerned. She was
all attention in a moment, an eager breathless little listener, and the
captain began.
“Just thirty-six years ago a Spanish boy found himself without father or
mother, and was set adrift on the world. Not a penny did he own, but he
was a hearty, fearless little fellow, and he managed somehow to live,
though he seldom knew where the next meal was to come from, or where
he would sleep at night. By the time the boy was ten years old he grew
tired of his vagabond life, and longed to learn how to read and write.
So he resolved to go to the village school, and he earned a little money
out of school hours here and there, and was a happier fellow than in the
old idle days.
“No sooner had he learned to read and write in pretty decent fashion
than he decided to run away to sea, for he had always a notion that he
would be a sailor some day. I do not know that you could exactly call it
running away, when no one cared very much whether he came or went; but
for the next few years he had a pretty hard time of it, for to go to sea
before the mast under a harsh and cruel captain is likely to make life
rather difficult. Sometimes when he was sent out to reef the top-gallant
sail he would balance himself on the yard, wondering if it would not be
better to let himself drop into the ocean--the men would only think he
had tumbled off; but somehow the fear of God always kept him from it.”
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“Notwithstanding the hardship he went to sea again until he was
twenty-five years old, and by that time he had worked up to be first
mate of the----”
“Of the _Christina?_” Nan questioned, eagerly.
“Yes, of the _Christina_,” the captain admitted; “and he had managed to
save enough to become part owner of her besides.” Nan had finished her
work, but was quite unmindful of the fact, and sat gazing up to the
captain's face, with her hands clasped round her knees.
“Had he grown up to be a good man?” she asked, innocently. “I am afraid
not, senorita, as you would count goodness.”
“Was he kind to his men?” altogether unconscious of how embarrassing her
questions might prove.
“Yes, he was kind. That was the best thing that could be said for him.
He did not deserve any credit for that, though, for he had suffered so
much himself from unkindness.”
“Then he deserved all the more credit,” Nan said, decidedly, and the
colour in the captain's face showed how grateful her praise was to him.
“Well, it happened one November morning,” he continued, “ten years
afterward, that when he had been battling all night with the wind and
the waves of a terrible storm, his ship ran ashore, and in such a way
that he knew he could never save her. All the earnings of his lifetime
gone in a minute! What was there to live for? He had not a relative in
the world, and that ship was his darling. Then the thought to take his
own life came to him, as it used to sometimes when he was a poor little
sailor on the top-gallant yard, only now that he was a man no thought
of God came with it, and so the desperate deed was attempted.” Nan had
never listened to anything so fascinating in all her life before.
“That is not all?” she asked, eagerly, for the captain had paused for a
moment.
“Thank God, no! scarcely did the captain--for he was no longer first
mate--think that the ugly weapon had done its work, than he seemed to be
all by himself in a beautiful silver boat on a wide blue sea. It was a
little boat, without sails or oars, and it bounded over the waves of
its own free will, so that the captain had simply to let it carry
him whither it would. Soon he knew they were nearing a shore, for he
recognised the sound of breakers on the beach; but he shuddered as he
heard it, for he half-remembered that something terrible had happened
when he had heard that sound once before But his fright was over in
a moment, for he saw a great banner waving in the air, and on it was
printed, in gold letters, 'The Shore of Loving kindness.'”
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“As he neared the land, one curling white breaker seemed gently to lift
the boat on to the next, until at last it was landed on a great white
stretch of beach. It seemed to the captain such a beautiful shore, that
he wondered if it might be heaven; and if it was, he knew he had no
right there. He tried to lift himself up and step out of the little
boat, but somehow he was not able to do that; so he lay quite still and
contented, looking up at the stars overhead,--wonderful stars they
were, for the only light there was came from them, and yet he could see
everything plainly. At last the stars seemed to grow dim and still more
dim, and the captain turned himself over on the silk cushions of the
boat and fell asleep. When he awoke he stared about him with a wondering
gaze, for everything looked so strange. He was no longer in the
silk-cushioned boat, but lying on a cot in a little room, a queer little
room, with a carved oaken partition, and soft red curtains running along
two sides of it. He could not see very plainly, for the light was low
in the room, and he could not tell where it came from. He felt something
heavy on his head, and put his hand up, for he remembered that he had
thought that the little red boat had landed him in heaven. But alas!
there was no crown, only a tightly-bound bandage, and the moment his
hand touched it he guessed why it was there, and that he was only a
shipwrecked captain whom someone had cared for. But where was he? A door
led out of his little room--into what? Why, it looked like a church;
yes, it was surely a church,' for the moonlight was streaming through
the chancel window, and he could see the communion table and some one
sitting beyond the chancel rail. How strange! What could it mean? He put
his hand to his head again to make sure of the bandage, and that he
was not dreaming. And now the figure has left the table, and is moving
toward him. It comes gently to the side of his cot, and he can see that
it is a woman, a woman with the face of an angel. The captain looks up
at her with a wondering gaze; but she puts her finger to her lips as a
sign that he must not speak. Then she makes the light brighter in the
room, and draws a chair to his side, and tells him in a low, sweet voice
all about himself--how he happens to be in the vestry of the little
church; and finally she tells him that she means to take care of him
until he is entirely well again. But the captain almost wishes he may
never be well again, if he may only have that angel face to watch over
him.”
“That angel was Sister Julia,” said Nan, with a sigh, as though to
relieve her overcharged little heart.
“Yes, that was Sister Julia,” assented the captain.
“But you said there were little angels, too,” Nan said, innocently.
“Certainly. I have a picture of the little _arch_angel (that is, the
principal one) here beside me,” and the captain placed a little frame in
Nan's eager hands.
Of course it proved to be only a little mirror, in which she saw the
reflection of her own fair little face.
“Do you call a round chubby face like that the face of an angel?” she
laughed, holding the little mirror at arm's length and looking in, in a
funny, half-critical fashion.
“Yes, I do. It has been a real angel face to me, coming in and out of
this vestry room with its bright smiles.”
“Why, where is Nan?” someone called just then.
“Coming, Sister Julia,” Nan answered, jumping to her feet, and with an
effort lifting one of the heavy fruit dishes.
“I must go,” she said, reluctantly; but when she reached the door she
paused for a moment to look back and ask, “It was true, wasn't it,
all that about when you were a boy; all except about the boat and the
angels?”
“Every word of it,” answered the captain; “and it was true about the
angels, too, senorita.”
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