It was very early Christmas morning, and in the stillness of the dawn,
with the soft snow falling on the housetops, a little child was born in
the Bird household.
They had intended to name the baby Lucy, if it were a girl; but they
hadn't expected her on Christmas morning, and a real Christmas baby was
not to be lightly named--the whole family agreed in that.
They were consulting about it in the nursery. Mr. Bird said that he
had assisted in naming the three boys, and that he should leave this
matter entirely to Mrs. Bird; Donald wanted the child called "Maud,"
after a pretty little curly-haired girl who sat next him in school;
Paul chose "Luella," for Luella was the nurse who had been with him
during his whole babyhood, up to the time of his first trousers, and
the name suggested all sorts of comfortable things. Uncle Jack said
that the first girl should always be named for her mother, no matter
how hideous the name happened to be.
Grandma said that she would prefer not to take any part in the
discussion, and everybody suddenly remembered that Mrs. Bird had
thought of naming the baby Lucy, for Grandma herself; and, while it
would be indelicate for her to favor that name, it would be against
human nature for her to suggest any other, under the circumstances.
Hugh, the "hitherto baby," if that is a possible term, sat in one
corner and said nothing, but felt, in some mysterious way, that his
nose was out of joint; for there was a newer baby now, a possibility he
had never taken into consideration; and the "first girl," too, a still
higher development of treason, which made him actually green with
jealousy.
But it was too profound a subject to be settled then and there, on the
spot; besides, Mama had not been asked, and everybody felt it rather
absurd, after all, to forestall a decree that was certain to be
absolutely wise, just and perfect.
The reason that the subject had been brought up at all so early in the
day lay in the fact that Mrs. Bird never allowed her babies to go over
night unnamed. She was a person of so great decision of character that
she would have blushed at such a thing; she said that to let blessed
babies go dangling and dawdling about without names, for months and
months, was enough to ruin them for life. She also said that if one
could not make up one's mind in twenty-four hours it was a sign
that--but I will not repeat the rest, as it might prejudice you against
the most charming woman in the world.
So Donald took his new velocipede and went out to ride up and down the
stone pavement and notch the shins of innocent people as they passed
by, while Paul spun his musical top on the front steps.
But Hugh refused to leave the scene of action. He seated himself on
the top stair in the hall, banged his head against the railing a few
times, just by way of uncorking the vials of his wrath, and then
subsided into gloomy silence, waiting to declare war if more "first
girl babies" were thrust upon a family already surfeited with that
unnecessary article.
Meanwhile dear Mrs. Bird lay in her room, weak, but safe and happy with
her sweet girl baby by her side and the heaven of motherhood opening
before her. Nurse was making gruel in the kitchen, and the room was
dim and quiet. There was a cheerful open fire in the grate, but though
the shutters were closed, the side windows that looked out on the
Church of our Saviour, next door, were wide open.
Suddenly a sound of music poured out into the bright air and drifted
into the chamber. It was the boy-choir singing Christmas anthems.
Higher and higher rose the clear, fresh voices, full of hope and cheer,
as children's voices always are. Fuller and fuller grew the burst of
melody as one glad strain fell upon another in joyful harmony:
"Carol, brothers, carol,
Carol joyfully,
Carol the good tidings,
Carol merrily!
And pray a gladsome Christmas
For all your fellow-men;
Carol, brothers, carol,
Christmas Day again."
One verse followed another always with the same glad refrain:
"And pray a gladsome Christmas
For all your fellow-men:
Carol, brothers, carol,
Christmas Day again."
Mrs. Bird thought, as the music floated in upon her gentle sleep, that
she had slipped into heaven with her new baby, and that the angels were
bidding them welcome. But the tiny bundle by her side stirred a
little, and though it was scarcely more than the ruffling of a feather,
she awoke; for the mother-ear is so close to the heart that it can hear
the faintest whisper of a child.
She opened her eyes and drew the baby closer. It looked like a rose
dipped in milk, she thought, this pink and white blossom of girlhood,
or like a pink cherub, with its halo of pale yellow hair, finer than
floss silk.
"Carol, brothers, carol,
Carol joyfully,
Carol the good tidings,
Carol merrily!"
The voices were brimming over with joy.
"Why, my baby," whispered Mrs. Bird in soft surprise, "I had forgotten
what day it was. You are a little Christmas child, and we will name
you 'Carol'--mother's little Christmas Carol!"
"What!" said Mr. Bird, coming in softly and closing the door behind him.
"Why, Donald, don't you think 'Carol' is a sweet name for a Christmas
baby? It came to me just a moment ago in the singing as I was lying
here half asleep and half awake."
"I think it is a charming name, dear heart, and that it sounds just
like you, and I hope that, being a girl, this baby has some chance of
being as lovely as her mother," at which speech from the baby's papa,
Mrs. Bird, though she was as weak and tired as she could be, blushed
with happiness.
And so Carol came by her name.
Of course, it was thought foolish by many people, though Uncle Jack
declared laughingly that it was very strange if a whole family of Birds
could not be indulged in a single Carol; and Grandma, who adored the
child, thought the name much more appropriate than Lucy, but was glad
that people would probably think it short for Caroline.
Perhaps because she was born in holiday time, Carol was a very happy
baby. Of course, she was too tiny to understand the joy of
Christmas-tide, but people say there is everything in a good beginning,
and she may have breathed-in unconsciously the fragrance of evergreens
and holiday dinners; while the peals of sleigh-bells and the laughter
of happy children may have fallen upon her baby ears and wakened in
them a glad surprise at the merry world she had come to live in.
Her cheeks and lips were as red as holly berries; her hair was for all
the world the color of a Christmas candle-flame; her eyes were bright
as stars; her laugh like a chime of Christmas bells, and her tiny hands
forever outstretched in giving.
Such a generous little creature you never saw! A spoonful of bread and
milk had always to be taken by Mama or nurse before Carol could enjoy
her supper; and whatever bit of cake or sweetmeat found its way into
her pretty fingers, it was straightway broken in half and shared with
Donald, Paul or Hugh; and, when they made believe nibble the morsel
with affected enjoyment, she would clap her hands and crow with
delight. "Why does she do it?" asked Donald, thoughtfully; "None of us
boys ever did." "I hardly know," said Mama, catching her darling to
her heart, "except that she is a little Christmas child, and so she has
a tiny share of the blessedest birthday the world ever saw!"