A CHRISTMAS ENTERTAINMENT.
The weather was growing colder and more wintry, as Christmas drew near.
The usual bustle of Christmas preparations had begun, and the shop
windows were gayer and more tempting than ever to people who had any
money to spend, as well as--alas!--to those who had none. Nora had not
forgotten Lizzie Mason and her needs, though the jacket was supplied in
an unexpected way. Mrs. Blanchard, easy-going as she was, was really
kind-hearted when her sympathy was awakened. So, when Nora told her the
sad little story, she dived into her limbo of slightly old-fashioned
wearing-apparel, and produced a jacket, which with a little remodelling
and a good deal of contraction, to which Nora's expert band was quite
equal, turned out just the thing Lizzie needed. It was gratefully
accepted, and Nora was gratified by seeing her at church in it on the
next Sunday evening, and, to her surprise, Nelly too. The interest Miss
Blanchard had already aroused in the girl's untrained mind had called
forth a vague curiosity to see the inside of the church she attended.
Grace Alden had come and carried off little Cecilia for a day, and the
latter had at once become her devoted worshipper. Her sunny face and
voice, as well as her beauty, seemed to attract the child like a magnet.
She shyly begged Grace to take her that day to see her mother, who
seemed as much captivated by her visitor as Cecilia had been. Grace sang
hymns to her, in her joyous, bird like voice, Cecilia now and then
joining in, till the invalid, turning her head away, buried her face in
the pillow and burst into tears.
"I suppose it reminded her too strongly of old times," said Janet
Spencer, as she told Nora about it. "She says, perhaps she will tell me
her story by and by, when she is stronger. I'm sure it's a sad one. But
I was glad when Grace asked her if she wouldn't like to see her father
again, and she said 'Yes!' for, when I wanted her to let me ask Mr
Chillingworth to come and see her, she wouldn't hear of it. The very
idea of seeing a clergyman seemed to upset her."
"But you think she is really gaining, don't you?" asked Nora.
"Oh yes! I think she will get round, though it will be a good while
before she is strong again. But I wish she could get on without the
brandy."
"Oh, do you think--" Nora asked, and she stopped.
"Yes, I am almost sure that that's been at the root of all her troubles.
I shouldn't wonder if it were a case of dipsomania. I've seen such a
case here, already. Some times she seems to have a nervous dread of
it--to shrink from taking it--and then again she will take it so
greedily that I have to be very careful not to leave it about, lest she
might help herself when I am not looking."
"Oh dear, how dreadful!" Nora exclaimed.
"Yes, it is dreadful! God help such poor creatures, for _man_ can do
little! Still, good care and nourishment will do something for her.
She's safe in here, for the present."
But the thought haunted Nora, and she watched little Cecilia more
closely than ever. Dr. Blanchard told her that this malady was
hereditary, and she found herself often wondering whether this child
could have been born to such a fatal inheritance. Meantime she was
teaching her at home, finding her a very apt pupil, and she also gave
her a short music lesson daily, and was much pleased with her progress.
There was no doubt as to _this_ inheritance, at any rate, and Nora could
only hope that, in the worst event, the higher passion might overpower
the lower.
Christmas-day came, as it always does, before people are quite ready for
it. Nora had planned several little Christmas surprises and pleasures
for the people in whom she was most interested--such as a new dress for
Lizzie Mason, to "go with" the jacket she did not need to buy. Then
there was a pretty and comfortable invalid's wrapper lying on Mrs.
Travers' bed, when she awoke from a tranquil sleep on Christmas morning,
ready to be put on as soon as the doctor should pronounce her able to
try sitting up. It was long since the poor woman had had anything pretty
to wear--longer still since she had had anything supplied by tender and
thoughtful care--and the tears that rose to her eyes at the sight, were
tears that seemed to refresh and moisten a parched life and a thirsting
heart.
There were appropriate little gifts, too, ready for Mrs. Alden and
Grace, as well as for the home-circle; and not least for the children,
who were jubilant over the usual Christmas offertory of toys,
picture-books and pictures, that were scattered about the nursery in the
confusion they delighted in. Cecilia, of course, had not been forgotten.
For her, Nora had provided a little accordion, on which she could play,
to her heart's content, all the tunes she had already picked up;
accompanying them with her voice whenever she thought herself unnoticed.
Instigated by Eddie's eager persuasions, the three children organized a
little "minstrel band," he and Daisy accompanying the accordion with
drum and bugle, and producing an amount of noise which vastly delighted
themselves, if not other people. As Nora, unseen, caught a glimpse of
them, marching along the passages, she thought Cecilia, with her
graceful poise of head and figure, and absorbed, serious eyes, would
make a picturesque study for a painter who wanted a model for a little
strolling musician. Every step and motion seemed to express the child's
strong artistic instinct and impulse. Nora had her own private
pleasures, too, besides the great one of contributing to the happiness
of other people. She had her own Christmas letters from Rockland, from
her father and Aunt Margaret, sympathizing with her interests and
pleasures, and rejoicing that so large a portion of the time of her
absence was now over. And, among her own gifts--each one expressive of
the love she prized for itself--there was a small box, most neatly put
up, and addressed in Mr. Chillingworth's characteristic handwriting,
which, on being opened, disclosed a charmingly arranged bouquet of
mingled roses and lilies. It brought the color to her cheek, and made
her feel almost remorseful for the disappointment she had been obliged
to give him, about his Christmas evening music. She had, however, taken
the edge off the disappointment, by volunteering to assist in the
morning music, when she and Kitty took their share in the Christmas
anthem assigned to the quartette. Roland Graeme was present in his
capacity of reporter, and his rendering of the sermon gratified Mr.
Chillingworth so much, when he saw it next day, that he ordered a number
of copies of the paper to send to his English friends. Waldberg was in
his place as organist, a post to which he had been recently appointed
through the influence of Mr. Chillingworth, who did not seem particular
about religious qualifications in the matter of musicians, at any rate.
Nora noticed that the young man was waiting at the door of the church,
to exchange a Christmas greeting with Kitty, who was unattended, her
_fiancé_ not having "put in an appearance," as he himself would have
expressed it And she saw, too, with some uneasiness, that as soon as
Kitty had disengaged herself from a lively group of saluting friends,
the two strolled off together in a leisurely, _insouciant_ fashion.
Roland Graeme, taking his solitary way homeward, noticed the same thing
with much the same feeling. And yet, he thought, in the dreamy poetic
vein into which he often relapsed, when not spurred on by his dominant
philanthropic impulse, if Kitty had only been some simple rustic
Phyllis, and Hermann a corresponding Corydon, what a charming bright
pair of Arcadian lovers they would have made to figure in a pretty
poetic idyl. What a pity, he thought, that we cannot always live in
Arcadia!
The lecture-room of the "Good-fellows' Hall" that evening was anything
but an Arcadian scene. The bare whitewashed walls, relieved only by the
ubiquitous portraits of Washington and Lincoln, Jefferson and Garfield,
the flaring gas-jets, the straight-backed rows of benches filled with
what Kitty would have relentlessly styled "very common-looking people,"
in the "common looking" finery which many of them affected, did not seem
a particularly inspiring assemblage. Nevertheless, Nora scanned the
benches eagerly, till she espied Lizzie and Nellie and Jim, and then the
gathering was interesting to _her_, at least. As for Roland, wherever
men and women with human hearts were gathered, there was interest for
him, and to Mr. Alden each meeting here was part of an intensely
interesting experiment, freighted, in his mind, with wider, more weighty
issues than were present to the minds of any one else present--even of
his own Grace, who, with her instinctive divination, could, in her
simple way, sympathize with him more fully than any one else there.
The programme seemed to be fully appreciated by almost all the audience,
though here and there a hard-looking "tough" would occasionally grow
tired of sitting still, and would accordingly retire, with scant
ceremony and carelessness as to making a somewhat noisy exit, that would
have set all Mr. Chillingworth's nerves on edge. But Mr. Alden took no
notice. It was understood that no compulsion of any kind was exercised;
and, generally speaking, the absentees would return after a while;
having, in the meantime, had a smoke, which restored them to better
humor. There were one or two comic recitations, in the earlier part of
the entertainment, by young workingmen like Jim, given with great spirit
and some dramatic effect. Nora's music, and the magic-lantern slides led
up gradually to Mr. Alden's simple colloquial address, setting before
the audience, as vividly as possible, the great event which _made_
Christmas, and some of its chief bearings on human life. And then
bringing his talk to a close, before any one had had time to grow tired
of it, he introduced the reading of "My friend, Mr. Roland Graeme."
Roland took his place on the platform, with the quick, energetic motion
habitual with him, yet with the dreamy remoteness of eye of a man
absorbed in the pictures he is going to present. His fine,
well-proportioned _physique_, and his candid, open face, enlisted the
sympathy of the audience in the reading, in the preparation of which he
had taken as much pains as if it were to be given before the most select
and fashionable audience in Minton. He had taken the "Christmas Carol"
of Dickens, and arranged it for a reading which should bring out the
episodes and scenes most likely to carry the sympathy of his readers,
bridging the gaps by a slender thread of narrative. He kept the audience
alternately amused and touched by the mingled humor and pathos of the
earlier scenes. He introduced them to the lonely boy at school, in whom
early neglect was sowing the seeds of future churlishness; then to the
youth, in whom the canker of worldliness was already beginning to work;
then carried them on to the home of the Cratchits, their famous
Christmas dinner, and the pathetic picture of "Tiny Tim." He kept the
younger portion of his audience, at least, convulsed over his spirited
rendering of the anxiety of the Cratchits as to the success of their
Christmas goose and Christmas pudding, and the final satisfaction of
everybody, even the "ubiquitous young Cratchits," at the result. Then he
put all the tense feeling of his own nature into the satirical reply of
the "Spirit" to the miser's agonized inquiry whether Tiny Tim would
live:--
"'What then? If he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease the
surplus population!'"
Roland ought, in the exercise of a judicious discretion, to have stopped
here; but he was a young man with a young man's heat of impulse, and he
let himself be carried on into the words that follow, giving them with a
stirring emphasis that vibrated through every chord in Nora's sensitive
heart.
"'Man,' said the ghost, 'if man you be in heart, not adamant, forbear
that wicked cant till you have discovered what that surplus is, and
where it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? It
may be, that, in the sight of Heaven you are more worthless and less fit
to live than millions like this poor man's child! O God! to hear the
insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry
brothers in the dust!'"
Nora could not help glancing about her, to see whether such words might
not have too much effect on that particular audience. She was reassured,
however, by the discovery that it did not seem to produce much effect of
any kind. The audience was not reflective enough to take in the satire.
A little farther on, Roland introduced the lean, gaunt, wretched boy and
girl who appear at the edge of the robe of the Spirit of Christmas
Presents, "yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish, but prostrate,
too, in their humility. Where graceful Youth should have filled their
features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and
shrivelled hand, like that of Age, had pinched and twisted them, and
pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils
lurked and jibed out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion
of humanity in any guise, through all the mysteries of wonderful
creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread!"
"'Spirit, are they yours?' Scrooge could say no more. 'They are
_man's_,' said the Spirit, looking down upon them, 'and they cling to
me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is
Want. Beware of them both, and all of their degree; but, most of all
beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom,
unless the writing be erased. Deny it!' cried the Spirit, stretching out
its hand to the city. 'Slander those who tell it ye! Admit it for your
factious purposes and make it worse! and bide the end!'"
There was no mistaking the genuine emotion in Roland's voice as these
words rang out in tones of indignant warning. Just such children had he
seen, and the very fact of their existence seemed to him a wrong, not to
man only, but to the God who gave their grand possibilities, abased,
stunted and thwarted by man's sin and neglect. Something of this he
stopped to say, in a few strenuous, burning words, ending with a strong
appeal to the fathers and mothers, "by all the holy memories of the
day," to guard their children from evil, and ignorance, and do for them
at least the best they could!
"It is clear, then, he can't be an agnostic!" thought Nora to herself,
unaware of how indefinite is the term, and how indefinite too--as well
as inconsistent--a position can be which has no basis but "_I don't
know_." She looked around her again to see what the effect might have
been, but again she saw that it counted for very little. The
high-wrought, poetical description and the invective had gone over the
heads of most of the listeners. One pale-faced, slender man, with dark,
deep-set eyes riveted in breathless attention on the speaker, caught her
eye and her interest. But in general, little more than the stirring
tones and dramatic gestures had been taken in by ears unaccustomed to
intelligent listening, and chiefly on the watch for something "funny."
Roland, knowing something of the taste of his hearers, passed lightly
and rapidly over the sadder scenes of the last part of the story,
touching them a little, however, by the fate of "Tiny Tim," in whom he
centred the interest of the story. Then, after a glance at the gloomy
churchyard, where the remorseful miser beholds his own grave, he
hastened to the cheerful reality of Christmas Present, of the delight of
Scrooge as he sees himself once more possessed of the possibilities of
life, and of the heart to generously use them. And then, after depicting
the altered fortunes of the Cratchit family, under the auspices of a
regenerated master, he threw all his heart into bringing out the meaning
of the closing sentences:
"'Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them
laugh, and little heeded them, for he was wise enough to know that
nothing ever happened in this globe, for good, at which some people did
not have their fill of laughter at the outset; and knowing that such as
these would be blind any way, he thought it quite as well that they
should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less
attractive form. His own heart laughed, and that was quite enough for
him.
"'He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total
Abstinence principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him
that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the
knowledge. May that be truly said of us and all of us! And so, as Tiny
Tim observed, God bless us, every one!'"
There was a great deal of applause, as the reader concluded, made his
bow and left the platform, and there was more, again, when Mr. Alden in
due form put a vote of thanks to Mr. Graeme for the pleasure he had
given them, adding a few words on true Christmas-keeping, in his own
terse and characteristic way.
Nora found her particular trio as the assemblage broke up. "Oh, wasn't
it splendid!" was Lizzie's enthusiastic verdict, as Miss Blanchard asked
how they had enjoyed it. "My! doesn't Mr. Graeme read beautiful! It was
just like as if we could see it all!"
And Lizzie's eyes were glistening still, with the pleasure caused by the
new mental pictures called up by the reading that had carried her, for a
brief space, out of the ruts and grooves of her monotonous life. Nelly,
too, looked as if she had, for once, been interested in something
outside of herself, and even Jim admitted, in a sort of reluctant,
awkward way, that the entertainment was "first-class."
"Yes, indeed, miss," added Lizzie, who thought Jim was hardly effusive
enough in his appreciation, "Jim was real tickled at that Christmas
dinner Mr. Graeme read about--and all the rest of it."
* * * * *
"I was afraid you were giving us a little too much of what was intended
for a different class of readers," said Mr. Alden to Roland, as they all
walked home together, while Grace, arm in arm with Nora, was artlessly
expressing her enjoyment of Mr. Graeme's reading.
"I suppose it mightn't have been a good thing if we had had a more
thoughtful audience; as it was, it didn't hurt them, and it pleased me
to do it!" replied Roland, laughing. "But, anyhow, if we can't wake up
the rich, why mayn't we wake up the poor?"
"Let the horrors of the French Revolution answer that question, once for
all!" returned Mr. Alden. "'That boy Ignorance,' you know, can be a real
devil when he is roused, and though a thunder-storm may sometimes have
to come, we don't want to play tricks to bring it down. There is enough
to wake up the poor to, in regard to their own shortcomings. Let us try
to wake each class up as to what lies in its own power to reform!"
Roland again undertook to escort Miss Blanchard from Mr. Alden's house
to her own door.
"I've been trying to get hold of your friend Jim," he remarked, "but he
isn't a very promising specimen, unless it be of 'that boy, Ignorance'!
He's never had any education to speak of, been at work ever since he was
old enough to make a few cents a day, has got into a bad set of
companions, and, besides, seems to have a rather sulky disposition.
However, I'm going to try to get him into the 'Knights of Labor'; that
will wake him up a little bit, besides keeping him in order, for he's
rather of the turbulent kind."
Nora laughed a little. "One is generally led to suppose that 'The
Knights of Labor' are generally disposed to encourage turbulence, rather
than to repress it!" she said.
"A complete mistake!" exclaimed Roland, eagerly. "It is one of the
principles of the Order to do everything 'decently and in order'! Its
aims are to remedy wrong by peaceful means, if possible. Every method of
doing so is tried, before such an extreme measure as a strike--say--is
resorted to. Why, there is no counting the number of strikes that have
been prevented through its agency."
"It's too bad people don't know that," Nora replied.
"They don't want to know it," he said. "Mr. Pomeroy for instance should
know, that but for the amicable negotiations of the 'Knights,' he might
have had a strike before now. And I am not at all sure that he may not
have it yet! Such surly, dissatisfied young fellows as Jim are just the
stuff to make mischief. However, if he joins us, we may do something
with him. One of our fundamental positions is the dignity of all honest
labor. This teaches the men to respect themselves, and that is one step
toward respecting others. And then, too, the Assembly meetings afford a
place where all grievances can be ventilated--a sort of safety-valve, so
to speak, where a good deal of gas can be got off, at any rate."
"I see," said Nora. "How often do they meet?"
"Once a week. By the way, I'm sorry that we haven't succeeded in getting
redress for the girls. Mr. Pomeroy wouldn't interfere with his
manager;--did not dare, perhaps, for fear he should leave: and Willett
is hopeless!"
"Oh, I am sorry!" exclaimed Nora.
"I'm not going to give it up, though," he added, cheerfully. "Of course
we'll keep driving away at the matter in _The Brotherhood_. And how is
my little friend, 'Miss Travers,' and her mother?"
"Oh, Cecilia promises to live up to her _name_! I've been trying to
teach her to read, at which she was very awkward, but she takes much
more readily to music," Miss Blanchard replied. "She's trying very hard
to play a little on the piano, with her small fingers, and you should
see her using a little accordion I gave her. It is quite a picture!"
"Yes, she's a beautiful child! She seemed to me like a disguised
princess in a fairy-tale, that day I saw her first. And is the mother
getting on well?"
"Yes, she's getting better fast," said Nora, somewhat doubtfully. "But,
poor thing, what will she do when she is well?"
"Oh, something must be done for her," Roland replied. "And surely she
must have friends somewhere!"
"Miss Spencer, the nurse who attends her, is going to try to find out,
if she can only get her to tell her," replied Miss Blanchard.
"Will you permit me to come some day to see the child?" asked Roland. "I
should like to see her again."
"Oh, come whenever you like," Nora responded cordially, as she bade him
good-night, "come and see her--and me!"