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THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL. Illustrated. Square 12mo, 60 cents, _net_.
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HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
[Illustration: YOU HANG IT ON THE TREE, ANGELINA (page 26)]
THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
BY
ABBIE FARWELL BROWN
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
REGINALD BIRCH
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
_Published October 1910_
SECOND IMPRESSION
CONTENTS
I. THE PLAY BOX 1
II. JACK-IN-THE-BOX 8
III. THE FLANTON DOG 12
IV. NOAH'S ARK 15
V. MIRANDA 20
VI. THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL 25
VII. BEFORE THE FIRE 32
VIII. JACK AGAIN 37
IX. THE DOG AGAIN 44
X. NOAH AGAIN 49
XI. MIRANDA AGAIN 53
XII. THE ANGEL AGAIN 62
XIII. THE CHRISTMAS CANDLE 68
XIV. TOM 73
XV. CHRISTMAS DAY 76
ILLUSTRATIONS
YOU HANG IT ON THE TREE, ANGELINA (page 26) _Frontispiece_
SHE LOOKED UP AND DOWN THE STREET 22
_PING!_ OUT SPRANG THE JACK-IN-THE-BOX 42
BOB COOPER SAVES THE BABY 46
HE GRASPED A RAILING TO STEADY HIMSELF 64
MARY RETURNS THE DOLL 78
_From drawings by Reginald Birch_
THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
CHAPTER I
THE PLAY BOX
At the sound of footsteps along the hall Miss Terry looked up from the
letter which she was reading for the sixth time. "Of course I would not see
him," she said, pursing her lips into a hard line. "Certainly not!"
A bump on the library door, as from an opposing knee, did duty for a knock.
"Bring the box in here, Norah," said Miss Terry, holding open the door for
her servant, who was gasping under the weight of a packing-case. "Set it
down on the rug by the fire-place. I am going to look it over and burn up
the rubbish this evening."
She glanced once more at the letter in her hand, then with a sniff tossed
it upon the fire.
"Yes'm," said Norah, as she set down the box with a thump. She stooped once
more to pick up something which had fallen out when the cover was jarred
open. It was a pink papier-mâché angel, such as are often hung from the top
of Christmas trees as a crowning symbol. Norah stood holding it between
thumb and finger, staring amazedly. Who would think to find such a bit of
frivolity in the house of Miss Terry!
Her mistress looked up from the fire, where the bit of writing was writhing
painfully, and caught the expression of Norah's face.
"What have you there?" she asked, frowning, as she took the object into her
own hands. "The Christmas Angel!" she exclaimed under her breath. "I had
quite forgotten it." Then as if it burned her fingers she thrust the little
image back into the box and turned to Norah brusquely. "There, that's all.
You can go now, Norah," she said.
"Yes'm," answered the maid. She hesitated. "If you please'm, it's Christmas
Eve."
"Well, I believe so," snapped Miss Terry, who seemed to be in a
particularly bad humor this evening. "What do you want?"
Norah flushed; but she was hardened to her mistress's manner. "Only to ask
if I may go out for a little while to see the decorations and hear the
singing."
"Decorations? Singing? Fiddlestick!" retorted Miss Terry, poker in hand.
"What decorations? What singing?"
"Why, all the windows along the street are full of candles," answered
Norah; "rows of candles in every house, to light the Christ Child on his
way when he comes through the city to-night."
"Fiddlestick!" again snarled her mistress.
"And choir-boys are going about the streets, they say, singing carols in
front of the lighted houses," continued Norah enthusiastically. "It must
sound so pretty!"
"They had much better be at home in bed. I believe people are losing their
minds!"
"Please'm, may I go?" asked Norah again.
Norah had no puritanic traditions to her account. Moreover she was young
and warm and enthusiastic. Sometimes the spell of Miss Terry's sombre house
threatened her to the point of desperation. It was so this Christmas Eve;
but she made her request with apparent calmness.
"Yes, go along," assented her mistress ungraciously.
"Thank you, 'm," said the servant demurely, but with a brightening of her
blue eyes. And presently the area door banged behind her quick-retreating
footsteps.
"H'm! Didn't take her long to get ready!" muttered Miss Terry, giving the
fire a vicious poke. She was alone in the house, on Christmas Eve, and not
a man, woman, or child in the world cared. Well, it was what she wanted. It
was of her own doing. If she had wished--
She sat back in her chair, with thin, long hands lying along the arms of
it, gazing into the fire. A bit of paper there was crumbling into ashes.
Alone on Christmas Eve! Even Norah had some relation with the world
outside. Was there not a stalwart officer waiting for her on the nearest
corner? Even Norah could feel a simple childish pleasure in candles and
carols and merriment, and the old, old superstition.
"Stuff and nonsense!" mused Miss Terry scornfully. "What is our Christmas,
anyway? A time for shopkeepers to sell and for foolish folks to kill
themselves in buying. Christmas spirit? No! It is all humbug,--all
selfishness, and worry; an unwholesome season of unnatural activities. I am
glad I am out of it. I am glad no one expects anything of me,--nor I of any
one. I am quite independent; blessedly independent of the whole foolish
business. It is a good time to begin clearing up for the new year. I'm glad
I thought of it. I've long threatened to get rid of the stuff that has
been accumulating in that corner of the attic. Now I will begin."
She tugged the packing-case an inch nearer the fire. It was like Miss Terry
to insist upon that nearer inch. Then she raised the cover. It was a box
full of children's battered toys, old-fashioned and quaint; the toys in
vogue thirty--forty--fifty years earlier, when Miss Terry was a child. She
gave a reminiscent sniff as she threw up the cover and saw on the under
side of it a big label of pasteboard unevenly lettered.
[Illustration: PLAY BOX OF TOM TERRY AND ANGELINA TERRY (scrawl)]
"Humph!" she snorted. There was a great deal in that "humph." It meant:
Yes, Tom's name had plenty of room, while poor little Angelina had to
squeeze in as well as she could. How like Tom! This accounted for
everything, even to his not being in his sister's house this very night.
How unreasonable he had been!
Miss Terry shrugged impatiently. Why think of Tom to-night? Years ago he
had deliberately cut himself adrift from her interests. No need to think of
him now. It was too late to appease her. But here were all these toys to be
got rid of. The fire was hungry for them. Why not begin?
Miss Terry stooped to poke over the contents of the box with lean, long
fingers. In one corner thrust up a doll's arm; in another, an animal's tail
pointed heavenward. She caught glimpses of glitter and tinsel, wheels and
fragments of unidentifiable toys.
"What rubbish!" she said. "Yes, I'll burn them all. They are good for
nothing else. I suppose some folks would try to give them away, and bore a
lot of people to death. They seem to think they are saving something, that
way. Nonsense! I know better. It is all foolishness, this craze for giving.
Most things are better destroyed as soon as you are done with them. Why,
nobody wants such truck as this. Now, could any child ever have cared for
so silly a thing?" She pulled out a faded jumping-jack, and regarded it
scornfully. "Idiotic! Such toys are demoralizing for children--weaken their
minds. It is a shame to think how every one seems bound to spoil children,
especially at Christmas time. Well, no one can say that I have added to the
shameful waste."
Miss Terry tossed the poor jumping-jack on the fire, and eyed his last
contortions with grim satisfaction.
But as she watched, a quaint idea came to her. She was famous for eccentric
ideas.
"I will try an experiment," she said. "I will prove once for all my point
about the 'Christmas spirit.' I will drop some of these old toys out on the
sidewalk and see what happens. It may be interesting."