And of course Tomorrow came, as it always does--only to become Today.
Jehosophat didn't climb on the chair that morning. There was no need
of making black marks with his pencil, when that red number,
25, stood out above all the others, so bright in its scarlet
splendor.
As a matter of fact, the children never looked at the calendar at all.
They were too busy with their stockings. Now, ordinarily; stockings
either hang limp on the line or else fit very evenly on smooth little
legs. But the three which hung by the fireplace were stiff and queerly
shaped, each full of knobs and bumps.
The children rose very early in the morning to get them, and were
taking out the oranges, and apples, and tops, and nuts, and raisins,
and marbles, and hair-ribbon (for Hepzebiah, of course) and the
mouth-organs, tin wagons and candy-canes, when a voice called, "Merry
Christmas," and Mother's face beamed in the doorway--then Father's.
Soon there was a stamping of feet on the kitchen porch, and the Toyman
came in from his milking and called, "Merry Christmas," too. And he
and Mother and Father seemed to get more fun out of those stockings
than the children themselves, or as much, which is saying a very great
deal.
It was hard to dress properly that morning--and particularly hard to
wash behind one's ears. Jehosophat put on one stocking inside out;
Marmaduke his union suit outside in; and one of his shoes was button
and the other lace. But they were all covered up, anyway, and Ole
Northwind couldn't nip their flesh, and the Constable couldn't arrest
them, so it was sufficient, I suppose.
How they did it, I don't know, but they managed to get through
breakfast somehow. Then there was a glorious spinning of tops, and
playing of mouth-organs, and blowing of trumpets, throughout the
morning. Meantime the whole house was fragrant with the smells of
cooking turkey, and sweet potatoes, and boiled onions, and chili
sauce, and homemade chow chow, and doughnuts, and pumpkin pie, and
plum pudding, and pound cake, and caramel cake, and jumbles (all cut
in fancy shapes) and--but there, the list is long enough to make any
one's mouth water, and that isn't fair. Needless to say, the children
didn't try all of the list, though they would have been quite willing,
but Mother made rather a good selection for them. Anyway, the smells
and tastes of that fine dinner seemed to go very nicely with the
wreaths in the window and the bright red berries. But where was the
Tree? It had vanished--probably in the parlor.
They couldn't go in--oh, no--not yet. And after Mother had washed all
the thousand and one dishes, helped by Black-eyed Susan--not
Black-eyed Susan who lived in the pasture, but the one who lived in
the cabin on the canal--she entered the parlor, closing the door very
carefully so they couldn't get even a glimpse of what was inside. It
was funny how Mother found time to do all the things she did that
day--yes, and all the week and month before it. Her hands, Marmaduke
said, were like the magic hands in the "Arabian Nights," and he was
right. At least the Toyman said,--
"You can bet your bottom dollar on that, my son."
All of which was very strange, when Marmaduke didn't have any pennies
even, in his bank, bottom or top, having spent them on surprises for
Mother and all the rest of the folks. Nice surprises they were, too.
In fact, it was really nicer planning them out, and getting them with
the money he had earned, than dreaming about what he would get
himself.
The parlor door was kept carefully locked all that long afternoon. The
children tried to play with the things that had come in their
stockings, but somehow these didn't seem as interesting as what they
guessed was going on behind the closed door. So they kept their eyes
glued there, as Marmaduke's story-book said, though he thought that
was funny, when they hadn't put any mucilage on them.
Once in a while Mother would come out of the parlor to look in the big
closet, then she would journey back very quickly, holding the
mysterious parcel tight under her apron or shawl so that they couldn't
see it. She would open the door, too, only the tiniest crack, to slip
in sideways like a slender fairy. And though a radiance and splendor
would shine through--like Heaven it was--they could never see what
made it, and before they could say "Jack Robinson," the door would be
shut--tight shut--and--that was all.
"Oh, oh," it was so hard to wait!
At last--about four in the afternoon--the signal was given. The Toyman
made them all form in line in the dining-room, Mother leading, to show
them the way, though they hardly needed a guide; poor little Mrs.
Cricket next, for it wouldn't be Christmas unless they made someone
outside their own family happy; then Jehosophat, Marmaduke, and
Hepzebiah--no, that is wrong, Hepzebiah ahead, as the boys had decided
on "ladies first"; then Father and the Toyman, carrying little lame
Johnny Cricket on his shoulder; and Black-eyed Susan bringing up the
rear--a very big rear she was, Father said, for Susan weighed
considerably more than her heaviest clothes-basket.
And so the doors opened!
"Glory be!" sang out Susan, and in that she expressed the feelings of
every one in the long procession that entered the parlor. It
_was_ "glory"--that light, that shining, that radiance! Wreaths
in the window, festoons overhead, presents heaped up in the corner and
on the floor--and the Tree, the Tree!
It was covered with golden ornaments, and red and silver and blue, and
it was draped with strings of popcorn and festoons of red cranberries,
flung so gracefully over it, and everywhere, between the green twigs
of the spruce and the red, and the gold, and the blue, and the silver
of the ornaments and festoons, scores of little candles were shining
brightly, twinkling like the stars--like very Heaven come down to
earth before their eyes.
Life has many happy moments and many happy times to offer, but nothing
more wonderful than a beautiful shining tree bursting on the sight
after one has waited all day, no--really for weeks and months.
For ten minutes they all stood and gazed at that tree. Mother and
Father were smiling happily; Susan clasped her hands and very properly
said "Glory" again; the children danced; Mrs. Cricket wiped the
corners of her eyes with her rusty-black shawl; and little Johnny
Cricket just sat there in delight.
But where was the Toyman now? He had disappeared as mysteriously as
had the tree after they brought it home. He must have forgotten
something important, for he couldn't want to do _chores_ when
there was that tree to look at.
However, the boys were eager enough, both yelling:
"Now for the presents!"
"Wait a minute, laddies," said their father, "somebody's calling."
Now there was a telephone in the White House with the Green Blinds by
the Side of the Road, a funny old-fashioned instrument, but a very
useful one, nevertheless.
It was tinkling. Father went to it, and this is what they heard him
say,--
"Hello! hello!" Then,--
"Why, is that _you_--"
He turned around to the folks in the room:
"Hush!" he warned them, "it's Santa Claus."
Then he turned to the telephone again, very surprised to be talking to
so important a person.
"I'm certainly glad to hear from you. How are you?" said Father.