A MERRY CHRISTMAS AFTER ALL.
Marcy lay with her cheek pillowed on her hand, watching the fire
burning red in the growing dusk of the December early twilight. Her
mother had been reading to her the “Lady of the Lake,” the musical
rhythm of which was delightful to the sick child’s ear, but it had long
been too dark to read, and thinking Marcy asleep Mrs. Merrick had not
moved, but sat with her finger shut in the book on her knee, meditating
sadly on the coming of Christmas, which it seemed to her she could not
celebrate this year.
But Marcy was not asleep, and she, too, was thinking of the celebration
of Christmas, with similar thoughts to her mother’s, but she had
reached the opposite conclusion. It took a little effort before she
could say steadily:
“Mamma, I’ve been thinking of Christmas.”
Mrs. Merrick started.
“So have I, Marcy dear,” she said.
“You know,” Marcy went on, “I think we shall have to try to make it
merry, or it may be the least wee bit sad. Nellie was never away from
home at Christmas before, and I’m afraid she’ll be homesick, and,
anyway, I wouldn’t like our children not to have a good time; so what
can we do to keep my being sick from half spoiling things?”
“Oh, dearest, sweetest little daughter, what can we do to keep your
Christmas from being wholly spoiled?” cried her mother, with more love
than wisdom.
“Didn’t the doctor say I might get up at Christmas?” asked Marcy. “Do
you think he meant just sit up, or that I might walk around?”
Mrs. Merrick’s heart ached. Marcy evidently did not know that he had
said she would never “walk around again.”
“I think he only meant that you might be laid on a couch chair and
moved a little,” answered her mother gently. “We shall have to be very
careful, you know, Marcy.”
Marcy was silent a moment.
“Well, even that,” she said at last. “Then I could be taken into the
sitting-room?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Mrs. Merrick.
“Now, mamma, would it be too much trouble for you to have a little
supper laid there for us children?”
“None at all, dear, if you would like it,” replied her mother,
rejoicing at the request.
“I thought,” Marcy continued, “we might have a kind of combination of a
Twelfth Night, and Christmas, and birthday party. If Eliza would bake a
cake for me I’d write a lot of mottoes, and have them laid all around
the top in the icing, so that every one who took a piece of cake would
get one. And we’d have a ring in the cake, too, if you would buy one.
And Lucy could be crowned queen of the feast, and I could be there,
and no one would feel a little sad, as they might if I were up-stairs
alone, and we’d have a merry time after all.”
“It shall all be done, my dearest,” said her mother. “And now tell
me if you have thought of anything you would like for yourself this
Christmas?”
“Nothing but books and the Madonna I love, to hang opposite on the wall
there,” said Marcy; “but I do want to send a splendid box to Prairie
Rest, and have it packed here in my room, and let every one, even
Lulie, have a hand in getting it up. And if we begin right away, and
think of nothing but these things, I really do believe we can be happy.”
Mrs. Merrick got up and kissed Marcy.
“Do you know, dear, you are making the whole house sweet, like a bit of
mignonette among a bunch of showy flowers?” she said; and after she had
left the room Marcy lay smiling contentedly, pondering the remarkable
coincidence that her mother had used almost the same comparison as
Father Glenn.
A busier household than the Merricks’ could hardly have been found
preparing for Christmas. Every afternoon after school Inez, and Nellie,
and Bob, and Hugh, and Grace hastened up to Marcy’s room, where Lucy
was already established, and the task of dressing dolls and getting
things ready for the box for Prairie Rest went merrily forward. There
were other meetings in mysterious corners of the house, as far from
Marcy’s room as possible, yet where conversation was carried on in
whispers lest she might hear, and discussions of presents for her were
the object of the conclaves.
A chance remark of Norah’s that Miss Marcy might like a pet struck
Grace and Lucy favorably, and they combined their pocket money to get
her a canary-bird. The same remark had a similar effect on Hugh, who,
without consulting any one, went off and bought her a pair of rabbits.
Bob, too, considered this a happy thought of Norah’s, and he obtained a
Yorkshire puppy from a boy who had five. Inez, ignorant of the secrets
of the younger children, carried out her original intention, and bought
for Marcy a snow-white Angora kitten, for which Nellie, who had to
supply her lack of pin-money by the work of her skilful fingers, fitted
up a cozy basket with blue linings.
The Christmas tree was abandoned for that year, and the presents were
to be placed on the hearth in Marcy’s room, where the family was to
assemble to get them. Marcy had to feign sleep while mysterious figures
glided in, bent a moment over the hearth, and tiptoed out again. She
had fallen asleep very late, and was still resting peacefully when
she was aroused by a succession of most incomprehensible sounds. She
distinguished short, sharp cries, ending in little whimpers and grunts,
the sound of scratching, and sniffing, and something rather like damp
fire-crackers, but she could not tell from what they came. While she
was wondering the door opened softly, and Hugh poked a tumbled head
through, followed briskly by the rest of his body, when Marcy spoke.
Soon Inez crept in with Nellie, and then Bob stole down, and they
all went over to the hearth. Earnest whispers took the place of the
mysterious sounds which had ceased as soon as the children entered, and
in a moment a shout of laughter, instantly checked by hands clapped
over lips lest Mr. and Mrs. Merrick should be awakened. Marcy could
see Bob rolling on the floor and kicking in an ecstasy of repressed
laughter, while the shoulders under Inez’s and Nellie’s dressing-gowns
were shaking convulsively, as they sat on the floor clasping their
knees with their hands, on which their faces were bowed.
“Oh! do tell me the joke,” begged Marcy. “I’ve been hearing the
queerest noises, and I’ll go crazy if you don’t tell me what is so
funny.”
Bob climbed up and lit the gas, and Marcy saw a very frightened pair
of rabbits huddled up in the corner of a wooden cage, a canary-bird
on a chair, a long-haired, bow-legged little puppy making frantic
dashes in his box at a beautiful snowy kitten, whose long plume of a
tail was swollen to an enormous size, and she occasionally spit at the
demoralized puppy, which explained the fire-crackers Marcy had heard.
“Oh, how funny! Oh, aren’t they dear?” cried Marcy, who loved all kinds
of pets. “Where did they all come from?”
“That’s the joke,” explained Inez, wiping her eyes and gasping for
breath. “We all thought you’d like a pet to keep you company while
you’re sick, and we never said a word to one another, only I told
Nellie about mine. So we each got an animal, only Hugh, and he got
two, and among us we’ve turned your room into a menagerie. I think it’s
the funniest thing I ever saw.”
Marcy laughed, too, but she was very much pleased, for she had room
in her heart for all the animals in the ark. The rest of the family
was aroused, and followed the sound of voices to Marcy’s room, and the
presents were seized upon, though it was but half-past five, and they
had been intended to be left till after Mass.
Nellie had never dreamed of such riches as she was gloating over: a
beautiful little pin, a wreath of mistletoe, with the berries of tiny
pearls from Marcy; a pretty moonstone ring from Bob; the softest of
chinchilla muffs and collars from her uncle; a complete silver manicure
set, the counterpart of the one Inez had, from her aunt, and a dear
little chatelaine and watch from Inez, the chatelaine pin being in the
form of a tiny crown, in memory of the play. Marcy rejoiced in her
coveted Madonna, quantities of books, and her “menagerie,” and her
father gave her three hundred dollars to do with as she liked. It came
in crisp new bills, wrapped in a note, to be read at her leisure, and
while the others were at church she read it with a glad heart.
“First of all, my dearest daughter,” Mr. Merrick wrote, “I wish you a
blessed Christmas, which should be yours, who are proving yourself, in
the midst of a great affliction, our chiefest blessing. I intend that
each year you shall have this sum of money to use in charity as you see
fit, for I foresee that your greatest pleasure will lie in doing for
others. You will learn to use this sum, and thus be better prepared to
make the most of the larger amount which will one day be yours to do
with as you think best.”
Marcy lay dreaming of all she could do with so much money, and she
planned to support several families, beside educating some clever child
with it, for she had no more idea of the value of a hundred cents than
many persons whom misfortune has not taught.
When it was time for the supper Marcy was taken for the first time from
her bed, wrapped in her white eider-down wrapper with the swan’s down
around her wrists and throat, and wheeled into the next room on the
couch-chair, which was but another bed on wheels.
The sitting-room had been turned into a Christmas banqueting hall. The
table in the centre was bright with holly and candles with red shades,
and each napkin was tied with a bow of scarlet ribbon, ornamented
with a sprig of holly. Evergreen, holly, and mistletoe hung on the
walls, and made the chandelier a bower of green. Julia, the waitress,
and Norah, who was to help, wore wonderful mediæval dresses, with
canton-flannel ermine trimming, and holly-trimmed caps. Marcy’s couch
was wheeled into place at one side of the table, and suddenly there
arose the sound of music. A harp and violin began to play the carol,
“God rest ye, merry gentlemen,” and in walked the procession. First
came Queen Lucy, the queen of the feast, very stately, with a golden
(pasteboard) crown on her pretty head, and a sceptre in her hand. Then
came Grace and Hugh--one dressed as a cavalier in cuffs and slashed
doublet, with a sword at his side; the other as a court lady, with a
train as long as the queen’s, and her hair dressed high on her head
and powdered, and a black patch of court-plaster in the form of a star
on her chin. Bob and Nellie followed, another court lady and gallant,
she in the costume she had worn in the play, he in rose-colored
doublet, slashed with white, and a mustache that was at once the joy
and trial of his soul, because it looked so fierce when it was on, and
was perpetually falling off. Last came Inez and Madeleine Greene, both
in the costumes of the play.
Marcy clapped her hands at the sight of her favorite schoolmate.
Since her accident she had shrunk from seeing any of her friends,
but Madeleine’s coming so unexpectedly was only a pleasure, and she
held out her hands to her in ecstasy. The meeting might have been a
sad one, but Mrs. Merrick gave them no time to think, and hurried the
gorgeous company to their seats, Queen Lucy presiding at the head of
the table with much dignity. Mr. Merrick was present, introduced as
a distinguished guest from Australia. He wore a queer high collar, a
flaring plaid necktie, and a green coat with brass buttons, and had
black spectacles on his nose, and equally surprised and delighted his
children by the funny things he said and did.
At last the great cake was cut, and everybody carefully nibbled around
the frosting to find the motto which they were warned was hidden
there. This was the supreme moment to Marcy, who had spent long hours
composing these little couplets. When the last crumb of the cake had
gone the reading of the mottoes was called for.
“No, first the ring. Who has the ring?” cried Marcy.
Nellie instantly cried, “I have,” and held up a dainty little golden
ribbon, tied in a true lover’s knot, with two slender ends flying.
“You can’t get it on,” said Hugh, anxiously regarding the tiny band.
“It’s for her pinkie fin’ner, you silly boy,” said Lucy, to every one’s
amusement.
“Now the guest from Australia will read his motto first, please,” cried
Marcy.
Mr. Merrick had to poke up his spectacles to see, and read:
“May your Christmas joy and peace
Through the new year never cease.”
“Mamma,” cried Marcy.
“Christmas green, or Christmas white,
Be your heart forever light,”
read Mrs. Merrick.
Madeleine, Inez, and Nellie read in succession:
“For him whose heart is good and pure
Christmas joy shall aye endure.”
“May He who in the stable lay
Bless you every Christmas day.”
“She who loves both man and beast,
Truly keeps the Christmas feast.”
“Gracie,” said Marcy, and Grace read slowly and carefully:
“Once a Child was cold and sad,
That all children might be glad.”
“Queen Lucy next,” cried Marcy, and Lucy handed her slip to Norah,
saying:
“P’raps you’d better read it, Nonie,” which, considering the small girl
did not know her letters, seemed advisable.
Norah read:
“May the Babe of Bethlehem bless
All your life with happiness.”
Bob read his couplet next, which ran:
“May Christmases coming, and Christmases past,
Crown you with joys that forever shall last.”
Finally Hugh read:
“Christmas comes all wreathed in holly;
May each Christmas find you jolly.”
The applause for Marcy’s verses was the signal for her return to her
room, and that the feast was over.
The procession formed once more to precede her; the harp and violin
played the merriest airs, and Norah pushed Marcy’s chair back to her
door, where the children divided, and drew up on each side, dropping
her old-fashioned courtesies as she passed. The new white kitten and
the excited puppy, who had been already named “Merry Christmas,” called
Merry for short, and Kris Kringle, in honor of the day, welcomed her
boisterously.
“One thing more, mamma,” said Marcy, “please sing the _Adeste_ for me
after I am in bed again, and leave the door open so I can hear it, for
it is the dearest of all hymns. It has been a Merry Christmas after
all, hasn’t it, mamma?”
“Yes, my darling,” said her mother, kissing her good-night.
And soothed by the beautiful _Adeste Fideles_, tired out with her
exciting day, Marcy sank to sleep.