Nettie’s Prayer.
Netties Prayer.
Mrs. Dryden was cross!
She would have been at a loss to specify what especial grounds she had
for the discontent that possessed her on this particular night. If
interrogated, she would probably have returned an evasive reply to the
effect that it was none of the questioner’s business how she felt or
looked, so long as she did not obtrude her unhappiness upon other
people. Everybody had his and her own troubles with which others had no
right to intermeddle. She was responsible to no one for her behavior;
nobody should hinder her from being low-spirited, if she pleased to be
so. She was out of humor with the whole world, herself included. The
children were troublesome; the servants heedless; her husband
indifferent to her grievances--and it was Christmas eve.
“Really,” she said, peevishly, at tea-time, “one would suppose that
Christmas came but once in a century, instead of once a year! Everybody
is as crazy to-night as if there were never to be another 25th of
December.”
“By the way,” said her husband, looking up from his paper, “I suppose
you have baked some mince-pies and fried some dough-nuts--haven’t you?”
“I have mince-pies and turkey for to-morrow!” was the curt reply. “I
knew you would not be satisfied unless you had as good a dinner as your
neighbors. But as for dough-nuts--they are oily, rank, indigestible
abominations, fit only for an ostrich’s stomach, and one doesn’t get the
smell of the hot fat out of the house in two weeks after they have been
cooked. I never mean to make another while I live.”
Two pairs of sorrowful eyes stole a glance of mutual pity at one
another, when this announcement was made; two pairs of cherry lips took
a piteous curl, for a second; two curly heads bent lower over the plates
set before their owners.
Not that there was any dearth of sweet things in the Dryden larder, or
that Ally and Nettie, the proprietors of the eyes, lips, and heads
aforesaid, were gormandizers. But this matter of frying doughnuts was
great fun to them, as it is to most other small people who have ever
been permitted to stand by and see the rings, leaves, birds, circles,
triangles, and the endless variety of nondescript figures leave the
kneading-board pale, flat surfaces of soft dough, and, upon being thrown
into the bubbling fat, sinking, like leaden shapes, with a tremendous
splutter and “fizz,” arise slowly and majestically to the top of the
caldron, as Mr. Weller has it, “swelling wisibly” before the enraptured
eye into puffy, crisp, toothsome morsels, fit, in the estimation of the
juvenile partakers thereof, for a queen’s luncheon. Last year, the
brother and sister had spent Christmas week with an aunt in another
town. This lady being the indulgent mamma of half a dozen boys and
girls, enjoyed nothing so much as making them merry and happy. The six
days passed in her abode lived in the memory of nephew and niece as a
dream of Paradisaical delight. But, this season, the holidays were to be
kept at home, and the prospect was, to say the least, not eminently
flattering.
Mr. and Mrs. Dryden were estimable people in their way, but they had
studied to render themselves intensely and purely matter-of-fact. They
prided themselves secretly upon growing wiser and more practical--less
poetical--each revolving cycle. Each year, life assumed a more positive
and less romantic aspect; their own duties seemed more momentous and
imperative; the things which others call recreation and innocent
amusements were puerile and unworthy. Mr. Dryden was making money; Mrs.
Dryden was a notable housekeeper, and, so far as the physical needs of
the children were concerned, a careful mother. Four little ones, three
boys and a girl, claimed her love and maternal offices. Allison, the
eldest, was eight years old; Nettie, six; and a pair of twin babies were
in their third winter. The mother’s hands were certainly full, however
admirable might be her faculty of accomplishing with speed the work set
for her to do. It was not surprising that she should sometimes wear a
haggard, anxious look, or that, now and then, she should be, as she now
expressed it, “worried out of her senses.”
“I don’t see, for my part,” she broke forth, impatiently, presently,
“how people find time or have the heart to frolic and observe holidays
and the like frivolous carryings-on! With me, it is work, work, work!
from morning until night, and from one year’s end to another. It frets
me to see grown-up men and women, who ought to know something about the
cares and solemn responsibilities of life, acting like silly children.
What is Christmas more than any other time--when one takes a sober,
common-sense view of the matter?”
“That is what nobody does in this age of nonsense and dissipation,”
returned her husband. “I don’t know what the world is coming to!”
“Wasn’t our Saviour born on Christmas-day, Mamma?” asked Nettie’s timid
voice.
“That is not certain, by any means, child. And if it were true, there is
all the more scandal in making a frolic of it. If there were to be
prayer-meetings held all over the world to celebrate the event, it would
be far more appropriate.”
The polysyllable staggered Nettie a little, but she retained sufficient
courage to reply: “Our teacher told us, last Sabbath, that everybody
ought to be very happy upon the Saviour’s birthday.”
Before Mrs. Dryden could answer, Ally put in his oar.
“Mamma! why doesn’t Santa Claus ever come down our chimney?”
“There is no such creature, Allison! You are too old to believe in that
ridiculous fable.”
“But, Mamma, he came to Aunt Mary’s last year!” cried both children, in
a breath.
“And we all hung up our stockings in the parlor!” added Nettie.
“And Aunt Mary let the fire go down on purpose, so that the old chap
might not be scorched!” shouted Ally, excitedly. “We wanted her to have
the chimney swept, but she said he wouldn’t mind a little dirt.”
“For you know--
‘His clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot!’”
quoted Nettie, “and yet he was in a good humor
--‘and filled all the stockings’”--
“‘Then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger alongside his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!’”
chanted Ally. “Oh! what times we had repeating that, after we went to
bed that night.
‘His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
He had a broad face and a little round--’”
“You children will be the death of me!” cried Mrs. Dryden, distractedly,
putting her hands to her ears. “I shall certainly never let you spend
another Christmas at your Aunt Mary’s! Your heads were so crammed with
nonsense last year, that I am afraid you will never get rid of it.
Finish your suppers and be off to bed! You are as Christmas-mad as if
you had never been trained to more sensible things!”
“I can not imagine,” said Mr. Dryden, severely, “how they have contrived
to remember the senseless doggerel your sister was so injudicious as to
teach them.”
“That is the depravity of human nature!” sighed the wife.
Very sober little faces were uplifted to father and mother for a
“good-night” kiss, and very slow footsteps went up the stairs to the
chamber which the brother and sister shared in common. There was a
pathos in the sound, so unlike was it to the brisk patter of other small
feet upon other floors and staircases on that jubilee eve.
The father, albeit he was not an imaginative man, noticed this, and went
off to the parlor with a pained and yearning heart--saddened, he knew
not by what--longing for something he could not name. The children had
interrupted his evening reading, at supper, by their chatter, and he
bestowed himself in his armchair by the centre-table, to finish the
perusal of his newspaper. His seat was comfortable; the light clear and
soft; the evening news interesting; the room still; yet he could not fix
his mind upon his occupation. Through the quiet apartment came and went
the echoes of the four little feet, in slow dejection, going on up to
the repose that was to be visited by no happy dreams of the glories of
Christmas morning. He saw, between him and the printed column, the
sadly-serious countenances, that were, by this time, laid upon their
pillows. He wondered if the pair would cry themselves to sleep. He
purposely waxed angry with his sister-in-law for putting these silly
notions into the children’s heads. They were contented enough until that
unfortunate visit. Now, there was no telling where this mischief would
stop. It was too provoking to have two such fine natures soured by
repinings and foolish longings; two minds so intelligent filled with
superstitious fancies. Yes! they were fine children! if he _did_ say
it--and dutiful as handsome and intelligent. His wife had an excellent
method of discipline, and deserved much credit for her success in
training her offspring. She was a good woman--industrious and
conscientious--but he could have wished that her spirits were more
equable. He did not relish the idea that his blooming Nettie might, one
day, become a toil-worn, pains-taking wife and mother; her smooth
forehead be ploughed in two deep furrows, like those that crossed her
mother’s, from temple to temple; her pouting lips grow colorless and
drawn down at the corners; her bird-like voice sharpen into the shrill
peevishness of the tones that had ordered the bairns off to bed. He
would like to keep life fresh and bright for his darling so long as he
could. She would find out, soon enough, what a dry, dusty, detestable
cheat the world was. If he might have his wish, she should be a child
always; a merry, laughing, singing fairy, to gladden his old age; a
simple-hearted, trusting child, in whose love and purity he could find
refreshment, when disheartened by the faithlessness of his fellow-men.
She was very fond of him--grave and undemonstrative as he was. With the
unerring perception of childhood, she had discovered that she was his
favorite, and repaid his partiality in the coin he liked best. The sound
of his latch-key in the door was the signal, noon and night, for her to
bound down stairs to meet him; to kiss him, and offer, in her pretty,
womanly way, to relieve him of his overcoat; to hang up his hat and
bring him his slippers. Such nimble feet as hers were! Blithe, willing
little feet, how they twinkled to and fro, to perform whatever errands
he would suffer her to undertake for his comfort! Merry, dancing little
feet!
But the echoes persisted in contradicting his recollection of their
lively music. Up and down--sad and slow--they wandered; never drowned
for a moment, while their monotonous beat was rendered more mournful by
the hurried, ceaseless tramp of pleasure-seekers upon the pavement
without. He wished that he had spoken a kindly word to the downcast
innocents, instead of the silent salute he had vouchsafed to their
mutely-offered lips. Perhaps they were not asleep yet! His wife was
still with the twins, in the bedroom overhead, for he heard her walking
about the floor, preparing, as he knew, to leave them for the night. He
could slip up noiselessly to the small chamber adjoining, and solace his
uneasy spirit by a loving “good-night,” that should dry Nettie’s eyes,
if they were wet, and comfort Ally’s disappointed soul, while the
partner of his bosom would be none the wiser for it.
Mrs. Dryden did not allow the attendance of a nursery-maid to her elder
children in the evening. For more than a year they had undressed
themselves and retired to their respective cots, without noise or
complaint, leaving nothing for mother or servant to do, but to look in,
a few minutes later, and extinguish the gas. This had been done by
Ellen, the chamber-maid, before she went down to her own tea; but the
moonlight, streaming through the window-curtain, showed to the father,
as he stood without the partly-open door, the two white beds in opposite
corners of the room, and the forms that ought to have been snugly laid
under the blankets. Instead of this, they were raised upon their elbows
to a half-sitting posture, and the low hum of their earnest voices
arrested the spectator upon the threshold.
“I wonder if Papa and Mamma ever were a little boy and girl!” said
Master Ally, in a doleful key. “If they were, I guess they have
forgotten how they used to feel. I could have cried right out, to-day,
at school, when the boys were all talking about Christmas gifts and what
they expected to get. You ought to have seen them stare at me when they
asked me what I thought I should have, and I said that we didn’t keep
Christmas at our house, and that I had never hung up my stockings but
once, and that was when I was at my aunt’s! And one boy asked me if my
father and mother were dead. And when I said ‘No,’ another fellow called
out, as rude as could be--‘I guess they don’t care much about you!’ I
tell you, Nettie, it makes a fellow feel real bad!”
“I know it!” said the miniature woman, tenderly. “But, Ally, dear, Papa
and Mamma _do_ love us! Only they don’t know how much we think of
Christmas, and how children love to hang up their stockings, and all
that. But that was a very naughty boy that told you they didn’t care for
you. Papa works _ever_ so hard to get clothes and food for us, so Mamma
says; and Mamma sews for us, and takes care of us when we are sick,
and--and--a great many other kind things.”
“Maybe so; but she was awful cross to-night, and scolded like every
thing, just for nothing at all, and I am very miserable! Just hear the
boys shouting out-doors, and the people laughing and talking, as they go
along! It’s downright mean in them, when they might know that there
isn’t to be any Christmas in our house. I wish they would be still! I
wish I was dead!”
“Ally, Ally, that is wicked!” expostulated the gentle tones of the
sister.
“I don’t care! where is the sense of living, if a fellow is never to
have any fun? Where is the use of being good? If I was the wickedest boy
in town, I could not be treated worse than I am now. How I hate this
stupid old house! When I am a man, and have boys and girls of my own, I
mean that Santa Claus shall come every week and bring them--oh, such
lots of nice things! and you shall live with me, Nettie, and we will fry
doughnuts and have New Year’s cake every day!”
“Ally!” said Nettie, thoughtfully, “do you suppose there is such a man
as Santa Claus? Mamma says there isn’t!”
“I _know_ there is!” returned the boy, confidently. “But he doesn’t come
to a house unless the father and mother of the children that live there
send him an invitation. One of the big boys told me so, to-day. And good
fathers and mothers always tell him what to bring.”
“I was just thinking,” resumed Nettie’s liquid treble, “if Our Heavenly
Father knew how very badly we wanted to have a Christmas, whether He
wouldn’t send him to us. Suppose I pray to Him and tell Him all about
it!”
“You may try it!” was the conclusion of the embryo skeptic. “But I don’t
believe it will do any good.”
In a trice, Nettie had slipped to the floor, and was fumbling among a
heap of clothes laid upon a chair. Mr. Dryden watched her curiously.
“Now, Ally!” he heard her say, presently, “Here are the clean stockings
that Ellen got out for us to put on to-morrow. Mamma wouldn’t like it if
we hung them up ourselves, so I will just lay them on the foot of the
bed. If Santa Claus should come, maybe he can pin them up for us.”
Then, sinking to her knees, she put her hands together and raised her
pure face--angelic in the father’s sight--as the moonbeams revealed its
expression of meek devotion.
“Our Father who art in Heaven! please make us good and happy, and let us
have a merry Christmas. If there is any Santa Claus, please let him come
to our house to-night, for he has never been here in all our lives, and
this makes us very sorry. Bless dear Papa and Mamma, and don’t let us
think hard of them, or say naughty things about them, only because they
don’t know how little children feel. Amen!”
Ally gave a grunt that might mean acquiescence, or doubt, when his
sister arose and leaned over to kiss him; but Mr. Dryden could play the
eavesdropper no longer.
Feeling that he must inevitably discover himself if he remained another
minute in his present position, he hurried down-stairs and into the
parlor, where he behaved more like a crazy man than the sober,
self-possessed head of a staid and decent household. Kicking off his
slippers, he thrust his feet violently into
[Illustration]
his boots, stamping, with unnecessary force, to get these fairly on;
blew his nose repeatedly and loudly, afterwards passing his handkerchief
over his eyes, as though the sudden catarrh from which he appeared to be
suffering had affected them also. Going into the hall, he snatched his
greatcoat from the rack and put it on--still in desperate haste, pulled
his hat over his brows, and rushed into the street.
He found himself plunged directly into a rapid, buzzing crowd. Every
step was quick and light; every face wore a smile, and the air was full
of the pleasant confusion of happy voices. Bless the children! how they
ran under his feet, and trod upon his toes, and kicked against his
heels, and jostled him on the right and on the left! And not one of them
was empty-handed. Parcels of all sizes, shapes, and descriptions, filled
small fingers; were hugged by small arms; laid upon small shoulders and
slung upon small backs. Brown paper bundles; bundles tied in frailer
white paper, which, bursting, showed the wheel of a toy-wagon, or the
head of a toy-horse, or the arm of a doll; funnel-shaped bundles, fresh
from the hands of the confectioner; bundles, wrapped hastily in
newspaper by an economical shopkeeper, or one whose stock of wrapping
material had proved inadequate to the rush of custom; boxes, square,
oblong, and many-sided; mimic guns and drums, with gayly-painted sides,
upon whose heads the delighted owners could not refrain from beating
stirring Christmas marches, as they carried them home; here and there a
huge hobby-horse, with dilated eye and streaming mane, borne aloft by
the stalwart porter of some toy warehouse; these were but a few features
in the pageant that streamed past Mr. Dryden--a varied and joyous
torrent of life. He caught the infection of this atmosphere of gladness
before he had gone a dozen yards. He had come forth with the intention
of purchasing something with which to make his children happy; to answer
Nettie’s prayer so far as lay in his power. Awakened conscience and
remorseful affection for those he felt he had wronged, had driven him on
to the duty of making restitution. He soon began to understand that
there might be enjoyment, active and new, in the task.
“How I wish I had brought them with me!” he said to himself, as he felt
his features relax into a smile at sight of the general hilarity. “It
was hard to send them to bed so early on Christmas eve. But, what would
their mother have said if I had asked her permission to take them out
after dark?”
He stayed his rapid progress, as another query presented itself. What
would this very prudent and sedate help-meet say and think of another
bold innovation upon established rules, to wit, this expedition and its
probable results? How should he meet the stare of mingled astonishment
and rebuke that would rest upon his freight of “useless” playthings,
upon his return home? She disapproved of toys, except when great
moderation was displayed in their bestowal. Nettie had but one doll in
the world, and, careful as she was of this treasure, her loving arts
could not conceal the ravages of time; said manikin having been Aunt
Mary’s gift to her niece, upon her third birthday. Ally had never owned
a hobby-horse. His mother had a dread of “rough plays.” Our hero was
quite aware that on this occasion he was not inclined to moderation. He
would cheerfully have bought the entire contents of any one of the
illuminated windows whose splendors drew around them a swarm of admiring
juveniles, as a hive of honey would tempt hungry bees. The difficulty
was to know what would best please the unsuspecting twain at home.
“This sort of thing is not in my line!” he soliloquized. “I suppose
there is a difference between girls’ and boys’ playthings. I have it!
These people ought to know their business! I will state my dilemma, and
take whatever they advise.”
Thus resolving, he entered the largest and most brilliant toy emporium
he had yet seen, and making his way, with considerable labor, through
the throng of eager buyers, presented himself at the counter. Luckily,
the saleswoman nearest him had just dismissed a customer, and turned to
him with an engaging smile. She looked tired--as well she might, poor
thing! having been on her feet for twelve hours, and hard at work all
the time--but it was not in a kind-hearted tradeswoman’s nature to be
cross on Christmas eve.
“What can I show you, sir?” she asked, politely.
“That is what you must tell _me_, madam! I want some toys for my little
girl, aged six, and my boy, who is two years older. If you can inform me
what will suit them, you will oblige me, and please them.”
His fluent, pleasant speech amazed himself. Certainly, the witchery of
the festal eve was working upon him fast.
“Has your daughter a tea or dinner set?” inquired the shop-woman, taking
down two wooden boxes; pulling back the sliding tops, and rummaging
among the shred paper used for packing the fragile contents. “Here is
something very handsome.”
“Just the thing!” ejaculated the father, upon beholding the wee tureen;
covered and shallow dishes, gravy-boat, saltcellars, casters, and a
dozen plates, white, with a rim of gold; all so graceful in design, so
dainty in material, as to elicit his unqualified admiration. Already he
saw, in imagination, Nettie’s eyes glisten at sight of them; her deft
fingers arranging them--cunning little housewife that she was.
“Then you don’t care for the tea-set?” making a movement to close the
box.
“I--don’t--know!” hesitatingly. “I suppose she will want to spread a
supper and breakfast table, as well as play dinner, won’t she?”
“If she has not cups and saucers already, I would certainly recommend
you to take these,” and the artful tempter made a tea-tray of the lid of
the case, setting out the service so attractively, that her
inexperienced customer speedily regarded the second array of china as a
“must have.”
“Now, perhaps, you will look at a table!” pursued the woman, leading the
way to the back of the store. “We have a novelty in that line--an
extension-table.”
“Of course! how stupid in me not to remember that the china would be
useless unless she had something upon which to arrange it!”
Mr. Dryden had entered thoroughly into the spirit of the enterprise, and
was highly diverted at his oversight; very grateful to her who had
corrected his blunder. The table was a neat affair, with turned legs and
polished top, and constructed, as had been said, upon the extension
principle. Mr. Dryden took it on the spot.
“Chairs?” he said, interrogatively.
It was now the lady’s turn to be ashamed of _her_ forgetfulness. Half a
dozen cane-seat chairs were added to the pile, which betokened Mr.
Dryden to be a valuable customer. Then followed a case of knives, a
knife-box, and an assortment of silver (?) ware, and both parties came
to a momentary halt. The gentleman recovered himself first.
“Now, a doll--for which she can keep house!”
“Wax finish, porcelain, biscuit, or rubber?” said the other, glibly.
“Dressed, or undressed?”
“Dressed--I suppose, since to-morrow is so near. As to the rest, I am no
judge. But I want the prettiest doll in the establishment.”
His experience in this species of merchandise was so limited that he
might well be excused for starting at the wonderfully life-like lady
paraded for his inspection. Her hair waved in natural ringlets; she
rolled her eyes, as the shopwoman moved her to and fro. She was dressed
in the height of the mode--neither gloves, nor hat, nor parasol being
wanting to complete her toilet; and when, in obedience to a dexterous
pull of a wire upon her left side, she squeaked “Mamma!” and, responding
to a similar twitch of the corresponding muscle under the right arm, she
cried “Papa!” Mr. Dryden was overwhelmed.
“What _will_ toy makers do next?” he articulated.
“The art of manufacturing dolls is carried to great perfection,” quietly
replied the woman. “Did you say that you would take this, sir?”
Take it! what could have bribed him to forego the treat of witnessing
Nettie’s rapture in the survey of this resplendent and accomplished
demoiselle?
“We have some very pretty doll-carriages, in which the lady can take the
air,” was the next attack, and Mr. Dryden fell a willing sacrifice to
this new snare.
In very compassion for her victim, the woman directed his thoughts to
the boy’s gifts. A velocipede; a wheelbarrow, with spade, rake, and hoe;
a set of jackstraws, for winter evenings; a football and a sled made up
the complement that was to transport the semi-infidel to the seventh
heaven of ecstacy.
Truth obliges me to mention that the lavish parent sustained a slight
shock when the obliging saleswoman figured up and presented the amount
of his indebtedness; but he rallied bravely.
“Christmas comes but once a year!” he said, manfully, and paid his bill
with a good grace.
“You could not purchase the same quantity of happiness so cheaply in any
other manner,” remarked the bland merchant, oracularly.
The tit-bit of wisdom was assuredly not original with her, but it
impressed the hearer as a profound and truthful observation--one well
worth remembering. He was getting on very swiftly, indeed, in the
acquisition of Christmas lore.
“You have but two children, then, sir?” remarked the lady, casually, in
handing him his change.
“Bless my life! I forgot the twins!” exclaimed the father, aghast. “But
I suppose they are too young to appreciate Christmas presents.”
“What age?” queried the other, sweetly.
“Two and a half.”
“My dear sir! they would be disconsolate if they were overlooked!
Children understand these matters astonishingly soon.”
And having ascertained the sex of the twins, she selected two rubber
balls, and two sets of building blocks for their delectation.
“Our porter will take them for you,” she said, amused at Mr. Dryden’s
amazed contemplation of the dimensions of the pyramid she constructed of
his purchases. “Please favor us with your address!”
“Really, a little more practice will render me an adept in toy
shopping!” thought Mr. Dryden, complacently, when he was beyond the
enchanted ground, the seductions of which had lightened both heart and
pocket. “It is not a disagreeable or difficult operation, after all.”
As he neared his own door on his return, his pockets crammed with
conical packages of sugar-plums, nuts, and crystallized fruits, he
overtook the porter with his barrow.
“Quietly, my man!” he said, inserting his latch-key in the lock with
secret trepidation of spirit. “It would never do to awaken the children.
Or to attract my wife’s attention,” he added, inly.
The porter’s load was transferred to the hall so silently that even Mrs.
Dryden’s cat-like ears did not hear any bustle. Mr. Dryden sent the man
off with a gratuity, and proceeded to dispose of the presents in the
following style: the table bestraddled the right arm, and upon it were
the boxes of crockery, surmounted by the chairs; the case of jackstraws
and several other light articles. The velocipede was borne in like
manner upon the left coat sleeve; then came the wheelbarrow; the boxes
of building-blocks, the balls, and on the top, held firmly in its place
by Mr. Dryden’s chin, was the doll, In the right hand he carried the
sled; in the other Dolly’s carriage. This staid, prosaic
_pater-familias_ would have made no bad representation of the patron
saint of the anniversary, the suggestion of whose existence he had
scouted, a few hours previously, as he slowly ascended the stairs on
tiptoe, his face radiant with arch delight, despite the cowardly fear
tugging at his heart-strings, as to the reception in store for him at
the hands of his better half. Treading yet more delicately, in passing
his sleeping-room, wherein, he had no doubt, Mrs. Dryden was soundly
reposing, it being ten o’clock, her invariable bedtime, he pushed open
the door of the smaller chamber beyond, and entered. The gas was
burning--not brightly--but it enabled him to see with terrible
distinctness the figure that started up in the aisle between the beds
and confronted him with an excited air. It was his wife!
Dropping the curtain upon a tableau which the reader can picture to
himself better than I can describe, we will take a step or two backward
in our story.
“And it’s sorry for the children I am, this blessed night!” said Ellen,
to the cook, over their dish of tea. “Sorra a bit of a merry-making will
they have to-morrow--and they such good, peaceful little things, too! I
was asking Miss Nettie, just now, if I shouldn’t hang up her stockings,
at a venture-like; ‘for,’ sez I, ‘there’s no knowing but the saint might
pop down the chimney, unbeknownst to you, and ’twould be a pity not to
be ready for him.’ For, you see, my heart was that tinder towards the
lonesome craturs, that I thought I would step out myself, presently, and
buy some candies and apples to put into their poor, empty, desolate
little stockings. But, ‘No,’ says she, kinder pitiful, ‘I am afraid
Mamma might not like it, Ellen. She doesn’t believe in keeping
Christmas.’ And wid that she give a sigh, like a sorrowful woman, and
Master Ally growled over something cross to himself.”
“It’s ra’al hard--that’s what it is!” responded Biddy. “They begged
their Mamma, to-day, to let me fry some doughnuts--‘Just this once,
Mamma,’ says they, ‘because to-morrow’s Christmas’--and she wouldn’t
hear a word to it. Ah! no good ever came of ch’ating childer out of the
fun the Lord meant they should have.”
“There’s the parlor bell!” said Ellen, jumping up. “What’s wanted now, I
wonder?”
Her mistress stood upon the rug before the fire in the parlor, hat and
cloak on.
“Ellen, if you have finished your supper, I want you to get your bonnet
and shawl and go out with me. Take a basket along. I am going to buy
some things for the children.”
Her voice shook in uttering these few sentences; and, although her face
was averted, the girl was positive that she had been weeping. Brimful of
curiosity and excitement, she dashed up-stairs for her wrappings, then
down to the kitchen to ask Biddy to listen for sounds from the nursery
while she was out.
“For we are going a-Christmassing--glory be to all the saints--St.
Nicholas, in particular! for he must have put it into her head to
remember the swate innocents.”
It is not our purpose to follow them in their tramp, as we have traced
the course of the lady’s husband. Suffice it to say, that Ellen’s basket
was heavily burdened when they re-entered the house, and her mistress
bore sundry parcels in her hands, all of which were carefully deposited
upon the carpet beside the cots of the calmly-sleeping children. Ellen
was made happy, on her own account, by the present of a bank-bill for
her private spending, and intrusted with another of the same value for
Biddy; then excused from further service. If the maid had been mistaken
in her surmise as to the tears she had seen in eyes which were generally
dry and bright, there was no doubt as to the melting mood that overtook
the mother when she removed the four stockings from the place where
Nettie had laid them. She even pressed them to her lips before fastening
the tops of each pair together with a stout pin, and hanging them over
the footboards of the beds. To unpack the basket and undo papers, with
as little rustling as was practicable, was her next act. She paused,
when everything was uncovered, to survey her acquisitions. Her
expenditures had been on a scale far less grand than her husband’s, but
maternal tact had guided her in the selection of acceptable gifts. There
were a cooking-stove, with its assortment of pans, griddles, and
kettles; a work-box of satinwood, lined with red velvet, and well
stocked; a cradle with a baby-doll asleep under the muslin curtain, for
Nettie. For Ally, she had provided a bag of beautiful agate marbles; a
fine humming-top; a paint-box, and a set--fourteen in number--of
Abbott’s inimitable “Rollo” books for boys. She had not forgotten the
twins, as was evidenced by a couple of whips; two picture-books, and two
tin horses mounted upon wheels; one attached to an express wagon, the
other to a baker’s cart. Nor had she disdained to call upon the
confectioner. Her conical bundles contained “Christmas mixture;” plain
sugar candy; peppermint lozenges and oranges; more wholesome, or,
rather, less hurtful sweets than the richer and costly delicacies that
had captivated her lord’s fancy. Altogether, the sight was a pleasant
one, and a satisfactory, if one might judge by the gleam of comfort that
overspread the tear-stained visage. She had just dropped a handful of
the “mixture” into the foot of Ally’s sock, when a soft tap at the door
startled her. It was Ellen, and she bore a plate, covered with a napkin,
in her hand.
“If you plaze, mem--Biddy hopes you won’t be offended, mem--but the
children were so disappointed to-day, mem; and when I told her you were
going to give them a Christmas, she made so bold as to fry them a few
doughnuts. She wouldn’t have taken the privilege, only, seeing Christmas
comes but once a year, and it’s good children they are, mem!”
“They are, Ellen! Tell Biddy that I am much obliged to her. These are
very nice, indeed!”
Yet she cried over them when the girl was gone. Her very servants pitied
the cruelly-oppressed little ones!
“I have been a hard, unsympathizing mother!” she thought, sobbingly.
“God forgive me this, my sin!” She wiped away the tears, and resumed her
task. “William will think I have lost my senses!” she ruminated,
cramming an orange into the leg of the tightly-stuffed sock. “But I
can’t help it, if he does!”
And, as if invoked by her unspoken thought, her husband, accoutred as I
have described, stood before her.
“William!”
“Emily!”
The two detected culprits stared at one another for an instant, in
unuttered, because unutterable amazement; then, as the truth dawned upon
their minds, they burst into a fit of laughter that threatened to awake
the dreamers.
“Hush-sh-sh!” said Mrs. Dryden, wiping away the tears of mirth that now
hung where bitterer drops had trickled awhile ago, and pointing to the
beds, “Let me see what you have been doing?”
The prudent economist could not repress a single exclamation of gentle
reproof, as she examined the store. “William Dryden! And in these hard
times, my dear!”
“Christmas comes but once a year, wifie! and then I had to make up for
lost time, you know. I’ll tell you how it happened, and then you won’t
blame me. I felt badly after tea, and came up to say a kind word to
them”--nodding towards the brother and sister--“before they went to
sleep, and, that door being ajar, I heard them talking”--
“And listened, as I did at _that_ one!” cried Mrs. Dryden, throwing her
arms around his neck, and beginning to cry afresh. “O husband! I have
been so miserable ever since! have felt so guilty! Only to think, that I
was teaching my children to hate me and to hate their home--making their
lives wretched!”
“Don’t think of it, dear! After this, there will be peace and good-will
among us!” soothed the husband, his own eyes shining suspiciously. “If
we have made a mistake, we are ready to correct it. Now, let us see what
disposition can be made of this cargo of valuables. And I left a lot of
gimcracks--sweet things, you know--down stairs.”
Christmas morning came, clear and brilliant, with frosty sunlight, and
Mrs. Dryden, as was her custom, tapped at the children’s door, having
beforehand stealthily unclosed it far enough to allow herself and her
accomplice a view of the interior of the dormitory.
“Come, little birds, it is time you were out of your nests!”
The cheery, loving voice aroused the sleepers more thoroughly than
sterner accents would have done. The mother was spared the pain of
knowing that the novelty of the address made it so efficacious.
“Yes, Mamma!” answered Nettie, starting up in bed.
“All right!” responded Ally, and he turned over.
Thus it happened that the eyes of both rested simultaneously upon an
object in the centre of the apartment, and a ringing cry of joy escaped
them.
“Nettie, Santa Claus _did_ come!”
“Ally, don’t you know what I prayed for?”
They were upon the floor before the words had left their lips. The next
few minutes were passed in speechless admiration of the miraculous
edifice that had arisen during their hours of unconsciousness. Mr.
Dryden had made a second trip to the street, the night before, to buy a
Christmas tree. A broad, flat box, covered with a white cloth, formed
the base upon which this was set. The larger toys were placed around
the trunk, and smaller ones hung among the gilt balls, flags, and
flowers, that decked the boughs. Miss Dolly sat at the root upon one of
her new chairs, her foot upon the rocker of the new cradle, and, perched
up in the topmost branches, was Santa Claus--white beard, pipe, pack,
and all--smiling broadly upon his enraptured devotees.
Nettie broke the spell of ecstatic silence. “Dear Mamma! Papa, darling!”
she screamed. “Come and see! It is just like fairy-land!”
And flying to the door, her curls streaming back, and her face fairly
luminous with delight, she ran directly into her parents’ arms.
“Christmas shall be an ‘institution’ in our family, hereafter!” said Mr.
Dryden, that night, when the happy children had kissed them “good-night”
over and over again. “I am a better man for last evening’s work and this
day’s innocent frolic. I feel twenty years younger, and fifty degrees
happier. It pays, my dear--_it pays!_”