FATHER CHRISTMAS
CORRIE sat with clasped hands before her Christmas tree, her large
eyes fixed upon it in speechless admiration. Robin stood beside her,
waiting anxiously for the first word; he had persuaded her to shut her
eyes as he carried her in from the adjoining room and placed her in her
chair before the gaily-decked fir bough. It seemed as though some fairy
vision had enthralled the child's senses as each green tip was gazed at
in wondering awe.
Presently one small hand was raised gently to touch the sugar lamb, as
if to make quite sure of its reality, and a deep sigh of satisfaction
preceded the smile that broke over her features as she whispered, "Oh,
Robin!"
As her arms stole round his neck, he saw there were tears in her eyes.
"Robin, did God send me my Christmas tree?"
"Yes, dear little sister. He put it into the hearts of those kind young
ladies at Oaklands to get it ready for you; and they are all so glad
to think you are having a happy Christmas. They are coming some day to
see you, Corrie; and they have promised to bring you pretty flowers
from the garden. Oh, mother, it made me so glad to bring home the tree
yesterday, and the basket of meat and plum-pudding! Miss Clarice came
down into the kitchen to watch her mamma and the housekeeper pack the
things that were to be given away; and everybody was so kind and merry,
that I wished I could run the whole way home to tell you about it."
"God bless them all!" murmured the widow. "I think they would be
rewarded if they could see our darling now."
"Is the pretty wood you told me about like this, Robin?" said Corrie as
she touched the spiky green.
"Yes, something like that, little sister, only ever so much taller.
You look up and up, right through the green branches to the sky; and
the trees stand all thick together, so snug and warm that the cold
winds cannot hurt them. I wonder how the fir tree liked being dug up
yesterday by Mr. Jonathan, and carried away from its companions? It
could tell a pretty story after seeing all the grand things last night."
As Robin said this, a secret longing stole over him to have been there
himself, to take one peep at the lighted rooms.
If he had, he would have seen a happy little girl carried in at the
door, wrapped in a warm shawl; and Milly's smiling face would have
revealed some of the gladness resting in her heart that forgetfulness
of self and thought for others had awakened.
That castaway and seemingly useless fir branch had been as God's
messenger, doing its work faithfully in both homes. It was like the
olive branch of peace plucked off by the gentle dove that made Noah's
heart glad, because it held the promise of a bright and living hope.
Milly joined in the general shout of admiration as children of every
size and age trooped in from the hall.
"Father Christmas cut fruit from his wonderful tree for everybody
that night; young and old, rich and poor, alike were remembered. To
'send portions unto them for whom nothing is prepared' is his special
prerogative, as year after year he distributes his bounties, filling up
the overflowing measure with plenty of hearty goodwill and Christmas
cheer.
"I am so happy!" whispered Milly into her father's ear. "I should like
to kiss Corrie for making me so glad. I forgot all about myself when I
was doing things for her."
"Ah! You have found out the secret, my pet. Papa's darling must never
forget it all her life. She will then always be able to find the
rainbow among darkest clouds."
Robin had made his round rosy face shine with the soap he had scrubbed
it with on Christmas morning. And now, in his neatly patched Sunday
best, he left mother and sister to the enjoyment of a quiet morning
at home, and followed the sound of the melodious bells up the street
to the old grey church, whose porch invited all to enter and hear the
sweet message of God's goodwill towards men. The holly leaves glistened
bright among the woodwork, and blessed words were written in evergreen
letters on the walls. Robin spelt them out reverently from his free
seat:
"'Unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given; and the government
shall be upon His shoulder: and His name shall be called Wonderful,
Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of
Peace.'" (Isa. ix. 6).
The minister knew what wondrous tidings he had to tell the people, and
his eye beamed with joy as he read the story of Bethlehem. He begged
each one of his hearers not to be content with merely looking at the
holy Babe in His humble manger cradle, and going away to their work in
the world to forget all about Him. Christ must be born in each heart
by the Holy Spirit of God, and then the life will be a Christ-life,
because Jesus will be dwelling there.
The Lord Christ now, as then, stoops from the throne of His glory to
knock at the door of every heart. Oh, do not let us say, "There is no
room for Him in the inn;" rather let us open the door and invite Him to
enter, to dwell with us as Lord of our whole life and being; so shall
we walk with God.
"I hope He will come into my heart," thought poor Robin, "and never
never leave it." And he prayed, "O Lord Jesus, I want to love Thee.
Bless me now, and mother, and Corrie. Amen."
It was a long winter that year, and many a heart yearned wistfully for
the genial spring sunshine, especially in homes where coals were scarce
and garments thin and scanty, and the money which procured them hardly
earned.
Milly thought it was bad enough to be a constant prisoner in her warm
and comfortable nursery, and was at times sorely tempted to give way
to peevish complainings and fretful temper. But the precious plant of
love, which blooms brightly in the soil of unselfishness, began to take
root in her young heart, to bear now and in after years much fruit
to the glory and praise of God. Will those who read this story try
each one to plant a slip of it in their life's garden? It is the true
heartsease, for where it blossoms, there is always a contented happy
spirit, rejoicing in the sunshine of God's love.
At last the snowy border of Nature's ermine robe began to fold away,
and flowers were decking her green kirtle. The bulbs had lain so many
weeks under their white covering that they had almost forgotten how
long they had been asleep. But at last, the pale snowdrop and gleaming
crocus peeped shyly up to nod to each other in the sunshine which had
called them from their hiding-places.
One day, Milly's papa brought in a poor little motherless lamb from the
field, nearly dead with cold and hunger.
To the great delight of the invalid child, it was wrapped in flannel
and laid in a basket before the nursery fire, to be fed and warmed by
her loving hands. What joy when the stiffened limbs began to move and
the eyes to open!
"May I have it for my own?" cried Milly in ecstasy. "Oh, you darling!"
she whispered. "You are much better than the sugar lamb I gave away at
Christmas. I shall call you Daisy, because you are white and your eyes
shine so brightly."
So Daisy grew and flourished, until he was too big to visit Millicent
in the nursery any more. Fan, the black retriever, having been bereaved
of her puppies, had taken kindly to the motherless stranger, and given
it a warm welcome. The two would lie curled up in the straw together,
in a snug corner of the stable; and on warm days, Daisy was tethered on
the lawn in sight of the nursery window.
This new object of interest, and many indoor pleasures, planned by
the thoughtful love of her parents, reconciled Milly to a necessary
imprisonment of months; and she no longer looked with envy at Clarice
and her sturdy brothers, equipped for walking or riding. They paid many
a visit to the widow's humble dwelling, to take little delicacies to
Corrie, and such cheer and brightness as would make the small pale face
light up with a glow of pleasure whenever she heard the patter of their
footsteps.
And all this joy had its beginning in Corrie's happy Christmas!
At the close of March, after a week of mild damp weather, there dawned
a day of such rare sunshine and blue sky that the nursery windows at
Oaklands were thrown open, and nurse looked in vain for the captive
bird. For while she was engaged elsewhere, and mamma had baby in
the drawing room, papa had been upstairs and stolen his white dove,
as he called his delicate child. What fun to get out hat and jacket
surreptitiously from the wardrobe, and the warm shawl to wrap over all,
and the little boots that had not been on for so long! Milly laughed a
merry laugh as she ran up and down on the smooth gravel path, holding
her father's hand, while mamma smiled approvingly through the window
with baby on her knee.
"You will carry me down to the wood, won't you, papa, when they are in
sight? What will Corrie say when she sees the primroses?"
"Why, there are the boys, Milly; come along, little woman, we shall be
in plenty of time." And papa's long legs went quickly over fields and
ditches by a cross-cut to the meeting-point.
"Hurrah!" shouted Alfred and Arthur. "Look at Milly and papa! Make
haste, Robin!"
But Robin at this moment had eyes only for the occupant of the neat
and pretty basket perambulator he was steering carefully as Clarice
walked by the side talking to Corrie. The use of this small carriage
for the first time was to the children as important an event as the
launching of a lifeboat; for had they not all combined since that happy
Christmas-tide to obtain it for the poor sick child, who was shut away
from all the country sights and sounds that would so delight her?
The money-box in mamma's room had grown heavier and heavier as pennies
and threepenny-bits, and a bright shilling now and then, found their
way through the small slit in the lid. These children were permitted
to earn money in various ways, and all vied with each other in their
interest and self-denial in this good cause. Papa and mamma finally
completed the required sum by a handsome donation, after a prolonged
trial of their children's labour and patience.
And to-day all these hopes and good wishes were realised; and the
happy workers felt the reward fully recompensed the sacrifice. It
had required no small amount of perseverance and self-denial in many
ways, which children alone can understand. Yet they were far happier
than the petted spoilt autocrats of some nurseries, whose wants are so
abundantly supplied. There is nothing left to wish for; no channels
open to them for the flowing out of a free God-like charity, the
possession of which has power to make the desert places of any heart
"rejoice and blossom as the rose."
When Robin heard of the prospect of a carriage for his little sister,
his heart seemed almost too full for words. Was it a dream? Would
Corrie actually see the flowers growing he had so often brought home
to her in handfuls? He could picture in anticipation her eager hands
reaching out after the countless treasures which he had not been able
to carry her to look at since she was quite a baby-child.
No wonder, then, that his little sister's face was a study to him now
as he heard her cry of delight when the woodlands appeared in view.
A flush of gladness overspread her features, giving for the time an
appearance of health. What the ecstasy of joy was to the poor sickly
child only Robin knew fully. To be taken out of that dark street past
budding hedges into the pure fresh country had long been a beautiful
vision, which neither he nor Corrie had ever expected could be so soon
realised. She had tried to content herself with seeing the glory and
the beauty of rural haunts with Robin's eyes as he faithfully recounted
each ramble; now she beheld them for herself, and rejoiced as a
butterfly does who has found its wings.
Corrie was a little shy of the pretty ladies, as she called Clarice and
Milly, who ran about close to her on the greensward, filling her basket
with tufts of moss and flowers. Suddenly, as they passed round a clump
of trees, a glade opened to view, the ground of which was studded thick
with primroses. There was a universal scream of delight as Corrie's
carriage halted on the soft flower-strewn carpet.
"Oh, the pretty golden stars!" she cried. "Robin, let me pick them
myself. Oh, Robin, take me in your arms!"
The boy did so, after spreading mother's big shawl carefully beside a
bright clump of primroses, that Corrie might gather for herself.
Ah! how quickly the little hands were filled as each slight stem
yielded to the pull of eager fingers! All too soon the happy hour
passed away, and it was time to go back to mother, hard at work, yet
all the while thinking of God's goodness to herself and her crippled
child in raising up such kind friends.