The Birthday Gifts.
SEVERAL months have passed away since the Temples began making their
model of the Tabernacle of Israel. The leaves which were then green on
the trees, have become yellow, have faded and fallen; save those on
the evergreens, which wear a silver crusting of frost. But it is not
to Cedar Lodge that I shall take my young readers, but to a large and
rather plain brick house in the city of Chester. It is a house by no
means beautiful to the eye, and its only look-out is into a narrow
paved street; but still that house has a charm of its own, it is dear
to many a heart, for its owner, Miss Theodora Clare, is the friend and
benefactress of the poor around. Many have entered sadly through the
dark green door of that red-brick house, who have left it cheerfully,
blessing the kind heart and liberal hand of its lady.
It is just two days before Christmas: on the morrow Miss Clare’s Ragged
School is to have its annual treat. A feast and gifts of warm socks
or mittens knitted for each child by the lady’s own hands, are not
to form the only, or perhaps the chief attractions of the treat; the
little scholars have been promised a sight of the model Tabernacle,
which its young makers are to bring from their country home, about
ten miles away. Christmas Eve has been fixed upon by Miss Clare as the
time for her Ragged School Fête, because it is the birthday of her twin
nieces, the younger of whom is her namesake. The arrival of the Temple
family is expected almost every minute, and Miss Clare sits by the
window, with the red glow of a December sun upon her, glancing up with
a look of pleasant expectation whenever she hears the rattle of wheels
along the narrow paved street. You might guess at once by the likeness
between them that Miss Clare is the sister of Mrs. Temple, though her
figure is a little taller, and her locks a little whiter than those of
the widow lady.
Miss Clare is evidently thinking; she looks a little perplexed and
doubtful as she examines the contents of a large old-fashioned ebony
box which holds her little treasures. Not treasures of silver or gold;
there are but few indeed of such things in the possession of Theodora
Clare: her silver spoons have fed the hungry; her gold chain has paid
for the benches on which her ragged scholars sit, and her bracelets
for the books which they learn from, and the big blackboard on the
wall. A good many pairs of stout little shoes have come out of Miss
Clare’s silver tea-pot! But there is one article of jewellery which
the lady still possesses, and this is to her the most precious of all.
It is the likeness of her sister, Mrs. Temple, in a brooch, set round
with pearls. This was the gift of Mr. Temple on his wedding-day to the
bridesmaid, Theodora; it is very beautiful as an ornament, and as a
likeness almost perfect. But not even this jewel does the generous lady
intend to keep for herself; it is to be her birthday present on the
following day to Dora.
Miss Clare has for years settled in her own mind that her god-daughter
should receive the precious brooch on completing the twelfth year of
her age; it is no doubt upon this subject that perplexes her now; (for
the lady does look a little perplexed as she searches her old-fashioned
box for something which she seems to have some difficulty in finding).
She opens this little packet, then that little packet, then silently
shakes her head, or murmurs “No, that will not do,” as she replaces it
in the large box. The reader knows that Dora has a twin sister, and
that the birthday of the one is also the birthday of the other. Miss
Clare does not like to give to Dora without also giving to Agnes, and
as her hospitality and her charities leave her very little money for
buying presents, she wishes to find some suitable article already in
her possession of which to make a birthday remembrance. But what should
that article be? Almost everything that would please a young girl had
already been given away.
“I have nothing—nothing that can be compared in value or in beauty with
the brooch,” said Miss Clare to herself, as she locked the box where
she had been vainly searching amongst locks of hair neatly wrapped in
separate papers, old letters, and little pictures faded and yellow
with time. “I hope that Agnes is too sensible a girl to expect that my
precious brooch should be given to herself instead of to my namesake,
who is to me almost as a daughter; but still Agnes is the elder of the
twins; she is, I fear, of rather a jealous temper; her character has
not—or had not a year ago—the generosity and sweetness of that of my
Dora. I should be grieved to hurt the feelings of either of the dear
girls; what can I find that will really please Agnes?”
Miss Clare had really given the subject a good deal of consideration,
though apparently to little purpose, when a thought occurred to her
mind which brought a smile of satisfaction to her kind pleasant face.
Miss Clare rose from her seat by the window, and went to a table which
had in it a drawer, hidden by the neat brown cloth that hung over the
sides. The lady lifted the cloth, drew open the drawer, and then took
from it a flat parcel wrapped in a peculiar kind of yellowish paper,
with that scent about it which usually pervades articles which have
come from India.
“Here is the delicate little embroidered neck-scarf which was sent to
me years ago, and which I have always thought much too fine for my
wear,” said the lady, as she opened the parcel. “This will of course be
a gift not to be compared to the brooch; but still it is pretty, very
pretty; I think that Agnes is sure to admire it.”
It was indeed impossible not to admire the exquisite embroidery in gold
and colors on the small India-muslin scarf. The natives of India excel
in this kind of work, and the little scarf was a gem of beauty for
richness of pattern and brightness of hue. Miss Clare’s only doubt was
whether such an article of dress were not too gay to be given to her
young niece.
Miss Clare had little time to think over this matter, for hardly had
she put back the pretty piece of embroidery into its paper wrapping,
and then replaced it in the drawer, when the rattle of wheels was heard
on the stones, and a large carriage, well filled within, and with
plenty of luggage without, was driven up to the door. Well Miss Clare
knew the smiling eager faces which crowded the carriage window, and the
merry young voices which sounded through the clear cold winter air. The
lady ran hurriedly to meet and welcome the party, and was at the open
door, notwithstanding the cold of frosty December, before Mrs. Temple
and her five children could manage to get out of the carriage in which
they had been too closely packed for comfort, but in which they had
been very noisy and merry. All trace of whooping cough had long since
departed, and the sounds which had been heard in the carriage had been
only those of talking, laughing, and singing!
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