It was all there—all that Tilly had imagined. There were warm, thick blankets, the comfortable shawl, a pair of new shoes, and best of all, a pretty winter hat for Bessy. The basket was full of good things to eat, and on the flowers lay a small note saying, “For the little girl who loves her neighbor as herself.”
“Mother, I really do think my little bird is an angel in disguise and that all these splendid things came from him,” said Tilly, laughing and crying with joy.
It really did seem so. As Tilly spoke, the robin flew to the table, hopped to the nosegay, and perching among the roses, began to chirp with all his little might. The sun streamed in on the flowers, the tiny bird, and the happy child with her mother. No one saw a shadow glide across the window or ever knew that Mr. King had seen and heard the little girls the night before. No one ever dreamed that the rich neighbor had learned a priceless lesson from his poor, little neighbor girl.
And Tilly’s bird was a Christmas angel, for by the love and tenderness she gave to the helpless little creature, she brought good gifts to herself, happiness to an unknown benefactor, and the faithful friendship of a little friend who did not fly away, but stayed with her until the snow was gone, making summer for her in the wintertime.
What Love Can Do
THE SMALL ROOM HAD NOTHING IN IT BUT A bed, two chairs, and a big chest. A few little gowns hung on the wall, and the only picture was the wintry sky, sparkling with stars, framed by the uncurtained window. But the moon, pausing to peep, saw something touching and heard something pleasant. Two heads in little, round nightcaps lay on one pillow, two pairs of wide-awake blue eyes stared up at the light, and two tongues were going like bell clappers.
“I’m so glad we finished our shirts in time! It seemed as though we never should, and I don’t think six cents is half enough for a great, red flannel shirt with four buttonholes, do you?” said one voice rather wearily.
“No, but then we each made four, and fifty cents is a good deal of money. Are you sorry we didn’t keep our quarters for ourselves?” asked the other voice with an undertone of regret.
“Yes, I am, till I think how pleased the children will be with our tree, for they don’t expect anything at all and will be so surprised. I wish we had more toys to put on it, for it looks so small and mean with only three or four things hanging from it.”
“Oh, it won’t hold anymore, so I wouldn’t worry about it. The toys are very red and yellow, and I guess the babies won’t know how cheap they are but like them as much as if they cost heaps of money.”
With that brave, cheery reply, the four blue eyes turned toward the chest under the window, and the kind moon did her best to light up the tiny tree standing there. A very pitiful little tree it was—only a branch of hemlock in an old flowerpot propped up with bits of coal and hung with a few penny toys earned by the patient fingers of the elder sisters that the younger ones should not be disappointed.
But in spite of the magical moonlight, the broken branch, with its scanty supply of fruit, looked pathetically poor, and one pair of eyes filled slowly with tears, while the other pair lost their happy look as if a cloud had covered the moonbeams.
“Are you crying, Dolly?”
“Not much, Grace.”
“What makes you sad, dear?”
“I didn’t know how poor we were till I saw the tree, and then I couldn’t help it,” sobbed the elder sister, for at twelve she already knew something of the cares of poverty and missed the happiness that seemed to vanish out of all their lives when Father died.
“It’s dreadful! I never thought we’d have to earn our tree and only be able to get a broken branch, after all, with nothing on it but three sticks of candy, two squeaking dogs, a red cow, and an ugly bird with one feather in its tail.” Overcome by a sudden sense of destitution, Grace sobbed even more despairingly than Dolly.
“Hush, dear. We must cry softly, or Mother will hear and come up; and then we shall have to tell. You know we said we wouldn’t mind not having any Christmas, she seemed so sorry about it.”
“I must cry, but I’ll be quiet about it.”
So the two heads went under the pillow for a few minutes and not a sound betrayed them as the sisters cried softly in one another’s arms, lest Mother should discover that they were no longer careless children, but brave young creatures trying to bear their share of poverty cheerfully.
When the shower was over, the faces came out shining like roses after rain, and the voices went on again as before.
“Don’t you wish there really was a Santa Claus who knew what we wanted and would come and put two silver half dollars in our stockings, so we could go to see Puss ’n’ Boots at the theatre tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yes, indeed; but we didn’t hang up any stockings anyway, you know, because Mother had nothing to put in them. It does seem as if rich people might think of the poor now and then. Such small considerations would help us feel remembered, and it couldn’t be much trouble to take two small girls to the play.”
“I shall remember to do something when I’m rich, like Mr. Chrome and Miss Kent. I shall go ’round every Christmas with a big basket of goodies and give all the poor children some.”
“Perhaps if we sew ever so many flannel shirts we may be rich by-and-by. I should give Mother a new bonnet first of all, for I heard Miss Kent say no lady would wear such a shabby one. Mrs. Smith said fine bonnets didn’t make real ladies, though. I like her best, but I do want a locket like Miss Kent’s.”
“I should give Mother some new rain shoes, and then I should buy a white apron with frills like Miss Kent’s and bring home nice bunches of grapes and good things to eat, as Mr. Chrome does. I often smell them, but he never gives me any. He only says, ‘Hullo, little chick,’ and I’d rather have oranges anytime.”
“It will take us a long while to get rich, I’m afraid. It makes me tired to think of it. I guess we’d better go to sleep now, dear.”
“Good night, Dolly.”
“Good night, Grace.”
They kissed each other softly, a nestling sound followed, and presently the little sisters lay fast asleep cheek against cheek on the pillow wet with their tears, never dreaming of what was going to happen to them tomorrow.
Now Miss Kent’s room was next to theirs, and as she sat sewing she could hear the children’s talk, for they had soon forgotten to whisper. At first she smiled, then she looked sober, and when the prattle ceased, she said to herself, as she glanced about her pleasant chamber: “Poor little things! They think I’m rich and envy me when I’m only a ladies’ hatmaker earning my living. I ought to have taken more notice of them, for their mother does have a hard time, I fancy, but never complains.
“I’m sorry they heard what I said, and if I knew how to do it without offending her, I’d trim a nice bonnet for a Christmas gift, for their mother is a dear lady in spite of her poor clothes. Perhaps I can give the children something they want anyhow—and I will! The idea of those mites making a fortune out of shirts at six cents apiece!”
Miss Kent laughed at the innocent delusion but sympathized with her little neighbors, for she knew all about hard times. She had good wages now but spent them on herself and liked to be considered fine rather than neat. Still, she was a good-hearted young woman and what she had overheard set her to thinking soberly about what she might do.
“If I hadn’t spent all my money on my dress for the party tomorrow night, I’d give each of them a half dollar. As I cannot, I’ll hunt up the other things they wanted, for it’s a shame they shouldn’t have a bit of Christmas when they have tried so hard to please other little ones.”
As she spoke, she stirred about her room and soon had a white apron, an old carnelian heart on a fresh blue ribbon, and two papers of bonbons ready. As no stockings were hung up, she laid a clean towel on the floor before the door and spread forth the small gifts to look their best.
M
iss Kent was so busy that she did not hear a step come quietly upstairs, and Mr. Chrome, the artist, peeped at her through the balusters, wondering what she was about. He soon saw and watched her with pleasure, thinking that she never looked prettier than now.
Presently, she caught him at it and hastened to explain, telling what she had heard and how she was trying to atone for her past neglect of these young neighbors. Then she said good night and both went into their rooms—she to sleep happily, and he to meditate thoughtfully.
His eye kept turning to some bundles that lay on his table as if the story he had heard suggested how he might follow Miss Kent’s example. I rather think he would not have disturbed himself if he had not heard the story told in such a soft voice, with a pair of bright eyes full of pity looking into his; for little girls were not particularly interesting to him, and he was usually too tired to notice the industrious creatures who toiled up and down stairs on various errands. He was busy himself, after all.
Now that he knew something of their small troubles, he felt as if it would please Miss Kent and be a good joke to do his share of the pretty work she had begun.
So presently he jumped up, and, opening his parcels, took out two oranges and two bunches of grapes; then he looked up two silver half dollars, and, stealing into the hall, laid the fruit upon the towel and the money atop the oranges. This addition improved the display very much, and Mr. Chrome was stealing back, well pleased, when his eye fell on Miss Kent’s door, and he said to himself: “She too shall have a little surprise, for she is a dear, kindhearted soul.”
In his room was a prettily painted plate, and this he filled with green and purple grapes, tucked a sentimental note underneath, and, leaving it on her threshold, crept away as stealthily as a burglar.
The house was very quiet when Mrs. Smith, the landlady, came to turn off the gas. “Well, upon my word, here’s fine doings, to be sure!” she said when she saw the state of the upper hall. “Now I wouldn’t have thought it of Miss Kent, she is such a giddy girl, nor of Mr. Chrome, he is so busy with his own affairs. I meant to give those children each a cake tomorrow; they are such good little things. I’ll run down and get them now, as my contribution to this fine display.”
Away trotted Mrs. Smith to her pantry and picked out a couple of tempting cakes, shaped like hearts and full of plums. There was a goodly array of pies on the shelves, and she took two of them, saying, as she climbed the stairs again, “They remembered the children, so I’ll remember them and have my share of the fun.”
So up went the pies, for Mrs. Smith had not much to give, and her spirit was generous, though her pastry was not of the best. It looked very droll to see pies sitting about on the thresholds of closed doors, but the cakes were quite elegant and filled up the corners of the towel handsomely, for the apron lay in the middle, with oranges right and left, like two sentinels in orange uniform.
It was very late when the flicker of a candle came upstairs and a pale lady, with a sweet, sad face, appeared, bringing a pair of red and a pair of blue mittens for her Dolly and Grace. Poor Mrs. Blake did have a hard time, for she stood all day in a great store that she might earn bread for the poor children who stayed at home and took care of one another.
Her heart was heavy that night, because it was the first Christmas she had ever known without gifts and festivity of some sort. But Petkin, the youngest child, had been ill, times were hard, the little mouths gaped for food like the bills of hungry birds, and there was no tender mate to help fill them.
The angels hovering about the dingy hall just then must have seen the mother’s tired face brighten beautifully when she discovered the gifts, and found that her little helpers had been so kindly remembered. Something more brilliant than the mock diamonds in Miss Kent’s best earrings fell and glittered on the dusty floor as Mrs. Blake added the mittens to the other things and went to her lonely room again, smiling as she thought how she could thank all the contributors in a pleasant and simple way.
Her windows were full of flowers, for the delicate tastes of the poor lady found great comfort in their beauty. “I have nothing else to give, and these will show how grateful I am,” she said as she rejoiced that the scarlet geraniums were so full of gay clusters, the white chrysanthemum stars were all out, and the pink roses at their loveliest.
The flowers slept now, dreaming of a sunny morrow as they sat safely sheltered from the bitter cold. But that night was their last, for a gentle hand cut them all, and soon three pretty nosegays stood in a glass, waiting for dawn, to be laid at three doors, with a few grateful words which would surprise and delight the receivers, for flowers were rare in those hardworking lives, and kind deeds often come back to the givers in fairer shapes than they go.
Now one would think that there had been gifts enough, and no more could possibly arrive, since all had added his or her mite except Betsey, the maid, who was off on a holiday, and the babies fast asleep in their trundle bed with nothing to give but love and kisses. Nobody dreamed that the old cat would take it into her head that her kittens were in danger, because Mrs. Smith had said she thought they were nearly old enough to be given away. But the cat must have understood, for when all was dark and still, the anxious mother went patting upstairs to the children’s door, meaning to hide her babies under their bed, sure they would be saved destruction. Mrs. Blake had shut the door, however, so poor Puss was disappointed; but finding a soft, clean spot among a variety of curious articles, she laid her kits there and kept them warm all night, with her head pillowed on the blue mittens.
In the cold morning Dolly and Grace got up and scrambled into their clothes, not with joyful haste to see what their stockings held, for they had none, but because they had the little ones to dress while Mother got the breakfast.
Dolly opened the door and started back with a cry of astonishment at the lovely spectacle before her. The other people had taken in their gifts, so nothing destroyed the magnificent effect of the treasures so curiously collected in the night. Puss had left her kits asleep and gone down to get her own breakfast; and there, in the middle of the ruffled apron, as if in a dainty cradle, lay the two Maltese darlings, with white bibs and boots on, and white tips to the tiny tails curled round their little noses.
Grace and Dolly could only clasp their hands and look in rapturous silence for a minute; then they went down on their knees and reveled in the unexpected richness before them.
“I do believe angels must have heard us, for here is everything we wanted,” said Dolly, holding the carnelian heart in one hand and the plumy one in the other.
“How can we ever explain this, for we didn’t mention kittens, but we wanted one, and here are two darlings,” cried Grace, almost purring with delight as the downy bunches unrolled and gaped till their bits of pink tongues were visible.
“Mrs. Smith must have been one angel, I guess, and Miss Kent was another, for that is her apron. I shouldn’t wonder if Mr. Chrome gave us the oranges and the money; men always have lots, and his name is on this bit of paper,” said Dolly.
“Oh, I’m so glad! Now we shall have a Christmas like other people, and I’ll never say again that rich folks don’t remember poor folks. Come and show all our treasures to Mother and the babies; they must have some,” answered Grace, feeling that the world was all right and life not half as hard as she thought it last night.
Shrieks of delight greeted the sisters, and all that morning there was joy and feasting in Mrs. Blake’s room; and in the afternoon Dolly and Grace went to the theatre and actually saw Puss ’n’ Boots, for their mother insisted on their going, having discovered how the hard-earned quarters had been spent. This was such unhoped for bliss they could hardly believe it and kept smiling at one another so brightly that people wondered who the happy girls in the shabby cloaks could be who clapped their new mittens so heartily and laughed till it was better than music to hear them.
This was a remarkable Christmas Day,
and they long remembered it; for while they were absorbed in the fortunes of the Marquis of Carabas and the funny cat, who tucked his tail in his belt, washed his face so awkwardly, and didn’t know how to purr, strange things were happening at home, and more surprises were in store for Dolly and Grace.
You see, when people once begin to do kindnesses, it is so easy and pleasant, they find it hard to leave off; and sometimes it beautifies them so that they find they love one another very much—as Mr. Chrome and Miss Kent discovered that wondrous day.
They were very jolly at dinner and talked a good deal about the Blakes, who ate in their own rooms. Miss Kent told what the children said, and it touched the soft spot in all their hearts to hear about the red shirts, though they laughed at Grace’s lament over the bird with only one feather in its tail.
“I’d give them a better tree if I had any place to put it and knew how to trim it up,” said Mr. Chrome, with a sudden burst of generosity, which so pleased Miss Kent that her eyes shone like Christmas candles.
“Put it in the back parlor. All the Browns are away for a week, and we’ll help you trim it—won’t we, my dear?” cried Mrs. Smith warmly; for she saw that he was in a sociable mood and thought it a pity the Blakes should not profit by it.
“Yes, indeed, I should like it of all things, and it needn’t cost much, for I have some skill in trimming, as you know.” And Miss Kent looked so gay and pretty as she spoke that Mr. Chrome made up his mind that millinery must be a delightful occupation.
“Come on then, ladies, and we’ll have a little fun. I’m a lonely old bachelor with nowhere to go today, and I’d like to be in good company and have a good time.”
They had it, I assure you, for they all fell to work as busy as bees, flying and buzzing about with much laughter as they worked their pleasant miracle. Mr. Chrome acted more like a father of a large family than a crusty bachelor. Miss Kent’s skillful fingers flew as they never did before, and Mrs. Smith trotted up and down as briskly as if she were sixteen instead of being a stout, elderly woman of seventy.