X.
_THE CHRISTMAS GIFT._
Christmas was approaching--Christmas with its white fields, and itsskies that seem to part like the opening of doors in a big blue wall,and from it issue the sweet songs of the Bethlehem angels. Still moreacceptable is it when our souls seem to open like doors that fly apart,and out to our neighbour and all souls everywhere go assurances of peaceand good-will.
To Dave Fletcher and Dick Pray Christmas meant an end of school-days anda return home.
"You will come and see us 'fore you go," was Bart Trafton's meek requestto Dick and Dave when he met them in the street. Dick made the firstcall, just three days before Christmas. Things did not have a festivalappearance in the Trafton home that day. Gran'sir was lying on a loungenot far from the fire, and his cough was shaking him harder than ever.Bart, just before Dick's call, had been down on the shore of the riverto see if the last tide had remembered the poor, and deposited any moredrift on the beach. He brought back only a puny armful, and this armfulhe divided between the oven and the fire, the first half to dry and beready to start up the flames which the other half would be quite sure toput down and almost put out. Granny had been calling at a neighbour's,to borrow timidly a little tea, and met Dick just outside the door ofthe Trafton home. Such a difference as there was between youth with itsruddy cheeks and bright eyes, between plenty with its cheerful andcontented spirit, and poor old Granny Trafton!
"Bartie wanted me to call," said Dick.
"Come in, come in," said granny, hospitably. "We're poor folks, butwe're glad to see people."
When Dick went away he said to himself, "'Poor folks,'--they're allthat. I wish something could be done for them."
Dave made his call, and he left the house saying, "Something must bedone."
The two callers met in the street the day of Dave's call, and the samethought was in their minds.
"Dick, see here. Those Traftons are real poor," said Dave. "I wonderif we couldn't get them a little something for Christmas."
"Dave, that very thought was in my mind, and I wanted to speak of it.Come on. It's done."
Hardly done; but that was Dick's way, and when a soul may be timid anddiscouraged, that confident, self-assured style in another is verystrengthening.
"Let's see. There is no other way than to go right round and ask ourfriends. I know they will give something, Dick."
"Hold on, hold on, Dave. That is a slow way, Let's make a dash andcapture the enemy at once. I will pick out some millionaire--"
Here Dick turned round as if to see which "millionaire" he would selectfrom all of Shipton's wealthy residents.
"Yes," he continued; "I will look after that. Don't you give yourself amoment of uneasiness on that score. I will pick out some rich fellow,tell him what he ought to do, and bag the game on the spot. There!"
Dave laughed. He knew Dick's style thoroughly. At the same time it didgive one like Dave, who shrank from begging, new courage to have Dicktalk so boldly.
"Let's see, Dick. It is now Monday. We might meet on Wednesday at yourcousin's store, and find out how we stand, and send our things to theTraftons on Wednesday afternoon; and Christmas is on Thursday, youknow."
"Dave, don't worry about the wherewithal." Here Dick, with a verysolemn air of assurance, looked Dave steadily in the eye. "I purpose tobag a millionaire and make him do his duty, Dave Fletcher."
The two friends laughed, shook hands, and separated. Dave listened ashe was about turning a corner of the street, for he heard somebodywhistling. It was Dick whistling, in a loud, bold, cheery way.
"Well," thought Dave, "I'll make a beginning now. I will speak to AuntNancy soon as I get home."
Aunt Nancy was stoning raisins in preparation for a Christmas baking.
"Will I give something to the Traftons? Oh, certainly. I expect a goodwarm blanket would be just the thing for gran'sir, and I'll give that asmy share. _My_ share, remember. Your uncle must give his mite. I tellye, David," said Aunt Nancy in a whisper, "your uncle has somefirst-class Baldwins down in the cellar. Just touch him upon those."
"I will, aunt, thank you."
And next, would the home of James Tolman give anything?
"Pies and potatoes; you can count on us for some of both kinds," saidMrs. Tolman.
The next place was the home of the light-keeper, Toby Tolman, whenashore. His wife was dead, and a widowed daughter and her only child,May, lived in his house. He preferred to keep up the home, althoughpersonally there but a very little of the time.
"Should we like to give anything? Of course," said the keeper'sdaughter; "that is what Christmas is for. Only last week I heard fathersay we could give some wood off our pile, for he calculated we had morethan enough to carry us through the winter."
"Don't you let young folks help?" asked a silvery voice, sending at Davean arch look out of two penetrating black eyes. "You must not think Iam an invalid and past helping, if I was so sick last summer. Now I canjust go round in the neighbourhood and get together some eatables, Iknow, and perhaps clothing that might do for Bart."
"That would be splendid," said Dave, stirred deeply by those black eyes,and wishing that in every house visited he was the individual of whomMay Tolman would solicit.
When Dave brought these donations into one collection, he found not onlythe blanket for gran'sir but a shawl for granny. There also wereclothes for Bart, and any amount of things for the Christmas dinner.
The next point was how to get them taken up to the Traftons. For theclothing and eatables Dave borrowed Uncle Ferguson's cart, but for thewood only James Tolman's waggon would answer. That procession of twoteams, the waggon and the cart, had a Christmas look that would havebeen recognized anywhere.
"Whoa-a-a!" shouted Dave, as the procession neared the boot and shoeshop kept by Dick's cousin Sam. Dick was behind the counter waiting on acustomer. As he saw Dave entering he ran his hand through his hair in anervous, despairing style, but said nothing until the customer had left.
"There, Dave, it is too bad, but--but--whose are those teams out in thestreet?"
"Just things I picked up."
"And the wood?"
"Going to the same place."
"That's good. Then I don't feel so bad."
"Well, anything you find, good, you know, for Christmas, why, send italong."
"I shouldn't wonder, though, if--if--it might be too late now; but--youhave got something--if--I should be too late--and I do believe I am toolate. Sorry. Glad, though, I put you up to it. I knew you would attendto it."
With a triumphant wave of his hand, as if he were permitting Dave todrive off with a donation that Dick Pray had gathered, he accompaniedDave to the door and then retreated to the counter.
"If that isn't Dick Pray all over!" said Dave.
It would be difficult to tell the feelings of joy occasioned in theTrafton home by those gifts.
"Davie," said Bart, "I had a dream last night, and I guess it isa-comin' true. I thought I saw that ladder that Jacob had a look at,you know, when the angels were a-goin' up and down, and comin' down theyhad bundles in their arms."
Dave entered the house, bringing in bundle after bundle. Bart thoughtthe angels looked somewhat like that.
"Hadn't you better try this shawl?" said Dave to granny, who looked coldand purple. And would gran'sir be willing to be wrapped in the blanket?The thin, worn consumptive responded with a glad smile, and said in awhisper that he hadn't been so comfortable since he was sick. And thewood--how it set that old stove to shaking and laughing and glowing tillits front seemed like a jolly face full of sparkling eyes! That is onegood result coming from a stove cracked everywhere in front.
Granny told the minister, Mr. Potter, two days after, how all thisgenerosity affected gran'sir.
"Why, sir, it made him just heavenly! He cried and laughed--it was sogood to be warm, you know. And he's softened so, sir. I think it begunwh
en Bartie begun to read the Bible to him, and it has been a-keepin'on, sir, a-softenin', sir--don't scold, you know, or be harsh-like.I--I--I--" Here granny buried her face in her apron and cried. "I'mafraid--sir--may be--he won't live--long--he's--softened so--sir--hehas."
It was nothing wonderful. Like the warm breath of the spring on thechilled and torpid flowers, arousing them into the activity of bud andblossom time, the thoughtful kindness of God's creatures brought Godnigh to gran'sir; brought the breath of his benediction to gran'sir'ssoul, and gave him a new life.
"God has been so good--he draws me," gran'sir said to granny an earlyday in January. "It is--like he's callin' me--and--I guess I'll go."
His going was so peaceful that to say when it was would be like markingthe spot where the current crosses the line between the river and theocean; and yet his soul did cross from time, so short and river-like,into the broad and boundless ocean of eternity. People said it would beas well for the comfort of granny and Little Mew, and even better, forgran'sir they declared to be exacting. They did not know how it was.Granny and Little Mew felt that they were the exacting ones, for theywanted gran'sir to stay. Little Mew's soul was clouded by the shadow ofa thought that by the death of gran'sir his mission in this world wasvery much abridged. He was tempted to wonder again for what God hadsent a little fellow like him into this world.