CHAPTER VI.
GIVING AND RECEIVING.
KATHIE had begged, instead of having anything grand herself, that shemight be allowed to play Santa Claus. To be sure, there were gifts tothe Morrisons, to Lucy and Annie Gardiner, and several of her oldenschoolmates, but that was not quite it.
"I mean the highways and byways," she said to her mother; "some of thepoor people who really have no Christmas."
They made out quite a list,--three or four widows with little children,some old women, and several homes in which there was sickness. Aunt Ruthfashioned some garments,--Kathie buying the material out of herFortunatus's purse; two or three good warm shawls had been provided, anddifferent packages of provisions, some positive luxuries. They stood ina great pile at the lower end of the hall, all ready for distribution.
"If you were not too tired--" Kathie said, after supper.
"I am not utterly worn out," and Uncle Robert smiled a little. "What isit?"
"I wish you and I could go out with the gifts, instead of Mr. Morrison."
"Why not, to be sure?" reading the wistful glance in the soft eyes.
"It would be so delightful. And as we are not to have our Christmasuntil to-morrow--"
"Bundle up then, for it is pretty sharp out. I will go and order thehorses."
It was so easy to ride around and dispense benefits that Kathie almostwondered if there was any real merit in it.
"My little girl," Uncle Robert said, "you must not begin to think thatthere can be no religion without sacrifice. God gives us all thingsrichly to enjoy, and it would be ungrateful if we did not accept thegood, the joy."
All things. As they hurried softly on, the roads being covered with alight fall of snow, she drank in the beauty around her,--a glimmer ofsilvery moonlight flooding the open spaces, the shadowy thickets ofevergreens, whose crisp clustering spines were stirred dreamily with theslow wind, making a dim and heavenly music, as if even now it might leadkings and shepherds to the place where the Christ Child had been born,the myriad of stars overhead in that blue, spacious vault, and theheaven above it all. And thinking of the distant plains of Judaea broughther to the plains nearer home,--the broad fields of Virginia dotted withits camps and tents, and bristling with forts. Thousands of men werethere, keeping Christmas eve, and among them Mr. Meredith. How manybeside him saw the star and came to worship the Saviour!
She felt the living Presence in the awe of this hush and beauty. Herchild's soul was hovering on the point of girlhood, to open intosomething rare and precious, perhaps, having greater opportunities thanmany others. She was not so fearful or doubting as she had been an hourago, for it seemed to her now that she had only to go forward.
They paused first at a little tumble-down cottage. There were sevenpeople housed in it,--the old folks, Mrs. Maybin, whose husband had goneto the war, and four children. Mrs. Maybin went out washing andhouse-cleaning. Jane, the eldest daughter, thirteen, worked in thepaper-mill.
Uncle Robert looked at the label by moonlight. "I'll just put it down onthe door-step and knock," he said. "You hold the ponies."
The knock made Kathie's own heart beat. Uncle Robert ran back to thecarriage, which stood in the shade of a great black-walnut tree.
Kathie leaned over. Jane Maybin came to the door, lamp in hand, andlooked around wonderingly. Then, spying the great bundle, she cried,loudly, "O mother, come here, quick!"
The ponies wore no bells to-night, so they drove off noiselessly, apeculiar smile illuminating Kathie's face. If the Maybins thought theirgood fortune rained down from heaven, so much the better. The child wasalways a little shy of her good deeds, a rare and exquisite humilitybeing one of her virtues. And though any little act of ingratitudetouched her to the quick, she never went about seeking praise.
A dozen homes made glad by unexpected gifts, and three times that numberof hearts. In several instances they had difficult work to escapedetection, but that added to the fun and interest of it, Kathiedeclared; and she came home in a bright, beautiful glow, her cheeksglowing with a winter-rose tint, and her pretty mouth smiling in a moreregal scarlet than the holly berries nodding their wise little headsabove picture-frames.
Aunt Ruth kissed her quietly. It seemed as if she understood the stepsin the new life which the child was taking, and knew by experience thatsilent ways were sometimes the most pleasant.
Of all Kathie's Christmas remembrances--and even Dr. Markham sent her abeautiful gift--there was one so unexpected and so touching that itbrought the tears to her eyes. She was running through the hall justbefore church-time, when the door-bell rang; the Alstons did notconsider it necessary that Hannah should always be summoned from herduties to attend the call, so Kathie opened the door.
A stout, country-looking lad, just merging into awkward young-manhood,with a great shock of curly, chestnut-colored hair, and a very widemouth, stood with a parcel in his hand.
"I want to see Miss Kathie Alston," he said, blushing as red as apeony.
"I am the person," she answered, simply.
He stared in surprise, opening his mouth until there seemed nothing buttwo rows of white, strong teeth.
"Miss--Kathie--Alston?" in a kind of astonished deliberation.
"Yes."
"I was to give this to you. She," nodding to some imaginary person,"told me to be sure to put it into your hands for fear. She thoughtyou'd like it."
"Who is _she_?" and Kathie could not forbear smiling.
"She writ a letter so's you'd know. That's all she said, only to ask ifyou were well; but you look jest like--a picter."
The compliment was so honest and so involuntary that Kathie bowed, herbright face flushing.
He ran down the steps and sprang into a common country sleigh, drivingoff in a great hurry.
There was a letter attached to the parcel. She tore off the wrapping ofthe package first, however, and found that it had been done up withgreat care. Inside of all, the largest and most beautiful lichen shehad ever seen,--a perfect bracket in itself. The rings of coloring wereexquisite. The soft woody browns, the bright sienna, the silvery draband pink, like the inside of a sea-shell. The vegetation was so rankthat it resembled the pile of velvet.
Like a flash a consciousness came over her, and although she heard AuntRuth's voice, she could not resist the desire to look at her letter.
A coarse, irregular hand, with several erasures and blotted words, butthe name at the bottom--Sarah Ann Strong--made it all plain. The SaryAnn of the Soldiers' Fair. Kathie's heart gave a great bound.
"Come!" exclaimed Uncle Robert; "are you ready?"
There was no time for explanations. She laid the letter and parcel inher drawer in the great bookcase, thrust her ungloved hands into hermuff, and ran out to Aunt Ruth, who stood on the step, waiting to beassisted into the carriage.
"Was it some more Christmas?" asked Uncle Robert, "or is it a secret?"
"It is no secret, but a very odd circumstance, and has quite a storyconnected with it. I think I will wait until we get home," shecontinued, slowly, remembering how short the distance was to church, andthat a break in the narrative would spoil it.
But she had very hard work to keep her mind from wandering during theservice, she wondered so what Sarah had to say, and how she came toremember the simple talk about the brackets. And was Sarah having abright Christmas?
Afterward she told her small audience, beginning with the unluckyremarks about the purple bonnet. Uncle Robert admired the lichen verymuch, and Aunt Ruth declared that she had never seen its equal.
Then came Sarah's letter. What pains and trouble and copying it had costthe poor girl Kathie would never know.
"To Miss Kathie Alston," it began. "I take my pen in hand to let youknow that"--here were two or three words crossed out--"I want to sendyou a cristmas present. I haint forgot about the fair, and how good youwas to me, I made some straw frames and they're real hansum, and I putthe picture you give me in one and it hangs up in the parlor, and I'vegot some brackets, but Jim f
ound this splendid one, and I want to sendit to you for cristmas, for I don't think you have forgotten all aboutme. I've been going to school a little this winter again, for Martha isbig enough to help mother and i only stay home to wash. I alwaysremember how beautiful you talked and my teacher says its grammar whichI'm studying, but I cant make head nor tail of it, but he told me neverto say this ere, and I don't any more, but I never could be such a ladyas you are. I spose you've got beautiful long curls yet. I do love curlsso and my hair's straight as a stick. Mother says i must tell you if youever come to Middleville to stop and see us, we live on the back road,Jotham Strong, and we'll all be glad to see you. I hope you'll like thebracket, and I wish you merry cristmas a thousand times. Jim went totown one day and found out who you was--he seen you the night of thefair too. Excuse all mistakes. I aint had much chance for schooling, butI'm going to try now. I spose you are a lady and very rich, and don'thave to do housework, but you're real sweet and not stuck up, and soyou'll forgive the boldness of my writing this poor letter.
"Yours respectfully, "SARAH ANN STRONG."
Kathie had been leaning her arm on Uncle Robert's knee as she readaloud.
"Not such a bad letter," he said. "I have known some quite stylishladies 'who didn't have to do housework' to make worse mistakes thanthis girl, who evidently has had very little chance. And then countrypeople do not always understand the advantages of education."
"I wanted to ask her that evening not to say 'this 'ere,' or 'that 'ere'so much, but I was afraid of wounding her feelings. I thought there wassomething nice about her, and her mother was very generous in buying.But to think that she should have remembered me all this while--"
"'A cup of cold water,'" repeated Aunt Ruth, softly.
"It was such a very little thing."
"One of the steps."
Yes. It was the little things, the steps, that filled the long, longpath. A warm glow suffused Kathie's face. She was thinking far back,--anage ago it appeared, yet it was only two years,--that her mother hadsaid the fairies were not all dead. If Puck and Peas-blossom and Cobweband Titania no longer danced in cool, green hollows, to the music oflily bells, there were Faith and Love and Earnest Endeavor, and manyanother, to run to and fro with sweet messages and pleasant deeds.
"I am very glad and thankful that you were polite and entertaining,"Uncle Robert remarked, presently. "We never know what a kind word or alittle pains, rightly taken, may do. It is the grand secret of a usefullife,--sowing the seed."
"I must answer her letter, and express my thanks. But O, isn't it funnythat she thinks me such a great lady!"
"Suppose we should drive out to see her on some Saturday? Where isMiddleville?"
"North of here," returned Aunt Ruth, "in a little sort of hollow betweenthe mountains, about seven or eight miles, I should think."
"How delightful it would be!" exclaimed Kathie.
"We will try it some day. I am very fond of plain, social countrypeople, whose manners may be unpolished, but whose lives are earnest andhonest nevertheless. We cannot all be moss-roses, with a fine enclosinggrace," said Uncle Robert.
Kathie read her letter over again to herself, feeling quite sure thatSarah had made some improvement since the evening of the Fair.
"Do you want to put the lichen up in your room?" asked Uncle Robert.
"Not particularly,--why?"
"It is such a rare and beautiful specimen that I feel inclined toconfiscate it for the library."
"I will give it up with pleasure," answered Kathie, readily, "since itremains mine all the same."
The Alstons had a quiet Christmas dinner by themselves. Uncle Robertgave the last touches to the tree, and just at dusk the small people whohad been invited began to flock thither. Kathie had not asked any of hernew friends or the older girls. She possessed by nature that simpletact, so essential to fine and true womanhood, of observing thedistinctions of society without appearing to notice the differentposition of individuals.
Ethel Morrison came with the rest. She was beginning to feel quite athome in the great house, and yielded to Kathie's peculiar influence,which was becoming a kind of fascination, a power that might have proveda dangerous gift but for her exceeding truth and simplicity.
The tree was very brilliant and beautiful. If the gifts were not soexpensive, they appeared to be just what every one wanted. Kathie wasdelighted with the compliment to her discernment.
Charlie Darrell made his appearance quite late in the evening, with DickGrayson. The tapers were just burning their last.
"Farewell to thee, O Christmas tree!" sang Dick. "Was Santa Claus goodto you, Miss Kathie?"
"Very generous indeed."
"But O, didn't you miss Rob?"
Kathie had to tell them about Uncle Robert's visit. "And then, you know,I wasn't home last year"--in answer to their question.
"True. There was a gay time here at Cedarwood. When Rob sets out, he isabout as funny as any boy I know. Don't you suppose he is just aching tobe at home?"
"I expect to get off next year," said Dick, "to Yale. But I shall bedreadfully homesick at first."
"So should I," responded Charlie; "but Rob is such a jolly,happy-go-lucky fellow."
"Has he been in any scrapes yet, Miss Kathie?"
"Not that I have heard," said Kathie, laughing.
A group around the piano were clamoring for Kathie to play. She hadpromised them some carols.
Dick and Charlie joined. A happy time they had, singing everything theyknew. Kathie had become a very fair musician already.
While the little ones were hunting up their wraps, Kathie lingered amoment beside Charlie.
"How is Miss Jessie to-night?" she asked.
"Quite well." Then, looking into her eyes, "You have heard--"
"About Mr. Meredith? yes."
"It is too bad,--isn't it? And he has had a substitute in the war. Ithink he ought to have come back."
Kathie was silent. How much duty did a man or a woman owe to these greatlife questions? And was there not something grander and finer in thislast act of heroism than many people were capable of? If she could havechosen for him, like Charlie, she would have desired his return; but ifevery wife and every mother felt so about their soldiers?
She kissed Ethel with a peculiar sympathy when she bade her good night.Mr. Morrison was well and satisfied with the new life,--liked it,indeed.
For the next fortnight it seemed to Kathie that nothinghappened,--school life and home life, and she a little pendulumvibrating between the two, waiting for some hour to strike.
She answered Sarah's letter, and promised that she and her uncle woulddrive up when there came a pleasant Saturday with the roads incomfortable order.
There had been quite an accession to the school on the first of January.Mrs. Wilder had twenty-one pupils now. Mr. Lawrence came in to give themlessons in music, French, and penmanship. Kathie felt quite small, therewere so many young ladies.
Several new families had moved into Brookside the preceding summer, andthe Alstons' acquaintance had slowly widened among the better class.Kathie remembered how grand she had once considered Miss Jessie, and nowshe was really beyond that herself.
At twelve the girls had fifteen minutes' intermission. Sometimes theytook a little run through the long covered walk, but oftener gatheredaround the stove or visited at one another's desks. There was always avein of school-girlish gossip on dress, or amusements, or parties, orperhaps the books they were reading. This generally took in the circlejust above Kathie, yet she used occasionally to listen, and it alwaysbrought a thought of Ada to her mind.
She sat puzzling over some French verbs one rainy day, while Emmabrought out her cathedral that she was doing in India-ink. The talk fromthe group before them floated to their hearing. It was styles andtrimming, velvet and laces that were "real," and gloves with twobuttons.
Emma glanced up with an odd smile. Kathie, seeing it, smiled to
o.
"Let us take a turn in the walk," Emma said.
She was so much taller that she put her arm around Kathie with an odd,elder-sisterly feeling.
"They seem never to get tired of it," she began. "I wonder if thereisn't something better to this life than the clothes one wears?"
"Yes," Kathie answered, in a slow, clear tone, though she shrank alittle from giving her opinion. She had a shy desire to escape thesesmall responsibilities, yet the consciousness of "bearing witness"always brought her back.
"What is it?"
The blunt question startled her, and a faint color stole into her face.
"I watch you sometimes when I suppose you are not dreaming of it. Wehave been sitting here together for three months, we were at theFair,--and there is something different about you from what I find inmost girls. I wonder if it is your taste or your nature."
"We are none of us alike," said Kathie, with a peculiar half-smile.
"It is not that specific difference which we all have. You appear to bethinking of others, you never answer crossly, you often give up your ownease and comfort, and there is a little light in your eyes as ifsomething out of your soul was shining through them. And all this talkabout dressing and what one is going to do by and by never touches youat all. I suppose you could have everything you want! Lottie Thorne saysyour uncle idolizes you, and--he is rich, I know."
"I have all that is necessary, and many luxuries," Kathie answered,slowly.
"But what makes you--what keeps you in such a heaven of content? O, Ican't explain what I mean! I wonder if you have religion, KathieAlston."
Do her best, Kathie could not keep the tears out of her eyes. What wasthere to cry about? But somehow she felt so strange and shy, and full oftender pain.
"I think we ought all to try," she answered, with a sweet seriousness inher voice. "Even if we cannot take but one step--"
"I wish I knew _what_ it was!"
Kathie's heart was in her throat. She only understood part of the stepsherself. How could she direct another? So they took two or three turnsin silence, then the bell rang.
"There! I had so much to say, and maybe I shall never feel in the moodagain. About dress, too. Some of it troubles me sadly."
She stooped suddenly and kissed Kathie on the forehead, gave her hand asudden, earnest pressure, and then was her olden grave self.
And Kathie wondered a little if she had not shirked a duty! It seemednow as if it would be very easy to say, "I have enlisted in that greaterarmy of the Lord, and will do what service I can." Why had it been sohard a moment ago? Had she been challenged at the outpost and foundwithout a countersign?