The Little Things
Now began a magical time for the Ridgeways. There was the cat to feed and care for and take into the back garden for fresh air. There was the package from the United States to shake and feel and turn over, and wonder about the rattle inside it. And there was the tree to trim.
From under George’s bed came the box of trimmings the children had made. The silver-paper stars and snowflakes, the colored paper chains and cornucopias, looked very pretty on the little tree. There was just about enough.
“Daddy,” said Dumpling, “did you get such a very little tree because we had only a few trimmings?”
“Honey,” Father said, “there weren’t any big trees. France is an old country, where everything is used and cared for. The people love their trees, and they don’t like to waste them—not even to celebrate Christmas. That’s why this one is planted in a pot. It has roots, and later it can be set out in the garden.”
“I like that,” Susan said. “I always feel kind of bad after Christmas about burning up our tree or letting the garbage man carry it away.”
“Can we take the little tree home with us, Daddy?” Dumpling asked.
“No,” said Professor Ridgeway, “but we can plant it somewhere in France. Next Christmas, when we are at home, you can remember that you have a tree in France, too, and that it’s growing every year, as you are growing.”
“That will be nice,” said Dumpling.
“But we have no lights,” said George.
“I thought of that,” Mother said. “How would it be if we bought two large candles and set one on either side of the tree where it stands on the table? Every evening we could light them for a while.”
“I guess that would be all right,” George said slowly.
“Because,” said Dumpling, “Christmas is different in France from at home.”
“And where shall we put our Baby Jesus manger scene that we bought in Marseilles?” asked Susan.
That was an important question, and it took some time to decide. Finally they removed the books from one of the cupboard shelves in the corner and set up the little scene there. First they fastened blue paper to the back of the shelf to make a night sky, and on this they pasted a yellow star. George went out in the backyard for twigs and stones and bits of grass and moss, while Susan made a stable out of a cardboard box and colored it with her paints. Mother lent the little mirror out of her purse for a lake, and Dumpling very carefully unwrapped the precious little figures and set them on the table. They were even lovelier than anyone remembered. The stable was set in place and the twigs propped up like trees among the stones and mosses around it. The edges of the mirror were hidden with sand, and George made a bridge of sticks. Even before the tiny figures were placed in it, this made a pretty scene.
The children scattered dry grass, like straw, on the floor of the stable, and then they were ready to place the figures. In the center was the manger, with the smiling wax baby. On either side of Him knelt Mary and Joseph, and around them were the cow, the donkey, and the sheep. A thumbtack fastened the silver thread of the small pink angel to the top of the bookshelf, so that it hung directly above the manger. The angel held a scroll in its tiny hands, and on the scroll in gilt letters were the words, “Gloria in Excelsis.
“Who is Gloria—what’s-her-name?” asked Dumpling. “Is it the name of the angel?”
“No,” said Professor Ridgeway. “Those are the Latin words for the song the angels sang: ‘Glory to God in the highest.’ ”
“ ‘And on earth peace, goodwill toward men,’ ” Mother added softly.
Then the wise men and the camel were arranged, so that they seemed to be coming from the east, and from the other side came all the little people with their gifts, followed by the dog and the cat.
When the scene was finished, it was so beautiful that the children had to return every few moments to look at it.
“Do you think the choir singer should be moved farther to the side?”
“Shouldn’t the woodsman be nearer the trees?”
“No, it’s just right. Let’s leave it now, and just look.”
Dumpling went to bed early that night, because it had been an exciting day.
“The rest of you ex-measlers must get to bed early, too,” Father said, “because tomorrow, if everybody is quite well, we’ll go to see the store windows.”
It was very hard for George and Susan to go to bed, with so many interesting plans in the air.
“Mother, couldn’t we bring out all the things we’ve made for Dumpling and see how they go together—now that she’s in bed?” Susan asked.
“Very well,” Mother said, “if we don’t spend too long doing it. We really ought to see if we have everything ready for her.”
It is quite surprising how many secret places five people living together in two rooms and a hall can find. Now Mother, George, and Susan went to their secret places and brought forth a wonderful assortment of things.
Mother had made a perfect Irene, except that she was only ten inches tall instead of twenty-nine. George had made a table, a chair, and a bed for the doll out of different-sized boxes. Susan had filled a little mattress and pillow with cotton and had made bedclothes, and a tablecloth, and a tiny braided rug out of old stockings. From a cork and some wire and colored paper she had made a tiny flowerpot with flowers in it for the center of the table. When the furniture was in place, they tried Small Irene in each piece. She was right for the bed; she was right for the table; she was right for the chair.
“It’s perfect!” Susan said.
Professor Ridgeway looked on with great interest. “Well, I never!” he said. “You have all been very industrious. This is simply amazing.”
“I think Dumpling will be pleased,” said Mother.
“She better be,” said George.
“Of course,” Susan said, “we mustn’t expect too much of her. I don’t think she will ever find anything she loves as much as Irene. We mustn’t be disappointed if she takes all this pretty calmly.”
“Susan is right,” said Mother. “We must just remember that we had fun making these things and not expect more pleasure from Dumpling than she is able to give.”
So they put all the presents for Dumpling back into their secret places, and began to get ready for bed.
The next morning everybody was rested and feeling fine. After breakfast they asked Madame Duprés if Germaine could go with them, and when she had given her permission, Professor and Mrs. Ridgeway and the four children set out by bus for the other side of the river, where the big department stores were located.
The Ridgeway children expected to see windows full of toys, and Santa Clauses of all shapes and sizes, with various kinds of beards, such as one saw at this season in Midwest City. At first they were disappointed because there were no Santa Clauses and no reindeer or street-corner bells. But soon they found something equally enchanting. For each one of the big department stores had its windows filled with animated scenes that looked as if they had just come out of fairyland.
At one store the windows told the story of a country wedding. Here were the little bride and groom sitting with their guests at a table under the trees. They raised their little glasses as the father of the bride arose to propose a toast. In the next window the wedding guests were dancing to a happy tune, which could be heard on the street outside. Next came some late arrivals in a cart with moving wheels drawn by a horse that jogged up and down but never got any nearer to the wedding. In the steeple of a little church, wedding bells were ringing.
Crowds of children, and grown-ups, too, passed by to look at the wonderful windows. Sometimes there were so many people that they formed a line and a policeman had to keep them moving along so that everyone would have a chance to see.
The windows in another store were full of circus scenes. Mechanical acrobats swung from trapezes; seals balanced balls on their noses; horses galloped; and clowns stood on their heads.
Professor Ri
dgeway was especially pleased by the window that showed the historical Siege of Troy. There was a large wooden horse filled with little mechanical men who had come to besiege the town.
Susan liked the last store’s windows best of all. They were filled with a soft, greenish-blue light, and, when you looked at them, you felt that you were at the bottom of the sea. Mechanical fish and wonderful mermaids seemed to swim in them, and marvelous shells opened to show treasures of pearls and other jewels, then mysteriously closed again. George liked this window best, too, because in it a little man dressed in diving suit and helmet was let down slowly to the bottom of this magical sea. He would walk across the sandy bottom among the strange fish, and then he would go up again to the top of the window, where his ship was supposed to be. After George had seen this once, he kept everybody waiting for him while he went around and got into line and took his turn at the window to see the whole thing happen over again.
On the bus going home, Susan and George and Germaine could do nothing but chatter—in a strange mixture of French and English—about the things they had seen.
“Wasn’t it wonderful, Dumpling?” they asked. Dumpling was sitting on Father’s lap, because the bus was crowded.
“Yes,” Dumpling said. But she looked tired, and she put her head back on Father’s shoulder and rested.
When they got back to the pension they were nearly famished, but, before they could eat, they discovered another exciting thing. A letter had come for them. Father found it in his box and held it up for everyone to see.
“Is it from Midwest City?” the children cried.
“No. It has a French stamp,” Father said. “It’s addressed to Les Enfants Ridgeway. Hmm—what do you think of that?”
“Why, that’s us,” said Susan. “The French people always call us ‘enfants’ no matter how big we are.”
“Infants!” said George scornfully.
“It must be from dear, darling Mademoiselle,” said Dumpling.
“But it’s a much bigger, heavier envelope than the one she used before,” said Susan, holding the letter carefully in her hand. She turned it over to look at the back. “Look!” she said. “It’s got a little raised gilt crown on the back. I wonder who—”
“Well, for Pete’s sake,” said George, “why don’t you open it, and find out who! Here, let me have it.”
“No, no!” cried Susan. “Don’t rush me. I’m opening it right away.”
They all crowded around her to look, and the letter was from the Princess Adelaide Louisa von Mettnock-Hohen-würtzel. It was a very short letter—in fact, it was really an invitation. The princess had come up to Paris for the holiday and she was inviting them all to have tea with her in her apartment on the day before Christmas.
“Why, that’s the day after tomorrow!” Susan said. “Mother, Daddy, can we go? Shall we answer her? What shall we do?”
“Right now we’ll have our lunch,” Mother said, “and as soon as lunch is over we’ll write her a note and put it in the mail.”
“And what shall we say to her, Mother?”
“Dear me,” said Mother, “we haven’t any fancy clothes for taking tea with a princess—”
“Oh, Mother!”
“But, since the princess is such a pleasant and understanding person, I think we’ll accept her invitation with pleasure, whether we have the right kind of clothes or not!”
The children were so pleased that they shouted, “Three cheers and a rah!” as they used to do in Midwest City during the excitement of the football season.
Susan hadn’t written in her diary for a long time. The trouble was that so many things happened so rapidly these days that she never got caught up. Finally she had stopped trying. But as she was getting undressed that night she thought that it really was a shame to let the diary go, when there were so many interesting things to record.
I’ll have to start in fresh and not try to catch up with the things I’ve let go by, she said to herself. Dumpling and George were already asleep, and Susan sat on the edge of her cot, thinking over the magic of Christmas with all its secrets and promises and surprises. It seemed to her, as she thought, that Christmas was not one thing but very, very many little ones—the tree trimmings, the beautiful little figures of the Nativity scene, Small Irene with all her furniture, the many little mechanical people in the store windows, a “very little, extremely small” white cat, a tiny gilt crown on the back of a heavy envelope.
As Susan sat thinking, the door opened softly and her father came into the room. “I’m glad to see you are still awake, Susie,” he said. “There was something I wanted to ask you.”
“What is it, Daddy?”
“It’s about Small Irene and all the splendid things you and Mother and George have made for Dumpling’s Christmas.”
“They are nice, aren’t they?” Susan said. “I was just thinking about them.”
“There’s only one thing,” Father said. “I’d like to have a little part in the plans for Dumpling, too. We haven’t much money to spend this year, as you know, and I’m not very good at making things, as the rest of you are. But I want her to be happy just as much as you do, and I thought—maybe you’d have a suggestion. Mother couldn’t think of anything else that Small Irene needed, but she said perhaps you could.”
Susan thought, and her heart gave a little jump. “Daddy,” she said, “there is one thing. But perhaps it would cost a lot. I don’t know about the price. It’s in a window down the street a couple of blocks, and it’s a little tiny gilt tea set. The cups are smaller than thimbles. It’s on a tiny tray. It would just fit on the table George made and be exactly the right size for Small Irene’s meals.”
“Susan,” Father said gravely, “I thank you for your suggestion. I’ll see how much the tea set costs, and just possibly—if it isn’t too much—”
“It would be perfect, Daddy,” Susan said. “But Dumpling can get along without it. We’re all having fun this year without presents, Daddy.”
Professor Ridgeway stooped and kissed Susan’s cheek. “You are a very satisfactory daughter, Susie,” he said. “I couldn’t find a better one if I hunted all over Europe and the United States. Thank you for being so.”
“Well, Daddy, thank you for being you,” Susan said.
After he had gone away, she pulled her diary out from under her mattress and sat holding it in her hand. She felt very warm and happy. She wanted to write something important, but it was late and she was tired and there were so very many, many little things that went to make up the warm and happy feeling. At last she put down only one sentence: Christmas in Paris is fun.
Godmother’s Magic
When she was in Paris the Princess Adelaide Louisa von Mettnock-Hohenwürtzel lived in an apartment in a gray stone building on a narrow street on the other side of the river from the pension where the Ridgeways were staying. Somehow the Ridgeways had expected her home to be a castle on the order of the castle where Irene now lived. They felt a trifle uneasy when they stepped out of the taxicab that Father had hired in honor of the occasion. With surprise, they looked up at the plain stone front of the building. It was not very different from their own pension in the Rue Rollin.
The Ridgeways were dressed in the best clothes they had. George was strangling in his necktie; Susan wore her blue nylon dress and her bead necklace; and Dumpling’s pigtails were adorned with new red ribbons. Feeling like company instead of like themselves, they walked sedately under the gray stone archway and into the hall of the apartment house.
A name plate near the door told them that the princess lived on the third floor, and in one corner of the hall they saw a “bird-cage” elevator.
Still feeling strange and shy, the Ridgeways went toward the elevator. There was a sign on the elevator that somehow looked familiar.
“L’ascenseur ne marche pas!” The Ridgeways all shouted out the message of the sign at once. They began to laugh then, because it was just like being back at the Grand Hotel and So Forth and S
o Forth in Cannes.
As they climbed the flights of stairs they laughed more and more and felt more and more at home. When they reached the third floor, a door flew open, and there stood the princess, leaning on her stick and looking more than ever like a kindhearted godmother.
“I heard you laughing,” she said. “What a good sound is that! Like Christmas bells chiming. Come in! Come in! I have been waiting for you!”
“I hope we are not late,” Mother said.
“No, no,” said the princess. “I think you are early. But nevertheless I wait for you. Christmas is a time for children—but me, I have no longer any children of mine own. It is very exciting for me to have you with me at this time.”
“We think it is exciting to have a princess at Christmas,” Susan said. “We are glad, too.”
“We brought you a present,” Dumpling said. “We would have kept it for a surprise, but how could we, because we had to carry it and you’ve already seen it!”
“A present for me? But that is quite magnificent!” cried the princess.
“It really isn’t very magnificent,” Susan said. “It’s a tulip in a pot.”
“I and Susan went with Daddy to the flower market this morning to get it,” said George. “But—do you know?—they have birds there, and I would rather have got you a bird. Only the birds cost a lot of money, and Susan said maybe you don’t like birds, but everybody likes flowers.”
“I like birds,” said the princess, “but I travel about too much to care for them. Flowers are much, much nicer. Oh, what a pretty tulip! So many blossoms! And red, like Christmas! Come in! Come in now, and take off your coats and hats.”
“Could I take off my necktie, too?” asked George.
“Yes, yes!” cried the princess. “Here you must be comfortable and happy.”
Inside the princess’s apartment everything was rich and crowded and beautiful. It was much more interesting than the big empty halls in the castles they had seen. At one side of the room a fire burned in a shining marble fireplace. As in her rooms at the Grand Hotel, the princess had surrounded herself with many photographs and paintings in elaborate gilt frames and with many little statues and vases and silver boxes and paperweights. But here she also had much beautiful furniture crowded together, and lamps and satin cushions and Persian rugs and tapestries. It was a bit overwhelming at first, until one began to sort out the many beautiful things and get one’s bearings among them.