Part 13

“Not exactly so; we’ll make each other some little pretty present not costing any more than what we give the poor children. But take plenty of time to think it over before you decide,” said mamma.

XIII.

UNCLE THED’S CHRISTMAS PLAN.

“I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord.”

The children could talk of little else. They thought over it, slept over it, and one at least cried over it. Maybee had so set her heart on a little cooking-stove like cousin Daisy’s and a new doll with a Saratoga outfit. And Daisy’s papa, who lived in New York, and who, whenever he could not come himself and bring the twins, always sent such _elegant_ presents to them all, might,—who knew? But now, Uncle Thed wanted them to ask Uncle Grant to send the money instead, unless he preferred giving it to poor children in the city. It would be just the _forlornest_ Christmas!

“But not to have the least bit of a present nor any dinner either would be forlorner yet,” said Sue, who had as secretly been hoping for a pearl ring like Bell Forbush’s, and found the hope almost as hard to give up as the ring itself. She had decided, however, to try the new plan; so had Jenny King, Will Carter and his sister Nanny, and Dick Vance. Bell declared it the most ridiculous nonsense; they would be sorry enough when they saw her presents. Her mamma was going to have a tree, and invite Esq. Ellis’s family. Miss Georgiana was engaged to her brother Walter, and most likely the ’Squire would bring something _perfectly superb_.

“Well, but—”

Sue laid a warning hand over Maybee’s mouth. It was not to be told how one day the ’Squire met Tod and Maybee on the street and asked them what they wanted for a Christmas present; and how, when they told him Uncle Thed’s plan, he laid a five-dollar bill in each little palm. _That_ money was to provide new winter cloaks, trimmed with fur, for Say and Tilly Ellis. You see, Say had asked if she might _make_ something for the poor children, because her mother “never gave her anything that cost money, and there was nobody else to.”

Nobody else! And the ’Squire, her father’s own brother, rolling in riches, with only an old grudge to hinder him from making the widow’s and orphans’ hearts sing for joy, once a year at least.

“It is his own loss,” thought Uncle Thed, taking Say’s thin, pale face between his two hands, and leaving a fatherly kiss on the pleading lips, Maybee all the while tugging at his coat and making almost audible demonstrations of her wonder what would be done with the two cloaks if Say was allowed to be of the party.

“We’ll send Jackson with them while you are gone,” whispered mamma; and away danced Maybee to charge Nanny Carter “not to breathe one single word about cloaks to a living soul, ’specially Say Ellis.”

What a long list they made out! Thirty-four names, among which were the McFanes,—Mose and little Peter,—the Hartes, Judy Ryan, Bill Finnegan, Jack Mullin, Benny Cargill and his mother, Abby and Jakey Flynn, Molly Dinah, and some half dozen Catholic families suffering from the dulness of business at the Mills.

The Hartes lived very comfortably now, Dan having steady work at the ’Squire’s; but sickness and the “hard times” would prevent their indulging in anything but necessities. Jack Mullin lived with his uncle, a hard, close-fisted man, never known to give his own children a penny’s worth.

“Jack doesn’t deserve a thing, any way,—he acts so,” said Jenny King.

“But none of us deserve anything,” said Sue, “and you know Christ said His Father was ‘good to the unthankful and the evil.’”

And Jack’s name was added, although Maybee demurred about trying to “mind the whole Bible to once.”

It was real fun deciding what each one would like. The children puzzled their heads over it a week, and then the wonderful order went to Uncle Grant to be filled.

Christmas Eve was as clear and cold and shining as crystal and moonshine could make it. The big and little bundles, tied and ticketed with due care, nearly filled the double sleigh, but Uncle Thed contrived to squeeze in the whole party besides. Of course they left the bells at home, and the little tongues managed to keep tolerably quiet as they skimmed lightly along.

I wish I could tell you what they left at each house, and how sometimes they looked in at the windows and watched them undo the parcels; and how Mrs. Harte was in the front room alone, fastening three bits of candle, half a dozen cornballs, as many tiny bags of candy, and one or two penny picture-books to the scrawniest little bush, and how, when she left the room a minute, Uncle Thed raised the loose sash, dropped the big bundle under the bit of pine, and hurried away as fast as he could; how Tod begged to hang the basket on Molly Dinah’s door, and how the infirm old latch suddenly uncaught, and the roast chicken, round yellow apples, Tod, and two mince pies rolled in all together, and how Molly Dinah laughed and hugged him, and then sat down and cried over the merino dress Sue handed her; how the little Mullins clapped their hands when Jack cut the string of the big brown-paper parcel; and how they saw Abby Flynn’s mother, after she had filled the two little stockings hung beside the old cracked stove with the toys she found in the bundle of bright plaids and nice warm flannel, go softly into the little bedroom and kneel down beside the bed on which the children lay fast asleep.

“Oh, it has been so much better than pearl rings!” said Sue, when the horses’ heads were at last turned homeward.

“Wait till other folks show you their things, and you haven’t got nothing much yourself,” sighed Maybee. “I ’xpect to feel miser’ble then.”

“You couldn’t feel miserable if you should try,” said Dick. “Seems as if this was the first _real_ Christmas I ever had.”

“I don’t envy Bell the least bit,” said Jenny, as they passed the brilliantly-lighted house.

“There’ll be something miser’ble, even to a party,” said Maybee, brightening. “If it isn’t anything else, it’ll be the fruit-cake; the molasses or something’ll make you, oh, just as sick! when you’ve most pretty near ate enough. But then, I s’pose the miser’ble times run along between the good ones same’s the mud and mire down to the marsh, and we’d better jump right over and never mind.”

“Then the good times are stepping-stones,” added Sue. “So much better than a plank walk, you know Tod said.”

“Hasn’t this been a bouncer?” laughed Dick. “I wonder how Bill likes his skates and the other fixings. I wish Rob could have come with us, but Nettie wouldn’t hear a word to it.”

“I know that money Rob gave me was some his grandfather sent him to buy a pistol with,” said Will. “Rob asked if I thought it would be any like a ‘thank-offering.’ We boys have enough to be thankful for this year, without any presents.”

“Not forgetting the Gift for which none of us can ever be thankful enough,” rejoined Uncle Thed. “Beside that, all temporal blessings and deliverances are as nothing,—God’s best Gift to dying men, the Lord Jesus Christ, a saving knowledge of whom makes the only ‘real Christmas.’ Suppose we sing one verse of our Christmas Carol.”

Out upon the clear, frosty air floated the happy voices:—

“Merry, Merry Christmas everywhere! Cheerily it ringeth through the air. Christmas bells, Christmas trees, Christmas odors on the breeze. Merry, Merry Christmas everywhere! Cheerily it ringeth through the air. Deeds of Faith and Charity, These our off’rings be, Leading every soul to sing, _Christ was born for me!_”

Transcriber’s note:

Punctuation has been standardised; spaces have been removed from contractions. Hyphenation and spelling have been retained as they appear in the original publication except as follows:

Page 39 He eat so much he _changed to_ He ate so much he

Page 68 isn’t it, dear? “——” _changed to_ isn’t it, dear?——”

Page 84 and Say Ellis’ mother is real poor _changed to_ and Say Ellis’s mother is real poor

Page 98 whole story at the Ellis’ _changed to_ whole story at the Ellis’s

Page 110 said Tod encourageingly _changed to_ said Tod encouragingly

Page 116 in your chateleine pocket _changed to_ in your chatelaine pocket

Page 134 I’ll sew it righr straight _changed to_ I’ll sew it right straight

Page 147 into Say Ellis’ yard _changed to_ into Say Ellis’s yard

Page 159 Wonldn’t mamma let _changed to_ Wouldn’t mamma let

Page 166 t’wasn’t, neither _changed to_ ’twasn’t, neither

Page 335 Seem’s if _changed to_ Seems’s if