Part 4

“Only think, Arthur,” said he; “the door of the chicken-house was locked, so no one could have got in last night, and yet I feel sure that this was not there when I fed the chickens at supper-time. Such nice candy! Do you think it will be right for us to eat it, or must we try to find out to whom it belongs?”

There was such a roguish look on Arthur’s face, as he replied that he thought there would be no harm in eating it, that Willie began to understand the joke; and, well pleased, he divided the candy with his brother and sister.

But Arthur felt still more pleased when little Jane took up her work-basket with a sigh, saying,—

“I will try to hem the handkerchief you wish me to, mother; but my thimble has such a great hole in it, that the head of my needle pricks my finger every few minutes.”

What a joyful surprise,—to find the old thimble missing, and a bright new one in its place! It would have been hard to tell which felt the most pleased, Jane or Arthur. Both were delighted; and we are very sure that Arthur did not once regret that he had spent his half-dollar for his sister’s pleasure.

When evening came, and Mr. Willard was at leisure to sit down with his children, Arthur had many funny stories to tell of the pleasant jokes which he had played through the day.

Charley Mason, one of his schoolmates, had torn a large hole in his kite when they were flying it at recess. At noon, he hurried home for his dinner; intending, if possible, to return in season to mend the kite, and have another play, before school commenced in the afternoon. Arthur, having brought his dinner with him in the morning, was not obliged to return home; and he carefully mended the kite while Charley was absent.

“It was such fun to see him turn it over and over, and look for the hole!” continued Arthur, as he told the story to his father; “and Johnny Gardiner looked almost as funny when he found a long slate-pencil in his desk, which I had slyly slipped in, just as he had made up his mind to go and tell the teacher the old story,—that he had no pencil. Johnny does not like to tell Miss Grant that very well, for he is famous for losing his pencil.

“And, father, I played a nice joke on Miss Grant. She thought I could not learn so long a lesson in geography as she had given to the rest of the class, because I am younger than the others, and have never been through the book before. So she told me to take half of the lesson; but I studied hard, and learned the whole. When we were reciting, she stopped when she had heard about half, and said, ‘You may take your seat now, Arthur.’

“‘Thank you, ma’am,’ I answered; ‘but I can say it all.’

“Then she looked surprised, and said I must have worked very hard.

“But, father, that book _is_ too hard for me; and Miss Grant told me to ask you to buy one more suitable. I wish you would, father: I love to study geography. Henry Williams has such a beauty! all full of pictures. Oh, how I should like one like that!”

“We must think about it,” replied Mr. Willard. “And now, Arthur, I must attend to some writing for a little while, and you may look over your lessons for to-morrow.”

“Yes, father, my geography: I always have to study that in the evening.” And, with a little sigh, Arthur went for his satchel of books. But it was now his turn to find a pleasant joke; for the old geography had been taken from the bag, and in its place was one exactly like the “beauty” owned by Henry Williams, upon the blank leaf of which was written, “Arthur Willard; from his father, April first, eighteen hundred fifty-six.”

THE CHRISTMAS-TREE.

“Oh, dear, it is almost Christmas!” exclaimed Mary Bradley with a deep sigh, which caused her younger brother Horace to look up from his book with surprise.

“Why do you sigh about it, Mary?” he asked. “Are you not glad that Christmas is coming?”

“I _should_ be glad, Horace,” replied his sister in a melancholy tone, “if things were as they used to be. What beautiful gifts we had last year! But father was rich then; and now he is poor.” And again Mary sighed deeply.

“I do not think father is very poor,” replied Horace, laughing. “I am sure we have all we want,—a good house to live in, plenty of food and clothing, a warm fire, and many kind friends. Do you call that being poor, sister Mary? You ought to see the poor wretches that I meet sometimes on my way to school.”

“How foolishly you talk, Henry!” answered his sister, rather petulantly. “You know very well what I mean. Of course, we are not street beggars; but we live very differently from what we did last year at this time. Our beautiful house, our horses and carriage, and nearly all of our servants, are gone.”

“No matter for that,” returned Master Horace. “Father has paid all his debts like an honest man, and we have all we need. A small house is just as comfortable as a large one; the cars and omnibuses answer as good a purpose as our own carriage; and as to the servants, I much prefer waiting upon myself. As long as I have good Mrs. Betty to cook my dinner, it is all I want.”

“It is of no use talking to you, Horace,” answered his sister, as she rose to leave the room; “but, when you see what a bare Christmas-tree we shall have this year, you will be convinced that we are poor.”

“We had more than we knew what to do with last year,” persisted Horace, following his sister. “Suppose we hunt up about half a bushel of books and toys, and present them to Santa Claus for distribution. No doubt he will be grateful to us; for times are hard, and his purse may be poorly filled.”

“What nonsense!” exclaimed Mary, impatiently. “I will not stay talking with you any longer.”

But, at this moment, the pleasant voice of their mother was heard calling them from the adjoining room.

She had heard their conversation, and now replied to Horace’s suggestion,—

“Your plan is an excellent one, my son; and I will try to put it in a form that will be less displeasing to your sister.”

“Horace talks _so much nonsense_!” said Mary, as she took an offered seat by her mother’s side.

“A _little_ nonsense, but a good deal of sense, my daughter,” returned her mother. “Your mind is in a disturbed and unhappy state, and therefore you are not ready to meet his pleasant way of treating our troubles.”

Although Mary indulged in occasional fits of ill humor and selfish repining, she was really a sensible and very affectionate little girl. She loved her mother very dearly, and felt sad and mortified that she should have added in the least degree to her trials. In a few moments, therefore, she looked up with a cheerful smile, and said, “I will try to do better, mother. I know we have every comfort that we need. It was only the thought of the Christmas-tree that made me unhappy. But I will try not to think of it any more.”

“Think of it in a different way, my dear Mary. Our Christmas-tree will, I doubt not, be well filled, though with less costly gifts than you have hitherto received. But how many there are who have no Christmas-tree!—how many who will even want for food and clothing on that happy day!”

Mary’s eyes filled with tears, but she made no reply; and her mother proceeded,—

“When the Lord, in his divine providence, permits us to meet with such trials as he sees to be for our good, we must not harden our hearts. We will not look back with regret upon the luxuries we have lost: but we will rejoice in the comforts remaining; and we will endeavor, as far as possible, to share those comforts with others more needy than ourselves. The proposal which Horace made in regard to your old books and playthings is a very good one. There are many children who may be made happy with what you now consider useless. Collect every thing which you feel willing to part with, and I will add some articles of clothing. Betty can tell us of several poor families who will be thankful for a portion of our abundance.”

“I will go and look over our things at once!” exclaimed Mary. “I have no doubt we can spare a great many. Come, Horace!” And, for the next few hours, the brother and sister were busily engaged, not in useless regrets concerning their own Christmas-tree, but in active efforts to prepare gifts to adorn the trees of children far more destitute than themselves.

Betty, having been made their confidante on the occasion, took much interest in hunting up destitute families who were deserving of assistance; and Mary and Horace soon found that there would be no difficulty in disposing of their little stock. Long before the important day arrived, the gifts at their disposal were done up in neat packages, and duly marked with the names of those for whom they were designed. Mrs. Bradley had added an ample supply of partly worn clothing; and Mr. Bradley, when he found what was going on, had promised to provide some articles of food to distribute among those who were most in want.

Mary and Horace were to have the pleasure of presenting these gifts themselves; and they were now eagerly longing for the happy day, not for the sake of what they would themselves receive, but that they might have the happiness of imparting their blessings to others.

Christmas Eve came at last: and, attended by Betty, the children left their little parcels at their various destinations; and then, with their hearts warmed and cheered by the grateful words and smiles which they had received, they turned their steps toward home, that they might enjoy the pleasant sight of their own Christmas-tree, which they rightly concluded would be brilliantly lighted up during their absence.

As they turned the corner near their own home, they met a pale-faced, thinly clad little boy, with a small branch of evergreen in his hand, which he was carrying carefully along, as if he considered it a precious treasure.

“Is that your Christmas-tree, little boy?” asked Horace, as they drew near to him.

“I found it!” exclaimed the child, joyfully. “I am so glad! Now Susy and I can have a Christmas-tree!” And he was hurrying along; but Horace stopped him by saying,—

“Have you any thing to put on the tree, little boy?”

“Not much,” was the reply. “But Susy and I have each got a penny: that will buy something.”

“Who is Susy?” asked Mary, as the little fellow was again hastening on his way.

“My little sister, miss. She will be so glad that I have got the tree! I must go to her.”

“Come with us first,” returned Mary, “and we will give you something to hang on the tree. I have a little doll for Susy, and some candles to light up the tree.”

The little pale face looked bright and almost rosy now as he trudged along with the children, still holding fast to his precious tree.

It did not take many moments to fill a small basket with what appeared to the child great treasures; and his eyes sparkled with joy as a warm cape was placed upon his shoulders, and a cap, long since outgrown by Horace, upon his head. Finding, upon inquiry, that his mother was a poor widow, residing in their immediate neighborhood, Mrs. Bradley directed Betty to fill another basket with food, and accompany the child home. Mary and Horace begged leave to go with her, although they had not as yet given one glance at their own Christmas-tree.

It was a pleasant sight to look at little Susy, as her brother eagerly displayed his treasures to her admiring gaze; and it was even more gratifying to witness the gratitude of the mother, as Betty emptied the contents of her basket.

After assisting in planting the branch of evergreen in a broken flower-pot which the children produced for the purpose, Mary and Horace took leave, and joyfully returned to their home.

Their Christmas-tree was indeed radiant with light. It seemed to the happy children that it had never been so brilliant before; for their hearts were filled with the delight of doing good to others, and this made all seem bright around them.

Morning found the tree well loaded with fruit,—pretty and useful gifts, which the children were delighted to receive. It was indeed a happy Christmas. They felt that they were surrounded with blessings; and, above all, they rejoiced in the happiness of sharing these blessings with others.

A DREAM.

It was Christmas Eve; the brilliantly-lighted streets were thronged with happy faces, and the merry hum of children’s voices seemed to rise above all other sounds in the busy crowd. Our own young folks had gone to rest with their little hearts filled with joyous expectations for the morrow. The stockings, hung by the chimney corner, had already been duly visited by the representatives of Santa Claus, and fatigued with the labors of the day, we would gladly have sought repose, when a gentle ring at the bell attracted our attention, and directly after, our maid of all work entered, and asked if we had any thing to give to a poor child who was standing at our door.

“Poor thing!” we exclaimed involuntarily. “It is hard to think that any child is begging from door to door, on Christmas Eve, when our own darlings are so happy.”

“Tell the child to step in,” was the direction to Jenny, and in a few moments a modest-looking little girl stood before us. Her slender form was but scantily protected from the cold; and her countenance showed that she was indeed in need of the assistance which she craved.

Her tale was a simple one. Her mother was very poor, and there were five children, of whom she was the eldest.

We inquired for the father, and her blue eyes were fixed upon the ground, as she answered timidly, that he was at home, but he was often sick, and did not do much for their support. A few more questions convinced us that he was a victim to that fatal evil which destroys the happiness of so many homes.

Our means would not allow us to do much for the poor child, but the little that we had to give was given cheerfully, and with many thanks she bade us good evening. As she left the room I recalled her, and placing a small piece of silver in her hands, I said:

“You may have this for yourself. I give it to you for a Christmas gift.”

“And may I spend it for what I please?” she asked, her whole face brightening with pleasure.

“Certainly. What will you buy?”

“O, a great many things! A present for mother and each of my brothers and sisters, and one for poor father too.”

“But, my child, you have not money enough to buy something for each one.”

“O yes, ma’am, a great plenty! I will buy a nice spool of cotton for mother, she needs one very much, and a penny book for Mary, a whistle for Johnny, a cake for Thomas, and a stick of candy for the baby. Then there will be four cents to spend for father, and I will go to the cheap bookstore, and ask them to sell me some good book, which will teach him not to drink rum any more. He is very, very kind when he is sober.”

“And will you come and see me again next week, and tell me how they liked their presents?” I asked, much interested by the simple, disinterested manner of the child.

“Thank you, ma’am, I will gladly do so,” was the reply, and with another grateful good-evening, she departed.

This little incident gave rise to a train of sad reflections. Happiness, it appeared to me, was unequally distributed. Even at this most joyous season of the year, how few sunbeams found their way to the homes of the poor. Indeed, their burdens must seem more heavy to bear, when contrasted with the luxury and gayety of the wealthy. They gazed upon their ill-fed, half naked little ones, while the children of their more prosperous neighbor passed their door loaded with useless toys, the price of which would have seemed to them a little mine of wealth. Oppressed with these thoughts, I laid my head upon my pillow, and was soon in the land of dreams.

Strange visions flitted before me. At one time I seemed to be revelling in the luxurious mansions of the rich, and then, by some sudden and mysterious transformation, the extreme of want was my portion. Suddenly a lovely being stood before me, whose very presence seemed to fill my soul with joy. Taking my hand in hers, she said, “Come with me, and I will show thee that this joyous season of the year may bring happiness to the homes of the poor, as well as to those of the wealthy. I am the Spirit of Happiness, and in the most humble abode on earth I often find a dwelling-place.” Joyfully I yielded to her guidance, and together we seemed to traverse the busy streets of the city. At one of the most splendid of the brilliantly-illuminated mansions we paused, and in another moment had gained admittance, and, apparently unseen ourselves, surveyed the happy party within. Young men and maidens were gliding through the graceful figures of the merry dance, lovely children were sporting around, joyfully displaying the Christmas gifts of parents and friends; while a less active, but no less happy looking group, were seated in a distant part of the room, gazing with quiet pleasure upon their children and grandchildren, who at this cheerful season had gathered around them. Every thing around gave evidence of luxury and splendor, and turning to my companion, I exclaimed almost in a tone of upbraiding:

“Yes, here indeed is happiness. The New Year is to them a time for rejoicing, and ‘Merry Christmas’ a day of joyful expectations and realities; but it is not thus with the poor. The words merriment and joy would seem to them a mockery.”

“Not so, my friend,” replied my guide. “The happiness which you see before you is capable of extension. These are the mediums of the blessings of Him whose birth into this natural world they now celebrate. The day which proclaimed peace and good will upon earth, is well calculated to remind these stewards of the Lord, that the wealth intrusted to their charge is not for themselves alone. Behold that venerable old man. He is the grandfather of this little flock. Every year he distributes large sums among the poor, making his grandchildren and great grandchildren his almoners. The happiness which you see in the countenances of the youth and maidens, the innocent glee of the children, is in a great measure caused by the joy which they have this day dispensed among the needy. Merely selfish gratification would not produce genuine contentment and joy. All selfish delights are evanescent and changeable.”

The scene changed, and we stood in a meanly-furnished apartment of one of the most humble dwellings in a narrow street of the city. A father, mother, and five children, were just seated to partake of their frugal meal. Every thing around told of poverty, but the countenances of the parents beamed with contentment, and the bright eyes of the children shone with joy. In the short but fervent prayer which the father uttered ere they commenced eating, gratitude was expressed to heaven for the blessings which this most joyful season of the year had brought to them.

“For what are they thus grateful?” I inquired. “Contrast their situation with that of the happy party whom we have just left.”

“And yet they are not less happy,” was the reply. “Listen to the joyful exclamations of the children.”

I listened, and the words of the little ones soon convinced me that my guide was right. Their hearts seemed overflowing with joy. The gifts which Christmas had brought to them and their parents were, mostly, substantial articles of food and clothing; but there was one small package of toys which had lost the charm of novelty for the children of some wealthy neighbor, and which, though no longer new and glittering, were whole and good. In the eyes of the poor children they were of inestimable value, and they gathered around them with so much delight, that I doubted not that they derived more pleasure from them than the original possessors had ever done.

Again the scene changed, and we stood in a miserable hovel, where sat a poor mother, with three little children clinging to her side, and rending her heart with their cries for bread. No fire was on the hearth, and the whole scene was one of extreme poverty and desolation.

“Surely there is no happiness here,” I whispered.

“Christmas will bring them at least one ray,” replied my guide; and even as she spoke, a load of wood and coal stopped at their door, and a man entered to inform them that he had orders to supply them with fuel, and desired to know where it should be put. While the grateful woman was yet uttering heartfelt expressions of thankfulness, a lad entered with a large basket of provisions, which he placed upon the table, at the same time slipping a bank note of trifling value into her hand, saying gayly,—

“Here is a merry Christmas to you, my good woman.”

Tears streamed from the eyes of the mother, while the hungry little ones clustered around the basket, and were soon bountifully supplied with a portion of its contents.

Deeply interested in this affecting little scene, I had nearly forgotten the presence of my companion, when a gentle whisper aroused me.

“Would you see the effects of your own Christmas gift?” and scarcely had I signified my assent, when we stood in another humble dwelling, where I recognized the little girl to whom I had given the shilling, surrounded by her family. They had apparently just received their gifts, for the mother was smiling through her tears, as she looked at the spool of cotton which lay on her lap; and Mary, and Johnny, and Thomas, and the baby were all in the enjoyment of the book, the whistle, the cake, and the candy: while the elder sister stood gazing on the happy little group, herself the happiest of them all, and joining heartily in the blessings which they heaped upon the good lady who had given her the shilling. In the corner of the room sat the father, and in his hand was the book which had been purchased at the cheap bookstore with the four cents. I saw at once that it was a Testament. He had not yet opened it, but sat looking at his wife and children with a subdued, mournful expression of countenance, which awakened a strong conviction that there was yet a chance for his reformation.

At length little Mary approached him timidly, and said:

“Look at the book sister bought for me, father; it is not so large as yours. May I look at yours?”

“Yes, Mary, you may read to me from it, if you like; my head aches, and I cannot read myself.”

The noisy mirth of the children was hushed, while the child read from the Book of Life. Some of the passages were singularly appropriate, and tears rolled down the cheeks of the unhappy man as he listened. As she paused at the close of the chapter, the elder girl drew to his side and whispered,—

“Will you not pray with us, as you used to do long ago, dear father?”

As if impelled by an irresistible power, he complied. Prayer and praise had long been strangers to his lips, but now his petitions were fervent, his confessions of past error full, and expressive of deep humility.

As they rose from their knees, the eyes of the husband and wife met, and they fell into each others arms.

One long, earnest embrace, and then the father clasped his children to his bosom.

“With the help of God, I will no longer be unworthy of you,” he exclaimed. “This precious little Christmas gift shall be my guide, and in obedience to its precepts we shall yet find happiness.”

I uttered a joyful exclamation and awoke, but the remembrance of my dream was vividly present; and as the rays of the morning sun beamed brightly in at our windows, I felt a pleasing confidence that the day would bring happiness to the poor as well as to the rich. All reflections upon the visions of the night were soon banished, however, by the shouts of “Merry Christmas” from numerous happy little voices at our door, and we hastened to join in their pleasure.

A week passed by, and the little heroine of Christmas Eve again stood at our door. It was wonderful what a change a few happy days had wrought in her appearance; and her whole face was radiant with joy, as she told me that they were all so happy now.