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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Herald, 1909-12-24, Page 6ass an y!s Letter A CHRISTMAS STORY (By Susan Hubbard Martin, in the Congregationalist and Christian. World). Miss Nancy reached for the handle- less sugar bowl she kept on the high shelf. There was a smile upon the small withered face. Hee blue eyes were pleas- ed as a child's. "I've got that five dollars now to send to Elwyn," she whispered, happily. "Of course he'll get presents, but he'll ' need a little money besides. What boy in college doesn't? I'd like to know, and no matter what he gets from other people, I want him to have something from me. It ain't been so very hard to save, it, only goin' without a few extras I could give up, as well as not. If I haven't had quite as good quality of tea with less sugar in it than usual, or if I have scrimped myself a little on butter and eggs, why it at's nobody's business but mine. It's been a great pleasure to me to do it. Elwyn is my boy, even if he ain't any blood rela- tion, and his not havin' any mother makes me feel mare tender toward him than ever. I'm not afraid but that there's good stuff in the lad, if he only bas the right kind of handling. "I do wish the squire was not so striot. It's so easy to be hard on a boy and expect everything in the world from him without makin' any allowances for youth. It's a good thing the Lord ain't like some parents, or the children would stand a poox chance of ever standin' be- fore the great white throne. I lay a good many of the failures of the men to -day to the mistakes their fathers and mothers made in bringing 'em up. No stock of patience to begin with, not much tact, and less grace, capped by a iisposition that would drive any child sway instead of holdin' him close. Yes, C do. I ain't never been married, but t've eyes in my head, and when I see thing, I know it. Don't I remember when Elwyn used to come in my kitchen with tears in his eyes. "Father wouldn't speak to me this morning, Miss Nancy," he would say, romin' close to where I'd been workin'. 'I guess I did something yesterday he lidn't like." "But you ought to try tad please your father, dear," I'd al- ways say. "I do try, Miss Nancy," he'd answer, raising his little face to mine; 'but it's no use. I can't even hold a fork ee suit him. It's always that way at our louse." "Dear me, how sorry I used to be for that boy,. NVQ indeed. I guess if all Cen- ,erville has to go without a present from ne, Elwyn Channing won't. She took the old blue sugar bowl, and •mptied its contents on the ' kitchen able. Nickels, dimes, a quarter or two Ind even pennies rattled out. She pushed he money into piles counting it caxe- 'ully, her white head beat absorbingly rver her task.' "ebur dollars and seven- ty-six cents," she said at length, "and I've twenty-four cents in the bureau lrawer upstairs," and then she smiled sgain as she put it back, dear little unselfish little Nancy, who never would row old in spite of her fifty-eight years. It was the late afternoon of the ddy before Christmas. Elwyn Channing walked down the stone steps of the great college and started toward the post -of- fice. "Of course, father will send me some extra money," he thought as he pulled his cap over his auburn locks. "Surely he will. I need it, too. He couldn't be so hard-hearted as to Id me go without. I wish the dear old man and I could hit it off better, but he will misunderstand me. Ho don't understand how hard the college grind is, even if a fellow doesn't do his best. I'm afraid ho won't like that Iast report, and he'll be sure to ask for it I wish it were a better one. However, fellow can't cut football and the "frets" unless he wants to be a muff. But fath- er don't understand. It would be no use to tell him that I care and that I really am going to bone down to better work the first of the year. If mother had only lived, she would know, but father"— A sigh ended with iho words and he walk- ed on faster through the village street. ville. There were two letters waiting for him, one in a small cramped handwrit- ing, the other in his father's well known :chirography. He tore open the father's with eagerness. Dear Elwyn (it ran), ---1 am very much disappointed at the report the profes- sors sent me. You need not blame them. I asked for it. It seems to me you have done nothing but disappoint me ever since you were old enough to call ane father. My only son, too. In consequence, I do not feel much like sending you a Christmas allowance. f1.d you considered me it would have been different, as it is, all that you need to remember is, that I am your displeased and disappointed father, John W. Channing. Elwyn put the letter mechanically in its envelope. His boyish chin quivered and for just a moment a mist of tears swam in his eyes. To be cut off like than and at Christmas time, too, when all the world had a right to be glad. Father might have sent him a little ex- tra rnoney, a fellow in college always had a few obligations. There was the landlady and the bay who ranerrands for the "frat" men. He would liked to have remembered them, and that little lame girl who lived just across from the .college and who waved him a good morn- ing every day from her window. And lie had used up what money he had. A wave of bitterness surged in bis heart and then with it all came the sud- den determination to cut college, to be done with the grind and the dull routine since nobody 'cared. "If father had only written differently. Had he not ,just promised himself he would study hard- er? If he had not done his best, he had done nothing so terribly wrong. Father did not know of the pranks he had miss- ed or the jollifications he had not at- tended, simply because he knew he would not approve of then. But now— he would throw it up. He would go to his room, get his clothes, steal a ride to the city and face the world for himself. Father was disappointed, anyway. It could not be much worse." Be- thrust the letter in his pocket and then he thought of the other. His heart was so sore, there was such a lump in his throat, he opened. it with no interest. He did not care for Christmas now or anything. , Yes, he would stop college—and then he opened the letter addressed in the small cramped writing. As lie did so, a crisp five dollar bill con- fronted him. He stared at the signa- ture. It was signed, 'Your loving friend, Nancy Ellen Banks' .And then he remembered, remembered all abort his old, humble, white-haired comrade in the little home at Centre- ville. "Miss Nancy," he whispered, "dear, blessed Miss Nancy," and then he read it. "My Dear, Dear Boy (it began),—I am sending you a little Christmas present to let you know that I haven't forgot- ten you. I realize that boys in college need money, and I hope you will use this for the blessed Christmas time. I want you to know, too, that your old friend thinks of you each day, and remembers you each night in her prayers, and that, too, she has faith in you, and is not afraid to trust you, feeling that you are in His care. Boys will be boys, but I feel persuaded that the little lad who used to come to me with his troubles, is big enough now to conquer them, and will soon take his place in the world, ready to make it a better and purer place. Remember, dear boy, I have laid you on the altar of my heart, commit- ting you meanwhile to heavenly keep- ing. May this Christmastide be one of blessedness to you, and may you be happy in it. This is the wish of your old and loving friend, "Nancy Ellen Banks." Elwyn read it through and then to l the grey old world dipped itself into hues of roses and violet, joy was in his heart—peace in his soul. He straighten- ed up—pushed his cap back. Where was the resolve now to quit college? Where the plan for that stolen ride on the cars into the city? Gone, all gone. Miss Nancy loved him. Miss Nancy believed in him, and because she did, he would stand by the old college and do his best. A mighty resolution took possession of him that moment. To be worthy of that little white-haired woman's love, and as for the five dollars—would she ever re- alize what it meant to him, coming just AS it (cid? Though only n boy, lie real- ized what a sacrifice. it represented. And the boy that moment became a man put. ting away childish thins. Across the college campus came tile sound of bells; Christmas bells, ortwi- light had f` lke, ii and Christmas Eve was ushered in; "Glory to God in the highest and on earth, peace,' good will to men,' Was not that the spirit of Christmas and should not that .same spirit dwell in his heart? 'Miss Nancy's faith should not be in vain and with the blessed Christmas feeling in his soul cane the determination to serve God, to make, as Miss Nancy had said, the world a better blase. 3 e kissed the letter with reverent lips, then with a steadfast face he turned his steps toward the great college. The boy had become a man. It was Christmas Eve several years le- er. p "Yes," Miss Nancy was saying to the minister. "Yes, I always knew Elwyn was of fine stuff,- and you've just heard him preach, you.siiy? And he told you he owed it all to me? That's just like the dear boy, he will give me the credit, though I don't know what I've done, and I want .you to see the Christmas present he sent me to -day. The finest black suit in all Centreville and a sealskin boa and muff. That boy is always sending rite things, and though I'm so alone in the world, he never lets me feel it. ETe writes me the loveliest letters, and I-0! I'm just the happiest woman in the world. If I did have a. hand in his eonyersion, the Lord did it." "Amen," said the minister. as he rose. up to shake hands. "Nevertheless. Miss Nancy." he added, with a smile, for Elwyn had told him the story of that Christmas gift and the letter., "you helped—you helped." When Mary Kissed the ChikL (By Charles G. D. Roberts. When Mary the Mother kissed the Child, And night on the 'wintry hills grew mild, And the strange star' -swung from the courts of air To serve at a manger with kings in Then did the day of the simple kin And the unregarded folk begin. When Mary the Mother forgot the pair, In the stable of rock began love's reign. When that new light on their grave eyes broke, The oxen were glad and forgot thein yoke; And the huddled sheep in the far hill fold Stirred in their sleep and felt no cold. When Mary the Mother gave of her breast To the poor inn's latest and lowliest guest— The God born oneitthe woman's side— The Babe of heaven by earth deeded— Then did the hurt ones cease to moan, Aiad. the long -supplanted came to their own. When Mary the Mother felt faint hands Beat at her bosomy with life's demands, And nought to her were the kneeling kings, The serving star and the half -seen wings, Then was the little of earth :made great, And the man came back to the God's estate. A LES How Chlres tas Calms a Lonely Little Boy in Far Away Japan (IKathry.n Jarboe in January St. Nien- olas.) The snow was, falling in soft, fugitive Flakes down over the gray laud, sifting through the branches of the dark pines on the hillside, slipping from the carved cornices of the old temple in the shadow of the pities, drit'cing into the shrine to touch the gilded linage of Buddha that, for centuries, had looked unmoved on sun and snow alike. For this all hap- pened in Japan. In the pretty garden in front of the little missionary house, the snowflakes flecked the feather of the -bronze crane, rested on the broad back of the stone turtle, and heaped themselves upon the dwarf cypresses, the miniature hills and dales, and tiny little bridges". Almost as unheeded, they fell upon . little Davy Brewster, who sat upon the steps over- looking the garden, his elbows on his knees, his chin cuddled into his pink palms. The feathery atoms rested on his yellow curls, on his little black shoul- ders, his thin black legs, and his shining black shoes. He knew well enough that it was snowing; he even watched, with moody eyes, one huge. flake, bigger than all the rest, that sailed on and. on, lift- ing now and then as though it were all unwilling to alight in the toy garden, as though it would float on across to the temple gate to the golden Buddha. itself. Davy knew, too, that it was Christmas eve; that, after weeks of weary waiting, Christmas had come to every one in his own far-off land. But not to him and to his mother. He could hear her chair rocking softly backward and forward just inside the door. He knew just how she looked, sitting there in her new black gown, He knew that if he went in to speak to her she would draw hint close in her arms and whisper: "Oh, Davy, Davy - boy!" He knew that if he asked her the same question she would give him the same answer; that if he asked her if Sant& Claus was coming to -night site would say tenderly that 'there could be no Christmas for hint or for her, be- cause they were left all alone in the world. He was sure that he could kiss her tears away; that if he held his hands on her cheeks and told her how mach he loved her she would stop crying; but he knew, oh, yes, . he knew y.e y,.' e1 ,.that what she Itad said was true that Christ- mas was not coming for them. It was such a Ittle time ago that his father had been with them, though, that his father had told him 'that Christmas would come when the snow came. Now the white flakes were flying down from the sky, nestling everywhere upon the ground, but—but it wasn't Christmas, it wasn't Christmas for him. He won- dered if it was Christmas in the heaven where his father had gone. The snowflakes fell faster, the grey night slipped over the land. The temple A MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OUR READERS, , 0 bell boomed heavily down from the shad, owed hill, and its waves of magical music rolled across the thatch -roofed village, across the fields, away to the misty heri son. Into the silence that trailed behind, the child's blue eyes gazed in e new ter- ror of loneliness . Scrambling to his feet he fled into 'the house and. flung himself into his mother's arms, sobbing uncon- trollably. Mrs. Brewster. ' held him close and. whispered: "Davy, Davyboy!" For just an ihstntit her tears fell on his yellow curls. Only for that instant, though, did he forget the promise he had made to his father—to be a brave boy. Sud- denly mindful of. it, he cuddled her cheeks with his hands and kissed the tears from her tired eyes. The Christmas sun flung down upon the white world a flood of golden light and glory. .The branches of the pine trees drooped under their burdens; the temple roof was all smooth and white and undefiled; the lap of the golden Buddha was heaped with, snow; the bronze 'crane stood 'knee deep in the feathery mass; the stone turtle showed only his pointed. head. Davy, sitting again on the steps that led down into the garden, looked out toward the hori- son that was shimmering blue and pink and white, and wondered where Christ- mas did begin, wondered itist how near to him Santa Claus had come. From the horizon his eyes wandered back across the village of thatched roofs that lay at the foot of the hill. A bright line of vivid color, red and blue and green, was moving slowl yalong the snow-covered road that led from the village to the hill. Davy knew that it was the children from the mission school wearing their gayest, brightest kimonos. He watched them as they tumbled along over the snow in their high stilted clogs, and wondered where they were going and what they were doing. Then he saw that they were climping the hill, slipping and sliding, but always climbing. He heard them laughing and chattering in their high, shrill voices. All at once he was terribly afraid that theyvwere com- ing to his house. He had not been down to the Mission since his father had gone away; he had not seen any of the chil- dren since then, and his only impulse was to run into h. _.e , ,d hid slid of boys birds and butterflies of brilliant plum- age, filed into the garden path, past the bronze stork, past the turtle's head, past all the tiny little bridges, and tiny trees. Their faces were grave, their voices were hushed as they looked up at the sombre little boy sitting on the steps. They huddled close together, each trying to hide behind his neighbor—all save a Japanese boy called Otoyasan. He was but a few years older than Davy, and had been a constant compan- ion of' the small American lad. Otoyasau bowed low and all the lino of his little followers ducked their heads in greeting. "Good. nun -Mie!" Davy spoke gravely, and returned the low salute with an awkward bow. "Mer' Chrrissnius!" cried Otoyasan. The 'other children tried to echo the strange words. "It isn't Christmas here, Otoyasan" Davy stood up now and rammed his small clenched fists deep into his tiny pockets. "It can't be Christmas for muvver and me." Otoyasan looked at him curiously, rubbed his hands together, and, for a moment, did not speak. "It's Christmas for ever'one, Davy- san," he said at last. "It's Chrrissmus for all the world. Your father, Revers Brewster, said it's Christmas for ever' - one" ' 4r0 CHRISTMAS WITH HARRY LAUDER. As I sat smoking with Harry Lauder after dinner on Ohristmas Day I not- iced he looked rather glum. "What's wrong?" I asked. "You don't look hap- py?" "My boy," he replied, "you don't know the terrible trouble I'M Then he went on to explain. "You know my popularity as a fun - maker. Well, now, I am the innocent cause of great suffering to thousands. They come to hear me sing, and laugh till they are loekjawed. At every town visited I leave the hospitals full of lock- jaw patients." "Well, Harry." I said, "you must just stop your tickling." "My boy," he replied. "that's just what I can't do. I have signed con- tracts in advance for years to come. Think of my predicament. I tickle the nation till it is loekjawed! I have pro- posed to change my songs, substituting 'Close the Shutters ,Willie's Deed,' 'The Little One That Died,' 'Poor Old Jeff,' and so on, but the managers say this: change would only result in the people dislocating their jaws with yawning. I have thought' of leaving the stage for the pulpit, but there again I fear my sermons would have the same disas- trous result. Every day I fear arrest for being a danger to the Irublie." At, this point we were interrupted by' the arrival of a policeman. "You see," said Harry, "the blow has fallen." He was then marched away s d I ante vile, followed by a. erpyd'411?xs a4-• mirers who had just oorne o'ut of hod. trital,