IX.THE RESCUE.

Once, tossed upon an angry, boiling sea,A boat was dashed upon a dreary shore;Heart-sick and like to die, his comrades threeCried, “Cuthbert, let us perish! hope is o’er.“The furious tempest shuts the water-path;The snow-storm blinds us on the bitter land.”“Now, wherefore, friends, have ye so little faith?”God’s servant said, and stretching forth his hand,He lifted up his reverent eyes and spake:“I thank Thee, Lord, the way is open there!No storm above our heads in wrath shall break,And shut the heavenward path of love and prayer.”Sweet to me comes old Cuthbert’s word to-day,Sweet is the thought that Christ is always near;I seek Him by the ever-open way,Nor yield my courage to a shuddering fear.The storm may darken over land and sea,But step by step with Christ I walk along.Dear Christ, the storm and sun are both of Thee,And Thou, Thyself, art still my strength and song!

Once, tossed upon an angry, boiling sea,A boat was dashed upon a dreary shore;Heart-sick and like to die, his comrades threeCried, “Cuthbert, let us perish! hope is o’er.

Once, tossed upon an angry, boiling sea,

A boat was dashed upon a dreary shore;

Heart-sick and like to die, his comrades three

Cried, “Cuthbert, let us perish! hope is o’er.

“The furious tempest shuts the water-path;The snow-storm blinds us on the bitter land.”“Now, wherefore, friends, have ye so little faith?”God’s servant said, and stretching forth his hand,

“The furious tempest shuts the water-path;

The snow-storm blinds us on the bitter land.”

“Now, wherefore, friends, have ye so little faith?”

God’s servant said, and stretching forth his hand,

He lifted up his reverent eyes and spake:“I thank Thee, Lord, the way is open there!No storm above our heads in wrath shall break,And shut the heavenward path of love and prayer.”

He lifted up his reverent eyes and spake:

“I thank Thee, Lord, the way is open there!

No storm above our heads in wrath shall break,

And shut the heavenward path of love and prayer.”

Sweet to me comes old Cuthbert’s word to-day,Sweet is the thought that Christ is always near;I seek Him by the ever-open way,Nor yield my courage to a shuddering fear.

Sweet to me comes old Cuthbert’s word to-day,

Sweet is the thought that Christ is always near;

I seek Him by the ever-open way,

Nor yield my courage to a shuddering fear.

The storm may darken over land and sea,But step by step with Christ I walk along.Dear Christ, the storm and sun are both of Thee,And Thou, Thyself, art still my strength and song!

The storm may darken over land and sea,

But step by step with Christ I walk along.

Dear Christ, the storm and sun are both of Thee,

And Thou, Thyself, art still my strength and song!

“He bringeth them unto their desired haven.”

Dicksprang suddenly to his feet. “There’s something—I do believe—yes, it is—itisa boat. Call, boys, as loud as you can!Alltogether,now!”

The wind stripped the frail sound into shreds, but all the same the boat came steadily that way, and was evidently making directly for them.

Brave Bill Finnegan, when he disappeared behind the rocks, had stopped only long enough to pull off his clothes and cast one quick, appealing glance up into the blackened sky, with a thought of Him who he had been told could still even the raging sea; then he struck out into the boiling, seething waters. It was their only chance. Help, if it cameat all, must be summoned. He might reach the shore, and he might not, but he would make the attempt. What a plaything he was for the mad waves! How they whirled and tossed him, blinded him with the spray, deafened him with their roar, strangled him, chilled him, laughed him to scorn!

But his strong muscle and early training stood him in good stead now, although it was some minutes after he was seemingly flung upon the shore before he could more than crawl out of reach of the cruel water. He climbed the cliff at last, and fortunately found Griggs close by, in a sort of shanty, taking a smoke with two other brawny-armed, bronzed-faced seamen. In less time than we can tell it, although not without some growling about the foolishness of boys in general and the fool-hardiness of Bill in particular, the three were on their way to the Needle. Bill insisted on going back with them, but was peremptorily ordered up to the house, where he was taken in hand by Mother Griggs, sent to bed, dosed with hot drinks and rubbedwith warm flannels till even his anxiety for the boys was lost in a sound sleep.

When he opened his eyes they were all there. Dick sprang on the low couch, and gave him a suffocating hug. Mr. Vance leaned over, with tears in his eyes, and said, “How shall we ever thank you, my brave boy!” Then Tom and Varney and the rest crowded up, laughing, talking, sobbing,—a little hysterical yet, in spite of Mother Griggs’ herb teas and hot baths.

The clouds were all piled away in the southwest, their gold and crimson linings fluttering in the sunset; the tired waves rolled heavily in, scattering pearls and diamonds over the black, pitiless rocks; the moon crept quietly up in the background: but a sail was out of the question even had any one felt inclined. Robert and Bill were content to lie quietly on their couches; none of the others were apparently the worse for their exposure. Mother Griggs insisted on making a chowder for the entire party; Griggs himself regaled them with “yarns” about life in mid-ocean;but it was a very quiet evening, and the talk would continually drift back to the day’s adventures.

“Cur’us, ain’t it, now, how things work round?” said Griggs. “I’d a good mind as ever I had to eat to put in at Long Wharf where I left t’other party, and wait till the blow was over,—I could see it comin’; but Larkins an’ Sam wanted to git on towards home. Ef we hadn’t, ye see, there wouldn’t a been a man anywheres round. It’s whatIcall cur’us.”

Bill looked up eagerly at Mr. Vance.

“I see Mother Griggs’ garden survived the shower,” the latter remarked carelessly, going to the window; “I expected to find it washed away, lying on a slope so. Ah! there is a sort of breakwater to turn the freshet. How fortunate that should be there, in the nick of time!”

“Guess I think too much of my wife’s posies not to look out for the wash,” said Griggs, slapping his own knee approvingly.“I fixed that there thing more’n a month ago on purpose.”

“And don’t you suppose the God who rules the tempests loves His creatures enough to provide a way of escape from any or all dangers?”

“Well, now, you’ve come it over me slick,” said Griggs, taking out his pipe, and thoughtfully wiping his mouth.

“And not only from temporal dangers,” continued Farmer Vance, “but he has also provided a ‘way of escape’ from temptation, sin, and death.”

“I’ve allus reckoned therewasa God,” said Griggs, slowly. “One can’t live close t’ the sea and disbelieve that there; an’ I’d like to believe He ’tends to things down here, but it never struck me jest so afore. Take an early start to-morrow, sir?”

“We must have a short sail first, to leave a pleasant taste of old ocean in our mouths,” rejoined Mr. Vance, smiling; “and now, boys, before we separate” (half of them were to sleep in the big covered wagon andthe others on Mother Griggs’ kitchen floor), “let’s have our Psalm again. I don’t believe anything could express our feeling like that grand one hundred and seventh”; and in a voice slightly tremulous he began,—

“Oh, give thanks unto the Lord for He is good;”

and, as they had done the night before, but with a far different understanding of its meaning, the boys joined in the refrain,—

“Oh, that men would praise the Lord for His goodness and for His wonderful works to the children of men.”

Once and again and again; but after the words—

“He commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof.“They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths.“Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He bringeth them out of their distresses.“He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.“Then are they glad because they be quiet; so He bringeth them unto their desired haven,”—

“He commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof.

“They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths.

“Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He bringeth them out of their distresses.

“He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.

“Then are they glad because they be quiet; so He bringeth them unto their desired haven,”—

one and another voice trembled and broke. Even old Griggs cleared his throat suspiciously.

Mr. Vance quietly added the last verse,—

“Whoso is wise, and will observe these things, even they shall understand the loving-kindness of the Lord,”

and with a short, simple prayer, closed a day the events of which no one of them could ever forget.

Even old Griggs would never again look out anxiously over the stormy seas, without a thought of the words—

“SoHebringeth them unto their desired haven.”

“I am debtor both to the Greeks and to the barbarians, both to the wise and to the unwise.”

“I’msorry, Bill, andsoashamed.”

Will Carter said that, sitting beside Bill Finnegan, in the big covered wagon. The others had all jumped out to run up the last, long hill on their way home.

Finnegan’s pale face flushed scarlet. Will had not spoken to him the night before, had avoided him all that day, and his quick Irish blood had felt it keenly.

“It was downright mean, the way I treated you,” Will continued, “and meaner still not to have owned up sooner, and before the boys too. I’ll do it yet. Only say you forgive me, Bill, and if there’s anything in the world I can do for you—ever, please let me. Ishall never forget you just the same as saved my life.”

Bill was looking back, out of the carriage. “It’s queer, folks do forget—that,” he said, absently, and then, flushing more deeply, he continued hurriedly, “I didn’t mean—I was thinking—it’s all right, Carter, an’ you needn’t never say no more about it, afore the boys nor no time. ’Twas just as much for Number One you know, what I did; and them other things ain’t worth minding, now. Only if—maybe, you could help me a bit; you know how so much better.”

“About lessons?” asked Will.

“Well, no, not exactly; I’m dull enough at them, but it’s the ‘understanding,’ I’m thinking about; because I ain’t the least bit ‘wise.’ I’m going to try all the same, though.”

“Try what?” asked the other, in surprise.

“Why, the ‘way,’—provided, you know. It come all plain to me last night, after Mr. Vance had prayed, and we’d all got quiet, how we belonged to whoever made us,an’ if the waves obeyed Him, it was certain we’d ought to; and if we was so thankful to Him for taking us out of danger yesterday why didn’t we thank Him for keeping us out every day? I never had, you see; an’ it struck me we should call it mighty mean in folks to take so much kindness from one another and never say ‘Thank ’ee.’ And then I thought if this great, kind God had provided a ‘way,’ why shouldn’t folks choose to go in it; there can’t be a better one. I’d always supposed being a Christian meant sort of giving in to a Master, knuckling right under, and never having your own way nor nothing. I think people do have an idea it’s a come-down to pray and all that, don’t you? I did, anyhow; and when I see how, instead, it was Him doing all those ‘wonderful works’ for us, and we just turning our backs on the way He’d provided,—why, I made up my mind I’d turn right square round. That’s all there is to it, ain’t it? to begin I mean; and if you’d tell me what comes next.”

“You’re a great ways ahead of me now,”said Will, thoughtfully. “I haven’t even made up my mind.”

It was Bill’s turn to look surprised.

“I believe I’ve felt a good deal about it as you have,” continued Will, “as if it was something beneath me; but you’ve made out it is mean and ungratefulnotto be a Christian. I thought it would be giving up a great deal, and you talk as if it was just stepping into the best possible ‘way.’”

“Well, isn’t it, don’t you think?” asked Bill, earnestly.

“Why, yes, it does look so; but what are you going to do about ‘conviction’ and ‘change of heart,’ and lots of things nobody can understand?”

Bill shook his head.

“I don’t even know what they mean; all I know is, I’d ought to serve Him that made me an’ takes care of me, an’ I mean to. O Mr. Vance, won’t you tell us how ’tis?”

That gentleman had looked in at the back of the wagon, but seeing the two boys inearnest confab had quietly withdrawn; now, however, he climbed in.

That he made plain things even plainer may be inferred from the happy, hopeful look that replaced the puzzled expression on Bill’s face. Will drew quietly back when the noisy crew came trooping in, and scarcely spoke till they were nearly home. Then he leaned forward, and under cover of the loud talking, said quietly, “It’s queer, Bill, but you’ve set this thing straight for me, and helped me make up my mind at last. That leaves me doubly in debt, you see.”

“No, oh no, indeed!” returned the other, earnestly. “It was all Mr. Vance.”

“Well, both of you together, then; but remember, old fellow, I’m ‘yours to command’ for life, or ought to be, whatever this old proud heart of mine may say to the contrary.”

“And we’ll both beHis‘to command’always,” said Bill, his plain, homely face glowing with the thought.

“I am ready to preach the gospel to you that are at home also, for I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ.”

“I hopethe c’mmittee’s satisfied now,” sputtered Maybee. “They’ve got a degraded school, with me in one room and Tod in another. I don’t care! Mr. Blackman’s gone to the ’cademy, and we have wimmins to teach us. Mine has curls, and Tod’s hasn’t, and mine prays a real nice little prayer before she says ‘Our Father.’ Mr. Blackman never said only that, quick’s ever he could,—Amen! ring-a-ling-a-ling, right along together, as if it didn’t mean nothing ’tall.”

Maybee was right. “Our Father” had no meaning to Mr. Blackman.

Dick and Will, who were both trying to be Christian boys now, were talking it over one day. “It isn’t so much what hesays,”Dick remarked, “as the feeling he gives you that the Bible and such things are of no account, anyhow.”

“Yes, and then it sounds so grand,” Will rejoined, “when he talks about the Good and the True and Beautiful,—how they of themselves will help men up, and how Reason teaches us all we need to know, and about matter and law and evolution. I couldn’t understand it any more than I could father’s free agency and election, but it made me feel easier, and didn’t saydoanything in particular, so I liked to think it might be true. Queer, wasn’t it, Bill Finnegan should be the one to open my eyes? but queerer yet, as he said, that I or anybody could ever forget or not care that Christ died for us.”

Dick looked thoughtful. “It seems stranger anybody can believe there is a God, and not care to know about Him or try to please Him, than it does not to believe in Him at all, like Mr. Blackman. I wonder if he reads the Bible? He never goes to church. Would you dare ask him to?”

“To go to church? Mr. Blackman? No, indeed!—that is, I shouldn’t like to. He is so much older, and he turns up his nose,—that is, he makes you feel as if it was all nonsense.”

“But it ought not to make us feel so. If he should turn up his nose at the sun, we shouldn’t think any the less of it. I’ve a good mind to. It would come a little tough to say anything of that sort to him, but—I guess I could.”

“I do wish you would, then. Oh, dear! you are so much braver than I, Dick, about these things.”

“Oh! that’s something in the grain, I guess, but I don’t see why we should be ashamed of our Master. It would be mean enough for us to feel ashamed of Bill Finnegan anywhere after what he did for us; and Jesus Christ has done so much more, besides being God’s own Son and the Lord of heaven and earth.”

That evening Mr. Blackman’s bell rang,—the very faintest tingle; but when he openedthe door, Dick looked him straight in the face, his honest blue eyes full of eager longing. “Please, Mr. Blackman, I called—I don’t know how to say it,—but I—I wish—you was a Christian. Couldn’t you—won’t you go to the meeting to-night?”

The Bible tells of a certain king who went into battle disguised, and who supposed himself quite safe, covered as he was with a strong armor; but somebody drew a bow at a venture and smote him between the joints of his breastplate and killed him.

Now, Mr. Blackman prided himself that nothing Conscience or anybody else might say about God and religion ever had made or ever could make the least impression upon his armor of arguments and proofs; but just those few simple words, so earnestly spoken, found a crevice somewhere, and struck right home to his heart.

“What makes you wish so?” he asked, taking the boy’s hand.

“Because—because you’re so good and kind and know most everything, and Godwants just such men for his servants. Besides, you couldn’t help loving Him if you knew Him.”

“Do you think so? Well, suppose I go to-night, just to please you,” and Mr. Blackman reached at once for his hat.

Dea. Carter looked at Mr. Sampson, and Mr. Sampson said “Thank God!” in his heart when the two came in together.

Mr. Blackman was an excellent teacher for the older pupils, and had a great deal of influence over them; many a parent had been praying it might yet weigh on the Lord’s side. Who shall say that wasnotthe reason Dick’s bold effort for the Master was so successful?

“He went to please me, that night,” Dick said joyfully, some four weeks later. “Now I guess he goes to please himself. I’msoglad I asked him.”

And well you may be, Dick; only remember the results are not always thus speedy and pleasant; but all the same,neverbe ashamed of your Master.

“I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.”

A bitof black crape hung from the door of the little red house in the woods.

Aunty McFane had gone home.

Kind friends placed the poor wasted body in the plain coffin, covered it with fragrant flowers, and laid it away under the new-fallen snow.

“Fought the fight, the victory won!” sang Maybee that night, sitting in her little rocker before the open fire.

“I shouldn’t think you’d sing wight after you’ve been to a fooneral,” said Tod, curled up on the hearth-rug.

“Why, they sung it to-day, right beside the coffin,” said Maybee, “and mamma ’xplained it to me coming home, howAunty McFane has been fighting most seventy-seven years, and trusted Jesus all the whole time, and how she has got through, and gone to stay with Him always.”

“Wimmins don’t fight,” said Tod, disbelievingly.

“Yes, they do; everybody does that kind of fighting. Don’t you know our Sabbath School hymn says,—

“‘I’m glad I’m in this army’?”

“Yes, but I thought it meant when we march Fourth of Julys and have flags and cannon and evewyfing.”

“Why, The-od-o-re Smith! I’m surprised! Don’t you know what fighting means, the Bible way? Suppose it’s time for you to go to bed and you don’t want to. It’s the ‘don’t want to’ you fight with, and if you beat and go straight along, just as aunty says, all pleasant, that’s being a conqueror; but if you don’t—”

“I’m weal hungwy, ain’t you?” interposedTod. “Let’s go out and snowball so ’twill be supper-time quicker.”

Maybee was nothing loth, and after a nice frolic they sat down on the steps to rest and make snow images.

“Wouldn’t you like to be a sure-enough soldier?” asked Maybee, rolling up a tiny ball for a head.

“I’d wather be a cap’n or a gen’wal,” said Tod, “an wide a horse, and have folks say ‘Hurwah’!”

“Yes, but everybody can’t be generals, ’cause who’d carry the guns? And you know we can be ever so much greater.”

“No; how?”

“We can be greater than Napoleon or George Washington. The Bible says so. My mamma showed me the verse. It says, ‘He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.’”

“What is wuling his spiwit?” asked Tod.

“Oh, it’s being real mad and not saying a single word till you feel pleasant. I guess itmeansfeelright, soon as you can, too. I’ll show you. There comes Tom Lawrence and Jack Mullin. They’ll be sure to say something awful provoking, and I shall be just as polite. Good-morning, Tom—I mean good-afternoon.”

“Did anybody speak—I mean squeal?” queried Tom, staring all around. “I saw a couple of magpies—no; ’pon my word, one is a bumble-bee. Hear it buzz, now.”

But Maybee worked on without a word.

“Oh, she’s mad; regular spitfire,sheis. I wonder what she’s making,—a duck or a toad.”

Maybee reddened, but rejoined quite cheerfully, “Tod’s making a house. Mine is a soldier, and this stick is for a gun.”

“Look out, then! Here comes one of Carter’s three-hundred-pounders,” and sending a huge snowball over the fence, the two boys moved leisurely on.

It fell directly on the roof of Tod’s house, quite demolishing it.

“Never mind,” said Maybee, pulling afeather out of the wing on her hat, to stick in her soldier’s cap. “You saw how pleasant I was, didn’t you?”

“They didn’t skwushyourhouse all to nuffin, an’ you was just showing off,youwas. I wish I could fump ’em,” said Tod, excitedly.

“That’s very wicked; you can’t be one of Christ’s soldiers and wish such bad things,” said Maybee, plastering a knapsack on to her soldier. “I do, sometimes,” she added, more humbly, “but I don’t mean to ever again,—much,” and she began singing, louder than before,

“Fought the fight, the victory won.”

Tod worked away, rebuilding his house, putting ontwo“chimleys” this time. By and by, just as Maybee was giving the finishing touch to her image, he reached over for a fresh handful of snow, lost his balance, and in trying to recover himself, managed to hit the poor soldier in the breast with his elbow, leaving him a shapeless ruin.

Maybee’s black eyes blazed. “Tod Smith! you did it a purpose.”

“Yes’m,” said Tod, sitting coolly down and facing her.

She turned quickly, and lifted one foot. Another moment and Tod’s pretty cottage, with its “merandah” and bay-window, would have shared the fate of its predecessor; but a better thought came suddenly to Maybee, in the words of her song,—

“Fought the fight, the victory won.”

Arealvictory this would be,—no make-believe, no mere “showing-off,” as Tod had called it; and to tell the truth, shedidfeel just like the Pharisee mamma read about all the time she was being so polite, butnowshe was—oh, so dreadfully angry! If shecouldspeak pleasant, wouldn’t that be “ruling her spirit,” “real, sure-enough.”

“I’ll try not to mind,” she said, slowly. “Let’s build some more houses, a whole village; yours is so pretty.”

“Oh, my gwief!” ejaculated Tod. “Iwanted to see if youwouldfight that Bible way, an’ youdid, an’ I’m awful sorwy I made you, ’twas such a splendid soldier.”

“I just wanted to show it to papa,” sighed Maybee, furtively wiping away a few tears.

Tod sprang up, and set both feet squarely on the dainty snow-house. “There! my’ll punish my’s own self,” he cried, forgetting his nominative case in his excitement. “My is sorwy as my can be, my never will do so again. Please, won’t you forgive my this time?” and putting both arms around her neck, the little fellow burst into tears.

“I declare, there must be a thaw,—such a freshet! Whatisthe matter?” asked Dick Vance, coming up the walk, and sitting down beside them.

Tod explained as well as he could.

“I don’t feel much bad now,” said Maybee, “but I think that kind of fighting is better totalkabout than ’tis todo!Seems’sif it was a miser’ble kind of a world,—the good times all chopped up so you can’t get only the littlest bit to once.”

“That’s so,” said Dick, gravely. “I’ve just been riled myself, and know how it feels.”

“Did you fump ’em, or fight th’ other way,” inquired Tod, eagerly.

“I’m afraid I ‘fumped,’—that is, I felt real cross—”

“What’s the matter with you?” laughed Sue, coming out on the piazza.

“Oh! it’s Tom and Jack. You know they don’t come to Sabbath School scarcely any, now, but they keep promising to, and just now, when I asked them, they were so awfully provoking. I don’t believe I’ll ever say another word to them.”

“We mustn’t forget it’s a fight for life,” said Sue, gently. “You see, I’ve been talking with mother about this very thing. I do so want Bell to be a Christian, and I getsodiscouraged. But mother says a soldier must not expect to win every battle with the first shot. Some places have to be besieged for months. And she says the very hardest kind of fighting is waiting patiently and bearingmeekly, because it is then we get discouraged and give up trying. So I’m going to keep on praying for Bell and do everything I can. And we must remember how wild Tom has always been—”

“I’d better remember I was just as bad, and might not have been a bit better now if I hadn’t been shut right up there with Aunty McFane. Oh, how good she did use to talk!”

“Dear old aunty! Isn’t it nice to think of her up in heaven, all well and happy? Think what a Christmas she will have.”

“O me! I’d most forgot the miser’blest thing of all,” broke in Maybee, dolefully. “Uncle Thed isn’t going to have any Christmas tree. I heard him tell mamma so.”

“Not have any Christmas tree!” exclaimed Sue and Tod together.

“That is as you say,” said mamma, standing in the door. “He will leave it all to you. Come in to supper now and we will talk it over,—you, too, Dick, for if wedecide on the new plan you may like to join us.”

They listened with wide-open eyes while she told them that, because of the hard times, a great many little boys and girls would have no Christmas at all, no presents, no dinner even; that what Uncle Thed’s annual Christmas party, tree, presents, supper and all cost would go a great ways towards making such children happy, and if they would agree to go without their nice presents, Uncle Thed would help them make out a list of names; they should decide on a present for each one, and Christmas Eve they could go around and leave the parcels on the doorsteps.

“Oh, oh! in a sleigh an’ eight tiny weindeer, just like St. Nicholas!” screamed Tod. “Won’t that be nice?”

“With Steady and Frolic instead of the reindeer,” laughed mamma.

“That would be a little bit nice,” said Maybee, gravely. “And then there’ll be the miser’ble part,—not having a single thing our own selves.”

“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.

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

Thechildren 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 suchelegantpresents 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 theforlornestChristmas!

“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 somethingperfectly 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.Thatmoney was to provide new winter cloaks, trimmed with fur, for Say and Tilly Ellis. You see, Say had asked if she mightmakesomething for thepoor 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, JudyRyan, 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 twomince 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 firstrealChristmas I ever had.”

“I don’t envy Bell the least bit,” saidJenny, 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.’ Weboys 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!”

“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 39He eat so much hechanged toHeateso much hePage 68isn’t it, dear? “——”changed toisn’t it, dear?——”Page 84and Say Ellis’ mother is real poorchanged toand SayEllis’smother is real poorPage 98whole story at the Ellis’changed towhole story at theEllis’sPage 110said Tod encourageinglychanged tosaid TodencouraginglyPage 116in your chateleine pocketchanged toin yourchatelainepocketPage 134I’ll sew it righr straightchanged toI’ll sew itrightstraightPage 147into Say Ellis’ yardchanged tointo SayEllis’syardPage 159Wonldn’t mamma letchanged toWouldn’tmamma letPage 166t’wasn’t, neitherchanged to’twasn’t, neitherPage 335Seem’s ifchanged toSeems’sif

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 39He eat so much hechanged toHeateso much he

Page 68isn’t it, dear? “——”changed toisn’t it, dear?——”

Page 84and Say Ellis’ mother is real poorchanged toand SayEllis’smother is real poor

Page 98whole story at the Ellis’changed towhole story at theEllis’s

Page 110said Tod encourageinglychanged tosaid Todencouragingly

Page 116in your chateleine pocketchanged toin yourchatelainepocket

Page 134I’ll sew it righr straightchanged toI’ll sew itrightstraight

Page 147into Say Ellis’ yardchanged tointo SayEllis’syard

Page 159Wonldn’t mamma letchanged toWouldn’tmamma let

Page 166t’wasn’t, neitherchanged to’twasn’t, neither

Page 335Seem’s ifchanged toSeems’sif

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