CHAPTER IXANNE MARIE AND THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
Whatdid Santa Claus say when he saw the three Polly Perkinses?
That is something you and I will never know, unless some day one of the Polly Perkinses opens her lips and tells.
For, of course, no one saw Santa Claus that Christmas Eve. Neither Patty, nor Ailie, nor Anne Marie, nor any one of the hundreds and hundreds of little boys and girls who meant to lie awake that night and steal a glimpse of Santa Claus, or at least hear the patter of his reindeer’s hoofs or catch the faintest tinkle of their bells.
But Anne Marie did see the Christmas Angel.
To be sure, there was one moment the next day when she thought it might have been all a dream. But that moment was very short, indeed. And finally Anne Marie made up hermind that not only had she seen the Christmas Angel, but that the Angel had bent over her bed and had smilingly given her a gentle Christmas kiss.
When Anne Marie, holding fast to Papa Durant’s hand, walked home from the Party, although the walk was a short one, she managed to tell him everything that had happened, from the moment she had presented her Christmas cakes to Grandmother King until Papa Durant himself had come to take her home.
She scarcely glanced up at the deep-blue starry sky. She scarcely noticed the happy people, laden with bundles, who hurried to and fro in the gay and frosty street.
Once home, she could scarcely eat her supper, so eager was she to tell Grand’mère all about the Christmas Party and to display the new Polly Perkins Durant in all her beauty of fresh pink frock and gray cloak and hood.
‘This cape is worthy of Paris,’ pronounced Grand’mère, after carefully examining not onlythe cape, but the pale blue lining as well. And this, from Grand’mère was praise indeed, as Anne Marie well knew.
It seemed very hard that Anne Marie could not tell Maman all about her happy afternoon, nor even show to her Polly Perkins Durant.
But Christmas Eve was a busy night in the Bakery, and Maman would sit late in her little golden cage, not leaving it until Anne Marie had long been abed and asleep. Of course, their friends and patrons must have their Christmas cakes and pastries, their Christmas buns and rolls. Anne Marie would not have had it otherwise.
‘But I would like to slip downstairs just for a moment to show my Polly to Maman,’ coaxed Anne Marie, leaning across her bowl of bread and milk to pat Grand’mère upon the cheek.
Although Grand’mère smiled at Anne Marie, she shook her head.
‘That would not please Maman,’ was Grand’mère’s answer, and Anne Marie knew it wastrue. ‘You may show her your Polly to-morrow morning when you wish her “Joyeux Noel.” Maman left a message for you, Anne Marie. She said that you might go into her bedroom and look at her ball dress that is lying on the bed, but that you must not touch it. Wait, Anne Marie, wait for me.’
For already Anne Marie had slipped from her chair, and with Polly in her arms was hurrying down the hall toward Maman’s bedroom.
‘You did not know it, Polly,’ said Anne Marie as she went, ‘but to-night Papa and Maman go to the ball. And of all the lovely ladies who will be there to-night, in pink and blue dresses, in scarlet and white, Maman will be the loveliest of them all. Papa has told me this, but I already knew it myself before he told me. And now we are to see her dress, her new ball dress that she has never worn.’
The new ball dress lay spread out upon the bed. It was white, soft and filmy white, and trimmed with delicate silver lace.
Not for anything in the world would Anne Marie have so much as laid a finger upon it. It was far, far too beautiful for any little girl to touch.
Beside the dress lay the softly gleaming silver slippers that Maman was to wear. And there, too, oh, how lovely! was the wreath of tiny silver flowers that would rest like a crown on Maman’s dark curling hair.
‘Oh!’ breathed Anne Marie in delight. ‘Oh, Grand’mère!’
Grand’mère nodded, smiling all the while, and in silence she and Anne Marie stood looking at the bed.
‘I know,’ said Anne Marie suddenly, ‘I know whom Maman will be like. She will be like my little fairy dancer, only, of course, much more beautiful. Come, Grand’mère! Come and see my fairy dancer. She, too, is all silver and white. See her dance, Grand’mère! See her whirl! I can do that too.’
And, holding Polly’s hands, Anne Mariewhirled and twirled like her little fairy dancer until both she and Polly fell in a heap to the floor.
‘It is now time for bed,’ said Grand’mère, ‘and there is much for you to do to-night before you go to sleep.’
In less time than you might think, Anne Marie was washed and brushed and in her nightgown, almost ready for bed.
Almost ready for bed, but not quite. For it was Christmas Eve, remember, and although Anne Marie was not going to hang up her stocking, she was going to leave her shoe beside the hearth.
And would the little Noel fill a shoe as surely as Kris Kringle would stuff a stocking with toys and goodies of every kind?
Certainly he would.
He had done it over and over for Papa and Maman when they were little children in far-away France. He had done it for Grand’mère in that long-ago time when she was a little girllike Anne Marie. Indeed, without doubt, he would do it that very night for those little children in France and elsewhere who believed in him and who left one of their shoes beside the hearth for him to fill.
So Anne Marie made ready to place her shoe beside the hearth.
‘Shall I take one of my best shoes, Grand’mère?’ asked Anne Marie, ‘my shiny shoes with the gray tops? Or would you take one of my everyday brown shoes, do you think?’
‘The best shoe, perhaps,’ answered Grand’mère, ‘though little Noel is not one to scorn a shabby shoe.’
‘Then I will take my everyday shoe,’ decided Anne Marie, after a moment’s thought. ‘It is not kind on Christmas Eve to take the best shoe because it is the prettiest. Sometimes the shiny shoes pinch me, and the brown ones never do. Then, too, the brown shoe is the larger,’ added Anne Marie.
Down beside the hearth went the brown shoeto wait for little Noel, and Anne Marie made ready to light her Christmas candle.
‘This is for the little Noel,’ Anne Marie told Polly softly, as Grand’mère in the window pinned the curtains safely back and raised the shade. ‘He will come to earth to-night, and in the dark and cold my candle in the window may be the very light he needs to guide him on his way.’
The candle lighted and Anne Marie tucked in bed, Grand’mère put out all other lights and crept away.
Beside the bed on a chair sat Polly Perkins, holding the little fairy dancer in her lap.
Of course, Anne Marie meant not to go to sleep. She meant to stay awake and at least hear the little Noel moving about, even though she were not able to have a peep at him. Perhaps, too, Maman would come in to say good-night before she went to the ball.
The candle burned steadily, sending out a clear yellow light.
‘Dear little Christ Child, dear little Noel,’ thought Anne Marie drowsily. ‘Will he see my candle, I wonder, to-night? Will he come down the long, long way from heaven, the long, long way—’
And while thinking these long, long thoughts, Anne Marie fell asleep.
Just why Anne Marie woke in the middle of the night she never knew. There was not a sound, not even the ticking of the clock to be heard.
The candle was still burning. Its soft yellow light made a bright glow in one corner of the dark room, and there, before Anne Marie, directly in the light stood—the Christmas Angel!
How could Anne Marie be mistaken?
The Angel was in white, as Angels always are, and she glistened from head to foot as if powdered with star-dust or light-o’-the-moon. She stood quite still, with a sweet smile on her face, but as Anne Marie watched, slowly and aslight as a feather the Angel moved toward her bed.
Anne Marie held her breath. She was not in the least afraid. Over her bed bent the Angel, and Anne Marie felt a kiss, the gentlest, softest kiss you may imagine, placed upon her forehead.
It was all so beautiful! so lovely! Anne Marie wished that the Angel might stay with her forever. Not for any reason would she stir and perhaps startle the Angel away.
She closed her eyes for an instant only, but when she opened them again the room was dark. The Christmas Candle had burned out and the Christmas Angel had vanished.
When Anne Marie next awoke, the room was filled with daylight. It was a gray light, to be sure, for already a few flakes were drifting down from the cloudy sky and the day promised to be a snowy one.
But at least morning had come, and it took Anne Marie only a moment to dart to the hearthand find her shoe well-filled, to carry it in to Maman and Papa’s bedside, to wish them a ‘Joyeux Noel’ With many kisses, and then to climb upon the bed to see what was in her shoe.
An orange, candy, a gay little purse filled with golden pennies, a box of colored pencils, a silver thimble, for Anne Marie dearly loved to sew.
It was remarkable how many presents the little Noel had managed to put into one small shoe.
And down in the very toe, where Anne Marie might never have thought of looking—only, of course, she did—was a box, and in the box a ring, a real gold ring, set with three stones of a most lovely shade of blue.
‘Turquoise, they are called,’ said Papa Durant.
The ring fitted Anne Marie exactly. How had the little Noel known the size of her finger so well?
But Anne Marie spent little time in thinkingof that. She had something so tell—the Visit of the Christmas Angel.
As she told her story, Papa Durant nodded and nodded again.
‘True, true,’ murmured he when Anne Marie had finished. ‘It was truly an Angel that you saw last night.’
But Maman only laughed softly and said, ‘But was it not all a Christmas dream, Anne Marie?’
Anne Marie shook her head doubtfully. For a moment she did not know quite what to say or think. Perhaps it was a dream. But no, Anne Marie felt almost certain that a real shining Angel had stood beside her bed last night.
‘Why not ask your Polly Perkins?’ suggested Papa. ‘She sat beside your bed, did she not? and so must have seen all that went on during the night.’
This was quite true, and Anne Marie ran for Polly Perkins.
Maman was delighted with Polly and hercape. She listened with interest to Anne Marie’s account of Grandmother King’s Party.
But she only laughed again and again when Anne Marie said solemnly to her dolly,
‘Polly Perkins, did I see the Christmas Angel last night?’
Of course Polly didn’t answer out loud, but, as Anne Marie said, she looked as if she meant to say ‘yes.’
So then Anne Marie made up her mind.
‘I did see the Christmas Angel,’ said Anne Marie.
And smiling at Anne Marie and Maman, Papa Durant nodded,
‘Yes, Anne Marie, I, too, think that you did.’