THE OLD MAJOR
Aboutour house there was a garden, with round beds of blooming plants, and a shady apple-tree or two to break the glare of the summer sun. In one corner the hollyhocks grew, and along the path to the gate purple flags appeared each spring in uneven rows, like isolated bands of soldiers marching on a common enemy. There were dandelions in the grass, and a lilac bush near the front door. Here I used to play, in a bright pink sun-bonnet, and little black slippers which buttoned with a band about my ankle. Secretly I considered myself rather beautiful, and as for my conquests, they stretched down the street and around the block. Therewas the grocer's boy, and the elderly lady from over the way, who wore one kind of hair in the morning and another kind in the afternoon, and ordinary strangers passing through the town, and, last of all, but first in my estimation, the old major.
Every day at the same hour he passed the house, leaning on a cane. When the sun was bright he stepped along quickly, with an alert carriage of the head; but there were cloudy days when his step was slow and feeble, and even his smile lost some of its usual charm.
"Hello, little girl," he said, in a ponderous fashion, the first time that he saw me perched on the gate. "Hello! Hello! Hello!"
The hellos reached a long distance, and grew very gruff at the end, but there was a twinkle in his eye, and he had a beautiful bright star on his watch-chain, with which I longed to play.
I gravely put out a small hand to him.
"My name is Rhoda," I said, in a burst of confidence. "I live here in this house. I was six years old yesterday."
"Were you!" he replied, evidently much impressed. "That's very old, very old."
He went on slowly down the block, but when he turned on his way back, he stopped again at the gate to discuss my age.
"Six, was it?" he questioned. "Well! Well! Perhaps you can tell me what time it is."
I shook my head, with a fascinated look at the gleaming star.
"I haven't a watch."
"But you don't need a watch," he answered. "See here."
He stooped down, painfully, grasping the fence for support, and picked the snowy seed-ball of a dandelion plant.Then he straightened up, slowly, and blew at the feathery toy.
"One, two, three, four, five! Five o'clock. Time for the old major to go in out of the damp."
Then he turned away from me, and went on up the street, his cane digging little holes in the path, and he himself forgetting all about the child whom he had left still perched on her gate. I had not entirely passed from his memory, however, for when he came to his own gate far in the distance, he took off his hat, and gallantly waved it to me before he went in out of the damp.
"Mother, I love the old major!" I said one day.
"What major?" my mother asked, looking up from her work with a smile.
She was making small ruffled skirts and aprons with pockets. She could make the most beautiful things, all out of her own head.
"What major? Why, my major. Mother, has the old major any little girls or boys that I could play with? Oh, I should so like to play with his little girls and boys!"
"Major Daniel Clark hasn't any little girls or boys. He lost them all, dear. He is a very lonely man."
"Didn't he ever find them again, mother?"
"No, dear. Never again."
Now, I was very good at finding things. I found grandmother's spectacles ten times a day, even when they were only lost in her soft, white hair. And once I found mother's thimble when little brother Dick had it in his mouth, and it was just going down red lane. Norah said that I had a pair of bright eyes, and my very father, when he wanted his slippers, could think of no one so trustworthy to send as I. To find little girls and boys would be quiteeasy, for they were much larger things. I had only to ask all the girls and boys who came past my gate if they belonged to the major, and, when the right ones came, we would run hand-in-hand up to that distant door and go in. He would be so pleased, and never lonely again. And, perhaps—Just suppose that he would be my friend forever and ever!
I was waiting on my gate the next day when he came by.
"Oh, Major!" I cried, excitedly, nodding my head at him, "I'm going to find your little girls and boys for you!"
"My little girls and boys?" he asked, perplexed.
"Yes. The ones that you lost so long ago."
He turned quite suddenly on his way, so quickly that I thought that he was angry, but when he came back hestopped at the gate again. He took my face softly between his hands, and looked down deep into my eyes, into the little circles where there were pictures.
"When you grow up, always remember that the old major loved you," he said, hurriedly, and then went back toward the house from which he had come out so shortly before.
We were great friends after that. We held long conversations over the gate, about my dolls, and the hobby-horse which had lately come to live in the hall. We discussed the best way to raise children, and how convenient it would be if aprons could only be made to button in front. We both had original ideas on things, and often differed, but none of my new clothes ever seemed quite real to me until the major had admired them, and pinched my cheeks with that air of gallantry which showedthat I was a woman. He brought me presents, very wonderful things; bright pebbles which he picked up on the street, willow whistles, and a tiny basket carved from a peach-stone, which I hung on a ribbon about my neck. I gave him flowers, and once, when no one was looking, I let him kiss me in the shadow of the pink sunbonnet.
If the major and I met thus on the sunny days, when it rained there came a blank in my life. Then he could not go out at all, but must stay shut up in his house until the weather cleared again. There was something the matter with the major which made this necessary. In some unaccountable way he was different from other people, and to be different from other people was sad, and was, moreover, a thing which never happened in our family.
Now, grandmother had a little red brick house that stood on her mantel-piecewhich aided me a great deal in the stormy times. A little man and woman lived in this house who were never of the same mind, and carried their lack of sympathy to such an alarming extent that they used separate doors, and, as far as I could see, had never met in the course of their lives. For as sure as the man with the umbrella came out of one door, the little lady with the roses in her bonnet gathered up her skirts, and scurried in as if she were afraid to meet him. With her went the sunshine and the blue look to the sky, and the rain came down heavy and fast. But if the old man went into his house, the old lady sprang out, with a smile on her face, the rain stopped falling, and the sun came out. Then, by and by, the major would walk down the street, and stop to chat awhile.
I used to run into grandmother'sroom every morning to look at that house.
"Grandma," I cried, eagerly, "has the little lady come out to-day?"
Then I took my stand soberly in front of the mantelpiece and regarded the two figures with much attention.
"Grandma," I said once, "do you think that they can be relations?"
Grandmother took up a stitch in her knitting without replying.
"Because, if they are," I went on, indignantly, "I think that they ought to be ashamed!"
"Ashamed of what, Rhoda?"
"Why, of the way that they act. They don't even look at each other! And, grandma, I think that he's the worst. He goes in with such a click when she comes out. He's so afraid that she'll say something to him."
Grandmother looked up over her spectacles.
"Now that I come to think of it," she said, "they've acted that way for forty years."
"I wonder why he don't like her?" I went on, musingly. "Is it because she's got flowers in her bonnet, and he hasn't? Look, grandma, she's coming out very quietly. She's going to catch him this time. Oh, he's gone in with a click! And he never said a word!"
"We'll have fair weather now, Rhoda."
"And my major will come out, grandma."
"He's my major!" little Dick cried.
"He's my major!" Beatrice asserted.
"No such thing!" I said, turning on them angrily. "He belongs all to me. Don't he, grandma?"
Grandmother did not answer, but I knew that he did. When the twins came, hand-in-hand, down the path to see him, he would pat their fat arms through the spokes of the gate, but itwas always I to whom he wished to talk, for I was more of his own age and not a baby like them.
"Baby yourself!" Dick said, when I mentioned this, and slapped me, but it made no difference.
Sometimes the lady from across the way would come over to walk with the major. They were old friends, and had a great deal to talk about. I remember seeing her shake her finger at him when she found him leaning on my gate.
"So you're trying to turn another woman's head!" she cried, gayly.
He wheeled upon her with that sudden straightening of his shoulders that would come so unexpectedly.
"Did I ever turn yours, Kitty?" he asked, with a mischievous smile.
"Dozens of times," she cried. "Dozens of times!"
Then she took his arm, and they went up and down in the bright sunshine,up and down, while the major would thump his cane upon the ground with that gruff laugh that always seemed merrier than other people's. His white hair was smoothly brushed, and his black hat was set on jauntily, and his kind eyes shone as if he were young again. I noticed that the lady from over the way always wore a black silk dress and her best, curly, brown hair whenever she came to walk with the major, and, also, a battered silver bracelet which looked as if it had been chewed. The major would glance at it and laugh.
"I took castor-oil to buy that bracelet," he said once, with his twinkle.
It sounded funny, but I knew just what he meant. I had made dollars and dollars myself taking castor-oil, except that time when Auntie May mixed it so cunningly with lemonade that it went down and down to the very dregs, and I never discovered untilthen how I had been cheated out of my just dues.
"So that was it!" the lady from over the way exclaimed, patting the bracelet. "I always knew that there was something curious about it."
"It was harder than leading a regiment into action," the major answered, soberly, and then broke into a gleeful laugh. "I wouldn't do it for you now!" he cried.
First she threatened him with the bracelet. Then she took his arm again, and they went on in the sunshine, talking of all the many people whom they had known in their lives. Her touch on his arm was very light, guiding, and sustaining, rather than dependent, but the old major thought that she leant upon him.
I was not jealous of the lady from over the way. I felt that we shared the major between us, and then it wasalways at my gate that he stopped first. It was here that he told me about a trip that he was intending to make.
"I'm going off to the city for a week," he said.
"Are you, Major?" I questioned, sorrowfully, for a week had seven days in it, and even a day was a long, long time. No wonder that my eyes were full of tears.
"There, there," he said. "Bear it like a woman."
I was not a woman, but sometimes the major used to forget. I thought that it was because I looked so tall when I stood on my gate.
He put out his kind old hand and smoothed my hair.
"What shall I bring you from the city?" he asked. "A new doll? What would you like best of all, Rhoda?"
I considered the question. Therewere so many things that the major might bring from the city. There were little doll-babies, or picture-books, or cups and saucers, or hooples with bells. Then I had an inspiration. I leaned forward in a glow of excitement.
Girl sitting on gatepost
"I should like—Oh, Major! Will you really give it to me? I should like the littlest watch in the world. With a star! With a star, just like yours!"
"You shall have it," he answered, promptly, as if there was nothing unusual in such a grand request. "Now, remember, if all goes well, I'll be at the gate a week from to-day. And I'll have that watch right here in my pocket."
"And I'll bring flowers!" I cried, joyfully. "All the flowers that you love best, Major."
"Good-by," he said, with a sudden touch of emotion.
"Good-by," I answered, rather tearfully,for even the watch could not reconcile me to his absence.
He turned to go, and came back again.
"Pray for the old major," he said, in a husky whisper.
Through my tears I saw him go up the block, a little slower than usual, as if he did not want to go. At the gate he stopped and waved his hat to me, as he had done on that first day, and squared his gallant old shoulders before he passed into the house. I always wished that I had kissed him before he went.
It was not hard to pray for the major, for I believed in the efficacy of prayer. When the elastic bands became loosened in the black doll, Topsy, and she lost her wool and her legs at the same time, I went down, solemnly, on my knees on the floor, and prayed for them to grow together again. And they did, in thenight. And when I lost my little front tooth, I prayed to God and He sent me a new one! So it was not hard to pray for the major. But somehow or other I did not like to do it before my mother. It seemed such a secret sort of a prayer. I waited until I was safe under the covers, and she had taken away the light. Then I climbed out of the bed, in the big darkness, and went down on the floor. I prayed to God to bless the old major, and bring him back safely to me. I said it over twice, so that God would not forget.
"So the old major has gone to the city," my father said, at the breakfast table. "I can remember him when he was in the pride of his strength, a magnificent figure on horseback. He never rose as high in the service as he should. He made powerful enemies and slipped into the background."
"It's twenty years since his wifedied," my mother's soft voice added. "He has lived alone in that big house ever since. Think of it, Robert!"
"Such is the heart's fidelity," father answered, with his face turned toward hers.
"When he comes back we must make more of him," mother said.
It was a very long week, but even long weeks have a way of slipping by at last. I played about the house and the garden with the twins, but I never went near the gate, not until the day dawned which was seven times from last Friday, and was Friday again, bright and clear, the very day for the major's home-coming. There were so many flowers in the garden that morning, such especially large ones. They knew, too, that the major was coming home, and had put on their prettiest dresses in his honor.
It was quite a puzzle to me what Ishould put on. I had a closet full of dresses. There was a beautiful blue silk one, too good for anything but church, which matched a little blue parasol. And there was a lovely white one with a lace flounce, which went with my scolloped petticoat. My third best dress had roses and buttons on it, and the fourth best was covered with brown spots, like cough drops. I loved my little dresses, and it was so hard to tell which dress should come out, and which must stay shut up in the closet, with nobody to admire them.
"Shall it be the cough drop dress, mother?" I asked, uncertainly.
"It's such a wonderful day, and the sun shines so bright, that I think you might put on the white dress with the lace flounce," my mother said, with that smile which meant that she was laughing with me, and not at me.
"And my little black slippers?"
"And your little black slippers."
"And, mother, you remember the time that I was your little flower girl? And you put roses in my hair so it looked like a crown? I'd like to be the major's little flower girl."
My mother lent herself to the pretty idea. She crowned my head with roses. There were roses at my throat, and a big, floating, pink sash swept down my back, and there were roses in my hand for the major, one bunch to give him with a kiss when he came, and another to give him with my love when he went.
Grandmother shook her wise head when she saw that toilet.
"If she were my child," she said, "I should dress her in brown gingham down to her heels, and tie her hair with shoe-laces."
I gasped, and mother laughed.
"She's vain," grandmother went on, severely. "Suppose she should grow up a poppet!"
I carried that awful name out with me as I climbed upon the gate, and stared out, bashfully, at the street. I was afraid to think how beautiful I might be.
The grocer's boy came by, my own particular grocer's boy. Stricken with sudden admiration for my charms he put down his basket, and expressed his sentiments.
"Say, you are a daisy!" he said.
"Go away, Jakie," I answered, with embarrassment. "I haven't time to play with you now. Go away! I'm busy."
He was quite crushed by my new haughtiness, and lingered about, thinking that I would relent, but all my smiles and flowers were waiting for that bent figure which I loved so well.
An hour slipped by, but still the major did not come. My crown grew heavy on my head, and the flowers wilted in my hot hands. The lady from over the way came to ask me questions. She had on her ugliest hair, and there were tears in her eyes.
"What are you doing, Rhoda?" she asked, with an anxious look.
Then she seemed to divine.
"You are not watching for the major!" she exclaimed.
"Yes," I answered, wearily.
"Doesn't your mother know, child?" she cried. "But, then, he never told any one. They found that there must be an operation, and he was not strong. There was no one whom he loved there at the end. He died, as he lived, all alone. Oh, poor old man! Poor old man! Let me go by, child! Let me go by!"
She thrust herself in the little gate, wheeling me back against the fence, and went up the path to our house.
Then, in hardly a moment, Norah came out and led me in, and proceeded to take off all my pretty things and put on a common dress, quite an old one, with a darn on the sleeve.
"I don't want that dress, Norah," I protested. "I want my white dress. I want to see my major. I want to be his little flower girl."
I went in where my mother sat with the lady from over the way, and explained the situation through my tears. Mother was very tender with me. Somehow I felt that she herself was sorry about something, for she dropped a tear on the wilted roses which I still held in my hand. Together we went out into the garden. Together we gathered all the flowers that there were—the big ones and the little ones—andformed them into a great bunch. It was for the major. I danced with sheer delight, knowing only too well how the kind face would light up when he saw all the flowers which he had admired so often made a present to him. I added buttercups, and dandelions, and bits of feathery grass, while mother watched me, with a sad smile, and said never a word.
The lady from over the way cried very hard on our front steps, but afterwards she dried her eyes and took my flowers to the major.
He did not come the next day or the next, though I watched at the gate, and then something strange happened. I was told not to go into the garden.
"Not this morning, Rhoda," my mother said. "Grandma and I are going out, and you must stay in the house. When we come back you may go out."
She dressed herself very quietly that day, all in dark things, and she and grandmother did not look joyful, as they always did when they went out together.
"I'd like to go, too," I said, wistfully.
Then Norah coaxed me.
"Ah, stay and play with your Norah," she cried. "Sure you'll not be after leaving your Norah alone in this big house!"
I always liked to play with Norah, when her work was done and she had time to be sociable. That day we played blindman's buff together—she, and I and the twins. Norah was always the blind man, and she was the longest time catching us, and when she did she could never tell who it might be. She would guess quite impossible people,—the grocer's boy, and the lady from over the way, and her own very mother in Ireland,—and she never once, by anychance, thought that it was Rhoda or little Dick or Trixie.
"Sure, you're too big to be Trixie!" she cried, when we told her who it was.
That day, when the blind man was out of breath, and his feet were sore from walking hundreds of miles, I climbed up on the window-sill and watched the people going along the street. There were a great many of them, much more than usual. Suddenly there was the sound of a fife and drum in the distance, and a long line of carriages came into sight, and one was filled with beautiful flowers, and one was draped with a torn old flag.
"Come quick, Norah!" I cried, eagerly. "It's a procession!"
"It's the old major's funeral," Norah said, coming with the twins in her arms to look over my shoulder.
I had known, somehow, that it was the major's, for everything nice belonged to him. I was so proud to think that my major should have all that big procession, with the lovely flowers and the music in front. I looked for him in every carriage, that I might wave as he went by. He was not there, but other people were,—my mother and my grandmother, and the lady from over the way, and men with gold braid on their coats come to grace the major's procession.
"Is it all his, Norah?" I asked.
"Sure, dear."
"I am so glad," I cried. "Oh, I'm so glad!"
I clapped my hands in my delight, and was quite angry with Norah when she dragged me, hurriedly, away from the window.
That night my mother took me in her lap, and told me that the old majorhad gone to heaven. I had heard of heaven before. It was where I came from, and the twins, away back in the early days. Heaven was a nice place, and now, as the major's home, it acquired a new charm. But there was one drawback.
"Shan't I ever see him again, mother?" I asked.
"Never again, Rhoda."
"But, mother, it's a children's place," I urged, anxiously. "And the major is old, quite old. He won't like it there, mother."
"The major has gone to heaven to be a little child again," my mother said, with a sob.
Then she put a blue velvet box in my hand. Inside there was the littlest watch in the world, and on the back of the watch there was a star in blue stones. It was the last thing which the old major bought before he went to heaven.
THE FIRESIDE GOD
A Christmas Dream that Came True
"Englandis a long way off," grandmother said, softly. "Especially at Christmas time."
She was not talking to any one in particular, but just to herself. She had been sitting for quite awhile by the parlor window reading her Bible. Sometimes her eyes were fastened on the page, and sometimes when a strange step came down the street, she would glance up hurriedly, almost in an eager way, as if she were watching for some one. Then, when she saw who it was, her eyes would drop again on the book in a disappointed fashion. I knew whatshe would do next. Very slowly she would turn the pages right to the middle of the Bible, where a picture lay between the leaves.
"Isn't that father, grandma?" I asked, anxiously, leaning against her knee.
"No, Rhoda," she said, in that decisive way of hers.
I hung closer over the picture to make real sure.
It looked so like father when he was a little boy that I thought she must be mistaken. Yet somehow it was different. This little boy was fairer. There was a curl of hair on the page, a light-brown curl with red glints in it, and a tiny wreath made of pressed lilacs which once upon a time he had joined together, flower by flower, out in our front garden. I could almost see him doing it, while the wind blew through those brown curls.
"Oh, I do hope that he isn't grown up!" I cried, quickly.
People had such an astonishing way of growing up fast. Why, even Joseph in his pretty new coat in the Bible was not a little boy any longer! And I had always so longed to play with Joseph.
Grandmother did not tell me anything more about the picture. She took it out of my hand, and put it back on the page beside the curl and the faded lilac ring. Then she closed the book tightly; but when I ran into the parlor five minutes later to announce a visitor the picture was out again on her lap.
"Evelyn is coming, grandma!" I cried.
The tall young lady who followed me into the room was grandmother's great friend, and, also, in a way she was mine. I loved her because she was so beautiful; but grandmother loved her because they both liked a man named Frank.He was engaged to Evelyn. I had heard my mother say so.
"Is there any news?" grandmother asked, eagerly.
She had risen out of her chair and looked startled.
Evelyn went up to her with a letter in her hand.
"Frank is quite well," she said, "and very busy. Would you like to see his letter?"
Grandmother hesitated. She almost turned her back upon Evelyn.
"No," she answered, slowly. "No. When he writes a letter tome, I will read it. Not before."
"Oh, you are hard on Frank," Evelyn protested. "How can he write to you? Didn't you say you would have nothing more to do with him, unless he gave up his profession?"
"Profession! Has an actor a profession?" grandmother cried. "This is thefirst time I ever heard it called by that name. I said he was to choose between his mother and a child's mad whim, and he made his choice."
She picked up the picture and looked at it with tears in her eyes.
"I could forgive him anything but acting," she said. "Sometimes I think I could even forgive him that. I do so long to see him again."
Evelyn slipped her arm about grandmother.
"He will come back," she cried, consolingly.
"Never," grandmother replied, with a despairing glance at the empty street. "Don't I know him, Evelyn? Man and boy? He is as stubborn as I am."
"Would the little boy play with me, grandma, if he came back?" I asked, excitedly.
They both looked at me, but Evelyn was the only one who smiled.
"Perhaps," she said. "He used to be very fond of you."
After that I was always watching for the little boy. Every morning when I got up I looked out of the window to see if he were not coming in our gate. And the last thing before I went to bed, I looked out carefully again. I thought that I should know him by his hair, and I felt how lovely it would be if he would only come at Christmas time. Christmas was not going to be so nice that year as usual. I did not think that I should get anything. There were lots of presents in the house for other children, even my little brother and sister, but somehow there did not seem to be any for Rhoda!
"Father," I said, one morning, "there's a very pretty book in your top drawer. A child's book. I wonder whose it is?"
He was quite busy reading his paper, but he answered me at once.
"That's for a little friend of mine," he declared. "It's a secret."
"Oh! Is she a good girl, father?"
He glanced at me and laughed.
"Sometimes she's awfully good," he answered.
Then it was not for me. Nobody ever seemed to think that I was good, not even when I was trying my best. It must be grand to be good! Just think of being born that way, so that you could not help it, but went on growing better and better until you died! There was a little girl down the street like that. We played together on sunny days. I found it very hard to play with any one who was so good.
"And sometimes," my father went on, still with that smile in his eyes, "sometimes she's so dreadfully bad that I'm really shocked!"
"Oh!" I said again.
I had seen my father shocked. When he was shocked, he always laughed very hard.
"Has it pictures, father?" I asked, meekly, trying to turn the subject.
"No. My little friend doesn't care about pictures," he answered, indifferently.
Then it was not for me. I was very fond of pictures. Everybody knew that. It did seem queer that in all the many packages which he brought home, night after night,—round ones, and square ones, and even some with mysterious humpy corners,—there should not be a single thing for Rhoda! And Christmas was coming faster and faster.
Evelyn, too, had all manner of pretty presents laid by for other little girls, quite strange little girls, who did not love her at all so far as I could see, but she never said a word about my present; not even one day when shecalled me into her house and opened her parlor door. She opened it very softly, as if there were company, and she put her finger on her lip that I should not speak.
There was company. Inside the room was filled with dolls! They sat in rows on the sofa and on the piano, they lay in careless heaps on the chairs and tables; blue-eyed dolls and black-eyed dolls, some that went promptly to sleep when you laid them down, some in Japanese dresses, and some that wore long clothes and caps like sure enough babies. We went about solemnly, hand in hand, and looked at them all. They stared back as if they wanted a mother, and one on the center-table, a queen of a doll with earrings in her ears, held out her arms to come to me!
"Whom do you think they're all for?" Evelyn asked, gayly. "Guess."
I held her closer by the hand andgazed about me.Iwas very fond of dolls. I had never had enough. I believed that once or twice I had mentioned the fact. I drew a long breath. Just suppose—
"They're for orphans," Evelyn cried, quickly. "You know what orphans are, don't you, Rhoda? They are poor children who haven't any mothers or fathers to buy them dolls! It's a very sad thing to be an orphan."
I glanced about me again. The queen was very beautiful.
"Will they be good to them?" I questioned, wistfully.
I had heard of people whipping dolls! And once a little boy had drowned a doll! His sister's! It was dreadful!
"Oh, I'm sure this doll is going to be spoiled," Evelyn answered, with her hand on the queen.
I looked from her to the great doll with shy admiration. They both hadthe same fair hair, and the same pink cheeks and the same gray eyes. Their faces were just like flowers.
"I think her name is Evelyn, too," I said.
I had always thought that Evelyn liked me, but that day I was sure of it. We had a long talk in a big chair about all the things which I wanted for Christmas. She said that I was surely to come Christmas morning and see the orphans get their dolls. Somebody named Santa Claus would be there. I had heard of Santa Claus before, but only in a general sort of a way. He seemed to be a very kindly sort of person who gave away dolls by the hundred, sometimes to orphans, and sometimes just to little girls who needed them. It was a question how much you had to need them.
At the very last Evelyn gave me a message to deliver.
"Rhoda," she said, earnestly, "tell grandmother that there is good news. What she was wishing for is really going to happen!"
She hugged me up closer to her.
"Oh, what a Christmas this will be!" she cried. "We are all going to get what we want, all of us, even Rhoda!"
Afterwards she changed. When I went out of the door she drew me back and looked at me anxiously, almost coldly.
"Rhoda, don't tell grandmother anything," she said. "It might be a mistake. I wouldn't have her disappointed for the world!"
I did not want grandmother to be disappointed, but still when I went back into our house and saw her sitting by the window, I felt that I should like to tell her some good news. Just that once. She looked so frail and old, andI had never noticed before how white her hair was.
My mother was very tender with grandmother. Every morning she would send her three children, the twins and me, to kiss her, and when my father came home at night she would send him to lean on the back of the big chair, and look down at the closed Bible. Grandmother never took the picture out when my father was there. She never even listened to the people passing by outside. She would talk to him about other things in which neither of them took much interest, until he would go away, half sadly, half angrily.
"She is the most absurd woman who ever lived," he told my mother. "Here is Frank winning laurels by the dozen, and, on account of her stupid prejudice, she won't listen to his name. Does she expect to keep this thing up forever?"
"She is thinking of him all the time,"my mother said, quietly. "She loves him."
"I know she loves him!" my father cried. "She loves him better than she does me. I was always the one who didn't count! Always."
My mother laid her hand upon his arm and stopped him.
"Hush, Robert," she said.
Her eyes wandered over me sitting on my stool by the fireplace, and passed to little brother Dick playing with his blocks.
"Who can judge a mother's heart?" she questioned, softly, and then turned upon him with a demand that was almost wrathful. "Have you nothing to be thankful for," she cried, "that you grudge him a thought at Christmas time!"
My mother always took grandmother's part. She seemed to understand grandmother better than my father did. OnceI heard her say that the curl in the Bible was like one of little Dick's. She laid it against his soft hair, and it matched, color and curl, as if it had been cut from his head. After that she was even kinder to grandmother than before.
Norah out in the kitchen was the happiest person in the house. Every night she wrote home to Ireland, and sometimes she laughed and sometimes she cried. I liked to hear about Ireland. I would climb upon the kitchen table and watch her write, and listen when she read bits of her letters to me. I knew all about Norah's people, and could call her brothers and sisters, and even her cousins, by name. She was sending money in her letter to buy her mother a new green plaid shawl for Christmas. She was, also, going to buy the priest a pig. Norah was worried about the priest. He gave away everything that he had to the poor of theparish, and went hungry all the time. After much thought she had decided on the present of a pig, as being a thing which the priest might keep for himself.
"Though they're that owdacious, Rhoda," she cried, in high wrath, "that I'm thinking they'll take the pig, too!"
"What would they do with the pig, Norah?" I asked, anxiously.
"Sure, they might eat it!" she answered, with a dark frown.
"Norah, what if you were to put a blue ribbon about its neck?" I suggested.
She went into fits of laughter and hugged me.
"To think that you've niver even seen a pig!" she cried. "To think of it dressed up! The innocent!"
It was on that same night that with a great parade of secrecy she showed me something hidden in the knife tray.It was a doll's hat made of blue velvet, and trimmed with lovely white feathers, such as came out of the pillows when Norah thumped them in the morning. Right in front there was a big brass pin that shone like gold. Norah watched me while I examined the hat, breathlessly. She seemed much pleased with my admiration, and turned it around and around on one of her big fingers that I might decide on the prettiest side, which was, of course, the one with the brass pin.
"But whom is it for, Norah?" I asked.
"It's for a small frind of mine," she explained, with an air of deep mystery.
It was very strange. The dolls and the picture-book, even the hat, were all for somebody's little friend, never for me.
"I wonder what I'll get?" I said, weakly.
"Why don't you ask Santa Claus, dear?" Norah inquired.
I looked at her quickly. That was Evelyn's friend.
"Who is he, Norah?" I questioned.
She threw up her arms in the air.
"And have I niver told you about him?" she cried. "The quare ould chap that lives up in the chimney!"
"Up in the chimney, Norah! Isn't he hot?" I demanded, in astonishment.
"Faith, there's no fire could warm him," Norah answered, lowering her voice mysteriously.
Then her finger went up in apparent alarm.
"Hush! He's listening! He wants to know which are the good byes and gurrls. When Christmas morning comes the good ones will get prisents. For he owns all the prisents in the world! And the bad ones will get nought, barring switches!"
I crept a little closer to Norah, and took a firm hold on her apron. It was very sudden news. Had I always been good?
"But the good childer," Norah went on, with a reassuring smile, "and you are good, Rhoda, have only to ask for whativer they want at the parlor fireplace!"
I could not keep away from the fireplace after that. Every time that I went into the parlor I peeped up the black bricks, and though I never saw anything but the blue sky far, far above, I felt quite sure that he was there. I made little scenes in my mind of the things which I should say to him, and the things which he would say to me, after he became convinced of my goodness. In the meanwhile I was good, oh, so good! and best of all in the parlor. Later, I meant to ask for the queen doll, and the pretty book, andthe little hat trimmed with the white feathers and the beautiful brass pin. Even if he could not give me just those ones, because they were promised, he might give me others. I felt that he could manage it in some way, if he were pleased with me. It was nice to know that he was partial to good girls.
Once I went so far as to speak his name.
"Mr. Santa Claus!" I called, politely, for it was best to be polite. "Oh, please, Mr. Santa Claus!"
A big piece of soot dropped down over the burning wood right at my feet. That was his way of showing that he heard! Then I was frightened, and would have run away but for a sudden sound. Somebody was crying! It was grandmother up in the corner of the sofa with the Bible on her knees. She did not see me at all. She did not know that I was there. I put my armsaround her neck, and she looked up and talked to me quite as if I were a grown person.
"I want him so badly, Rhoda!" she said.
"Who is it, grandma?" I whispered.
"My little boy, Rhoda. He went away and he never came back again. I was not patient enough with him. Always be patient, my dear."
"Don't you cry, grandma," I said. "I'll get him back, dear grandma, if you won't cry."
She looked at me for a moment as if she almost believed me. I nodded confidently at her. I knew. There was a way, but only little Rhoda had thought of it as yet. If Norah had only told me sooner about Santa Claus!
After she had dried her eyes, and kissed me, and gone to her room, I put my plan into execution. I told Santa Claus all about it up the black bricks.He did not answer, but the soot fell softly, so I knew that he heard and would remember. It was no longer a question of dolls or books or even hats. I felt that the one thing which I wanted most in the world was just for grandmother's little boy to come home.
I did not hang up my stocking on Christmas eve. The twins hung up theirs,—two little podgy stockings side by side at the mantel-piece. Even quite a small stocking will hold candy, and I have known times when the very nicest present of all would be away down at the toe. My little Susan Sunshine, my littlest doll, came in the toe. I found her after I thought everything was out. I wondered whether Dick or Trixie would find a little Susan Sunshine.
"Why don't sister hang up her stocking?" Dick asked, anxiously.
"Is she bad?" Trixie inquired.
"I'm not bad," I declared, hastily, from my bed in the next room.
"Why don't you hang up your stocking, dear?" mother questioned.
"I don't want anything," I answered, miserably.
Afterwards I heard her talking to my father.
"I don't know what to make of Rhoda," I heard her say. "She won't hang up her stocking. I hope that she is not going to be sick. It would be dreadful to have one of the children sick at Christmas time. Her head is quite hot."
I felt my head. It was hot.
I lay awake for a long time thinking of things. I considered the twins and their stockings, and grandmother's delight in the morning. Somehow I had to think a great deal about grandmother in order to keep myself from crying. Grandmother did not knowwhat I was doing for her. The little boy must be getting ready to come right now. Off in the distance I could hear sleigh-bells, perhaps his sleigh-bells, now near, now far away, and in the pauses between the soft throb of the organ over in the church, and a voice singing a hymn, the one that I knew about angels and the manger with the Child. It was very beautiful. I sighed a little, sleepily. After all I was happy.
Then in a moment it was day, bright day, and in the next room there was a confused murmur of voices and a hurried scamper of feet. Dick shouted excitedly. Somebody beat a drum with a low rumble like soldiers, not as a little boy would beat a drum, but as my father might if he were teaching a little boy. Somebody marched pitapat about the room, and somebody danced by the fireplace.
"Go back to your cribs," my mother cried, uneasily. "You'll get your death of cold!"
On the chair by the side of my bed there was a stocking, with queer knobby places, which meant oranges, and square places, which meant candy. Right on top there was a blue velvet hat trimmed with white feathers, and against the stocking there leant a picture-book. I looked at them incredulously. Santa Claus had not understood! Or else he had thought that I loved my presents better than I did my grandmother! I kissed the hat and the picture-book twice, and then I put them sternly back on the chair. I knew what I should do. Santa Claus would find that I meant what I said.
"Did you like the picture-book, Rhoda?" my father inquired at the breakfast table.
"Yes," I answered, hurriedly.
Norah smiled at me from the shelter of the kitchen door.
"How did my little frind like the hat?" she asked, in a stage whisper.
It seemed to me that there were some subjects which would not bear talking about.
They felt my head a great many times that morning, and even looked at my tongue.
"She acts so unlike herself," my mother said, anxiously. "You don't feel sick anywhere, do you, Rhoda?"
"No," I replied, huskily.
Grandmother evinced a sudden interest.
"I wouldn't let her go to Evelyn's," she said.
"But I want to go!" I cried, piteously.
"There, there," my father said, in a soothing way. "Of course you may go."
"Only you must take an iron pillfirst," my mother pleaded. "Just to please mother."
She did the pill up very neatly in a raisin, so that it did not look at all like a pill. My mother could make the most horrible things look nice,—such as cough syrup, with little specks of jelly floating on it like a pudding. Afterwards you might know by the taste that there had been something wrong, but you could never tell beforehand; not even though you might wonder at dessert being kindly offered for breakfast.
I took my pill meekly, and drank a glass of milk to please my father. Then after much consultation they put on my cloak, and let me go. I had the picture-book and the hat hidden under my arm as I went out the door, but nobody noticed.
Evelyn's house was farther down the street, not quite out of sight from our front gate, but still at a little distance.There were orphans going in when I came up,—orphans in decorous rows of twos; each little girl with a white apron hanging down under her cloak. They went in very quietly, not at all as if they were excited at the prospect. I felt that they could not know what was inside. I watched to see them dance when they passed the parlor door, but they only stared stolidly.
"A merry Christmas to all of you," a sonorous voice cried within.
I peeped in cautiously. There he was! That was Santa Claus. He stood by a beautiful tree at the top of the room. He had on a white fur coat, and there was a shaggy cap on his head. He smiled at us. It almost seemed that he smiled at me, little Rhoda Harcourt, as if he remembered the chimney! His arms were full of dolls, but I knew at first glance that I could never reallylike him. There was something about his face that made it impossible.
"These dolls are only for good girls," he said again, in a loud voice that had a muffled sound.
I slipped in closer. The orphans stared back at him unconcernedly. They were sure that they were good. One, a very sleepy orphan, put her head on her chair, and went fast to sleep in the most impolite way.
"Here, wake up!" the next orphan said, and slapped her.
She woke up and slapped her neighbor back, and was going to sleep again when Santa Claus called her name. It was Betsy. He gave Betsy the first doll. He was evidently quite satisfied with her behavior. I was much surprised.
The dolls went quickly after that, all except the queen. She sat up high on the tree, and her eyes had a frightened look, as though she did not like orphans.Once Santa Claus took her down, but Evelyn put her back again.
"Not that one, Frank," I heard her cry.
He turned and whispered something to her behind the tree. The branches were very thick, but for a moment I almost thought that his face grew different, younger and fairer, and with a gleam of triumphant laughter about it quite unlike the Santa Claus that he had been before. Then he changed again, and came out, with his long beard flowing and his fierce white eyebrows frowning, to give away more dolls.
At the very end of all he picked up the queen, and called gruffly, "Rhoda!"
I peered out of my corner at the orphans. I could not see any orphan Rhoda among them. Just suppose that Santa Claus should mean me! He did mean me! He beckoned with what he thought was a friendly look.
"Rhoda," Evelyn cried. "Why, you're not afraid, are you, dear?"
"No," I answered, hastily.
I do not think that she quite believed me, for she took me by the hand and led me up to where Santa Claus stood waiting with the queen in his arms. It was evident that he had forgotten everything, everything that I had ever told him.
"This is for you," he said in a genial way, holding out the doll.
The queen looked at me with delighted eyes, the dear queen! but I could not take her. I gave him the hat and the picture-book in a hurry.
"I don't want these," I said. "You know what I want. I told you up the chimney. And you promised to bring him to me. You know that you did!"
He seemed a little astonished for a moment, and then he laughed.
"Did I?" he questioned. "Whatchimney was that? You see I go up so many that sometimes I forget."
"What did you want, Rhoda?" Evelyn asked in surprise, putting her arms around me. "Tell Evelyn."
"I want grandmother's little boy to come home," I answered, almost crying. "The little boy who made the lilac ring. All day long she watches for him. I don't like to see poor grandmother cry!"
There were other things which I might have said, but Evelyn stopped me with a backward glance at the rows of orphans agog on their chairs, and a lady or two who had come with them watching in the background. Even Santa Claus was startled.
"A touch of tragedy," he said. "Who is this child?"
"Can't you guess?" Evelyn whispered. "What was I telling you just now!"
He looked down at me with sudden enlightenment.
"Rhoda!" he cried, uncertainly. "It's not our Rhoda? She was a baby."
"But babies grow in five years," Evelyn replied, in a laughing tone.
He stooped lower and drew me to him.
"Whatever I promised I will do," he said, emphatically. "If you wanted the whole world I would give it to you to-day!"
He threw off the long yellow cloak that was wrapped about him and did something to his face. In a moment he was just a man like other men, and had me upon his shoulder. Somehow it seemed to me that I had been on his shoulder before when the floor was farther away.
"Almost too big for the old perch," he said, with a laugh that was half merry and half tremulous.
"Oh, don't forget her doll!" Evelyn cried.
She came a little closer to him so that she could whisper.
"I honor you for this," she said, ardently.
Then she put the queen on his other arm, and gave me the hat and picture-book to carry. The orphans laughed a little, but Santa Claus did not mind. He strode out into the sunshine with his heavy load, and started up the block. The bells were ringing for service as we went along, and the street was filled with people, but I was the only little girl in the whole town whom Santa Claus took home. And at our parlor window grandmother was looking out.