A Budget of Christmas Tales by Charles Dickens Part 12

f.a.n.n.y wondered what she called plenty of room, but had yet to learn the signification of the term when applied to the dressing-room of a western party. Thicker and faster came the arrivals, and it being necessary that each lady should undergo a thorough transformation in dress, before making her appearance down-stairs, the labor and confusion necessary to bring this about can be imagined. Such hurryings to and fro, such knockings down and pickings up, such scolding and laughing, in short such a Babel of sounds as filled the room for an hour or two, f.a.n.n.y had never heard before. Completing her own toilet as soon as possible, she seated herself upon one of the beds, and watched the proceedings with great interest.

"You Suke, bring me some more pins, directly." "O please, Miss Ellen, mind my wreath!" "Jule, how much longer are you goin' to keep the wash-bowl?" "Dar now, Miss Eveline done get her coat all wet." "Did you know Tom Walton was here? I see him in the pa.s.sage." "Miss Belle, that's _my_ starch-bag." "There, now! don't them slippers fit beautiful?" "Why don't that girl come back?" "O, Liza, just fasten up my dress, that's a dear girl!" "Come, girls, do hurry, we shan't be dressed to-night."

How it was all brought about, f.a.n.n.y could not tell, but at last the ladies were dressed, the last sash pinned, and the last curl adjusted.

Dresses of thin material, cut low in the neck, with short sleeves, seemed to be the order of the night, which with wreaths, and bunches of artificial flowers in the hair, gave the ladies a handsome appearance.

With Miss Belle at the head, they all descended to the parlor, and found the gentlemen strolling about, employing themselves as they could, till the night's amus.e.m.e.nts commenced; and, indeed, both ladies and gentlemen manifested such eagerness to adjourn to the play-room, that the signal was soon given, and they proceeded forthwith to a log building in the yard, formerly used as a school-room.

Games soon commenced, and were carried on with great vigor, the young people making up in activity what was lacking in gracefulness of motion.

Game after game was made out, the ladies vying with each other to see who should laugh the most, while those who were left chatted gayly together in groups, or tried their powers of fascination upon some long-limbed specimen of humanity.

"What calls the gentlemen up-stairs so frequently?" inquired f.a.n.n.y, innocently, as groups of two and three disappeared up the steps leading to the room above.

"You are not aware, then, what a formidable rival the ladies have up in the loft?" said Mr. Chester, gravely, though there was a comical expression about the corners of his mouth.

"No, indeed."

"Well, I only hope you may not witness the overpowering influence sometimes exerted by this same rival," said Mr. Chester; "but honestly, Miss Hunter, there is serious danger that some of these light-footed young gentlemen may, ere long, be obliged to relinquish their places in our party, all through the attractions presented to them up yonder."

"I don't in the least know what you mean."

"In plain words, then, they are talking about horses up there; men are crazy over horses you know."

"Are you in earnest, Mr. Chester?"

"Certainly I am. It would not answer, I suppose, for ladies to intrude upon their modest retirement, or I could convince you in a moment."

"How can you joke about it, Mr. Chester? I think it is perfectly scandalous."

"Well, it is bad enough," said her companion, more gravely. "One living at the west becomes accustomed to such things."

"_I_ never will," said f.a.n.n.y. "If I had known these Christmas parties countenanced such impoliteness, I would have stayed at home."

"A set supper," Nanny had several times expressed a hope that Mrs.

Turner would provide, and she was not disappointed. The long table was bountifully spread with the substantials of this life, and though not in the style of an entertainment in Fifth Avenue, it was admirably suited to the guests who partook of it. A roasted "shoat" graced each end of the board, a side of bacon the centre, while salted beef, cut in thin slices, with pickles and cheese, const.i.tuted the side-dishes. Hot coffee, corn bread and biscuit were pa.s.sed to each guest, and a piece of pound-cake and a little preserved fruit for dessert.

There was plenty of laughter and hearty joking at the table, and the flushed faces and increased volubility of the gentlemen gave too certain evidence of the truth of Mr. Chester's a.s.sertions.

"The langest day maun hae an end," says the old Scotch proverb, audit was with a sigh of relief that f.a.n.n.y at last saw Uncle Jake lay down the tortured fiddle, and the guests with lingering steps and wishful eyes retire to seek the few hours of repose that were left of the night.

"Confusion worse confounded" reigned for a time in the apartment appropriated to the ladies' use, and the numerous couches spread upon the floor increased the difficulty of navigation. At last, when quiet seemed restored, and f.a.n.n.y was sinking into a peaceful sleep, she was aroused by her neighbors in an adjoining bed, three young ladies who declared that they were "all but starved, and must have something to eat before they could go to sleep." One of the black women was despatched to the store-room for some slices of cold bacon, and sitting up in bed, with the candle before them, they made a hearty repast.

"Of course, you can't eat half as much as you want at table," said one of the young ladies, apologetically; "one always wants to appear delicate-like before the gentlemen."

"What in goodness' name, Nan, made breakfast so late?" said Dave the next morning, or rather noon, as they were returning home; "I thought one while we wasn't goin' to get any." "Why, you see, they hadn't any wheat flour in the house for the biscuit," said Nanny, "and they had to send three miles over the prairie to Mr. John Turner's to borrow some."

"Twenty people invited to stay over night, and no flour in the house?"

said f.a.n.n.y, in amazement.

"It rather shocks your Yankee ideas of looking out ahead, Miss Hunter,"

said Mr. Chester, laughing. "We are used to such things out this way."

"Oh! Miss f.a.n.n.y, people can't remember everything, you know," said Nanny; "Belle says they never thought a word about it till this morning."

JOE'S SEARCH FOR SANTA CLAUS.

BY IRVING BACh.e.l.lER

A story, my child? Well, there's none that I know As good as the story about little Joe.

He lived with his mother, just under the eaves Of a tenement high, where the telegraph weaves Its highway of wire, that everywhere goes, And makes the night musical when the wind blows.

Their home had no father--the two were bereft Of all but their appet.i.tes--those never left!

Joe's grew with his thought; a day never pa.s.sed He spent not in hunger to make the food last; And days when his mother silently went And stood by the windows--Joe knew what it meant.

They'd nothing for supper! The words were so sad That somehow they drowned all the hunger he had.

And surely G.o.d's miracles never have ceased-- Joe's hunger grew less when his sorrows increased.

When the coal ran out in winter's worst storm, The fire burnt the harder that kept their hearts warm.

Their windows revealed many wonderful sights, Long acres of roofing and high-flying kites; At sunset, the great vault of heaven aglow, The lining of gold on the clouds hanging low, The cross on the top of St. Mary's high tower Ablaze with the light of that magical hour; And still, as the arrows of light slanted higher, The last thing in sight was the great cross of fire.

Each day, as it vanished, the history old Of Christ's crucifixion was reverently told; To Him the boy learned to confide all his woes, But oftenest prayed for a new suit of clothes, Since those that he wore didn't fit him at all-- The coat was too large and the trousers too small, And Joe looked so queer, from his head to his feet, It grieved his proud soul to be seen in the street.

And sometimes he cherished a secret desire To own a hand-sled, or to build a bonfire; But reached one conclusion by various routes-- He could have better fun with a new pair of boots.

He thought how the old pair, when s.h.i.+ny and whole.

Had squeaked in a way that delighted his soul, And remembrance grew sad as he strutted around And tried hard, but vainly, to waken that sound.

The day before Christmas brought trouble for Joe, A thousand times worse. 'Twas a terrible blow To hear that old Santa Claus, G.o.d of his dreams.

Would not come that year with his fleet-footed teams.

He'd seen them. Why, once, of a night's witching hour He saw them jump over the cross on the tower And scamper away o'er the snow-covered roofs, His heart beating time to the sound of their hoofs.

Not coming this year? Santa Claus must be dead, He thought, as with sad tears he crept into bed.

And, as he lay thinking, the long strings of wire Sang low in the wind like a deep-sounding lyre, And Joe caught the notes of this solemn refrain-- "He'll not come again! no, he'll not come again!"

And oh! how the depths of his spirit were stirred By thoughts that were born of the music he heard!

How cold were the winds, and they sang in their strife, Of storms yet to come in the winters of life.

They mocked him, but mark how the faith of the child Stood firm as a fortress, its hope undefiled; For still the boy thought that, if Santa Claus knew How great were their needs and their comforts how few, He would come; and at length, when the first rays of light Had fathomed the infinite depths of the night, And brightened the windows, Joe cautiously crept Out of bed: and he dressed while his mother still slept, And down the long stairways on tiptoe he ran; Then out in the snow, with the will of a man, He went, looking hither and thither, because, Poor boy! he was trying to find Santa Claus.

He hurried along through the snow-burdened street As if the good angels were guiding his feet; And as the sun rose in the heavens apace, A radiance fell on his uplifted face That came from the cross gleaming far overhead-- A symbol of hope for the living and dead.

A moment he looked at the great house of prayer, Then slyly peeked in to see what was there; And entering softly he wandered at will Through pathways of velvet, deserted and still, And saw the light grow on a wonderful scene Of ivy-twined columns and arches of green, And back of the rail, where the clergyman knelt, He sat on the cus.h.i.+ons to see how they felt.

How soft was that velvet he stroked with his hand!

But when he lay down, oh, the feeling was grand!

And while he was musing the walls seemed to sway, And slowly the windows went moving away.

What, ho! there he comes! with his big pack and all, Down the sunbeams that slope from the high-windowed wall, And Joe tried to speak, but could not, if he died, When Santa Claus came and sat down by his side.

"A tenement boy! humph! he probably swears."

(Joe trembled, and tried hard to think of his prayers.) He lifted Joe's eyelids, he patted his brow, And said. "He is not a bad boy, anyhow."

But hark! there is music; a deep-swelling sound Is sweeping on high as if heavenward bound.

And suddenly waking, Joe saw kneeling there The rector, long-robed, who was reading a prayer.

"Provide for the fatherless children," said he "The widowed, the helpless, the bond and the free."

The rector stops praying--his face wears a frown; A ragged young gamin is pulling his gown.

"I knowed you would come," said the boy, half in fright-- "I knowed you would come--I was watchin' all night.

Say! what are ye goin' t'give mother an' me?

Le'me see what 'tis, Santa Claus--please le'me see!"

The rector looked down into Joe's honest face, And a great wave of feeling swept over the place; And tenderly laying his hand on Joe's head, He turned to the people and solemnly said: "We pray that the poor may be sheltered and fed, And we leave it to Heaven to furnish the bread.

Ye know, while He feedeth the fowls in the air.

The children of mankind He leaves to man's care;"

And kissing Joe's face the preacher said then; "Of such is the kingdom of Heaven. Amen!"