by Katharine Carrington, December 1899
A child with everything, and a child with nothing. What is the latter's father to do?On the stoop of a city house stood a little girl. Her thoughts were filled with Santa Claus, and the wonderful things he would bring her.
But Maude was thinking more of Santa Claus himself than of his gifts, and a determination to see the dear old man who loved children so, and who had been so kind to her, filled her little head. And in its wake came the determination to see him that very night. "For," thought Maude, "so kind an old gentleman will not really be displeased with me for wanting to thank him for the toys he has brought." And she smiled to think how astonished papa would be in the morning when she told him what Santa Claus had said.
So she went into the library, where papa sat smoking, and waiting to bid his little girl good night. Together they hung the Christmas stocking, and the little heart beat fast as she pictured Santa Claus standing where her father stood, on the hearth-rug just opposite the great window.
She went to bed dreaming of the coming interview, and meaning to lie awake until Santa Claus came; but soon the waking dreams became real ones, and Maude slept in her cozy little bed.
In another quarter of the great city, a squalid quarter where Maude had never been, lived a ragged, hungry little girl, who had never heard of Santa Claus until to-day. Her home was a basement room, scantily furnished, and unheated; but as she stood on the step, cold, hunger, everything was forgotten in the rapture that had been imparted to her by a dirty little urchin, as cold and hungry as herself. For Maggie had listened with bated breath while he told her about a wonderful old man named Santa Claus, who had lived for hundreds of years, and who loved children so that he had a mysterious workshop where he made beautiful toys for them. And Bob had told her that this very night Santa Claus would harness his reindeer to his sleigh, and would ride through the snow to the city, bringing something to every child. "Even to us, Maggie; to you and to me! Only you must hang up yer stockin', or he won't know as you wants anythink, and then he won't stop."
And Maggie was in raptures. Perhaps he would bring her a doll! And head and heart were so full of the pictured dolly that she did not see her tired father, who had been all day unsuccessfully seeking work.
He spoke to her, and she started, and remembered how cold it was, and that there was almost nothing to eat in the house, and she went quickly and helped prepare the scanty meal, and when he had sat down to it she told him. The great news could be kept no longer. And when he looked at her so sadly, she was too absorbed in thoughts of Santa Claus to notice it. She sat on the old, broken-down stool, and pictured to herself a doll.
"And there is where she will stand!" she said; "and she will have golding curls, and a red gownd with a long trail, like the one I seen in the shop, and a big hat with a white feather sweepin' round it, and lace on her gownd, and a string of gold beads on her neck, and red shoes and stockin's. And oh, when I wakes in the morning, there she will stand! And I will call her Evangerliner, and it will be grand—just grand!" and Maggie clapped her blue little hands and danced for joy.
Her father sat very still, and she went on with her talk: "And I must take off my stockin' and hang it up by a pin to the wall, or he will think I don't want anythink. That foot will be dretful cold to-night, but I ain't got no other stockin's, and I can stand it for just one night."
And off came the ragged stocking, and Maggie pinned it up against the wall, where it would greet her opening eyes; then, running quickly to her bed, pulled the think quilt over her, and shut her eyes tight, that morning might come the sooner.
The man sat for a time with his head in his hands, the great tears falling between his fingers, and when he raised his head his eyes were hard. Taking his hat, he walked out of the house. He went directly to the rich quarters of the city. As he tramped along, his attention was arrested by the soft glow of firelight shining through an unshaded window. He drew near and looked in, and something seemed to grip his throat, for there, directly facing him the glare of the firelight, among a multitude of books and toys, stood the doll of Maggie's imagination—red gownd, sweepin' feather, gold necklace," and all, just as Maggie had pictured her!
Maude opened her bright eyes and sat up in bed to listen. Yes! There was certainly a noise in the library. Santa Claus had come! So, with beating heart, she slipped out of bed very quietly, and crept down the stairway, and, opening the door of the library, tripped softly in. Yes, there he was! Books and toys were grouped about the hearth, and he was bending over a big doll in a long red frock.
"Oh, Mr. Santa Claus!" she said, "I want to thank you for all the pretty things you have brought me; and please do not be angry with me, dear Mr. Santa Claus, because I love you so!"
The figure holding the doll stood erect and wheeled about.
"Why!" cried Maude, "are you Santa Claus? I did n't know Santa Claus looked like that! I thought he was fat and rosy and jolly; and you are thin and poor-looking, and your eyes—your eyes frighten me! Oh, if you please, Santa Claus, don't be angry! I am very sorry, and I did n't know you would mind what I said. I did n't think!"
The color came into the man's face, and he said in a low, shamed voice: "I ain't angry, little girl; only I was just thinkin' of takin' this 'ere doll to another little girl as ain't got no doll. But I won't, if you 'll just be quiet and not call anybody."
"No," said Maude; "I won't call my father, because I know you don't like people to see you. That doll is just lovely, but you may have it, if you will give it to that little girl who has no doll, for I have a great many, you know. And are you going now, and may I see you go, and will you go up the chimney? I never supposed Santa Claus could look like you, or that he would talk like you, either. I think I am sorry I saw you," and tears came into the earnest eyes, " because I loved you so much before. But I will try to like you, Santa Claus, because you are so good."
The man's face grew red again as the child spoke, and he hesitated; but his eyes fell on the dainty stocking crammed with Christmas goodies, and he thought of that other stocking, hanging thin and empty opposite Maggie's bed, and he walked with the doll in his arms toward the window.
"Oh," cried Maude, "are you going—and out of the window? I thought you would go up the chimney! I thought Santa Claus always went up the chimney!" and Maude was ready to cry again.
But the man was gone. He had climbed out of the window, and was lost in the darkness without.
Feeling queer and frightened, Maude turned without a glance at the toys scattered over the carpet, and crept back to bed, where she sobbed herself to sleep.
The next morning Mr. Page was much disturbed by the open window and the missing doll, as well as by Maude's listlessness over her gifts; for Maude could not bear to tell even papa what a dreadful man Santa Claus was, and she hugged her grief in silence. But soon all was made clear. The butler announced a man to see Mr. Page, and when he entered, Maude, who sat on her father's knee, sprang up, exclaiming, "Why, it 's Santa Claus!"
"No, miss," said the man, at once; "I ain't Santa Claus."
And then, speaking rapidly, he told Mr. Page the whole story of Maggie's happy expectancy, and her empty stocking; of the open window, and the doll like the one of Maggie's fancy; how Maude's trust had shamed him; "For," he said, " I ain't no thief—leastways, not ever before"; how the thought of the empty stocking had turned the scale; and of Maggie's rapture when the doll greeted her opening eyes; and he wound up by begging Mr. Page to punish him in any way he chose, but not to take her one treasure from innocent Maggie.
And Mr. Page's eyes filled with tears as he looked at his own little daughter, and thought of the other child in the bare tenement with her one treasure.
To the man he gave work, that he might repay by honest labor the price of the doll; and to this day the crowning glory of Maggie's life is " the doll that Santa Claus brought."
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