"The General's Easter Box"

by Temple Bailey, April 1904

Good heavens! I never realized Temple Baily, author of one of my favorite Christmas stories, "A Candle in the Forest," wrote for St. Nicholas!

The General did not look at all as one would expect a general to look. He was short and thick-set and had a red face and a white mustache, and he usually dressed in a gray tweed suit, with a funny Norfolk jacket with a belt, and wore a soft cap pulled down almost to his eyeglasses.

And he always did his own marketing.

That is how he came to know Jimmy.

Jimmy stood at a corner of Old Market and sold little bundles of dried sage and sweet marjoram, and sassafras and cinnamon, and soupbunches made of bits of vegetables tied together — a bit of parsley and a bit of celery and a bit of carrot and a sprig of summer savory, all for one cent. Then at Christmas-time he displayed wreaths, which he and his little mother made at home, and as the spring came on he brought wild flowers that he picked in the woods.

And that was how he came to know the General.

For one morning, just before Easter, the General came puffing down the outside aisle of Old Market, with his colored man behind him with an enormous basket. The General's carriage was drawn up to the curbstone, and the gray horses were dancing little fancy dances over the asphalt street, when all at once Jimmy thrust a bunch of arbutus under the General's very nose.

"Go away, go away," said the General, and trotted down to the carriage door, which a footman held open for him.

But a whiff of fragrance had reached him, and he stopped.

"How much?" he asked.

"Three cents," said Jimmy, in a hoarse voice.

The General looked at the little fellow through his eye-glasses.

"Got a cold?" he inquired gruffly.

"Yes, sir," croaked Jimmy.

"Why don't you stay in the house, then?" growled the General.

"Can't, sir," said Jimmy, cheerfully; "business is business."

The General looked at the little stand where "business" was transacted—at the little rows of dried stuffs, at the small basket of flowers, and at the soup-bunches.

"Humph," he said.

Then his hand went down into his pocket, and he pulled out a lot of change. After that he chose two bunches of sweet, pinky blossoms. "Two for five, sir," said Jimmy. "Hum," said the General. "You might give me some parsley and a soup-bunch."

Jimmy wrapped up the green stuff carefully and dropped it into the basket carried by the colored man.

"Nine cents, sir," he said; and the General handed him a dime and then moved to the next stall, holding the flowers close to his nose.

"You forgot your change," cried Jimmy, and rushed after him with the one cent.

"Keep—" But one look at the honest little face and he changed his sentence.

"Thank you, young man," he said, and away he drove.

After that Jimmy looked for the General, and the General for Jimmy. Their transactions were always carried on in a strictly business manner, although, to be sure, the General's modest family of two did not require the unlimited sage and sweet marjoram that were ordered from time to time.

On the Saturday before Easter the little stand was gay with new wares. In little nests of dried grasses lay eggs—Easter eggs, bright pink and blue and purple and mottled. Jimmy had invested in a dozen at forty cents the dozen, and he had hopes of doubling the money, for work surely counted for something, and he and the Little Mother had dyed them.

But somehow people passed them by. Inside of the market there were finer nests, and eggs gilded and lettered, and Jirrimy began to feel that his own precious eggs were very dull indeed.

But when the General appeared around the corner, the boy's spirits rose. Here, at any rate, was a good customer.

The General, however, was in a temper. There had been an argument with the fish-man which had left him red in the face and very touchy. So he bought two bunches of arbutus and nothing else.

"Any eggs, sir?" asked Jimmy.

"Eggs?" said the General, looking over the little stand.

"Easter eggs," explained Jimmy.

"I 've no use for such things," said the General.

"Oh!" said Jimmy, and in spite of himself his voice trembled. When one is the man of the family, and the Little Mother is sewing for dear life, and her work and the little stand in the market are all that pay the rent and buy food, it is sometimes hard to be brave. But the General did not notice the tremble.

Jimmy tried again:

"Any children, sir? Children always like Easter eggs, you know."

"No," said the General; "no one but a son in the Philippines—a son some six feet two in his stockings."

"Any grandchildren, sir?" hopefully.

"Bless my soul," said the General, testily, "what a lot of questions!" And he hurried off to his carriage.

Jimmy felt very forlorn. The General had been his last hope. The eggs were a dead loss.

At last it came time to close up, and he piled all of his wares in a basket. Then he took out a little broom and began to sweep in an orderly way around his little stall. He had a battered old dustpan, and as he carried it out to the street to empty it, he saw a stiff greenish gray paper sticking out of the dirt. Nothing in the world ever looks exactly like that but an American greenback, and, sure enough, when Jimmy pulled it out it proved to be a ten-dollar bill.

Jimmy sat down on the curb suddenly. His money always came in pennies and nickels and dimes and quarters. The Little Mother sometimes earned a dollar at a time, but never in his whole life had Jimmy possessed a ten-dollar bill.

Think of the possibilities to a little, poor, cold, worried boy. There was two months' rent in that ten-dollar bill—two months in which he would not have to worry over whether there would be a roof over their heads.

Then there was a basket stall in that ten-dollar bill. That had always been his ambition. Some one had told him that baskets sold well in other cities, and not a single person had opened a basket stall in Old Market, and that was Jimmy's chance. Once established, he knew he could earn a good living.

As for ten dollars' worth of groceries and provisions, Jimmy's mind could not grasp such a thing; fifty cents had always been the top limit for a grocery bill.

But—it was n't Jimmy's ten dollars. Like a flash his dreams tumbled to the ground. There had been many people coming and going through Old Market, but Jimmy knew that the bill was the General's. For the old gentleman had pulled out a roll when he reached for the five cents. Yes, it was the General's; but how to find the General?

Inside the market he found the General's butcher. Yes, the butcher knew the General's address, for he was one of his best customer, and would keep Jimmy's basket while the boy went to the house.

It was a long distance. Jimmy passed rows of great stone mansions, and went through parks, where crocuses and hyacinths were just peeping out.

At last he came to the General's.

A colored man answered the ring of the bell.

"Who shall I say?" he inquired loftily. "The General is very busy, y' know."

"Say Jimmy, from the market, please"; and Jimmy sat down on the great hall seat, feeling very much awed with all the magnificence.

"Well, well," said the General, as he came puffing down the stairs. "Well, well, and what do you want?"

Please, sir, did you drop this?" and Jimmy held out the tightly rolled bill.

"Did I? Well, now, I 'm sure I don 't know. Perhaps I did, perhaps I did."

"I found it in front of my stall," said Jimmy.

What a strange thing it seemed that the General should not know! Jimmy would have known if he had lost a penny. He began to feel that the General could not have a true idea of business.

The General took out a roll of bills. "Let me see," he said. "Here 's my market list. Yes, I guess that 's mine, sure enough."

"I 'm glad I noticed it," said Jimmy, simply. "I came near sweeping it into the street."

"And what can I pay you for your trouble?" asked the General, looking at the boy keenly.

"Well," said Jimmy, stoutly, "you see, business is business, and I had to take my time, and I 'd like to get back as soon as I can."

The General frowned. He was afraid he was going to be disappointed in this boy. What, after all, if he was a beggar—

"And so," went on Jimmy, " if you would give me a nickel for car-fare, I think we might call it square."

The General fumbled around for his eyeglasses, put them on, and looked at Jimmy in astonishment.

"A nickel?" he asked.

"Yes, sir"; Jimmy blushed. "You know, I ought to get back."

"Well, well," said the General. The boy had certainly the instincts of a gentleman. Not a single plea of poverty, and yet one could see that he was poor, very poor.

Just then a gong struck softly somewhere. "I 'm not going to let you go until you have a bit of lunch with us," said the General. "I have told my wife of Jimmy of the market, and now I want you to meet her."

So Jimmy went down into a wonderful dining-room, where the silver and the cut glass shone, and where at the farther side of the table was the sweetest little old lady, who came and shook hands with him.

Jimmy had never before eaten lunch where the soup was served in little cups, but the General's wife put him at his ease when she told him that his very own soup-bunches were in that soup, and if he did n't eat plenty of it he would n't be advertising his wares. Then the General, with knife upraised, stopped in his carving of the cold roast chicken, and turned to Jimmy with a smile of approval in his genial face, and said that it was his sage, too, that was in the chicken dressing.

They made Jimmy talk, and finally he told them of his ambition for a basket stall.

"And when do you expect to get it?" asked the General, with a smile.

"When I get the goose that lays the golden egg, I am afraid, sir," said Jimmy, a little sadly.

Then the General's wife asked questions, and Jimmy told her about the Little Mother, and of their life together; but not one word did he tell of their urgent need, for Jimmy had not learned to beg.

At last the wonderful lunch was over, somewhat to Jimmy's relief, it must be confessed.

"I shall come and see your mother, Jimmy," said the General's wife, as Jimmy left her.

Out in the hall the General handed the boy a nickel. "Business is business, young man," he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

That night Jimmy and his mother sat up very late, for the boy had so much to tell.

"Do you think I was wrong to ask for the nickel, Mother?" he asked anxiously, when he had finished.

"No," said his mother; "but I am glad you did n't ask for more."

Then, after Jimmy had gone to bed, the mother sat up for a long time, wondering how the rent was to be paid.

On Easter Monday morning Jimmy and the Little Mother started out to pick the arbutus and the early violets which Jimmy was to sell Tuesday at his little stall.

It was a sunshiny morning. The broad road was hard and white after the April showers, the sky was blue, and the air was sweet with the breath of bursting buds. And, in spite of cares, Jimmy and his mother had a very happy time as they filled their baskets.

At last they sat down to tie up the bunches. Carriage after carriage passed them. As the last bunch of flowers was laid in Jimmy's basket, a victoria drawn by a pair of grays stopped in front of the flower-gatherers.

"Well, well," said a hearty voice, and there were the General and his wife! They had called for Jimmy and his mother, they said, and had been directed to the wooded hill.

"Get in, get in," commanded the General; and, in spite of the Little Mother's hesitancy and timid protests, she was helped up beside the General's wife by the footman, while Jimmy hopped in beside the General, and away they went over the hard white road.

The General was in a gay mood.

"Well, my boy, have you found your golden egg?" he asked Jimmy.

"No, sir," said Jimmy, gravely; "not yet."

"Too bad, too bad," said the old gentleman, while he shifted a white box that was on the seat between himself and Jimmy to the other side.

"You 're quite sure, are you, that you could only get it from a goose?" he asked later.

"Get what, sir?" said Jimmy, whose eyes were on the gay crowds that thronged the sidewalks.

"The egg," said the General.

"Oh—yes, sir," replied Jimmy, with a smile.

The General leaned back and laughed and laughed until he was red in the face; but Jimmy could see nothing to laugh at, so he merely smiled politely, and wondered where the joke was.

At last they reached Jimmy's home, and the General helped the Little Mother out. As he did so he handed her a white box. Jimmy was busy watching the gray horses, and saw nothing else.

"For the boy," whispered the General.

The Little Mother shook her head doubtfully.

"Bless you, madam," cried the General, testily, "I have a boy of my own—if he is six feet two in his stockings." Then, in a softer tone, " I beg of you to take it, madam; it will please an old man and give the boy a start."

So when good-by had been said, and Jimmy stood looking after the carriage and the prancing grays, the Little Mother put the white box in his hand.

Jimmy opened it, and there on a nest of white cotton was an egg. But it was different from any of the eggs that Jimmy had sold on Saturday. It was large and gilded, and around the middle was a yellow ribbon.

Jimmy lifted it out, and found it very heavy.

"What do you think it is?" he said.

"Untie the ribbon," advised his mother, whose quick eyes saw a faint line which showed an opening.

Jimmy pulled the yellow ribbon, the upper half of the egg opened on a hinge, and there, side by side, were glistening gold coins — five-dollar gold pieces, and five of them.

"Oh!" said Jimmy, and he sat down on the step, breathless with surprise and joy.

A slip of white paper lay between two of the coins. Jimmy snatched it out, and this is what he read:

Please accept the contents of the golden egg, with the best wishes of
The Goose.

And then at last Jimmy saw the joke.

"The Stocking That Grew"

by Christine Whiting Parmenter, December 1921

A group of young women discover the true meaning of Christmas, in lively 1920s style.

I suppose it 's only because I 'm editor of the "High School Bulletin" that Dr. Gardner chose me to write an account of Miss Lucia Little's Christmas stocking, and what grew out of it. Anyway, he made me stop work and sit right down amid these snips of cambric and whirring sewing-machines (to say nothing of tongues!) and write the whole story.

It was Sue Gardner who started it, though she declares that it was only her father's timely remark that put the idea into her head. We girls were sitting before the fire in the Gardners' living-room, working on Christmas gifts, and we 'd just been laughing at the sort of gifts they were. Among the four girls who were present only one was making anything ornamental, and that was an embroidered dress for Molly Gilson's small niece—the first grandchild in the Gilson family, so you could hardly blame Molly for her bit of embroidery. It was the first Christmas after the armistice was signed, and we 'd all been doing useful things so long that it seemed more natural to be knitting socks for our fathers and brothers than to be making frilly pincushions, or useless things that nobody knows what to do with anyway; but Jo Lambert had just remarked that our work did n't look exactly Christmasy, when Dr. Gardner came in.

Dr. Gardner is a dear. In the first place, he looks young enough to be Sue's brother; and then he gave up his private sanitarium to the disabled soldiers; and he 's just the kindest, most cheerful man, although he is always seeing sick people. Mrs. Gardner has been an invalid ever since an automobile accident ten years ago. She suffers a great deal, and depends on him for everything.

It was storming that afternoon, and when the doctor came in all white with snow, Jo said that he might be Santa Claus, except for the fact that he was minus whiskers. Dr. Gardner laughed and replied that he was afraid whiskers were n't intended for his special style of beauty, but that he 'd like to remind Santa not to forget Miss Lucia Little.

That was the timely remark. We all pricked up our ears, because every one of us, and the generation before us, too, had gone to school to Miss Lucia. In three years more she would have been pensioned, but her health gave out too soon, and she and her sister, Miss Lydia, were getting along nobody knew how, because Miss Lucia was in bed most of the time, and Miss Lydia had to give up her job at the bank to take care of her.

"Is Miss Lucia worse?" asked Molly, as she put the last stitch in an embroidered rosebud.

"She might be considerably better," answered the doctor. He was seated on the davenport, unbuckling his overshoes. The Gardners' is an awfully comfortable house. You never feel that you must leave your rubbers on the front porch and let them freeze, yet somehow the rooms never seem turned up, though Sue says that 's only because she 's forever fixing them.

"You see–" went on the doctor, but he did n't finish his sentence, because at that moment he kicked off an overshoe which landed on the cat, who retreated in such indignant haste that we all laughed and might have forgotten Miss Lucia had not Dr. Gardner gone back to the subject.

"I 'm mighty sorry for Miss Lucia," he said quietly. "She has served us faithfully for years, and has been too generous, I fear, for her own good. There was no fire on the hearth in her bedroom, though the air was chilly, and I noticed that the wood-basket was empty; although she and Miss Lydia were sweet and cheerful as ever. That 's why I said I hoped Santa would not forget her."

It was then that the great idea hit Sue.

"Let 's see that he does n"t," she said quietly, though her eyes were shining. "Let 's send her a stocking."

"Good work, Sue!" said the doctor, boyishly, and his eyes were shining too. Sue's eyes are exactly like her father's, though she has her mother's forehead and lovely waving hair.

"Let's make it a silk stocking while we 're about it," said Jessie Haynes, who can't afford silk stockings for herself. "I 'll provide a pair as my donation, and we can put one of them inside. I remember Bud telling about his first day at school, and how scared he was until Miss Lucia smiled at him."

There was a moment's silence. Bud was Jessie's big brother, who had "gone West" in Flanders a year before. Then Sue said: "No, Jessie, an ordinary stocking won't be big enough. You put in your silk ones done up in tissue-paper. We 'll make a stocking,—of bright cambric, you know, with little bells attached,—something really gay. All the girls and boys will be glad to help us fill it."

"Three cheers!" exclaimed the doctor, enthusiastically. "That 's a dandy idea!"

"What are you talking about?" came a voice from across the hall.

You see, Sue's mother has a room downstairs, so she can come in to meals on her good days. This was evidently one of them, because her voice sounded natural; and when she 's suffering, it's different. The doctor's eyes brightened when he heard it, and he said quickly: "Don't plan any more just yet. I 'll bring Mother in, Sue. Perhaps she 'll give us some ideas."

He came back with Mrs. Gardner in his arms, and tucked her up on the davenport, where she looked like a fragile sort of queen. Her hair has grown almost white since the accident, but she's awfully pretty and wears the most adorable negligees. Jo Lambert says it 's worth being an invalid to wear such exquisite things as Mrs. Gardner does; but I know better. I caught a glimpse of her face once, on one of her bad days, and after that I understood exactly why the doctor could n't leave her to go to France.

Well, Mrs. Gardner did have ideas. She knew what it was to be tied to her bed, and she suggested all sorts of things for Miss Lucia's comfort that were simply great. We got terribly excited. It was almost dark before we broke up, after planning to meet next morning to make the stocking. Sue rushed up into the attic and found some pink and blue sateen, which we decided to use, because Miss Lucia is so dainty, though, until the very last minute, Louise Topping stuck out for red and white. Louise is the kind who would never think of using anything but red ribbon on a Christmas package; but she 's awfully good-natured, and agreed with Dr. Gardner that the color was a small matter compared with the contents, and we all went home full of excitement to tell our families about the scheme.

Every one was on time next morning except Jo, who had gone down town to get the bells. We went into the Gardners' dining-room and laid our material on the table. Sue had been cutting newspaper patterns of stockings ever since breakfast, and had three sizes for us to choose from. Jessie was sure the small one would n't hold everything, and the largest looked perfectly enormous; but when we began comparing notes we decided it would be none too big.

You see, all our families wanted a hand in it. Most of them, even our fathers and mothers, had been to school to Miss Lucia, and they were as thrilled over the idea as we were; so at last Sue cut the stocking from the largest pattern.

It was a gay affair—half pink, half blue, with a gold draw-string at the top to keep things from falling out, and darling little gilt bells all round the edges. We just squealed with delight when it was done, and carried it in to show to Mrs. Gardner, who smiled her pleasure, though she did n't speak a word, and I knew by the look in her eyes that she was suffering.

The doctor came home then and was just as enthusiastic as could be. There 's no wet blanket about Dr. Gardner, though I knew he was worried, and after a minute he left us and went into his wife's room and closed the door. I suppose he was afraid one of her attacks of pain was coming. Sometimes they last for days, and Christmas was less than a week away; but this time it was a false alarm. She was better next morning, and kept well all Christmas week; and I don't know what we should have done without her, for she was every bit as interested in having that stocking just right as we were.

Well—you never saw anything grow like that idea! Somehow or other, people got wind of it, and lots of them sent in donations. The day before Christmas, when we all met at Sue's with the things we 'd collected, we wondered if the stocking, enormous as we had thought it, would hold them all.

We 'd meant not to put our names on the gifts, but Mrs. Gardner said it would please Miss Lucia to know who had remembered her, and the doctor seconded the idea. His own contribution was a receipted bill for a whole year, attached to a little nonsense rhyme. He did n't intend us to see it, but Jo said it was n't fair to put things in secretly, and she opened it and read the rhyme aloud:

"There was an old doctor who guessed
That of teachers Miss Lu was the best.
So he sent her a bill, instead of a pill,
And told her to take a good rest.
Merry Christmas!"

We all laughed, and Jessie said that if he 'd agree to send that sort of bill to her, that she 'd consider indulging in a nervous breakdown.

We had a glorious morning. Mrs. Gardner was feeling especially well, and she made us bring everything into her room. I 'll never forget how sweet she looked propped up against the pillows, surrounded by the things that were to fill Miss Lucia's stocking.

Such a miscellaneous collection! We laughed over some, and nearly cried over others. Even the janitor of the old schoolbuilding was represented. He 's wild about flowers, and had sent some of his choicest seeds, about a dozen varieties; and his little boy had put in a package of kid hair-curlers! Where he got them, we could n't remotely guess.

Jo's father had sent two boxes of stunning note-paper—every envelop stamped! There was an exquisite gold-banded cup and saucer from Mrs. O'Day, who 's done Miss Lucia's washing for years. Of course, lots of people sent handkerchiefs, and Jessie's small sister had parted with her dearest treasure—the coral beads her uncle brought her from Bermuda. Mrs. Gardner wept when she found that the teachers in Miss Lucia's building had collected forty dollars; but I think the most beautiful gift of all was Bob Sawyer's Croix de Guerre. We all sniffed a bit over that, because we knew that Bob's family had never taken much interest in him, and that it was really Miss Lucia's influence and encouragement that had made a man of him. He had come back a year before, minus an arm, but was back at his old job in the First National Bank.

Of course, I can't enumerate everything. Some things just refused to go into the stocking—among others, the knitted shawl from Mrs. Gardner. She made it herself—a whole year's work, because most days she can't work at all. It was certainly the most Christmasy-looking stocking that Santa ever filled. Some one had sent a pincushion made around a doll, and we put that at the top, the head peeking up above the big gilt bow that tied the things in place. We had to stay till Dr. Gardner came home, just to see what he 'd say.

And he did n't disappoint us! He 'd brought a basket of fruit to add to the donations, and it was arranged that he leave everything with Miss Lydia, and tell her to hang up the stocking after Miss Lucia was asleep. Then he sent us all out of Mrs. Gardner's room, and told her that if she wanted to eat Christmas dinner with the family, she must be quiet for the next three hours.

Oh, how we girls did long to see Miss Lucia open that stocking! Of course, no one did see her, except Miss Lydia; but the doctor, who sneaked over soon after breakfast, gave us a graphic account. Miss Lucia was sitting up in bed with Bob's Croix de Guerre pinned to her nightgown. She looked better than she had for days, and Mrs. Gardner's shawl was over her shoulders, and Jessie's silk stockings spread out in her lap.

"Doctor," she said, "I 'm going to get well, if it's only to wear these silk stockings. I 've always been crazy to own a pair."

Then she got him to tell her how the whole thing started, and she laughed and cried, and said nobody in the world ever had such good friends as she. The doctor had to admire everything, even the kid hair-curlers; and he said that he really thought we were better doctors than he.

And it did look that way, because Miss Lucia began to get well right off, so in time she was able to do some tutoring, and Miss Lydia went back to her job in the bank. But the very best part of the story is to come. It started a year later, and this time it was Miss Lucia who had the idea. She called Sue and me in one day, and said that a "beautiful deed" like ours ought to be passed along, and wanted to know if we 'd mind if she sent the stocking to old Mr. Currey, president of the First National Bank.

Now was n't that just like Miss Lucia? Though he 's been sick for months, not one of us would have thought of sending anything to Mr. Currey, because he has everything that money can buy, and occupies the best rooms in the Hillcrest House. But when it dawned on us that he had n't the ghost of a family, and when we remembered how nice he always was about buying advertising space in the "High School Bulletin," we told Miss Lucia that of course we did n't mind, and that we 'd help fill the stocking. And poor Mr. Currey was so pleased that he cried! The nurse told Miss Lucia so; and what 's more, he got well, too, so that Dr. Gardner declared that there was some sort of witchcraft about that stocking.

And it was Mr. Currey who had the best idea of all. It was still another Christmas, and Sue and Molly were just home from Vassar for the holidays, feeling pretty "chesty" about being "college women," but not quite above hunting ads for the "Bulletin" with Jess and me, who are two years younger and don't graduate from High till June.

We were passing the bank, and Jessie said we must go in and get Mr. Currey to sign up for the whole back cover. We used to be rather in awe of him, but since the stocking affair he 's been quite jolly. He happened to be busy just then, and motioned us to wait in his private room, where he always interviews us. And what do you think we found lying on his desk? The same old stocking that we had made for Miss Lucia two years before! Sue pounced on our old friend and held it admiringly aloft.

"I wonder," she said, laughing, "whose dark hours you 'll gladden this Christmas, little sunbeam!"

"I was thinking of sending it to Tommy Hollis."

We all turned round, to see Mr. Currey right behind us. "Sit down," he said; and as there were n't chairs enough, Sue and I perched on his flat-topped desk. "I wonder," he went on, "if you young ladies will help me fill it—I mean, buy the stuff for me. I 'm rather stupid when it comes to getting things for a fourteen-year-old boy. It 's so long since I 've been one."

I did n't wonder he was a bit stumped, for Tommy Hollis had been laid up for six months with infantile paralysis. He lived with an aunt, who was a dressmaker and too busy to give him much attention, so Tommy's days were pretty drab and dreary. But nothing would stump Sue Gardner. She 's too much a chip of the old block.

"I think that 's a wonderful idea," she said. "Mother was speaking of Tommy yesterday, and that we must do something for him. Give me a pencil, Mr. Currey, and we 'll make a list."

In fifteen minutes we had a list that was destined to take care of Tommy's weary hours for some time to come; but Mr. Currey was n't through with us.

"I was just reading in the paper," he said, "how some of the ex-service men in the hospitals are having a lonely time of it. That does n't seem right, does it? I was wondering if we could send them some Christmas stockings. You see—I know what it means to be sick, with no one to care whether you 're running a temperature or not; and those men and boys who lost their health for their country—why– Well, anyway," he ended hurriedly, blowing his nose as if a sudden cold had struck him, "I 'll finance the project if you girls will do. the work. Go as far as you like."

Well! For a few minutes there was a regular riot in the private sanctum of the president of our First National Bank. Would we do the work? He did n't have to ask twice. In fact, we forgot all about securing our ad for the "Bulletin." And that 's why I 'm sitting here surrounded by whirring sewing-machines and snippings of colored cambric, while Miss Lucia Little is sewing on gilt bells as if her life depended on it, and, in her room across the hall, Mrs. Gardner is doing up fascinating packages in enough red ribbon to satisfy even Louise Topping.

That 's all. I don't see why the doctor wanted me to write it; but I 'll say one thing on my own account: If you want to enjoy a real worth-while Christmas, just make a stocking for some one who 's sick or lonely, and watch it grow!

"Little Miss Hopeful"

by Mary M. Parks, December 1901

"Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents" Or presumably, turkey. But, like the March girls, these children find fulfillment in helping someone worse off than themselves.

The Ways and Means Committee was in session on the shed roof. Properly mama should have been chairman of this committee; but a chairman who has been ill, and is very weak and totally discouraged, is likely to be a damper on proceedings. "Little Miss Hopeful" made an excellent chairman.

"I wrote Uncle Jim," she said.

"Much good that 'll do!" said Fred. "Did n't mama write him, and did n't the letter come hustling back from the Dead-letter Office?"

"I wrote to the old home place in New Hampshire."

"Well, you are a genius!" cried Joe, with a burst of laughter. "Why, Uncle Jim has n't been there in years."

"That 's why I wrote," retorted Little Miss Hopeful, whose really true name was Becca. "Don't you know how it is in stories? No matter how far they wander, they always come back at last to—to weep over the—the tombs of their ancestors; and usually at Christmas-time. And every year, as long as I live, I 'm going to write to Uncle Jim. Then," she continued, her eyes growing larger and darker, "some day he 'll come back and find his folks all gone, and he 'll wander about, feeling very sad; and he 'll pass the little old post-office; and the old postmaster will see him and say, 'Are n't you Jim Lawrence? Here 's a letter for you.' Then he 'll open it and—"

"You little goose!" gasped Joe. "Don't you know that in real life things never happen as the authors say they do in story-books?"

"Why, Joe Wilson," said Becca, "they do, too! There was old Mrs. Graham's son, that had to wash for a living,—I mean she had to wash for a living,—and he went to the Klondike and came back rich; and now she has a lovely house, and everything."

"Pshaw! Why, Uncle Jim might not answer, anyway," said Joe. "He has n't seen mama for years, and he never saw us—"

"Joe, for shame on you!" snapped Becca, her eyes flashing. "You know he 'd come on the next train. Would n't you?"

"Yes, I would," said Joe, "but—" He did n't finish the sentence. He had long ago learned that it is useless to argue with a girl. What can a fellow do with a creature that flies at him like a whirlwind, taking his breath away, and does n't leave him a leg to stand on, when all the time he knows he is right? A dignified silence is the only resource.

"Anyway, we don't know that he '11 get it this Christmas," Fred remarked. "How much money is left now?"

"Five dollars and twenty-three cents and a postage-stamp," replied Becca. "I counted it yesterday."

"We ought not to have come way out here to Arkansas," said Fred.

"No," Becca agreed; "but mama did n't know. It 's a warm climate, and we have no rent to pay, and she thought we could raise things; and so we can if we live till spring. If we only had a little more money!" and as she concluded she bounced up and stamped on the shingles with wrathful impatience.

"Calm yourself or you '11 go through this old roof, sis," said Fred. "I wonder how papa happened to get hold of this place?"

"In trade some way, mama said, and it was all the creditors left us. I suppose they thought a little farm away down in Arkansas was not worth taking. They had never seen it. I do think it is the loveliest spot on earth," said Becca, looking about with dreamy delight.

If only one could live on beauty! The wee, whitewashed shanty was not comfortable, but it was exceedingly picturesque as it clung like a swallow's nest to the steep, woodsy slope. Below, Kimball's Creek, crystal clear, swept singing around the hill. Beyond the creek was a level stretch of magnificent timber with a tangled undergrowth of vines and shrubs. It was lovely even in winter.

"If we can only manage till spring," said Joe.

Then the black fear that they had been resolutely keeping down lifted its ugly head. It was a fear too awful to speak of—too awful even to think of. Little Miss Hopeful pushed it bravely away.

"About Christmas," she said.

"No use to talk about that," groaned Joe. "Of course we can't have a dinner, or presents. I told mama we did n't expect anything, but she only cried the more; and of course we can't decorate the house: she could n't bear to see it."

"But I 've a plan," continued Little Miss Hopeful, her eyes beginning to sparkle. "We '11 go to the empty cabin across the creek, and decorate both rooms with cedar and mistletoe, and have a Christmas tree. I 've a lot of colored paper and candles left from last Christmas. And we 'll have an old English Christmas, like the one told about in the 'Sketch Book.' We 'll act it all out."

"Yes, that 'll be great!" Joe exclaimed. "There are loads of mistletoe up the creek."

"I thought I should get the money for a bicycle this year," said Fred, rather dismally; "but I 'd rather have all the roast turkey I could eat than forty bicycles."

Becca's face twitched. She was hungry, too. She could bear that; but nothing wrings a woman's heart, even a very little woman's, like the thought of a hungry boy; and a boy who prefers a meal of roast turkey to a bicycle has been pretty well starved.

"Come!" she cried hastily, springing to her feet. "Let 's go look at the cabin."

As they ran down the road, they stopped short with exclamations of dismay. A thin blue streak was rising from the trees around the cabin. "Oh, dear!" said Becca. "Some one must have moved in!"

As they drew a little nearer they saw a covered wagon with two lean horses tied behind it by the cabin door; and on the bank of the creek sat three children, sunning themselves.

"Have you moved into the cabin? " Becca asked pleasantly.

The oldest child nodded. "Our folks thought we 'd stop thar a spell," she said.

"I suppose you will be there until after Christmas," said Becca.

"I dunno," said the girl.

Becca saw that the children's feet were bare.

"Does your mother allow you to go barefoot in the winter?" she asked severely.

"Ha'n't got any shoes," replied the child.

Becca turned away in dire dismay, and slowly and silently the three walked back up the road. Each one knew the painful thought that was troubling the others. Was the day coming when they also must go barefoot for the lack of shoes?

Then Becca's active, generous little mind flew off on another tack.

"I 'd be willing to give her Emmeline, but I could n't give up Alice," she said.

"Pshaw! why, you need n't to," said quickwitted Joe. "She 'd be happy as they make 'em, with Emmeline. And I 'll give the biggest boy my musical top."

"I 'll give my toy soldiers to the littlest kid," said Fred. "I 'm getting too big to play with 'em, and it '11 be a good way to break off."

"If we had any extra shoes we could give 'em some, but these are all I have," said Becca, pausing and regarding them gloomily.

"Nonsense!" said Joe, cheerily. "If you gave 'em their choice they 'd take the toys."

"Yes, they would!" said Fred. "We can give 'em a Christmas they 'll remember as long as they live. That little kid's eyes '11 pop clear out of his head when he sees those soldiers!"

Little Miss Hopeful's face took fire again. "Oh, oh!" she cried, hopping up and down like a very active cricket. " We 'll go there Christmas, and decorate the east room, and have the Christmas tree, and give 'em the things. Oh, what fun!"

The next morning the children went to call on their new neighbors. A sad-faced but kindly woman met the children at the door.

"Howdy! Howdy! Come right in and set down," she said hospitably.

A tall, thin, pale-faced man sat humped over the fire, coughing now and then. Poor Becca winced as she looked at him, for she saw on his face the same look of illness and despair that darkened her own mother's.

"Was it you-'uns that was talkin' to my chillen down at the branch yesterday? Wall, sissy, I 'm 'shamed that we cain't do better by our chillen," said the woman, her thin face flushing. "But 'pears like we 've hed the wust luck. Crops a-failin' an' critters adyin', an' pa 's ben sick, an' so much of the time we 've ben on the road. Our chillen hain't hed no kind o' raisin', an' that 's a fact. 'Pears like we done fergot it all, we 've been so poor."

There was a slight pause in the conversation, and Becca seized the opportunity.

"We wanted to ask you if we might decorate the east room to-morrow and have a Christmas tree there, and we would like so much to have your children help us with it."

"Law bless you, honey, come right along an' make yourselves to home!" said the good soul. "My chillen '11 be proud to help you."

Christmas morning Becca and the boys were up before the sun, and had their scanty breakfast over in a twinkling.

The father of the family met them at the cabin door, and if they had seen him anywhere else they would not have known him, for the doleful look was lost in one wide grin. "Look-a here, sissy," he said, dragging something forward. It was a huge wild turkey!

"Oh, where did you get it?" gasped Becca, while the boys whistled an accompaniment.

"Shot 'im this mornin' afore sun-up; an' I would n't 'low mam ter tech a feather of 'im till you-'uns hed seen 'im," he said proudly.

"You-'uns goin' to have a tu'key dinner?" asked the mother, as they entered the room.

"No 'm," said Becca.

"Reckon you-all's folks would come ovah an' eat tu'key with us?" she inquired timidly.

"There 's only mama," said Becca; "but we never could get her to come. She 's been ill, and she 's very weak and nervous. We can't leave her long, but she likes to have us go sometimes, for noise worries her and she knows we can't keep still always."

"Pore soul! But ef I 'd hev early dinner, could n't you-'uns eat with us an' then take some home to your mother?"

"I think we could, thank you," said Becca, looking at the boys' glistening eyes.

"Pa, give me thet tu'key this minute. Might hev hed it a-cookin' an hour ago but fer your foolishness! " said the woman, jokingly.

In an incredibly short time the bird was browning beautifully, and the east room was a bower of green. Becca decorated the tree. Then she lighted the candles, closed the outer door, darkened the window, and called in the company. The room and tree, lighted by the candles and the firelight, were really beautiful. Becca and her brothers recited some Christmas poems and sang a song or two, and then the presents were distributed. The wonder and delight of the children over their little gifts was pathetic.

"Pore leetle child!" said the mother, looking at her small daughter with moist eyes. "She nevah had a doll afore, 'cept a rag one. I wish 't I had somepin fer you-'uns, sissy."

"Oh, we 've had lots of Christmases," said Little Miss Hopeful. "And think of the turkey!"

The turkey, indeed! What if there was not much else to eat? It was a king of turkeys; and the head of the family cracked jokes and told thrilling Indian tales until they could hardly eat for listening, hungry as they were.

"We 've had a perfectly lovely time, and we 've enjoyed it all so much; but we must hurry back to mama," said Becca, as they rose from the table.

"That 's right, honey," said the woman. "An' here 's a nice bit of tu'key I saved out for her. I 'm 'fraid we '11 nevah see you-'uns any moah, honey. We 're all goin' back to ol' Kaintuck to-morrow," she continued, her face tremulous with delight. "After you-'uns was here yesterday, we thought of how gran'pa would be glad ter see us, an' that we wa'n't doin' right by the chillen. So we air goin' back to gran'pa's. He 's got a big stock-farm, an' he 's gittin' ol', an' he '11 be proud to have us come back an' look after things."

"Oh, I 'm so glad!" said Becca.

"An' we '11 nevah fergit this Christmas, sissy. We '11 give the chillen some schoolin', an' keep Christmas every year."

"It 's the strangest thing—" said Becca, proudly flourishing her turkey-tail fan, as they trudged homeward (for their new friends had bestowed upon them the turkey tail and wings), "I did n't think we would have a good time at all this Christmas, and it 's one of the jolliest we ever had. I do hope mama is all right. It seems like such a very long time since we left her."

She ran lightly up the shaky steps and threw open the door; then she stopped with a shock that she never forgot: for there sat a man who was nothing more nor less than an enlarged copy of her brother Joe. With a squeak of alarm, she turned and clutched her brother to make sure that he was really there in the flesh and unchanged. Then she had another start; for on the other side of the fire sat their mama, no longer wan and weeping, but sweet and smiling, pink-cheeked and shining-eyed.

"Children," she said, "this is your Uncle Jim."

Whereupon, for the first time in her life, little Miss Hopeful forgot her manners. She whirled squarely about with her back to her uncle, and faced her brothers with an exulting smile on her pert little face.

"Aha!" she chirped, "what did I tell you?"

The next minute she was crying comfortably in Uncle Jim's arms, while Fred and Joe were dancing a hornpipe that shook the little house.