  It was fine Christmas weather. Several light snow-storms in the early part of December had left the earth fair and white, and the sparkling, cold days that followed were enough to make the most crabbed and morose of mankind cheerful, as with a foretaste of the joyous season at hand. Down town the sidewalks were crowded with mothers and sisters, buying gifts for their sons, brothers, and husbands, who found it impossible to get anywhere by taking the ordinary course of foot-travel, and were obliged to stalk along the snowy streets beside the curbstone, in a sober but not ill-humored row. Among those who were looking forward to the holidays with keen anticipations of pleasure, were Mr. and Mrs. Brownlow, of Elm Street, Boston. They had quietly talked the matter over together, and decided that, as there were three children in the family (not counting themselves, as they might well have done), it would be a delightful and not “You see, John,” said Mrs. Brownlow, “we’ve been asked, ourselves, to half a dozen candy-pulls and parties since we’ve lived here, and it seems nothin’ but fair that we should do it once ourselves.” “That’s so, Clarissy,” replied her husband slowly; “but then—there’s so many of us, and my salary’s—well, it would cost considerable, little woman, wouldn’t it?” “I’ll tell you what!” she exclaimed. “We needn’t have a regular grown-up party, but just one for children. We can get a small tree, and a bit of a present for each of the boys and girls, with ice-cream and cake, and let it go at that. The whole thing sha’n’t cost ten dollars.” “Good!” said Mr. Brownlow heartily. “I knew you’d get some way out of it. Let’s tell Bob and Sue and Polly, so they can have the fun of looking forward to it.” So it was settled and all hands entered into the plan with such a degree of earnestness that one would have thought these people were going to have some grand gift themselves, instead of giving to others, and pinching for a month afterwards, in their own comforts, as they knew they would have to do. The first real difficulty they met was in deciding whom to invite. John was for asking only the children of their immediate neighbors; but Mrs. Brownlow “I allus think, John,” she explained, laying her hand on his shoulder, “that it’s just’s much despisin’ to look down on your rich neighbors—as if all they’d got was money—as on your poor ones. Let’s ask ’em all: Deacon Holsum’s, the Brights, and the Nortons.” The Brights were Mr. Brownlow’s employers. “Anybody else?” queried her husband, with his funny twinkle. “P’raps you’d like to have me ask the governor’s family, or Jordan & Marsh!” “Now, John, don’t you be saucy,” she laughed, relieved at having carried her point. “Let’s put our heads together, and see who to set down. Susie will write the notes in her nice hand, and Bob can deliver them, to save postage.” “Well, you’ve said three,” counted Mr. Brownlow on his fingers. “Then there’s Mrs. Sampson’s little girl, and the four Williamses, and”—he enumerated one family after another, till nearly thirty names were on the list. Once Susie broke in, “O Pa, don’t invite that Mary Spenfield; she’s awfully stuck-up and cross!” “Good!” said her father again. “This will be just the thing for her. Let her be coffee and you be sugar, and see how much you can sweeten her that evening.” In the few days that intervened before the twenty-fifth, the whole family were busy enough, Mrs. Brownlow shopping, Susie writing the notes, The grand final expenditure was left until the day before Christmas. Mr. Brownlow got off from his work early, with his month’s salary in his pocket, and a few kind words from his employers tucked away even more securely in his warm heart. He had taken special pains to include their children for his party, and he was quietly enjoying the thought of making them happy on the morrow. By a preconcerted plan he met Mrs. Brownlow under the great golden eagle at the corner of Summer and Washington streets; and, having thus joined forces, the two proceeded in company toward a certain wholesale toy-shop where Mr. Brownlow was acquainted, and where they expected to secure such small articles as they desired, at dozen rates. And now Mr. Brownlow realized what must have been his wife’s exertions during the last fortnight. For having gallantly relieved her of her carpetbag, and offered his unoccupied arm for her support, he was constantly engaged in a struggle to maintain It was beyond doubt a wonderful place. A little retail shop, in the Christmas holidays, is of itself a marvel; but this immense establishment, at the back doors of which stood wagons constantly receiving cases on cases of goods directed to all parts of the country, was quite another thing. Such long passageways there were, walled in from floor to ceiling with boxes of picture-blocks, labeled in German; such mysterious, gloomy alcoves, by the sides of Mrs. Brownlow was fairly at her wits’ end to choose. When she meekly inquired for tin soldiers, solid regiments of them sprang up, like Jason’s armed men, at her bidding. At the suggestion of a doll, the world seemed suddenly and solely peopled with these little creatures, and winking, crying, walking and talking dolls crowded about the bewildered customers,—dolls with flaxen hair, and dolls with no hair at all; dolls of imposing proportions when viewed in front, but of no thickness to speak of, when held sideways; dolls as rigid as mummies, and dolls who exhibited an alarming tendency to double their arms and legs up backward. To add to the confusion, the air was filled with the noise of trumpets, drums, musical boxes and other instruments, which were being tested in various parts of the building, until poor Mrs. Brownlow declared she should go distracted. At length, however, she and her husband, with the assistance of their polite After a walk of ten minutes, they reached Boylston Market, where they were at once beset by venders of evergreen and holly wreaths, crosses and stars of every description. Mr. Brownlow bought half a dozen of the cheaper sort of wreaths, which the owner kindly threaded upon his arm, as if they were a sort of huge, fragrant beads. Then he selected a tree, and, after a short consultation with Mrs. Brownlow, decided to carry it home himself, to save a quarter. A horse-car opportunely passing, they boarded it, Mrs. Brownlow and her bag being with some difficulty squeezed in through the rear door, and Mr. Brownlow taking his stand upon the front platform, from which the tree, which had been tightly tied up, projected like a bowsprit, until they reached home. Great was the bustle at 17 Elm Street that night. Parcels were unwrapped; the whole house was pleasantly redolent of boiling molasses; and from the kitchen there came at the same time a scratchy and poppy sound, denoting the preparation of mounds of feathery corn. Bob and his father took upon themselves the uprearing of the tree. On being carried to the parlor it was found to be at least three feet too long, and Mr. Brownlow, in his shirt-sleeves, accomplished wonders with a saw, smearing himself in the process with pitch, from head to foot. The tree seemed at first inclined to be sulky, perhaps at having been decapitated and curtailed; for it obstinately leaned backward, kicked over the soapbox in which it was set, bumped against Mr. Brownlow, tumbled forward, and in short, behaved itself like a tree which was determined to lie on its precious back all the next day, or perish in the attempt. At length, just as they were beginning to despair of ever getting it firm and straight, it gave a little quiver of its limbs, yielded gracefully to a final push by Bob, and stood upright, as fair and comely a Christmas tree as one would wish to see. Mr. Brownlow crept out backward from under the lower branches, (thereby throwing his hair into the wildest confusion and adding more pitch to himself), and regarded it with a sigh of content. Such presents as were to be disposed of in this way were now hung upon the branches; then strings of pop-corn, bits of wool, and glistening paper, a few red apples, and lastly the candles. When all was finished, which was not before midnight, the family withdrew to their beds, with weary limbs and brains, but with light-hearted anticipation of to-morrow. “Do you s’pose Mrs. Bright will come with her children, John?” asked Mrs. Brownlow, as she turned out the gas. “Shouldn’t—wonder”—sleepily from the four-poster. “Did Mr. Bright say anything about the invitation we sent, when he paid you off?” Silence. More silence. Good Mr. Brownlow was asleep, and Clarissa soon followed him. Meanwhile the snow, which had been falling fast during the early part of the evening, had ceased, leaving the earth as fair to look upon as the fleece-drifted sky above it. Slowly the heavy banks of cloud rolled away, disclosing star after star, until the moon itself looked down, and sent a soft “Merry Christmas” to mankind. At last came the dawn, with a glorious burst of sunlight and church-bells and glad voices, ushering in the gladdest and dearest day of all the year. The Brownlows were early astir, full of the joyous spirit of the day. There was a clamor of Christmas greetings, and a delighted medley of shouts from the children over the few simple gifts that had been secretly laid aside for them. But the ruling thought in every heart was the party. It was to come off at five o’clock in the afternoon, when it would be just dark enough to light the candles on the tree. In spite of all the hard work of the preceding days, there was not a moment to spare that forenoon. The house, as the head of the family facetiously remarked, was a perfect hive of B’s. As the appointed hour drew near, their nervousness increased. The children had been scrubbed from top to toe, and dressed in their very best clothes; Mrs. Brownlow wore a cap with lavender ribbons, which she had a misgiving were too gaudy for a person of her sedate years. Nor was the excitement confined to the interior of the house. The Ten minutes more passed. Still no arrivals. It was evident that each was planning not to be the first to get there, and that they would all descend on the house and assault the door-bell at once. Mrs. Brownlow repeatedly smoothed the wrinkles out of her tidy apron, and Mr. Brownlow began to perspire with responsibility. Meanwhile the crowd outside, recognizing no rigid bonds of etiquette, rapidly increased in numbers. Mr. Brownlow, to pass the time and please the poor little homeless creatures, lighted two of the candles. The response from the front-yard fence was immediate. A low murmur of delight ran along the line, and several dull-eyed babies were hoisted, in the arms of babies scarcely older than themselves, to behold the rare vision of candles in a tree, just illumining the further splendors glistening here and there among the branches. The kind man’s heart warmed towards them, and he lighted two more candles. The delight of the audience could now hardly be restrained, and the The whole family had become so much interested in these small outcasts that they had not noticed the flight of time. Now some one glanced suddenly at the clock, and exclaimed, “It’s nearly half-past five!” The Brownlows looked at one another blankly. Poor Mrs. Brownlow’s smart ribbons drooped in conscious abasement, while mortification and pride struggled in their wearer’s kindly face, over which, after a moment’s silence, one large tear slowly rolled, and dropped off. Mr. Brownlow gave himself a little shake and sat down, as was his wont upon critical occasions. As his absent gaze wandered about the room, so prettily decked for the guests who didn’t come, it fell upon a little worn, gilt-edged volume on the table. At that sight, a new thought occurred to him. “Clarissy,” he said softly, going over to his wife and putting his arm around her, “Clarissy, seein’s the well-off folks haven’t accepted, don’t you think we’d better invite some of the others in?” And he pointed significantly toward the window. Mrs. Brownlow, despatching another tear after the first, nodded. She was not quite equal to words yet. Being a woman, the neglect of her little party cut her even more deeply than it did her husband. Mr. Brownlow stepped to the front door. Nay more, he walked down the short flight of steps, took “Wouldn’t you like to go in and look at the tree? Come, Puss” (to the waif at his side), “we’ll start first.” With these words he led the way back through the open door, and into the warm, lighted room. The children hung back a little, but seeing that no harm came to the first guest, soon flocked in, each trying to keep behind all the rest, but at the same time shouldering the babies up into view as before. In the delightful confusion that followed, the good hosts forgot all about the miscarriage of their plans. They completely outdid themselves, in efforts to please their hastily acquired company. Bob spoke a piece, the girls sang duets. Mrs. Brownlow had held every individual baby in her motherly arms before half an hour was over. And as for Mr. Brownlow, it was simply marvelous to see him go among those children, giving them the presents, and initiating their owners into the mysterious impelling forces of monkeys with yellow legs and gymnastic tendencies; filling the boys’ pockets with pop-corn, blowing horns and tin whistles; now assaulting the tree (it had been lighted throughout, and—bless it—how firm it stood now!) for fresh novelties, now diving into the kitchen and returning in an unspeakably cohesive state of breathlessness and molasses candy,—all the while laughing, talking, patting heads, joking, until the kindly Spirit of Christmas Present “And now, my young friends,” said Mr. Brownlow, raising his voice, “we’ll have a little ice-cream in the back room. Ladies first, gentlemen afterward!” So saying, he gallantly stood on one side, with a sweep of his hand, to allow Mrs. Brownlow to precede him. But just as the words left his mouth there came a sharp ring at the door-bell. “It’s a carriage!” gasped Mrs. Brownlow, flying to the front window, and backing precipitately. “Susie, go to that door an’ see who ’tis. Land sakes, what a mess this parlor’s in!” And she gazed with a true housekeeper’s dismay at the littered carpet and dripping candles. “Deacon Holsum and Mrs. Hartwell, Pa!” announced Susie, throwing open the parlor door. The lady thus mentioned came forward with outstretched hand. Catching a glimpse of Mrs. Brownlow’s embarrassed face she exclaimed quickly— “Isn’t this splendid! Father and I were just driving past, and we saw your tree through the window, and couldn’t resist dropping in upon you. You won’t mind us, will you?” “Mind—you!” repeated Mrs. Brownlow, in astonishment. “Why of course not—only you are so late—we didn’t expect”— Mrs. Hartwell looked puzzled. “Pardon me,—I don’t think I quite understand”— “The invitation was for five, you know, ma’am.” “But we received no invitation!” Mr. Brownlow, who had greeted the deacon heartily and then listened with amazement to this conversation, now turned upon Bob, with a signally futile attempt at a withering glance. Bob looked as puzzled as the rest, for a moment. Then his face fell, and he flushed to the roots of his hair. “I—I—must have—forgot”—he stammered. “Forgotten what?” “The invitations—they’re in my desk now!” Thus Bob, with utterly despairing tone and self-abasement. Mrs. Hartwell’s silvery little laugh rang out—it was as near moonlight playing on the upper keys of an organ as anything you can imagine—and grasped Mrs. Brownlow’s hand. “You poor dear!” she cried, kissing her hostess, who stood speechless, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, “so that’s why nobody came! But who has cluttered—who has been having such a good time here, then?” Mr. Brownlow silently led the last two arrivals to the door of the next room, and pointed in. It was now the kind deacon’s turn to be touched. “‘Into the highways’!” he murmured, as he looked upon the unwashed, hungry little circle about the table. “I s’pose,” said Mr. Brownlow doubtfully, “they’d like to have you sit down with ’em, just ’s if they were folks—if you didn’t mind?” Mind! I wish you could have seen the rich furs and overcoat come off and go down on the floor in a heap, before Polly could catch them! When they were all seated, Mr. Brownlow looked over to the deacon, and he asked a blessing on the little ones gathered there. “Thy servants, the masters of this house, have suffered them to come unto thee,” he said in his prayer. “Wilt thou take them into thine arms, O Father of lights, and bless them!” A momentary hush followed, and then the fun began again. Sweetly and swiftly kind words flew back and forth across the table, each one carrying its own golden thread and weaving the hearts of poor and rich into the one fine fabric of brotherhood and humanity they were meant to form. Outside, the snow began to fall once more, each crystaled flake whispering softly as it touched the earth that Christmas night, “Peace—peace!” |
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