A CHRISTMAS GIFT LIKE BELL BENNET’S.
MRS. T. N. CHASE.
“Annie, will you please come in a minute?” called Mrs. Duncan to a merry maiden tripping home from school. Annie Bennet looked up, nodded, and turned toward Mrs. Duncan’s mansion. As soon as her feet touched the grand stone steps, she felt changed into a dignified young lady, as quickly as ever Cinderella turned into a fairy. And as handsome Will, just in from the same school, opened for her the massive doors, some fresh roses jumped into Annie’s cheeks and some fresh sparkles into her dancing eyes. As soon as the three were seated in the cosey bay-window, Mrs. Duncan said, “Annie, you know, with my lame foot, I cannot go to see your mother, so I called you in to tell you my Christmas plan for our little May. You know how the child loves your little sister Bell. Well, last night while the little darling was saying her prayers, she added, ‘Please, Lord, tell Santa Claus to bring a Christmas gift to Bell just like the one he brings to me.’ Now we had planned getting her a tiny diamond ring, it would be so lovely on her dainty little hand, and I thought if your mother knew of May’s sweet little prayer, she’d like to strengthen the child’s faith by getting one for Bell like it.” Annie thought it was a beautiful idea and hastened home to tell her mother.
As soon as Mrs. Bennet heard Annie’s story, a greater pain came into her heart than had been there for many a day; for they had lately received a fortune from a rich uncle, and she felt that her motives for simplicity and economy would not be understood. Her greatest anxiety, however, was for her children. How she had prayed that the love of this money might not be to them “the root of all evil,” and “pierce them through with many sorrows.” She well knew how her precious Annie would now be petted by the gay and fashionable, and here had come her first great trial in this irresistible message from charming Mrs. Duncan. Annie understood her mother’s hesitation and said, “Mamma, wouldn’t it be a pity to have little May think her prayer was not heard?”
“My child, May did not pray for a diamond ring, but for a gift like Bell’s. Perhaps if you tell Mrs. Duncan I cannot conscientiously grant her request she will get a simple gift like one we get for Bell.”
“Oh, mamma, I never could tell Mrs. Duncan that. Don’t you think the habit of economy, that of necessity you have practiced all these years, may be mistaken for conscience?”
“The habit doubtless makes it easier for me to obey conscience, but I cannot think I am mistaking one for the other,” replied Mrs. Bennet.
“But, ma, do you think it proper for us to live as simply now as we did when papa had a salary of only $2,000 a year?”
“Annie, dear, have we not been able to dress respectably, has not our table always had well-prepared, wholesome and appetizing food, has not our little cottage contained all that was absolutely necessary for real home comfort?”
“Yes, ma, we have a sweet home: you know I love it. I was not complaining of the past, but why did God give us this fortune if He did not wish us to enjoy luxuries now as well as comforts?”
“I think He did, Annie. I’m sure we can all now enjoy the luxury of doing good as we never have before. Then just think what a luxury it will be not to weary ourselves with making over worn garments. We can now give them to the needy and help still others by hiring them to make our new clothing,—not that we may be idle, but that we may have ‘a heart at leisure from itself to soothe and sympathize.’ We can have dear grandpa and grandma with us all the time. We will have several cosey bed-rooms added to our cottage, and shall not feel too poor to invite our less favored cousins and many dear friends to spend long vacations with us.”
“But, ma, we might do all this and still appear poor, while if we had a grand home like Mrs. Duncan, and exquisite curtains, and a fine carriage, and Bell had her diamond ring, and we all wore expensive and stylish clothing, everybody would know papa was rich.”
“Yes, Annie, and what good would it do people to know papa was rich?”
“Well, I cannot think of any good it would do them.”
“What good would it do us, darling, to have people know it?”
“Oh ma, it would be so pleasant to have every one polite to us, and treat us beautifully as they do rich people.”
“Do not all who know us treat us well, Annie?”
“Oh yes, ma, very well; but you know even strangers admire those who dress, dine, and drive as only the rich can.”
“Now think, Annie, what this consideration of strangers costs. Friends envy us, the poor hate us, the irreligious question our sincerity, our own hearts are made vain, if not proud, millions are spent in useless luxuries that might bless the poor, and—well Annie, this is enough for once, isn’t it? When you have been in the city did you ever notice boys slowly pacing the streets and often ringing a bell, who were all covered over with an advertisement of some sale or show?”
“Yes, mamma.”
“Well, I often see young ladies on the street who always remind me of these advertising boys, as their dress makes them a walking advertisement of their father’s wealth. One Sunday night, after attending service in a very wealthy church, I dreamed that all the ladies wore pocket-books on their heads instead of bonnets. Some were too full to be closed, and small coin often dropped out. Others were tightly clasped and ornamented with all manner of precious stones. A few were thin and worn, but all were labelled with the exact amount of contents. And when one lady walked in with $2,000,000 blazing in diamond figures on her pocket-book how all the congregation bowed down.”
“Oh mamma, what a funny dream!”
“Now Annie, if Christian women would all feel that they were Christian stewards of their Lord’s money, and could see what foolish vanity it is to wish the world to know of their wealth, then we should all have some comparatively definite standard of a Christian style of living. But as long as Christian women have no guide but the varying length of a husband’s purse, we shall have no standard, no conscience in the matter, and the world will continue to jeer and the poor to suffer.”
Annie’s dread lest Will Duncan and his mother should think them old-fashioned or Puritanical, or possibly avaricious, was a sore temptation to her, and once more she plead—“But ma, would it not be right to call this ring a thank-offering for the great dowry we have received?”
“My dear Annie, I cannot see how a gift that would simply be a badge of our wealth, and tend to flatter the vanity of our innocent little Bell, would be a suitable thank-offering to the Lord. I believe in thank-offerings, however, and have written my dear old friend Mrs. W——, who is engaged in missionary work South, you remember, inquiring how I can best help her. Perhaps when her reply comes you will feel differently.”
Poor Annie avoided passing Mrs. Duncan’s home for two days, dreading to speak of her mother’s decision. The second day the expected letter came from Georgia. It told of a delicate little colored girl—a graduate of the Higher Normal Department of an A. M. A. School. This girl’s father had run away $150 in debt, and the home that sheltered the little family was to be sold at sheriff’s sale to pay the debt. This girl found a man who would pay it and wait for her to pay him in small sums as she earned it by teaching. As soon as this was paid she begged her sister to go to the school from which she graduated. The sister thought she was too old to begin to go to school again, and could not be persuaded till at last she was told—“Now Sis, kind friends at the North have helped me get my education and I am going to send some poor girl to that same school, and if you don’t go, some one else will be glad of my help.” So now she is paying nine dollars a month for that sister’s board and tuition, and buys her books and clothes, better ones, too, than she wore herself. A letter was also enclosed from this girl to her old teacher, begging for help to build a school house where she is now teaching. So besides educating her sister she is trying to build a school house. But I have the letter and will let the girl tell her own story:
“Dear Friend, Mrs. W——: I know you are very busy, and will not want to hear the word ‘building,’ but I don’t know whom else to write to. We have paid $71.70 on an acre of land for our school lot. We have $68.30 to pay and twelve months to pay it in, with no interest. We want to ask the A. M. A. if they will help us build a school house. We can begin now as soon as we are able. We want the A. M. A. to take full control of the house and the building of it, and we will help all we can. We want this to be a school for everybody. We have six men as trustees of the land, and have worked hard and are working still. * * * The whites are helping us and urging us to go on. Three white men gave $5 apiece, and others less. They were a little careful about giving this time, as money has been solicited twice before for the same purpose, so most of them would put their names down and say, ‘Come when you are ready for it.’ There was no trouble in getting it yesterday when we went for it. I was anxious to decide the matter and make a payment yesterday. I’ll try to get my money to you by the 10th for sister.
“Very truly,
——— ———”
When Annie got home from school she read both letters with great interest, but said, “Ma, don’t you suppose such letters are sometimes gotten up for effect?” “Perhaps they are, but I am sure this one was not, for you know I wrote asking for some case of pressing need, and the girl’s letter never could have been written for my eyes, as it is dated some weeks ago.”
“But, ma, I have seen some missionaries who are so long-faced and sanctimonious that some way I can’t enjoy their reports.”
“I am glad you hate cant, Annie. So do I, but if you should see this friend of mine who wrote that letter, you’d feel very sure there was none of it about her. She is one of the merriest, sunniest, most genial ladies I ever knew. And I never knew a person hate shams or pretense of any kind more thoroughly than she. How I wish you had been home when she was here two years ago; but you must take the letter to Mrs. Duncan, for she is a dear friend of hers too.”
“Is she, ma? I’m so glad.”
Annie stopped next morning at Mrs. Duncan’s and left the letter with the servant at the door, saying she’d call for it on her way home. When she called in the afternoon, Mrs. Duncan told her how delighted she’d been to hear from her old school friend, and that she must certainly help that brave little colored girl build her school house. Annie then ventured timidly to say her ma felt she ought to do that instead of buying so expensive a gift for Bell.
“Now, Annie, that is just like your sweet mother,” said Mrs. Duncan. “I wish I was half as good. I did hope, though, little May’s prayer might be answered.”
“Ma says it might be if you could get a simple gift like the one we get Bell,” shyly suggests Annie.
“Sure enough,” exclaimed Mrs. Duncan; “how stupid I was not to think of that. I’ll do it, and then I’ll have twice much to give the little Georgia missionary.”
So the two mothers purchased for the children inexpensive gifts, and sent to the Georgia colored girl a generous donation for her chosen work.