XVII.
The Birthday Gifts.
SEVERAL months have passed away since the Temples began making their model of the Tabernacle of Israel. The leaves which were then green on the trees, have become yellow, have faded and fallen; save those on the evergreens, which wear a silver crusting of frost. But it is not to Cedar Lodge that I shall take my young readers, but to a large and rather plain brick house in the city of Chester. It is a house by no means beautiful to the eye, and its only look-out is into a narrow paved street; but still that house has a charm of its own, it is dear to many a heart, for its owner, Miss Theodora Clare, is the friend and benefactress of the poor around. Many have entered sadly through the dark green door of that red-brick house, who have left it cheerfully, blessing the kind heart and liberal hand of its lady.
It is just two days before Christmas: on the morrow Miss Clare’s Ragged School is to have its annual treat. A feast and gifts of warm socks or mittens knitted for each child by the lady’s own hands, are not to form the only, or perhaps the chief attractions of the treat; the little scholars have been promised a sight of the model Tabernacle, which its young makers are to bring from their country home, about ten miles away. Christmas Eve has been fixed upon by Miss Clare as the time for her Ragged School Fête, because it is the birthday of her twin nieces, the younger of whom is her namesake. The arrival of the Temple family is expected almost every minute, and Miss Clare sits by the window, with the red glow of a December sun upon her, glancing up with a look of pleasant expectation whenever she hears the rattle of wheels along the narrow paved street. You might guess at once by the likeness between them that Miss Clare is the sister of Mrs. Temple, though her figure is a little taller, and her locks a little whiter than those of the widow lady.
Miss Clare is evidently thinking; she looks a little perplexed and doubtful as she examines the contents of a large old-fashioned ebony box which holds her little treasures. Not treasures of silver or gold; there are but few indeed of such things in the possession of Theodora Clare: her silver spoons have fed the hungry; her gold chain has paid for the benches on which her ragged scholars sit, and her bracelets for the books which they learn from, and the big blackboard on the wall. A good many pairs of stout little shoes have come out of Miss Clare’s silver tea-pot! But there is one article of jewellery which the lady still possesses, and this is to her the most precious of all. It is the likeness of her sister, Mrs. Temple, in a brooch, set round with pearls. This was the gift of Mr. Temple on his wedding-day to the bridesmaid, Theodora; it is very beautiful as an ornament, and as a likeness almost perfect. But not even this jewel does the generous lady intend to keep for herself; it is to be her birthday present on the following day to Dora.
Miss Clare has for years settled in her own mind that her god-daughter should receive the precious brooch on completing the twelfth year of her age; it is no doubt upon this subject that perplexes her now; (for the lady does look a little perplexed as she searches her old-fashioned box for something which she seems to have some difficulty in finding). She opens this little packet, then that little packet, then silently shakes her head, or murmurs “No, that will not do,” as she replaces it in the large box. The reader knows that Dora has a twin sister, and that the birthday of the one is also the birthday of the other. Miss Clare does not like to give to Dora without also giving to Agnes, and as her hospitality and her charities leave her very little money for buying presents, she wishes to find some suitable article already in her possession of which to make a birthday remembrance. But what should that article be? Almost everything that would please a young girl had already been given away.
“I have nothing—nothing that can be compared in value or in beauty with the brooch,” said Miss Clare to herself, as she locked the box where she had been vainly searching amongst locks of hair neatly wrapped in separate papers, old letters, and little pictures faded and yellow with time. “I hope that Agnes is too sensible a girl to expect that my precious brooch should be given to herself instead of to my namesake, who is to me almost as a daughter; but still Agnes is the elder of the twins; she is, I fear, of rather a jealous temper; her character has not—or had not a year ago—the generosity and sweetness of that of my Dora. I should be grieved to hurt the feelings of either of the dear girls; what can I find that will really please Agnes?”
Miss Clare had really given the subject a good deal of consideration, though apparently to little purpose, when a thought occurred to her mind which brought a smile of satisfaction to her kind pleasant face. Miss Clare rose from her seat by the window, and went to a table which had in it a drawer, hidden by the neat brown cloth that hung over the sides. The lady lifted the cloth, drew open the drawer, and then took from it a flat parcel wrapped in a peculiar kind of yellowish paper, with that scent about it which usually pervades articles which have come from India.