Bim-m-m! Ba-m-m! Boom! Christmas bells. “What a world of happiness their harmony foretells.” All silent, entranced with the splendid music of the cathedral chimes, Frank with the children still stood before the open window. They had not observed the click of the door. As they turned about they saw Mrs. Asleson standing in surprise beside the table. She was just about to exclaim at the children for leaving the door unbarred when she paused in surprise at the basket on the table and the stranger standing by the window.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” said Frank. “But I came up here with that basket. It was ordered from the store by the ladies from the church down the street, and I forgot myself looking at the children’s Christmas tree. Besides, ma’am, the chimes are glorious up here on the fourth floor corner flat. Beg your pardon, ma’am.”
“Basket for me?” exclaimed the widow in pleased surprise. Her profuse gratitude was interrupted by the welcome of the children and their eager desire to know the contents of the basket. As he hurried down the stairs to the work which he had almost forgotten, Frank felt that it was truly blessed to give.
“If those folks knew how much good they did with that basket, they’d be happy,” was his comment.
About the table the little ones crowded as mother took out the packages of necessities as well as of Christmas goodies. Their exclamations of joy were many. Nor least of all, when a very suitable gift appeared for each of the little folks, the brown-haired boys, little tow-head, and sister with the dusky curls. And each little heart felt that they had not sung in vain about the broom as a Christmas tree; but that the Lord Christ had known to bless the faith of a little child. And a prayer of fervent thanksgiving arose, as the good mother saw joy shine in the forlorn home of the widow on that night, all because a kindly heart had gone forth in sympathy to her loneliness and her need.
Bigbeard and Little Sander
“Christmas ain’t nothin’ ’out snow!”
Sander was a trifle too scornful in his tone. Now do not misunderstand him. For Sander, you see, was a lad eight years of age. And this was the first time he had seen bare earth so late in the winter. At least he thought so. But you will admit that his experience was limited. Besides, today was his birthday, and Christmas Eve too. Very poor birthday it promised to be, for Mama and Papa were just getting ready to drive off on a long journey to town.
For you must not imagine that this little man lives in some fine large house on the avenue or in some tall flat building in the city! Early last spring he had slipped off the train at a most forlorn little station far up in the frontier. As his eyes looked out that morning over the bare prairie, broken only by the rolling hills, with a struggling tree to be seen here and there, he jumped and frisked. The sun was just coming up, and the light glistened on the dewy grass. What little boy would not have enjoyed the long ride “over hills, over dale,” until they reached the clump of trees on a level spot by the river; Antelope it was called. This name the Indians had very probably given it long ago. Probably, too, they had encamped on this very spot; for who knows when the bubbling spring just below the hollow had begun to flow, and to draw to its freshness both man and beast. There was charm in the very word Indian, to say the least.