It was a clear, crisp, sunshiny morning in December. The leaves were all gone, and the long lines of white frame houses that were hid away in the thick trees during the summer, showed themselves standing in straight rows now that the trees were bare. And Purser, Pond & Co.’s great factory on the brook in the valley below was plainly to be seen, with its long rows of windows shining and shimmering in the brilliant sun, and its brick chimney reached up like the Tower of Babel, and poured out a steady stream of dense, black smoke.
It was just such a shining winter morning. Mr. Blake and his walking-stick were just starting out for a walk together. “It’s a fine morning,” thought the minister, as he shut the parsonage gate. And when he struck the cane sharply on the stones it answered him cheerily: “It’s a fine morning!” The cane always agreed with Mr. Blake. So they were able to walk together, according to Scripture, because they were agreed.
Just as he came round the corner the minister found a party of boys waiting for him. They had already heard the cane remarking that it was a fine morning before Mr. Blake came in sight.
“Good morning! Mr. Blake,” said the three boys.
“Good morning, my boys; I’m glad to see you,” said the minister, and he clapped “Old Ebony” down on the sidewalk, and it said “I am glad to see you.”
“Mr. Blake!” said Fred White, scratching his brown head and looking a little puzzled. “Mr. Blake, if it ain’t any harm—if you don’t mind, you know, telling a fellow,—a boy, I mean—” Just here he stopped talking; for though he kept on scratching vigorously, no more words would come; and comical Sammy Bantam, who stood alongside, whispered, “Keep a-scratching, Fred; the old cow will give down after a while!”
Then Fred laughed, and the other boys, and the minister laughed, and the cane could do nothing but stamp its foot in amusement.
“Well, Fred,” said the minister, “What is it? speak out.” But Fred couldn’t speak now for laughing, and Sammy had to do the talking himself. He was a stumpy boy, who had stopped off short; and you couldn’t guess his age, because his face was so much older than his body.
“You see, Mr. Blake,” said Sammy, “we boys wanted to know,—if there wasn’t any harm in your telling,—why, we wanted to know what kind of a thing we are going to have on Christmas at our Sunday-school.”