The Alchemist's Secret

by Isabel Cecilia Williams

Pushing open the kitchen door he entered quickly, divesting himself of cap, muffler, and ragged overcoat, and hanging them near the stove to dry. He lighted the lamp and threw some wood upon the fire which had burned low. Then, turning, he spied for the first time, a basket upon the table. A pleased smile overspread his face. So they had not forgotten, after all! How he and Martha had always watched for that Christmas basket from Cousin John's folks over at the market town! It was not so much the value of the gift, for John was not over-plentifully blessed with the goods of this world and had a large family dependent upon him. It was more the fact of being remembered kindly, the knowledge that there was still some one who thought of them occasionally.

He commenced unpacking the basket and arranging the contents upon the table: home-baked bread, pies, cakes; a package of tea, another of tobacco; oranges, nuts, candy; warm mittens and socks that John's wife had knit for him. She was a good woman, John's wife, kind-hearted and thoughtful; she must have guessed how badly he needed socks and mittens now that Martha was no longer there to make them for him. He started for the cupboard, a pie in one hand, a loaf of bread in the other, then stopped in the middle of the room and eyed them meditatively. What was it Martha used to say?

"Never, never let Christmas pass without doing something for some one. No matter how poor one may be, Tony, they're always others poorer still. If it be no more'n a loaf of bread, give something to the poor at Christmas time in the name of the little Babe that had none but the shepherds to do a hand's turn for Him."

Each year he and Martha had found some one to whom they gave in the Christ-Child's name, for the sake of the girl who was never absent from their thoughts by day or by night. Even last year, as poor as he was, he had met with one more needy still and sent him on his way rejoicing—a poor lad, out of work, out of money, tramping from city to city in search of employment. They had taken him in for Sallie's sake, given him food and shelter, and when the boy left the farm a silver dollar, nearly the last of Tony's small store, was pressed into his hand. The dollar had been returned, for at the next town the object of Tony's charity had found steady work. That was last year. This Christmas he was not doing a thing for any one; he had forgotten completely, probably because Martha was not there to remind him.

He placed the bread and the pie back upon the table and stood looking at them long and earnestly. He knew of one who needed them far more than he did, a poor widow over in "the hollow," whose five small children, sickly, starved little creatures, were more than half the time crying with cold and hunger. He opened the package of tobacco, filled his pipe and sat down in his chair by the stove to smoke and think.

How those poor children would enjoy the bread and pies and cakes which John's wife had sent him! Poor little things, they seldom, if ever, tasted fare like that. He really did not need them; he managed to get along pretty well and the neighbors were all good to him; especially since Martha died. He would really be glad to give those children something, but he was so tired, so tired, and it was quite a walk over to the hollow.

Then, the storm! How the wind shrieked and tore around the house, and how steadily the snow beat against the window panes! It was warm and comfortable there by the fire, but outside——. And he was unusually tired to-night; that walk to the village had been almost too much for him. Besides, he must be up in time for first Mass in the morning; he had never missed first Mass and Holy Communion on Christmas since the day he and Martha were married. Year after year, they had knelt side by side at God's altar; for many years Sallie had knelt there with him; now he was all alone but he meant to continue the custom for Martha's sake.

How the storm did rage, to be sure; but those poor children, those poor little children! Perhaps somewhere in the wide world his Sallie was in need of help and comfort this night and those who might give it to her were too tired or too lazy. He guessed that was the trouble, he was growing lazy in his old age. Well, he would do this for Sallie; it would be one more little sacrifice added to the many which he and Martha had offered for their wandering child, that God might keep guard over her wherever she might be. Yes, he would do it for Sallie's sake and to please Martha. From Heaven she was watching him and would know that to please her and for the sake of their child he was going to brave the storm once more and carry a little Christmas happiness to those poor children over in the hollow. The walk over and back again would not hurt him; he was growing old and lazy, that was all.

But first he must light the lamp. Dear, dear, he was growing forgetful as well as lazy. He had nearly forgotten to light Sallie's lamp. What would Martha say to that? Every night as soon as dusk had fallen, Martha had insisted upon placing a lamp in the window of what had once been Sallie's room. If the child came back unexpectedly, she would see the light shining from her window and know they were waiting and watching for her. The room itself was as she had left it years ago, her clothes still hanging in the closet, her slippers laid ready for the tired feet to slip into them, the fire on the hearth all prepared against the day of her home-coming, and by night the lamp in the window shining a welcome that could be seen afar down the road that led from the village. He must light Sallie's lamp, then off once more into the storm and darkness to carry a bit of Christmas cheer to the little home in the hollow.

Nearly an hour later, a thoroughly worn-out but very happy old man sat by the stove in the farmhouse kitchen. He was too tired even to light his pipe; he simply sat there and tried to rest. It had been a hard fight against the storm, but how pleased those poor little children were! Well, he had done it for Sallie, just one more little sacrifice for Sallie who was somewhere out there in the cold, weary world, far from the home of her childhood, far from the ones who loved her best.