Christmas at Cedar Hill

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"Fanny got her breakfast and washed all her dishes nicely. When the necessary work was done, she began to consider how she should spend the day. It was Thanksgiving day—a time set apart by the Church and the State is which to praise the Lord and rejoice before Him for all His goodness during the year. Fanny know what her duty was. She loved the services of the Church dearly, and she had always been taught that it was not only her duty, but a precious privilege, to join with heart and voice in the prayers and praises of God's people; and she felt comforted at the thought that she could still join with them, though she was alone on the snowy hill-top."

"When church time came, she got out the great Bible and Prayer-book and laid them on the table. Then she took down one volume of a set of sermons, out of which her father often read when they did not go either to Rockville or to the Corners on a Sunday. She selected a discourse which seemed to her suitable to the occasion, and put in a mark."

"Then, as the clock struck the hour of church time, she opened her Prayer-book and slowly and reverently read the service. She had never prayed more earnestly in all her life than she did at this time; and she realized more than she had ever done the meaning of those words in the Creed, 'The Communion of Saints.' She felt herself a member of the Church, and she found great comfort in the feeling. She was but a little girl twelve years; she had never taken up much room in the world, and if she died hardly any one besides her father and mother would miss her very much; and yet she was, by her baptism, 'A member of Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven.' She was, in some mysterious way, one with Christ, and through Him with all his faithful people. How then could she ever be really alone?"

"Fanny read the sermon she had selected, and though she did not understand all of it, she found many things both pleasant and profitable. When she had finished her services, she sat for some time singing the psalms and hymns in the Prayer-book, and others which she had learned down in the village. She had a sweet voice, and always took great pleasure in singing. If anything happened to make her angry or sad, she would run away by herself and sing; and she seldom failed to regain her tranquillity in this way."

"'I must get a nice dinner,' said Fanny, when noon came. 'It would not be like Thanksgiving unless I did.'"

"After dinner, Fanny began to think what she should do next. She did not feel quite so cheerful as she had done in the morning. The darkness and the loneliness began to tell upon her spirits. Then, too, it was so terribly still. Fanny felt as though even the roaring of the wind would be a relief; but she could not hear a breath. There was only the ticking of the clock, the burning of the fire, and the noises made by the kittens in playing about the floor. Every now and then Fanny would feel sure that she heard people digging in the snow, and she would strain her ears to the utmost, only to be disappointed again. The time wore on very slowly, and at last the clock struck four."

"'I cannot stand this,' said Fanny, throwing down the book she was in vain trying to read. 'I must have something to do. I believe I will get out my spinning wheel. I hope it will not be doing wrong. I feel as if I should be crazy unless I did something.'"

"This again was wise in the little girl. There is nothing so good as strenuous employment to keep the mind healthy under circumstances of excitement and suspense. Fanny worked hard at her spinning, taking the greatest pains with her thread, till eight o'clock, when she took her supper, fed the dog and cat, and then went to bed."

"Fanny's danger was much more serious than she had any notion of. A great weight of snow had by this time gathered on the house, which was what is called gambrel-roofed—that is to say, it was two stories high in front and sloped down to one behind. A modern-built house would most likely have been crushed at once, but the old red farm-house was solidly framed with stout oak timbers, three times as thick as any we think of using nowadays, and it stood out bravely as yet."

"Fanny did not rest as soundly this night as the night before. She was troubled with bad dreams, from which she started affright, calling for her mother, and crying when she remembered that that mother was far away, if indeed she were alive. It was dreadful to wake in the morning from a dream of summer and green trees, and David walking with her to school, and then to realize it all—the snow above and around, the loneliness and uncertainty. Fanny would have been glad to sleep till noon, but that was impossible."