“And it’s sorry for the children I am, this blessed night!” said Ellen, to the cook, over their dish of tea. “Sorra a bit of a merry-making will they have to-morrow—and they such good, peaceful little things, too! I was asking Miss Nettie, just now, if I shouldn’t hang up her stockings, at a venture-like; ‘for,’ sez I, ‘there’s no knowing but the saint might pop down the chimney, unbeknownst to you, and ’twould be a pity not to be ready for him.’ For, you see, my heart was that tinder towards the lonesome craturs, that I thought I would step out myself, presently, and buy some candies and apples to put into their poor, empty, desolate little stockings. But, ‘No,’ says she, kinder pitiful, ‘I am afraid Mamma might not like it, Ellen. She doesn’t believe in keeping Christmas.’ And wid that she give a sigh, like a sorrowful woman, and Master Ally growled over something cross to himself.”
“It’s ra’al hard—that’s what it is!” responded Biddy. “They begged their Mamma, to-day, to let me fry some doughnuts—‘Just this once, Mamma,’ says they, ‘because to-morrow’s Christmas’—and she wouldn’t hear a word to it. Ah! no good ever came of ch’ating childer out of the fun the Lord meant they should have.”
“There’s the parlor bell!” said Ellen, jumping up. “What’s wanted now, I wonder?”
Her mistress stood upon the rug before the fire in the parlor, hat and cloak on.
“Ellen, if you have finished your supper, I want you to get your bonnet and shawl and go out with me. Take a basket along. I am going to buy some things for the children.”
Her voice shook in uttering these few sentences; and, although her face was averted, the girl was positive that she had been weeping. Brimful of curiosity and excitement, she dashed up-stairs for her wrappings, then down to the kitchen to ask Biddy to listen for sounds from the nursery while she was out.
“For we are going a-Christmassing—glory be to all the saints—St. Nicholas, in particular! for he must have put it into her head to remember the swate innocents.”
It is not our purpose to follow them in their tramp, as we have traced the course of the lady’s husband. Suffice it to say, that Ellen’s basket was heavily burdened when they re-entered the house, and her mistress bore sundry parcels in her hands, all of which were carefully deposited upon the carpet beside the cots of the calmly-sleeping children. Ellen was made happy, on her own account, by the present of a bank-bill for her private spending, and intrusted with another of the same value for Biddy; then excused from further service. If the maid had been mistaken in her surmise as to the tears she had seen in eyes which were generally dry and bright, there was no doubt as to the melting mood that overtook the mother when she removed the four stockings from the place where Nettie had laid them. She even pressed them to her lips before fastening the tops of each pair together with a stout pin, and hanging them over the footboards of the beds. To unpack the basket and undo papers, with as little rustling as was practicable, was her next act. She paused, when everything was uncovered, to survey her acquisitions. Her expenditures had been on a scale far less grand than her husband’s, but maternal tact had guided her in the selection of acceptable gifts. There were a cooking-stove, with its assortment of pans, griddles, and kettles; a work-box of satinwood, lined with red velvet, and well stocked; a cradle with a baby-doll asleep under the muslin curtain, for Nettie. For Ally, she had provided a bag of beautiful agate marbles; a fine humming-top; a paint-box, and a set—fourteen in number—of Abbott’s inimitable “Rollo” books for boys. She had not forgotten the twins, as was evidenced by a couple of whips; two picture-books, and two tin horses mounted upon wheels; one attached to an express wagon, the other to a baker’s cart. Nor had she disdained to call upon the confectioner. Her conical bundles contained “Christmas mixture;” plain sugar candy; peppermint lozenges and oranges; more wholesome, or, rather, less hurtful sweets than the richer and costly delicacies that had captivated her lord’s fancy. Altogether, the sight was a pleasant one, and a satisfactory, if one might judge by the gleam of comfort that overspread the tear-stained visage. She had just dropped a handful of the “mixture” into the foot of Ally’s sock, when a soft tap at the door startled her. It was Ellen, and she bore a plate, covered with a napkin, in her hand.
“If you plaze, mem—Biddy hopes you won’t be offended, mem—but the children were so disappointed to-day, mem; and when I told her you were going to give them a Christmas, she made so bold as to fry them a few doughnuts. She wouldn’t have taken the privilege, only, seeing Christmas comes but once a year, and it’s good children they are, mem!”
“They are, Ellen! Tell Biddy that I am much obliged to her. These are very nice, indeed!”