Poppy's Presents

by Mrs. O. F. Walton

'Oh, dear, whatever will mother do without me!' said Poppy; 'she'll have nobody to help her; I must get back to my babies. Oh, Jack, Jack, I must get back to my babies.'

'But you can't get back, Poppy,' said Jack mournfully; 'there's nothing for it but waiting till morning.'

'I'm so cold,' sobbed Sally, 'and I want my tea; whatever shall we do without our tea?'

'It can't be helped,' said Jack, 'and it's no good crying; let's go to the bottom of the tower again, it's not so windy there as it is up here.'

It was hard work getting down in the dark, and with the whistling wind rushing in upon them at every turn; the old stone steps were worn away in many places, for thousands of feet had trodden them since the day they were put in their places, and the children sometimes lost their footing, and would have fallen had they not held so tightly to each other.

When they reached the bottom of the stone staircase they crouched together close to the door, in the most sheltered corner they could find, and tried to keep each other warm. But it was a bitterly cold night, and the rough noisy wind came tearing and howling down the staircase, and found them out in their hiding-place, and made them shiver from head to foot. And as the hours went by, they felt more and more hungry; their long walk had given them a good appetite, and they had had a very early dinner.

Poor little Sally cried incessantly, and the others did all they could to cheer her; but she refused to be comforted, and at last she was so tired and exhausted that she sobbed herself to sleep. Jack soon afterwards followed her example and fell asleep beside her, and only poor Poppy was awake, crying quietly to herself, and thinking of her mother and of Enoch and Elijah. She was too anxious and too much troubled to sleep, and the hours seemed very long to her. It was such a lonely place in which to spend the night: there was no sound to be heard but the howling of the wind and the striking of the great cathedral clock, which made Poppy jump every time it struck the hour.

How long it seemed to Poppy from one hour to another; the time went much more slowly than usual that night, she thought. Once she became so very lonely and frightened that she felt as if she must wake the others; but she was an unselfish little girl, and she remembered how much poor Sally had cried, and felt glad that she and Jack could forget their trouble for a little time. So she crept quietly away without disturbing them, and climbed slowly up the steep steps to the place where she remembered the first window-slit in the tower came. She thought she would feel less lonely if she could see the lamps burning in the streets, and would feel that the world was not quite so far away as it had seemed to her during all those long, quiet hours.

Poppy did not like to go so far from the other children, and once or twice she turned back, but at length she climbed as far as the slit, and looked out. There were the lamps on either side of the long street which led to the cathedral, but they seemed a great way off, and the cathedral close was quite dark and empty.

'There isn't anybody near,' said Poppy to herself, as she looked down. And then she looked up,—up into the sky. It was covered with clouds which the wind was driving wildly along, but, as Poppy looked, there came a break in the clouds, and one little patch of sky was left clear and uncovered. And there, shining down upon Poppy, was a star,—such a bright beautiful star.