“That makes no difference, so long as I was awake,” replied Ronald.
“Ronald,” said Marcus, “reminds me of a fellow I have either heard or dreamed about, who bragged that he got up and wished all the kingdoms of the earth a happy new year at one lick. For my part, if any body has got any good wishes for me, I should prefer to be informed of it when I am awake. And I don’t care much about being lumped in with all the kingdoms of the earth, either.”
“Well, sir, I wish you a merry Christmas, all to yourself,—I believe you are awake now,” said Ronald, with a sly chuckle.
“There, I may as well give in—I wont try to say anything more,” added Marcus, as the laugh went round the table at his expense.
After breakfast no little curiosity was excited by a package which Marcus handed to Oscar. It was received by Marcus the day before, by express, with a note requesting him to deliver it to Oscar, Christmas morning. After removing sundry cords and wrappers, the contents stood disclosed. There was a fine pair of skates, from his father; a gold pen, from his mother; a pair of wrought slippers, from Alice, his oldest sister; a beautiful book-mark from Ella, another sister; a book from his brother Ralph; and a package of confectionery from George, his youngest brother. Brief notes accompanied several of the presents. There were also two letters in the package, the handwriting of one of which, Oscar did not recognize. It proved to be from a young acquaintance in Boston named William Davenport, who went by the familiar name of “Whistler” among his comrades. It was written in fulfilment of a promise he had made, before Oscar left Boston. The other letter was from his mother, and, like all similar favors from that source, was full, margin and all, of kind words, good advice, and family news. It contained an item of intelligence, however, that cast something of a damper over the spirits of Oscar. It was as follows:—
“The brig Susan has been heard from at last. You know we have been looking for her ever since October. She foundered in a gale in September, off the South American coast, and the men took to the boats. One of the boats was picked up, after floating about for several days, and the men in it were saved, after enduring great hardships, and have arrived here. Nothing has been heard of the other boat, on board which was poor Jerry. His parents are much distressed about him; but your father thinks he may be safe yet, as the boat may have reached the shore, or may have fallen in with some outward-bound vessel. Let us hope for the best, as long as we can.”
The “poor Jerry” referred to, was a cousin to Oscar. The two boys had once been very intimate, somewhat to the damage of Jerry’s character; and it was in a great measure owing to this intimacy that Jerry absconded from his home, in Brookdale, about a year previous to this time, and shipped for a voyage around Cape Horn.
There was to be a children’s Christmas party at the town hall, in the evening, and the presents designed for the other members of the family were reserved to grace the “tree” that was to be one of the chief attractions of the occasion. Marcus and the children constituted a part of the committee of arrangements for the festival, and were occupied with their duties through a good part of the day. At an early hour in the evening, the whole family proceeded to the town hall, where they found the chief portion of the town’s population assembled, especially the younger part. The hall, with its evergreen decorations, its numerous lights, and its sea of happy faces, presented an enlivening spectacle. At the hour appointed for opening the exercises, the clergyman of the village ascended the platform, and after a few remarks, invoked a blessing upon those assembled. Then came an introductory declamation, by one of the academy boys, followed by the recitation of an appropriate poem by a fair-haired little girl of six summers. Next appeared upon the platform our two young friends Ronald and Otis, who confronted each other in blank silence a minute or two, and then retreated to the ante-room, without exchanging a word. Some of the audience were in painful suspense, during this scene, supposing it to be a failure; while others began to whisper that it was a tableau, and not a dialogue, though they were puzzled to tell what it represented, or why the figures should walk to and from the stage, in sight of the audience.
A curtain before the platform now fell, and after a few minutes was again raised, disclosing to the audience a charming tableau of Minnehaha, the Indian maid. The two boys who had acted in the mute scene, just before, now re-appeared, and went through very creditably with a dialogue, Ronald, the leading speaker, having suddenly forgotten his part, on his first appearance. Then followed several songs, declamations and tableaux, after which the main attraction of the evening was introduced, by the raising of the curtain which concealed the Christmas tree from view. A loud and merry shout arose from the young folks, which was prolonged for a minute or two, and followed by general expressions of admiration from all present. There stood the tree, a tall, straight and symmetrical evergreen, illuminated with candles, arrayed among its branches, and adorned with artificial icicles and snow flakes. The fruits, however, with which every bough and twig seemed bending, were the most interesting objects of contemplation to the hundred pairs of youthful eyes fixed earnestly upon the tree. Many of these fruits, it is true, were hidden from sight, by a rind of paper, cloth or wood; but imagination readily supplied all deficiencies of this kind, and the little eyes gazed, and sparkled, and longed, just as though they pierced through all the outer coverings that concealed the tempting clusters which hung upon the boughs.
After a few moments, Santa Claus suddenly appeared, and walking across the platform, took his station by the side of the tree, amid rapturous applause from the company. He appeared to be a venerable personage, with a flowing gray beard, and was completely encased in furs, from top to toe—fur boots, fur leggings, fur tunic, fur mittens, and a fur cap which enveloped all of his head except the face. After silence had been secured, he spoke, in tones which seemed very soft and gentle to proceed from so rough and ancient a personage, and which not a few of the audience declared “sounded just like the voice of Marcus Page.” He said he had brought “heaps” of presents, and had almost broken his back with the effort. He hoped he had brought something for everybody; but if he had not, he trusted they would not blame him, for he had done the best he could. He requested the children not to crowd around the tree, and invited the recipients to walk up one by one as their names were called. He then commenced gathering the fruit, to each of which was attached the name of the person it was intended for. And now the sport began in earnest. What a queer assortment of articles to gather from one tree! There were gold rings, breastpins, lockets, pencils, and pens; silver spoons and thimbles; work-boxes, wooden dogs, and stuffed rabbits; books, fancy boxes, and popped corn; sleds, skates, and mittens; pin-cushions, needle-books, and bags of candy; dolls, pocket knives and cologne bottles. But time and patience would fail to mention half the things that good Santa Claus handed down to the company. It was an hour before the distribution was finished. The company then adjourned to the room below, where they found an abundance of simple country refreshments provided. A speech or two followed, and with three cheers for Christmas day, and three more for Santa Claus, the entertainment ended.