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diff --git a/old/61300-8.txt b/old/61300-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5337c82..0000000 --- a/old/61300-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4949 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Christmas Stories, by Jacob A. Riis - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Christmas Stories - -Author: Jacob A. Riis - -Release Date: February 2, 2020 [EBook #61300] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTMAS STORIES *** - - - - -Produced by Carlos Colón, the University of Connecticut -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - - Christmas Stories - - - - - [Illustration] - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS - ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO - - MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED - LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA - MELBOURNE - - THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. - TORONTO - - - - - Christmas Stories - - - By - Jacob A. Riis - - - New York - The Macmillan Company - 1923 - - _All rights reserved_ - - - - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - Copyright, 1897, 1898 and 1909, - By THE CENTURY CO. - - Copyright, 1911, - By THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY. - - Copyright, 1903, 1904, 1909, 1914 and 1923, - By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. - - Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1923. - - - THE FERRIS PRINTING COMPANY - NEW YORK - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - THE KID HANGS UP HIS STOCKING 1 - - IS THERE A SANTA CLAUS? 8 - - THE CROGANS' CHRISTMAS IN THE SNOWSHED 17 - - THE OLD TOWN 33 - - HIS CHRISTMAS GIFT 53 - - THE SNOW BABIES' CHRISTMAS 59 - - JACK'S SERMON 75 - - MERRY CHRISTMAS IN THE TENEMENTS 84 - - WHAT THE CHRISTMAS SUN SAW IN THE TENEMENTS 123 - - NIBSY'S CHRISTMAS 138 - - THE LITTLE DOLLAR'S CHRISTMAS JOURNEY 150 - - LITTLE WILL'S MESSAGE 165 - - THE BURGOMASTER'S CHRISTMAS 177 - - - - - Christmas Stories - - - - -THE KID HANGS UP HIS STOCKING - - -The clock in the West Side Boys' Lodging-house ticked out the seconds -of Christmas eve as slowly and methodically as if six fat turkeys were -not sizzling in the basement kitchen against the morrow's spread, -and as if two-score boys were not racking their brains to guess what -kind of pies would go with them. Out on the avenue the shop-keepers -were barring doors and windows, and shouting "Merry Christmas!" to -one another across the street as they hurried to get home. The drays -ran over the pavement with muffled sounds; winter had set in with a -heavy snow-storm. In the big hall the monotonous click of checkers on -the board kept step with the clock. The smothered exclamations of the -boys at some unexpected, bold stroke, and the scratching of a little -fellow's pencil on a slate, trying to figure out how long it was yet -till the big dinner, were the only sounds that broke the quiet of the -room. The superintendent dozed behind his desk. - -A door at the end of the hall creaked, and a head with a shock of -weather-beaten hair was stuck cautiously through the opening. - -"Tom!" it said in a stage-whisper. "Hi, Tom! Come up an' git on ter de -lay of de Kid." - -A bigger boy in a jumper, who had been lounging on two chairs by the -group of checker players, sat up and looked toward the door. Something -in the energetic toss of the head there aroused his instant curiosity, -and he started across the room. After a brief whispered conference the -door closed upon the two, and silence fell once more on the hall. - -They had been gone but a little while when they came back in haste. The -big boy shut the door softly behind him and set his back against it. - -"Fellers," he said, "what d'ye t'ink? I'm blamed if de Kid ain't gone -an' hung up his sock fer Chris'mas!" - -The checkers dropped, and the pencil ceased scratching on the slate, in -breathless suspense. - -"Come up an' see," said Tom, briefly, and led the way. - -The whole band followed on tiptoe. At the foot of the stairs their -leader halted. - -"Yer don't make no noise," he said, with a menacing gesture. -"You, Savoy!"--to one in a patched shirt and with a mischievous -twinkle,--"you don't come none o' yer monkey-shines. If you scare de -Kid you'll get it in de neck, see!" - -With this admonition they stole upstairs. In the last cot of the double -tier of bunks a boy much smaller than the rest slept, snugly tucked -in the blankets. A tangled curl of yellow hair strayed over his baby -face. Hitched to the bedpost was a poor, worn little stocking, arranged -with much care so that Santa Claus should have as little trouble in -filling it as possible. The edge of a hole in the knee had been drawn -together and tied with a string to prevent anything falling out. The -boys looked on in amazed silence. Even Savoy was dumb. - -Little Willie, or, as he was affectionately dubbed by the boys, "the -Kid," was a waif who had drifted in among them some months before. -Except that his mother was in the hospital, nothing was known about -him, which was regular and according to the rule of the house. Not -as much was known about most of its patrons; few of them knew more -themselves, or cared to remember. Santa Claus had never been anything -to them but a fake to make the colored supplements sell. The revelation -of the Kid's simple faith struck them with a kind of awe. They sneaked -quietly downstairs. - -"Fellers," said Tom, when they were all together again in the big -room,--by virtue of his length, which had given him the nickname of -"Stretch," he was the speaker on all important occasions,--"ye seen -it yerself. Santy Claus is a-comin' to this here joint to-night. I -wouldn't 'a' believed it. I ain't never had no dealin's wid de ole guy. -He kinder forgot I was around, I guess. But de Kid says he is a-comin' -to-night, an' what de Kid says goes." - -Then he looked round expectantly. Two of the boys, "Gimpy" and Lem, -were conferring aside in an undertone. Presently Gimpy, who limped, as -his name indicated, spoke up. - -"Lem says, says he----" - -"Gimpy, you chump! you'll address de chairman," interrupted Tom, with -severe dignity, "or you'll get yer jaw broke, if yer leg _is_ short, -see!" - -"Cut it out, Stretch," was Gimpy's irreverent answer. "This here ain't -no regular meetin', an' we ain't goin' to have none o' yer rot. Lem, -he says, says he, let's break de bank an' fill de Kid's sock. He won't -know but it wuz ole Santy done it." - -A yell of approval greeted the suggestion. The chairman, bound to -exercise the functions of office in season and out of season, while -they lasted, thumped the table. - -"It is regular motioned an' carried," he announced, "that we break de -bank fer de Kid's Chris'mas. Come on, boys!" - -The bank was run by the house, with the superintendent as paying -teller. He had to be consulted, particularly as it was past banking -hours; but the affair having been succinctly put before him by a -committee, of which Lem and Gimpy and Stretch were the talking members, -he readily consented to a reopening of business for a scrutiny of the -various accounts which represented the boys' earnings at selling -papers and blacking boots, minus the cost of their keep and of sundry -surreptitious flings at "craps" in secret corners. The inquiry -developed an available surplus of three dollars and fifty cents. Savoy -alone had no account; the run of craps had recently gone heavily -against him. But in consideration of the season, the house voted a -credit of twenty-five cents to him. The announcement was received with -cheers. There was an immediate rush for the store, which was delayed -only a few minutes by the necessity of Gimpy and Lem stopping on -the stairs to "thump" one another as the expression of their entire -satisfaction. - -The procession that returned to the lodging-house later on, after -wearing out the patience of several belated storekeepers, might have -been the very Santa's supply-train itself. It signalized its advent by -a variety of discordant noises, which were smothered on the stairs by -Stretch, with much personal violence, lest they wake the Kid out of -season. With boots in hand and bated breath, the midnight band stole -up to the dormitory and looked in. All was safe. The Kid was dreaming, -and smiled in his sleep. The report roused a passing suspicion that he -was faking, and Savarese was for pinching his toe to find out. As this -would inevitably result in disclosure, Savarese and his proposal were -scornfully sat upon. Gimpy supplied the popular explanation. - -"He's a-dreamin' that Santy Claus has come," he said, carefully working -a base-ball bat past the tender spot in the stocking. - -"Hully Gee!" commented Shorty, balancing a drum with care on the end -of it, "I'm thinkin' he ain't far out. Look's ef de hull shop'd come -along." - -It did when it was all in place. A trumpet and a gun that had made vain -and perilous efforts to join the bat in the stocking leaned against the -bed in expectant attitudes. A picture-book with a pink Bengal tiger and -a green bear on the cover peeped over the pillow, and the bedposts and -rail were festooned with candy and marbles in bags. An express-wagon -with a high seat was stabled in the gangway. It carried a load of fir -branches that left no doubt from whose livery it hailed. The last touch -was supplied by Savoy in the shape of a monkey on a yellow stick, that -was not in the official bill of lading. - -"I swiped it fer de Kid," he said briefly in explanation. - -When it was all done the boys turned in, but not to sleep. It was long -past midnight before the deep and regular breathing from the beds -proclaimed that the last had succumbed. - -The early dawn was tinging the frosty window panes with red when from -the Kid's cot there came a shriek that roused the house with a start -of very genuine surprise. - -"Hello!" shouted Stretch, sitting up with a jerk and rubbing his eyes. -"Yes, sir! in a minute. Hello, Kid, what to----" - -The Kid was standing barefooted in the passageway, with a base-ball -bat in one hand and a trumpet and a pair of drumsticks in the other, -viewing with shining eyes the wagon and its cargo, the gun and all -the rest. From every cot necks were stretched, and grinning faces -watched the show. In the excess of his joy the Kid let out a blast on -the trumpet that fairly shook the building. As if it were a signal, -the boys jumped out of bed and danced a breakdown about him in their -shirt-tails, even Gimpy joining in. - -"Holy Moses!" said Stretch, looking down, "if Santy Claus ain't been -here an' forgot his hull kit, I'm blamed!" - - - - -IS THERE A SANTA CLAUS? - - - - "DEAR MR. RIIS: - - - "A little chap of six on the Western frontier writes to us: - - "'Will you please tell me if there is a Santa Claus? Papa says - not.' - - "Won't you answer him?" - - -That was the message that came to me from an editor last December -just as I was going on a journey. Why he sent it to me I don't know. -Perhaps it was because, when I was a little chap, my home was way up -toward that white north where even the little boys ride in sleds behind -reindeer, as they are the only horses they have. Perhaps it was because -when I was a young lad I knew Hans Christian Andersen, who surely ought -to know, and spoke his tongue. Perhaps it was both. I will ask the -editor when I see him. Meanwhile, here was his letter, with Christmas -right at the door, and, as I said, I was going on a journey. - -I buttoned it up in my greatcoat along with a lot of other letters I -didn't have time to read, and I thought as I went to the depot what a -pity it was that my little friend's papa should have forgotten about -Santa Claus. We big people do forget the strangest way, and then we -haven't got a bit of a good time any more. - -No Santa Claus! If you had asked that car full of people I would have -liked to hear the answers they would have given you. No Santa Claus! -Why, there was scarce a man in the lot who didn't carry a bundle that -looked as if it had just tumbled out of his sleigh. I felt of one -slyly, and it was a boy's sled--a "flexible flyer," I know, because he -left one at our house the Christmas before; and I distinctly heard the -rattling of a pair of skates in that box in the next seat. They were -all good-natured, every one, though the train was behind time--that is -a sure sign of Christmas. The brakeman wore a piece of mistletoe in his -cap and a broad grin on his face, and he said "Merry Christmas" in a -way to make a man feel good all the rest of the day. No Santa Claus, is -there? You just ask him! - -And then the train rolled into the city under the big gray dome to -which George Washington gave his name, and by-and-by I went through a -doorway which all American boys would rather see than go to school a -whole week, though they love their teacher dearly. It is true that last -winter my own little lad told the kind man whose house it is that he -would rather ride up and down in the elevator at the hotel, but that -was because he was so very little at the time and didn't know things -rightly, and, besides, it was his first experience with an elevator. - -As I was saying, I went through the door into a beautiful white hall -with lofty pillars, between which there were regular banks of holly -with the red berries shining through, just as if it were out in the -woods! And from behind one of them there came the merriest laugh you -could ever think of. Do you think, now, it was that letter in my pocket -that gave that guilty little throb against my heart when I heard it, or -what could it have been? I hadn't even time to ask myself the question, -for there stood my host all framed in holly, and with the heartiest -handclasp. - -"Come in," he said, and drew me after. "The coffee is waiting." -And he beamed upon the table with the veriest Christmas face as he -poured it out himself, one cup for his dear wife and one for me. The -children--ah! you should have asked _them_ if there was a Santa Claus! - -And so we sat and talked, and I told my kind friends that my own dear -old mother, whom I have not seen for years, was very, very sick in -far-away Denmark and longing for her boy, and a mist came into my -hostess's gentle eyes and she said, "Let us cable over and tell her how -much we think of her," though she had never seen her. And it was no -sooner said than done. In came a man with a writing-pad, and while we -drank our coffee this message sped under the great stormy sea to the -far-away country where the day was shading into evening already, though -the sun was scarce two hours high in Washington: - - - THE WHITE HOUSE. - - _Mrs. Riis, Ribe, Denmark_: - - Your son is breakfasting with us. We send you our love and sympathy. - - THEODORE AND EDITH ROOSEVELT. - - -For, you see, the house with the holly in the hall was the White -House, and my host was the President of the United States. I have to -tell it to you, or you might easily fall into the same error I came -near falling into. I had to pinch myself to make sure the President -was not Santa Claus himself. I felt that he had in that moment given -me the very greatest Christmas gift any man ever received: my little -mother's life. For really what ailed her was that she was very old, and -I know that when she got the President's dispatch she must have become -immediately ten years younger and got right out of bed. Don't you know -mothers are that way when any one makes much of their boys? I think -Santa Claus must have brought them all in the beginning--the mothers, I -mean. - -I would just give anything to see what happened in that old town that -is full of blessed memories to me, when the telegraph ticked off that -message. I will warrant the town hurried out, burgomaster, bishop, -beadle and all, to do honor to my gentle old mother. No Santa Claus, -eh? What was that, then, that spanned two oceans with a breath of love -and cheer, I should like to know. Tell me that! - -After the coffee we sat together in the President's office for a little -while while he signed commissions, each and every one of which was just -Santa Claus's gift to a grown-up boy who had been good in the year that -was going; and before we parted the President had lifted with so many -strokes of his pen clouds of sorrow and want that weighed heavily on -homes I knew of to which Santa Claus had had hard work finding his way -that Christmas. - -It seemed to me as I went out of the door, where the big policeman -touched his hat and wished me a Merry Christmas, that the sun never -shone so brightly in May as it did then. I quite expected to see the -crocuses and the jonquils, that make the White House garden so pretty, -out in full bloom. They were not, I suppose, only because they are -official flowers and have a proper respect for the calendar that runs -Congress and the Executive Departments, too. - -I stopped on the way down the avenue at Uncle Sam's paymaster's to see -what he thought of it. And there he was, busy as could be, making ready -for the coming of Santa Claus. No need of my asking any questions here. -Men stood in line with bank-notes in their hands asking for gold, new -gold-pieces, they said, most every one. The paymaster, who had a sprig -of Christmas green fixed in his desk just like any other man, laughed -and shook his head and said "Santa Claus?" and the men in the line -laughed too and nodded and went away with their gold. - -One man who went out just ahead of me I saw stoop over a poor woman -on the corner and thrust something into her hand, then walk hastily -away. It was I who caught the light in the woman's eye and the blessing -upon her poor wan lips, and the grass seemed greener in the Treasury -dooryard, and the sky bluer than it had been before, even on that -bright day. Perhaps--well, never mind! if any one says anything to you -about principles and giving alms, you tell him that Santa Claus takes -care of the principles at Christmas, and not to be afraid. As for him, -if you want to know, just ask the old woman on the Treasury corner. - -And so, walking down that Avenue of Good-will, I came to my train again -and went home. And when I had time to think it all over I remembered -the letters in my pocket which I had not opened. I took them out and -read them, and among them were two sent to me in trust for Santa Claus -himself which I had to lay away with the editor's message until I got -the dew rubbed off my spectacles. One was from a great banker, and -it contained a check for a thousand dollars to help buy a home for -some poor children of the East Side tenements in New York, where the -chimneys are so small and mean that scarce even a letter will go up -through them, so that ever so many little ones over there never get on -Santa Claus's books at all. - -The other letter was from a lonely old widow, almost as old as my dear -mother in Denmark, and it contained a two-dollar bill. For years, she -wrote, she had saved and saved, hoping some time to have five dollars, -and then she would go with me to the homes of the very poor and be -Santa Claus herself. "And wherever you decided it was right to leave -a trifle, that should be the place where it would be left," read the -letter. But now she was so old that she could no longer think of such -a trip and so she sent the money she had saved. And I thought of a -family in one of those tenements where father and mother are both lying -ill, with a boy, who ought to be in school, fighting all alone to keep -the wolf from the door, and winning the fight. I guess he has been too -busy to send any message up the chimney, if indeed there is one in his -house; but you ask him, right now, whether he thinks there is a Santa -Claus or not. - -No Santa Claus? Yes, my little man, there is a Santa Claus, thank God! -Your father had just forgotten. The world would indeed be poor without -one. It is true that he does not always wear a white beard and drive -a reindeer team--not always, you know--but what does it matter? He -is Santa Claus with the big, loving, Christmas heart, for all that; -Santa Claus with the kind thoughts for every one that make children and -grown-up people beam with happiness all day long. And shall I tell you -a secret which I did not learn at the post-office, but it is true all -the same--of how you can always be sure your letters go to him straight -by the chimney route? It is this: send along with them a friendly -thought for the boy you don't like: for Jack who punched you, or Jim -who was mean to you. The meaner he was the harder do you resolve to -make it up: not to bear him a grudge. That is the stamp for the letter -to Santa. Nobody can stop it, not even a cross-draught in the chimney, -when it has that on. - -Because--don't you know, Santa Claus is the spirit of Christmas: and -ever and ever so many years ago when the dear little Baby was born -after whom we call Christmas, and was cradled in a manger out in the -stable because there was not room in the inn, that Spirit came into -the world to soften the hearts of men and make them love one another. -Therefore, that is the mark of the Spirit to this day. Don't let -anybody or anything rub it out. Then the rest doesn't matter. Let them -tear Santa's white beard off at the Sunday-school festival and growl in -his bearskin coat. These are only his disguises. The steps of the real -Santa Claus you can trace all through the world as you have done here -with me, and when you stand in the last of his tracks you will find the -Blessed Babe of Bethlehem smiling a welcome to you. For then you will -be home. - - - - -THE CROGANS' CHRISTMAS IN THE SNOWSHED - - -A storm was brewing in the mountains. The white glare of the earlier -day had been supplanted by a dull gray, and the peaks that shut the -winter landscape in were "smoking," sure harbinger of a blizzard -already raging in the high Sierras. The pines above the Crogans' cabin -stood like spectral sentinels in the failing light, their drooping -branches heavy with the snow of many storms. Mrs. Tom Crogan sat at the -window looking listlessly into the darkening day. - -In the spring she had come with her husband from the little Minnesota -town that was their home, full of hope and the joy of life. The -mountains were beautiful then with wild flowers and the sweet smell -of fragrant firs, and as she rocked her baby to sleep in their deep -shadows she sang to him the songs her mother had crooned over her -cradle in her tuneful Swedish tongue. Life then had seemed very fair, -and the snowshed hardly a shadow across it. For to her life there were -two sides: one that looked out upon the mountains and the trees and -the wild things that stirred in God's beautiful world; the other the -blind side that turned toward the darkness man had made in his fight -to conquer that world. Tom Crogan was a dispatcher at a signal station -in the great snowsheds that stretched forty miles or more up the -slopes of the Sierras, plunging the road to the Land of Sunshine into -hour-long gloom just when the jagged "saw-tooth" peaks, that give the -range its name, came into sight. Travelers knew them to their grief: -a huge crawling thing of timber and stout planks--so it seemed as one -caught fleeting glimpses of it in the brief escapes from its murky -embrace--that followed the mountain up, hugging its side close as it -rose farther and farther toward the summit. Hideous always, in winter -buried often out of sight by the smashing avalanches Old Boreas hurled -at the pigmy folk who dared challenge him in his own realm; but within -the shelter of the snowsheds they laughed at his bluster, secure from -harm, for then it served its appointed purpose. - -The Crogans' house fronted or backed--whichever way one chose to look -at it--upon the shed. Tom's office, where the telegraph ticker was -always talking of men and things in the desert sands to the east, or -in the orange groves over the Divide, never saw the sunshine it told -of. It burrowed in perpetual gloom. Nine times a day trains full of -travelers, who peered curiously at the signalmen with their lanterns -and at Tom as so many human moles burrowing in the mountain, came and -went, and took the world of men with them, yawning as they departed -at the prospect of more miles of night. At odd intervals long freight -trains lingered, awaiting orders, and lent a more human touch. For the -engineer had time to swap yarns with Tom, and the brakemen looked in to -chuck the baby under the chin and to predict, when their smudge faces -frightened him, that he would grow up to be as fine a railroader as -his father: his yell was as good as a whistle to "down brakes." Even a -wandering hobo once in a while showed his face from behind the truck on -which he was stealing a ride 'cross country, and grimaced at Mrs. Tom, -safe in the belief that she would not give him away. And she didn't. - -But now the winter had come with the heavy snows that seemed never to -end. She could not venture out upon the mountain where the pines stood -buried many feet deep. In truth there was no getting out. Her life -side was banked up, as it were, to stay so till spring came again. -As she sat watching the great white waste that sloped upward toward -the lowering sky she counted the months: two, three, four--five, -probably, or six, to wait. For this was Christmas, and the winter was -but fairly under way. Five months! The winters were hard enough on the -plains, but the loneliness of these mountains! What glad visiting and -holiday-making were going on now in her old home among kindred and -friends! There it was truly a season of kindliness and good cheer; -they had brought their old Norse Yule with them across the seas. She -choked back a sob as she stirred the cradle with her foot. For Tom's -sake she would be brave. But no letter nor word had come from the East, -and this their first Christmas away from home! - -There was a man's step on the stairs from the office, and Tom Crogan -put his head through the doorway. - -"Got a bite for a hungry man?" he asked, blinking a bit at the white -light from without. - -The baby woke up and gurgled. Tom waved the towel at him, drying his -face at the sink, and hugged his wife as she passed. - -"Storm coming," he said, glancing out at the weather and listening to -the soughing of the wind in the pines. - -"Nothing else here," she replied, setting the table; "nothing this long -while, and, oh, Tom!"--she set down the plate and went over to him--"no -word from home, and this is Christmas Eve. Nothing even for the baby." - -He patted her back affectionately, and cheered her after the manner of -a man. - -"Trains all late, the snow is that deep, more particular in the East, -they say. Mail might not come through for a week. Baby don't know the -difference so long as he is warm. And coal we've got a-plenty." - -"Then it will be New Year's," she pursued her own thoughts drearily. -Tom was not a good comforter just then. - -He ate like a tired man, in silence. "Special on the line," he said, -as he stirred the sugar in his coffee. "When the road opens up she'll -follow right on the Overland." - -"Some o' your rich folks, most like, going for a holiday on the Coast," -she commented without interest. Tom nodded. She gave the stove lid an -impatient twist. - -"Little they know," she said bitterly, "or care either, how we live -up here in the sheds. They'd oughter take their turn at it a while. -There's the Wrights with Jim laid up since he broke his leg at the time -o' the wreck, and can't seem to get no strength. And the Coulsons with -their old mother in this grippin' cold, an' all the sickness they've -had, an' he laid off, though he wasn't to blame, an' you know it, Tom. -If it hadn't been for you what would 'a' come to the Overland runnin' -straight for that wrecked freight with full head o' steam----" - -Tom looked up good-humoredly and pushed back his plate. - -"Why, Mary! what's come over you? I only done what I was there to -do--and they took notice all right. Don't you remember the Company -wrote and thanked me for bein' spry?" - -"Thanked you!" contemptuously. "What good is that? Here we be, an' -like to stay till----You can come up if you want to." - -The invitation was extended, ungraciously enough, to a knot of men -clustered about the steps. They trooped in, a gang of snow-shovelers -fresh from their fight with the big drifts, and stood about the stove, -the cold breath of outdoors in their looks and voices. Their talk was -of their work just finished. The road was clear, but for how long? And -they flapped their frozen mittens toward the window through which the -snow could be seen already beginning to fall in large, ominous flakes. -The Special was discussed with eager interest. No one knew who it -was--an unusual thing. Generally words came along the line giving the -news, but there had been no warning of this one. - -"Mebbe it's the President inspectin'," ventured one of the crew. - -"I tank it bane some o' dem Wall Street fellers on one big bust," threw -in a husky Swede. - -In the laugh that followed this sally the ticker was heard faintly -clicking out a message in the office below. - -Tom listened. "Overland three hours late," he said, and added with a -glance outside as he made ready to go: "like as not they'll be later'n -that; they won't keep Christmas on the Coast this while." - -The snow-shovelers trailed out after Tom with many a fog-horn salute of -Merry Christmas to his wife and to the baby. The words, well meant, -jarred harshly upon Mrs. Crogan. - -Merry Christmas! It sounded in her ear almost like a taunt. When they -were gone she stood at the window, struggling with a sense of such -bitter desolation as she had never known till then. The snow fell -thick now, and was whirled across the hillside in fitful gusts. In -the gathering darkness trees and rocks were losing shape and color; -nothing was left but the white cold, the thought of which chilled her -to the marrow. Through the blast the howl of a lone wolf came over the -ridge, and she remembered the story of Donner Lake, just beyond, and -the party of immigrants who starved to death in the forties, shut in by -such a winter as this. There were ugly tales on the mountain of things -done there, which men told under their breath when the great storms -thundered through the cañons and all were safe within. She had heard -the crew of the rotary say that there was as much as ten feet of snow -on some of the levels already, and the winter only well begun. Without -knowing it she fell to counting the months to spring again: two, three, -four, five! With a convulsive shudder she caught up the child and fled -to the darkest corner of the room. Crouching there by the fire her -grief and bitterness found vent in a flood of rebellious tears. - -Down in his dark coop Tom Crogan, listening to a distant roar and the -quickening rhythm of the rails, knew that the Overland was coming. -Presently it shot out from behind the shoulder of the mountain. -Ordinarily it passed swiftly enough, but to-day it slowed up and came -to a stop at the station. The conductor hurried into the office and -held an anxious consultation with Tom, who shook his head decisively. -If the storm kept up there would be no getting out that night. The -cut over at the lake that had just been cleared was filling up again -sure with the wind blowing from the north. There was nothing to do but -wait, anyhow until they knew for certain. The conductor agreed with bad -grace, and the rotary was started up the road to reconnoiter. The train -discharged its weary and worried passengers, who walked up and down the -dark cavern to stretch their legs, glancing indifferently at the little -office where the telegraph kept up its intermittent chatter. - -Suddenly it clicked out a loud warning: "Special on way. Clear the -track." - -Tom rapped on his window and gave quick orders. The men hurried to -carry them out. - -"Not far she'll go," they grinned as they set the switch and made all -safe. At the turn half a mile below the red eye of the locomotive -gleamed already in the dusk. In a few minutes it pulled in with a -shriek of its whistle that woke the echoes of the hills far and near, -and stood panting in a cloud of steam. Trackmen and signalmen craned -their necks to see the mysterious stranger. Even Mrs. Tom had dried -her tears and came out to look at the despised bigbugs from the East, -rebellion yet in her homesick heart. - -The news that the "Big Boss" might be on board had spread to the -passenger train, and crowds flocked from the sleepers, curious to get -a glimpse of the railroad magnate who had made such a stir in the -land. His power was so great that common talk credited him with being -stronger than Congress and the courts combined. The newspapers recorded -all his doings as it did the President's, but with this difference, -that while everybody knew all about the Man in the White House, few if -any seemed to know anything real about the railroad man's private life. -In the popular estimation he was a veritable Sphinx. At his country -home in the East he had bought up the land for five miles around--even -the highways--to keep intruders out. Here now was an unexpected chance, -and the travelers crowded up to get a look at him. - -But they saw no luxurious private car with frock-coated officials and -liveried servants. An every-day engine with three express cars in -tow stood upon the track, and baggagemen in blue overalls yelled for -hand-trucks, and hustled out boxes and crates consigned to "The agent -at Shawnee." Yet it was not an every-day train nor an ordinary crew; -for all of them, conductor, brakemen, engineer and fireman, wore holly -in their caps and broad grins on their faces. The locomotive flew two -white flags with the words "Merry Christmas" in red letters, and across -the cars a strip of canvas was strung their whole length, with the -legend "The Christmas Train" in capitals a foot long. Even in the gloom -of the snowshed it shone out, plain to read. - -Tom in his office rubbed his eyes for another and better look when the -conductor of the Special, pushing his way through the wondering crowds, -flung open the door. - -"Here's yer docyments," he said, slapping down a paper, "and the orders -are that ye're to see they gets 'em." - -Tom Crogan took up the paper as if dazed, and looked at the entries -without in the least understanding what it all meant. He did not see -the jam of railroad men and passengers who had crowded into the office -on the heels of the conductor until they filled it to the doors. -Neither did he notice that his wife had come with them and was standing -beside him looking as mystified as he. Mechanically he read out the -items in the way-bill, while the conductor checked them off with many -a wink at the crowd. What nightmare was this? Had some delirious Santa -Claus invaded the office of the Union Pacific Railroad, and turned -it into a toy shop and dry-goods bazar combined, with a shake of his -reindeer bells? Or was it a huge, wretched, misbegotten joke? Surely -stranger bill of lading never went over the line, or over any railroad -line before. This was what he read: - - "Crate of fat turkeys, one for every family on the station (their - names followed). - - "One ditto of red apples. - - "One ditto of oranges, to be similarly apportioned. - - "For Tom Crogan, one meerschaum pipe. - - "For James Wright, lately injured in the service and not yet - recovered, a box of books, and allowance of full pay during - disability. Ordered to report at Sacramento until fully restored. - - "For John Coulson, Christmas gifts, including a warm flannel - wrapper for his old mother; also notice of back pay allowed since - suspension, with full restoration to place and pay. - - "For Mrs. Thomas Crogan, not on the official payroll, but whom the - Company takes this opportunity to thank for assistance rendered her - husband on a recent occasion, one dress pattern, with the wishes of - the Superintendent's office for a very Merry Christmas. - - "For Master Thomas Crogan, not yet on the official payroll, being - under age, a box of toys, including rubber ball and sheep, doll and - Noah's ark, with the compliments of the Company for having chosen - so able a railroad man for his father. - - "For Master Thomas Crogan, as a token of regard from passengers on - the Overland of November 18, one rocking-horse, crated." - -"Oh, Tom!"--Mrs. Crogan caught her breath with a gasp--"and he not a -year old!" - -Tom looked up to find the room full of people laughing at him and at -her, but there was hearty, happy good-will in the laugh, and Mrs. Tom -was laughing back. - -The conductor got up to go, but checked himself abruptly. "If I didn't -come near to forget," he said and reached for his pocket. "Here, Tom, -this is for you from the Superintendent. If it ain't a secret read it -aloud." - -The message was brief: - - - _Thomas Crogan, Esq._, - Agent and Dispatcher at Shawnee Station: - - The compliments of the season and of the Superintendent's office - to you. Have a Merry Christmas, Tom, up in your shed, for we want - you down on the Coast after New Year's. - - FRANK ALDEN, - Superintendent. - - -Tom looked up with a smile. He had got his bearings at last. There was -no doubt about that signature. His eyes met his wife's, brimming with -sudden joy. The dream of her life was made real. - -The railroad men raised a cheer in which there was a note of regret, -for Tom was a prime favorite with them all, and crowded up to shake -hands. The passengers followed suit, ready to join in, yet mystified -still. But now, when they heard from the conductor of the Special how -Tom by quick action had saved the Overland, the very train they were -on, from running into a wrecked freight two months before, many of them -remembered the story of it--how Tom, being left alone when everybody -else lost his head in the smashup, had sprinted down the track with -torpedoes, while his wife set the switch and waved the signal lantern, -and had just caught the Limited around the curve, and how narrow had -been the escape from a great disaster. And their quick sympathy went -out to the young couple up in the lonely heights, who a few moments -before had been less to them than the inert thing of iron and steel -that was panting on the track outside like a huge monster after a hard -run. - -When it was learned that both trains were stalled, perhaps for all -night, the recollection that it was Christmas Eve gave sudden direction -to their sympathies. Since friends on the Coast must wait they would -have their Christmas where they were, if it were in a snowshed. In -less time than any one could have made a formal motion the trainful of -excited passengers, just now so disgruntled, resolved itself into a -committee of arrangements to which were added both the train crews. - -A young balsam from the mountainside made its appearance, no one knew -exactly how, and in a trice it shone with a wealth of candles and toys -at which the baby, struggling up to a sitting posture in his cradle, -looked with wide-eyed wonder. The Crogans' modest living-room was -made festive with holly and evergreen and transformed into a joyous -dining-room before Mrs. Tom could edge in a word of protest. All the -memories of her cherished Yule surged in upon her as the room filled -with the smell of roast turkey and mince pie and what not of good -cheer, borne in by a procession of white-clad waiters who formed a -living chain between the dining-car and the station. When in the wake -of them the veritable rocking-horse, hastily unpacked, was led in by a -hysterical darky, and pranced and pawed its way across the floor, its -reins jingling with silver bells, Thomas Crogan, Junior, considered it, -sitting bolt upright, one long minute, sighed and, overwhelmed by such -magnificence, went calmly to sleep. It was too much for one Christmas -Eve, and he not a year old. - -When as many as could crowd in were seated with Tom Crogan and his -wife--the conductors and engineers of the two trains representing the -road--the clergyman in the party arose to remind them all that they -were far from home and friends, keeping Christmas in the mountain -wilderness. - -"But," he said, "though a continent separates us we meet with them all -here to-night before the face of Him who came as a helpless Babe to the -world of sin and selfishness, and brought peace and good-will to men." -And he read to them how "It came to pass in those days, that there went -out a decree from Cæsar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed," -and the story of the Child that is old, yet will be ever new while the -world stands. - -In the reverent hush that had fallen upon the company a tenor voice -rose clear and sweet in the old hymn: - - "It came upon the midnight clear - That glorious song of old." - -When the lines were reached: - - "Still through the cloven skies they come - With peaceful wings unfurl'd," - -many of the passengers joined in and sang the verse to the end. The -familiar words seemed to come with a comforting message to every one in -the little cabin. - -In the excitement they had all forgotten the weather. Unseen by every -one the moon had come out and shone clear in an almost cloudless sky. -The storm was over. A joyful toot of the rotary's whistle, as dinner -neared its end, announced its return with the welcome news that the -road was open once more. - -With many hearty handshakes, and wishes for happy years to come, -the unexpected Christmas party broke up. But there was yet a small -ceremony left. It was performed by a committee of three of the Overland -passengers who had friends or kin on board the train Tom Crogan had -saved. They had quietly circulated among the rest, and now, with the -conductor shouting "All aboard!" they put an envelope into Tom's hand, -with the brief directions "for moving expenses," and jumped on their -car as the engine blew its last warning whistle and the airbrakes -wheezed their farewell. - -Tom opened it and saw five crisp twenty-dollar bills tucked neatly -inside. - -The Limited pulled out on the stroke of midnight, with cheering -passengers on every step and in every window. Tom and his wife stood -upon the step of the little station and waved their handkerchiefs as -long as the bull's-eye on the last car was in sight. When it was gone -and they were left with the snowshed and the Special breathing sleepily -on its siding she laid her head on his shoulder. A rush of repentant -tears welled up and mingled with the happiness in her voice. - -"Oh, Tom!" she said. "Did ye ever know the like of it? I am fair sorry -to leave the old shed." - - - - -THE OLD TOWN - - -I do not know how the forty years I have been away have dealt with -"Jule-nissen," the Christmas elf of my childhood. He was pretty old -then, gray and bent, and there were signs that his time was nearly -over. So it may be that they have laid him away. I shall find out when -I go over there next time. When I was a boy we never sat down to our -Christmas Eve dinner until a bowl of rice and milk had been taken up to -the attic, where he lived with the marten and its young, and kept an -eye upon the house--saw that everything ran smoothly. I never met him -myself, but I know the house-cat must have done so. No doubt they were -well acquainted; for when in the morning I went in for the bowl, there -it was, quite dry and licked clean, and the cat purring in the corner. -So, being there all night, he must have seen and likely talked with him. - -I suspect, as I said, that they have not treated my Nisse fairly in -these matter-of-fact days that have come upon us, not altogether for -our own good, I fear. I am not even certain that they were quite -serious about him then, though to my mind that was very unreasonable. -But then there is nothing so unreasonable to a child as the cold -reason of the grown-ups. However, if they have gone back on him, I know -where to find him yet. Only last Christmas when I talked of him to the -tenement-house mothers in my Henry Street Neighborhood House,[1]--all -of them from the ever faithful isle,--I saw their eyes light up with -the glad smile of recognition, and half a dozen called out excitedly, -"The Little People! the Leprecawn ye mean, we know him well," and they -were not more pleased than I to find that we had an old friend in -common. For the Nisse, or the Leprecawn, call him whichever you like, -was a friend indeed to those who loved kindness and peace. If there -was a house in which contention ruled, either he would have nothing -to do with it, like the stork that built its nest on the roof, or -else he paid the tenants back in their own coin, playing all kinds of -tricks upon them and making it very uncomfortable. I suppose it was -this trait that gave people, when they began to reason so much about -things, the notion that he was really the wraith, as it were, of their -own disposition, which was not so at all. I remember the story told of -one man who quarrelled with everybody, and in consequence had a very -troublesome Nisse in the house that provoked him to the point of moving -away; which he did. But as the load of furniture was going down the -street, with its owner hugging himself in glee at the thought that -he had stolen a march on the Nisse, the little fellow poked his head -out of the load and nodded to him, "We are moving to-day." At which -naturally he flew into a great rage. But then, that was just a story. - - [1] The Jacob A. Riis Neighborhood Settlement, New York. - -The Nisse was of the family, as you see, very much of it, and certainly -not to be classed with the cattle. Yet they were his special concern; -he kept them quiet, and saw to it, when the stableman forgot, that they -were properly bedded and cleaned and fed. He was very well known to the -hands about the farm, and they said that he looked just like a little -old man, all in gray and with a pointed red nightcap and long gray -beard. He was always civilly treated, as he surely deserved to be, but -Christmas was his great holiday, when he became part of it, indeed, and -was made much of. So, for that matter, was everything that lived under -the husbandman's roof, or within reach of it. The farmer always set a -lighted candle in his window on Christmas Eve, to guide the lonesome -wanderer to a hospitable hearth. The very sparrows that burrowed in the -straw thatch, and did it no good, were not forgotten. A sheaf of rye -was set out in the snow for them, so that on that night at least they -should have shelter and warmth unchallenged, and plenty to eat. At all -other times we were permitted to raid their nests and help ourselves -to a sparrow roast, which was by long odds the greatest treat we had. -Thirty or forty of them, dug out of any old thatch roof by the light of -the stable lantern and stuffed into Ane's long stocking, which we had -borrowed for a game-bag, made a meal for the whole family, each sparrow -a fat mouthful. Ane was the cook, and I am very certain that her -pot-roast of sparrow would pass muster at any Fifth Avenue restaurant -as the finest dish of reed-birds that ever was. However, at Christmas -their sheaf was their sanctuary, and no one as much as squinted at -them. Only last winter when Christmas found me stranded in a little -Michigan town, wandering disconsolate about the streets, I came across -such a sheaf raised on a pole in a dooryard, and I knew at once that -one of my people lived in that house and kept Yule in the old way. So I -felt as if I were not quite a stranger. - -All the animals knew perfectly well that the holiday had come, and kept -it in their way. The watch-dog was unchained. In the midnight hour -on the Holy Eve the cattle stood up in their stalls and bowed out of -respect and reverence for Him who was laid in a manger when there was -no room in the inn, and in that hour speech was given them, and they -talked together. Claus, our neighbor's man, had seen and heard it, and -every Christmas Eve I meant fully to go and be there when it happened; -but always long before that I had been led away to bed, a very sleepy -boy, with all my toys hugged tight, and when I woke up the daylight -shone through the frosted window-panes, and they were blowing good -morning from the church tower; it would be a whole year before another -Christmas. So I vowed, with a sigh at having neglected a really sacred -observance, that I would be there sure on the next Christmas Eve. But -it was always so, every year, and perhaps it was just as well, for -Claus said that it might go ill with the one who listened, if the cows -found him out. - -Blowing in the Yule from the grim old tower that had stood eight -hundred years against the blasts of the North Sea was one of the -customs of the Old Town that abide, however it fares with the Nisse; -that I know. At sun-up, while yet the people were at breakfast, the -town band climbed the many steep ladders to the top of the tower, and -up there, in fair weather or foul,--and sometimes it blew great guns -from the wintry sea,--they played four old hymns, one to each corner -of the compass, so that no one was forgotten. They always began with -Luther's sturdy challenge, "A Mighty Fortress is our God," while -down below we listened devoutly. There was something both weird and -beautiful about those far-away strains in the early morning light of -the northern winter, something that was not of earth and that suggested -to my child's imagination the angels' song on far Judean hills. Even -now, after all these years, the memory of it does that. It could not -have been because the music was so rare, for the band was made up of -small storekeepers and artisans who thus turned an honest penny on -festive occasions. Incongruously enough, I think, the official town -mourner who bade people to funerals was one of them. It was like the -burghers' guard, the colonel of which--we thought him at least a -general, because of the huge brass sword he trailed when he marched at -the head of his men--was the town tailor, a very small but very martial -man. But whether or no, it was beautiful. I have never heard music -since that so moved me. When the last strain died away came the big -bells with their deep voices that sang far out over field and heath, -and our Yule was fairly under way. - -A whole fortnight we kept it. Real Christmas was from Little Christmas -Eve, which was the night before the Holy Eve proper, till New Year. -Then there was a week of supplementary festivities before things -slipped back into their wonted groove. That was the time of parties -and balls. The great ball of the year was on the day after Christmas. -Second Christmas Day we called it, when all the quality attended at the -club-house, where the Amtmand and the Burgomaster, the Bishop and the -Rector of the Latin School, did the honors and received the people. -That was the grandest of the town functions. The school ball, late in -autumn, was the jolliest, for then the boys invited each the girl -he liked best, and the older people were guests and outsiders, so to -speak. The Latin School, still the "Cathedral School," was as old as -the Domkirke itself, and when it took the stage it was easily first -while it lasted. The Yule ball, though it was a rather more formal -affair, for all that was neither stiff nor tiresome; nothing was in the -Old Town; there was too much genuine kindness for that. And that it was -the recognized occasion when matches were made by enterprising mammas, -or by the young themselves, and when engagements were declared and -discussed as the great news of the day. We heard of all those things -afterward and thought a great fuss was being made over nothing much. -For when a young couple were declared engaged, that meant that there -was no more fun to be out of them. They were given, after that, to go -mooning about by themselves and to chasing us children away when we ran -across them; until they happily returned to their senses, got married, -and became reasonable human beings once more. - -When we had been sent to bed on the great night, Father and Mother went -away in their Sunday very best, and we knew they would not return until -two o'clock in the morning, a fact which alone invested the occasion -with unwonted gravity, for the Old Town kept early hours. At ten -o'clock, when the watchman droned his sleepy lay, absurdly warning the -people to - - Be quick and bright, - Watch fire and light, - Our clock it has struck ten, - -it was ordinarily tucked in and asleep. But that night we lay awake -a long time listening to the muffled sound of heavy wheels in the -snow rolling unceasingly past, and trying to picture to ourselves the -grandeur they conveyed. Every carriage in the town was then in use and -doing overtime. I think there were as many as four. - -When we were not dancing or playing games, we literally ate our way -through the two holiday weeks. Pastry by the mile did we eat, and -general indigestion brooded over the town when it emerged into the -white light of the new year. At any rate it ought to have done so. It -is a prime article of faith with the Danes to this day that for any one -to go out of a friend's house, or of anybody's house, in the Christmas -season without partaking of its cheer, is to "bear away their Yule," -which no one must do on any account. Every house was a bakery from -the middle of December until Christmas Eve, and oh! the quantities of -cakes we ate, and such cakes! We were sixteen normally, in our home, -and Mother mixed the dough for her cakes in a veritable horse-trough -kept for that exclusive purpose. As much as a sack of flour went in, I -guess, and gallons of molasses and whatever else went to the mixing. -For weeks there had been long and anxious speculations as to "what -Father would do," and gloomy conferences between him and Mother over -the state of the family pocket-book, which was never plethoric; but at -last the joyful message ran through the house from attic to kitchen -that the appropriation had been made, "even for citron," which meant -throwing all care to the winds. The thrill of it, when we children -stood by and saw the generous avalanche going into the trough! What -would not come out of it! The whole family turned to and helped make -the cakes and cut the "pepper-nuts," which were little squares of -spiced cake-dough we played cards for and stuffed our pockets with, -gnawing them incessantly. Talk about eating between meals: ours was a -continuous performance for two solid weeks. The pepper-nuts were the -real staple of Christmas to us children. We paid forfeits with them in -the game of scratch-nose (jackstraws), when the fellow fishing for his -straw stirred the others and had his nose scratched with the little -file in the bunch as extra penalty; in "Under which tree lies my pig?" -in which the pig was a pepper-nut, the fingers of the closed hands -the trees; and in Black Peter. In this last the loser had his nose -blackened with the snuff from the candle until advancing civilization -substituted a burnt cork. Christmas without pepper-nuts would have been -a hollow mockery indeed. We rolled the dough in long strings like -slender eels and then cut it, a little on the bias. They were good, -those nuts, when baked brown. I wish I had some now. - -It all stood for the universal desire that in the joyous season -everybody be made glad. I know that in the Old Town no one went hungry -or cold during the holidays, if indeed any one ever did. Every one gave -of what he had, and no one was afraid of pauperizing anybody by his -gifts, for they were given gladly and in love, and that makes all the -difference--did then and does now. At Christmas it is perfectly safe to -let our scientific principles go and just remember the Lord's command -that we love one another. I subscribe to them all with perfect loyalty, -and try to practise them till Christmas week comes in with its holly -and the smell of balsam and fir, and the memories of childhood in the -Old Town; then--well, anyway, it is only a little while. New Year and -the long cold winter come soon enough. - -Christmas Eve was, of course, the great and blessed time. That was -the one night in the year when in the gray old Domkirke services were -held by candle-light. A myriad wax candles twinkled in the gloom, but -did not dispel it. It lingered under the great arches where the voice -of the venerable minister, the responses of the congregation, and -above it all the boyish treble of the choir billowed and strove, now -dreamily with the memories of ages past, now sharply, tossed from angle -to corner in the stone walls, and again in long thunderous echoes, -sweeping all before it on the triumphant strains of the organ, like a -victorious army with banners crowding through the halls of time. So it -sounded to me, as sleep gently tugged at my eyelids. The air grew heavy -with the smell of evergreens and of burning wax, and as the thunder of -war drew farther and farther away, in the shadow of the great pillars -stirred the phantoms of mailed knights whose names were hewn in the -grave-stones there. We youngsters clung to the skirts of Mother as we -went out and the great doors fell to behind us. And yet those Christmas -Eves, with Mother's gentle eyes forever inseparable from them, and with -the glad cries of Merry Christmas ringing all about, have left a touch -of sweet peace in my heart which all the years have not effaced, nor -ever will. - -At home the great dinner of the year was waiting for us; roast goose -stuffed with apples and prunes, rice pudding with cinnamon and sugar -on it, and a great staring butter eye in the middle. The pudding was -to lay the ground-work with, and it was served in deep soup-plates. It -was the dish the Nisse came in on, and the cat. On New Year's Eve both -these were left out; but to make up for it an almond was slipped into -the "gröd," and whoever found it in his plate got a present. It was no -device to make people "fletch," but it served the purpose admirably. -At Christmas we had doughnuts after the goose, big and stout and good. -However I managed it, I don't know, but it is a tradition in the -family, and I remember it well, that I once ate thirteen on top of the -big dinner. Evidently I was having a good time. Dinner was, if not the -chief end of man, at least an item in his make-up, and a big one.[2] - - [2] The reader who is not afraid of dyspepsia by suggestion - may consider the following Christmas bill of fare which - obtained among the peasants east of the Old Town: On a large - trencher a layer of pork and ribs, on top of that a nest of - fat sausages, in which sat a roast duck. - -When it had had time to settle and all the kitchen work was done, -Father took his seat at the end of the long table, with all the -household gathered about, the servants included and the baby without -fail, and read the story of The Child: "And it came to pass in those -days," while Mother hushed the baby. Then we sang together "A Child is -Born in Bethlehem," which was the simplest of our hymns, and also the -one we children loved best, for it told of how in heaven we were to -walk to church - - On sky-blue carpets, star-bedeckt, - -which was a great comfort. Children love beautiful things, and we had -few of them. The great and precious treasure in our house was the rag -carpet in the spare room which we were allowed to enter only on festive -occasions such as Christmas. It had an orange streak in it which I can -see to this day. Whenever I come across one that even remotely suggests -it, it gives me yet a kind of solemn feeling. We had no piano,--that -was a luxury in those days,--and Father was not a singer, but he led -on bravely with his tremulous bass and we all joined in, Ane the cook -and Maria the housemaid furtively wiping their eyes with their aprons, -for they were good and pious folk and this was their Christmas service. -So we sang the ten verses to end, with their refrain "Hallelujah! -hallelujah," that always seemed to me to open the very gates of Yule. - -And it did, literally; for when the last hallelujah died away the -door of the spare room was flung wide and there stood the Christmas -tree, all shining lights, and the baby was borne in, wide-eyed, to -be the first, as was proper; for was not this The Child's holiday? -Unconsciously we all gave way to those who were nearest Him, who had -most recently come from His presence and were therefore in closest -touch with the spirit of the holiday. So, when we joined hands and -danced around the tree, Father held the baby, and we laughed and were -happy as the little one crowed his joy and stretched his tiny arms -toward the light. - -Light and shadow, joy and sorrow, go hand in hand in the world. While -we danced and made merry, there was one near for whom Christmas was but -grief and loss. Out in the white fields he went from farm to farm, a -solitary wanderer, the folklore had it, looking for plough or harrow -on which to rest his weary limbs. It was the Wandering Jew, to whom -this hope was given, that, if on that night of all in the year he could -find some tool used in honest toil over which the sign of the cross had -not been made, his wanderings would be at an end and the curse depart -from him, to cleave thence-forward to the luckless farmer.[3] He never -found what he sought in my time. The thrifty husbandman had been over -his field on the eve of the holiday with a watchful eye to his coming. -When the bell in the distant church tower struck the midnight hour, -belated travellers heard his sorrowful wail as he fled over the heath -and vanished. - - [3] An unromantic variation of this was the belief that the - farmer who left his plough out on Christmas would get a - drubbing from his wife within a twelvemonth. I hope whoever - held to that got what he richly deserved. - -When Ansgarius preached the White Christ to the vikings of the North, -so runs the legend of the Christmas tree, the Lord sent His three -messengers, Faith, Hope, and Love, to help light the first tree. -Seeking one that should be high as hope, wide as love, and that bore -the sign of the cross on every bough, they chose the balsam fir, which -best of all the trees in the forest met the requirements. Perhaps that -is a good reason why there clings about the Christmas tree in my old -home that which has preserved it from being swept along in the flood -of senseless luxury that has swamped so many things in our money-mad -day. At least so it was then. Every time I see a tree studded with -electric lights, garlands of tinsel-gold festooning every branch, and -hung with the hundred costly knicknacks the storekeepers invent year -by year "to make trade," until the tree itself disappears entirely -under its burden, I have a feeling what a fraud has been practised on -the kindly spirit of Yule. Wax candles are the only real thing for -a Christmas tree, candles of _wax_ that mingle their perfume with -that of the burning fir, not the by-product of some coal-oil or other -abomination. What if the boughs do catch fire; they can be watched, and -too many candles are tawdry, anyhow. Also, red apples, oranges, and -old-fashioned cornucopias made of colored paper, and made at home, look -a hundred times better and fitter in the green; and so do drums and toy -trumpets and waldhorns, and a rocking-horse reined up in front that -need not have cost forty dollars, or anything like it. - -I am thinking of one, or rather two, a little piebald team with a -wooden seat between, for which Mother certainly did not give over -seventy-five cents at the store, that as "Belcher and Mamie"--the names -were bestowed on the beasts at sight by Kate, aged three, who bossed -the play-room--gave a generation of romping children more happiness -than all the expensive railroads and trolley-cars and steam-engines -that are considered indispensable to keeping Christmas nowadays. And -the Noah's Ark with Noah and his wife and all the animals that went two -by two--ah, well! I haven't set out to preach a sermon on extravagance -that makes no one happier, but I wish--The legend makes me think of -the holly that grew in our Danish woods. We called it Christ-thorn, -for to us it was of that the crown of thorns was made with which the -cruel soldiers mocked our Saviour, and the red berries were the drops -of blood that fell from His anguished brow. Therefore the holly was a -sacred tree, and to this day the woods in which I find it seem to me -like the forest where the Christmas roses bloomed in the night when the -Lord was born, different from all other woods, and better. - -Mistletoe was rare in Denmark. There was known to be but one oak in -all the land on which it grew. But that did not discourage the young. -We had our kissing games which gave the boys and girls their chance to -choose sides, and in the Christmas season they went on right merrily. -There was rarely a night that did not bring the children together under -some roof or other. They say that kissing goes by favor, but we had not -arrived at that point yet, though we had our preferences. In the game -of Post Office, for instance, he was a bold boy who would dare call out -the girl he really liked, to get the letter that was supposed to be -awaiting her. You could tell for a dead certainty who was his choice -by watching whom he studiously avoided asking for. I have a very vivid -recollection of having once really dared with sudden desperation, and -of the defiant flushed face, framed in angry curls, that confronted me -in the hall, the painful silence while we each stood looking the other -way and heard our playmates tittering behind the closed door,--for -well they knew,--and her indignant stride as she went back to her seat -unkissed, with me trailing behind, feeling like a very sheepish boy, -and no doubt looking the part. - -The Old Year went out with much such a racket as we make nowadays, -but of quite a different kind. We did not blow the New Year in, we -"smashed" it in. When it was dark on New Year's Eve, we stole out with -all the cracked and damaged crockery of the year that had been hoarded -for the purpose and, hieing ourselves to some favorite neighbor's door, -broke our pots against it. Then we ran, but not very far or very fast, -for it was part of the game that if one was caught at it, he was to -be taken in and treated to hot doughnuts. The smashing was a mark of -favor, and the citizen who had most pots broken against his door was -the most popular man in town. When I was in the Latin School, a cranky -burgomaster, whose door had been freshly painted, gave orders to the -watchmen to stop it and gave them an unhappy night, for they were hard -put to it to find a way it was safe to look, with the streets full of -the best citizens in town, and their wives and daughters, sneaking -singly by with bulging coats on their way to salute a friend. That was -when our mothers--those who were not out smashing in New Year--came -out strong, after the fashion of mothers. They baked more doughnuts -than ever that night, and beckoned the watchman in to the treat; and -there he sat, blissfully deaf while the street rang with the thunderous -salvos of our raids; until it was discovered that the burgomaster -himself was on patrol, when there was a sudden rush from kitchen doors -and a great scurrying through streets that grew strangely silent. - -The town had its revenge, however. The burgomaster, returning home in -the midnight hour, stumbled in his gate over a discarded Christmas -tree hung full of old boots and many black and sooty pots that went -down around him with great smash in the upset, so that his family came -running out in alarm to find him sprawling in the midst of the biggest -celebration of all. His dignity suffered a shock which he never got -over quite. But it killed the New Year's fun, too. For he was really a -good fellow, and then he was the burgomaster, and chief of police to -boot. I suspect the fact was that the pot smashing had run its course. -Perhaps the supply of pots was giving out; we began to use tinware more -about that time. That was the end of it, anyhow. - -We boys got square, too, with the watchmen. We knew their habit -of stowing themselves away in the stage-coach that stood in the -market-place when they had cried the hour at ten o'clock, and we -caught them napping there one dark night when we were coming home from -a party. The stage had doors that locked on the outside. We slammed -them shut and ran the conveyance, with them in it wildly gesticulating -from the windows, through the main street of the town, amid the cheers -of the citizens whom the racket aroused from their slumbers. We were -safe enough. The watchmen were not anxious to catch us, maddened as -they were by our prank, and they were careful not to report us either. -I chuckled at that exploit more than once when, in years long after, -I went the rounds of the midnight streets with Haroun-al-Roosevelt, -as they called New York's Police Commissioner, to find his patrolmen -sleeping soundly on their posts when they should have been catching -thieves. Human nature, police human nature, anyhow, is not so -different, after all, in the old world and in the new. - -With Twelfth Night our Yule came to an end. In that night, if a girl -would know her fate, she must go to bed walking backward and throw a -shoe over her left shoulder, or hide it under her pillow, I forget -which, perhaps both, and say aloud a verse that prayed the Three Holy -Kings to show her the man - - Whose table I must set, - Whose bed I must spread, - Whose name I must bear, - Whose bride I must be. - -The man who appeared to her in her sleep was to be her husband. There -was no escape from it, and consequently she did not try. He was her -Christmas gift, and she took him for better or for worse. Let us hope -that the Nisse played her no scurvy trick, and that it was for better -always. - - - - -HIS CHRISTMAS GIFT - - -"The prisoner will stand," droned out the clerk in the Court of General -Sessions. "Filippo Portoghese, you are convicted of assault with intent -to kill. Have you anything to say why sentence should not be passed -upon you?" - -A sallow man with a hopeless look in his heavy eyes rose slowly in -his seat and stood facing the judge. There was a pause in the hum and -bustle of the court as men turned to watch the prisoner. He did not -look like a man who would take a neighbor's life, and yet so nearly -had he done so, of set purpose it had been abundantly proved, that his -victim would carry the disfiguring scar of the bullet to the end of his -life, and only by what seemed an almost miraculous chance had escaped -death. The story as told by witnesses and substantially uncontradicted -was this: - -Portoghese and Vito Ammella, whom he shot, were neighbors under the -same roof. Ammella kept the grocery on the ground floor. Portoghese -lived upstairs in the tenement. He was a prosperous, peaceful man, with -a family of bright children, with whom he romped and played happily -when home from his barber shop. The Black Hand fixed its evil eye upon -the family group and saw its chance. One day a letter came demanding a -thousand dollars. Portoghese put it aside with the comment that this -was New York, not Italy. Other letters followed, threatening harm to -his children. Portoghese paid no attention, but his wife worried. One -day the baby, little Vito, was missing, and in hysterics she ran to her -husband's shop crying that the Black Hand had stolen the child. - -The barber hurried home and sought high and low. At last he came upon -the child sitting on Ammella's doorstep; he had wandered away and -brought up at the grocery; asked where he had been, the child pointed -to the store. Portoghese flew in and demanded to know what Ammella was -doing with his boy. The grocer was in a bad humor, and swore at him. -There was an altercation, and Ammella attacked the barber with a broom, -beating him and driving him away from his door. Black with anger, -Portoghese ran to his room and returned with a revolver. In the fight -that followed he shot Ammella through the head. - -He was arrested and thrown into jail. In the hospital the grocer -hovered between life and death for many weeks. Portoghese lay in the -Tombs awaiting trial for more than a year, believing still that he was -the victim of a Black Hand conspiracy. When at last the trial came on, -his savings were all gone, and of the once prosperous and happy man -only a shadow was left. He sat in the court-room and listened in moody -silence to the witnesses who told how he had unjustly suspected and -nearly murdered his friend. He was speedily convicted, and the day of -his sentence was fixed for Christmas Eve. It was certain that it would -go hard with him. The Italians were too prone to shoot and stab, said -the newspapers, and the judges were showing no mercy. - -The witnesses had told the truth, but there were some things they did -not know and that did not get into the evidence. The prisoner's wife -was ill from grief and want; their savings of years gone to lawyer's -fees, they were on the verge of starvation. The children were hungry. -With the bells ringing in the glad holiday, they were facing bitter -homelessness in the winter streets, for the rent was in arrears and the -landlord would not wait. And "Papa" away now for the second Christmas, -and maybe for many yet to come! Ten, the lawyer and jury had said: this -was New York, not Italy. In the Tombs the prisoner said it over to -himself, bitterly. He had thought only of defending his own. - -So now he stood looking the judge and the jury in the face, yet hardly -seeing them. He saw only the prison gates opening for him, and the gray -walls shutting him out from his wife and little ones for--how many -Christmases was it? One, two, three--he fell to counting them over -mentally and did not hear when his lawyer whispered and nudged him with -his elbow. The clerk repeated his question, but he merely shook his -head. What should he have to say? Had he not said it to these men and -they did not believe him? About little Vito who was lost, and his wife -who cried her eyes out because of the Black Hand letters. He---- - -There was a step behind him, and a voice he knew spoke. It was the -voice of Ammella, his neighbor, with whom he used to be friends -before--before that day. - -"Please, your Honor, let this man go! It is Christmas, and we should -have no unkind thoughts. I have none against Filippo here, and I ask -you to let him go." - -It grew very still in the court-room as he spoke and paused for an -answer. Lawyers looked up from their briefs in astonishment. The -jurymen in the box leaned forward and regarded the convicted man and -his victim with rapt attention. Such a plea had not been heard in that -place before. Portoghese stood mute; the voice sounded strange and far -away to him. He felt a hand upon his shoulder that was the hand of a -friend, and shifted his feet uncertainly, but made no response. The -gray-haired judge regarded the two gravely but kindly. - -"Your wish comes from a kind heart," he said. "But this man has been -convicted. The law must be obeyed. There is nothing in it that allows -us to let a guilty man go free." - -The jurymen whispered together and one of them arose. - -"Your Honor," he said, "a higher law than any made by man came into the -world at Christmas--that we love one another. These men would obey it. -Will you not let them? The jury pray as one man that you let mercy go -before justice on this Holy Eve." - -A smile lit up Judge O'Sullivan's face. "Filippo Portoghese," he said, -"you are a very fortunate man. The law bids me send you to prison for -ten years, and but for a miraculous chance would have condemned you to -death. But the man you maimed for life pleads for you, and the jury -that convicted you begs that you go free. The Court remembers what you -have suffered and it knows the plight of your family, upon whom the -heaviest burden of your punishment would fall. Go, then, to your home. -And to you, gentlemen, a happy holiday such as you have given him and -his! This court stands adjourned." - -The voice of the crier was lost in a storm of applause. The jury -rose to their feet and cheered judge, complainant, and defendant. -Portoghese, who had stood as one dazed, raised eyes that brimmed with -tears to the bench and to his old neighbor. He understood at last. -Ammella threw his arm around him and kissed him on both cheeks, his -disfigured face beaming with joy. One of the jurymen, a Jew, put his -hand impulsively in his pocket, emptied it into his hat, and passed the -hat to his neighbor. All the others followed his example. The court -officer dropped in half a dollar as he stuffed its contents into the -happy Italian's pocket. "For little Vito," he said, and shook his hand. - -"Ah!" said the foreman of the jury, looking after the reunited friends -leaving the court-room arm in arm; "it is good to live in New York. A -merry Christmas to you, Judge!" - - - - -THE SNOW BABIES' CHRISTMAS - - -"All aboard for Coney Island!" The gates of the bridge train slammed, -the whistle shrieked, and the cars rolled out past rows of houses -that grew smaller and lower to Jim's wondering eyes, until they quite -disappeared beneath the track. He felt himself launching forth above -the world of men, and presently he saw, deep down below, the broad -stream with ships and ferry-boats and craft going different ways, just -like the tracks and traffic in a big, wide street; only so far away was -it all that the pennant on the topmast of a vessel passing directly -under the train seemed as if it did not belong to his world at all. Jim -followed the white foam in the wake of the sloop with fascinated stare, -until a puffing tug bustled across its track and wiped it out. Then -he settled back in his seat with a sigh that had been pent up within -him twenty long, wondering minutes since he limped down the Subway at -Twenty-third Street. It was his first journey abroad. - -Jim had never been to the Brooklyn Bridge before. It is doubtful if he -had ever heard of it. If he had, it was as of something so distant, -so unreal, as to have been quite within the realm of fairyland, had -his life experience included fairies. It had not. Jim's frail craft -had been launched in Little Italy, half a dozen miles or more up-town, -and there it had been moored, its rovings being limited at the outset -by babyhood and the tenement, and later on by the wreck that had made -of him a castaway for life. A mysterious something had attacked one -of Jim's ankles, and, despite ointments and lotions prescribed by the -wise women of the tenement, had eaten into the bone and stayed there. -At nine the lad was a cripple with one leg shorter than the other by -two or three inches, with a stepmother, a squalling baby to mind for -his daily task, hard words and kicks for his wage; for Jim was an -unprofitable investment, promising no returns, but, rather, constant -worry and outlay. The outlook was not the most cheering in the world. - -But, happily, Jim was little concerned about things to come. He lived -in the day that is, fighting his way as he could with a leg and a half -and a nickname,--"Gimpy" they called him for his limp,--and getting -out of it what a fellow so handicapped could. After all, there were -compensations. When the gang scattered before the cop, it did not occur -to him to lay any of the blame to Gimpy, though the little lad with -the pinched face and sharp eyes had, in fact, done scouting duty most -craftily. It was partly in acknowledgment of such services, partly as a -concession to his sharper wits, that Gimpy was tacitly allowed a seat -in the councils of the Cave Gang, though in the far "kid" corner. He -limped through their campaigns with them, learned to swim by "dropping -off the dock" at the end of the street into the swirling tide, and -once nearly lost his life when one of the bigger boys dared him to -run through an election bonfire like his able-bodied comrades. Gimpy -started to do it at once, but stumbled and fell, and was all but burned -to death before the other boys could pull him out. This act of bravado -earned him full membership in the gang, despite his tender years; and, -indeed, it is doubtful if in all that region there was a lad of his age -as tough and loveless as Gimpy. The one affection of his barren life -was the baby that made it slavery by day. But, somehow, there was that -in its chubby foot groping for him in its baby sleep, or in the little -round head pillowed on his shoulder, that more than made up for it all. - -Ill luck was surely Gimpy's portion. It was not a month after he had -returned to the haunts of the gang, a battle-scarred veteran now since -his encounter with the bonfire, when "the Society's" officers held up -the huckster's wagon from which he was crying potatoes with his thin, -shrill voice, which somehow seemed to convey the note of pain that -was the prevailing strain of his life. They made Gimpy a prisoner, -limp, stick, and all. The inquiry that ensued as to his years and home -setting, the while Gimpy was undergoing the incredible experience of -being washed and fed regularly three times a day, set in motion the -train of events that was at present hurrying him toward Coney Island -in midwinter, with a snow-storm draping the land in white far and -near, as the train sped seaward. He gasped as he reviewed the hurrying -event of the week: the visit of the doctor from Sea Breeze, who had -scrutinized his ankle as if he expected to find some of the swag of the -last raid hidden somewhere about it. Gimpy never took his eyes off him -during the examination. No word or cry escaped him when it hurt most, -but his bright, furtive eyes never left the doctor or lost one of his -movements. "Just like a weasel caught in a trap," said the doctor, -speaking of his charge afterward. - -But when it was over, he clapped Gimpy on the shoulder and said it was -all right. He was sure he could help. - -"Have him at the Subway to-morrow at twelve," was his parting -direction; and Gimpy had gone to bed to dream that he was being dragged -down the stone stairs by three helmeted men, to be fed to a monster -breathing fire and smoke at the foot of the stairs. - -Now his wondering journey was disturbed by a cheery voice beside him. -"Well, bub, ever see that before?" and the doctor pointed to the gray -ocean line dead ahead. Gimpy had not seen it, but he knew well enough -what it was. - -"It's the river," he said, "that I cross when I go to Italy." - -"Right!" and his companion held out a helping hand as the train pulled -up at the end of the journey. "Now let's see how we can navigate." - -And, indeed, there was need of seeing about it. Right from the step -of the train the snow lay deep, a pathless waste burying street -and sidewalk out of sight, blocking the closed and barred gate -of Dreamland, of radiant summer memory, and stalling the myriad -hobby-horses of shows that slept their long winter sleep. Not a whinny -came on the sharp salt breeze. The strident voice of the carpenter's -saw and the rat-tat-tat of his hammer alone bore witness that there -was life somewhere in the white desert. The doctor looked in dismay at -Gimpy's brace and high shoe, and shook his head. - -"He never can do it. Hello, there!" An express wagon had come into view -around the corner of the shed. "Here's a job for you." And before he -could have said Jack Robinson, Gimpy felt himself hoisted bodily into -the wagon and deposited there like any express package. From somewhere -a longish something that proved to be a Christmas-tree, very much -wrapped and swathed about, came to keep him company. The doctor climbed -up by the driver, and they were off. Gimpy recalled with a dull sense -of impending events in which for once he had no shaping hand, as he -rubbed his ears where the bitter blast pinched, that to-morrow was -Christmas. - -A strange group was that which gathered about the supper-table at Sea -Breeze that night. It would have been sufficiently odd to any one -anywhere; but to Gimpy, washed, in clean, comfortable raiment, with -his bad foot set in a firm bandage, and for once no longer sore with -the pain that had racked his frame from babyhood, it seemed so unreal -that once or twice he pinched himself covertly to see if he were really -awake. They came weakly stumping with sticks and crutches and on club -feet, the lame and the halt, the children of sorrow and suffering from -the city slums, and stood leaning on crutch or chair for support while -they sang their simple grace; but neither in their clear childish -voices nor yet in the faces that were turned toward Gimpy in friendly -scrutiny as the last comer, was there trace of pain. Their cheeks were -ruddy and their eyes bright with the health of outdoors, and when -they sang about the "Frog in the Pond," in response to a spontaneous -demand, laughter bubbled over around the table. Gimpy, sizing his -fellow-boarders up according to the standards of the gang, with the -mental conclusion that he "could lick the bunch," felt a warm little -hand worming its way into his, and, looking into a pair of trustful -baby eyes, choked with a sudden reminiscent pang, but smiled back at -his friend and felt suddenly at home. Little Ellen, with the pervading -affections, had added him to her family of brothers. What honors were -in store for him in that relation Gimpy never guessed. Ellen left no -one out. When summer came again she enlarged the family further by -adopting the President of the United States as her papa, when he came -visiting to Sea Breeze; and by rights Gimpy should have achieved a pull -such as would have turned the boss of his ward green with envy. - -It appeared speedily that something unusual was on foot. There was a -subdued excitement among the children which his experience diagnosed -at first flush as the symptoms of a raid. But the fact that in all -the waste of snow on the way over he had seen nothing rising to the -apparent dignity of candy-shop or grocery-store made him dismiss -the notion as untenable. Presently unfamiliar doings developed. The -children who could write scribbled notes on odd sheets of paper, which -the nurses burned in the fireplace with solemn incantations. Something -in the locked dining-room was an object of pointed interest. Things -were going on there, and expeditions to penetrate the mystery were -organized at brief intervals, and as often headed off by watchful -nurses. - -When, finally, the children were gotten upstairs and undressed, from -the headposts of each of thirty-six beds there swung a little stocking, -limp and yawning with mute appeal. Gimpy had "caught on" by this time: -it was a wishing-bee, and old Santa Claus was supposed to fill the -stockings with what each had most desired. The consultation over, baby -George had let him into the game. Baby George did not know enough to do -his own wishing, and the thirty-five took it in hand while he was being -put to bed. - -"Let's wish for some little dresses for him," said big Mariano, who was -the baby's champion and court of last resort; "that's what he needs." -And it was done. Gimpy smiled a little disdainfully at the credulity of -the "kids." The Santa Claus fake was out of date a long while in his -tenement. But he voted for baby George's dresses, all the same, and -even went to the length of recording his own wish for a good baseball -bat. Gimpy was coming on. - -Going to bed in that queer place fairly "stumped" Gimpy. "Peelin'" -had been the simplest of processes in Little Italy. Here they pulled -a fellow's clothes off only to put on another lot, heavier every way, -with sweater and hood and flannel socks and mittens to boot, as if the -boy were bound for a tussle with the storm outside rather than for -his own warm bed. And so, in fact, he was. For no sooner had he been -tucked under the blankets, warm and snug, than the nurses threw open -all the windows, every one, and let the gale from without surge in and -through as it listed; and so they left them. Gimpy shivered as he felt -the frosty breath of the ocean nipping his nose, and crept under the -blanket for shelter. But presently he looked up and saw the other boys -snoozing happily like so many little Eskimos equipped for the North -Pole, and decided to keep them company. For a while he lay thinking of -the strange things that had happened that day, since his descent into -the Subway. If the gang could see him now. But it seemed far away, with -all his past life--farther than the river with the ships deep down -below. Out there upon the dark waters, in the storm, were they sailing -now, and all the lights of the city swallowed up in gloom? Presently he -heard through it all the train roaring far off in the Subway and many -hurrying feet on the stairs. The iron gates clanked--and he fell asleep -with the song of the sea for his lullaby. Mother Nature had gathered -her child to her bosom, and the slum had lost in the battle for a life. - -The clock had not struck two when from the biggest boy's bed in the -corner there came in a clear, strong alto the strains of "Ring, ring, -happy bells!" and from every room childish voices chimed in. The nurses -hurried to stop the chorus with the message that it was yet five hours -to daylight. They were up, trimming the tree in the dining-room; at -the last moment the crushing announcement had been made that the candy -had been forgotten, and a midnight expedition had set out for the city -through the storm to procure it. A semblance of order was restored, -but cat naps ruled after that, till, at day-break, a gleeful shout -from Ellen's bed proclaimed that Santa Claus had been there, in very -truth, and had left a dolly in her stocking. It was the signal for -such an uproar as had not been heard on that beach since Port Arthur -fell for the last time upon its defenders three months before. From -thirty-six stockings came forth a veritable army of tops, balls, wooden -animals of unknown pedigree, oranges, music-boxes, and cunning little -pocket-books, each with a shining silver quarter in, love-tokens of one -in the great city whose heart must have been light with happy dreams -in that hour. Gimpy drew forth from his stocking a very able-bodied -baseball bat and considered it with a stunned look. Santa Claus was a -fake, but the bat--there was no denying that, and he _had_ wished for -one the very last thing before he fell asleep! - -Daylight struggled still with a heavy snow-squall when the signal was -given for the carol "Christmas time has come again," and the march down -to breakfast. That march! On the third step the carol was forgotten -and the band broke into one long cheer that was kept up till the door -of the dining-room was reached. At the first glimpse within, baby -George's wail rose loud and grievous: "My chair! my chair!" But it died -in a shriek of joy as he saw what it was that had taken its place. -There stood the Christmas-tree, one mass of shining candles, and silver -and gold, and angels with wings, and wondrous things of colored paper -all over it from top to bottom. Gimpy's eyes sparkled at the sight, -skeptic though he was at nine; and in the depths of his soul he came -over, then and there, to Santa Claus, to abide forever--only he did not -know it yet. - -To make the children eat any breakfast, with three gay sleds waiting to -take the girls out in the snow, was no easy matter; but it was done at -last, and they swarmed forth for a holiday in the open. All days are -spent in the open at Sea Breeze,--even the school is a tent,--and very -cold weather only shortens the brief school hour; but this day was to -be given over to play altogether. Winter it was "for fair," but never -was coasting enjoyed on New England hills as these sledding journeys on -the sands where the surf beat in with crash of thunder. The sea itself -had joined in making Christmas for its little friends. The day before, -a regiment of crabs had come ashore and surrendered to the cook at Sea -Breeze. Christmas morn found the children's "floor"--they called the -stretch of clean, hard sand between high-water mark and the surf-line -by that name--filled with gorgeous shells and pebbles, and strange -fishes left there by the tide overnight. The fair-weather friends who -turn their backs upon old ocean with the first rude blasts of autumn -little know what wonderful surprises it keeps for those who stand by it -in good and in evil report. - -When the very biggest turkey that ever strutted in barnyard was -discovered steaming in the middle of the dinner-table and the report -went round in whispers that ice-cream had been seen carried in pails, -and when, in response to a pull at the bell, Matron Thomsen ushered in -a squad of smiling mamas and papas to help eat the dinner, even Gimpy -gave in to the general joy, and avowed that Christmas was "bully." -Perhaps his acceptance of the fact was made easier by a hasty survey of -the group of papas and mamas, which assured him that his own were not -among them. A fleeting glimpse of the baby, deserted and disconsolate, -brought the old pucker to his brow for a passing moment; but just then -big Fred set off a snapper at his very ear, and thrusting a pea-green -fool's-cap upon his head, pushed him into the roistering procession -that hobbled round and round the table, cheering fit to burst. And the -babies that had been brought down from their cribs, strapped, because -their backs were crooked, in the frames that look so cruel and are -so kind, lifted up their feeble voices as they watched the show with -shining eyes. Little baby Helen, who could only smile and wave "by-by" -with one fat hand, piped in with her tiny voice, "Here I is!" It was -all she knew, and she gave that with a right good will, which is as -much as one can ask of anybody, even of a snow baby. - -If there were still lacking a last link to rivet Gimpy's loyalty to -his new home for good and all, he himself supplied it when the band -gathered under the leafless trees--for Sea Breeze has a grove in -summer, the only one on the island--and whiled away the afternoon -making a "park" in the snow, with sea-shells for curbing and boundary -stones. When it was all but completed, Gimpy, with an inspiration that -then and there installed him leader, gave it the finishing touch by -drawing a policeman on the corner with a club, and a sign, "Keep off -the grass." Together they gave it the air of reality and the true local -color that made them feel, one and all, that now indeed they were at -home. - -Toward evening a snow-storm blew in from the sea, but instead of -scurrying for shelter, the little Eskimos joined the doctor in hauling -wood for a big bonfire on the beach. There, while the surf beat -upon the shore hardly a dozen steps away, and the storm whirled the -snow-clouds in weird drifts over sea and land, they drew near the fire, -and heard the doctor tell stories that seemed to come right out of the -darkness and grow real while they listened. Dr. Wallace is a southerner -and lived his childhood with Br'er Rabbit and Mr. Fox, and they saw -them plainly gamboling in the firelight as the story went on. For the -doctor knows boys and loves them, that is how. - -No one would have guessed that they were cripples, every one of -that rugged band that sat down around the Christmas supper-table, -rosy-cheeked and jolly--cripples condemned, but for Sea Breeze, to -lives of misery and pain, most of them to an early death and suffering -to others. For their enemy was that foe of mankind, the White Plague, -that for thousands of years has taken tithe and toll of the ignorance -and greed and selfishness of man, which sometimes we call with one -name--the slum. Gimpy never would have dreamed that the tenement held -no worse threat for the baby he yearned for than himself, with his -crippled foot, when he was there. These things you could not have -told even the fathers and mothers; or if you had, no one there but -the doctor and the nurses would have believed you. They knew only too -well. But two things you could make out, with no trouble at all, by -the lamplight: one, that they were one and all on the homeward stretch -to health and vigor--Gimpy himself was a different lad from the one -who had crept shivering to bed the night before; and this other, that -they were the sleepiest crew of youngsters ever got together. Before -they had finished the first verse of "America" as their good night, -standing up like little men, half of them were down and asleep with -their heads pillowed upon their arms. And so Miss Brass, the head -nurse, gathered them in and off to bed. - -"And now, boys," she said as they were being tucked in, "your prayers." -And of those who were awake each said his own: Willie his "Now I lay -me," Mariano his "Ave," but little Bent from the Eastside tenement -wailed that he didn't have any. Bent was a newcomer like Gimpy. - -"Then," said six-year-old Morris, resolutely,--he also was a Jew,--"I -learn him mine vat my fader tol' me." And getting into Bent's crib, -he crept under the blanket with his little comrade. Gimpy saw them -reverently pull their worsted caps down over their heads, and presently -their tiny voices whispered together, in the jargon of the East Side, -their petition to the Father of all, who looked lovingly down through -the storm upon his children of many folds. - -The last prayer was said, and all was still. Through the peaceful -breathing of the boys all about him, Gimpy, alone wakeful, heard the -deep bass of the troubled sea. The storm had blown over. Through the -open windows shone the eternal stars, as on that night in the Judean -hills when shepherds herded their flocks and - - "The angels of the Lord came down." - -He did not know. He was not thinking of angels; none had ever come to -his slum. But a great peace came over him and filled his child-soul. It -may be that the nurse saw it shining in his eyes and thought it fever. -It may be that she, too, was thinking in that holy hour. She bent over -him and laid a soothing hand upon his brow. - -"You must sleep now," she said. - -Something that was not of the tenement, something vital, with which his -old life had no concern, welled up in Gimpy at the touch. He caught her -hand and held it. - -"I will if you will sit here," he said. He could not help it. - -"Why, Jimmy?" She stroked back his shock of stubborn hair. Something -glistened on her eyelashes as she looked at the forlorn little face on -the pillow. How should Gimpy know that he was at that moment leading -another struggling soul by the hand toward the light that never dies? - -"'Cause," he gulped hard, but finished manfully--"'cause I love you." - -Gimpy had learned the lesson of Christmas, - - "And glory shone around." - - - - -JACK'S SERMON - - -Jack sat on the front porch in a very bad humor indeed. That was in -itself something unusual enough to portend trouble; for ordinarily Jack -was a philosopher well persuaded that, upon the whole, this was a very -good world and Deacon Pratt's porch the centre of it on week-days. -On Sundays it was transferred to the village church, and on these -days Jack received there with the family. If the truth were told, it -would probably have been found that Jack conceived the services to be -some sort of function specially designed to do him honor at proper -intervals, for he always received an extra petting on these occasions. -He sat in the pew beside the deacon through the sermon as decorously -as befitted a dog come to years of discretion long since, and wagged -his tail in a friendly manner when the minister came down and patted -him on the head after the benediction. Outside he met the Sunday-school -children on their own ground, and on their own terms. Jack, if he -didn't have blood, had sense, which for working purposes is quite as -good, if not so common. The girls gave him candy and called him Jack -Sprat. His joyous bark could be heard long after church as he romped -with the boys by the creek on the way home. It was even suspected -that on certain Sabbaths they had enjoyed a furtive cross-country -run together; but by tacit consent the village overlooked it and put -it down to the dog. Jack was privileged and not to blame. There was -certainly something, from the children's point of view, also, in favor -of Jack's conception of Sunday. - -On week-day nights there were the church meetings of one kind and -another, for which Deacon Pratt's house was always the place, not -counting the sociables which Jack attended with unfailing regularity. -They would not, any of them, have been quite regular without Jack. -Indeed, many a question of grave church polity had been settled only -after it had been submitted to and passed upon in meeting by Jack. "Is -not that so, Jack?" was a favorite clincher to arguments which, it was -felt, had won over his master. And Jack's groping paw cemented a treaty -of good-will and mutual concession that had helped the village church -over more than one hard place. For there were hard heads and stubborn -wills in it as there are in other churches; and Deacon Pratt, for all -he was a just man, was set on having his way. - -And now all this was changed. What had come over the town Jack couldn't -make out, but that it was something serious nobody was needed to -tell him. Folks he used to meet at the gate, going to the trains of -mornings, on neighborly terms, hurried past him without as much as a -look. Deacon Jones, who gave him ginger-snaps out of the pantry-crock -as a special bribe for a hand-shake, had even put out his foot to kick -him, actually kick him, when he waylaid him at the corner that morning. -The whole week there had not been as much as a visitor at the house, -and what with Christmas in town--Jack knew the signs well enough; they -meant raisins and goodies that came only when they burned candles on -trees in the church--it was enough to make any dog cross. To top it -all, his mistress must come down sick, worried into it all, as like as -not, he had heard the doctor say. If Jack's thoughts could have been -put into words as he sat on the porch looking moodily over the road, -they would doubtless have taken something like this shape, that it was -a pity that men didn't have the sense of dogs, but would bear grudges -and make themselves and their betters unhappy. And in the village there -would have been more than one to agree with him secretly. - -Jack wouldn't have been any the wiser had he been told that the trouble -that had come to town was that of all things most worrisome, a church -quarrel. What was it about and how did it come? I doubt if any of -the men and women who strove in meeting for principle and conscience -with might and main, and said mean things about each other out of -meeting, could have explained it. I know they all would have explained -it differently, and so added fuel to the fire that was hot enough -already. In fact, that was what had happened the night before Jack -encountered his special friend, Deacon Jones, and it was in virtue of -his master's share in it that he had bestowed the memorable kick upon -him. Deacon Pratt was the valiant leader of the opposing faction. - -To the general stress of mind the holiday had but added another cause -of irritation. Could Jack have understood the ethics of men he would -have known that it strangely happens that: - - "Forgiveness to the injured does belong, - But they ne'er pardon who have done the wrong," - -and that everybody in a church quarrel having injured everybody else -within reach for conscience sake, the season of good-will and even the -illness of that good woman, the wife of Deacon Pratt, admittedly from -worry over the trouble, practically put a settlement of it out of the -question. But being only a dog he did not understand. He could only -sulk; and as this went well enough with things as they were in general, -it proved that Jack was, as was well known, a very intelligent dog. - -He had yet to give another proof of it, that very day, by preaching to -the divided congregation its Christmas sermon, a sermon that is to this -day remembered in Brownville; but of that neither they nor he, sitting -there on the stoop nursing his grievances, had at that time any warning. - -It was Christmas Eve. Since the early Lutherans settled there, away -back in the last century, it had been the custom in the village to -celebrate the Holy Eve with a special service and a Christmas tree; and -preparations had been going forward for it all the afternoon. It was -noticeable that the fighting in the congregation in no wise interfered -with the observance of the established forms of worship; rather, it -seemed to lend a keener edge to them. It was only the spirit that -suffered. Jack, surveying the road from the porch, saw baskets and -covered trays carried by, and knew their contents. He had watched the -big Christmas tree going down on the grocer's sled, and his experience -plus his nose supplied the rest. As the lights came out one by one -after twilight, he stirred uneasily at the unwonted stillness in his -house. Apparently no one was getting ready for church. Could it be that -they were not going; that this thing was to be carried to the last -ditch? He decided to go and investigate. - -His investigations were brief, but entirely conclusive. For the second -time that day he was spurned, and by a friend. This time it was the -deacon himself who drove him from his wife's room, whither he had -betaken him with true instinct to ascertain the household intentions. -The deacon seemed to be, if anything, in a worse humor than even Jack -himself. The doctor had told him that afternoon that Mrs. Pratt was a -very sick woman, and that, if she was to pull through at all, she must -be kept from all worriment in an atmosphere which fairly bristled with -it. The deacon felt that he had a contract on his hands which might -prove too heavy for him. He felt, too, with bitterness, that he was an -ill-used man, that all his years of faithful labor in the vineyard went -for nothing because of some wretched heresy which the enemy had devised -to wreck it; and all his humbled pride and his pent-up wrath gathered -itself into the kick with which he sent poor Jack flying back where he -had come from. It was clear that the deacon was not going to church. - -Lonely and forsaken, Jack took his old seat on the porch and pondered. -The wrinkles in his brow multiplied and grew deeper as he looked down -the road and saw the Joneses, the Smiths, and the Allens go by toward -the church. When the Merritts had passed, too, under the lamp, he knew -that it must be nearly time for the sermon. They always came in after -the long prayer. Jack took a turn up and down the porch, whined at the -door once, and, receiving no answer, set off down the road by himself. - -The church was filled. It had never looked handsomer. The rival -factions had vied with each other in decorating it. Spruce and hemlock -sprouted everywhere, and garlands of ground-ivy festooned walls and -chancel. The delicious odor of balsam and of burning wax-candles was in -the air. The people were all there in their Sunday clothes and the old -minister in the pulpit; but the Sunday feeling was not there. Something -was not right. Deacon Pratt's pew alone of them all was empty, and the -congregation cast wistful glances at it, some secretly behind their -hymn-books, others openly and sorrowfully. What the doctor had said in -the afternoon had got out. He himself had told Mrs. Mills that it was -doubtful if the deacon's wife got around, and it sat heavily upon the -conscience of the people. - -The opening hymns were sung; the Merritts, late as usual, had taken -their seats. The minister took up the Book to read the Christmas gospel -from the second chapter of Luke. He had been there longer than most of -those who were in the church to-night could remember, had grown old -with the people, had loved them as the shepherd who is answerable to -the Master for his flock. Their griefs and their troubles were his. -If he could not ward them off, he could suffer with them. His voice -trembled a little as he read of the tidings of great joy. Perhaps it -was age; but it grew firmer as he proceeded toward the end:-- - -"And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host -praising God and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth -peace, good-will toward men.'" - -The old minister closed the Book and looked out over the congregation. -He looked long and yearningly, and twice he cleared his throat, only -to repeat, "on earth peace, good-will toward men." The people settled -back in their seats, uneasily; they strangely avoided the eye of their -pastor. It rested in its slow survey of the flock upon Deacon Pratt's -empty pew. And at that moment a strange thing occurred. - -Why it should seem strange was, perhaps, not the least strange part of -it. Jack had come in alone before. He knew the trick of the door-latch, -and had often opened it unaided. He was in the habit of attending the -church with the folks; there was no reason why they should not expect -him, unless they knew of one themselves. But somehow the click of the -latch went clear through the congregation as the heavenly message of -good-will had not. All eyes were turned upon the deacon's pew; and they -waited. - -Jack came slowly and gravely up the aisle and stopped at his master's -pew. He sniffed of the empty seat disapprovingly once or twice--he had -never seen it in that state before--then he climbed up and sat, serious -and attentive as he was wont, in his old seat, facing the pulpit, -nodding once as who should say, "I'm here; proceed!" - -It is recorded that not even a titter was heard from the Sunday-school, -which was out in force. In the silence that reigned in the church was -heard only a smothered sob. The old minister looked with misty eyes -at his friend. He took off his spectacles, wiped them and put them on -again, and tried to speak; but the tears ran down his cheeks and choked -his voice. The congregation wept with him. - -"Brethren," he said, when he could speak, "glory to God in the highest, -and on earth peace, good-will toward men! Jack has preached a better -sermon than I can to-night. Let us pray together." - -It is further recorded that the first and only quarrel in the -Brownville church ended on Christmas Eve and was never heard of again, -and that it was all the work of Jack's sermon. - - - - -MERRY CHRISTMAS IN THE TENEMENTS - - -It was just a sprig of holly, with scarlet berries showing against the -green, stuck in, by one of the office boys probably, behind the sign -that pointed the way up to the editorial rooms. There was no reason -why it should have made me start when I came suddenly upon it at the -turn of the stairs; but it did. Perhaps it was because that dingy hall, -given over to dust and draughts all the days of the year, was the last -place in which I expected to meet with any sign of Christmas; perhaps -it was because I myself had nearly forgotten the holiday. Whatever the -cause, it gave me quite a turn. - -I stood, and stared at it. It looked dry, almost withered. Probably it -had come a long way. Not much holly grows about Printing-House Square, -except in the colored supplements, and that is scarcely of a kind to -stir tender memories. Withered and dry, this did. I thought, with a -twinge of conscience, of secret little conclaves of my children, of -private views of things hidden from mamma at the bottom of drawers, -of wild flights when papa appeared unbidden in the door, which I had -allowed for once to pass unheeded. Absorbed in the business of the -office, I had hardly thought of Christmas coming on, until now it was -here. And this sprig of holly on the wall that had come to remind -me,--come nobody knew how far,--did it grow yet in the beech-wood -clearings, as it did when I gathered it as a boy, tracking through -the snow? "Christ-thorn" we called it in our Danish tongue. The red -berries, to our simple faith, were the drops of blood that fell from -the Saviour's brow as it drooped under its cruel crown upon the cross. - -Back to the long ago wandered my thoughts: to the moss-grown beech -in which I cut my name and that of a little girl with yellow curls, -of blessed memory, with the first jack-knife I ever owned; to the -story-book with the little fir tree that pined because it was small, -and because the hare jumped over it, and would not be content though -the wind and the sun kissed it, and the dews wept over it and told it -to rejoice in its young life; and that was so proud when, in the second -year, the hare had to go round it, because then it knew it was getting -big,--Hans Christian Andersen's story that we loved above all the rest; -for we knew the tree right well, and the hare; even the tracks it left -in the snow we had seen. Ah, those were the Yule-tide seasons, when the -old Domkirke shone with a thousand wax candles on Christmas eve; when -all business was laid aside to let the world make merry one whole week; -when big red apples were roasted on the stove, and bigger doughnuts -were baked within it for the long feast! Never such had been known -since. Christmas to-day is but a name, a memory. - -A door slammed below, and let in the noises of the street. The holly -rustled in the draught. Some one going out said, "A Merry Christmas to -you all!" in a big, hearty voice. I awoke from my revery to find myself -back in New York with a glad glow at the heart. It was not true. I had -only forgotten. It was myself that had changed, not Christmas. That was -here, with the old cheer, the old message of good-will, the old royal -road to the heart of mankind. How often had I seen its blessed charity, -that never corrupts, make light in the hovels of darkness and despair! -how often watched its spirit of self-sacrifice and devotion in those -who had, besides themselves, nothing to give! and as often the sight -had made whole my faith in human nature. No! Christmas was not of the -past, its spirit not dead. The lad who fixed the sprig of holly on the -stairs knew it; my reporter's note-book bore witness to it. Witness of -my contrition for the wrong I did the gentle spirit of the holiday, -here let the book tell the story of one Christmas in the tenements of -the poor:-- - -It is evening in Grand Street. The shops east and west are pouring -forth their swarms of workers. Street and sidewalk are filled with an -eager throng of young men and women, chatting gayly, and elbowing -the jam of holiday shoppers that linger about the big stores. The -street-cars labor along, loaded down to the steps with passengers -carrying bundles of every size and odd shape. Along the curb a string -of pedlers hawk penny toys in push-carts with noisy clamor, fearless -for once of being moved on by the police. Christmas brings a two -weeks' respite from persecution even to the friendless street-fakir. -From the window of one brilliantly lighted store a bevy of mature -dolls in dishabille stretch forth their arms appealingly to a troop of -factory-hands passing by. The young men chaff the girls, who shriek -with laughter and run. The policeman on the corner stops beating his -hands together to keep warm, and makes a mock attempt to catch them, -whereat their shrieks rise shriller than ever. "Them stockin's o' yourn -'ll be the death o' Santa Claus!" he shouts after them, as they dodge. -And they, looking back, snap saucily, "Mind yer business, freshy!" -But their laughter belies their words. "They giv' it to ye straight -that time," grins the grocer's clerk, come out to snatch a look at the -crowds; and the two swap holiday greetings. - -At the corner, where two opposing tides of travel form an eddy, the -line of push-carts debouches down the darker side street. In its gloom -their torches burn with a fitful glare that wakes black shadows -among the trusses of the railroad structure overhead. A woman, with -worn shawl drawn tightly about head and shoulders, bargains with a -pedler for a monkey on a stick and two cents' worth of flitter-gold. -Five ill-clad youngsters flatten their noses against the frozen pane -of the toy-shop, in ecstasy at something there, which proves to be -a milk wagon, with driver, horses, and cans that can be unloaded. -It is something their minds can grasp. One comes forth with a penny -goldfish of pasteboard clutched tightly in his hand, and, casting -cautious glances right and left, speeds across the way to the door of -a tenement, where a little girl stands waiting. "It's yer Chris'mas, -Kate," he says, and thrusts it into her eager fist. The black doorway -swallows them up. - -Across the narrow yard, in the basement of the rear house, the lights -of a Christmas tree show against the grimy window pane. The hare would -never have gone around it, it is so very small. The two children are -busily engaged fixing the goldfish upon one of its branches. Three -little candles that burn there shed light upon a scene of utmost -desolation. The room is black with smoke and dirt. In the middle of the -floor oozes an oil-stove that serves at once to take the raw edge off -the cold and to cook the meals by. Half the window panes are broken, -and the holes stuffed with rags. The sleeve of an old coat hangs out -of one, and beats drearily upon the sash when the wind sweeps over -the fence and rattles the rotten shutters. The family wash, clammy and -gray, hangs on a clothes-line stretched across the room. Under it, at -a table set with cracked and empty plates, a discouraged woman sits -eying the children's show gloomily. It is evident that she has been -drinking. The peaked faces of the little ones wear a famished look. -There are three--the third an infant, put to bed in what was once a -baby carriage. The two from the street are pulling it around to get the -tree in range. The baby sees it, and crows with delight. The boy shakes -a branch, and the goldfish leaps and sparkles in the candle-light. - -"See, sister!" he pipes; "see Santa Claus!" And they clap their hands -in glee. The woman at the table wakes out of her stupor, gazes around -her, and bursts into a fit of maudlin weeping. - -The door falls to. Five flights up, another opens upon a bare attic -room which a patient little woman is setting to rights. There are only -three chairs, a box, and a bedstead in the room, but they take a deal -of careful arranging. The bed hides the broken plaster in the wall -through which the wind came in; each chair-leg stands over a rat-hole, -at once to hide it and to keep the rats out. One is left; the box -is for that. The plaster of the ceiling is held up with pasteboard -patches. I know the story of that attic. It is one of cruel desertion. -The woman's husband is even now living in plenty with the creature -for whom he forsook her, not a dozen blocks away, while she "keeps the -home together for the childer." She sought justice, but the lawyer -demanded a retainer; so she gave it up, and went back to her little -ones. For this room that barely keeps the winter wind out she pays four -dollars a month, and is behind with the rent. There is scarce bread in -the house; but the spirit of Christmas has found her attic. Against -a broken wall is tacked a hemlock branch, the leavings of the corner -grocer's fitting-block; pink string from the packing-counter hangs on -it in festoons. A tallow dip on the box furnishes the illumination. The -children sit up in bed, and watch it with shining eyes. - -"We're having Christmas!" they say. - -The lights of the Bowery glow like a myriad twinkling stars upon -the ceaseless flood of humanity that surges ever through the great -highway of the homeless. They shine upon long rows of lodging-houses, -in which hundreds of young men, cast helpless upon the reef of the -strange city, are learning their first lessons of utter loneliness; -for what desolation is there like that of the careless crowd when all -the world rejoices? They shine upon the tempter setting his snares -there, and upon the missionary and the Salvation Army lass, disputing -his catch with him; upon the police detective going his rounds with -coldly observant eye intent upon the outcome of the contest; upon -the wreck that is past hope, and upon the youth pausing on the verge -of the pit in which the other has long ceased to struggle. Sights -and sounds of Christmas there are in plenty in the Bowery. Balsam -and hemlock and fir stand in groves along the busy thoroughfare, and -garlands of green embower mission and dive impartially. Once a year -the old street recalls its youth with an effort. It is true that it -is largely a commercial effort; that the evergreen, with an instinct -that is not of its native hills, haunts saloon-corners by preference; -but the smell of the pine woods is in the air, and--Christmas is not -too critical--one is grateful for the effort. It varies with the -opportunity. At "Beefsteak John's" it is content with artistically -embalming crullers and mince-pies in green cabbage under the window -lamp. Over yonder, where the mile-post of the old lane still -stands,--in its unhonored old age become the vehicle of publishing the -latest "sure cure" to the world,--a florist, whose undenominational -zeal for the holiday and trade outstrips alike distinction of creed and -property, has transformed the sidewalk and the ugly railroad structure -into a veritable bower, spanning it with a canopy of green, under which -dwell with him, in neighborly good-will, the Young Men's Christian -Association and the Jewish tailor next door. - -In the next block a "turkey-shoot" is in progress. Crowds are trying -their luck at breaking the glass balls that dance upon tiny jets of -water in front of a marine view with the moon rising, yellow and big, -out of a silver sea. A man-of-war, with lights burning aloft, labors -under a rocky coast. Groggy sailormen, on shore leave, make unsteady -attempts upon the dancing balls. One mistakes the moon for the target, -but is discovered in season. "Don't shoot that," says the man who loads -the guns; "there's a lamp behind it." Three scared birds in the window -recess try vainly to snatch a moment's sleep between shots and the -trains that go roaring overhead on the elevated road. Roused by the -sharp crack of the rifles, they blink at the lights in the street, and -peck moodily at a crust in their bed of shavings. - -The dime museum gong clatters out its noisy warning that "the lecture" -is about to begin. From the concert hall, where men sit drinking beer -in clouds of smoke, comes the thin voice of a short-skirted singer, -warbling, "Do they think of me at home?" The young fellow who sits -near the door, abstractedly making figures in the wet track of the -"schooners," buries something there with a sudden restless turn, and -calls for another beer. Out in the street a band strikes up. A host -with banners advances, chanting an unfamiliar hymn. In the ranks -marches a cripple on crutches. Newsboys follow, gaping. Under the -illuminated clock of the Cooper Institute the procession halts, and -the leader, turning his face to the sky, offers a prayer. The passing -crowds stop to listen. A few bare their heads. The devoted group, the -flapping banners, and the changing torch-light on upturned faces, make -a strange, weird picture. Then the drum-beat, and the band files into -its barracks across the street. A few of the listeners follow, among -them the lad from the concert hall, who slinks shamefacedly in when he -thinks no one is looking. - -Down at the foot of the Bowery is the "panhandlers' beat," where -the saloons elbow one another at every step, crowding out all other -business than that of keeping lodgers to support them. Within call of -it, across the square, stands a church which, in the memory of men -yet living, was built to shelter the fashionable Baptist audiences -of a day when Madison Square was out in the fields, and Harlem had a -foreign sound. The fashionable audiences are gone long since. To-day -the church, fallen into premature decay, but still handsome in its -strong and noble lines, stands as a missionary outpost in the land of -the enemy, its builders would have said, doing a greater work than they -planned. To-night is the Christmas festival of its English-speaking -Sunday-school, and the pews are filled. The banners of United Italy, -of modern Hellas, of France and Germany and England, hang side by side -with the Chinese dragon and the starry flag--signs of the cosmopolitan -character of the congregation. Greek and Roman Catholics, Jews and -joss-worshippers, go there; few Protestants, and no Baptists. It is -easy to pick out the children in their seats by nationality, and as -easy to read the story of poverty and suffering that stands written in -more than one mother's haggard face, now beaming with pleasure at the -little ones' glee. A gayly decorated Christmas tree has taken the place -of the pulpit. At its foot is stacked a mountain of bundles, Santa -Claus's gifts to the school. A self-conscious young man with soap-locks -has just been allowed to retire, amid tumultuous applause, after -blowing "Nearer, My God, to Thee" on his horn until his cheeks swelled -almost to bursting. A trumpet ever takes the Fourth Ward by storm. -A class of little girls is climbing upon the platform. Each wears a -capital letter on her breast, and has a piece to speak that begins -with the letter; together they spell its lesson. There is momentary -consternation; one is missing. As the discovery is made, a child pushes -past the door-keeper, hot and breathless. "I am in 'Boundless Love,'" -she says, and makes for the platform, where her arrival restores -confidence and the language. - -In the audience the befrocked visitor from up-town sits cheek by jowl -with the pigtailed Chinaman and the dark-browed Italian. Up in the -gallery, farthest from the preacher's desk and the tree, sits a Jewish -mother with three boys, almost in rags. A dingy and threadbare shawl -partly hides her poor calico wrap and patched apron. The woman shrinks -in the pew, fearful of being seen; her boys stand upon the benches, -and applaud with the rest. She endeavors vainly to restrain them. -"Tick, tick!" goes the old clock over the door through which wealth and -fashion went out long years ago, and poverty came in. - -Tick, tick! the world moves, with us--without; without or with. She is -the yesterday, they the to-morrow. What shall the harvest be? - -Loudly ticked the old clock in time with the doxology, the other day, -when they cleared the tenants out of Gotham Court down here in Cherry -Street, and shut the iron doors of Single and Double Alley against -them. Never did the world move faster or surer toward a better day -than when the wretched slum was seized by the health officers as a -nuisance unfit longer to disgrace a Christian city. The snow lies deep -in the deserted passsageways, and the vacant floors are given over to -evil smells, and to the rats that forage in squads, burrowing in the -neglected sewers. The "wall of wrath" still towers above the buildings -in the adjoining Alderman's Court, but its wrath at last is wasted. - -It was built by a vengeful Quaker, whom the alderman had knocked down -in a quarrel over the boundary line, and transmitted its legacy of hate -to generations yet unborn; for where it stood it shut out sunlight -and air from the tenements of Alderman's Court. And at last it is -to go, Gotham Court and all; and to the going the wall of wrath has -contributed its share, thus in the end atoning for some of the harm it -wrought. Tick! old clock; the world moves. Never yet did Christmas seem -less dark on Cherry Hill than since the lights were put out in Gotham -Court forever. - -In "The Bend" the philanthropist undertaker who "buries for what he -can catch on the plate" hails the Yule-tide season with a pyramid of -green made of two coffins set on end. It has been a good day, he says -cheerfully, putting up the shutters; and his mind is easy. But the -"good days" of The Bend are over, too. The Bend itself is all but gone. -Where the old pig-sty stood, children dance and sing to the strumming -of a cracked piano-organ propelled on wheels by an Italian and his -wife. The park that has come to take the place of the slum will curtail -the undertaker's profits, as it has lessened the work of the police. -Murder was the fashion of the day that is past. Scarce a knife has been -drawn since the sunlight shone into that evil spot, and grass and green -shrubs took the place of the old rookeries. The Christmas gospel of -peace and good-will moves in where the slum moves out. It never had a -chance before. - -The children follow the organ, stepping in the slush to the music, -bareheaded and with torn shoes, but happy; across the Five Points and -through "the Bay,"--known to the directory as Baxter Street,--to "the -Divide," still Chatham Street to its denizens, though the aldermen have -rechristened it Park Row. There other delegations of Greek and Italian -children meet and escort the music on its homeward trip. In one of the -crooked streets near the river its journey comes to an end. A battered -door opens to let it in. A tallow dip burns sleepily on the creaking -stairs. The water runs with a loud clatter in the sink: it is to keep -it from freezing. There is not a whole window pane in the hall. Time -was when this was a fine house harboring wealth and refinement. It has -neither now. In the old parlor downstairs a knot of hard-faced men and -women sit on benches about a deal table, playing cards. They have a -jug between them, from which they drink by turns. On the stump of a -mantel-shelf a lamp burns before a rude print of the Mother of God. No -one pays any heed to the hand-organ man and his wife as they climb to -their attic. There is a colony of them up there--three families in four -rooms. - -"Come in, Antonio," says the tenant of the double flat,--the one with -two rooms,--"come and keep Christmas." Antonio enters, cap in hand. -In the corner by the dormer-window a "crib" has been fitted up in -commemoration of the Nativity. A soap-box and two hemlock branches -are the elements. Six tallow candles and a night-light illuminate a -singular collection of rarities, set out with much ceremonial show. A -doll tightly wrapped in swaddling-clothes represents "the Child." Over -it stands a ferocious-looking beast, easily recognized as a survival -of the last political campaign,--the Tammany tiger,--threatening to -swallow it at a gulp if one as much as takes one's eyes off it. A -miniature Santa Claus, a pasteboard monkey, and several other articles -of bric-à-brac of the kind the tenement affords, complete the outfit. -The background is a picture of St. Donato, their village saint, with -the Madonna "whom they worship most." But the incongruity harbors no -suggestion of disrespect. The children view the strange show with -genuine reverence, bowing and crossing themselves before it. There are -five, the oldest a girl of seventeen, who works for a sweater, making -three dollars a week. It is all the money that comes in, for the father -has been sick and unable to work eight months and the mother has her -hands full: the youngest is a baby in arms. Three of the children go to -a charity school, where they are fed, a great help, now the holidays -have come to make work slack for sister. The rent is six dollars--two -weeks' pay out of the four. The mention of a possible chance of light -work for the man brings the daughter with her sewing from the adjoining -room, eager to hear. That would be Christmas indeed! "Pietro!" She -runs to the neighbors to communicate the joyful tidings. Pietro comes, -with his new-born baby, which he is tending while his wife lies ill, to -look at the maestro, so powerful and good. He also has been out of work -for months, with a family of mouths to fill, and nothing coming in. His -children are all small yet, but they speak English. - -"What," I say, holding a silver dime up before the oldest, a smart -little chap of seven--"what would you do if I gave you this?" - -"Get change," he replies promptly. When he is told that it is his own, -to buy toys with, his eyes open wide with wondering incredulity. By -degrees he understands. The father does not. He looks questioningly -from one to the other. When told, his respect increases visibly for -"the rich gentleman." - -They were villagers of the same community in southern Italy, these -people and others in the tenements thereabouts, and they moved their -patron saint with them. They cluster about his worship here, but -the worship is more than an empty form. He typifies to them the old -neighborliness of home, the spirit of mutual help, of charity, and of -the common cause against the common enemy. The community life survives -through their saint in the far city to an unsuspected extent. The sick -are cared for; the dreaded hospital is fenced out. There are no Italian -evictions. The saint has paid the rent of this attic through two hard -months; and here at his shrine the Calabrian village gathers, in the -persons of these three, to do him honor on Christmas eve. - -Where the old Africa has been made over into a modern Italy, since -King Humbert's cohorts struck the up-town trail, three hundred of the -little foreigners are having an uproarious time over their Christmas -tree in the Children's Aid Society's school. And well they may, for -the like has not been seen in Sullivan Street in this generation. -Christmas trees are rather rarer over here than on the East Side, where -the German leavens the lump with his loyalty to home traditions. This -is loaded with silver and gold and toys without end, until there is -little left of the original green. Santa Claus's sleigh must have been -upset in a snow-drift over here, and righted by throwing the cargo -overboard, for there is at least a wagon-load of things that can find -no room on the tree. The appearance of "teacher" with a double armful -of curly-headed dolls in red, yellow, and green Mother-Hubbards, -doubtful how to dispose of them, provokes a shout of approval, which -is presently quieted by the principal's bell. School is "in" for the -preliminary exercises. Afterward there are to be the tree and ice-cream -for the good children. In their anxiety to prove their title clear, -they sit so straight, with arms folded, that the whole row bends over -backward. The lesson is brief, the answers to the point. - -"What do we receive at Christmas?" the teacher wants to know. The -whole school responds with a shout, "Dolls and toys!" To the question, -"Why do we receive them at Christmas?" the answer is not so prompt. -But one youngster from Thompson Street holds up his hand. He knows. -"Because we always get 'em," he says; and the class is convinced: it is -a fact. A baby wails because it cannot get the whole tree at once. The -"little mother"--herself a child of less than a dozen winters--who has -it in charge, cooes over it, and soothes its grief with the aid of a -surreptitious sponge-cake evolved from the depths of teacher's pocket. -Babies are encouraged in these schools, though not originally included -in their plan, as often the one condition upon which the older children -can be reached. Some one has to mind the baby, with all hands out at -work. - -The school sings "Santa Lucia" and "Children of the Heavenly King," and -baby is lulled to sleep. - -"Who is this King?" asks the teacher, suddenly, at the end of a verse. -Momentary stupefaction. The little minds are on ice-cream just then; -the lad nearest the door has telegraphed that it is being carried up -in pails. A little fellow on the back seat saves the day. Up goes his -brown fist. - -"Well, Vito, who is he?" - -"McKinley!" pipes the lad, who remembers the election just past; and -the school adjourns for ice-cream. - -It is a sight to see them eat it. In a score of such schools, from the -Hook to Harlem, the sight is enjoyed in Christmas week by the men and -women who, out of their own pockets, reimburse Santa Claus for his -outlay, and count it a joy, as well they may; for their beneficence -sometimes makes the one bright spot in lives that have suffered of all -wrongs the most cruel,--that of being despoiled of their childhood. -Sometimes they are little Bohemians; sometimes the children of refugee -Jews; and again, Italians, or the descendants of the Irish stock of -Hell's Kitchen and Poverty Row; always the poorest, the shabbiest, the -hungriest--the children Santa Claus loves best to find, if any one will -show him the way. Having so much on hand, he has no time, you see, to -look them up himself. That must be done for him; and it is done. To the -teacher in the Sullivan Street school came one little girl, this last -Christmas, with anxious inquiry if it was true that he came around with -toys. - -"I hanged my stocking last time," she said, "and he didn't come at -all." In the front house indeed, he left a drum and a doll, but no -message from him reached the rear house in the alley. "Maybe he -couldn't find it," she said soberly. Did the teacher think he would -come if she wrote to him? She had learned to write. - -Together they composed a note to Santa Claus, speaking for a doll and -a bell--the bell to play "go to school" with when she was kept home -minding the baby. Lest he should by any chance miss the alley in spite -of directions, little Rosa was invited to hang her stocking, and her -sister's, with the janitor's children's in the school. And lo! on -Christmas morning there was a gorgeous doll, and a bell that was a -whole curriculum in itself, as good as a year's schooling any day! -Faith in Santa Claus is established in that Thompson Street alley for -this generation at least; and Santa Claus, got by hook or by crook into -an Eighth Ward alley, is as good as the whole Supreme Court bench, with -the Court of Appeals thrown in, for backing the Board of Health against -the slum. - -But the ice-cream! They eat it off the seats, half of them kneeling or -squatting on the floor; they blow on it, and put it in their pockets to -carry home to baby. Two little shavers discovered to be feeding each -other, each watching the smack develop on the other's lips as the acme -of his own bliss, are "cousins"; that is why. Of cake there is a double -supply. It is a dozen years since "Fighting Mary," the wildest child in -the Seventh Avenue school, taught them a lesson there which they have -never forgotten. She was perfectly untamable, fighting everybody in -school, the despair of her teacher, till on Thanksgiving, reluctantly -included in the general amnesty and mince-pie, she was caught cramming -the pie into her pocket, after eyeing it with a look of pure ecstasy, -but refusing to touch it. "For mother" was her explanation, delivered -with a defiant look before which the class quailed. It is recorded, but -not in the minutes, that the board of managers wept over Fighting Mary, -who, all unconscious of having caused such an astonishing "break," -was at that moment engaged in maintaining her prestige and reputation -by fighting the gang in the next block. The minutes contain merely a -formal resolution to the effect that occasions of mince-pie shall carry -double rations thenceforth. And the rule has been kept--not only in -Seventh Avenue, but in every industrial school--since. Fighting Mary -won the biggest fight of her troubled life that day, without striking a -blow. - -It was in the Seventh Avenue school last Christmas that I offered the -truant class a four-bladed penknife as a prize for whittling out the -truest Maltese cross. It was a class of black sheep, and it was the -blackest sheep of the flock that won the prize. "That awful Savarese," -said the principal in despair. I thought of Fighting Mary, and bade her -take heart. I regret to say that within a week the hapless Savarese was -black-listed for banking up the school door with snow, so that not -even the janitor could get out and at him. - -Within hail of the Sullivan Street school camps a scattered little -band, the Christmas customs of which I had been trying for years to -surprise. They are Indians, a handful of Mohawks and Iroquois, whom -some ill wind has blown down from their Canadian reservation, and left -in these West Side tenements to eke out such a living as they can, -weaving mats and baskets, and threading glass pearls on slippers and -pin-cushions, until, one after another, they have died off and gone -to happier hunting-grounds than Thompson Street. There were as many -families as one could count on the fingers of both hands when I first -came upon them, at the death of old Tamenund, the basket maker. Last -Christmas there were seven. I had about made up my mind that the only -real Americans in New York did not keep the holiday at all, when, one -Christmas eve, they showed me how. Just as dark was setting in, old -Mrs. Benoit came from her Hudson Street attic--where she was known -among the neighbors, as old and poor as she, as Mrs. Ben Wah, and was -believed to be the relict of a warrior of the name of Benjamin Wah--to -the office of the Charity Organization Society, with a bundle for a -friend who had helped her over a rough spot--the rent, I suppose. The -bundle was done up elaborately in blue cheese-cloth, and contained -a lot of little garments which she had made out of the remnants of -blankets and cloth of her own from a younger and better day. "For -those," she said, in her French patois, "who are poorer than myself;" -and hobbled away. I found out, a few days later, when I took her -picture weaving mats in her attic room, that she had scarcely food -in the house that Christmas day and not the car fare to take her to -church! Walking was bad, and her old limbs were stiff. She sat by the -window through the winter evening, and watched the sun go down behind -the western hills, comforted by her pipe. Mrs. Ben Wah, to give her -her local name, is not really an Indian; but her husband was one, and -she lived all her life with the tribe till she came here. She is a -philosopher in her own quaint way. "It is no disgrace to be poor," said -she to me, regarding her empty tobacco-pouch; "but it is sometimes a -great inconvenience." Not even the recollection of the vote of censure -that was passed upon me once by the ladies of the Charitable Ten for -surreptitiously supplying an aged couple, the special object of their -charity, with army plug, could have deterred me from taking the hint. - -Very likely, my old friend Miss Sherman, in her Broome Street -cellar,--it is always the attic or the cellar,--would object to Mrs. -Ben Wah's claim to being the only real American in my note-book. She -is from Down East, and says "stun" for stone. In her youth she was -lady's-maid to a general's wife, the recollection of which military -career equally condones the cellar and prevents her holding any sort -of communication with her common neighbors, who add to the offence -of being foreigners the unpardonable one of being mostly men. Eight -cats bear her steady company, and keep alive her starved affections. I -found them on last Christmas eve behind barricaded doors; for the cold -that had locked the water-pipes had brought the neighbors down to the -cellar, where Miss Sherman's cunning had kept them from freezing. Their -tin pans and buckets were even then banging against her door. "They're -a miserable lot," said the old maid, fondling her cats defiantly; "but -let 'em. It's Christmas. Ah!" she added, as one of the eight stood up -in her lap and rubbed its cheek against hers, "they're innocent. It -isn't poor little animals that does the harm. It's men and women that -does it to each other." I don't know whether it was just philosophy, -like Mrs. Ben Wah's, or a glimpse of her story. If she had one, she -kept it for her cats. - -In a hundred places all over the city, when Christmas comes, as -many open-air fairs spring suddenly into life. A kind of Gentile -Feast of Tabernacles possesses the tenement districts especially. -Green-embowered booths stand in rows at the curb, and the voice of -the tin trumpet is heard in the land. The common source of all the -show is down by the North River, in the district known as "the Farm." -Down there Santa Claus establishes headquarters early in December and -until past New Year. The broad quay looks then more like a clearing -in a pine forest than a busy section of the metropolis. The steamers -discharge their loads of fir trees at the piers until they stand -stacked mountain-high, with foot-hills of holly and ground-ivy trailing -off toward the land side. An army train of wagons is engaged in carting -them away from early morning till late at night; but the green forest -grows, in spite of it all, until in places it shuts the shipping out -of sight altogether. The air is redolent with the smell of balsam -and pine. After nightfall, when the lights are burning in the busy -market, and the homeward-bound crowds with baskets and heavy burdens of -Christmas greens jostle one another with good-natured banter,--nobody -is ever cross down here in the holiday season,--it is good to take a -stroll through the Farm, if one has a spot in his heart faithful yet -to the hills and the woods in spite of the latter-day city. But it is -when the moonlight is upon the water and upon the dark phantom forest, -when the heavy breathing of some passing steamer is the only sound that -breaks the stillness of the night, and the watchman smokes his only -pipe on the bulwark, that the Farm has a mood and an atmosphere all its -own, full of poetry which some day a painter's brush will catch and -hold. - -Into the ugliest tenement street Christmas brings something of -picturesqueness, of cheer. Its message was ever to the poor and the -heavy-laden, and by them it is understood with an instinctive yearning -to do it honor. In the stiff dignity of the brown-stone streets up-town -there may be scarce a hint of it. In the homes of the poor it blossoms -on stoop and fire-escape, looks out of the front window, and makes the -unsightly barber-pole to sprout overnight like an Aaron's-rod. Poor -indeed is the home that has not its sign of peace over the hearth, be -it but a single sprig of green. A little color creeps with it even into -rabbinical Hester Street, and shows in the shop-windows and in the -children's faces. The very feather dusters in the pedler's stock take -on brighter hues for the occasion, and the big knives in the cutler's -shop gleam with a lively anticipation of the impending goose "with -fixin's"--a concession, perhaps, to the commercial rather than the -religious holiday: business comes then, if ever. A crowd of ragamuffins -camp out at a window where Santa Claus and his wife stand in state, -embodiment of the domestic ideal that has not yet gone out of fashion -in these tenements, gazing hungrily at the announcement that "A silver -present will be given to every purchaser by a real Santa Claus.--M. -Levitsky." Across the way, in a hole in the wall, two cobblers are -pegging away under an oozy lamp that makes a yellow splurge on the inky -blackness about them, revealing to the passer-by their bearded faces, -but nothing of the environment save a single sprig of holly suspended -from the lamp. From what forgotten brake it came with a message of -cheer, a thought of wife and children across the sea waiting their -summons, God knows. The shop is their house and home. It was once the -hall of the tenement; but to save space, enough has been walled in to -make room for their bench and bed; the tenants go through the next -house. No matter if they are cramped; by and by they will have room. By -and by comes the spring, and with it the steamer. Does not the green -branch speak of spring and of hope? The policeman on the beat hears -their hammers beat a joyous tattoo past midnight, far into Christmas -morning. Who shall say its message has not reached even them in their -slum? - -Where the noisy trains speed over the iron highway past the -second-story windows of Allen Street, a cellar door yawns darkly in the -shadow of one of the pillars that half block the narrow sidewalk. A -dull gleam behind the cobweb-shrouded window pane supplements the sign -over the door, in Yiddish and English: "Old Brasses." Four crooked and -mouldy steps lead to utter darkness, with no friendly voice to guide -the hapless customer. Fumbling along the dank wall, he is left to find -the door of the shop as best he can. Not a likely place to encounter -the fastidious from the Avenue! Yet ladies in furs and silk find this -door and the grim old smith within it. Now and then an artist stumbles -upon them, and exults exceedingly in his find. Two holiday shoppers -are even now haggling with the coppersmith over the price of a pair -of curiously wrought brass candlesticks. The old man has turned from -the forge, at which he was working, unmindful of his callers roving -among the dusty shelves. Standing there, erect and sturdy, in his shiny -leather apron, hammer in hand, with the firelight upon his venerable -head, strong arms bared to the elbow, and the square paper cap pushed -back from a thoughtful, knotty brow, he stirs strange fancies. One half -expects to see him fashioning a gorget or a sword on his anvil. But his -is a more peaceful craft. Nothing more warlike is in sight than a row -of brass shields, destined for ornament, not for battle. Dark shadows -chase one another by the flickering light among copper kettles of ruddy -glow, old-fashioned samovars, and massive andirons of tarnished brass. -The bargaining goes on. Overhead the nineteenth century speeds by with -rattle and roar; in here linger the shadows of the centuries long dead. -The boy at the anvil listens open-mouthed, clutching the bellows-rope. - -In Liberty Hall a Jewish wedding is in progress. Liberty! Strange how -the word echoes through these sweaters' tenements, where starvation -is at home half the time. It is an all-consuming passion with these -people, whose spirit a thousand years of bondage have not availed to -daunt. It breaks out in strikes, when to strike is to hunger and die. -Not until I stood by a striking cloak-maker whose last cent was gone, -with not a crust in the house to feed seven hungry mouths, yet who had -voted vehemently in the meeting that day to keep up the strike to the -bitter end,--bitter indeed, nor far distant,--and heard him at sunset -recite the prayer of his fathers: "Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, -King of the world, that thou hast redeemed us as thou didst redeem our -fathers, hast delivered us from bondage to liberty, and from servile -dependence to redemption!"--not until then did I know what of sacrifice -the word might mean, and how utterly we of another day had forgotten. -But for once shop and tenement are left behind. Whatever other days may -have in store, this is their day of play, when all may rejoice. - -The bridegroom, a cloak-presser in a hired dress suit, sits alone and -ill at ease at one end of the hall, sipping whiskey with a fine air of -indifference, but glancing apprehensively toward the crowd of women in -the opposite corner that surround the bride, a pale little shop-girl -with a pleading, winsome face. From somewhere unexpectedly appears a -big man in an ill-fitting coat and skullcap, flanked on either side -by a fiddler, who scrapes away and away, accompanying the improvisator -in a plaintive minor key as he halts before the bride and intones -his lay. With many a shrug of stooping shoulders and queer excited -gesture, he drones, in the harsh, guttural Yiddish of Hester Street, -his story of life's joys and sorrows, its struggles and victories in -the land of promise. The women listen, nodding and swaying their bodies -sympathetically. He works himself into a frenzy, in which the fiddlers -vainly try to keep up with him. He turns and digs the laggard angrily -in the side without losing the metre. The climax comes. The bride -bursts into hysterical sobs, while the women wipe their eyes. A plate, -heretofore concealed under his coat, is whisked out. He has conquered; -the inevitable collection is taken up. - -The tuneful procession moves upon the bridegroom. An Essex Street -girl in the crowd, watching them go, says disdainfully: "None of this -humbug when I get married." It is the straining of young America at the -fetters of tradition. Ten minutes later, when, between double files of -women holding candles, the couple pass to the canopy where the rabbi -waits, she has already forgotten; and when the crunching of a glass -under the bridegroom's heel announces that they are one, and that until -the broken pieces be reunited he is hers and hers alone, she joins with -all the company in the exulting shout of "Mozzel tov!" ("Good luck!"). -Then the _dupka_, men and women joining in, forgetting all but the -moment, hands on hips, stepping in time, forward, backward, and across. -And then the feast. - -They sit at the long tables by squads and tribes. Those who belong -together sit together. There is no attempt at pairing off for -conversation or mutual entertainment, at speech-making or toasting. The -business in hand is to eat, and it is attended to. The bridegroom, at -the head of the table, with his shiny silk hat on, sets the example; -and the guests emulate it with zeal, the men smoking big, strong cigars -between mouthfuls. "Gosh! ain't it fine?" is the grateful comment -of one curly-headed youngster, bravely attacking his third plate of -chicken-stew. "Fine as silk," nods his neighbor in knickerbockers. -Christmas, for once, means something to them that they can understand. -The crowd of hurrying waiters make room for one bearing aloft a small -turkey adorned with much tinsel and many paper flowers. It is for the -bride, the one thing not to be touched until the next day--one day off -from the drudgery of housekeeping; she, too, can keep Christmas. - -A group of bearded, dark-browed men sit apart, the rabbi among them. -They are the orthodox, who cannot break bread with the rest, for -fear, though the food be kosher, the plates have been defiled. They -brought their own to the feast, and sit at their own table, stern and -justified. Did they but know what depravity is harbored in the impish -mind of the girl yonder, who plans to hang her stocking overnight by -the window! There is no fireplace in the tenement. Queer things happen -over here, in the strife between the old and the new. The girls of the -College Settlement, last summer, felt compelled to explain that the -holiday in the country which they offered some of these children was -to be spent in an Episcopal clergyman's house, where they had prayers -every morning. "Oh," was the mother's indulgent answer, "they know it -isn't true, so it won't hurt them." - -The bell of a neighboring church tower strikes the vesper hour. A man -in working-clothes uncovers his head reverently, and passes on. Through -the vista of green bowers formed of the grocer's stock of Christmas -trees a passing glimpse of flaring torches in the distant square is -caught. They touch with flame the gilt cross towering high above the -"White Garden," as the German residents call Tompkins Square. On the -sidewalk the holy-eve fair is in its busiest hour. In the pine-board -booths stand rows of staring toy dogs alternately with plaster saints. -Red apples and candy are hawked from carts. Pedlers offer colored -candles with shrill outcry. A huckster feeding his horse by the curb -scatters, unseen, a share for the sparrows. The cross flashes white -against the dark sky. - -In one of the side streets near the East River has stood for thirty -years a little mission church, called Hope Chapel by its founders, -in the brave spirit in which they built it. It has had plenty of use -for the spirit since. Of the kind of problems that beset its pastor -I caught a glimpse the other day, when, as I entered his room, a -rough-looking man went out. - -"One of my cares," said Mr. Devins, looking after him with contracted -brow. "He has spent two Christmas days of twenty-three out of jail. -He is a burglar, or was. His daughter has brought him round. She is a -seamstress. For three months, now, she has been keeping him and the -home, working nights. If I could only get him a job! He won't stay -honest long without it; but who wants a burglar for a watchman? And how -can I recommend him?" - -A few doors from the chapel an alley sets into the block. We halted at -the mouth of it. - -"Come in," said Mr. Devins, "and wish Blind Jennie a Merry Christmas." - -We went in, in single file; there was not room for two. As we climbed -the creaking stairs of the rear tenement, a chorus of children's shrill -voices burst into song somewhere above. - -"It is her class," said the pastor of Hope Chapel, as he stopped on the -landing. "They are all kinds. We never could hope to reach them; Jennie -can. They fetch her the papers given out in the Sunday-school, and -read to her what is printed under the pictures; and she tells them the -story of it. There is nothing Jennie doesn't know about the Bible." - -The door opened upon a low-ceiled room, where the evening shades lay -deep. The red glow from the kitchen stove discovered a jam of children, -young girls mostly, perched on the table, the chairs, in one another's -laps, or squatting on the floor; in the midst of them, a little old -woman with heavily veiled face, and wan, wrinkled hands folded in her -lap. The singing ceased as we stepped across the threshold. - -"Be welcome," piped a harsh voice with a singular note of cheerfulness -in it. "Whose step is that with you, pastor? I don't know it. He is -welcome in Jennie's house, whoever he be. Girls, make him to home." The -girls moved up to make room. - -"Jennie has not seen since she was a child," said the clergyman, -gently; "but she knows a friend without it. Some day she shall see the -great Friend in his glory, and then she shall be Blind Jennie no more." - -The little woman raised the veil from a face shockingly disfigured, and -touched the eyeless sockets. "Some day," she repeated, "Jennie shall -see. Not long now--not long!" Her pastor patted her hand. The silence -of the dark room was broken by Blind Jennie's voice, rising cracked and -quavering: "Alas! and did my Saviour bleed?" The shrill chorus burst -in:-- - - It was there by faith I received my sight, - And now I am happy all the day. - -The light that falls from the windows of the Neighborhood Guild, in -Delancey Street, makes a white path across the asphalt pavement. -Within, there is mirth and laughter. The Tenth Ward Social Reform -Club is having its Christmas festival. Its members, poor mothers, -scrub-women,--the president is the janitress of a tenement near -by,--have brought their little ones, a few their husbands, to share -in the fun. One little girl has to be dragged up to the grab-bag. She -cries at the sight of Santa Claus. The baby has drawn a woolly horse. -He kisses the toy with a look of ecstatic bliss, and toddles away. At -the far end of the hall a game of blindman's-buff is starting up. The -aged grandmother, who has watched it with growing excitement, bids one -of the settlement workers hold her grandchild, that she may join in; -and she does join in, with all the pent-up hunger of fifty joyless -years. The worker, looking on, smiles; one has been reached. Thus is -the battle against the slum waged and won with the child's play. - -Tramp! tramp! comes the to-morrow upon the stage. Two hundred and -fifty pairs of little feet, keeping step, are marching to dinner in -the Newsboys' Lodging-house. Five hundred pairs more are restlessly -awaiting their turn upstairs. In prison, hospital, and almshouse -to-night the city is host, and gives of her plenty. Here an unknown -friend has spread a generous repast for the waifs who all the rest of -the days shift for themselves as best they can. Turkey, coffee, and -pie, with "vegetubles" to fill in. As the file of eagle-eyed youngsters -passes down the long tables, there are swift movements of grimy hands, -and shirt-waists bulge, ragged coats sag at the pockets. Hardly is the -file seated when the plaint rises: "I ain't got no pie! It got swiped -on me." Seven despoiled ones hold up their hands. - -The superintendent laughs--it is Christmas eve. He taps one tentatively -on the bulging shirt. "What have you here, my lad?" - -"Me pie," responds he, with an innocent look; "I wuz scart it would get -stole." - -A little fellow who has been eying one of the visitors attentively -takes his knife out of his mouth, and points it at him with conviction. - -"I know you," he pipes. "You're a p'lice commissioner. I seen yer -picter in the papers. You're Teddy Roosevelt!" - -The clatter of knives and forks ceases suddenly. Seven pies creep -stealthily over the edge of the table, and are replaced on as many -plates. The visitors laugh. It was a case of mistaken identity. - -Farthest down town, where the island narrows toward the Battery, and -warehouses crowd the few remaining tenements, the sombre-hued colony of -Syrians is astir with preparation for the holiday. How comes it that -in the only settlement of the real Christmas people in New York the -corner saloon appropriates to itself all the outward signs of it? Even -the floral cross that is nailed over the door of the Orthodox church -is long withered and dead; it has been there since Easter, and it is -yet twelve days to Christmas by the belated reckoning of the Greek -Church. But if the houses show no sign of the holiday, within there is -nothing lacking. The whole colony is gone a-visiting. There are enough -of the unorthodox to set the fashion, and the rest follow the custom -of the country. The men go from house to house, shake hands, and kiss -one another on both cheeks, with the salutation, "Kol am va antom -Salimoon." "Every year and you are safe," the Syrian guide renders it -into English; and a non-professional interpreter amends it: "May you -grow happier year by year." Arrack made from grapes and flavored with -aniseseed, and candy baked in little white balls like marbles, are -served with the indispensable cigarette; for long callers, the pipe. - -In a top-floor room of one of the darkest of the dilapidated tenements, -the dusty window panes of which the last glow in the winter sky is -tinging faintly with red, a dance is in progress. The guests, most of -them fresh from the hillsides of Mount Lebanon, squat about the room. -A reed-pipe and a tambourine furnish the music. One has the centre of -the floor. With a beer jug filled to the brim on his head, he skips and -sways, bending, twisting, kneeling, gesturing, and keeping time, while -the men clap their hands. He lies down and turns over, but not a drop -is spilled. Another succeeds him, stepping proudly, gracefully, furling -and unfurling a handkerchief like a banner. As he sits down, and the -beer goes around, one in the corner, who looks like a shepherd fresh -from his pasture, strikes up a song--a far-off, lonesome, plaintive -lay. "'Far as the hills,'" says the guide; "a song of the old days and -the old people, now seldom heard." All together croon the refrain. -The host delivers himself of an epic about his love across the seas, -with the most agonizing expression, and in a shockingly bad voice. He -is the worst singer I ever heard; but his companions greet his effort -with approving shouts of "Yi! yi!" They look so fierce, and yet are so -childishly happy, that at the thought of their exile and of the dark -tenement the question arises, "Why all this joy?" The guide answers it -with a look of surprise. "They sing," he says, "because they are glad -they are free. Did you not know?" - -The bells in old Trinity chime the midnight hour. From dark hallways -men and women pour forth and hasten to the Maronite church. In the loft -of the dingy old warehouse wax candles burn before an altar of brass. -The priest, in a white robe with a huge gold cross worked on the back, -chants the ritual. The people respond. The women kneel in the aisles, -shrouding their heads in their shawls; a surpliced acolyte swings his -censer; the heavy perfume of burning incense fills the hall. - -The band at the anarchists' ball is tuning up for the last dance. Young -and old float to the happy strains, forgetting injustice, oppression, -hatred. Children slide upon the waxed floor, weaving fearlessly in and -out between the couples--between fierce, bearded men and short-haired -women with crimson-bordered kerchiefs. A Punch-and-Judy show in the -corner evokes shouts of laughter. - -Outside the snow is falling. It sifts silently into each nook and -corner, softens all the hard and ugly lines, and throws the spotless -mantle of charity over the blemishes, the shortcomings. Christmas -morning will dawn pure and white. - - - - -WHAT THE CHRISTMAS SUN SAW IN THE TENEMENTS - - -The December sun shone clear and cold upon the city. It shone upon rich -and poor alike. It shone into the homes of the wealthy on the avenues -and in the up-town streets, and into courts and alleys hedged in by -towering tenements down town. It shone upon throngs of busy holiday -shoppers that went out and in at the big stores, carrying bundles big -and small, all alike filled with Christmas cheer and kindly messages -from Santa Claus. - -It shone down so gayly and altogether cheerily there, that wraps and -overcoats were unbuttoned for the north wind to toy with. "My, isn't it -a nice day?" said one young lady in a fur shoulder cape to a friend, -pausing to kiss and compare lists of Christmas gifts. - -"Most too hot," was the reply, and the friends passed on. There was -warmth within and without. Life was very pleasant under the Christmas -sun up on the avenue. - -Down in Cherry Street the rays of the sun climbed over a row of tall -tenements with an effort that seemed to exhaust all the life that was -in them, and fell into a dirty block, half choked with trucks, with -ash barrels and rubbish of all sorts, among which the dust was whirled -in clouds upon fitful, shivering blasts that searched every nook and -cranny of the big barracks. They fell upon a little girl, barefooted -and in rags, who struggled out of an alley with a broken pitcher in her -grimy fist, against the wind that set down the narrow slit like the -draught through a big factory chimney. Just at the mouth of the alley -it took her with a sudden whirl, a cyclone of dust and drifting ashes, -tossed her fairly off her feet, tore from her grip the threadbare -shawl she clutched at her throat, and set her down at the saloon door -breathless and half smothered. She had just time to dodge through the -storm-doors before another whirlwind swept whistling down the street. - -"My, but isn't it cold?" she said, as she shook the dust out of her -shawl and set the pitcher down on the bar. "Gimme a pint," laying down -a few pennies that had been wrapped in a corner of the shawl, "and -mamma says make it good and full." - -"All'us the way with youse kids--want a barrel when yees pays fer a -pint," growled the bartender. "There, run along, and don't ye hang -around that stove no more. We ain't a steam-heatin' the block fer -nothin'." - -The little girl clutched her shawl and the pitcher, and slipped out -into the street where the wind lay in ambush and promptly bore down on -her in pillars of whirling dust as soon as she appeared. But the sun -that pitied her bare feet and little frozen hands played a trick on -old Boreas--it showed her a way between the pillars, and only just her -skirt was caught by one and whirled over her head as she dodged into -her alley. It peeped after her halfway down its dark depths, where it -seemed colder even than in the bleak street, but there it had to leave -her. - -It did not see her dive through the doorless opening into a hall -where no sun-ray had ever entered. It could not have found its way -in there had it tried. But up the narrow, squeaking stairs the girl -with the pitcher was climbing. Up one flight of stairs, over a knot of -children, half babies, pitching pennies on the landing, over wash-tubs -and bedsteads that encumbered the next--house-cleaning going on in -that "flat"; that is to say, the surplus of bugs was being turned out -with petroleum and a feather--up still another, past a half-open door -through which came the noise of brawling and curses. She dodged and -quickened her step a little until she stood panting before a door on -the fourth landing that opened readily as she pushed it with her bare -foot. - -A room almost devoid of stick or rag one might dignify with the name of -furniture. Two chairs, one with a broken back, the other on three legs, -beside a rickety table that stood upright only by leaning against the -wall. On the unwashed floor a heap of straw covered with dirty bedtick -for a bed; a foul-smelling slop-pail in the middle of the room; a -crazy stove, and back of it a door or gap opening upon darkness. There -was something in there, but what it was could only be surmised from a -heavy snore that rose and fell regularly. It was the bedroom of the -apartment, windowless, airless, and sunless, but rented at a price a -millionaire would denounce as robbery. - -"That you, Liza?" said a voice that discovered a woman bending over the -stove. "Run 'n' get the childer. Dinner's ready." - -The winter sun glancing down the wall of the opposite tenement, with a -hopeless effort to cheer the back yard, might have peeped through the -one window of the room in Mrs. McGroarty's "flat," had that window not -been coated with the dust of ages, and discovered that dinner party in -action. It might have found a score like it in the alley. Four unkempt -children, copies each in his or her way of Liza and their mother, -Mrs. McGroarty, who "did washing" for a living. A meat bone, a "cut" -from the butcher's at four cents a pound, green pickles, stale bread -and beer. Beer for the four, a sup all round, the baby included. Why -not? It was the one relish the searching ray would have found there. -Potatoes were there, too--potatoes and meat! Say not the poor in the -tenements are starving. In New York only those starve who cannot get -work and have not the courage to beg. Fifty thousand always out of a -job, say those who pretend to know. A round half-million asking and -getting charity in eight years, say the statisticians of the Charity -Organization. Any one can go round and see for himself that no one need -starve in New York. - -From across the yard the sunbeam, as it crept up the wall, fell -slantingly through the attic window whence issued the sound of -hammer-blows. A man with a hard face stood in its light, driving nails -into the lid of a soap box that was partly filled with straw. Something -else was there; as he shifted the lid that didn't fit, the glimpse of -sunshine fell across it; it was a dead child, a little baby in a white -slip, bedded in straw in a soap box for a coffin. The man was hammering -down the lid to take it to the Potter's Field. At the bed knelt the -mother, dry-eyed, delirious from starvation that had killed her child. -Five hungry, frightened children cowered in the corner, hardly daring -to whisper as they looked from the father to the mother in terror. - -There was a knock on the door that was drowned once, twice, in the -noise of the hammer on the little coffin. Then it was opened gently, -and a young woman came in with a basket. A little silver cross shone -upon her breast. She went to the poor mother, and, putting her hand -soothingly on her head, knelt by her with gentle and loving words. The -half-crazed woman listened with averted face, then suddenly burst into -tears and hid her throbbing head in the other's lap. - -The man stopped hammering and stared fixedly upon the two; the children -gathered around with devouring looks as the visitor took from her -basket bread, meat, and tea. Just then, with a parting wistful look -into the bare attic room, the sun-ray slipped away, lingered for a -moment about the coping outside, and fled over the housetops. - -As it sped on its winter-day journey, did it shine into any cabin in -an Irish bog more desolate than these Cherry Street "homes"? An army -of thousands, whose one bright and wholesome memory, only tradition of -home, is that poverty-stricken cabin in the desolate bog, are herded -in such barracks to-day in New York. Potatoes they have; yes, and meat -at four cents--even seven. Beer for a relish--never without beer. -But home? The home that was home, even in a bog, with the love of it -that has made Ireland immortal and a tower of strength in the midst -of her suffering--what of that? There are no homes in New York's poor -tenements. - -Down the crooked path of the Mulberry Street Bend the sunlight slanted -into the heart of New York's Italy. It shone upon bandannas and -yellow neckerchiefs; upon swarthy faces and corduroy breeches; upon -black-haired girls--mothers at thirteen; upon hosts of bow-legged -children rolling in the dirt; upon pedlers' carts and rag-pickers -staggering under burdens that threatened to crush them at every step. -Shone upon unnumbered Pasquales dwelling, working, idling, and gambling -there. Shone upon the filthiest and foulest of New York's tenements, -upon Bandits' Roost, upon Bottle Alley, upon the hidden byways that -lead to the tramps' burrows. Shone upon the scene of annual infant -slaughter. Shone into the foul core of New York's slums that was at -last to go to the realm of bad memories because civilized man might not -look upon it and live without blushing. - -It glanced past the rag-shop in the cellar, whence welled up stenches -to poison the town, into an apartment three flights up that held two -women, one young, the other old and bent. The young one had a baby at -her breast. She was rocking it tenderly in her arms, singing in the -soft Italian tongue a lullaby, while the old granny listened eagerly, -her elbows on her knees, and a stumpy clay pipe, blackened with age, -between her teeth. Her eyes were set on the wall, on which the musty -paper hung in tatters, fit frame for the wretched, poverty-stricken -room, but they saw neither poverty nor want; her aged limbs felt not -the cold draught from without, in which they shivered; she looked far -over the seas to sunny Italy, whose music was in her ears. - -"O dolce Napoli," she mumbled between her toothless jaws, "O suol -beato----" - -The song ended in a burst of passionate grief. The old granny and the -baby woke up at once. They were not in sunny Italy; not under southern, -cloudless skies. They were in "The Bend," in Mulberry Street, and the -wintry wind rattled the door as if it would say, in the language of -their new home, the land of the free: "Less music! More work! Root, -hog, or die!" - -Around the corner the sunbeam danced with the wind into Mott Street, -lifted the blouse of a Chinaman and made it play tag with his pigtail. -It used him so roughly that he was glad to skip from it down a -cellar-way that gave out fumes of opium strong enough to scare even -the north wind from its purpose. The soles of his felt shoes showed -as he disappeared down the ladder that passed for cellar steps. Down -there, where daylight never came, a group of yellow, almond-eyed men -were bending over a table playing fan-tan. Their very souls were in -the game, every faculty of the mind bent on the issue and the stake. -The one blouse that was indifferent to what went on was stretched on a -mat in a corner. One end of a clumsy pipe was in his mouth, the other -held over a little spirit-lamp on the divan on which he lay. Something -fluttered in the flame with a pungent, unpleasant smell. The smoker -took a long draught, inhaling the white smoke, then sank back on his -couch in senseless content. - -Upstairs tiptoed the noiseless felt shoes, bent on some house errand, -to the "household" floors above, where young white girls from the -tenements of The Bend and the East Side live in slavery worse, if not -more galling, than any of the galley with ball and chain--the slavery -of the pipe. Four, eight, sixteen, twenty-odd such "homes" in this -tenement, disgracing the very name of home and family, for marriage and -troth are not in the bargain. - -In one room, between the half-drawn curtains of which the sunbeam -works its way in, three girls are lying on as many bunks, smoking all. -They are very young, "under age," though each and every one would -glibly swear in court to the satisfaction of the police that she is -sixteen, and therefore free to make her own bad choice. Of these, one -was brought up among the rugged hills of Maine; the other two are from -the tenement crowds, hardly missed there. But their companion? She is -twirling the sticky brown pill over the lamp, preparing to fill the -bowl of her pipe with it. As she does so, the sunbeam dances across -the bed, kisses the red spot on her cheek that betrays the secret her -tyrant long has known,--though to her it is hidden yet,--that the pipe -has claimed its victim and soon will pass it on to the Potter's Field. - -"Nell," says one of her chums in the other bunk, something stirred -within her by the flash, "Nell, did you hear from the old farm to home -since you come here?" - -Nell turns half around, with the toasting-stick in her hand, an ugly -look on her wasted features, a vile oath on her lips. - -"To hell with the old farm," she says, and putting the pipe to her -mouth inhales it all, every bit, in one long breath, then falls back on -her pillow in drunken stupor. - -That is what the sun of a winter day saw and heard in Mott Street. - - * * * * * - -It had travelled far toward the west, searching many dark corners and -vainly seeking entry to others; had glided with equal impartiality the -spires of five hundred churches and the tin cornices of thirty thousand -tenements, with their million tenants and more; had smiled courage and -cheer to patient mothers trying to make the most of life in the teeming -crowds, that had too little sunshine by far; hope to toiling fathers -striving early and late for bread to fill the many mouths clamoring to -be fed. - -The brief December day was far spent. Now its rays fell across the -North River and lighted up the windows of the tenements in Hell's -Kitchen and Poverty Gap. In the Gap especially they made a brave show; -the windows of the crazy old frame-house under the big tree that -sat back from the street looked as if they were made of beaten gold. -But the glory did not cross the threshold. Within it was dark and -dreary and cold. The room at the foot of the rickety, patched stairs -was empty. The last tenant was beaten to death by her husband in his -drunken fury. The sun's rays shunned the spot ever after, though it was -long since it could have made out the red daub from the mould on the -rotten floor. - -Upstairs, in the cold attic, where the wind wailed mournfully through -every open crack, a little girl sat sobbing as if her heart would -break. She hugged an old doll to her breast. The paint was gone from -its face; the yellow hair was in a tangle; its clothes hung in rags. -But she only hugged it closer. It was her doll. They had been friends -so long, shared hunger and hardship together, and now---- - -Her tears fell faster. One drop trembled upon the wan cheek of the -doll. The last sunbeam shot athwart it and made it glisten like a -priceless jewel. Its glory grew and filled the room. Gone were the -black walls, the darkness, and the cold. There was warmth and light -and joy. Merry voices and glad faces were all about. A flock of -children danced with gleeful shouts about a great Christmas tree in -the middle of the floor. Upon its branches hung drums and trumpets and -toys, and countless candles gleamed like beautiful stars. Farthest -up, at the very top, her doll, her very own, with arms outstretched, -as if appealing to be taken down and hugged. She knew it, knew the -mission-school that had seen her first and only real Christmas, knew -the gentle face of her teacher, and the writing on the wall she had -taught her to spell out: "In His name." His name, who, she had said, -was all little children's friend. Was He also her dolly's friend, and -would He know it among the strange people? - -The light went out; the glory faded. The bare room, only colder and -more cheerless than before, was left. The child shivered. Only that -morning the doctor had told her mother that she must have medicine and -food and warmth, or she must go to the great hospital where papa had -gone before, when their money was all spent. Sorrow and want had laid -the mother upon the bed he had barely left. Every stick of furniture, -every stitch of clothing on which money could be borrowed, had gone to -the pawnbroker. Last of all, she had carried mamma's wedding-ring to -pay the druggist. Now there was no more left, and they had nothing to -eat. In a little while mamma would wake up, hungry. - -The little girl smothered a last sob and rose quickly. She wrapped -the doll in a threadbare shawl as well as she could, tiptoed to the -door, and listened a moment to the feeble breathing of the sick mother -within. Then she went out, shutting the door softly behind her, lest -she wake her. - -Up the street she went, the way she knew so well, one block and a turn -round the saloon corner, the sunset glow kissing the track of her bare -feet in the snow as she went, to a door that rang a noisy bell as she -opened it and went in. A musty smell filled the close room. Packages, -great and small, lay piled high on shelves behind the worn counter. A -slovenly woman was haggling with the pawnbroker about the money for a -skirt she had brought to pledge. - -"Not a cent more than a quarter," he said, contemptuously, tossing the -garment aside. "It's half worn out it is, dragging it back and forth -over the counter these six months. Take it or leave it. Hallo! What -have we here? Little Finnegan, eh? Your mother not dead yet? It's in -the poor-house ye will be if she lasts much longer. What the----" - -He had taken the package from the trembling child's hand--the precious -doll--and unrolled the shawl. A moment he stood staring in dumb -amazement at its contents. Then he caught it up and flung it with an -angry oath upon the floor, where it was shivered against the coal-box. - -"Get out o' here, ye Finnegan brat," he shouted; "I'll tache ye to come -a-guyin' o' me. I'll----" - -The door closed with a bang upon the frightened child, alone in the -cold night. The sun saw not its home-coming. It had hidden behind the -night clouds, weary of the sight of man and his cruelty. - -Evening had worn into night. The busy city slept. Down by the wharves, -now deserted, a poor boy sat on the bulwark, hungry, foot-sore, and -shivering with cold. He sat thinking of friends and home, thousands of -miles away over the sea, whom he had left six months before to go among -strangers. He had been alone ever since, but never more so than that -night. His money gone, no work to be found, he had slept in the streets -for nights. That day he had eaten nothing; he would rather die than -beg, and one of the two he must do soon. - -There was the dark river rushing at his feet; the swirl of the unseen -waters whispered to him of rest and peace he had not known since--it -was so cold--and who was there to care, he thought bitterly. No one -would ever know. He moved a little nearer the edge, and listened more -intently. - -A low whine fell on his ear, and a cold, wet face was pressed against -his. A little crippled dog that had been crouching silently beside him -nestled in his lap. He had picked it up in the street, as forlorn and -friendless as himself, and it had stayed by him. Its touch recalled him -to himself. He got up hastily, and, taking the dog in his arms, went -to the police station near by, and asked for shelter. It was the first -time he had accepted even such charity, and as he lay down on his rough -plank he hugged a little gold locket he wore around his neck, the last -link with better days, and thought with a hard sob of home. In the -middle of the night he awoke with a start. The locket was gone. One of -the tramps who slept with him had stolen it. With bitter tears he went -up and complained to the Sergeant at the desk, and the Sergeant ordered -him to be kicked out into the street as a liar, if not a thief. How -should a tramp boy have come honestly by a gold locket? The doorman put -him out as he was bidden, and when the little dog showed its teeth, a -policeman seized it and clubbed it to death on the step. - - * * * * * - -Far from the slumbering city the rising moon shines over a wide expanse -of glistening water. It silvers the snow upon a barren heath between -two shores, and shortens with each passing minute the shadows of -countless headstones that bear no names, only numbers. The breakers -that beat against the bluff wake not those who sleep there. In the deep -trenches they lie, shoulder to shoulder, an army of brothers, homeless -in life, but here at rest and at peace. A great cross stands upon the -lonely shore. The moon sheds its rays upon it in silent benediction -and floods the garden of the unknown, unmourned dead with its soft -light. Out on the Sound the fishermen see it flashing white against the -starlit sky, and bare their heads reverently as their boats speed by, -borne upon the wings of the west wind. - - - - -NIBSY'S CHRISTMAS - - -It was Christmas Eve over on the East Side. Darkness was closing in on -a cold, hard day. The light that struggled through the frozen windows -of the delicatessen store and the saloon on the corner, fell upon -men with empty dinner-pails who were hurrying homeward, their coats -buttoned tightly, and heads bent against the steady blast from the -river, as if they were butting their way down the street. - -The wind had forced the door of the saloon ajar, and was whistling -through the crack; but in there it seemed to make no one afraid. -Between roars of laughter, the clink of glasses and the rattle of dice -on the hardwood counter were heard out in the street. More than one of -the passers-by who came within range was taken with an extra shiver in -which the vision of wife and little ones waiting at home for his coming -was snuffed out, as he dropped in to brace up. The lights were long out -when the silent streets reëchoed his unsteady steps toward home, where -the Christmas welcome had turned to dread. - -But in this twilight hour they burned brightly yet, trying hard to -pierce the bitter cold outside with a ray of warmth and cheer. Where -the lamps in the delicatessen store made a mottled streak of brightness -across the flags, two little boys stood with their noses flattened -against the window. The warmth inside, and the lights, had made little -islands of clear space on the frosty pane, affording glimpses of the -wealth within, of the piles of smoked herring, of golden cheese, of -sliced bacon and generous, fat-bellied hams; of the rows of odd-shaped -bottles and jars on the shelves that held there was no telling what -good things, only it was certain that they must be good from the looks -of them. - -And the heavenly smell of spices and things that reached the boys -through the open door each time the tinkling bell announced the coming -or going of a customer! Better than all, back there on the top shelf -the stacks of square honey-cakes, with their frosty coats of sugar, -tied in bundles with strips of blue paper. - -The wind blew straight through the patched and threadbare jackets -of the lads as they crept closer to the window, struggling hard by -breathing on the pane to make their peep-holes bigger, to take in the -whole of the big cake with the almonds set in; but they did not heed it. - -"Jim!" piped the smaller of the two, after a longer stare than usual; -"hey, Jim! them's Sante Claus's. See 'em?" - -"Sante Claus!" snorted the other, scornfully, applying his eye to the -clear spot on the pane. "There ain't no ole duffer like dat. Them's -honey-cakes. Me 'n' Tom had a bite o' one wunst." - -"There ain't no Sante Claus?" retorted the smaller shaver, hotly, at -his peep-hole. "There is, too. I seen him myself when he cum to our -alley last----" - -"What's youse kids a-scrappin' fur?" broke in a strange voice. - -Another boy, bigger, but dirtier and tougher-looking than either of the -two, had come up behind them unobserved. He carried an armful of unsold -"extras" under one arm. The other was buried to the elbow in the pocket -of his ragged trousers. - -The "kids" knew him, evidently, and the smallest eagerly accepted him -as umpire. - -"It's Jim w'at says there ain't no Sante Claus, and I seen him----" - -"Jim!" demanded the elder ragamuffin, sternly, looking hard at the -culprit; "Jim! yere a chump! No Sante Claus? What're ye givin' us? Now, -watch me!" - -With utter amazement the boys saw him disappear through the door under -the tinkling bell into the charmed precincts of smoked herring, jam, -and honey-cakes. Petrified at their peep-holes, they watched him, in -the veritable presence of Santa Claus himself with the fir-branch, fish -out five battered pennies from the depths of his pocket and pass them -over to the woman behind the jars, in exchange for one of the bundles -of honey-cakes tied with blue. As if in a dream they saw him issue -forth with the coveted prize. - -"There, kid!" he said, holding out the two fattest and whitest cakes to -Santa Claus's champion; "there's yer Christmas. Run along, now, to yer -barracks; and you, Jim, here's one for you, though yer don't desarve -it. Mind ye let the kid alone." - -"This one'll have to do for me grub, I guess. I ain't sold me 'Newses,' -and the ole man'll kick if I bring 'em home." - -Before the shuffling feet of the ragamuffins hurrying homeward had -turned the corner, the last mouthful of the newsboy's supper was -smothered in a yell of "Extree!" as he shot across the street to -intercept a passing stranger. - - * * * * * - -As the evening wore on, it grew rawer and more blustering still. Flakes -of dry snow that stayed where they fell, slowly tracing the curb-lines, -the shutters, and the doorsteps of the tenements with gathering white, -were borne up on the storm from the water. To the right and left -stretched endless streets between the towering barracks, as beneath -frowning cliffs pierced with a thousand glowing eyes that revealed -the watch-fires within--a mighty city of cave-dwellers held in the -thraldom of poverty and want. - -Outside there was yet hurrying to and fro. Saloon doors were slamming, -and bare-legged urchins, carrying beer-jugs, hugged the walls close for -shelter. From the depths of a blind alley floated out the discordant -strains of a vagabond brass band "blowing in" the yule of the poor. -Banished by police ordinance from the street, it reaped a scant harvest -of pennies for Christmas cheer from the windows opening on the back -yard. Against more than one pane showed the bald outline of a forlorn -little Christmas tree, some stray branch of a hemlock picked up at the -grocer's and set in a pail for "the childer" to dance around, a dime's -worth of candy and tinsel on the boughs. - -From the attic over the way came, in spells between, the gentle tones -of a German song about the Christ-child. Christmas in the East Side -tenements begins with the sunset on the "Holy Eve," except where the -name is as a threat or a taunt. In a hundred such homes the whir of -many sewing-machines, worked by the sweater's slaves with weary feet -and aching backs, drowned every feeble note of joy that struggled to -make itself heard above the noise of the great treadmill. - -To these what was Christmas but the name for suffering, reminder of -lost kindred and liberty, or the slavery of eighteen hundred years, -freedom from which was purchased only with gold. Ay, gold! The gold -that had power to buy freedom yet, to buy the good-will, ay, and the -good name, of the oppressor, with his houses and land. At the thought -the tired eye glistened, the aching back straightened, and to the weary -foot there came new strength to finish the long task while the city -slept. - -Where a narrow passageway put in between two big tenements to a -ramshackle rear barrack, Nibsy, the newsboy, halted in the shadow of -the doorway and stole a long look down the dark alley. - -He toyed uncertainly with his still unsold papers--worn dirty and -ragged as his clothes by this time--before he ventured in, picking his -way between barrels and heaps of garbage; past the Italian cobbler's -hovel, where a tallow dip, stuck in a cracked beer-glass, before -a picture of the "Mother of God," showed that even he knew it was -Christmas and liked to show it; past the Sullivan flat, where blows and -drunken curses mingled with the shriek of women, as Nibsy had heard -many nights before this one. - -He shuddered as he felt his way past the door, partly with a -premonition of what was in store for himself, if the "old man" was at -home, partly with a vague, uncomfortable feeling that somehow Christmas -Eve should be different from other nights, even in the alley; down -to its farthest end, to the last rickety flight of steps that led -into the filth and darkness of the tenement. Up this he crept, three -flights, to a door at which he stopped and listened, hesitating, as he -had stopped at the entrance to the alley; then, with a sudden, defiant -gesture, he pushed it open and went in. - -A bare and cheerless room; a pile of rags for a bed in the corner, -another in the dark alcove, miscalled bedroom; under the window a -broken candle and an iron-bound chest, upon which sat a sad-eyed woman -with hard lines in her face, peeling potatoes in a pan; in the middle -of the room a rusty stove, with a pile of wood, chopped on the floor -alongside. A man on his knees in front fanning the fire with an old -slouch hat. With each breath of draught he stirred; the crazy old pipe -belched forth torrents of smoke at every joint. As Nibsy entered, the -man desisted from his efforts and sat up, glaring at him--a villainous -ruffian's face, scowling with anger. - -"Late ag'in!" he growled; "an' yer papers not sold. What did I tell -yer, brat, if ye dared----" - -"Tom! Tom!" broke in the wife, in a desperate attempt to soothe the -ruffian's temper. "The boy can't help it, an' it's Christmas Eve. For -the love o'----" - -"The devil take yer rot and yer brat!" shouted the man, mad with the -fury of passion. "Let me at him!" and, reaching over, he seized a heavy -knot of wood and flung it at the head of the boy. - -Nibsy had remained just inside the door, edging slowly toward his -mother, but with a watchful eye on the man at the stove. At the first -movement of his hand toward the woodpile he sprang for the stairway -with the agility of a cat, and just dodged the missile. It struck the -door, as he slammed it behind him, with force enough to smash the panel. - -Down the three flights in as many jumps he went, and through the alley, -over barrels and barriers, never stopping once till he reached the -street, and curses and shouts were left behind. - -In his flight he had lost his unsold papers, and he felt ruefully in -his pocket as he went down the street, pulling his rags about him as -much from shame as to keep out the cold. - -Four pennies were all he had left after his Christmas treat to the two -little lads from the barracks; not enough for supper or for a bed; and -it was getting colder all the time. - -On the sidewalk in front of the notion store a belated Christmas party -was in progress. The children from the tenements in the alley and -across the way were having a game of blind-man's-buff, groping blindly -about in the crowd to catch each other. They hailed Nibsy with shouts -of laughter, calling to him to join in. - -"We're having Christmas!" they yelled. - -Nibsy did not hear them. He was thinking, thinking, the while turning -over his four pennies at the bottom of his pocket. Thinking if -Christmas was ever to come to him, and the children's Santa Claus to -find his alley where the baby slept within reach of her father's cruel -hand. As for him, he had never known anything but blows and curses. He -could take care of himself. But his mother and the baby--And then it -came to him with shuddering cold that it was getting late, and that he -must find a place to sleep. - -He weighed in his mind the merits of two or three places where he was -in the habit of hiding from the "cops" when the alley got to be too hot -for him. - -There was the hay barge down by the dock, with the watchman who got -drunk sometimes, and so gave the boys a chance. The chances were at -least even of its being available on Christmas Eve, and of Santa Claus -having thus done him a good turn after all. - -Then there was the snug berth in the sand-box you could curl all up in. -Nibsy thought with regret of its being, like the hay barge, so far away -and to windward, too. - -Down by the printing-offices there were the steam gratings, and a -chance corner in the cellars, stories and stories underground, where -the big presses keep up such a clatter from midnight till far into the -day. - -As he passed them in review, Nibsy made up his mind with sudden -determination, and, setting his face toward the south, made off down -town. - - * * * * * - -The rumble of the last departing news-wagon over the pavement, now -buried deep in snow, had died away in the distance, when, from out of -the bowels of the earth there issued a cry, a cry of mortal terror and -pain that was echoed by a hundred throats. - -From one of the deep cellar-ways a man ran out, his clothes and hair -and beard afire; on his heels a breathless throng of men and boys; -following them, close behind, a rush of smoke and fire. - -The clatter of the presses ceased suddenly, to be followed quickly by -the clangor of hurrying fire-bells. With hooks and axes the firemen -rushed in; hose was let down through the manholes, and down there in -the depths the battle was fought and won. - -The building was saved; but in the midst of the rejoicing over the -victory there fell a sudden silence. From the cellar-way a grimy, -helmeted figure arose, with something black and scorched in his arms. -A tarpaulin was spread upon the snow and upon it he laid his burden, -while the silent crowd made room and word went over to the hospital for -the doctor to come quickly. - -Very gently they lifted poor little Nisby--for it was he, caught in -his berth by a worse enemy than the "cop" or the watchman of the hay -barge--into the ambulance that bore him off to the hospital cot, too -late. - -Conscious only of a vague discomfort that had succeeded terror and -pain, Nibsy wondered uneasily why they were all so kind. Nobody had -taken the trouble to as much as notice him before. When he had thrust -his papers into their very faces they had pushed him roughly aside. - -Nibsy, unhurt and able to fight his way, never had a show. Sick and -maimed and sore, he was being made much of, though he had been caught -where the boys were forbidden to go. Things were queer, anyhow, and---- - -The room was getting so dark that he could hardly see the doctor's -kindly face, and had to grip his hand tightly to make sure that he was -there; almost as dark as the stairs in the alley he had come down in -such a hurry. - -There was the baby now--poor baby--and mother--and then a great blank, -and it was all a mystery to poor Nibsy no longer. For, just as a -wild-eyed woman pushed her way through the crowd of nurses and doctors -to his bedside, crying for her boy, Nibsy gave up his soul to God. - - * * * * * - -It was very quiet in the alley. Christmas had come and gone. Upon the -last door a bow of soiled crape was nailed up with two tacks. It had -done duty there a dozen times before, that year. - -Upstairs, Nibsy was at home, and for once the neighbors, one and all, -old and young, came to see him. - -Even the father, ruffian that he was, offered no objection. Cowed and -silent, he sat in the corner by the window farthest from where the -plain little coffin stood, with the lid closed down. - -A couple of the neighbor-women were talking in low tones by the stove, -when there came a timid knock at the door. Nobody answering, it was -pushed open, first a little, then far enough to admit the shrinking -form of a little ragamuffin, the smaller of the two who had stood -breathing peep-holes on the window pane of the delicatessen store the -night before when Nibsy came along. - -He dragged with him a hemlock branch, the leavings from some Christmas -tree at the grocery. - -"It's from Sante Claus," he said, laying it on the coffin. "Nibsy -knows." And he went out. - -Santa Claus had come to Nibsy, after all, in his alley. And Nibsy knew. - - - - -THE LITTLE DOLLAR'S CHRISTMAS JOURNEY - - -"It is too bad," said Mrs. Lee, and she put down the magazine in which -she had been reading of the poor children in the tenements of the great -city that know little of Christmas joys; "no Christmas tree! One of -them shall have one, at any rate. I think this will buy it, and it -is so handy to send. Nobody would know that there was money in the -letter." And she enclosed a coupon in a letter to a professor, a friend -in the city, who, she knew, would have no trouble in finding the child, -and had it mailed at once. Mrs. Lee was a widow whose not too great -income was derived from the interest on some four per cent government -bonds which represented the savings of her husband's life of toil, that -was none the less hard because it was spent in a counting-room and -not with shovel and spade. The coupon looked for all the world like -a dollar bill, except that it was so small that a baby's hand could -easily cover it. The United States, the printing on it said, would pay -on demand to the bearer one dollar; and there was a number on it, just -as on a full-grown dollar, that was the number of the bond from which -it had been cut. - -The letter travelled all night, and was tossed and sorted and bunched -at the end of its journey in the great gray beehive that never sleeps, -day or night, and where half the tears and joys of the land, including -this account of the little dollar, are checked off unceasingly as -first-class matter or second or third, as the case may be. In the -morning it was laid, none the worse for its journey, at the professor's -breakfast plate. The professor was a kindly man, and he smiled as he -read it. "To procure one small Christmas tree for a poor tenement," was -its errand. - -"Little dollar," he said, "I think I know where you are needed." And -he made a note in his book. There were other notes there that made -him smile again as he saw them. They had names set opposite them. One -about a Noah's ark was marked "Vivi." That was the baby; and there was -one about a doll's carriage that had the words "Katie, sure," set over -against it. The professor eyed the list in mock dismay. - -"How ever will I do it?" he sighed, as he put on his hat. - -"Well, you will have to get Santa Claus to help you, John," said his -wife, buttoning his greatcoat about him. "And, mercy! the duckses' -babies! don't forget them, whatever you do. The baby has been talking -about nothing else since he saw them at the store, the old duck and -the two ducklings on wheels. You know them, John?" - -But the professor was gone, repeating to himself as he went down the -garden walk, "The duckses' babies, indeed!" He chuckled as he said it, -why I cannot tell. He was very particular about his grammar, was the -professor, ordinarily. Perhaps it was because it was Christmas eve. - -Down town went the professor; but instead of going with the crowd that -was setting toward Santa Claus's headquarters, in the big Broadway -store, he turned off into a quieter street, leading west. It took -him to a narrow thoroughfare, with five-story tenements frowning on -their side, where the people he met were not so well dressed as those -he had left behind, and did not seem to be in such a hurry of joyful -anticipation of the holiday. Into one of the tenements he went, and, -groping his way through a pitch-dark hall, came to a door way back, the -last one to the left, at which he knocked. An expectant voice said, -"Come in," and the professor pushed open the door. - -The room was very small, very stuffy, and very dark, so dark that a -smoking kerosene lamp that burned on a table next the stove hardly -lighted it at all, though it was broad day. A big, unshaven man, who -sat on the bed, rose when he saw the visitor, and stood uncomfortably -shifting his feet and avoiding the professor's eye. The latter's -glance was serious, though not unkind, as he asked the woman with the -baby if he had found no work yet. - -"No," she said, anxiously coming to the rescue, "not yet; he was -waitin' for a recommend." But Johnnie had earned two dollars running -errands, and, now there was a big fall of snow, his father might get -a job of shovelling. The woman's face was worried, yet there was a -cheerful note in her voice that somehow made the place seem less -discouraging than it was. The baby she nursed was not much larger than -a middle-sized doll. Its little face looked thin and wan. It had been -very sick, she explained, but the doctor said it was mending now. That -was good, said the professor, and patted one of the bigger children on -the head. - -There were six of them, of all sizes, from Johnnie, who could run -errands, down. They were busy fixing up a Christmas tree that half -filled the room, though it was of the very smallest. Yet, it was a real -Christmas tree, left over from the Sunday-school stock, and it was -dressed up at that. Pictures from the colored supplement of a Sunday -newspaper hung and stood on every branch, and three pieces of colored -glass, suspended on threads that shone in the smoky lamplight, lent -color and real beauty to the show. The children were greatly tickled. - -"John put it up," said the mother, by way of explanation, as the -professor eyed it approvingly. "There ain't nothing to eat on it. -If there was, it wouldn't be there a minute. The childer be always -a-searchin' in it." - -"But there must be, or else it isn't a real Christmas tree," said -the professor, and brought out the little dollar. "This is a dollar -which a friend gave me for the children's Christmas, and she sends -her love with it. Now, you buy them some things and a few candles, -Mrs. Ferguson, and then a good supper for the rest of the family. Good -night, and a Merry Christmas to you. I think myself the baby is getting -better." It had just opened its eyes and laughed at the tree. - -The professor was not very far on his way toward keeping his -appointment with Santa Claus before Mrs. Ferguson was at the grocery -laying in her dinner. A dollar goes a long way when it is the only one -in the house; and when she had everything, including two cents' worth -of flitter-gold, four apples, and five candles for the tree, the grocer -footed up her bill on the bag that held her potatoes--ninety-eight -cents. Mrs. Ferguson gave him the little dollar. - -"What's this?" said the grocer, his fat smile turning cold as he laid a -restraining hand on the full basket. "That ain't no good." - -"It's a dollar, ain't it?" said the woman, in alarm. "It's all right. -I know the man that give it to me." - -"It ain't all right in this store," said the grocer, sternly. "Put them -things back. I want none o' that." - -The woman's eyes filled with tears as she slowly took the lid off the -basket and lifted out the precious bag of potatoes. They were waiting -for that dinner at home. The children were even then camping on the -doorstep to take her in to the tree in triumph. And now---- - -For the second time a restraining hand was laid upon her basket; but -this time it was not the grocer's. A gentleman who had come in to order -a Christmas turkey had overheard the conversation, and had seen the -strange bill. - -"It is all right," he said to the grocer. "Give it to me. Here is a -dollar bill for it of the kind you know. If all your groceries were as -honest as this bill, Mr. Schmidt, it would be a pleasure to trade with -you. Don't be afraid to trust Uncle Sam where you see his promise to -pay." - -The gentleman held the door open for Mrs. Ferguson, and heard the shout -of the delegation awaiting her on the stoop as he went down the street. - -"I wonder where that came from, now," he mused. "Coupons in Bedford -Street! I suppose somebody sent it to the woman for a Christmas gift. -Hello! Here are old Thomas and Snowflake. Now, wouldn't it surprise her -old stomach if I gave her a Christmas gift of oats? If only the shock -doesn't kill her! Thomas! Oh, Thomas!" - -The old man thus hailed stopped and awaited the gentleman's coming. He -was a cartman who did odd jobs through the ward, so picking up a living -for himself and the white horse, which the boys had dubbed Snowflake -in a spirit of fun. They were a well-matched old pair, Thomas and his -horse. One was not more decrepit than the other. - -There was a tradition along the docks, where Thomas found a job now and -then, and Snowflake an occasional straw to lunch on, that they were of -an age, but this was denied by Thomas. - -"See here," said the gentleman, as he caught up with them; "I want -Snowflake to keep Christmas, Thomas. Take this and buy him a bag of -oats. And give it to him carefully, do you hear?--not all at once, -Thomas. He isn't used to it." - -"Gee whizz!" said the old man, rubbing his eyes with his cap, as his -friend passed out of sight, "oats fer Christmas! G'lang, Snowflake; yer -in luck." - -The feed-man put on his spectacles and looked Thomas over at the -strange order. Then he scanned the little dollar, first on one side, -then on the other. - -"Never seed one like him," he said. "'Pears to me he is mighty short. -Wait till I send round to the hockshop. He'll know, if anybody." - -The man at the pawnshop did not need a second look. "Why, of course," -he said, and handed a dollar bill over the counter. "Old Thomas, did -you say? Well, I am blamed if the old man ain't got a stocking after -all. They're a sly pair, he and Snowflake." - -Business was brisk that day at the pawnshop. The door-bell tinkled -early and late, and the stock on the shelves grew. Bundle was added -to bundle. It had been a hard winter so far. Among the callers in the -early afternoon was a young girl in a gingham dress and without other -covering, who stood timidly at the counter and asked for three dollars -on a watch, a keepsake evidently, which she was loath to part with. -Perhaps it was the last glimpse of brighter days. The pawnbroker was -doubtful; it was not worth so much. She pleaded hard, while he compared -the number of the movement with a list sent in from Police Headquarters. - -"Two," he said decisively at last, snapping the case shut--"two or -nothing." The girl handed over the watch with a troubled sigh. He made -out a ticket and gave it to her with a handful of silver change. - -Was it the sigh and her evident distress, or was it the little dollar? -As she turned to go, he called her back. - -"Here, it is Christmas!" he said. "I'll run the risk." And he added the -coupon to the little heap. - -The girl looked at it and at him questioningly. - -"It is all right," he said; "you can take it; I'm running short of -change. Bring it back if they won't take it. I'm good for it." Uncle -Sam had achieved a backer. - -In Grand Street the holiday crowds jammed every store in their eager -hunt for bargains. In one of them, at the knit-goods counter, stood the -girl from the pawnshop, picking out a thick, warm shawl. She hesitated -between a gray and a maroon-colored one, and held them up to the light. - -"For you?" asked the salesgirl, thinking to aid her. She glanced at her -thin dress and shivering form as she said it. - -"No," said the girl; "for mother; she is poorly and needs it." She -chose the gray, and gave the salesgirl her handful of money. - -The girl gave back the coupon. - -"They don't go," she said; "give me another, please." - -"But I haven't got another," said the girl, looking apprehensively at -the shawl. "The--Mr. Feeney said it was all right. Take it to the desk, -please, and ask." - -The salesgirl took the bill and the shawl, and went to the desk. She -came back, almost immediately, with the storekeeper, who looked sharply -at the customer and noted the number of the coupon. - -"It is all right," he said, satisfied apparently by the inspection; "a -little unusual, only. We don't see many of them. Can I help you, miss?" -And he attended her to the door. - -In the street there was even more of a Christmas show going on than in -the stores. Pedlers of toys, of mottoes, of candles, and of knickknacks -of every description stood in rows along the curb, and were driving a -lively trade. Their push-carts were decorated with fir branches--even -whole Christmas trees. One held a whole cargo of Santa Clauses in a -bower of green, each one with a cedar-bush in his folded arms, as a -soldier carries his gun. The lights were blazing out in the stores, and -the hucksters' torches were flaring at the corners. There was Christmas -in the very air and Christmas in the storekeeper's till. It had been -a very busy day. He thought of it with a satisfied nod as he stood a -moment breathing the brisk air of the winter day, absently fingering -the coupon the girl had paid for the shawl. A thin voice at his elbow -said: "Merry Christmas, Mr. Stein! Here's yer paper." - -It was the newsboy who left the evening papers at the door every night. -The storekeeper knew him, and something about the struggle they had at -home to keep the roof over their heads. Mike was a kind of protégé of -his. He had helped to get him his route. - -"Wait a bit, Mike," he said. "You'll be wanting your Christmas from me. -Here's a dollar. It's just like yourself: it is small, but it is all -right. You take it home and have a good time." - -Was it the message with which it had been sent forth from far away in -the country, or what was it? Whatever it was, it was just impossible -for the little dollar to lie still in the pocket while there was want -to be relieved, mouths to be filled, or Christmas lights to be lit. It -just couldn't, and it didn't. - -Mike stopped around the corner of Allen Street, and gave three -whoops expressive of his approval of Mr. Stein; having done which, -he sidled up to the first lighted window out of range to examine his -gift. His enthusiasm changed to open-mouthed astonishment as he saw -the little dollar. His jaw fell. Mike was not much of a scholar, and -could not make out the inscription on the coupon; but he had heard of -shinplasters as something they "had in the war," and he took this to be -some sort of a ten-cent piece. The policeman on the block might tell. -Just now he and Mike were hunk. They had made up a little difference -they'd had, and if any one would know, the cop surely would. And off he -went in search of him. - -Mr. McCarthy pulled off his gloves, put his club under his arm, and -studied the little dollar with contracted brow. He shook his head as he -handed it back, and rendered the opinion that it was "some dom swindle -that's ag'in the law." He advised Mike to take it back to Mr. Stein, -and added, as he prodded him in an entirely friendly manner in the ribs -with his locust, that if it had been the week before he might have "run -him in" for having the thing in his possession. As it happened, Mr. -Stein was busy and not to be seen, and Mike went home between hope and -fear, with his doubtful prize. - -There was a crowd at the door of the tenement, and Mike saw, before he -had reached it, running, that it clustered about an ambulance that was -backed up to the sidewalk. Just as he pushed his way through the throng -it drove off, its clanging gong scattering the people right and left. -A little girl sat weeping on the top step of the stoop. To her Mike -turned for information. - -"Susie, what's up?" he asked, confronting her with his armful of -papers. "Who's got hurted?" - -"It's papa," sobbed the girl. "He ain't hurted. He's sick, and he was -took that bad he had to go, an' to-morrer is Christmas, an'--oh, Mike!" - -It is not the fashion of Essex Street to slop over. Mike didn't. He -just set his mouth to a whistle and took a turn down the hall to think. -Susie was his chum. There were seven in her flat; in his only four, -including two that made wages. He came back from his trip with his mind -made up. - -"Suse," he said, "come on in. You take this, Suse, see! an' let the -kids have their Christmas. Mr. Stein give it to me. It's a little one, -but if it ain't all right I'll take it back and get one that is good. -Go on, now, Suse, you hear?" And he was gone. - -There was a Christmas tree that night in Susie's flat, with candles -and apples and shining gold, but the little dollar did not pay for it. -That rested securely in the purse of the charity visitor who had come -that afternoon, just at the right time, as it proved. She had heard the -story of Mike and his sacrifice, and had herself given the children a -one-dollar bill for the coupon. They had their Christmas, and a joyful -one, too, for the lady went up to the hospital and brought back word -that Susie's father would be all right with rest and care, which he was -now getting. Mike came in and helped them "sack" the tree when the lady -was gone. He gave three more whoops for Mr. Stein, three for the lady, -and three for the hospital doctor to even things up. Essex Street was -all right that night. - -"Do you know, professor," said that learned man's wife, when, after -supper, he had settled down in his easy-chair to admire the Noah's -ark and the duckses' babies and the rest, all of which had arrived -safely by express ahead of him and were waiting to be detailed to their -appropriate stockings while the children slept--"do you know, I heard -such a story of a little newsboy to-day. It was at the meeting of our -district charity committee this evening. Miss Linder, our visitor, came -right from the house." And she told the story of Mike and Susie. - -"And I just got the little dollar bill to keep. Here it is." She took -the coupon out of her purse and passed it to her husband. - -"Eh! what?" said the professor, adjusting his spectacles and reading -the number. "If here isn't my little dollar come back to me! Why, where -have you been, little one? I left you in Bedford Street this morning, -and here you come by way of Essex. Well, I declare!" And he told his -wife how he had received it in a letter in the morning. - -"John," she said, with a sudden impulse,--she didn't know, and neither -did he, that it was the charm of the little dollar that was working -again,--"John, I guess it is a sin to stop it. Jones's children won't -have any Christmas tree, because they can't afford it. He told me so -this morning when he fixed the furnace. And the baby is sick. Let us -give them the little dollar. He is here in the kitchen now." - -And they did; and the Joneses, and I don't know how many others, had -a Merry Christmas because of the blessed little dollar that carried -Christmas cheer and good luck wherever it went. For all I know, it may -be going yet. Certainly it is a sin to stop it, and if any one has -locked it up without knowing that he locked up the Christmas dollar, -let him start it right out again. He can tell it easily enough. If he -just looks at the number, that's the one. - - - - -LITTLE WILL'S MESSAGE - - -"It is that or starve, Captain. I can't get a job. God knows I've -tried, but without a recommend, it's no use. I ain't no good at -beggin'. And--and--there's the childer." - -There was a desperate note in the man's voice that made the Captain -turn and look sharply at him. A swarthy, strongly built man in a rough -coat, and with that in his dark face which told that he had lived -longer than his years, stood at the door of the Detective Office. His -hand that gripped the door handle shook so that the knob rattled in -his grasp, but not with fear. He was no stranger to that place. Black -Bill's face had looked out from the Rogues' Gallery longer than most of -those now there could remember. The Captain looked him over in silence. - -"You had better not, Bill," he said. "You know what will come of it. -When you go up again it will be the last time. And up you go, sure." - -The man started to say something, but choked it down and went out -without a word. The Captain got up and rang his bell. - -"Bill, who was here just now, is off again," he said to the officer who -came to the door. "He says it is steal or starve, and he can't get a -job. I guess he is right. Who wants a thief in his pay? And how can I -recommend him? And still I think he would keep straight if he had the -chance. Tell Murphy to look after him and see what he is up to." - -The Captain went out, tugging viciously at his gloves. He was in very -bad humor. The policeman at the Mulberry Street door got hardly a nod -for his cheery "Merry Christmas" as he passed. - -"Wonder what's crossed him," he said, looking down the street after him. - -The green lamps were lighted and shone upon the hurrying six o'clock -crowds from the Broadway shops. In the great business buildings the -iron shutters were pulled down and the lights put out, and in a little -while the reporters' boys that carried slips from Headquarters to the -newspaper offices across the street were the only tenants of the block. -A stray policeman stopped now and then on the corner and tapped the -lamp-post reflectively with his club as he looked down the deserted -street and wondered, as his glance rested upon the Chief's darkened -windows, how it felt to have six thousand dollars a year and every -night off. In the Detective Office the Sergeant who had come in at -roll-call stretched himself behind the desk and thought of home. The -lights of a Christmas tree in the abutting Mott Street tenement shone -through his window, and the laughter of children mingled with the tap -of the toy drum. He pulled down the sash in order to hear better. As -he did so, a strong draught swept his desk. The outer door slammed. -Two detectives came in bringing a prisoner between them. A woman -accompanied them. - -The Sergeant pulled the blotter toward him mechanically and dipped his -pen. - -"What's the charge?" he asked. - -"Picking pockets in Fourteenth Street. This lady is the complainant, -Mrs. ----" - -The name was that of a well-known police magistrate. The Sergeant -looked up and bowed. His glance took in the prisoner, and a look of -recognition came into his face. - -"What, Bill! So soon?" he said. - -The prisoner was sullenly silent. He answered the questions put to -him briefly, and was searched. The stolen pocket-book, a small paper -package, and a crumpled letter were laid upon the desk. The Sergeant -saw only the pocket-book. - -"Looks bad," he said with wrinkled brow. - -"We caught him at it," explained the officer. "Guess Bill has lost -heart. He didn't seem to care. Didn't even try to get away." - -The prisoner was taken to a cell. Silence fell once more upon the -office. The Sergeant made a few red lines in the blotter and resumed -his reveries. He was not in a mood for work. He hitched his chair -nearer the window and looked across the yard. But the lights there -were put out, the children's laughter had died away. Out of sorts at he -hardly knew what, he leaned back in his chair, with his hands under the -back of his head. Here it was Christmas Eve, and he at the desk instead -of being out with the old woman buying things for the children. He -thought with a sudden pang of conscience of the sled he had promised to -get for Johnnie and had forgotten. That was hard luck. And what would -Katie say when---- - -He had got that far when his eye, roaming idly over the desk, rested -upon the little package taken from the thief's pocket. Something about -it seemed to move him with sudden interest. He sat up and reached for -it. He felt it carefully all over. Then he undid the package slowly and -drew forth a woolly sheep. It had a blue ribbon about its neck, with a -tiny bell hung on it. - -The Sergeant set the sheep upon the desk and looked at it fixedly for -better than a minute. Having apparently studied out its mechanism, he -pulled its head and it baa-ed. He pulled it once more, and nodded. Then -he took up the crumpled letter and opened it. - -This was what he read, scrawled in a child's uncertain hand:-- - -"Deer Sante Claas--Pease wont yer bring me a sjeep wat bas. Aggie had -won wonst. An Kate wants a dollie offul. In the reere 718 19th Street -by the gas house. Your friend Will." - -The Sergeant read it over twice very carefully and glanced over the -page at the sheep, as if taking stock and wondering why Kate's dollie -was not there. Then he took the sheep and the letter and went over to -the Captain's door. A gruff "Come in!" answered his knock. The Captain -was pulling off his overcoat. He had just come in from his dinner. - -"Captain," said the Sergeant, "we found this in the pocket of Black -Bill who is locked up for picking Mrs. ----'s pocket an hour ago. It is -a clear case. He didn't even try to give them the slip," and he set the -sheep upon the table and laid the letter beside it. - -"Black Bill?" said the Captain, with something of a start; "the dickens -you say!" And he took up the letter and read it. He was not a very good -penman, was little Will. The Captain had even a harder time of it than -the Sergeant had had making out his message. Three times he went over -it, spelling out the words, and each time comparing it with the woolly -exhibit that was part of the evidence, before he seemed to understand. -Then it was in a voice that would have frightened little Will very much -could he have heard it, and with a black look under his bushy eyebrows, -that he bade the Sergeant "Fetch Bill up here!" One might almost -have expected the little white lamb to have taken to its heels with -fright at having raised such a storm, could it have run at all. But it -showed no signs of fear. On the contrary it baa-ed quite lustily when -the Sergeant should have been safely out of earshot. The hand of the -Captain had accidentally rested upon the woolly head in putting down -the letter. But the Sergeant was not out of earshot. He heard it and -grinned. - -An iron door in the basement clanged and there were steps in the -passageway. The doorman brought in Bill. He stood by the door, sullenly -submissive. The Captain raised his head. It was in the shade. - -"So you are back, are you?" he said. - -The thief nodded. - -The Captain bent his brows upon him and said with sudden fierceness, -"You couldn't keep honest a month, could you?" - -"They wouldn't let me. Who wants a thief in his pay? And the children -were starving." - -It was said patiently enough, but it made the Captain wince all the -same. They were his own words. But he did not give in so easily. - -"Starving?" he repeated harshly. "And that's why you got this, I -suppose," and he pushed the sheep from under the newspaper that had -fallen upon it by accident and covered it up. - -The thief looked at it and flushed to the temples. He tried to speak -but could not. His face worked, and he seemed to be strangling. In -the middle of his fight to master himself he saw the child's crumpled -message on the desk. Taking a quick step across the room he snatched it -up, wildly, fiercely. - -"Captain," he gasped, and broke down utterly. The hardened thief wept -like a woman. - -The Captain rang his bell. He stood with his back to the prisoner when -the doorman came in. "Take him down," he commanded. And the iron door -clanged once more behind the prisoner. - -Ten minutes later the reporters were discussing across the way the -nature of "the case" which the night promised to develop. They had -piped off the Captain and one of his trusted men leaving the building -together, bound east. Could they have followed them all the way, they -would have seen them get off the car at Nineteenth Street, and go -toward the gas house, carefully scanning the numbers of the houses as -they went. They found one at last before which they halted. The Captain -searched in his pocket and drew forth the baby's letter to Santa Claus, -and they examined the number under the gas lamp. Yes, that was right. -The door was open, and they went right through to the rear. - -Up in the third story three little noses were flattened against the -window pane, and three childish mouths were breathing peep-holes -through which to keep a lookout for the expected Santa Claus. It -was cold, for there was no fire in the room, but in their fever of -excitement the children didn't mind that. They were bestowing all their -attention upon keeping the peep-holes open. - -"Do you think he will come?" asked the oldest boy--there were two boys -and a girl--of Kate. - -"Yes, he will. I know he will come. Papa said so," said the child in a -tone of conviction. - -"I'se so hungry, and I want my sheep," said Baby Will. - -"Wait and I'll tell you of the wolf," said his sister, and she took him -on her lap. She had barely started when there were steps on the stairs -and a tap on the door. Before the half-frightened children could answer -it was pushed open. Two men stood on the threshold. One wore a big fur -overcoat. The baby looked at him in wide-eyed wonder. - -"Is you Santa Claus?" he asked. - -"Yes, my little man, and are you Baby Will?" said a voice that was -singularly different from the harsh one Baby Will's father had heard so -recently in the Captain's office, and yet very like it. - -"See. This is for you, I guess," and out of the big roomy pocket came -the woolly sheep and baa-ed right off as if it were his own pasture in -which he was at home. And well might any sheep be content nestling at a -baby heart so brimful of happiness as little Will's was then, child of -a thief though he was. - -"Papa spoke for it, and he spoke for Kate, too, and I guess for -everybody," said the bogus Santa Claus, "and it is all right. My sled -will be here in a minute. Now we will just get to work and make ready -for him. All help!" - -The Sergeant behind the desk in the Detective Office might have had a -fit had he been able to witness the goings-on in that rear tenement in -the next hour; and then again he might not. There is no telling about -those Sergeants. The way that poor flat laid itself out of a sudden was -fairly staggering. It was not only that a fire was made and that the -pantry filled up in the most extraordinary manner; but a real Christmas -tree sprang up, out of the floor, as it were, and was found to be all -besprinkled with gold and stars and cornucopias with sugarplums. From -the top of it, which was not higher than Santa Claus could easily -reach, because the ceiling was low, a marvellous doll, with real hair -and with eyes that could open and shut, looked down with arms wide -open to take Kate to its soft wax heart. Under the branches of the -tree browsed every animal that went into and came out of Noah's Ark, -and there were glorious games of Messenger Boy and Three Bad Bears, -and honey-cakes and candy apples, and a little yellow-bird in a cage, -and what not? It was glorious. And when the tea-kettle began to sing, -skilfully manipulated by Santa Claus's assistant, who nominally was -known in Mulberry Street as Detective Sergeant Murphy, it was just too -lovely for anything. The baby's eyes grew wider and wider, and Kate's -were shining with happiness, when in the midst of it all she suddenly -stopped and said:-- - -"But where is papa? Why don't he come?" - -Santa Claus gave a little start at the sudden question, but pulled -himself together right away. - -"Why, yes," he said, "he must have got lost. Now you are all right we -will just go and see if we can find him. Mrs. McCarthy here next door -will help you keep the kettle boiling and the lights burning till we -come back. Just let me hear that sheep baa once more. That's right! I -bet we'll find papa." And out they went. - -An hour later, while Mr. ----, the Magistrate, and his good wife were -viewing with mock dismay the array of little stockings at their hearth -in their fine up-town house, and talking of the adventure of Mrs. ---- -with the pickpocket, there came a ring at the door-bell and the Captain -of the detectives was ushered in. What he told them I do not know, but -this I do know, that when he went away the honorable Magistrate went -with him, and his wife waved good-by to them from the stoop with wet -eyes as they drove away in a carriage hastily ordered up from a livery -stable. While they drove down town, the Magistrate's wife went up to -the nursery and hugged her sleeping little ones, one after the other, -and tear-drops fell upon their warm cheeks that had wiped out the guilt -of more than one sinner before, and the children smiled in their sleep. -They say among the simple-minded folk of far-away Denmark that then -they see angels in their dreams. - -The carriage stopped in Mulberry Street, in front of Police -Headquarters, and there was great scurrying among the reporters, for -now they were sure of their "case." But no "prominent citizen" came -out, made free by the Magistrate, who opened court in the Captain's -office. Only a rough-looking man with a flushed face, whom no one -knew, and who stopped on the corner and looked back as one in a dream -and then went east, the way the Captain and his man had gone on their -expedition personating no less exalted a personage than Santa Claus -himself. - -That night there was Christmas, indeed, in the rear tenement "near the -gas house," for papa had come home just in time to share in its cheer. -And there was no one who did it with a better will, for the Christmas -evening that began so badly was the luckiest night in his life. He had -the promise of a job on the morrow in his pocket, along with something -to keep the wolf from the door in the holidays. His hard days were -over, and he was at last to have his chance to live an honest life. And -it was the baby's letter to Santa Claus and the baa sheep that did it -all, with the able assistance of the Captain and the Sergeant. Don't -let us forget the Sergeant. - - - - -THE BURGOMASTER'S CHRISTMAS - - -The burgomaster was in a bad humor. The smoke from his long pipe, which -ordinarily rose in leisurely meditative rings signaling official calm -and fair weather, came to-day in short, angry puffs as he tossed his -mail impatiently about on the desk. A reprimand from headquarters, -where they knew about as much of a burgomaster's actual work as he of -the prime minister's! Less. Those bureaucrats never came in touch with -real things. He smiled a little grimly as he thought that that was what -his own people had said of him when twenty years before he had come -from the capital to the little provincial town with his mind firmly -made up to many things which--well, a man grows older and wiser. Life -has its lessons for men, though it pass by the red tape in department -bureaus. That never changes. His people and he, now--The stern wrinkle -in the furrowed forehead relaxed, and he leaned back in his chair, -blowing a long, contented ring, which brought a sigh of relief from the -old clerk in the outer office. The skies were clearing. - -In truth, despite his habitual sternness of manner, there was no more -beloved man in the town of Hammel than the burgomaster. His kindness -of heart was proverbial. The law had in him a faithful executor; the -staff of office was no willow wand in his hand to bend to every wind -that blew. To the evil-doer he was a hard master, but many were the -stories that were whispered of how, having sent a thief to jail, he -had taken care of his wife and children, who were not to blame. In -fact, word had come from more than one distant town of how this or -that ne'er-do-well, after squaring himself with the law in Burgomaster -Brent's jurisdiction, had made a new start, helped somehow where -he might have expected frowns and suspicion. But of this, Hammel -tongues were careful not to wag within that official's hearing. Those -things were his secret, if, indeed,--the matrons wagged their heads -knowingly,--they were not his wife's, the burgomasterinde's; and so -they were to stay. - -Whether something of all this had come to smooth the burgomaster's -brow or not, it was not for long. There was a tap on the door, and, in -answer to his brisk "Come in," there entered Jens, the forester, with a -swarthy, sullen-looking prisoner. Jens saluted and stood, cap in hand. - -"Black Hans," he said briefly. "We took him last night in the meadow -brake with a young roe." - -The burgomaster's face grew cold and stern. Black Hans was an old -offender. As a magistrate the burgomaster had given him a chance twice, -but he was a confirmed poacher, who would rather lie out in the -woods through a cold winter's night on the chance of getting a deer, -and of getting into jail, too, than work a day at good wages, clever -blacksmith though he was. Now he had been caught red-handed, and would -be made to suffer for it. The burgomaster bent lowering brows upon the -prisoner. - -"You couldn't keep from stealing the count's deer, not even at -Christmas," he said harshly. - -The poacher looked up. Rough as he was, he was not a bad-looking -fellow. The free, if lawless, life he led was in his face and bearing. - -"The deer is wild. They're for the man as can take 'em, if the count -do claim 'em," he said doggedly, and halted, as with a sudden thought. -Something had entered with him and the forester, and was even then -filling the room with a suggestion of good cheer to come. It was the -smell of the Yule goose roasting in the burgomaster's kitchen. Black -Hans looked straight into the eye of his inquisitor. - -"I didn't have none--for me young ones," he added. It was not said -defiantly, but as a mere statement of fact. - -An angry reply rose to the official's lip, but he checked himself. - -"Take him to the lock-up," he ordered shortly, and the forester went -out with his charge. - -The burgomaster heard the outer door close behind them, and turned -wearily to his mail. The count had been greatly wrought up over the -depredations of Black Hans and his kind, and would insist on an example -being made of him. Bad blood always came of these cases, for the game -law was not well thought of in the land in these democratic days. There -lingered yet resentfully the recollection of the days not so long since -when to take "the king's deer" brought a man to the block, or to the -treadmill for life. And the family of this fellow Black Hans, what was -to become of them? The burgomaster's gaze wandered abstractedly over -the envelop he was opening and rested on an unfamiliar stamp. He held -it up and took a closer look. Oh, yes; the new Christmas stamp. He knew -it well enough, with its design of the great sanatorium for tubercular -children that had been built out of the proceeds of other years' sales. -It was a pretty picture, and a worthy cause. In all Denmark there was -none that so laid hold of the popular fancy. It was the word "Yule," -with its magic, that did it. There was no other inscription on the -stamp, and none was needed. - -As his glance dwelt upon it, a curious change came over the picture. It -was no longer the great white house that he saw, with its many bright -lights, but a wretched hut, with a crooked chimney, and rags stopping a -broken pane in its only window. The dull glow of a tallow dip struggled -through the grime that lay thick upon the unbroken panes. Against one -the face of a child was pressed, a poor, pinched face that spoke of -cold and hunger and weary waiting for some one who was always late. -Something that was very much like real pain made the burgomaster wince -as the words of Black Hans came back to him, "I didn't have none--for -me young ones." - -He shook his head impatiently. Why, then, did he not work for them, -instead of laying it up against his betters? - -The sober little face at the window kept looking out into the night, -straight past the burgomaster, as if he were not there. How many of -them in that hut? Seven, eight, nine, the burgomaster counted mentally; -or was it ten ragged, underfed little ones, with the careworn mother -who slaved from sunrise till night for them and her rascal husband? -That child Annie who limped so pitifully, the district physician had -told him that very morning, had tuberculosis of the hip-joint, and it -was killing her slowly. Poor child! Surely this was she at the window. -Her face looked pinched and small; yet she must be nearly eleven. - -Eleven! The letter dropped unopened from the burgomaster's hand. That -would have been the age of their own little girl had she lived. His -pipe went out and grew cold; his thoughts were far away. They were -travelling slowly back over a road he had shunned these many years, -until he had almost lost the trail. His little Gertrude, their only -child, a happy, winsome elf had filled the house with sunshine and -laughter until in one brief month her life had gone out like the flame -of a candle and left them alone! Since then they had been a lonesome -couple. Tenderly attached to each other, but both silent, reserved -people, husband and wife had locked their grief in their own hearts and -tried to live it down. - -Had they? He could even then see his wife at her work in the room -across the yard. As she bent over her knitting, he noticed a little -stoop which he had not seen before; and surely her hair was turning -gray at the temples. His had long been so. They were growing old -in their childless home. With a sudden pang there came to him a -realization of the selfishness of his grief, which had shut her out of -it. Christmas eve! What a happy time they used to have together in the -old days around the tree! Even now he could hear the glad voices of -children from the grocer's across the street, where they were making -ready for theirs. In their house there had not been one since--since -their Gertrude left them. There was Jens, the forester, carrying in a -Christmas tree over there even now--Jens who had caught Black Hans. -What sort of Christmas would they keep in his hut, with the father -locked up, sure of a heavy fine, which meant a long time in jail, since -he had no money to settle with? - -The childish face with the grave eyes was at the window again, keeping -its dismal watch. Eleven years! His mind went back, swiftly this time, -over the freshly broken road to the days when the tree was lighted in -their home on Christmas eve. Of all the nights in the year, it had been -the loneliest since, with just the two of them alone at the table, -growing old. - -A flood of tenderness swept over the burgomaster, and with it came a -sudden resolve. It was not yet too late. He rose and slammed the desk -down hard, leaving the rest of his mail unopened. Three o'clock! Almost -time to light the candles, and this night he would light them himself. -Yes, he would. He tapped on the window and beckoned to Jens, who was -coming out of the grocery store. In the vestibule they held a brief -whispered consultation that concluded with the warning, "and don't you -tell my wife." The old clerk heard it and gave a start. What secret did -the burgomaster have from the burgomasterinde which Jens, the forester, -might share? But he remembered the day, in time, and bestowed upon -himself a knowing wink. He, too, had his secrets. - -Jens was less quick-witted. He offered some objection apparently, but -it was promptly overruled by the burgomaster, who pushed him out with a -friendly but decisive nod and bade him be gone. - -"Very little ones--two, mind. And don't let her see." - -Whereupon the burgomaster put on his overcoat and went out, too. - -Before the church bells rang in the holy eve, all the gossips in town -were busy with the report that the burgomaster had been buying enough -Christmas toys and candles to stock an orphan asylum. What had come -over the man? Five dolls, counted the toy-shop woman, with eyes that -grew wide in the telling--five! And they alone, the two of them, in -the big house with never a Christmas tree there that any one could -remember! It must be that they were expecting company. - -Nothing was further from the mind of the burgomasterinde as she went -along with her preparations for the holiday. It had been a lonesome -day with her, for all she had tried to fill it with housewifely tasks. -Christmas eve always was. Now, as she sat with her knitting, her -thoughts dwelt upon the days long gone when it had meant something to -them; when a child's laughter had thrilled her mother heart. To her it -was no unfamiliar road she was travelling. The memory of her child, -which her husband had tried to shut out of his life lest it unman him -for his work, she had cherished in her heart, and all life's burdens -had been lightened and sweetened by it. Her one grief was that this of -all things she could not share with him. No one ever heard her speak -Gertrude's name, but there was sometimes a wistful look in her face -which caused the burgomaster vague alarm, and once or twice had led -to grave conferences with the family practitioner about Mrs. Brent's -health. The old doctor, who was also the family friend, shook his -head. The burgomasterinde was a well woman; his pills were not needed. -Once he had hinted that her loss--but the burgomaster had interrupted -him hastily. She would get over that, if indeed she had not quite -forgotten; to stir it up would do no good. And the doctor, who was wise -in other ways than those of his books, dropped the subject. - -The burgomasterinde had seen Black Hans brought in in charge of Jens, -and understood what the trouble was. As he was led away to the jail, -her woman's heart yearned for his children. She knew them well. The -town gossips were right: the path to the poacher's hut her familiar -feet had found oftener than her stern husband guessed. The want and -neglect in that wretched home stirred her to pity; but more than that -it was the little crippled girl who drew her with the memory of her -own. She had overheard the doctor telling her husband that there was -no help for her where she was, and all day her mind had been busy with -half-formed plans to get her away to the great seashore hospital where -such cripples were made whole, if there was any help for them. Now, -as she passed them in review, with the picture of Black Hans behind -the bars for their background, a purpose grew up in her mind and took -shape. They should not starve and be cold on Christmas eve, if their -father _was_ in jail. She would make Christmas for them herself. And -hard upon the heels of this resolve trod a thought that made her drop -her knitting and gaze long and musingly across the yard to the window -at which her husband sat buried in his mail. - -The burgomaster's face was turned from her. She could not see that he -held in his hand the very letter with the Christmas stamp that had -stirred unwonted thoughts within him; but she knew the furrow that had -grown in the years of lonely longing. She had watched it deepen, and -he had not deceived her, but she had vainly sought a way out. All at -once she knew the way. They would keep Christmas again as of old, the -two--nay, the three of them together. With a quick smile that had yet -in it a shadow of fright, she went about carrying out her purpose. - -So it befell that when Jens, the forester, was making off for the woods -where the Christmas trees grew, shaking his head at the burgomaster's -queer commission, the voice of the burgomasterinde called him back to -the kitchen door, and he received the second and the greater shock of -the day. - -"Get two wee ones," she wound up her directions, "and bring them here -to the back door. Don't tell my husband, and be sure he does not see." - -Jens stared. "But the burgomaster--" he began. She stopped him. - -"No matter about the burgomaster," she said briskly. "Only don't let -him know. Bring them here as soon as it is dark." - -And Jens departed, shaking his head in hopeless bewilderment. - -The early winter twilight had fallen when he returned with two green -bundles, one of which by dint of much strategy he smuggled into the -front office without the burgomasterinde seeing him, while he delivered -the other at the back door without the burgomaster being the wiser, -this being made easier by the fact that the latter had not yet returned -from his visit to the shops. When, a little while later he came home, -tiptoeing in like a guilty Santa Claus on his early evening rounds, he -shut himself in alone. - -Profound quiet reigned in the official residence for a full hour after -dark. In both wings of the house the shutters were closed tight. In one -the burgomasterinde was presumably busy with her household duties; in -the other the burgomaster was occupied with a task that would have made -the old clerk doubt the evidence of his eyes had he himself not been at -that moment engaged in the same identical business at his own home. Two -small Christmas trees stood upon the table, from which law books and -legal papers had been cleared with an unceremonious haste that had left -them in an undignified heap on the floor. The burgomaster between them -was fixing colored wax candles, cornucopias, and paper dolls in their -branches. He eyed a bag of oranges ruefully. They were too heavy for -the little trees, but then they would do to bank about the roots. To -be sure, they had left these behind in the woods, but the fact was not -apparent: each little tree was planted in a huge flower-pot, as Jens -had received his orders, just as if it had grown there. - -One brief moment the burgomaster paused in his absurd task. It was -when he had put the last candle in place that something occurred to -him which made him stand awhile in deep thought, gazing fixedly at -the trees. Then he went to his desk, and from a back drawer, seldom -used, took out something that shone like silver in the light. Perhaps -it was that which made him screen his eyes with his hand when he saw -it. It was a little silver star, such as many a Christmas tree bore at -its top that night to tell the children of the Star of Bethlehem. The -burgomaster sat and looked at it while the furrow grew deeper in his -forehead; then he put it back gently into its envelop and closed the -desk. - -It was nearly time for dinner when he straightened up and heaved a sigh -of contentment. The candles on one of the little trees were lighted, -and all was ready. - -"If only," he said uncertainly--"if only she is not in now." Could some -good fairy have given him second sight to pierce the walls between his -office and his wife's room, what he saw there would certainly have made -him believe he had taken leave of his senses. Jens had just gone out -with one Christmas tree, all hung with children's toys. On the table -stood the other in its pot, a vision of beauty. The mistress of the -house sat before it with a little box in her lap from which she took -one cherished trinket after another, last of all a silvery angel with -folded wings. A tear fell upon it as she set it in the tree, but she -wiped this away and stood back, surveying her work with happy eyes. It -_was_ beautiful. - -"I wonder where Jonas is. I haven't heard his step for an hour." She -listened at the door. All was quiet. "I will just carry it over and -surprise him when he comes in." And she went out into the hall with her -shining burden. - -At that precise moment the door of the office was opened, and the -burgomaster came out, carrying his Christmas tree. They met upon the -landing. For a full minute they stood looking at each other in stunned -silence. It was the burgomaster who broke it. - -"You were so lonely," he said huskily, "and I thought of our Gertrude." - -She put down her tree, and went to him. - -"Look, Jonas," she said, with her head on his shoulder, and pointed -where it stood. He saw through blurring tears the child's precious -belongings from her last Christmas,--their last Christmas,--and he bent -down and kissed her. - -"I know," he said simply; "it was Black Hans' little Annie. See!" He -drew her into his office, "I made one for her. Jens shall take it over." - -She hid her face on his breast. "He just went with one from me," she -sobbed, struggling between laughter and tears; and as he started, she -hugged him close. "But we need this one. I tell you, Jonas, what we -will do: we will send it to Black Hans in the jail." - -And even so it came to pass. To Jens's final and utter stupefaction, he -was bidden to carry the fourth and last of the trees to the lock-up, -where it cheered Black Hans that Christmas eve. It was noticed both by -the turnkey and by the poacher that it bore a bright silver star at the -top, but neither could know that it was to be a star of hope indeed for -little Annie and her dark home. For so it had been settled between the -burgomaster and his wife, as they pinned it on together and wished each -other a right Merry Christmas, with many, many more to come, that happy -night. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Christmas Stories, by Jacob A. 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