Chapter VI: Part 6

Since the weather had become cold, each day, after breakfast, Maggie and Bessie were allowed to throw out crumbs for the sparrows and chickadees, who came about the house to find something to eat. The birds seemed to know the hour almost as well as the children, and seldom came for their breakfast before the right time. But on this morning the little girls were scarcely down-stairs, when their brother called them to come and see what a flock of their pets had already gathered on the piazza and window-ledge. For the ground being all covered with snow, there were no stray crumbs or seeds to be found; and the chickadees and sparrows, being early risers, found themselves hungry and in need of their regular breakfast rather sooner than usual; and now the prints of their tiny feet were to be seen all over the snow, while twice the ordinary number of birds hopped about the piazza, or perched upon the railing and window-ledge, chirping away, twitching their little heads from side to side, and watching the children with their bright, twinkling eyes as if asking what made them so late.

Away ran Maggie to ask Patrick for a piece of bread, and came back with a rush and a jump and a sudden shove at the window which put every mother's bird of them to flight. In her hurry to feed them, she quite forgot that they were so easily startled, and was much distressed when she saw them all flying off in a great fright.

However, the bread was crumbled and thrown out; and by the time prayers were over, the whole flock were back again, pecking away with much satisfaction, and twittering and chirping as if they were telling each other what very kind people lived in this house, and how thankful they should be for such good friends. At least, this was what Maggie told Franky they meant, as he watched them with his chubby face pressed close against the window-pane.

"No shoes and stottins," said he. "Poor birdies! Dere foots too told. Mamma buy shoe for birdies."

His little sisters thought this very sweet and funny in Franky, and they hugged and kissed him till he thought he had said something very fine, and kept repeating it over and over again.

Pretty soon it stopped snowing, and the sun came out. Then Maggie and Bessie were much amused in watching the people clearing the snow from the sidewalks, and the boys snow-balling one another. Presently Mrs. Bradford missed Franky from the room. As she had the baby, she could not go after him, but sent Maggie.

She ran from room to room, but could not find her little brother. When she opened the nursery door, and put in her head, she rather wondered to see the bureau-drawers open, and several things lying scattered over the floor; but she did not think much about it, for there was no one there, and she must find Franky. As she went down-stairs again, she saw the back-door was standing open, and went to shut it. Here she met Franky coming in with very rosy cheeks, and his face all smiles, as if he were well pleased with himself.

"Oh, Franky!" said Maggie, "what made you go out in the cold with no hat and coat? Didn't you hear me calling you?"

"Yes," said Franky.

"Then why didn't you come?"

"Me too busy," said the little boy; and away he ran into the parlor, while Maggie went to shut the door. To her great surprise, she saw the piazza strewn with shoes and stockings,--her own, Bessie's, and Franky's, and even a pair or two of baby's little worsted socks. She came in, and followed Franky.

"Franky," said Mrs. Bradford, "did you not hear mamma calling?"

"Yes'm," said he again, "but me too busy."

"But you must always come right away when mamma calls. What were you doing?"

"Me dave de birdies shoes and stottins," said Franky; "dere foots too told."

Then Maggie told her mother what Franky had done, and nurse coming in just then, Mrs. Bradford sent her to see. Sure enough, the little rogue had gone up-stairs, and filling his skirt with his own and his sisters' shoes and stockings, had scattered them upon the piazza, thinking that the birds could make use of them. Maggie and Bessie thought this a most capital joke, and even nurse, who was much displeased, could not help smiling as she heard their merry peals of laughter. Mamma did not scold Franky, for she did not think he meant to do anything naughty, but she told him he must never do so again, and that the birds did not need shoes and stockings to keep their feet warm.

"But, mamma," said Maggie, "how is it the birds do not have their feet frozen in the snow and the cold? If we were to go hopping about with bare feet, it would hurt very much, and we would be sick; but the sparrows do not mind it at all."

"Because God has fitted them, dear, as he has all his creatures, for the life which he means them to lead. He has given to the sparrows and chickadees, not soft, tender feet like yours, but horny claws on which they can hop over the snow and gravel without feeling the cold, or being hurt. See by this how he has cared for all he has made; the smallest or weakest bird or animal is known and watched over by his all-seeing eye. When our Saviour was on earth, he chose these little birds to teach us a most precious lesson. Once when he was talking to his disciples, after telling them that they were to fear God, and not man, he wished to show them how constant and watchful was God's care of his people, and he said, 'Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall to the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore; ye are of more value than many sparrows.' A Roman farthing was less than a cent and a half, so that one of these sparrows cost less than a penny, and this was meant to teach us that if each of these little birds which was worth so small a sum is known and remembered by the Almighty; if not one of them can fall and die unless he sees it, how great must be his care and love for us, whom he has called 'of more value than many sparrows,' and for whom he gave his only Son to die upon the cross. It is a very sweet and comforting thought to know that he never forgets us, and that no harm can come near us, unless he knows and permits it."

"And it ought to make us think that he sees what we are doing, and knows if we are even a little bit naughty. Ought it not, mamma?" said Bessie.

"Yes, darling, and it should make us very careful not to grieve or displease him by even a wicked thought or angry feeling."

"'Cause when he sees it, he thinks we are ungrateful about his Jesus," said the thoughtful little Bessie.

This was Saturday and a holiday, when the children had no lessons, and the boys did not go to school; and about twelve o'clock Harry and Fred came in with Tom Norris, Walter Stone, and Johnny Ransom; they were all four going into the yard to build a snow-man, and Harry begged that his sisters might go, too, saying that he and Fred would take care of them. Mamma had no doubt of this, and she said Maggie might go, but she was afraid to have Bessie play in the snow, lest she should take cold. Maggie said she would not go if her sister might not; but Bessie told her to go, and she would stand at the library-window and watch them at their work. Maggie still hesitated, but her mother said she would see that her sister did not feel lonely while she was gone, and having been well wrapped up, she at last went with the boys.

To say that Bessie was not disappointed and did not very much wish that she, too, might have a share in the delightful play, would not be true. But though a tear came into her eye as she saw the others run off, she bore it bravely.

"Mamma, you would be sure to let me go if you thought it best; wouldn't you?" she asked, lifting her face to her mother to be kissed.

"Indeed, I would, my sweet child; you may be certain mamma would never take from you any pleasure she thought safe for you; but it would be wrong and foolish in me to let you go when you would probably take cold and be sick. And now what shall we do to amuse ourselves. If you like to stand by the window and see the boys, I will bring my work and tell you a story, or we will sit by the fire, and I will read to you."

Bessie chose the first, for she said that would be two pleasures at one time.

When Mrs. Bradford came back with her work-basket, Bessie was standing on a chair by the window, and she turned to her mother with a very bright face.

"Mamma," she said, "come and see what a nice time Maggie is having. I think I am 'most glad you didn't let me go, 'cause if I was playing myself, I could not see how much she 'joys herself. Just hear her laugh!" and Bessie laughed merrily herself.

Mamma stooped and kissed her sweet-tempered, generous little daughter, who, instead of fretting and making herself and others miserable because she could not do as she wished, not only contented herself with the pleasures which were left to her, but really tried to find comfort in her very disappointment.

Maggie did indeed seem to be enjoying herself. The boys had begun their snow-man, but she found that rather hard work, and, having asked leave, was snow-balling her playfellows with all her might. She was not very apt to hit them, for her small hands could not take very sure aim in her thick worsted mittens; but whenever she missed her mark, she became only more eager, and, hit or miss, her gleeful laugh rang out all the same. Mrs Bradford found that no story was needed; so engaged was Bessie in watching the frolicsome antics of her sister, that she had no thought of anything else. In the height of her play, Maggie did not forget every few moments to stop and kiss her hand and nod and smile at the two dear faces in the library-window. When her mother thought she had been out long enough, she called her in, and she came all glowing and rosy with her play in the fresh, cold air.

"Tom says the sleighing is splendid. I hope grandmamma wont forget us."

"No fear of that," said mamma; and she had scarcely spoken when Aunt Annie's smiling face appeared at the door.

"Well, little polar-bear, where did you come from?" she asked, taking hold of the bundle of furs and wrappings which called itself Maggie.

"Out of the icebergs to eat you up," growled Maggie, pretending to be the bear Aunt Annie had called her.

"Very well, sir, I suppose you have a good appetite since you have come so far; but, of course, if I am eaten up, you cannot expect my mother to go sleigh-riding with the fellow that has made a meal upon her child."

When Maggie heard this, she declared that she was no longer a polar-bear, but just Aunt Annie's own little niece, who would not eat her up even if she were starving, and whom it was quite safe to take sleigh-riding. Both she and Bessie were wild with delight. They could scarcely eat their dinner, and the moment it was over, ran away to the nursery to be dressed for the ride.

When the sleigh came to the door, Aunt Annie said she had two polar-bears to ride with her, and pretended to be quite alarmed. But both the bears proved to be very well-behaved, and neither bit nor scratched; although they did now and then hug a little as they sat, the one between mamma and grandmamma, and the other between Aunt Annie and Aunt Helen; for Aunt Helen had come from Riverside to make her mother a visit and to stay till after Christmas.

"We are to have a Christmas tree, Aunt Helen," said Maggie.

"And all our people are to come," said Bessie.

"We have a great deal to do yet," said Maggie. "There are a great many presents to buy, and Christmas will be here one week from yesterday, mamma said so. Aunt Annie, you said you would take us shopping for those things mamma is not to know about."

"Very well," said Aunt Annie, laughing. "I suppose I may as well give up Monday to it, if your mother will let you go."

Mamma was quite willing it should be so, if the weather were fine. The things which she was not to know about were her own, and papa's Christmas presents. The book-marks were all worked. Those for Colonel and Mrs Rush were quite finished and laid away; but the two which were intended for papa and mamma still wanted the ribbon, and this was one of the things to be bought. Then Maggie was to buy some trifle for papa, and Bessie one for mamma. They were not trifles to them, however, but very great and important purchases, and there was a great deal of whispering and hiding in corners. It was rather a singular circumstance, but one which was very convenient, that mamma never asked what they were doing, or even seemed to see that they were engaged with some work in which she was not asked to help.

They had a lovely drive. All the sleighs and cutters in the city seemed to have turned out for the first fine sleighing; and the air was full of the jingling of the merry bells, and the shouts and laughter of the boys as they pelted each other with snow-balls, or went skimming along on their sleds. The Central Park looked beautiful in its pure white dress which lay so smoothly, just as it had fallen from the hand of the kind Father above; and Maggie said the trees and bushes thought white feathers were becoming, and so had dressed themselves out as if they were going to a Christmas party.

XVI.

_SHOPPING FOR CHRISTMAS._

ON Monday afternoon Aunt Annie came for the children, according to promise, and Aunt Helen was with her.

"For I have a little business with Maggie," said Mrs. Duncan; "but no one else is to know what it is, so mamma and Bessie are to ask no questions."

This was delightfully mysterious.

"Nobody is to ask questions at Christmas-time," said Bessie, gravely. "Mamma made that yule."

"And it is a wise one too," said Aunt Helen.

"How long do you suppose our Meg can keep a secret, Aunt Helen?" asked Fred.

"I know she has kept one for three months so well, that I am going to trust her with a second."

"Pretty good for Midget," said Fred.

It was indeed a triumph for heedless Maggie. So carefully had she kept the secret of the picture, not even saying, "I know something," or, "Something is going to happen," that mamma suspected nothing; and though Bessie knew there _was_ a secret, she had not the least idea what it might be.

Aunt Helen started first with Maggie, telling her sister Annie and Bessie to meet them in a certain book-store.

"Now, Maggie," she said when they were in the street. "I am going to reward you for keeping our secret by letting you choose the frame for the picture."

The little girl was delighted, but when they reached the store, and she saw frames of all kinds and sizes, she became confused, and could not tell which to decide upon.

"That one is too large," said Mrs. Duncan, as Maggie pointed out one she thought she should like. "No, dear, that is too small again. There," and her aunt laid four or five of the proper size, in front of the child; "any of those will do; suppose you choose one from among them."

So, after some more hesitation, Maggie chose a dark walnut frame, with silver nails; and Aunt Helen said she had shown very good taste. Then Mrs. Duncan gave the man directions about the picture, which she had sent to him in the morning. He bowed and wrote them down, and then said, looking at the rosy, happy face which was peeping at him over the counter, "'Tis a capital likeness too, ma'am; never saw a better."

"Aunt Helen," said Maggie, as they left the store, "did that man mean he knew our Bessie, and thought you made a good picture of her?"

"I thought you were to ask no questions at Christmas-time," said Mrs. Duncan.

"Oh!" said Maggie. "I did not know I must not ask about things like that; I thought mamma meant bundles and work, and such things."

Aunt Helen only laughed, and began to talk of something else, and presently they came to the book-store, where Annie and Bessie were waiting for them.

At the lower end of this store was a large table, and upon it were a number of beautiful and useful things intended for presents. There were writing-cases and work-boxes, paper-cutters and weights, beautiful pictures and all kinds of knick-knacks.

"Aunt Helen," said Maggie, eagerly, "do you not think we could find something on that table that would make nice presents for papa and mamma?"

"I do not doubt it," said Mrs. Duncan, "if you could pay for them; but I fear, dear Maggie, all those pretty things are quite too expensive for you to buy."

"Well," said the little girl, with a sigh, "I suppose we may look at them while you and Aunt Annie buy your books; may we not?"

"If I thought I could trust you not to touch anything, you might. But some of those things are very costly, and you might do much mischief if you meddled with them."

"Aunt Helen," said Bessie, looking up with a very sober face, "we never meddle when we go shopping. Mamma has taught us that, and gen-yally we yemember what she tells us."

"I believe you do," said Mrs. Duncan, smiling. "Well, then, I will trust you;" and she and her sister walked to the other end of the store to look at some books, leaving the children to amuse themselves.

A gentleman was sitting near the table reading a newspaper, and when Bessie had spoken out so solemnly, he had looked up with a twinkle in his eye. The little girls did not notice him, however, nor did he seem to be paying attention to them. They walked round and round, now peeping at this thing, now at that, but never offering to lay a finger upon one.

"Oh," said Maggie. "I do wish, I do wish we could buy some of these beautiful things for papa and mamma! But I suppose we'll have to wait till we're quite grown up, and then perhaps they will all be gone. Just see this paper-weight, Bessie. Would it not be nice for papa? But I think it costs a great deal, and I can only afford twenty cents."

"And see this lovely little picture, Maggie. Mamma would like it so, I know. See, it has the cross and a pretty vine all around it, and some words. Can you yead it?"

"S-i-m--sim," spelt Maggie, "p-l-y--ply, simply--to--thy--cross--Oh! it must be 'Simply to thy cross I cling.'"

"Yes," said Bessie, "it's out of 'Yock of Ages,' and mamma loves that hymn so much. Oh! I do want it for her! Do you think twenty cents will buy it, Maggie?"

"I guess not; but we'll ask. I'd like to be grown up for two things, so I'd never have to go to bed till I chose, and so I could have plenty of money to give everybody everything they wanted. Just see that picture of a dog, Bessie. Does it not look like our Flossy? I wish it was nearer, so we could see it better."

"I can't see it at all," said Bessie, raising herself on tiptoe, to gain a view of the picture which was in the centre of the table. "I wish it was nearer, but we must not touch."

"I'd like to see him better, too," said Maggie. "I want to know if he really is like Flossy, or if he just looks so 'cause he is so far off; I know I wouldn't break it either if I moved it; but then--we promised."

"And mamma said we were _never_ to touch without permission," said Bessie; "and we're trusted."

They both stood for some minutes, Maggie looking wishfully at the dog, Bessie still stretching up her neck in a vain attempt to see him, when Maggie suddenly said, "Bessie, mamma said it was not right to put ourselves in the way of temptation, and I think I am doing it. This was just the way I did the day I meddled with papa's inkstand. I stood looking at it, and looking at it, and wishing I had it, till at last I touched it, and did such a lot of mischief. I sha'n't look at the dog any more, and let's go to the other side, and we wont think about it."

As they turned to do as Maggie proposed, they saw a miserable-looking face peeping in at the glass door. It was that of a boy about eight years old, poor, and in rags, his features all pinched with cold and hunger. He was gazing wistfully at the pretty things and the comfortably-dressed people who were within, and perhaps wishing that Christmas brought such happiness to him. As one after another passed in and out, he held up his thin hand and asked for help, but few heeded him.

"See that poor boy," said Bessie; "I don't believe he has any money to buy Christmas presents."

"I'm afraid not," said Maggie; "I guess he has not enough to buy bread and fire; he looks so cold and thin, and what dreadful old clothes he has!"

"Poor fellow!" said Bessie, in a pitying voice. "I s'pose he would like some money very much. Do you think we could spare him a little of ours, Maggie?"

"If we do, we can't spend so much for our presents," answered Maggie, pulling out her portmonnaie from her muff and looking doubtfully at it.

"Do you think papa and mamma would mind it, Maggie, if we each gave the boy five cents, and did not spend quite twenty for them?"

"I don't like to take it off papa's and mamma's presents," said Maggie. "They are so very good to us, I want to give them all we can; but, Bessie, I'll tell you. You know I was going to spend ten cents for you, and you ten cents for me. Now we might only spend five cents for each other, and then we can each give five to the boy. I don't mind, if you don't, Bessie."

"No, Maggie, I'd yather give it to him, and then maybe he'll look a little glad."

So each taking five cents from her pocket-book, they ran to the door and put the money into the poor boy's hand, who did indeed look "a little glad" as he received it.

When they came back to the table, the picture of the dog stood just in front, where not only Maggie but Bessie, also, could see it quite plainly.

"I hope nobody will think we meddled with that picture," said Bessie.

"No one shall think so," said the gentleman, who had been sitting near, as he rose and threw down his paper. "I moved it myself."

"Then, if you please, sir," said Bessie, "will you tell the store people you did it? I s'pose they wouldn't think you were naughty, 'cause you're big; but we are forbidden to touch, and we were trusted."

"And I see you are fit to be trusted," said the gentleman, smiling; "and I have a right to touch what I please here, for the store and all the things in it belong to me. Is there nothing upon the table which you would like to buy?"

"Yes, sir," said Bessie, while Maggie was hanging her head in a terrible fit of shyness at being talked to by this stranger, "if we could afford it; but we think all these things cost too much. We have not a very great deal of money."

"Let me hear what you would like to have, and I can tell you the price," said the gentleman.

"How much is that paper-weight?" asked Bessie.

"Fifteen cents."

Bessie's eyes sparkled, and Maggie looked up in great surprise.

"And this cross, sir, how much is that?" said Bessie.

"That, also, is fifteen cents."

"Then we'll take them both for papa and mamma. I think you are a very cheap gentleman, sir. We thought they would be too 'spensive for us to buy," said the little girl. "Mamma will be very pleased with this lovely picture."

"I hope so," said the gentleman. "Such a good mamma as you have deserves to have a present that will please her."

"Do you know my mamma, sir?" asked Bessie, as she handed him the price of her picture.

"No, but I am sure your mamma is a lady and a good woman, although I do not know her, and I am sure, also, that she has taught you well, and that you have paid heed to her lessons."

Bessie was herself quite certain of all this, but she wondered how the gentleman could know it when he was a stranger to her mother. Perhaps you and I may be able to guess.

"And papa deserves a nice present, too," she said; "he is an excellent gentleman."

"I have not a doubt of it," said her new friend. "And now I suppose you would like to have your purchases wrapped up, so that your papa and mamma may not see them before the proper time."

"We would like to show them to our aunt first," said Bessie; and she and Maggie scampered off with their treasures.

But when Aunt Helen saw them, she said there must be some mistake. "Those things are worth much more than you have paid for them, my darlings, you have misunderstood; or some one has been joking with you."

"Indeed, indeed, Aunt Helen, we did not make a mistake, and the gentleman was quite sober," said Maggie.

"Who sold them to you?" asked Mrs. Duncan.

Bessie pointed out the person, and Mrs. Duncan went to speak to him. Her little nieces looked after her with anxious eyes, fearing lest they might have made some mistake, and that their new treasures would be taken from them, and Bessie ran up just in time to hear the gentleman say, with a laugh, "Surely, I may put what price I please upon the articles I have for sale."

Mrs. Duncan laughed, too, and said, "Yes, certainly, but--"

"I assure you, I have been amply paid, madam," said the gentleman, "and I beg you will consider the matter settled. It is all right, little one," laying his hand on Bessie's head as she looked up at him; "you have made no mistake;" and then taking the paper-weight and picture, he wrapped them in paper and returned them to the children.

From this store they went to another, where they were a long time choosing the ribbon for their book-marks, while Aunt Helen and Annie waited with wonderful patience till they had decided this important question. Here, also, a pincushion was bought for nurse, and an emery-bag for Jane. Then Maggie, coming back from a show-case, about which she had been spying, begged Aunt Annie to go to the other end of the store, and on no account to turn her head. Aunt Helen was taken to the case, and a box was pointed out which Maggie thought would be the very thing for a ribbon-box.

"But you cannot buy that, dear," said Mrs. Duncan; "it is too expensive."

"Oh, no, Aunt Helen! it is marked five cents,--just see," said Maggie.

"My poor pet, that is five dollars, not five cents."

This was a great disappointment, for Maggie had quite set her heart on the box; but, of course, she and Bessie could not give five dollars, since they had not the half of that to spend.

"It's real mean," she said, angrily, "to go and cheat children so, and make them think it's five cents when it's five dollars."

"Do not speak so, dear," said her aunt; "'cheat' is not a pretty word for you to use, and those numbers mean five dollars very plainly to any one who can read them. Ask papa to teach you about that to-night."

"Let's go back and buy all our presents of that gentleman," said Maggie. "He knows how to keep store a great deal better than these people."

"Better for your purses than for his own, I think," said Mrs. Duncan, laughing. "No, dear, we have bought enough there for this time. We will find something else for Aunt Annie."

"Maggie, Maggie," called Bessie, "come and look at the cunningest glass animals you ever saw in your life."

Maggie's displeasure was quite forgotten as she saw the pretty toys, and as she and Bessie were looking at them, Aunt Annie joined them.

"What a beautiful glass cat!" she said. "I wish Santa Claus would have one like it on the Christmas-tree for me. I should put it on my what-not, and I do not believe that a mouse would dare to show so much as the tip of his tail in my room, if I had this pussy to guard me."

"Oh, Aunt Annie," said Maggie; "just as if a mouse would be afraid of such a mite of a glass kitty! He would know it could not hurt him."

"Well," said Annie, "if you see Santa Claus, just tell him I would like to have it."

Maggie turned and looked at Bessie with a shake of her head, and eyes which very plainly asked the question. "Shall we buy it for her?" and Bessie answered with a nod which said quite as plainly, "By all means."

So they begged Aunt Annie to walk away once more, a request which she had quite expected, and she went off laughing. Bessie asked the price of the cat, and was told, "six cents," so there was no difficulty about that, and pussy was bought. Then, after some whispering, Mrs. Duncan was sent after Annie, and a glass deer was bought for her _étagere_. The woman who served the children brought a small box, and putting some cotton in it, laid the deer and the cat upon it, and gave the box into Maggie's hand, saying that she could carry them safely in this way. Maggie told Bessie that the woman knew how to keep store pretty well, after all.

One or two more small purchases were made, and then they went home. They went shopping several times with mamma or their aunts before all their presents were bought; but two days before Christmas everything was ready,--the book-marks with, "To my dear Father," and "To my dear Mother," as well as those for Colonel and Mrs. Rush, a watchman's rattle for noisy Fred, and for Harry, since he was fond of birds, a yellow wooden canary in a pewter cage. It would take too long to name each article, and the person for whom it was intended; but not one of the family, or of their intimate friends, was forgotten. Papa and mamma, brothers and sisters, aunts, uncle, and cousins, grandmamma and the two grandpapas, Colonel and Mrs. Rush, Jemmy and Mary Bent, and even each servant in the house were remembered and provided for; and the older people were quite astonished to see how much the children had done with the two dollars and sixty cents with which they had started.

And now began the grand preparations for the important day. The Christmas-tree in its square green box came home, and was carried into the library, where the children were now forbidden to go. The "grown-upers," as Fred called them, were passing in and out all the time, going in laden with parcels of all shapes and sizes, and coming out empty-handed. But if the older people had their secrets, the children, also, had theirs, not the least of which was one in which the four eldest were engaged, and which was carried on for a while in the boys' room.

The tree was not to be displayed until the evening of Christmas-day, when there was to be a large family dinner at Mrs. Bradford's, to which Colonel and Mrs. Rush were invited.

XVII.

_CHRISTMAS._

"WHO is going to hang up a stocking to-night?" asked Fred, as the children watched their father and uncle while they dressed the room with greens on Christmas-eve.

"I shall," said Harry.

"And I," said Maggie.

"I don't know about it," said Bessie; "maybe Santa Claus will think we are greedy, if we hang up our stockings when we are going to have a Christmas-tree."

"No, pet," said Harry; "he's a generous old fellow, and, besides, he'll know that we don't expect much in our stockings. We'll leave a little note, telling him we only do it for the fun of the thing."

"He'll scorch his old legs coming down the chimney to-night," laughed Fred; "there's a roaring big fire in mamma's grate."

"Oh, he's used to it," said Harry; "he minds neither heat nor cold."

"Maggie," said Fred, "if you hear a scrambling and pawing in mamma's chimney to-night, you can jump up and take a look at him through the crack of the door."

"We wouldn't be so mean," answered Maggie. "If he meant us to see him, he would come in the day-time when we are up; and if he knew we did it, perhaps he'd just go whisking up the chimney, and not leave us a single thing."

"Hurrah for honest Maggie!" said Fred. "I hope Santa Claus is around somewhere, and heard you say that. He'll give you a reward for it."

"Children," said Bessie, "you talk as if Santa Claus yeally was."

"You don't mean to say he really is not!" said Fred. "Now, if he has heard you, Bess, he'll be affronted, and punish you, as he will reward Midget."

"I know who Santa Claus is," said Bessie, gravely, "and I wonder if it's yight to talk so earnest about him."

"Mamma said it was not wrong," said Maggie, "'cause every one knew it was only a joke, and no one meant to deceive; but it's fun to think about him and talk about him, so I am going to do it."

"I wonder how this notion of Santa Claus ever came about?" said Harry. "Let us ask papa."

But Mr. Bradford was too busy just then to attend to them, and said he would tell them at another time.

When Maggie and Bessie went up-stairs, their brothers went with them to assist in hanging up the stockings, and when nurse found what they were doing, she came too, bringing Franky's stocking and a tiny worsted sock.

"Holloa," said Fred, "you are not going to hang up that apology for a stocking, nursey? Why, Santa Claus will never see it! and if he did, he'll have nothing small enough in his pack to put in it."

"I'll trust to his forgetting my pet," said the old woman. "If he overlooks any one, it will be the one of the family that's always in mischief and up to some saucy prank; and maybe he'll just put a rod in that one's stocking."

"Poor mammy!" said Fred, "do you really think Santa Claus will serve you such a shabby trick as that, and not bring you a single thing? If he does, I'll save all my pocket-money for a month, and buy you something nice."

Nursey shook her head at the roguish fellow, whom she dearly loved in spite of all his mischief and teasing, and having fastened up the little sock, she carried Maggie and Bessie away to undress them.

If the little girls had been awake an hour later, when their brothers stopped in mamma's room on their way up to bed, they might have said that Santa Claus had a great deal of laughing and whispering to do; but they were sound asleep, and heard nothing till the next morning, when nurse, according to promise, came to wake them at an earlier hour than usual; for nurse and Patrick had been taken into the secret, and the latter had promised not to ring the rising-bell for this morning, but to let the children wake their parents in their own way. Harry had procured half a dozen bells of different tones, and had taught his brother and sisters to ring them in tune, producing what they called "Christmas Chimes." I cannot say that they sounded much like chimes, or that the tune was very easily distinguished; but since the children were satisfied with their own performance, it answered all the purpose. And certainly had not papa and mamma been already awake, they could not have slept one moment after all this din was raised at their door. Mr. Bradford, however, was up and nearly dressed, for Miss Baby had chosen to wake at an early hour, and looking around for something with which to amuse herself, had discovered two new playthings in her father's nose and hair. These she chose to consider her own proper Christmas gifts, and had ever since been making good use of them. Papa tired of the fun sooner than she did, and had been forced to take the new toys beyond the reach of the little hands. Both he and mamma laughed heartily at their Christmas greeting; but soon came sweeter sounds, for when the chimes were over, the four clear young voices rose in the beautiful hymn:--

"Hark, the herald angels sing
Glory to the new-born King."

No music ever sounded more delightful in the ears of Mr. and Mrs. Bradford, and when the hymn was finished, papa waited to be sure that no more was to follow. But now came shouts of "Merry Christmas!" and as he opened the door, the whole happy, laughing flock rushed in, with Flossy barking joyously at their heels.

"Now for the stockings!" said Fred, when all loving wishes had been exchanged. "One at a time. You begin, Hal."

There hung the stockings all in a row as they had been left last night; but now they were full instead of empty, and to the top of each was pinned a piece of paper with some words written in a large, sprawling hand.

Now Harry, though he was by no means a miserly boy, had a fancy for saving all sorts of stray odds and ends, saying that they might be of use some day. This habit of his gave a great deal of amusement to Fred, and now he seemed much delighted when on Harry's paper were found the words, "For Master Save-all." At the top of the stocking was a packet of sugar-plums, below an old battered tin cup, some broken pieces of china, part of a knife-blade, and some scraps of paper. Harry rolled the paper into a ball and threw it at Fred's head.

"Now for number two," said the mischievous fellow, unpinning the paper from his stocking, which did not look as full as Harry's. "'The pattern boy of the house'--that's myself, of course,--'needs nothing but the reward of his own conscience, and the goodies whose sweetness is only equalled by his disposition.' Good for Santa Claus! He's a gentleman of sense."

"There's something else there," said Maggie.

Fred looked rather surprised, but plunging his hand down to the bottom of his stocking, pulled out a small square box. Opening it, he found two little parcels, one containing mustard, the other pepper, with the labels, "Like to like." He colored furiously, but laughed good-naturedly, saying, "All fair; give and take."

On Maggie's paper was written, "For the girl who would not peep." And besides sugar-plums, the stocking held a tiny log-cabin, a puzzle of Harry's which she had long wished to have, and two or three other small toys. Bessie's and Franky's held pretty much the same, except that in Bessie's, instead of the log-cabin, was a tiny doll dressed as a policeman; for since her adventure she had been very fond of talking of her friends, the policemen, and her stocking was ticketed, "For the girl who will not believe that Santa Claus really is."

But now nurse, coming in after her baby, looked first at her little sock, and to her great disgust, found nothing but a bundle of twigs tied on the outside.

"The old rascal!" she said; "does he mean to say my baby wants a whipping? The best baby that ever lived! I'll just lay this rod over his own shoulders."

"You'll have to catch him first," said Fred, "and you wont have a chance till next Christmas-eve."

"Wont I though?" said nurse, and she made a grasp at the laughing boy, who dived, and the next instant was off with nurse after him. But nurse was old and fat, Fred, young and active, and he vaulted over balusters, and took flying leaps down-stairs in a way which quite terrified her; so that she begged him to "stop and not risk his neck on this blessed Christmas morn."

"As well risk my neck as my shoulders," said Fred. "Will you promise not to visit the sins of Santa Claus on me if I consent not to kill myself?"

Nurse promised, and went back for her baby, whom she carried off to the nursery, covering it with kisses, and talking to it as though she thought it very badly treated.

"It's rather droll, is it not, that Santa Claus' handwriting should be so much like that of our Fred?" said Mr. Bradford.

"Not at all, sir, for he took lessons of me when he was young," answered the rogue, with a comical look at his father.

"Papa," said Harry, at the breakfast-table, "can you tell us now about Santa Claus?"

"I will tell you all I know, but that is not much," said his father. "Santa Claus is Dutch or German for St. Nicholas. Many hundred years ago, there lived far away in the East a good old bishop, named Nicholas, who gave up his life to acts of charity and mercy. He was said to have a great love for children, and many stories are told of his kindness to them; hence, he came to be regarded as their special friend. After his death, the Romish Church, to which he belonged, made him a saint; and as his feast day, or the day which particularly belonged to him, happened to be near Christmas, he was supposed to take a great share in the rejoicings of that day."

"But why is he said to come down the chimney and fill stockings?" asked Fred.

"I do not know," said Mr. Bradford, "and though I have questioned several people who know a great deal about old customs, I have never been able to find out how this idea arose. In some parts of Europe, he is supposed to be a child angel, not an old man; and in France the children call him Noel, and put their shoes on the hearth to be filled. Perhaps the custom of giving presents at this time arose from the gifts which the wise men of the East brought to the infant Saviour; perhaps it was only intended to remind us of the greatest and most precious of all gifts which _we_ received on this day. My Bessie can tell what that was; can she not?"

"God's Jesus, who came to save us, so his Father could take us to heaven," said the little girl.

"Right, my darling; and can Maggie tell what was the song the angels sang on this happy morning?"

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men," said Maggie.

"And every Christmas-day since the song has been repeated by men and angels. Is it not a pleasant thought that all over the world, in every land where Christ is known, millions of happy voices ring forth the glad tidings, 'For unto us is born this day a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord;' that millions of young children are singing praises to him who became a little child that he might bring to us the one priceless gift without which all others are worthless? For from this flows every good thing; without the peace, comfort, and safety which this has brought, there would be nothing but misery and unhappiness, even for those who do not love and bless the holy child Jesus, or trust to his salvation. Every prayer which we offer, not only on this day but on all days of the year, finds its way to the Father's ear only through his name; every joy is made brighter, every sorrow lighter, by the thought of the one great blessing the birthday of our Saviour brought."

And now there were down-stairs several poor people to be attended to before church-time; for on this day, of all others, Mr. and Mrs. Bradford would not forget those who had not as many good gifts as themselves. There was Mary Bent, who had risen long before daylight that she might be in the city at an early hour. Very cold and tired she looked, but she cheerfully answered the children's "Merry Christmas;" and when she had eaten the good breakfast Mrs. Bradford ordered for her, the color came into her pale cheeks, and she quite agreed with Maggie and Bessie that this was the happiest day in all the year.

"Mrs. Duncan ordered our Christmas dinner sent from Riverside, ma'am," she said, courtesying to Mrs. Bradford; "and old Mr. Duncan sent a puzzle to Jemmy; so there's nothing more to be wished for."

"Still," said the lady, "I suppose you will not refuse the present which the children have for you."

No fear of that, as the sparkle of Mary's eyes showed when Maggie and Bessie came with the warm sack which they had bought for her. It was tried on at once, and found to fit pretty well, leaving, it is true, some room for Mary to grow, but that was a fault on the right side. Mrs. Bradford gave her a hood for herself, and a book for Jemmy, with a parcel of cakes and candies, and some tea and sugar for her mother, and the little radish-girl went home with a light, happy heart.

There was an old negro man nearly a hundred years of age, but who still managed to hobble about with a stick and pay a Christmas visit to his kind friends, and who, when Mrs. Bradford gave him money and a hat, said, "Dear honey, I didn't spect nothin'; I jest came for a sight of your pooty face." But, nevertheless, old Jack would have been sadly disappointed to go away empty-handed; indeed, I think it quite doubtful if he would have gone away at all until he had received something.

There were several others to be made happy, but it would take too long to tell who they all were. Every one, however, went from Mr. Bradford's door blessing the kind hearts who could not be content unless they shared with others the many good gifts God had bestowed upon them. Then to church to praise the Lord for all the mercies of the day; after which, Maggie and Bessie were taken to a large room, where the children of the Church Mission School were to have a Christmas dinner. Roast beef and turkey, with other good things, had been furnished for the little ones, many of whom, perhaps, never had a comfortable meal save on this day of the year.

Mrs. Bradford brought her children away before the dinner was quite over, for she feared Bessie would be too tired, and when they reached home, told her she must take a little rest. Bessie thought it a pity to lose a moment of Christmas-day in sleep; but, like the obedient child she was, lay down on mamma's sofa. But after lying quite still for about ten minutes with her eyes closed, she said, "Mamma, I have kept my eyes tight shut for a great many hours, and the sleep will not come."

Her mother laughed, and said she might get up, since the time seemed so long, and sent her to the nursery to be dressed for dinner.

And now came grandmamma and Aunt Annie, Grandpapa Duncan, Aunt Helen, and Uncle John with Baby Nellie, and afterwards, Colonel and Mrs. Rush. What a long dinner-table that was, and what a circle of bright, happy faces about it! Maggie and Bessie, and perhaps Fred and Harry, too, had thought it rather foolish to think of dinner when there was the Christmas-tree waiting in the library; but, somehow, they all contrived to enjoy the merry meal very much. Fred declared he wished his father kept a hotel, it was so jolly to sit down to dinner with such a lot of people.

Soon came Tom, Lily, and Eddy Norris, with Gracie Howard, to share in the grand event of the day. Papa and Uncle John disappeared for a few moments, then the servants were called, the library-door thrown open, and there stood the Christmas-tree in all its splendor. On the topmost bough was a figure of old Santa Claus, with his pack upon his back; around him burned a row of wax tapers, and on every little twig hung flags, spangles, bright-colored balls, and bonbons; while the larger and stouter branches and the green tub were covered with the heavier gifts. Such shouts of delight as came from the little ones! Baby, in mamma's arms, seemed to think the whole show was for her amusement, and crowed and laughed and stretched out her dimpled hands towards the pretty things, which she would soon have destroyed, had she been allowed to grasp them.

When the tree had been sufficiently admired, Mr. Bradford stepped forward, and, taking down one after another of the gifts, handed them to the persons for whom they were intended. One of the first things was a sweet picture in a black walnut frame, which he gave to mamma. Great was her delight when she saw the faces of her two little daughters, so prettily painted by her sister.

"Now may we see, Aunt Helen?" said Maggie, and receiving permission, she and Bessie ran eagerly forward. "Oh, how sweet Bessie and Flossy look! And there's another pretty little girl standing by--Why, that's me!"

Every one laughed, but Maggie was so pleased she did not think about that, but thanked Aunt Helen for putting her in the picture. Bessie was even more surprised, and could not understand how her aunt could paint a picture without her knowing it.

Now papa called Maggie, for there was a beautiful little bed for her doll; and next came one for Bessie. Never was there a tree that bore such various and delightful fruit,--fruit suited to large and small, from Grandpapa Duncan down to the dear baby; and never were richer or happier children than our Maggie and Bessie. There seemed to be presents from every one to every one, and happy voices and merry laughter filled the room. The Colonel and Mrs. Rush were very much pleased with the book-marks, "I love you, Sir," and "Remember me, Ma'am;" that is, if smiles and kisses were to be taken as signs, and promised to keep them as long as they lived.

Nor were papa and mamma less delighted with the paper-weight and picture and the markers worked with "To my dear father," and "To my dear mother." Mamma did not in the least care that Maggie, trying to do hers by herself, had put the o and the m, quite close together, making it read "Tomy dear mother," a mistake which mischievous Aunt Annie, enjoying the joke, had not corrected. Of all the gifts which Mr. and Mrs. Bradford received that evening, none pleased them more than those which the fingers of their own little daughters had manufactured.

As for nurse, she scarcely had eyes or thoughts for her own presents, so occupied was she with the treasures which showed that the youngest darling of the flock had not been forgotten.

"Well, mammy," said Fred, shaking in the old woman's ears the silver and coral rattle which had been grandmamma's gift to baby, "will you forgive the trick which Santa Claus served you last night?"

"I will," answered nurse, "and I wish he may never turn out a worse fellow than the rogue who played his part."