Chapter III: Some of Their Friends

_The Young of Spring_
_The Triumph of the Brown Thrush_
_Day--Wide Day!_
_The Blossoms of To-morrow_
_The Nest in the Heather_
_Lady Grove (Silver Birches)_
_Shadow Brook_
_The Brook and the Bird_
_The Birds of Soleure_
_The Prairie Nest_
_The Moving of the Nest_
_The Widowed Eagle_
_The Chicadee_
_The Earth-Mother and her Children_
"_When the Leaves are Gone_"
_The First Thanksgiving_
"_Mascots_"
_Mother Fur_
_What the Cat-Mother Said_
_What the Bird-Mother Said_
_What the Friends of Both Said_
_The Little Brown Bat_
_The Lost Charter_
_The Saving of Jack_
_Skye of Skye_
_Tip's Kitten_
_The King of Cats_
_Waifs_
_Frost-Flowers of the Pavement_
_Stars of the Snow_
_June in the Sky_
_Mother Earth_
_The Rain Rains Every Day_
_The Good By_

CRADLE SONG

_For one Born at Christmas_

Happy thou, a winter comer,
Happier with the snows around thee
Than if rosy-fingered summer
In thy cradle-nest had crowned thee.

Tender is the night, and holy:
Little clouds, like cherub faces,
Up the moon path, drifting slowly,
Vanish in the heavenly spaces.

Clothed in splendor, past our earth night,
Sphere on sphere is chanting _Nowel_:
Child, thy birthnight keeps a Birthnight
Dearest in all Time's bestowal!

He who slept within a manger
Guards the pillow thou art pressing--
Sent thee hither, little stranger,
Blest--to be our Christmas Blessing!

HOW MANY

Resting her curly head on my knee,
And slipping her small hand into mine,
My baby girl asks how many there'll be
On Christmas day when we dine.

Though I've told her before, and she knows very well,
"There'll be grandpa and grandma," I repeat,
And Uncle Charlie and Aunt Estelle
And Cousin Marguerite.

And Uncle Philip and Cousin Kate,
And mamma's old friend, Miss Madeline;
And--let me see--ah, yes, that is eight,
And Mr. Brownell makes nine!

As I close my story I hear a sigh,
The curly head closer nestles, and then,
In a sad little voice, "How many are I?"
"My darling! At least you are ten!"

HER CHRISTMAS PRESENT

_A True Incident_

With doll in arms to court she came,--
A mite of tender years
Between her sobs she put the case,
Her eyes brimmed up with tears.

"They've put my mamma into jail--
And oh, I love her so!
She's very good--my mamma is--
Please, won't you let her go?"

"Just look! She made this doll for me"
(She held it up to view).
The judge did look. "Don't cry," he said,
"We'll see what we can do."

"What charge against the prisoner, clerk?"
"Sold apples in the street.
She had no license, and, when fined,
The fine she could not meet."

"My mamma's good. Please, let her go."
The judge looked down and smiled;
"So well you've pleaded, she shall be
Your Christmas Present, child."

"Now take this paper, little one,
It sets your mother free.
She should be very proud of you;
Go, tell her so, from me."

With doll in arms away she went,
And soon the prison gained;
And when her mother clasped her close,
The happy child explained:

"A kind, good man like Santa Claus,
With hair as white as snow,
He let you out because--because
I asked him too, you know!"

A CHRISTMAS SPY

When Poebe brought the wood and coal;
To lay the fire, what did she see
But Baby--dropped upon one knee
And peering up the chimney-hole!

She never turned her little head,
With all its curly, yellow hair:
I asked, "What are you doing there?"
"Me look for Santa Taus!" she said.

REFRESHMENTS FOR SANTA CLAUS

"It may be late and stormy and cold
When Santa Claus reaches our street;
And Santa, you know, is very old,
So I'll leave him something to eat."

"And what do you think he would like, dear heart,"
"Something nice and sweet," she said;
"Jelly and jam, and a cranberry tart,
And a _teenty_ piece of bread!"

So there on the sideboard is Santa's feast,
Which her own small hands have spread;
Jelly and jam,--three kinds at least,
And a tart--but _where is the bread_?"

HOW THE CHRISTMAS TREE WAS BROUGHT TO NOME

Night of the winter--winter and night in the city of Nome,
There where the many are dwelling, but no man yet has a home!
Desolate league upon league, ice-pack and tundra and hill;
And the dark of the year when the gold-hunter's rocker and dredge
are still!

By the fire that is no man's hearth,--by the fire more precious than
gold,--
They are passing the time as they may, encompassed by storm and by
cold:
And their talk is of pay-streak and bedrock, of claim by seashore or
creek,
Of the brigantine fast in the ice-pack this many and many a week;
Wraiths of the mist and the snow encumber her canvas and deck,--
And the Eskimos swear that a crew out of ghostland are crowding the
wreck!

Thus, in the indolent dark of the year, in the city of Nome,
They were passing the time as they might, but ever their thoughts
turned home.
Said the Man from the East, "In God's country now (where we'd all
like to be),
You may bet your life there's a big boom on for the Christmas Tree;
And we'd have one here, but there isn't a shrub as high as my hand,
Nor the smell of spruce, for a hundred miles, in all this land!"

Then the Man from the South arose: "I allow, if the Tree could be
found,
I'd 'tend to the fruit myself, and stand ye a treat all round!"
"Done!" said the Man from the West (the youngest of all was he).
"I'll lose my claim in the ruby sand--or I'll find the Tree!"

The restless Aurora is waving her banners wide through the dome,
And the Man from the West is off, while yet they are sleeping in
Nome!
Off, ere the low-browed dawn, with Eskimo, sledge, and team:
He is leaving the tundra behind, he is climbing the source of the
stream!
On, beyond Sinrock--on, while the miles and the dim hours glide--
On, toward the evergreen belt that darkens the mountain side!
'Tis a hundred miles or more; but his team is strong, is swift,
And brief are his slumbers at night, in the lee of the feathery
drift!

* * * * *

There were watchful eyes, there were anxious hearts in the city of
Nome;
And they cheered with a will when the Man from the West with his
prize came home!
And they cheered again for the Christmas Tree that was brought from
far,
Chained to his sledge, like a king of old to the conqueror's car!

Said the Man from the South, "I'll 'tend to the fruit that grows on
the Tree!"
Said the Man from the East, "Leave the Christmas dinner and
trimmings to me!"

HOLLY AND MISTLETOE

Said the Holly to the Mistletoe:
"Of this holy-tide what canst know,--
Thou a pagan--thou
Of the leafless bough?
My leaves are green, my scarlet berries shine
At thought of things divine!"

To the Holly spake the Mistletoe:
"Matters not, my leafless boughs but show
Berries pale as pearl--
Ask yon boy and girl!
If human mirth and love be not some sign
Of share in things divine!"

THE FIREBRAND (_Northern Ohio, Christmas Eve, 1804_)

Hark to a story of Christmas Eve
In the lonely days of yore:
'Tis of the measureless, savage woods
By the great lake's windy shore--
Of mother and child, in a firelit span,
Where the wilderness bows to the toil of man!

"Christmas is coming, and father'll be here;
Through the woods he is coming, I know!
Over his shoulder his ax is laid,
And his beard is white with snow!
Yes, but look in the fire, my child,
At the strange cities there, so bright and so wild!"

"Mother, what are those restless flames
That close by the window pass?"
"Only the firelight fairies, child,
That dance on the window-glass!
But look, how the sparks up the chimney fly,
Up, and away, to the snowy sky!"

"Oh, listen, what are those shuddering cries,--
Mother, what can they be?"
"Only the branches that grate on the roof,
When the wind bends down the tree!
Now sing me the song I've taught to you,
That I, myself, as a little child knew!"

"But, mother, those flames dart back and forth--
Like balls of fire they play!
And those shuddering cries are at the door;
'_You must let us in_,' they say!"--
"My child! Your father's whistle I hear--
Say a prayer for him--he is coming near!"

She has seized the tongs, she has snatched a brand,
And waved it abroad at the door!
Through the drifting snow a form she sees--
He is safe, in a moment more;
Safe--and afar are those shuddering cries,
And the baleful lights of the _wolves' red eyes_!

Thus did it chance on a Christmas Eve,
In the days that are long since fled;
But a light so brave, and a gleam so true,
Through the waste of the years is shed,
As I think of that blazing, windblown brand,
Waved at the door by a slim, white hand!

THE FOUNDLING

I

The good man sat before the fire,
And oftentimes he sighed;
The good wife softly wept the while
Her evening work she plied:
One year ago this happy time
The little Marie died!

II

"And surely, now, if she had lived,
She would have reached my knee!"
"And surely, now, if she had lived,
How cunning would she be!"
In fancy each a darling face
Beside their hearth could see.

III

The door swung wide--a gust of wind
The fitful candle blew;
'Twas Franz, the awkward stable-boy,
His clattering step they knew.
"But Franz, speak up, speak up, and tell
What thing has chanced to you!"

IV

His round blue eyes with wonder shone,
His bashful fears had fled:
"I saw--I saw the cattle kneel
Upon their strawy bed;
And in a manger lay the Child--
A light shone round His head!"

V

"He must have dreamed," the good man said,
"A vision, it would seem."
"Nay, master, for the light shone bright
On stall and loft and beam."
Then said the good wife, "I, perhaps,
Might go and dream this dream!"

VI

No further words, but forth she fared,
With Franz to lead the way.
They reached the barn, whose sagging door
Shot out a yellow ray;
The kine did kneel upon the straw,
As truthful Franz did say!

VII

And there--oh, lovely, lovely sight,
Oh, pleading, tender sight!
Within a manger, lapped in hay,
A smiling, rosy mite
The good wife saw, and nearer held
The lantern's yellow light.