Chapter XVIII: Lady Jane’s Christmas Presents

Christmas came and went; and whatever hopes, desires, or regrets filled the loving little heart of Lady Jane, the child kept them to herself, and was outwardly as bright and cheerful as on other days, although Pepsie, who watched her closely, thought that she detected a wistfulness in her eyes, and, at times, a sad note in the music of her happy voice. If the affection that finds expression in numerous Christmas gifts can make a child contented, Lady Jane had certainly no reason to complain.

The first thing on which her eyes fell when she awoke was her stockings, the slender legs very much swollen and bulged, hanging in madame’s chimney-corner, waiting to be relieved of their undue expansion. Even Raste—the extravagant and impecunious Raste—had remembered her; for a very dressy doll, with a French-gilt bangle encircling its waist (the bangle being intended not for the doll, but for Lady Jane), bore a card on which was inscribed in bold characters, “M. Adraste Jozain,” and underneath the name, “A mery Crismus.” Adraste was very proud of his English, and as Lady Jane was more grateful than critical it passed muster. Then there was a basket of fruit from Gex, and beside the basket nestled a little yellow duckling which came from Mam’selle Diane, as Lady Jane knew without looking at the tiny old-fashioned card attached to it. And, after she had been made happy at home, she still had another pleasure in store, for Pepsie, wishing to witness the pleasure of her little friend, had the Paichoux presents, with her own and Madelon’s, beautifully arranged on her table, and carefully covered, until the important moment of unveiling. Every Paichoux had remembered Lady Jane, and a finer array of picture books, dolls, and toys was never spread before a happier child; but the presents which pleased her most were a small music box from Madelon, a tiny silver thimble from Pepsie, and Mam’selle Diane’s little duckling. These she kept always among her treasures.

“The day _I_ like best,” said Pepsie, after Lady Jane had exhausted all the adjectives expressive of admiration, “is the _jour de l’an_, New Year’s, as you call it. Then Tante Modeste and the children come and bring bonbons and fireworks, and the street is lighted from one end to the other, and the sky is full of rockets and Roman candles, and there is so much noise, and every one is merry—because the New Year has come.”

At that moment, Tite Souris entered with an expressive grin on her ebony face, and an air of great mystery:

“Here you, chil’runs, I done got yer Crismus; doan’ say nufin ’bout it, ’cause ’t ain’t nufin’ much. I ain’t got no money ter buy dolls an’ sech; so I jes bought yer boaf a ‘stage-plank.’ I lowed yer might lak a ‘stage plank.’”

Unfolding a large yellow paper, she laid a huge sheet of coarse black ginger-bread on the table among Lady Jane’s treasures.

“Thank you, Tite,” said Lady Jane, eyeing the strange object askance. “What is it?”

“Oh Lor’, Miss Lady, ain’t ye neber seed a ‘stage plank’? It’s ter eat. It’s _good_,—ain’t it, Miss Peps’?”

“I don’t know, Tite; I never ate one,” replied Pepsie, smiling broadly, “but I dare say it’s good. It’s kind of you to think of us, and we’ll try it by and by.”

“Dear me!” said Pepsie, after Tite, who was grinning with satisfaction, had left the room. “What shall we do with it? We can’t eat it.”

“Perhaps Tony will,” exclaimed Lady Jane, eagerly. “He will eat almost anything. He ate all Tante Pauline’s shrimps, the other day, and he swallowed two live toads in Mam’selle Diane’s garden. Oh, he’s got a dreadful appetite. Tante Pauline says she can’t afford to feed him.” And she looked anxiously at her greedy pet.

“Well, we’ll try him,” said Pepsie, breaking off a piece of the ‘stage plank’ and throwing it to Tony. The bird gobbled it down promptly, and then looked for more.

Lady Jane clapped her hands delightedly. “Oh, isn’t Tony nice to eat it? But we mustn’t let Tite know, because she’d be sorry that _we_ didn’t like it. We’ll keep it and give it all to Tony,” and in this way Tite’s “stage plank” was disposed of.

If Christmas was a merry day to Lady Jane, New Year’s was certainly a happy one. The Paichoux children came, as Pepsie said they would, loaded with bonbons and fireworks, and all day the neighborhood was lively with their fun—and such a dinner as they brought with them! Lady Jane thought there never could be anything as pretty as the table in Madelon’s little room, loaded, as it was, with all sorts of good things. Tante Modeste went home to dine with her husband, but the children remained until the milk-cart came for them when it was quite dark.

After they were all gone, and quiet was restored to the tiny dwelling, Lady Jane remarked to Pepsie that she thought New Year’s _was_ better than Christmas.

“But just wait,” said Pepsie, smiling mysteriously, “just wait until Carnival. Christmas and New Year’s are lovely; but Mardi-gras—oh, Mardi-gras! there’s _nothing_ like it in the world!”

Lady Jane wondered very much what “Mardi-gras” was, but tried to wait patiently until that wonderful day should arrive. The time did not pass slowly to her, surrounded as she was by tender care and affection.

Pepsie was teaching her to read and sew, and Mam’selle Diane was drilling her in scales,—although at times Madame d’Hautreve grumbled and quavered about the noise, and declared that the child was too young; for, stretch them all she could, her tiny fingers would _not_ reach an octave.

And then there were the dancing lessons, which were always a pleasure, and a constant source of amusement in which Pepsie and Tite Souris shared; Pepsie as an enraptured spectator, and Tite Souris by personating Mr. Gex in Lady Jane’s frequent rehearsals; and even Tony had caught the spirit of Terpsichore, and under Lady Jane’s constant instruction had learned to take steps, to mince and hop and pirouette, if not as correctly, at least as gracefully as the ancient Professor Gex.

Tite Souris had happened to pass Gex’s little shop one day while Lady Jane was taking her lesson, and from that moment the humorous darky could never speak of the little dancing-master without loud explosions of laughter. “Oh Lor’, Miss Peps’, I wish you jes’ done seed littl’ Mars Gex, a-stanin’ up wid he toes turn out so he look lak he o’ny got one foot, an’ he ap’on roll up un’er he arms, an’ he hands jes’ so,”—here Tite caught the sides of her scant skirt, displaying two enormous feet and a pair of thin black legs—“a-steppin’, an’ a-hoppin’ an’ a-whirlin’ an’ a-smilin’ wid he eyes shet, jes’ as if he done got religion, an’ was so happy he doan’ know what’er do. An’ Miss Lady, wid ’er head on one side, lak a morkin bird, a-holdin’ out ’er littl’ skirt, an’ a-steppin’, an’ a-prancin’, for all de worl’ jes’ lak Mars Gex, an’ a-puttin’ ’er han’ on ’er bre’s’, an’ a-bowin’ so er yaller har all-a-mos’ tech der flo’. Lor’, Lor’, I done mos’ die a-larfin’. Such cuttin’s up yer nebber did see! It’s might’ funny, Miss Peps’, all dis yer dancin’ an’ a-caperin’, but I’se scared ’bout Miss Lady wid all dem goin’s on. I’m feared der gobble-uns’ll ketch ’er sum time, w’en ’ers a-steppin’ an’ a-hoppin’, an’ tote ’er off ter dat dar ole wicked _devil_, wat’s watchin’ fer triflin’ chil’ren lak dat, ’cause Deacon Jone say, der devil’ll git all pussuns wat dance, shore, _shore_.”

“Nonsense, Tite, go away!” cried Pepsie, laughing till the tears came at her handmaid’s droll pantomime. “If what you say is true, where do you think you’ll go to? Haven’t you been acting Mr. Gex for Miss Lady, over and over, when she’s been repeating her dancing-lesson to me? Haven’t you been standing right up on that floor, holding out your skirt, and dancing back and forth, and whirling, and prancing, as much like Mr. Gex as you possibly could? _Haven’t_ you now, Tite? And I’m sure the ‘gobble-uns’ would take an ugly black thing like you before they would a little angel like Miss Lady.”

“But I war jes’ a-funnin’, Miss Peps’. Date ole devil know I war jes’ a-funnin’; an’ he ain’t gwine ter tote me off w’en I ain’t done no harm; ’t ain’t lak I war in earnest, yer know, Miss Peps’.” And with this nice distinction Tite comforted herself and went on her way rejoicing.

About this time Madame Jozain was seized with a sudden spasm of piety and took to going to church again. However, she kept at a discreet distance from Father Ducros, who, at the time of the death of the young widow, had asked her some rather searching questions, and several times when he met her afterwards remarked that she seemed to have given up church-going. She was very glad, therefore, when about this time she heard that he had been sent to Cuba on a mission, which Madame hoped would detain him there always. One Sunday it occurred to her that she ought to take Lady Jane to church with her, and not allow her to grow up like a heathen; and besides, the child dressed in her best had such an air of distinction that she would add greatly to the elegant appearance Madame desired to make.

Pepsie had a knack of dressing Lady Jane as Madame never could; so the little girl was sent across the street to be made beautiful, with flowing glossy hair and dainty raiment. And when Madame, dressed in one of the young widow’s elegant mourning suits, somewhat changed to better suit her age and position, leading Lady Jane by the hand with a gentle maternal air, limped slowly up the broad aisle of the Cathedral, she felt perfectly satisfied with herself and her surroundings.

Lady Jane had never been in a church before, and the immense interior, the grand, solemn notes of the organ, and the heavenly music of the choir made a deep and lasting impression upon her, and opened up to her new vistas of life through which her pure little soul longed to stray.

The musical nature is often a religious nature, and in the child was a deep vein of piety, which only needed working to produce the richest results; therefore, the greatest of all her pleasures from that time was to go to church and listen to the music, and afterwards to tell Pepsie of all she had seen and enjoyed, and to repeat, as far as it was possible with her small, sweet voice, the heavenly strains of the anthems she had heard.