Chapter XIII: What the Letter Said

AND then to the astonished eyes of Christie, there was handed forth a letter.

"Miss Christie Tucker."

So read the envelope, and the writing was in itself a source of pleasure, it was so beautiful. Christie had never seen her name very well written before. She had never seen it written at all on an envelope. Her first letter! You girls, who are used to receiving letters every week from some dear friend, cannot have the least idea how she felt.

But the letter, surprising though it was, did not entirely fill Karl's mind. In fact, it did not compare with those mysterious rolls and bundles which covered all the space in the front room.

He looked over Christie's shoulder at the letter, but he whispered to her, "Let's tell them our surprise; it is bigger than theirs."

One little thing about Karl I would like you to notice. Why did he not burst forth with the importance of his secret, without waiting for Christie? You have heard many a boy do it. Indeed, I wouldn't say this for the world to any but you, but have you really never done it yourself? This was another way in which Karl's honest, unselfish nature showed itself: honest, because he remembered that all those mysterious packages had Christie Tucker's name printed on them, and this was therefore her secret which he had no right to tell; unselfish, because he felt in his heart that Christie would like to tell about it herself, and he would not spoil her chance. You have never told news that did not belong to you, except when you did it without thinking. Is that what you say? Oh, I presume not, but then, my boy, you must remember that we can be selfish and dishonest through thoughtlessness. That is a mean door, which lets all sorts of meannesses in through it, when once it is left open.

There are two sides to this question. In point of fact, Christie was overwhelmed with curiosity about her letter, and would have liked to read it, and talk it over then and there, but Karl's heart was set on the other story, and the letter would keep.

"Yes," she said aloud, "such a surprise as we have for you! I don't know what you will think of us, or of all the things that have happened. We have had company, lots of it; haven't we, Karl?"

"I should think we had!" burst forth Karl. "Fact is, the front room is full of company this minute!"

And at the look on his mother's face, Karl broke down in a gust of laughter.

"Company!" she repeated, some dismay as well as surprise in her voice. "Why, children, what do you mean? Your Uncle Daniel's folks can't have come—"

"No, ma'am," interrupted Karl, "there's no Uncle Daniel's folks about it; they can't look a bit like him. Tell about it, Christie."

"Why, first," said Christie, "the express wagon came, and Karl went to the door, and they asked for 'me,' mother, only think of it! And Karl said—Oh, father, what 'do' you think he told the man! You tell, Karl."

And then Christie stopped to laugh, and Karl took up the remarkable story. What with laughter, and interrupting questions, and appeals to each other to tell that part, it really took a good deal of time to tell it. And it was all so funny that Nettie and the baby shouted with laughter, without having the least idea what they were laughing about. And Mother Tucker looked from one to another and said:

"Well, I declare! I believe you children are all getting crazy."

At last they went, lamp in hand, to the front room, Karl leading the way, and father bringing up the rear with the baby in his arms. Once there, they stopped laughing, and looked around them with bewildered faces.

"Upon my word!" said Father Tucker. "I can't make this out. I didn't half notice what you children were saying. Do you see through it all, mother?"

"No more than if I were blind," said Mother Tucker with emphasis, sitting plump down on the great roll done up in burlap, and clasping her hands on her knees. "I can't make beginning nor end to it. Where could they all come from, anyway? Of course it is a mistake, somehow, but where is the Christie Tucker to whom they all belong, and where has she kept herself, that nobody knows or has heard of her."

"Christie's here, mamma," piped Nettie, "she's wight behind the door, Christie is."

And she tried to drag her sister into the light to relieve her mother's mind. Then they all shouted with laughter again, baby and all.

"We act like a set of lunatics," Father Tucker said at last, stopping to lift Nettie to his other shoulder, "and we must get out of this room as fast as we can; the baby is beginning to sneeze."

This sentence brought Mother Tucker to her feet in an instant. She untied her apron and muffled it about the baby's shoulder, then led the way to the warm kitchen.

"Christie," said Karl, as he closed the door after the last one had filed in, "what about your letter?"

"Sure enough, the letter!" In the excitement of the moment, even her first letter had been slipped into her pocket and forgotten. She dived after it, trying nervously to break the seal, just as Karl said,—

"Perhaps the things and the letter belong together, somehow."

"How could they?" Christie asked sceptically.

But the boy's thoughts had already gone off on another line.

"They don't do it that way, Christie; they rip open the end, and leave the sealed part all tight; don't they, father? I've seen them open lots of letters at the depot. Here, take my knife; that will do it in a jiffy."

So the letter was opened, and properly too, and Christie sat down on Nettie's little settee to read it.

"'MY DEAR LITTLE FRIEND,—

"'I am afraid you have forgotten me, but your pleasant face is before me now very plainly. I don't easily forget my relatives. Perhaps you will be surprised at receiving a letter from me, yet I promised myself that day when I made your acquaintance that I would do myself the pleasure of writing to you before long. I have been longer about it than I meant; certain plans I had did not move as fast as I wanted them to. For one thing, I suppose I must have been very particular about a carpet—'"

Here came interruptions.

"What's that?" asked Father Tucker.

"A carpet!" repeated Mother Tucker, as though she could not believe her own ears.

"There!" said Karl, in triumph. "What did I tell you, Christie Tucker!" Then forgetting that he was helping to make the delay, he exclaimed, "Do read on!"

And at the first opportunity, Christie read on.

"'You see I wanted just the sort of one you seemed to have in mind when you described it to me: 'ferns all over it, and red berries like what mother used to gather in the woods in the East.' Wasn't that the description?'"

"That letter must be from a crazy man. What in the world is he talking about?" This was Mother Tucker's interruption, but Christie read on.

"'I couldn't find the ferns, but the little red berries are there, and the leaves are very like some that gathered in the woods in old Massachusetts in my boyhood, and I shouldn't wonder if your mother would recognize them. I was foolish enough not to ask the size of the parlour, so I could not have the carpet made; indeed, now I think of it, it does not seem altogether probable that you carried the size of the parlour around in your pocket, or even in that nice satchel; though as there seemed to come out of it everything that was needed for the comfort of us all, that Christmas Day, I am not sure but I might have found what I wanted, if I had thought in time. We lose a great many things in this world by not thinking in time.

"'Well, little woman, I will tell you what I hope: that there is enough of the carpet, not only for the parlour, but for that nice little room of your own; and I picked out a little bedstead and a little bureau and a little washstand with 'flowers growing all over them,' like the ones you didn't get to the city to see, and I matched the carpet as well as I could; so I really hope there will be enough for the room.

"'There is one article of furniture about which I must tell you. It happens that that Governor with whom you had such a pleasant talk, is a particular friend of mine, and always steps in to see me when he comes to the city.

"'One day he was in when I had a great many rolls of carpeting around, and was picking out the one I wanted, and I told him about my little relative, and our ride together, and the bandaged ankle and the lost baby—or rather the lost mother—and Sarah Ann and the dinner. The truth is, it made quite a long story, and as the Governor remembered you distinctly, he seemed to enjoy it; in fact, he was so sorry for that baby, that he wiped the tears from his eyes several times, and when I had finished he said:

"'"See here, I would like to know if she isn't a relative of mine as well as yours? I belong to the same family; what is to hinder my sending her a Christmas present?"'

"'So we went together to the warerooms, and he selected those two large easy chairs, which match the colours of the carpet, because he said he could see your father and mother sitting in them, and you looking on, much better pleased than though they just fitted your size. So the two chairs are from the Governor.

"'Now, my dear little friend, you must not let your wise and unselfish heart go to fearing that a great deal of money has been spent on these things, or that they are wonderful in any way. The truth is, that I and my sons keep a large carpet and furniture warehouse in the city, and though the carpet is clean and bright, and in good order, and a favourite with me, it is one that the fashionable ladies, who come to select carpets, call "old style," and it has been in our carpet rooms a good while, and would be there much longer unless we should put it down below its value; for, you see, people who are not very fashionable when they go to buy a new carpet, know just what the fashions are, and will not take anything else, unless they can get it at so low a price that we might almost as well have the pleasure of giving it away. About the same story can be told of the furniture. The pieces all harmonize, but do not "match." I wonder if you are too young a woman to understand what I mean? I know this, you are not too young to get the dictionary and study out the meaning, and that I am sure you will do. Meantime, that good mother and father of yours will understand all about it, and will be quite willing to let the old gentleman enjoy himself and give you these few things for a Christmas reminder, since they are neither costly nor very important.

"'What a long letter the old man is writing! And yet I want to make it just a little longer. I want to remind you, that since you and I are related, it follows that all our possessions, carpets, furniture, everything, belong to our Elder Brother, and are to be used to help along His work. All pretty things, especially, should be used to help gather His children into His beautiful home, so, dear little sister, I hope as soon as ever the last tack is driven in the carpet, you will have planned a way to make its leaves and berries help in serving Him.

"'There are ever so many ways in which even a carpet and a bureau, and an easy chair, can be made His servants, if those who have them in charge will take the trouble to study out the ways; this I feel sure you will do, and therefore send them, after all, in the name of our Elder Brother, as His gift, to be held in trust until He comes.

"'Good-bye, little sister. It may be that I shall never see you again down here; if I don't and I get home first, as in view of my seventy-seven years it seems likely that I shall, I will try to be on the look out for you, and we will talk things over with Him.

"Your old friend and brother,

"THOMAS L. FLETCHER."

"For pity's sake!" said Mrs. Tucker, her face a curious mixture of bewilderment and pleasure.

"Well, well, well!" said Father Tucker. "That beats all I ever heard of in my life. I know that name too; they have one of the biggest houses in the city, and they get their goods right from New York. Why, Christie, what does it all mean?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Tucker, "that is what I should like to know. What in the world did you tell him, child? About your wanting a carpet, and about my having carpets with ferns on them, and about furniture and all that? What queer talk to an old gentleman, and a stranger. How came you to?"

"I didn't mean to do anything wrong, mother."

Christie's chin was quivering, and she could hardly control her voice to speak. The fatigues of the day, and the excitements of the evening, were being almost too much for her, and at this word of her mother's, which seemed to have a note of reproof in it, she could hardly keep back the tears.

"It all seemed real natural; we were there all day, you know, and we had nothing to do, and we couldn't help getting pretty well acquainted. And he asked me what I expected to see at Uncle Daniel's, what I had thought a good deal about and planned for, you know. And I couldn't tell him anything but the truth, though I didn't say much about a carpet, or furniture, only that I would like to see some, like what Uncle Daniel had; I said the most about a piano. But, mother, I did not dream of such a thing as his ever sending me anything; how could I?"

And here Christie quite broke down, and wiped two tears out of her eyes.

Father Tucker never liked to see tears, and always made all the haste he could to dry them.

"It is my opinion, mother, from the tone of that letter, that our little girl didn't say anything to be ashamed of. The old gentleman seems to have quite as good an opinion of her as though she had not talked at all. I don't believe there is anything to worry about."

"Why, of course not," said Mother Tucker promptly. She liked tears as little as anybody, especially in her eldest daughter's eyes. "Who ever thought of blaming Christie? I would as soon think of myself saying anything improper as of that child! I only felt kind of curious to know how it all came about. It is real wonderful, anyhow. But now I'll tell you just what will be a hard and a right thing to do, things that are right are often hard; Christie looks all tuckered out, and we ought just to wash these dishes, and straighten up the room, and get to bed, and not go near the front room until to-morrow morning."

"Oh, mother!" said Karl.

It seemed to him that he should fly up the chimney if he couldn't have a glimpse of some of those wonders in the front room before morning.

"Yes," said Mrs. Tucker firmly, "they will every one of them keep, and by daylight, when things are cleared up and comfortable, they will look as pretty again as they will to-night, and the children will enjoy it too. Here is Nettie dropped asleep while that letter was being read. Christie, my girl, what do you say? Isn't it the thing to do?"

"Yes'm," said Christie, rising, her face cleared. She had been astonished at and ashamed of her tears; she rarely cried, unless she had something to cry for, and knew little about overwrought nerves. "I'll clear away, mother, and you can rest and get Nettie and the baby ready for bed. Come on, Karl, and carry these things out for me."

So brisk work commenced again in the little kitchen. The evening had sped away while they were looking and wondering and listening, and it was even now later than the Tucker children were apt to be awake. The brother and sister talked as they worked, even allowing themselves to guess as to what colour the carpet might be, and what that sort of three-cornered thing was, that would neither stand up nor lie down.

It was not until the kitchen was in perfect order, and the cakes were set for morning, and Karl had already gone to his room, and Christie, with her shoes in her hand, was ready to slip into the little bedroom beside Nettie, that she stopped before her mother and said:

"Mother, there is one thing I want to ask about to-night. How can I ever do as the letter says about using the things? What good can I do with a pretty carpet or bedstead?"

The mother's face was thoughtful. She had been asking herself much the same question.

"I don't know, child," she said, at last slowly, a little sadly, "I never heard such talk as that before in my life. It seems kind of queer, and yet I liked it. I don't know much about such things, not near as much as I wish I did. There must be ways of doing that we can find out. We'll ask Mr. Keith, maybe, or we'll study something up. It is a wonderful thing to happen to you, my girl. I guess there is a good deal in it to be proud of, if the real truth was known; but we mustn't be proud. We'll try to find out. You go to bed now, and mother will come in pretty soon and tuck you up."

So Christie went to her room, and knelt down, only a few minutes, for the room was cold—just long enough to ask God to forgive her for all the sins of the day, and take care of her and all her dear ones through the night, and to thank Him for the wonderful thing that had happened to her, and to ask Him to show her how to use the carpets and the furniture as the letter said. Then she went to bed, and her mother came and tucked her up and kissed her, and neither mother nor daughter knew that the furniture had already begun to work for Jesus, by awakening a desire for work.