Chapter III: Bennie’s Second Christmas

The year had rolled round swiftly, and the little ones of St. Luke’s were again looking eagerly forward to Christmas Eve and the wonderful tree, which all the summer long had been growing down by the lake and gathering new beauty and strength for the task it was to perform. It was in the cellar of St. Luke’s now, and the ladies and children were busy trimming the little stone church on the corner, and Maggie Hewitt was with them, holding twine and pulling twigs for Miss Nellie, at whose side she hovered constantly, and whom some of the young girls called “Miss Morgan’s shadow.” But Bennie was not there, and if you had gone down on the tow path that winter day and entered the room, into which the snow used to drift at night, and where Bennie used to hide away from his drunken, crazy father, you would scarcely have known the place. Nellie Morgan had proved the good angel of that house, as of many others, and discovering that appreciation of tidiness and comfort which Bennie possessed to so great a degree, she had made his surroundings as pleasant as possible under the circumstances. Bennie was a delicate child, and often sick for days and even weeks, and when Miss Nellie found how distasteful to him was that dingy, dreary room where the broken window was stuffed with rags, and the damp, stained paper hung in strips on the wall, she went to work with a will, and many an article of cast off furniture found its way from the garret of the Morgan house to the hut on the tow path, and in comparison with his condition one year ago, Bennie now lodged like a prince, and felt almost as happy as one. There was fresh paper on the walls, the window was mended, and a clean white curtain hung before it; a strip of carpet covered the floor, and Bennie’s bed was a wide, capacious crib, which had once been Wallie Morgan’s; and there, propped up with pillows and clad in a bright dressing-gown, Bennie lay that December day when his sister Maggie was busy at the church where he so longed to be. A severe cold had settled on his lungs, and for weeks he had kept in doors, trying to subdue the tickling cough, which harassed him day and night.

“Oh, if I only can be well by Christmas, I want to see Jesus’ birth night once more. Do you think he’ll let me go?” he would say to Miss Nellie, when she came, as she often did, to see him, and with tears in her eyes Nellie would smooth the light hair of the little boy who had grown so fast into her love, and answer that she hoped so, when all the time there was a great fear in her heart that never again would Bennie celebrate the Saviour’s birth night.

But she would not tell him so then, for she felt sure that he was one of the little ones of whom our Savior said “of such is the kingdom of Heaven.” Her labor had not been in vain so far as Bennie was concerned. With astonishing avidity he had seized upon her words of instruction, and now, whether awake or asleep, the baby of Bethlehem was always present with him, the friend to whom he told his joys and griefs and to whom he often prayed for his drunken father, his idle, wicked sister Hetty, and his other sister, Maggie, whom he loved so well.

Such a child could not fail to influence any household for good, and it was observed by many that Mr. Hewitt worked more steadily, and was not intoxicated so often as of old, while Hetty was less in the street and never brought her vile, noisy companions to disturb her sick brother. And Bennie was very happy except when he thought of the Christmas Festival and his desire to attend it.

“Please, Jesus of Bethlehem, let me be well enough to go there just this once and hear my name called from the tree, will you, and I’ll be so good and not fret at Mag when my side aches and I cough so hard.”

This was Bennie’s prayer, or the substance of it, said often to himself, but for once God did not seem to hear the little boy, for his cough daily grew worse, the pallor about his lips grew deeper, the red on his thin cheeks redder, and his great blue eyes had in them that bright, glassy look which only the eyes of consumptives wear.

“I can’t go; he won’t let me,” he said, with a burst of tears, the morning before Christmas to Miss Nellie, who had come down to see him, and who tried to comfort him by saying that he would be remembered just the same, and that his presents would be new to him Christmas morning.

“’Tain’t that,” he answered with quivering lip, “’Tain’t the presents. It’s going up myself and feeling that _he_ counts me in as one of ’em, I want to hear Him call my name,—Bennie Hewitt, and know how it sounds.”

It was a fancy of his that Jesus himself called the names of the little ones, and Nellie did not try to dispel the illusion. Jesus would call him soon, she was sure, and with a kiss and a promise to come again on the morrow she left him and went back to the church where she was busy all the day with Maggie as her constant aid. And while they trimmed the house of God and hung their gifts upon the tree, little Bennie lay in his crib thinking about it and of the tree of life, of which Nellie had once read to him. Would he ever see that tree, and would there be something on it for him, and could he bathe his burning cheeks and hands in that pure river of water, and wouldn’t it be nice to have no nights to cough so in, and no need of sun or moon to light those golden streets.

It was nearly dark when Maggie came in, full of the beautiful church and the tree on which were so many curious things.

“Something for you,” she said to Bennie. “I saw more than one, and I’ll bring ’em to you when it’s out. Don’t cry, Bennie, I’m so sorry you can’t go with me. Next year you will.”

“No, Maggie, I shall never go—never hear my name,” Bennie tried to say, but a fit of coughing severer than any he had ever had came on and the cloth he held to his lips was stained with blood.

Neither Hetty nor Mag knew the danger, or what those crimson stains portended, and both went to the church leaving their father with Bennie, who at first lay very still and seemed to be asleep; then he began to grow restless and asked his father to read to him of the “golden city where the gates stand always open and there is neither sun nor moon.”

But Mr. Hewitt was unused to the Bible, and did not know where to find that description of the New Jerusalem of which Bennie talked so much, sometimes coherently and sometimes not, for his mind wandered a little and was now in “Jerusalem the golden, with milk and honey blest,” where the tree of life was growing and where Christ’s name was written on the foreheads of his children, and then at the church where the names were called, his perhaps, and he bade his father listen and tell him if he heard it.

“I can’t go up,” he said, “I’m so sick, but Maggie will bring them, and next year I shall see that other tree in the New Jerusalem, I guess I will, I mean, for I have tried to be good since she told me how, and I’ve prayed to Jesus every day. Do you love Him, father?”

There was no answer from the rough-faced man who sat watching his child with a pain in his heart such as he had not felt in years.

“Father!” and Bennie’s voice was very low and pleading, “You ain’t drunk now one bit.”

“No, by Jove, no,” came emphatically from the father’s lips, and Bennie continued, “Don’t ever be so any more, will you? Promise me, father, promise your little sick boy, who is going to die.”

“No, Bennie, you must not die, and I’ve been so hard on you, and flogged you when I was in drink,” Mr. Hewitt sobbed, laying his head upon the pillow, while Bennie went on: “But I’ve forgiven that, father, and I was naughty sometimes, and called you names and made faces at you when you did not see me. I’m sorry for it now, and when I’m gone remember me as I was at the best, when I tried to be good, and, father, _don’t_ drink any more, please keep sober, for Maggie’s sake, and Hetty’s; will you? Say you will; say it, father, quick.”

His wasted hand rested lovingly on the bowed head of his father, who faltered out: “Yes, Ben, I’ll try, I will, so help me God.”

“And He will help you, father, I’ll ask Him, now; He will hear me because I am going to die,” and folding his hands reverently, Bennie prayed, “Oh, Jesus, _man_ Jesus, I mean; please keep father from getting drunk, and don’t let him trade at the groceries where they sell it; then he won’t see it and want it so bad, and make him a good man, for Christ’s sake.”

Bennie’s voice ceased, and for a long time there was silence in the room, broken at last by the sound of steps outside, and Maggie came rushing in, her arms full of presents and her cheeks glowing with excitement and exercise. But she stopped quickly when she caught sight of Bennie’s face. It was very white, with a rapt look upon it, as if he were already lost to earth and was listening to “the shouts of them who triumph, the song of them that feast.” But her voice called him back and his eyes sparkled with pleasure for a moment as she spread his presents before him, and told him how many times his name had been called.

“Six times; ’most as often as Wallie Morgan’s; and look, here’s a Christmas card, and a bran-new suit of clothes, and a ball, and a top, and a jumping jack, and—and—oh, Bennie, guess what else; a pair of skates from Wallie Morgan.”

She had kept the skates for the last, knowing how her brother had wanted them, and now, at sight of them, he did seem to brighten up, and took them in his hands and examined them carefully; then, laying them where he could see them, he said, “Yes, I’m so glad, and they are all so good. I’d like to skate just once. I know I could beat Tom Carter in a little while; but, Maggie, I’m going to die. It came to me to-night. I’m going where Jesus is, and pa is not going to drink anymore, and Hetty must stay home nights, and you must be a real good girl, and not romp and tear your clothes so much.”

“Oh, Bennie, Bennie,” and all the brightness was gone from Maggie’s face as she dropped beside the bed, and seizing her brother’s hand begged of him to stay with her and not leave her all alone.

“Father and Hetty will be with you, and Jesus, too,” the pale lips whispered, and then Bennie’s mind began to wander, and he talked strange things of the Tree of Life, which he said was hung with tapers and beautiful gifts, some of which were for him, and he listened to hear his name, bidding his father and sisters keep very quiet lest he should fail to catch the sound.

All night they sat by him, scarcely daring to move, while, with closed eyes and parted lips, he lay listening—listening—till over the snow-clad town the grey morning broke and the Christmas chimes were rung from the church tower; then with a triumphant voice he cried, “There, he has called me at last, little Bennie Hewitt, he said. Didn’t you hear his voice? He’s there, with something for me. I’m going now. Good-bye. Tell Miss Morgan she told me the way, and I love her for it. I wish more ladies would hunt up the poor little boys on the canal. I’m going up the aisle, and the music is playing, too. Such music! oh, Maggie, don’t you hear it? It’s better than the ‘Silent Night,’ and I hear the heavenly hosts sing ‘Alleluia.’ Little Bennie Hewitt they call. Yes, I’m coming—coming—coming. A golden harp and golden crown. That’s what is on the tree for me and joy forever and forever. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye.”

* * * * *

Little Bennie was dead and the Christmas he had looked forward to so eagerly was kept with the Saviour he loved, and when Miss Nellie came to inquire for him she found only a white wasted form which her own hands made ready for the grave. The new suit of clothes which was to have kept him warm, were put upon him, and flowers from the Morgan conservatory were placed in his hands and on his pillow, and over the little coffin bitter tears were shed and promises were renewed as the wretched father whispered to himself, “I’ll keep my word to Ben. I’ll try to be a man.”

There’s a small white head stone near the gate in the Rosedale Cemetery, and Bennie’s name is on it.

“BENNIE HEWITT.
DIED DECEMBER 25, 1883,
AGED 9 YEARS.”

Strangers pass it by and think nothing of it, but God knows all about that little grave and the boy sleeping there, and when the Golden City shall indeed come down and Christ’s saints be gathered home, Bennie will be with them, where there is no more night, or need of sun or moon, for the glory from the Eternal Throne transcends the light of noonday and Christ is all in all.

* * * * *

Does my story seem a sad one to you, my little readers? In one sense it is, and in another it is not. It is always sad to see the children die, but when like Bennie they go from cold and hunger and toil, to be forever with the Lord it is for them a blessed thing, so, on Christmas morning of 1884 do not think of little Bennie, as in the grave where they laid him one year ago, but

In that far off, happy country
Which no human eye hath seen,
Where the flowers are always blooming,
And the grass is ever green.

There we find our little Bennie. No more hungry days and freezing nights and cruel blows for him, for he is safe forever. Jesus called his name, and he has gone to that beautiful land where so many children are, and where, I pray, we too may meet to celebrate our Saviour’s birth in one never ending Christmas.

_Brown Cottage,
Christmas—1884._

THE END
OF
BENNIE’S CHRISTMAS

THE CHRISTMAS FONT.