Chapter X: A Christmas Stocking

THE summer sped away without further excitement, and October found "the flock" again established under Mrs. Joy's roof. Val had concluded to take up special studies, and was talking of a possible trip to Europe the next year. Nannie, too, was looking forward eagerly to going to Paris for study; but Theo clung to auntie, and declared that nothing should separate them.

"We'll go back to Roseville, to the old quiet life, auntie dear," she said. "Won't it be nice to have Mammy at hand, with her queer old homely ways, and to look out and always see trees and sky? I am getting tired,—tired of brick walls and pavements," and Theo gave a quick little sigh.

"And you wanted so much to come," returned her aunt.

"I know," and Theo took Miss Nelson's hand, softly laying her cheek against it, "but I don't like the world, auntie. I want to be a little girl again," and two bright drops fell on auntie's hand.

"Why, my blessed child, aren't you happy?"

"I shall be twenty-one next summer," replied Theo, regretfully. "Then I shall have to think about Preston, and I shall have responsibilities,—responsibilities are such wearing things."

"I know they are, dear, but we must not be cowards and shirk them. Duty is a wonderful strengthener. My girl would not choose to live a life of absolute ease, of mere animal enjoyment."

"Oh, no, no. I don't mean that. I love to work, but somehow here I have come face to face with forces of whose existence I never knew. We lived an ideal life in Roseville, I think, auntie."

"But you were the first to fly, my birdie."

"I know it, and that is why I am the first to tire, maybe."

"You are disappointed, then."

"Not exactly. I am only tired of jar and fret. I love my music. I enjoy ever so many things that I should not have elsewhere. And if I had to live here always, I should try to find a way to put my powers to the best passible use. I should try to fit my life to its surroundings. But now home seems dearer than anything. And sometimes, when I think of the apple-trees and the robins, the garden whose every bush and shrub I know by heart, our little town, in which every face is a familiar one, my dear little room haunted by my girlhood's dreams, dear old Mammy so devoted to us, and,—oh, everything,—I long for it all, and I feel as if I should rather stand up in our little church and sing than to be applauded in any concert-room here or anywhere else."

"I do not know that I am sorry, dear heart, that you feel so, and I think this is likely to be our last winter here. I think Val would best go to Europe with Mrs. Westerly, and Nannie's heart is bound up in her work. Archie will have to decide soon about his own career, and then—we can go home."

There was silence for a moment between the two. Then auntie bent over the bright head leaning against her.

"Dear girlie," she said, "it is hard to give up our illusions, isn't it?"

Theo nodded. Then she replied, softly,—

"That was one of the things I meant, you know, auntie, dear." And she added, smiling, "Do you remember, auntie?

"'There was a young lady of Baddow,
Who, becoming enraged with a shadow,
In both hands she took it,
And to fragments she shook it.'

"That was what I did. It was only a shadow, nothing else. I found that out very soon."

"I knew you would," replied Miss Janet. "I trusted you, sweetheart. I knew that every good and true woman, with her feminine share of ideality, must dream that the man she fancies approaches at least nearly to her ideal."

"But," interrupted Theo, suddenly raising her head, "if life means one thing to him and another to her—if love in its highest, noblest, purest sense has never been revealed to him; if he cannot comprehend a love from which self is eliminated; if he does not understand that a human being is a human individual, and that she who is 'her'self to-day cannot be 'him'self to-morrow, and that a life is not an apology, but a life—what then?"

"Then fortunate is she who discovers it before it is too late. Large natures allow to others large liberties. A weak, self-indulgent man is apt to exercise a petty tyranny which must, in the end, win a noble woman's contempt."

"I know that, and the same rule must apply where noble men are concerned, and where the woman is narrow and petty."

"Yes, quite as well. If men, and women too, could only be true to their highest natures, only willing to marry such as would respond to the best within them, who would draw forth all their nobility and truth, then there would be perfect faith, perfect confidence; there could be no question of freedom, for there would be no question of bondage; it would take the life of one to complete the life of the other, each retaining his or her individuality, not the destroying of one that it might be lost in the other, but the joining of two symmetrical parts, the notes that make the music of one life finding the answering ones in the other to complete the chord."

"I understand," replied Theo. "Better the simplest melody carried by a single voice perfectly than an attempted concerto jarred and out of tune."

"Hand me that green book, Theo," directed auntie. "I want to read you what our friend Thoreau says." And Miss Janet turned over a few pages, then read:

"'Is your friend such a one that an increase of worth on your part will rarely make her more your friend? Is she retained, is she attracted by more nobleness in you, by more of that virtue which is peculiarly yours, or is she indifferent and blind to that? Is she to be flattered and won by your meeting her on any other than the ascending path? Then duty requires that you separate from her.'"

Theo held out her hand for the book, and for some time sat absorbed in it. Then she lifted up her head, saying,—

"Auntie, dear, you have done me so much good. I have felt too far away from you since we came to New York. Somehow, I don't know how it happened, but I have had to lock myself up. It is very nice to get out again and back to you, safe and sound. Oh, auntie, keep me very close: I am so much happier so." And then, with arms close about auntie, she whispered something in her ear, hiding her face on auntie's shoulder.

"My dear, my darling!" Miss Janet whispered back.

"Are you sorry?" asked Theo, again in a whisper.

"No, darling, no; very, very glad."

"Don't tell," again whispered Theo.

Auntie satisfied her on that point.

Then as the girl drew a long, quivering breath, she gathered her more closely to her, and the two sat for a long time in silence, till Val's energetic little rap gave notice of her approach.

"What are you doing here in the dark?" asked Val, feeling her way into the room.

"It gets dark so early," explained Theo, lifting her head. "Where have you been, Val? Archie would be highly indignant if he knew you were out alone after dark."

"Oh, Archie is too particular," replied Val. "Anyhow, I have just left him, 'a martyr going to the stake,' he said."

"Why, what did he mean?"

"His nonsense, of course. He was hard up, and was going to a cheap restaurant for dinner. I begged him to take me, and offered to foot the bill, but he said,—

"'No, that would be putting a premium on extravagance, that he needed the discipline; maybe it would make him more saving in the future.'"

"I am afraid Archie is extravagant," was Theo's comment. "I wish he could be more economical, for his own sake."

"He is so generous," explained auntie, "and has such a horror of penuriousness, that he errs in the other direction. But I think he is improving somewhat."

"Yes," replied Val; "he told me he could get through this month by eating twenty-five-cent dinners for a week. Dear old Arch!" she said, reflectively.

"Oh, by the way, Theo, what do you think we have been talking about?"

"I cannot imagine. It is difficult to guess the theme of conversation when you two are together."

"So it is; but this has a flavor of sense in it, this plan. We think it would be sort of cheery and nice to send Jack a Christmas stocking. Maybe you think it is too soon to be talking of Christmas, but really it isn't. We'll have to send it early, so as it will get to him in time; and then we want to think up a lot of absurdities to put in it. Don't you think it is a nice plan, auntie?"

"I do, indeed, and I'll venture to say Jack will enjoy it immeasurably."

As the time approached for the stocking to be sent, the ideas came thick and fast, and finally, Nannie, Val, Theo, and Archie spent one entire evening in preparation.

"Oh, Archie, do see!" "Oh, Archie, do look!" greeted his appearance as the girls held up their various contributions.

"Come over here, Archie. There, now you can take them in properly." And Val made room at the table, where a lighted lamp stood. "These are Nan's," and she displayed three supposed handkerchiefs, made from an old pillow-case. They were notched out with scissors, and decorated by the use of colored crayons. Each bore such legends as "Merry Christmas," "Happy New Year," "Good luck," "The rose is red," "The violet blue," with appropriate designs.

"I think they are magnificent. What next?" Archie asked, as he put them aside. "What in the world is this?" And he turned over a remarkably constructed something, looking at it with a puzzled countenance. "What on earth do you call it?" he inquired.

A broken wine-glass had been inverted, and surmounted with a rag doll-head and body without arms. The glass served as a skirt; the expression of the doll's face, rudely drawn in ink, was ludicrous indeed, and gave Val a fit of mirth every time she looked at it. The inscription read, "The Venus of Milo, as discovered by Miss Talcott."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I ever saw," said Archie. "Jack will enjoy it. Anything more original is not likely to come his way."

"It certainly will bring to his mind our own special kind of nonsense," said Val.

"It is in his mind pretty often, anyhow, I imagine," returned Archie.

Then Theo displayed a neck-tie made from an old silk handkerchief; into it was stuck a common pin of large size, with a knob of red sealing-wax on the end, for ornament.

Val next handed out a trumpery medal fastened to a bit of ribbon, which she had marked "Fool dres fob." Another medal was described as having been presented to a great-great-uncle in the War of the Roses by Billy the Kangaroo, "alias" William the Conqueror, such decidedly mixed historical data being considered very witty.

"We are silly," remarked Theo, as she read this last label. "That is worthy of a ten-year-old country school-boy's wit."

"Never mind," returned Val. "We want to be as silly as we know how to be on this occasion. Nothing is too insignificant. Jack will appreciate the effort."

"Effort?" repeated Theo, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, spontaneous jocosity, if you prefer a longer term. Don't throw cold water on our innocent pleasantry. Theo, come, hand over the next thing."

A small brass curtain-ring, carefully packed in jewellers' cotton, was next shown, and then Theo produced a five-cent watch lying in a fine velvet case.

"How elegant it looks!" commented Nannie. "The velvet case looks so important. Where are your donations, Archie?"

And a very much bent and battered stick-pin, an eye-glass with glass missing were added, and then an eye-glass hook was invented from a curtain-hook and a safety-pin.

"The stocking isn't near full," announced Val, who had been doing the packing, "and I thought we had so much. We'll have to rack our brains for more."

Archie searched around and found two small bits of soap, which were wrapped in a paper on which was written, "Good-morning, sir. Do you use Bear's soap?" A horn collar-button and set of studs constituted the next gift, and still there was room.

"I can't think of anything but relics," declared Archie. "Here is a little corkscrew that I found over there in an ink-bottle."

"Just think of a good inscription," returned Nannie, "and that will make it all right."

So Archie scribbled on the paper, "The corkscrew with which Columbus screwed up his courage when he set forth to discover America."

That gave a new impetus, and each one produced something similar.

Nannie handed over an old pen, labelled "The pen that settled Philadelphia."

Val added a small key, described as "The key to the broken heart of an old Colonial dame from Virginia;" and Theo, seeking among odds and ends, found one of the five-cent pewter spoons which she and Nannie had bought during their first days in New York. This she marked as having "seen stirring times during the Revolution."

And then for a short space of time, ideas failed.

But Val's wits were ready with the suggestion that they should in someway illustrate the familiar French fables, and a small wooden whistle went as "Le cor des Alpes," small photographs of Val and Archie as "Le singe et la guenon," Nannie with a bit of wax, modelled "Une tortne," and then the stocking was pronounced full.

"I had no idea it would hold so much," remarked Val. "Isn't it nice and fat? We must tie it securely at the top and pack it in a box."

"Suppose you paint 'Merry Christmas from the flock' on the outside," suggested Archie to Nannie.

So she brought her colors and marked it in red letters according to the suggestion.

"We ought to have sent him something really nice," said Nannie, as she made a final flourish with her brush.

"No, no," interposed Theo, earnestly; "that would have spoiled it all. Jack has always been so generous, and it would hurt him very much if he could not return our gifts. These will show him that we forget nothing in which he took part, and they will be more to him than anything we could buy."

"That is so," responded Archie, heartily, seeming much pleased that Theo had read Jack so well.

And truly, no Christmas stocking ever found its way to a lonelier hearth. Long and lovingly Jack dwelt on its contents, and blessed them all for the nonsense that gave him more cheer than any costly gifts could have bestowed. And when a letter from Mr. Smith told him of the legacy awaiting his twenty-fifth birthday, Jack felt as if the world were not such a dreary place after all, and he went about softly whistling, with the great hope in his heart of rejoining his friends in a near future.