Chapter II: Part 2

When the harvest is gathered in, and the farmer beholds his table loaded with the rich fruits of the year, he should call upon the aged, the poor, and the helpless to come in with him and share his feast.

A CHRISTMAS STORY.

“Have you recollected that this is the first day of winter, Mary?” asked Isabel Gordon as she came into the room where her younger sister was seated with her atlas spread before her, busily engaged in preparing her lessons for the next day.

“I have not thought of it before,” replied Mary, quietly.

“But now you do think of it, Mary, do you remember what we agreed to do on this day? Christmas will soon be here now, you know.”

“In little more than three weeks. Yes, Isabel, I know what you are thinking of. We agreed to open our banks to-day, and see how much we have saved to spend for Christmas gifts.”

“Yes, that is it,” replied Isabel, joyfully. “I am so glad that we can open them at last. I want to know how much we have saved. Shall I bring them now?”

“If you please. I have just finished learning my geography lesson.”

Isabel ran to the closet, and quickly returned with two money-boxes, or banks, in her hand. She gave one to her sister, and taking the other herself, they both succeeded, without much difficulty, in making an opening so that they could get at the treasure within. For nearly a year the little girls had saved almost every penny which had been given them, that they might have the pleasure of giving as well as receiving the pretty holiday gifts.

“Well, Mary, how much have you?” asked Isabel, as she finished counting the pile of pennies, sixpences, and shillings which lay before her.

“Four dollars and a few pennies,” answered Mary. “I did not think I had so much.”

“And I have a little more than _five_ dollars,” said Isabel, triumphantly. “You know I saved the gold dollar which grandfather gave me, and you did not. Are you not sorry that you spent it?”

“Not at all, Isabel. That dollar has done more good in the last two months than it would have done lying in our little banks. You know I bought a nice pair of shoes and some stockings for Susan Green, that she might attend the sabbath school. Her teacher says she is learning very fast, and is one of the best children in her class.”

“Well, never mind that now, Mary. Let us talk about the best way to spend our money. What will you buy for father and mother? I am going to work a pair of slippers for father, and I shall buy a pretty worked collar for mother. I heard her say the other day that she needed some new collars.”

“Have you time to embroider a pair of slippers?” asked Mary.

“Oh yes! Ellen Shaw taught me a new way. I shall buy the slippers ready made, and then embroider them with gold thread. They will cost me about a dollar, and mother’s collar will be nearly two. Then I must buy a present for Betsey; a new apron will please her, I think, and will not cost too much. I have a nice plan for spending the remainder of the money; but first let me hear what you are going to do with yours.”

“I shall buy a handsome inkstand for father’s desk. You know he broke his large one the other day, and is using an old one of mother’s now. I will try to get one just like that which he broke. For mother I will buy a beautiful rose-bush to put upon her flower-stand. For Betsey I shall have a nice warm hood. I am to buy the materials, and mother has promised to help me make it. There will still be as much as a dollar and a half remaining, and mother says that if this is expended prudently it will do a great deal of good. I have not quite decided what to do with it, but I think I shall make a nice warm coverlet for that poor old man and his wife whom we went to see last week. I heard the old woman telling mother that she often suffered dreadfully with rheumatism during the winter; and when I looked around and saw what a miserable shanty they have to shelter them, I could hardly keep from weeping.”

“But I dare say that some one else will give them a coverlet,” replied Isabel, with a look of disappointment, “and I want you to put your money with mine, and buy a pretty present for our teacher. We can get a very pretty work-box for three dollars, and I am sure she would be very much pleased.”

Mary was silent for a few minutes. She loved her teacher very much, and thought it would be very pleasant to make her a present; but then the remembrance of the poor old couple in the wretched shanty came strongly to her mind, and she said, decidedly, “No, Isabel, I cannot do it. I should be very glad to make Miss Spencer a present, and perhaps mother will show me how to make a needle-book for her, but the poor people need a coverlet more than she needs a work-box.”

“That is no rule, Mary. We cannot always give to those who need it the most. All of the girls are going to call at Miss Spencer’s house on Christmas morning, and each one will take her a little gift. If you will only join with me, our present will be prettier and more valuable than any other she will receive.”

“I do not care about that, Isabel. Miss Spencer will not value the gifts for the sake of what they cost. She will be pleased to find that we think of her and love her. But I am sure she would rather I would spend my money in doing good. You know we both agreed to save a part for the poor.”

“I know we did, but some other time will do as well as Christmas,” replied Isabel. “If you will not help me to buy the work-box, I will buy it myself, and not spend so much on my other presents. I saw a beauty for three dollars, the other day, and I am determined to have one like it.”

“Father says that we ought to try to do all the good we can upon Christmas day,” answered Mary, gently. “You know it is the anniversary of the day when the Lord Jesus Christ came into the world, that He might do more good to men; and if we love to do as He teaches us, we shall be willing to give up our own pleasure for the sake of helping others.”

Isabel felt that she was in the wrong, but she was not willing to acknowledge it, and therefore replied rather crossly that Mary could do as she pleased, but she had no idea of spending her money in Christmas gifts for the poor.

The girls therefore said no more to each other upon the subject. They were both very busy in their preparations for Christmas, however, and long before the important day arrived everything was in readiness. The work-box for her teacher had taken so large a portion of Isabel’s money, that her gifts for her other friends were necessarily trifling, but she did not regret this when she thought how pleased Miss Spencer would be with so valuable a present, and how astonished her young companions would appear at her generosity.

Mary had, with the advice of her mother, expended the part of her money which she had set apart for the poor, so judiciously, that it went much farther than she had anticipated. Some partly worn dresses served for the outside of the coverlet, and with the money thus saved, many other comfortable things were procured. The happy little girl danced for joy when all was completed, and she thought how much good even her small hands could do.

The day before Christmas arrived; and a merry group of girls had assembled at an early hour in Miss Spencer’s pleasant school-room, to talk over their plans for the holidays.

“And now, girls, let us arrange at what hour we will call on Miss Spencer, to wish her a merry Christmas, and present our little gifts,” exclaimed Caroline Elwyn, one of the oldest of the scholars. “I propose that we should all meet at the great oak tree, at ten o’clock to-morrow morning, and then we can go together. Only you must be sure to be punctual, for the weather is rather too cold to make it very agreeable to wait for each other.”

All of the girls readily agreed to this plan, and then followed an animated discussion as to the beauty and value of their separate gifts. One had prepared a work-bag, another a needle-book, a third had worked a collar, a fourth a pin-cushion.

“And now, tell us what your present is to be, Isabel,” said Caroline Elwyn. “You are so wonderfully silent about it, that we suspect it must be something far surpassing our humble offerings. You shake your head. Well, we will not urge you. Cannot you enlighten us, Mary?”

“I can only tell you what my own gift is to be,” was the smiling reply, “I have made a pen-wiper to lie upon her desk.”

“We shall soon discover Isabel’s secret,” exclaimed another of the girls. “Only a few hours, now, before the happy time will be here. I wish it were night. Time passes so quickly when we are sleeping.”

The merry laugh which this remark occasioned had hardly subsided, when their teacher entered the room. She greeted them with her usual affectionate good morning, and pleasantly remarked that they must study with unusual diligence that day, as the holidays were so near.

The girls cheerfully took their books, and, in spite of their joyful anticipations for the coming weeks, their lessons were well learned and recited.

Toward the close of the afternoon session, Miss Spencer requested them to put away their books, as she had something to say to them before she closed the school.

When everything was arranged in an orderly manner, she told them that it had been her custom for several years to visit the poor families in the neighborhood on Christmas day, and endeavor to do what she could for their comfort. She said that she hoped that all of her scholars had thought of the poor in preparing their Christmas gifts, and had remembered that though it was very pleasant and proper to present tokens of affection to their friends, yet it was better still to relieve those who were in need.

Mary looked at her teacher while she was speaking, with such a bright, animated expression, that Miss Spencer could not help remarking it, and said, kindly,

“Have you thought of this in your preparations for Christmas, Mary?”

“I have tried to do what I could, ma’am,” was the modest reply.

“I had thought of proposing that some of my scholars should accompany me in my visits to the poor to-morrow,” continued Miss Spencer. “There is one old couple in particular whom I am very anxious to assist, as they are exceedingly destitute. They live in that miserable shanty at the foot of the hill. How many of you are willing to aid me in this good work, provided your parents consent?”

Almost every hand was raised, and then each spoke in turn. One had saved a dollar for the use of the poor, and would give any part of it which her teacher thought best. Another had a half dollar, another a quarter, and three pretty little girls said they each had a bright dime, which mother had given them to spend for the poor. Mary had no money, but she told of the warm coverlet and some comfortable flannels which she had prepared for the very couple whom her teacher wished to assist.

“We shall make their home a happy one to-morrow,” said Miss Spencer. “I have two dollars of my own to give them, and I have also prepared a basket of food suitable for their Christmas dinner. But I think you have not yet spoken, Isabel. Have you nothing to give? I believe you told me that you had saved five dollars for Christmas gifts. A part of this would be well disposed in relieving these poor sufferers.”

Isabel blushed deeply, as she said, in a low tone, that she had already spent her money.

It was then arranged that the girls should meet at their teacher’s house the next morning, bringing with them whatever their parents were willing that they should bestow in charity. Miss Spencer did not know that they had already agreed to meet there to present the gifts which they had prepared for herself, and the girls were quite pleased to think how surprised she would be when she discovered this little secret.

Among all the merry group which left the school-house, Isabel alone was sad and uncomfortable.

“I do not know why I should feel so badly,” she said to herself. “I have done nothing wrong. I have not been selfish, for I have spent every penny of my money in preparing gifts for others.”

But Isabel had not yet learned to examine her motives strictly. She did not reflect that the greater part of her money had been expended for gifts which it would gratify her vanity and pride to present. The box which she had purchased for her teacher was bought for the very purpose of outshining her companions. She did not love Miss Spencer any better than the other scholars, but she wished to make a display of generosity and affection which would astonish them all.

Miss Spencer had frequently noticed this defect in Isabel’s character, and when she found that none of the money which she had boasted of having saved was reserved for charitable purposes, she felt grieved, and calling Isabel to her as the other scholars left the room, she passed her arm around her, and said, gently, “I am sorry that you cannot aid us in our good work, Isabel.”

“I am sorry, too, Miss Spencer, but I have spent all my money in preparing gifts for my friends.”

“We should never forget the poor, Isabel. Would not less valuable gifts have expressed equal affection for those you love, and then there would have been some remaining for those who need it more.”

Isabel made no reply, but she looked sad and mortified as she bade her teacher good afternoon. And yet her pride was not subdued; for when Mary kindly offered to share with her the articles which she had prepared for the poor, she answered, haughtily, that she could easily have bought these things if she had chosen to do so.

Christmas morning was bright and beautiful, and very mild for the season. With happy hearts and faces the little girls met around the old oak tree, and after telling each other of the pretty gifts they had received, and displaying those which they had brought for their teacher, they all proceeded to Miss Spencer’s house.

Now was the time for Isabel’s expected triumph. With glowing cheeks and a self-satisfied air she presented her present; but the murmur of admiration which she had anticipated was not heard.

Miss Spencer thanked her, and said it was a very pretty box; but she seemed quite as well pleased with some of the most trifling articles which were given her. She particularly commended the neatness and good taste which Mary had shown in making the pen-wiper. Indeed, she seemed more delighted with even the most simple gifts which the scholars had made themselves, than with far more costly ones which had been purchased for her.

As for the scholars, they were so much occupied with examining what they had brought for the poor, that they could give but a passing glance of admiration at the work-box.

As Isabel had nothing to give she did not wish to accompany the happy party, and therefore returned immediately home. Her mother found her in her own room weeping bitterly, and gently drew from her the cause of her grief.

“This may be a useful lesson to you, dear Isabel,” she said. “It will teach you that no real happiness is ever derived from a selfish act. Your motive in presenting a more expensive gift to your teacher than the rest of your companions were prepared to do, was selfish. You expected to receive praise and admiration. In this you were disappointed, and therefore you are unhappy. Another time I trust you will do better. In expending your money for Christmas gifts, you will remember those who need it most, and will gladly give, hoping for nothing again.”

Isabel still wept, but less violently than before, and when Mary entered with a beaming countenance, and told her mother of the gratitude and joy of the poor people whom they had visited, Isabel put her arm around her neck and asked her forgiveness for her ill humor, and promised that when another Christmas came, she too would remember _those who need it most_.

APRIL FOOL’S DAY.

“What new experiment are you trying, my son?” asked Mr. Willard, as he entered his pleasant parlor late in the afternoon of a day in early spring, unperceived by his little son Arthur, who was busily employed in tying up several small packages which lay on the table before him.

Arthur looked up at his father with a bright smile; for Mr. Willard always took a great interest in the amusements of his children, and they were in the habit of consulting him and asking his assistance in many of their sports.

“Don’t tell Willie and Jane, father,” said Arthur, “and I will tell you all about it. You know to-morrow will be the first day of April, and I expect to have a fine time playing tricks upon people. There is nothing in these parcels but little chips and stones. I shall put one of them upon Jane’s table after she is asleep to-night; and she will be sure to open it the first thing in the morning. I expect she will think that Uncle Samuel or Aunt Mary were here in the evening, and brought her a nice little present. Then I shall drop another package where Willie will find it when he goes to feed his chickens. What a hurry he will be in to pick it up!

“And, father,” continued Arthur, “you do not know what a nice joke I shall play upon Susan! Sometimes, when I get up early in the morning, and she is in a hurry getting breakfast, I go to Mr. Conant’s for the milk. Now, to-morrow morning I mean to be up very early, before Susan leaves her room. Then I will take the milk-pail, and put a quart of water into it, and set it in the place where I usually put it when I bring the milk. When Susan comes into the kitchen, she will see the pail on the table, and, finding it heavy, will suppose I have been for the milk. So she will say, ‘O, Arthur! you are a good boy to bring my milk;’ and then she will take off the cover to pour it into the pitcher. How I shall laugh at her when she finds it is water!”

Mr. Willard smiled a little as Arthur clapped his hands at the thought of Susan’s vexation: but in a moment he looked grave, and, seating himself in his rocking-chair, he drew his little son close to his side, and said, kindly,—

“Do the angels try to make people happy or unhappy, Arthur?”

“Happy, father,” replied the boy, looking wonderingly in his father’s face.

“Then you are not trying to do like the angels,—are you, Arthur. You mean to vex people, and make them unhappy.”

Arthur blushed, and looked very thoughtful; and his father continued,—

“Jane and Willie and Susan will all feel somewhat vexed and displeased at your jokes,—will they not, my son?”

“Yes, sir, I suppose they will,” answered Arthur; “but, then, I want to have a little fun on April Fool’s Day.”

“It is poor fun to make others unhappy. I have no objection to your playing jokes or tricks, as you call them, upon your brother and sister and Susan; but I should like to have you think of something which would please them, instead of making them vexed.”

“But, father, I cannot think of any tricks of that kind.”

“I will help you a little, Arthur, and then you will understand what I mean. We will take the trick which you intended to play upon Susan, for instance. Now, if, instead of putting water in the pail, and deceiving her by making her think it is milk, you should rise early, and really bring her the milk, you might still have a pleasant joke by putting the pail in the place where it usually stands when it is empty, instead of on the table where you leave it when it is filled. Then Susan will be greatly surprised when she takes it up, intending to go for the milk.”

Arthur’s face grew very bright again.

“Oh, yes, father! I shall like that plan very much: it is much better than my own. And how shall I manage about Willie and Jane?”

“Try to think of some way yourself, Arthur. Only remember to have your joke of a kind that will give pleasure, and not pain.”

“I know of a grand trick to play upon Jane, father, if you will let me run to the shop and spend my bright half-dollar that my grandfather gave me. Jane has a hole in her thimble, and she pricked her finger sadly to-day. Now, I can buy a nice new thimble for her, and take her old one from her work-basket, and put the new one in its place. How surprised she will be! May I do this, father?”

“If you feel willing to spend your money for your sister, I shall be glad to have you do so, Arthur.”

“I am willing, father. And now for Willie; what shall I do for him? I think I must drop a little parcel where he will pick it up, father; but I will not put sticks and stones in it. I have some nice candies in my pocket, which a boy at school gave me. Willie does not know that I have them; and I will put them into his paper. How he will wonder where they came from!”

Mr. Willard felt much pleased to see how readily Arthur followed his advice; and the little boy himself felt far happier now that his plans for the jokes of the next day were all of a kind to make others happy.

The thimble was bought; the package of candy tied up, and carefully placed where Willie would be sure to find it. Every thing succeeded quite to Arthur’s satisfaction. He awoke very early, and, stealing softly from the house, brought the milk, and replaced the pail in the closet.

Susan came out of her room somewhat later than usual, and hurried around, fearful that her breakfast would not be ready at the appointed hour. She did not observe Arthur, who had seated himself where he thought he should be unnoticed, that he might enjoy her surprise. He came very near laughing aloud when he heard Susan exclaim, as she hastily tied on her bonnet and ran to the closet,—

“Oh, dear, I must go for the milk! I was so in hopes that Arthur would have got it for me this morning!”

Arthur held his hand tightly over his mouth; but when he saw Susan lift the pail up suddenly, and then quickly take off the cover to see what made it so heavy, he could no longer keep quiet, but with a merry laugh bounded from his hiding-place, exclaiming,—

“Now, Susan, didn’t I tell you I would play a trick on you to-day?”

Susan smiled pleasantly, and said she did not care how many tricks he played on her if they were all as good as that.

Next came Willie, full of wonder at the contents of the package which he had found in the box where he kept the corn for his chickens.

“Only think, Arthur,” said he; “the door of the chicken-house was locked, so no one could have got in last night, and yet I feel sure that this was not there when I fed the chickens at supper-time. Such nice candy! Do you think it will be right for us to eat it, or must we try to find out to whom it belongs?”

There was such a roguish look on Arthur’s face, as he replied that he thought there would be no harm in eating it, that Willie began to understand the joke; and, well pleased, he divided the candy with his brother and sister.

But Arthur felt still more pleased when little Jane took up her work-basket with a sigh, saying,—

“I will try to hem the handkerchief you wish me to, mother; but my thimble has such a great hole in it, that the head of my needle pricks my finger every few minutes.”

What a joyful surprise,—to find the old thimble missing, and a bright new one in its place! It would have been hard to tell which felt the most pleased, Jane or Arthur. Both were delighted; and we are very sure that Arthur did not once regret that he had spent his half-dollar for his sister’s pleasure.

When evening came, and Mr. Willard was at leisure to sit down with his children, Arthur had many funny stories to tell of the pleasant jokes which he had played through the day.

Charley Mason, one of his schoolmates, had torn a large hole in his kite when they were flying it at recess. At noon, he hurried home for his dinner; intending, if possible, to return in season to mend the kite, and have another play, before school commenced in the afternoon. Arthur, having brought his dinner with him in the morning, was not obliged to return home; and he carefully mended the kite while Charley was absent.

“It was such fun to see him turn it over and over, and look for the hole!” continued Arthur, as he told the story to his father; “and Johnny Gardiner looked almost as funny when he found a long slate-pencil in his desk, which I had slyly slipped in, just as he had made up his mind to go and tell the teacher the old story,—that he had no pencil. Johnny does not like to tell Miss Grant that very well, for he is famous for losing his pencil.

“And, father, I played a nice joke on Miss Grant. She thought I could not learn so long a lesson in geography as she had given to the rest of the class, because I am younger than the others, and have never been through the book before. So she told me to take half of the lesson; but I studied hard, and learned the whole. When we were reciting, she stopped when she had heard about half, and said, ‘You may take your seat now, Arthur.’

“‘Thank you, ma’am,’ I answered; ‘but I can say it all.’

“Then she looked surprised, and said I must have worked very hard.

“But, father, that book _is_ too hard for me; and Miss Grant told me to ask you to buy one more suitable. I wish you would, father: I love to study geography. Henry Williams has such a beauty! all full of pictures. Oh, how I should like one like that!”

“We must think about it,” replied Mr. Willard. “And now, Arthur, I must attend to some writing for a little while, and you may look over your lessons for to-morrow.”

“Yes, father, my geography: I always have to study that in the evening.” And, with a little sigh, Arthur went for his satchel of books. But it was now his turn to find a pleasant joke; for the old geography had been taken from the bag, and in its place was one exactly like the “beauty” owned by Henry Williams, upon the blank leaf of which was written, “Arthur Willard; from his father, April first, eighteen hundred fifty-six.”

THE CHRISTMAS-TREE.

“Oh, dear, it is almost Christmas!” exclaimed Mary Bradley with a deep sigh, which caused her younger brother Horace to look up from his book with surprise.

“Why do you sigh about it, Mary?” he asked. “Are you not glad that Christmas is coming?”

“I _should_ be glad, Horace,” replied his sister in a melancholy tone, “if things were as they used to be. What beautiful gifts we had last year! But father was rich then; and now he is poor.” And again Mary sighed deeply.

“I do not think father is very poor,” replied Horace, laughing. “I am sure we have all we want,—a good house to live in, plenty of food and clothing, a warm fire, and many kind friends. Do you call that being poor, sister Mary? You ought to see the poor wretches that I meet sometimes on my way to school.”

“How foolishly you talk, Henry!” answered his sister, rather petulantly. “You know very well what I mean. Of course, we are not street beggars; but we live very differently from what we did last year at this time. Our beautiful house, our horses and carriage, and nearly all of our servants, are gone.”

“No matter for that,” returned Master Horace. “Father has paid all his debts like an honest man, and we have all we need. A small house is just as comfortable as a large one; the cars and omnibuses answer as good a purpose as our own carriage; and as to the servants, I much prefer waiting upon myself. As long as I have good Mrs. Betty to cook my dinner, it is all I want.”

“It is of no use talking to you, Horace,” answered his sister, as she rose to leave the room; “but, when you see what a bare Christmas-tree we shall have this year, you will be convinced that we are poor.”

“We had more than we knew what to do with last year,” persisted Horace, following his sister. “Suppose we hunt up about half a bushel of books and toys, and present them to Santa Claus for distribution. No doubt he will be grateful to us; for times are hard, and his purse may be poorly filled.”

“What nonsense!” exclaimed Mary, impatiently. “I will not stay talking with you any longer.”

But, at this moment, the pleasant voice of their mother was heard calling them from the adjoining room.

She had heard their conversation, and now replied to Horace’s suggestion,—

“Your plan is an excellent one, my son; and I will try to put it in a form that will be less displeasing to your sister.”

“Horace talks _so much nonsense_!” said Mary, as she took an offered seat by her mother’s side.

“A _little_ nonsense, but a good deal of sense, my daughter,” returned her mother. “Your mind is in a disturbed and unhappy state, and therefore you are not ready to meet his pleasant way of treating our troubles.”

Although Mary indulged in occasional fits of ill humor and selfish repining, she was really a sensible and very affectionate little girl. She loved her mother very dearly, and felt sad and mortified that she should have added in the least degree to her trials. In a few moments, therefore, she looked up with a cheerful smile, and said, “I will try to do better, mother. I know we have every comfort that we need. It was only the thought of the Christmas-tree that made me unhappy. But I will try not to think of it any more.”

“Think of it in a different way, my dear Mary. Our Christmas-tree will, I doubt not, be well filled, though with less costly gifts than you have hitherto received. But how many there are who have no Christmas-tree!—how many who will even want for food and clothing on that happy day!”

Mary’s eyes filled with tears, but she made no reply; and her mother proceeded,—

“When the Lord, in his divine providence, permits us to meet with such trials as he sees to be for our good, we must not harden our hearts. We will not look back with regret upon the luxuries we have lost: but we will rejoice in the comforts remaining; and we will endeavor, as far as possible, to share those comforts with others more needy than ourselves. The proposal which Horace made in regard to your old books and playthings is a very good one. There are many children who may be made happy with what you now consider useless. Collect every thing which you feel willing to part with, and I will add some articles of clothing. Betty can tell us of several poor families who will be thankful for a portion of our abundance.”

“I will go and look over our things at once!” exclaimed Mary. “I have no doubt we can spare a great many. Come, Horace!” And, for the next few hours, the brother and sister were busily engaged, not in useless regrets concerning their own Christmas-tree, but in active efforts to prepare gifts to adorn the trees of children far more destitute than themselves.

Betty, having been made their confidante on the occasion, took much interest in hunting up destitute families who were deserving of assistance; and Mary and Horace soon found that there would be no difficulty in disposing of their little stock. Long before the important day arrived, the gifts at their disposal were done up in neat packages, and duly marked with the names of those for whom they were designed. Mrs. Bradley had added an ample supply of partly worn clothing; and Mr. Bradley, when he found what was going on, had promised to provide some articles of food to distribute among those who were most in want.

Mary and Horace were to have the pleasure of presenting these gifts themselves; and they were now eagerly longing for the happy day, not for the sake of what they would themselves receive, but that they might have the happiness of imparting their blessings to others.

Christmas Eve came at last: and, attended by Betty, the children left their little parcels at their various destinations; and then, with their hearts warmed and cheered by the grateful words and smiles which they had received, they turned their steps toward home, that they might enjoy the pleasant sight of their own Christmas-tree, which they rightly concluded would be brilliantly lighted up during their absence.

As they turned the corner near their own home, they met a pale-faced, thinly clad little boy, with a small branch of evergreen in his hand, which he was carrying carefully along, as if he considered it a precious treasure.

“Is that your Christmas-tree, little boy?” asked Horace, as they drew near to him.

“I found it!” exclaimed the child, joyfully. “I am so glad! Now Susy and I can have a Christmas-tree!” And he was hurrying along; but Horace stopped him by saying,—

“Have you any thing to put on the tree, little boy?”

“Not much,” was the reply. “But Susy and I have each got a penny: that will buy something.”

“Who is Susy?” asked Mary, as the little fellow was again hastening on his way.

“My little sister, miss. She will be so glad that I have got the tree! I must go to her.”

“Come with us first,” returned Mary, “and we will give you something to hang on the tree. I have a little doll for Susy, and some candles to light up the tree.”

The little pale face looked bright and almost rosy now as he trudged along with the children, still holding fast to his precious tree.

It did not take many moments to fill a small basket with what appeared to the child great treasures; and his eyes sparkled with joy as a warm cape was placed upon his shoulders, and a cap, long since outgrown by Horace, upon his head. Finding, upon inquiry, that his mother was a poor widow, residing in their immediate neighborhood, Mrs. Bradley directed Betty to fill another basket with food, and accompany the child home. Mary and Horace begged leave to go with her, although they had not as yet given one glance at their own Christmas-tree.

It was a pleasant sight to look at little Susy, as her brother eagerly displayed his treasures to her admiring gaze; and it was even more gratifying to witness the gratitude of the mother, as Betty emptied the contents of her basket.

After assisting in planting the branch of evergreen in a broken flower-pot which the children produced for the purpose, Mary and Horace took leave, and joyfully returned to their home.

Their Christmas-tree was indeed radiant with light. It seemed to the happy children that it had never been so brilliant before; for their hearts were filled with the delight of doing good to others, and this made all seem bright around them.

Morning found the tree well loaded with fruit,—pretty and useful gifts, which the children were delighted to receive. It was indeed a happy Christmas. They felt that they were surrounded with blessings; and, above all, they rejoiced in the happiness of sharing these blessings with others.

A DREAM.

It was Christmas Eve; the brilliantly-lighted streets were thronged with happy faces, and the merry hum of children’s voices seemed to rise above all other sounds in the busy crowd. Our own young folks had gone to rest with their little hearts filled with joyous expectations for the morrow. The stockings, hung by the chimney corner, had already been duly visited by the representatives of Santa Claus, and fatigued with the labors of the day, we would gladly have sought repose, when a gentle ring at the bell attracted our attention, and directly after, our maid of all work entered, and asked if we had any thing to give to a poor child who was standing at our door.

“Poor thing!” we exclaimed involuntarily. “It is hard to think that any child is begging from door to door, on Christmas Eve, when our own darlings are so happy.”

“Tell the child to step in,” was the direction to Jenny, and in a few moments a modest-looking little girl stood before us. Her slender form was but scantily protected from the cold; and her countenance showed that she was indeed in need of the assistance which she craved.

Her tale was a simple one. Her mother was very poor, and there were five children, of whom she was the eldest.

We inquired for the father, and her blue eyes were fixed upon the ground, as she answered timidly, that he was at home, but he was often sick, and did not do much for their support. A few more questions convinced us that he was a victim to that fatal evil which destroys the happiness of so many homes.

Our means would not allow us to do much for the poor child, but the little that we had to give was given cheerfully, and with many thanks she bade us good evening. As she left the room I recalled her, and placing a small piece of silver in her hands, I said:

“You may have this for yourself. I give it to you for a Christmas gift.”

“And may I spend it for what I please?” she asked, her whole face brightening with pleasure.

“Certainly. What will you buy?”

“O, a great many things! A present for mother and each of my brothers and sisters, and one for poor father too.”

“But, my child, you have not money enough to buy something for each one.”

“O yes, ma’am, a great plenty! I will buy a nice spool of cotton for mother, she needs one very much, and a penny book for Mary, a whistle for Johnny, a cake for Thomas, and a stick of candy for the baby. Then there will be four cents to spend for father, and I will go to the cheap bookstore, and ask them to sell me some good book, which will teach him not to drink rum any more. He is very, very kind when he is sober.”

“And will you come and see me again next week, and tell me how they liked their presents?” I asked, much interested by the simple, disinterested manner of the child.

“Thank you, ma’am, I will gladly do so,” was the reply, and with another grateful good-evening, she departed.

This little incident gave rise to a train of sad reflections. Happiness, it appeared to me, was unequally distributed. Even at this most joyous season of the year, how few sunbeams found their way to the homes of the poor. Indeed, their burdens must seem more heavy to bear, when contrasted with the luxury and gayety of the wealthy. They gazed upon their ill-fed, half naked little ones, while the children of their more prosperous neighbor passed their door loaded with useless toys, the price of which would have seemed to them a little mine of wealth. Oppressed with these thoughts, I laid my head upon my pillow, and was soon in the land of dreams.

Strange visions flitted before me. At one time I seemed to be revelling in the luxurious mansions of the rich, and then, by some sudden and mysterious transformation, the extreme of want was my portion. Suddenly a lovely being stood before me, whose very presence seemed to fill my soul with joy. Taking my hand in hers, she said, “Come with me, and I will show thee that this joyous season of the year may bring happiness to the homes of the poor, as well as to those of the wealthy. I am the Spirit of Happiness, and in the most humble abode on earth I often find a dwelling-place.” Joyfully I yielded to her guidance, and together we seemed to traverse the busy streets of the city. At one of the most splendid of the brilliantly-illuminated mansions we paused, and in another moment had gained admittance, and, apparently unseen ourselves, surveyed the happy party within. Young men and maidens were gliding through the graceful figures of the merry dance, lovely children were sporting around, joyfully displaying the Christmas gifts of parents and friends; while a less active, but no less happy looking group, were seated in a distant part of the room, gazing with quiet pleasure upon their children and grandchildren, who at this cheerful season had gathered around them. Every thing around gave evidence of luxury and splendor, and turning to my companion, I exclaimed almost in a tone of upbraiding:

“Yes, here indeed is happiness. The New Year is to them a time for rejoicing, and ‘Merry Christmas’ a day of joyful expectations and realities; but it is not thus with the poor. The words merriment and joy would seem to them a mockery.”

“Not so, my friend,” replied my guide. “The happiness which you see before you is capable of extension. These are the mediums of the blessings of Him whose birth into this natural world they now celebrate. The day which proclaimed peace and good will upon earth, is well calculated to remind these stewards of the Lord, that the wealth intrusted to their charge is not for themselves alone. Behold that venerable old man. He is the grandfather of this little flock. Every year he distributes large sums among the poor, making his grandchildren and great grandchildren his almoners. The happiness which you see in the countenances of the youth and maidens, the innocent glee of the children, is in a great measure caused by the joy which they have this day dispensed among the needy. Merely selfish gratification would not produce genuine contentment and joy. All selfish delights are evanescent and changeable.”

The scene changed, and we stood in a meanly-furnished apartment of one of the most humble dwellings in a narrow street of the city. A father, mother, and five children, were just seated to partake of their frugal meal. Every thing around told of poverty, but the countenances of the parents beamed with contentment, and the bright eyes of the children shone with joy. In the short but fervent prayer which the father uttered ere they commenced eating, gratitude was expressed to heaven for the blessings which this most joyful season of the year had brought to them.

“For what are they thus grateful?” I inquired. “Contrast their situation with that of the happy party whom we have just left.”

“And yet they are not less happy,” was the reply. “Listen to the joyful exclamations of the children.”

I listened, and the words of the little ones soon convinced me that my guide was right. Their hearts seemed overflowing with joy. The gifts which Christmas had brought to them and their parents were, mostly, substantial articles of food and clothing; but there was one small package of toys which had lost the charm of novelty for the children of some wealthy neighbor, and which, though no longer new and glittering, were whole and good. In the eyes of the poor children they were of inestimable value, and they gathered around them with so much delight, that I doubted not that they derived more pleasure from them than the original possessors had ever done.

Again the scene changed, and we stood in a miserable hovel, where sat a poor mother, with three little children clinging to her side, and rending her heart with their cries for bread. No fire was on the hearth, and the whole scene was one of extreme poverty and desolation.

“Surely there is no happiness here,” I whispered.

“Christmas will bring them at least one ray,” replied my guide; and even as she spoke, a load of wood and coal stopped at their door, and a man entered to inform them that he had orders to supply them with fuel, and desired to know where it should be put. While the grateful woman was yet uttering heartfelt expressions of thankfulness, a lad entered with a large basket of provisions, which he placed upon the table, at the same time slipping a bank note of trifling value into her hand, saying gayly,—

“Here is a merry Christmas to you, my good woman.”

Tears streamed from the eyes of the mother, while the hungry little ones clustered around the basket, and were soon bountifully supplied with a portion of its contents.

Deeply interested in this affecting little scene, I had nearly forgotten the presence of my companion, when a gentle whisper aroused me.

“Would you see the effects of your own Christmas gift?” and scarcely had I signified my assent, when we stood in another humble dwelling, where I recognized the little girl to whom I had given the shilling, surrounded by her family. They had apparently just received their gifts, for the mother was smiling through her tears, as she looked at the spool of cotton which lay on her lap; and Mary, and Johnny, and Thomas, and the baby were all in the enjoyment of the book, the whistle, the cake, and the candy: while the elder sister stood gazing on the happy little group, herself the happiest of them all, and joining heartily in the blessings which they heaped upon the good lady who had given her the shilling. In the corner of the room sat the father, and in his hand was the book which had been purchased at the cheap bookstore with the four cents. I saw at once that it was a Testament. He had not yet opened it, but sat looking at his wife and children with a subdued, mournful expression of countenance, which awakened a strong conviction that there was yet a chance for his reformation.

At length little Mary approached him timidly, and said:

“Look at the book sister bought for me, father; it is not so large as yours. May I look at yours?”

“Yes, Mary, you may read to me from it, if you like; my head aches, and I cannot read myself.”

The noisy mirth of the children was hushed, while the child read from the Book of Life. Some of the passages were singularly appropriate, and tears rolled down the cheeks of the unhappy man as he listened. As she paused at the close of the chapter, the elder girl drew to his side and whispered,—

“Will you not pray with us, as you used to do long ago, dear father?”

As if impelled by an irresistible power, he complied. Prayer and praise had long been strangers to his lips, but now his petitions were fervent, his confessions of past error full, and expressive of deep humility.

As they rose from their knees, the eyes of the husband and wife met, and they fell into each others arms.

One long, earnest embrace, and then the father clasped his children to his bosom.

“With the help of God, I will no longer be unworthy of you,” he exclaimed. “This precious little Christmas gift shall be my guide, and in obedience to its precepts we shall yet find happiness.”

I uttered a joyful exclamation and awoke, but the remembrance of my dream was vividly present; and as the rays of the morning sun beamed brightly in at our windows, I felt a pleasing confidence that the day would bring happiness to the poor as well as to the rich. All reflections upon the visions of the night were soon banished, however, by the shouts of “Merry Christmas” from numerous happy little voices at our door, and we hastened to join in their pleasure.

A week passed by, and the little heroine of Christmas Eve again stood at our door. It was wonderful what a change a few happy days had wrought in her appearance; and her whole face was radiant with joy, as she told me that they were all so happy now.

“Dear father had promised never to drink again, and he had good work, and they could all live comfortably.” And again and again she assured me that their happiness was all owing, through the blessing of God, to the little book which she bought for father with a part of my Christmas gift.

NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT.

“Father! father! can I go a-nutting with Dick Rogers and Sam Roberts?” shouted Frank Wilbur, as he bounded into the room where his father was seated at a desk, busily engaged in sorting some papers.

“Softly, my son, softly!” replied Mr. Wilbur; “you will disturb your mother, who is not very well, you know. Where do you wish to go?”

“Out in the woods, father. The frost has cracked the chestnut-burs, and the nuts are rattling down so fast!”

“Have you heard them, Frank?” asked his father, smiling at his eagerness.

“No, father, I have not heard them, because I have been at school; but the boys say so, and I know they are. There was a real hard frost last night. May I go, father?”

Mr. Wilbur drew his watch from his pocket, and looked at it thoughtfully, as he replied,—

“You may go if you think it best, Frank; but I rather advise you not to do so. There is but one hour of daylight left, and a large part of this would be spent in going to and from the woods. You have had a good play since you came from school; and now is the time to look over your lessons for to-morrow.”

“Oh, no, father!” urged Frank. “This evening or to-morrow morning will do for the lessons.”

“There is no time like the present, Frank. Better learn your lessons now, and put off the nutting expedition until Saturday afternoon. That will soon be here,—only day after to-morrow.”

But Frank felt unwilling to follow this advice; and, as his father gave him leave to do as he pleased, he hastened to get a basket and join his school-fellows.

“My father says there is no time like the present for learning my lessons, and I think there is no time like the present for gathering nuts,” he said to himself as he ran merrily along.

But Frank had forgotten another of his father’s mottoes, “Duty first, and pleasure afterwards.”

It must be confessed that he was rather in the habit of delaying the performance of duties until the last moment, although he had many times experienced the bad results of so doing.

It was indeed a long walk to the chestnut-trees; and, after the boys had entered the wood, it seemed much darker than it did before, and the nuts were by no means “_rattling down_” very fast. The frost had opened the burs a little, but the nuts were still safely enclosed in their prickly nests.

“It is too late to get nuts to-night,” said Sam Roberts, the eldest of the three boys, looking somewhat fearfully around him; for Sam was not remarkable for his bravery.