The Christmas Angel by Abbie Farwell Brown
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Abbie Farwell Brown >> The Christmas Angel
By Abbie Farwell Brown
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THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL. Illustrated. Square 12mo, 60 cents, _net_.
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HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
[Illustration: YOU HANG IT ON THE TREE, ANGELINA (page 26)]
THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
BY
ABBIE FARWELL BROWN
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
REGINALD BIRCH
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
_Published October 1910_
SECOND IMPRESSION
CONTENTS
I. THE PLAY BOX 1
II. JACK-IN-THE-BOX 8
III. THE FLANTON DOG 12
IV. NOAH'S ARK 15
V. MIRANDA 20
VI. THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL 25
VII. BEFORE THE FIRE 32
VIII. JACK AGAIN 37
IX. THE DOG AGAIN 44
X. NOAH AGAIN 49
XI. MIRANDA AGAIN 53
XII. THE ANGEL AGAIN 62
XIII. THE CHRISTMAS CANDLE 68
XIV. TOM 73
XV. CHRISTMAS DAY 76
ILLUSTRATIONS
YOU HANG IT ON THE TREE, ANGELINA (page 26) _Frontispiece_
SHE LOOKED UP AND DOWN THE STREET 22
_PING!_ OUT SPRANG THE JACK-IN-THE-BOX 42
BOB COOPER SAVES THE BABY 46
HE GRASPED A RAILING TO STEADY HIMSELF 64
MARY RETURNS THE DOLL 78
_From drawings by Reginald Birch_
THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL
CHAPTER I
THE PLAY BOX
At the sound of footsteps along the hall Miss Terry looked up from the
letter which she was reading for the sixth time. "Of course I would not see
him," she said, pursing her lips into a hard line. "Certainly not!"
A bump on the library door, as from an opposing knee, did duty for a knock.
"Bring the box in here, Norah," said Miss Terry, holding open the door for
her servant, who was gasping under the weight of a packing-case. "Set it
down on the rug by the fire-place. I am going to look it over and burn up
the rubbish this evening."
She glanced once more at the letter in her hand, then with a sniff tossed
it upon the fire.
"Yes'm," said Norah, as she set down the box with a thump. She stooped once
more to pick up something which had fallen out when the cover was jarred
open. It was a pink papier-mache angel, such as are often hung from the top
of Christmas trees as a crowning symbol. Norah stood holding it between
thumb and finger, staring amazedly. Who would think to find such a bit of
frivolity in the house of Miss Terry!
Her mistress looked up from the fire, where the bit of writing was writhing
painfully, and caught the expression of Norah's face.
"What have you there?" she asked, frowning, as she took the object into her
own hands. "The Christmas Angel!" she exclaimed under her breath. "I had
quite forgotten it." Then as if it burned her fingers she thrust the little
image back into the box and turned to Norah brusquely. "There, that's all.
You can go now, Norah," she said.
"Yes'm," answered the maid. She hesitated. "If you please'm, it's Christmas
Eve."
"Well, I believe so," snapped Miss Terry, who seemed to be in a
particularly bad humor this evening. "What do you want?"
Norah flushed; but she was hardened to her mistress's manner. "Only to ask
if I may go out for a little while to see the decorations and hear the
singing."
"Decorations? Singing? Fiddlestick!" retorted Miss Terry, poker in hand.
"What decorations? What singing?"
"Why, all the windows along the street are full of candles," answered
Norah; "rows of candles in every house, to light the Christ Child on his
way when he comes through the city to-night."
"Fiddlestick!" again snarled her mistress.
"And choir-boys are going about the streets, they say, singing carols in
front of the lighted houses," continued Norah enthusiastically. "It must
sound so pretty!"
"They had much better be at home in bed. I believe people are losing their
minds!"
"Please'm, may I go?" asked Norah again.
Norah had no puritanic traditions to her account. Moreover she was young
and warm and enthusiastic. Sometimes the spell of Miss Terry's sombre house
threatened her to the point of desperation. It was so this Christmas Eve;
but she made her request with apparent calmness.
"Yes, go along," assented her mistress ungraciously.
"Thank you, 'm," said the servant demurely, but with a brightening of her
blue eyes. And presently the area door banged behind her quick-retreating
footsteps.
"H'm! Didn't take her long to get ready!" muttered Miss Terry, giving the
fire a vicious poke. She was alone in the house, on Christmas Eve, and not
a man, woman, or child in the world cared. Well, it was what she wanted. It
was of her own doing. If she had wished--
She sat back in her chair, with thin, long hands lying along the arms of
it, gazing into the fire. A bit of paper there was crumbling into ashes.
Alone on Christmas Eve! Even Norah had some relation with the world
outside. Was there not a stalwart officer waiting for her on the nearest
corner? Even Norah could feel a simple childish pleasure in candles and
carols and merriment, and the old, old superstition.
"Stuff and nonsense!" mused Miss Terry scornfully. "What is our Christmas,
anyway? A time for shopkeepers to sell and for foolish folks to kill
themselves in buying. Christmas spirit? No! It is all humbug,--all
selfishness, and worry; an unwholesome season of unnatural activities. I am
glad I am out of it. I am glad no one expects anything of me,--nor I of any
one. I am quite independent; blessedly independent of the whole foolish
business. It is a good time to begin clearing up for the new year. I'm glad
I thought of it. I've long threatened to get rid of the stuff that has
been accumulating in that corner of the attic. Now I will begin."
She tugged the packing-case an inch nearer the fire. It was like Miss Terry
to insist upon that nearer inch. Then she raised the cover. It was a box
full of children's battered toys, old-fashioned and quaint; the toys in
vogue thirty--forty--fifty years earlier, when Miss Terry was a child. She
gave a reminiscent sniff as she threw up the cover and saw on the under
side of it a big label of pasteboard unevenly lettered.
[Illustration: PLAY BOX OF TOM TERRY AND ANGELINA TERRY (scrawl)]
"Humph!" she snorted. There was a great deal in that "humph." It meant:
Yes, Tom's name had plenty of room, while poor little Angelina had to
squeeze in as well as she could. How like Tom! This accounted for
everything, even to his not being in his sister's house this very night.
How unreasonable he had been!
Miss Terry shrugged impatiently. Why think of Tom to-night? Years ago he
had deliberately cut himself adrift from her interests. No need to think of
him now. It was too late to appease her. But here were all these toys to be
got rid of. The fire was hungry for them. Why not begin?
Miss Terry stooped to poke over the contents of the box with lean, long
fingers. In one corner thrust up a doll's arm; in another, an animal's tail
pointed heavenward. She caught glimpses of glitter and tinsel, wheels and
fragments of unidentifiable toys.
"What rubbish!" she said. "Yes, I'll burn them all. They are good for
nothing else. I suppose some folks would try to give them away, and bore a
lot of people to death. They seem to think they are saving something, that
way. Nonsense! I know better. It is all foolishness, this craze for giving.
Most things are better destroyed as soon as you are done with them. Why,
nobody wants such truck as this. Now, could any child ever have cared for
so silly a thing?" She pulled out a faded jumping-jack, and regarded it
scornfully. "Idiotic! Such toys are demoralizing for children--weaken their
minds. It is a shame to think how every one seems bound to spoil children,
especially at Christmas time. Well, no one can say that I have added to the
shameful waste."
Miss Terry tossed the poor jumping-jack on the fire, and eyed his last
contortions with grim satisfaction.
But as she watched, a quaint idea came to her. She was famous for eccentric
ideas.
"I will try an experiment," she said. "I will prove once for all my point
about the 'Christmas spirit.' I will drop some of these old toys out on the
sidewalk and see what happens. It may be interesting."
CHAPTER II
JACK-IN-THE-BOX
Miss Terry rose and crossed two rooms to the front window, looking out upon
the street. A flare of light almost blinded her eyes. Every window opposite
her along the block, as far as she could see, was illuminated with a row of
lighted candles across the sash. The soft, unusual glow threw into relief
the pretty curtains and wreaths of green, and gave glimpses of cosy
interiors and flitting happy figures.
"What a waste of candles!" scolded Miss Terry. "Folks are growing terribly
extravagant."
The street was white with snow which had fallen a few hours earlier, piled
in drifts along the curb of the little-traveled terrace. But the sidewalks
were neatly shoveled and swept clean, as became the eminently respectable
part of the city where Miss Terry lived. A long flight of steps, with iron
railing at the side, led down from the front door, upon which a silver
plate had for generations in decorous flourishes announced the name of
Terry.
Miss Terry returned to the play box and drew out between thumb and finger
the topmost toy. It happened to be a wooden box, with a wire hasp for
fastening the cover. Half unconsciously she pressed the spring, and a
hideous Jack-in-the-box sprang out to confront her with a squeak, a leering
smile, and a red nose. Miss Terry eyed him with disfavor.
"I always did hate that thing," she said. "Tom was continually frightening
me with it, I remember." As if to be rid of unwelcome memories she shut her
mouth tight, even as she shut Jack back into his box, snapping the spring
into place. "This will do to begin with," she thought. She crossed to the
window, which she opened quickly, and tossed out the box, so that it fell
squarely in the middle of the sidewalk. Then closing the window and turning
down the lights in the room behind her, Miss Terry hid in the folds of the
curtain and watched to see what would happen to Jack.
The street was quiet. Few persons passed on either side. At last she spied
two little ragamuffins approaching. They seemed to be Jewish lads of the
newsboy class, and they eyed the display of candles appraisingly. The
smaller boy first caught sight of the box in the middle of the sidewalk.
"Hello! Wot's dis?" he grunted, making a dash upon it.
"Gee! Wot's up?" responded the other, who was instantly at his elbow.
"Gwan! Lemme look at it."
The smaller boy drew away and pressed the spring of the box eagerly.
_Ping!_ Out popped the Jack into his astonished face; whereupon he set up a
guffaw.
"Give it here!" commanded the bigger boy.
"Naw! You let it alone! It's mine!" asserted the other, edging away along
the curbstone. "I saw it first. You can't have it."
"Give it here. I saw it first myself. Hand it over, or I'll smash you!"
The bigger boy advanced threateningly.
"I won't!" the other whimpered, clasping the box tightly under his jacket.
He started to run, but the bigger fellow was too quick for him. He pounced
across the sidewalk, and soon the twain were struggling in the snowdrift,
pummeling one another with might and main.
"I told you so!" commented Miss Terry from behind the curtain. "Here's the
first show of the beautiful Christmas spirit that is supposed to be abroad.
Look at the little beasts fighting over something that neither of them
really wants!"
Just then Miss Terry spied a blue-coated figure leisurely approaching. At
the same moment an instinct seemed to warn the struggling urchins.
"Cop!" said a muffled voice from the pile of arms and legs, and in an
instant two black shadows were flitting down the street; but not before the
bigger boy had wrenched the box from the pocket of the little chap.
"So that is the end of experiment number one," quoth Miss Terry, smiling
grimly. "It happened just about as I expected. They will be fighting again
as soon as they are out of sight. They are Jews; but that doesn't make any
difference about the Christmas spirit. Now let's see what becomes of the
next experiment."
CHAPTER III
THE FLANTON DOG
She returned to the play box by the fire, and rummaged for a few minutes
among the tangled toys. Then with something like a chuckle she drew out a
soft, pale creature with four wobbly legs.
"The Flanton Dog!" she said. "Well, I vow! I had forgotten all about him.
It was Tom who coined the name for him because he was made of Canton
flannel."
She stood the thing up on the table as well as his weak legs would allow,
and inspected him critically. He certainly was a forlorn specimen. One of
the black beads which had served him for eyes was gone. His ears, which had
originally stood up saucily on his head, now drooped in limp dejection. One
of them was a mere shapeless rag hanging by a thread. He was dirty and
discolored, and his tail was gone. But still he smiled with his red-thread
mouth and seemed trying to make the best of things.
"What a nightmare!" said Miss Terry contemptuously. "I know there isn't a
child in the city who wants such a looking thing. Why, even the Animal
Rescue folks would give the boys a 'free shot' at that. This isn't going to
bring out any Christmas spirit," she sneered. "I will try it and see."
Once more she lifted the window and tossed the dog to the sidewalk. He
rolled upon his back and lay pathetically with crooked legs yearning
upward, still smiling. Hardly had Miss Terry time to conceal herself behind
the curtain when she saw a figure approaching, airily waving a stick.
"No ragamuffin this time," she said. "Hello! It is that good-for-nothing
young Cooper fellow from the next block. They say he is a millionaire.
Well, he isn't even going to see the Flanton Dog."
The young man came swinging along, debonairly; he was whistling under his
breath. He was a dapper figure in a long coat and a silk hat, under which
the candles lighted a rather silly face. When he reached the spot in the
sidewalk where the Flanton Dog lay, he paused a moment looking down. Then
he poked the object with his stick. On the other side of the street a
mother and her little boy were passing at the time. The child's eyes caught
sight of the dog on the sidewalk, and he hung back, watching to see what
the young man would do to it. But his mother drew him after her. Just then
an automobile came panting through the snow. With a quick movement Cooper
picked up the dog on the end of his stick and tossed it into the street,
under the wheels of the machine. The baby across the street uttered a howl
of anguish at the sight. Miss Terry herself was surprised to feel a pang
shoot through her as the car passed over the queer old toy. She retreated
from the window quickly.
"Well, that's the end of Flanton," she said with half a sigh. "I knew that
fellow was a brute. I might have expected something like that. But it
looked so--so--" She hesitated for a word, and did not finish her sentence,
but bit her lip and sniffed cynically.
CHAPTER IV
THE NOAH'S ARK
"Now, what comes next?" Miss Terry rummaged in the box until her fingers
met something odd-shaped, long, and smooth-sided. With some difficulty she
drew out the object, for it was of good size.
"H'm! The old Noah's ark," she said. "I wonder if all the animals are in
there."
She lifted the cover, and turned out into her lap the long-imprisoned
animals and their round-bodied chief. Mrs. Noah and her sons had long since
disappeared. But the ark-builder, hatless and one-armed, still presided
over a menagerie of sorry beasts. Scarcely one could boast of being a
quadruped. To few of them the years had spared a tail. From their close
resemblance in their misery, it was not hard to believe in the kinship of
all animal life. She took them up and examined them curiously one by one.
Finally she selected a shapeless slate-colored block from the mass. "This
was the elephant," she mused. "I remember when Tom stepped on him and
smashed his trunk. 'I guess I'm going to be an expressman when I grow up,'
he said, looking sorry. Tom was always full of his jokes. Now I'll try this
and see what happens to the ark on its last voyage."
Just then there was a noise outside. An automobile honked past, and Miss
Terry shuddered, recalling the pathetic end of the Flanton Dog, which had
given her quite a turn.
"I hate those horrid machines!" she exclaimed. "They seem like Juggernaut.
I'd like to forbid their going through this street."
She crowded the elephant with Noah and the rest of his charge back into the
ark and closed the lid. "I can't throw this out of the window," she
reflected. "They would spill. I must take it out on the sidewalk. Land! The
fire's going out! That girl doesn't know how to build fires so they will
keep."
She laid the Noah's ark on the table, and going to the closet tugged out
several big logs, which she arranged geometrically. About laying fires, as
about most other things, Miss Terry had her own positive theories. Taking
the bellows in hand she blew furiously, and was presently rewarded with a
brisk blaze. She smiled with satisfaction, and trotted upstairs to find her
red knit shawl. With this about her shoulders she was prepared to brave the
December frost. Down the steps she went, and deposited the ark discreetly
at their foot; then returned to take up her position behind the curtains.
There were a good many people passing, but they seemed too preoccupied to
glance down at the sidewalk. They were nearly all hurrying in one
direction. Some were running in the middle of the street.
"They are in a great hurry," sniffed Miss Terry disdainfully. "One would
think they had something really important on hand. I suppose they are going
to hear the singing. Fiddlestick!"
A man hastened by under the window; a woman; two children, a boy and a
girl, running and gesticulating eagerly. None of them noticed the Noah's
ark lying at the foot of the steps.
Miss Terry began to grow impatient. "Are they all blind?" she fretted.
"What is the matter with them? I wish somebody would find the thing. I am
tired of seeing it lying there."
She tapped the floor impatiently with her slipper. Just then a woman
approached. She was dressed in the most uncompromising of mourning, and she
walked slowly, with bent head, never glancing at the lighted windows on
either side.
"She will see it," commented Miss Terry. And sure enough, she did. She
stopped at the doorstep, drew her skirts aside, and bent over to look at
the strange-shaped box at her feet. Finally she lifted it But immediately
she shivered and acted so strangely that Miss Terry thought she was about
to break the toy in pieces on the steps or throw it into the street.
Evidently she detested the sight of it.
Just then up came a second woman with two small boys hanging at her skirts.
They were ragged and sick-looking. There was something about the expression
of even the tiny knot of hair at the back of the woman's head which told of
anxious poverty. With envious curiosity she hurried up to see what a
luckier mortal had found, crowding to look over her shoulder. The woman in
black drew haughtily away and clutched the Noah's ark with a gesture of
proprietorship.
"Go away! This is my affair." Miss Terry read her expression and sniffed.
"There is the Christmas spirit coming out again," she said to herself.
"Look at her face!"
The black-gowned woman prepared to move on with the toy under her arm. But
the second woman caught hold of her skirt and began to speak earnestly. She
pointed to the Noah's ark, then to her two children. Her eyes were
beseeching. The little boys crowded forward eagerly. But some wicked
spirit seemed to have seized the finder of the ark. Angrily she shook off
the hand of the other woman, and clutching the box yet more firmly under
her arm, she hurried away. Once, twice, she turned and shook her head at
the ragged woman who followed her. Then, with a savage gesture at the two
children, she disappeared beyond Miss Terry's straining eyes. The poor
woman and her boys followed forlornly at a distance.
"They really wanted it, that old Noah's ark!" exclaimed Miss Terry in
amazement. "I can scarcely believe it. But why did that other creature keep
the thing? I see! Only because she found they cared for it. Well, that is a
happy spirit for Christmas time, I should say! Humph! I did not expect to
find anything quite so mean as _that!_"
CHAPTER V
MIRANDA
Miss Terry returned to the fireside, fumbled in the box, and drew out a
doll. She was an ugly, old-fashioned doll, with bruised waxen face of no
particular color. Her mop of flaxen hair was straggling and uneven, much
the worse for the attention of generations of moths. She wore a faded green
silk dress in the style of Lincoln's day, and a primitive bonnet, evidently
made by childish hands. She was a strange, dead-looking figure, with pale
eyelids closed, as Miss Terry dragged her from the box. But when she was
set upright the lids snapped open and a pair of bright blue eyes looked
straight into those of Miss Terry. It was so sudden that the lady nearly
gasped.
"Miranda!" she exclaimed. "It is old Miranda! I have not thought of her for
years." She held the doll at arm's length, gazing fixedly at her for some
minutes.
"I cannot burn her," she muttered at last. "It would seem almost like
murder. I don't like to throw her away, but I have vowed to get rid of
these things to-night. And I'll do it, anyway. Yes, I'll make an experiment
of her. I wonder what sort of trouble she will cause."
Not even Miss Terry could think of seeing old Miranda lying exposed to the
winter night. She found a piece of paper, rolled up the doll in a neat
package, and tied it with red string. It was, to look upon, entirely a
tempting package. Once more she stole down the steps and hesitated where to
leave Miranda: not on the sidewalk,--for some reason that seemed
impossible. But near the foot of the flight of steps leading to the front
door she deposited the doll. The white package shone out plainly in the
illuminated street. There was no doubt that it would be readily seen.
With a quite unexplainable interest Miss Terry watched to see what would
happen to Miranda. She waited for some time. The street seemed deserted.
Miss Terry caught the faint sound of singing. The choristers were passing
through a neighboring street, and doubtless all wayfarers within hearing of
their voices were following in their wake.
She was thoroughly interested in her grim joke, but she was becoming
impatient. Were there to be no more passers? Must the doll stay there
unreclaimed until morning? Presently she became aware of a child's figure
drawing near. It was a little girl of about ten, very shabbily dressed,
with tangled yellow curls hanging over her shoulders. There was something
familiar about her appearance, Miss Terry could not say what it was. She
came hurrying along the sidewalk with a preoccupied air, and seemed about
to pass the steps without seeing the package lying there. But just as she
was opposite the window, her eye caught the gleam of the white paper. She
paused. She looked at it eagerly; it was such a tempting package, both as
to its size and shape! She went closer and bent down to examine it. She
took it into her bare little hands and seemed to squeeze it gently. There
is no mistaking the contours of a doll, however well it may be enveloped in
paper wrappings. The child's eyes grew more and more eager. She glanced
behind her furtively; she looked up and down the street. Then with a sudden
intuition she looked straight ahead, up the flight of steps.