Christmas Stories of Louisa May Alcott, The. Louisa May Alcott
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several small tables together in the middle of the room, he left Miss Hale to make a judicious display of plates, knives, and forks, while he departed for the banquet. Presently he returned, bearing the youthful turkeys and the vegetables in his tray, followed by Barney, carrying a plum pudding baked in a milk pan and six very small pies. Miss Hale played a lively march as the procession approached, and, when the viands were arranged, with the red and yellow fruit prettily heaped up in the middle, it really did look like a dinner.
"Here's richness! Here's the delicacies of the season and the comforts of life!" said Ben, falling back to survey the table with as much apparent satisfaction as if it had been a lord mayor's feast.
"Come, hurry up, and give us our dinner; what there is of it!" grumbled Sam.
"Boys," continued Ben, beginning to cut up the turkeys, "these noble birds have been sacrificed for the defenders of their country. They will go as far as ever they can, and when they can't go any further, we shall endeavor to supply their deficiencies with soup or ham, oysters having given out unexpectedly. Put it to a vote. Both have been provided on this joyful occasion, and a word will fetch either."
"Ham! Ham!" resounded from all sides. Soup was an everyday affair, and therefore repudiated with scorn; but ham, being a rarity, was accepted as a proper reward of merit and a tacit acknowledgement of their wrongs.
The "noble birds" did go as far as possible, and were handsomely assisted by their fellow martyr. The pudding was not as good as could have been desired, but a slight exertion of fancy made the crusty knobs do duty for raisins. The pies were small, yet a laugh added flavor to the mouthful apiece; for when Miss Hale asked Ben to cut them up, that individual regarded her with an inquiring aspect as he said, in his drollest tone:
"I wouldn't wish to appear stupid, Ma'am, but when you mention 'pies,' I presume you allude to these trifles. ‘Tarts’ or ‘patties’ would meet my views better, in speaking of the third course of this lavish dinner. As such, I will do my duty by 'em, hoping that the appetites are to match."
Carefully dividing the six pies into twenty-nine diminutive wedges, he placed each in the middle of a large clean plate and handed them about with the gravity of an undertaker. Dinner had restored good humor to many; this hit at the pies put the finishing touch to it. And from that moment, an atmosphere of jollity prevailed. Healths were drunk in cider; apples and oranges flew about as an impromptu game of ball was got up; Miss Hale sang a Christmas carol; and Ben gamboled like a sportive giant as he cleared dishes away. Pausing in one of his prances to and fro, he beckoned the nurse out, and when she followed, handed her a plate heaped up with good things from a better table than she ever sat at now.
"From the matron, Ma'am. Come right in here and eat it while it's hot; they are most through in the dining room, and you'll get nothing half so nice," said Ben, leading the way into his pantry and pointing to a sunny window seat.
"Are you sure she meant it for me and not for yourself, Ben?"
"Of course she did! Why, what should I do with it, when I've just been feastin' sumptuous in this very room?"
"I don't exactly see what you have been feasting on," said Miss Hale, glancing 'round the tidy pantry as she sat down.
"Havin' eat up the food and washed up the dishes, it naturally follows that you don't see, Ma'am. But if I go off in a fit by and by, you'll know what it's owin' to," answered Ben, vainly endeavoring to look like a man suffering from overeating.
"Such kind fibs are not set down against one, Ben, so I will eat your dinner; for if I know you, you will throw it out the window to prove that you can't eat it."
"Thankee, Ma'am, I'm afraid I should," said Ben, looking very much relieved as he polished his last pewter fork and hung his towels up to dry.
A pretty general siesta followed the excitement of dinner, but by three o'clock the public mind was ready for amusement, and the arrival of Sam's box provided it. He was asleep when it was brought in and quietly deposited at his bed's foot, ready to surprise him on awaking. The advent of a box was a great event, for the fortunate receiver seldom failed to "stand treat," and next best to getting things from one's own home was the getting them from some other boy's home. This was an unusually large box, and all felt impatient to have it opened, though Sam's exceeding crustiness prevented the indulgence of great expectations. Presently he roused, and the first thing his eye fell upon was the box with his own name sprawling over it in big black letters. As if it were merely the continuance of his dream, he stared stupidly at it for a moment, then rubbed his eyes and sat up, exclaiming:
"Hullo! That's mine!"
"Ah! Who said it wouldn't come? Who hadn't the faith of a grasshopper? And who don't half deserve it for being a Barker by nature as by name?" cried Ben, emphasizing each question with a bang on the box as he waited, hammer in hand, for the arrival of the ward master, whose duty it was to oversee the opening of such matters, lest contraband articles should do mischief to the owner or his neighbors.
"Ain't it a jolly big one? Knock it open, and don't wait for anybody or anything!" cried Sam, tumbling off his bed and beating impatiently on the lid with his one hand.
In came the ward master, off came the cover, and out came a motley collection of apples, socks, doughnuts, paper, pickles, photographs, pocket-handkerchiefs, gingerbread, letters, jelly, newspapers, tobacco, and cologne. "All right; glad it's come. Don't kill yourself," said the ward master as he took a hasty survey and walked off again. Drawing the box nearer the bed, Ben delicately followed, and Sam was left to brood over his treasures in peace.
At first all the others, following Ben's example, made elaborate pretences of going to sleep, being absorbed in books, or being utterly uninterested in the outer world. But very soon curiosity got the better of politeness, and one by one they all turned 'round and stared. They might have done so from the first, for Sam was perfectly unconscious of everything but his own affairs, and, having read the letters, looked at the pictures, unfolded the bundles, turned everything inside out and upside down, tasted all the eatables, and made a spectacle of himself with jelly, he paused to get his breath and find his way out of the confusion he had created. Presently he called out:
"Miss Hale, will you come and right up my duds for me?" adding, as her woman's hands began to bring matters straight, "I don't know what to do with 'em all. Some won't keep long, and it will take pretty steady eating to get through 'em in time, supposin' appetite holds out."
"How do the others manage with their things?"
"You know they give 'em away, but I'll be hanged if I do, because they are always callin' names and pokin' fun at me. Guess they won't get anything out of me now."
The old, morose look came back as he spoke, for it had disappeared while reading the home letters, touching the home gifts. Still busily folding and arranging, Miss Hale quietly observed:
"We all know how much you have suffered, and all respect you for the courage with which you have borne your long confinement and your loss but don't you think you have given the boys some cause for making fun of you, as you say? You used to be a favorite and can be again, if you will only put off these crusty ways, which will grow upon you faster than you think. Better lose both arms than cheerfulness and self-control, Sam."
Pausing to see how her little lecture was received, she saw that Sam's better self was waking up and added yet another word, hoping to help a mental ailment as she had done with so many physical ones. Looking up at him with her kind eyes, she said, in a lowered voice:
"This day, on which the most perfect life began, is a good day for all of us to set about making ourselves readier to follow that divine example. Troubles are helpers if we take them kindly, and the bitterest may sweeten us for all our lives. Believe and try this, Sam, and when you go away from us, let those who love you find that two battles have been fought, two victories won."
Sam made no answer but sat thoughtfully picking at the half-eaten cookie in his hand. Presently he stole a glance about the room, and, as if all helps were waiting for him, his eye met Joe's. From his solitary corner by the fire and the bed, he would seldom leave again until he went to his grave. The boy smiled back at him so heartily, so happily,