Lucy Maud Montgomery's Holiday Classics (Tales of Christmas & New Year). Lucy Maud Montgomery
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as his wife helped her off with her things, “but you are snowed up! I’ll see to putting your horse away, Mr. Ralston. This way, if you please.”
When the two men came stamping into the house again Mrs. Ralston and Mrs. Joseph were sitting at the fire, the former with a steaming hot cup of tea in her hand. Mr. Ralston put the big basket he was carrying down on a bench in the corner.
“Thought I’d better bring our Christmas flummery in,” he said. “You see, Mrs. Joseph, my brother has a big family, so we are taking them a lot of Santa Claus stuff. Mrs. Ralston packed this basket, and goodness knows what she put in it, but she half cleaned out my store. The eyes of the Lindsay youngsters will dance tomorrow — that is, if we ever get there.”
Mrs. Joseph gave a little sigh in spite of herself, and looked wistfully at the heap of gifts on the corner table. How meagre and small they did look, to be sure, beside that bulgy basket with its cover suggestively tied down.
Mrs. Ralston looked too.
“Santa Claus seems to have visited you already,” she said with a smile.
The Josephs laughed.
“Our Santa Claus is somewhat out of pocket this year,” said Mr. Joseph frankly. “Those are the little things the small folks here have made for each other. They’ve been a month at it, and I’m always kind of relieved when Christmas is over and there are no more mysterious doings. We’re in such cramped quarters here that you can’t move without stepping on somebody’s secret.”
A shakedown was spread in the kitchen for the unexpected guests, and presently the Ralstons found themselves alone. Mrs. Ralston went over to the Christmas table and looked at the little gifts half tenderly and half pityingly.
“They’re not much like the contents of our basket, are they?” she said, as she touched the calendar Jimmie had made for Mollie out of cardboard and autumn leaves and grasses.
“Just what I was thinking,” returned her husband, “and I was thinking of something else, too. I’ve a notion that I’d like to see some of the things in our basket right here on this table.”
“I’d like to see them all,” said Mrs. Ralston promptly. “Let’s just leave them here, Edward. Roger’s family will have plenty of presents without them, and for that matter we can send them ours when we go back home.”
“Just as you say,” agreed Mr. Ralston. “I like the idea of giving the small folk of this household a rousing good Christmas for once. They’re poor I know, and I dare say pretty well pinched this year like most of the farmers hereabout after the crop failure.”
Mrs. Ralston untied the cover of the big basket. Then the two of them, moving as stealthily as if engaged in a burglary, transferred the contents to the table. Mr. Ralston got out a small pencil and a note book, and by dint of comparing the names attached to the gifts on the table they managed to divide theirs up pretty evenly among the little Josephs.
When all was done Mrs. Ralston said, “Now, I’m going to spread that tablecloth carelessly over the table. We will be going before daylight, probably, and in the hurry of getting off I hope that Mr. and Mrs. Joseph will not notice the difference till we’re gone.”
It fell out as Mrs. Ralston had planned. The dawn broke fine and clear over a vast white world. Mr. and Mrs. Joseph were early astir; breakfast for the storm-stayed travellers was cooked and eaten by lamplight; then the horse and sleigh were brought to the door and Mr. Ralston carried out his empty basket.
“I expect the trail will be heavy,” he said, “but I guess we’d get to Lindsay in time for dinner, anyway. Much obliged for your kindness, Mr. Joseph. When you and Mrs. Joseph come to town we shall hope to have a chance to return it. Goodbye and a merry Christmas to you all.”
When Mrs. Joseph went back to the kitchen her eyes fell on the heaped-up table in the corner.
“Why-y!” she said, and snatched off the cover.
One look she gave, and then this funny little mother began to cry; but they were happy tears. Mr. Joseph came too, and looked and whistled.
There really seemed to be everything on that table that the hearts of children could desire — three pairs of skates, a fur cap and collar, a dainty workbasket, half a dozen gleaming new books, a writing desk, a roll of stuff that looked like a new dress, a pair of fur-topped kid gloves just Mollie’s size, and a china cup and saucer. All these were to be seen at the first glance; and in one corner of the table was a big box filled with candies and nuts and raisins, and in the other a doll with curling golden hair and brown eyes, dressed in “real” clothes and with all her wardrobe in a trunk beside her. Pinned to her dress was a leaf from Mr. Ralston’s notebook with Maggie’s name written on it.
“Well, this is Christmas with a vengeance,” said Mr. Joseph.
“The children will go wild with delight,” said his wife happily.
They pretty nearly did when they all came scrambling down the stairs a little later. Such a Christmas had never been known in the Joseph household before. Maggie clasped her doll with shining eyes, Mollie looked at the workbasket that her housewifely little heart had always longed for, studious Jimmy beamed over the books, and Ted and Hal whooped with delight over the skates. And as for the big box of good things, why, everybody appreciated that. That Christmas was one to date from in that family.
I’m glad to be able to say, too, that even in the heyday of their delight and surprise over their wonderful presents, the little Josephs did not forget to appreciate the gifts they had prepared for each other. Mollie thought her calendar just too pretty for anything, and Jimmy was sure the new red mittens which Maggie had knitted for him with her own chubby wee fingers, were the very nicest, gayest mittens a boy had ever worn.
Mrs. Joseph’s taffy was eaten too. Not a scrap of it was left. As Ted said loyally, “It was just as good as the candy in the box and had more ‘chew’ to it besides.”
The Osbornes’ Christmas
Cousin Myra had come to spend Christmas at “The Firs,” and all the junior Osbornes were ready to stand on their heads with delight. Darby — whose real name was Charles — did it, because he was only eight, and at eight you have no dignity to keep up. The others, being older, couldn’t.
But the fact of Christmas itself awoke no great enthusiasm in the hearts of the junior Osbornes. Frank voiced their opinion of it the day after Cousin Myra had arrived. He was sitting on the table with his hands in his pockets and a cynical sneer on his face. At least, Frank flattered himself that it was cynical. He knew that Uncle Edgar was said to wear a cynical sneer, and Frank admired Uncle Edgar very much and imitated him in every possible way. But to you and me it would have looked just as it did to Cousin Myra — a very discontented and unbecoming scowl.
“I’m awfully glad to see you, Cousin Myra,” explained Frank carefully, “and your being here may make some things worth while. But Christmas is just a bore — a regular bore.”
That was what Uncle Edgar called things that didn’t interest him, so that Frank felt pretty sure of his word. Nevertheless, he wondered uncomfortably what made Cousin Myra smile so queerly.
“Why, how dreadful!” she said brightly. “I thought all boys and girls looked upon Christmas as the very best time in the year.”
“We don’t,” said Frank gloomily. “It’s just the same old thing year in and year out. We know just exactly what is going to happen. We even know pretty well what presents we are going to get. And Christmas Day itself is always the same. We’ll get up in the morning, and our stockings will be full of things, and half of them we don’t want. Then there’s dinner. It’s always so poky. And all the uncles and aunts come to dinner — just the same old crowd, every year, and they say just the same things. Aunt Desda always says, ‘Why, Frankie,