Boys and Girls of Colonial Days

by Carolyn Sherwin Bailey

  THE BEACON TREE

  "If you will but help me, Hannah, as a little girl of ten should, withthe candle dipping you will forget to fret all the day long about thehome coming of father and Nathaniel," Mistress Wadsworth said, laying akind hand on the bent head of the little daughter.

  All through the long, gray afternoon Hannah had looked out of thediamond-shaped panes of the window, past the fields of dried cornstalksthat looked as if they were peopled with ghosts in their garments ofsnow, and toward the forest of pointed, green firs beyond. She turnedfrom the window now, as her mother spoke to her, and looked up bravely,trying to smile.

  "You are quite as anxious about dear brother Nathaniel and father as Iam," she said. "It is now two weeks since they started away with thesledge to bring us back the wood for the winter. Father said that itwould take him no longer than ten days at the utmost. Brother Nathanielis only twelve, and young for so hard a journey. There have been storms,and there are Indians--" a sob caught the little girl's voice.

  It was Mistress Wadsworth's turn to look out now with saddened eyesthrough the window and into the falling twilight of the New Englandwinter.

  "Your father said that he would be home for Christmas Day," she said,"and he will keep his word unless some ill befalls them. In themeantime, we will make the candles. Then the house will be brighter towelcome them than when we burn only pine knots. To-night, Hannah, wewill measure the candle wicking for we shall be busy the greater part ofto-morrow with the dipping."

  As the two, both mother and little daughter dressed in the long,straight frocks of dark homespun and the white caps that were worn inthose long-ago days, bent over the pine table after supper, they lookedvery much alike. The fire in the great brick fireplace had a sticky,pitchy lump of fire wood upon the top. It was a pine knot, and the onlylight in the room. It flickered upon the bright rag rugs of the floorand the painted chairs with their scoured rush seats and on the greensettle, making a pleasant, cheerful glow. They tried not to hear thewind that howled down the chimney, or think of the beloved father andlittle brother who were so far away in a bleak lumber clearing.

  Measuring the wicks for the tallow candles was so painstaking a taskthat Mistress Wadsworth did it herself; Hannah, standing beside her,only watched. She stuck an old iron fork straight up in the soft wood ofthe table some eight inches from the edge. Around it she threw half adozen loops of the soft candle wicking. She cut these loops off evenlyat the edge of the table. Then she measured and cut more until she hadmade several dozen, all exactly the same length. As she worked, theytalked together of what Hannah most loved to hear about, Christmas inher dear mother's girlhood home, merry England.

  "They had polished brass sconces fastened everywhere to the walls,"Mistress Wadsworth said. She could almost see the bright scene in thedim shadows cast by the pine knots. "In every sconce there would be tallwhite candles. We burned more candles in a night then than we can affordto burn in a month now," she sighed.

  "And there was a fir tree from the forest brought into the hall for thechildren," Hannah continued, for she knew the story well. "There werecandles on the tree, lighted and shining. Oh, it must have been a prettysight to see the children dance about the Christmas tree and sing theircarols! We never have Christmas trees with candles in this new land, dowe mother? Why?" she asked.

  "The Governor decrees that we shall not continue the customs of the landthat we have left so far behind," Mistress Wadsworth replied, but withanother sigh. "And now to bed, little daughter, for we shall be busyindeed on the morrow."

  When morning came, Hannah found that her mother had worked after she hadgone to bed, twisting and doubling each candle wick and slipping throughthe loop a candle rod. This rod was a stick like a lead pencil but overthree times as long. Six wicks hung from each rod. They looked, Hannahthought, as if they were so many little clothes lines. Then the big ironkettle filled with clean white tallow was swung on a heavy iron hook inthe fireplace. As the tallow melted, Mistress Wadsworth directed Hannahas she tipped down two straight backed chairs and placed two long polesacross them like the sides of a ladder with no rungs. Across these werelaid the candle rods with their hanging wicks. Then the kettle was takenfrom the fire and set on the wide hearth, and the pleasant task of thecandle dipping was begun.

  One at a time, Hannah took the candle rods carefully by their ends anddipped the wicks for a second in the melted tallow. Then she put it backbetween the chairs to dry and took up another rod, dipping the wicks inthe same way. When the last wicks had been dipped, the first ones weredry enough to dip again. With each dipping, the candles grew plump andstraight and white. One candle rod, though, Hannah dipped only once inevery three times. When her mother noticed this she said, "Littledaughter, you are neglecting six of the candles. See how small theyare!"

  "HANNAH DIPPED THE WICKS FOR A SECOND IN THE MELTEDTALLOW"]

  Hannah ran over, threw her arms about her mother's neck and whisperedsomething in her ear. Mistress Wadsworth shook her head at first; thenshe smiled.

  "It can do no harm that I see," she said. "It will be only a child'splay before Christmas and no cause for the Governor's displeasure. Yes,little daughter, if you wish. If it brings joy to your sorrowful heart,I shall be glad."

  When the candle dipping was over and the precious candles were laid awayto be burned only if the father and little Nathaniel came home, Hannahslipped six, as small as Christmas tree candles, from one rod andwrapped them carefully in a bit of fair white linen. They were herlittle candles, to be used as she wished.

  The days, white with snow and very cold, wore on until it was only aweek before the blessed Christmas day. There were slight preparationsfor it in the little New England settlement where Hannah lived for itwas not thought fitting to be merry and gay at Christmas time thesecenturies ago. But at the small white meeting-house Hannah and the otherlittle colonist children practised a carol to be sung on Christmas Day.

  "Shout to Jehovah, all the earth, Serve ye Jehovah, with gladness; Before him bow, singing with mirth."

  The children sang it as it was pitched by the elder's tuning fork, andthe tune was slow and dirge like. The tears came again to Hannah's eyesas she tried to sing, for no word had come as yet of father andNathaniel. A runner to the village brought word a few days before ofattacks by the Indians on near-by parties of wood cutters. Could theyhave encountered the party with whom were father and Nathaniel, shethought?

  THE TOWN CRIER]

  But Hannah's secret kept her happy! A few days before Christmas she wentto a near-by bit of woodland. She carried the old hatchet that Nathanielhad left at home, and she looked over the young fir trees until shefound one that was well shaped, tiny, and as green as green could be.She chopped and hacked at the roots until she cut down the little tree.Then she tugged it home. As she held its prickly needles close to herwarm cloak she whispered, "You are not to bear gifts, little Christmastree, because that would not be right; only candles to light the wayhome for dear father and brother Nathaniel."

  At last it was three days before Christmas and evening in the little NewEngland village. The town crier had taken his way through the narrowmain street early in the afternoon,--a dismal enough looking figure inhis long, black cloak and tall, black hat, and ringing his bell.

  "Lost, in all probability, lost," he called. "This Christmas time," andthen he gave the toll of names of the men and boys who had started outso many weeks before on the ill-fated lumber trip and from whom no wordhad come. As he reached the names, "Goodman Wadsworth, little NathanielWadsworth," Mistress Wadsworth cowered in front of the fire, her bowedhead in her hands. But Hannah kissed her gently for comfort, and tookout the little tallow candles that she had dipped. Then she set up thetiny fir tree, with the lighted Christmas candles, in front of thewindow that looked out upon the main street.

  Now the village was black with the night. The fires were low, and thebarred doors and windows shut in Hannah's and her mother's sadness. Thelong street was white with snow. A
few glimmering stars shed a fitfulpath of light down it, but the houses were like so many tightly-closedeyes. They could hardly be seen at all.

  "THE LITTLE WHITE BOY ... HAD PRINTED STRANGE CHARACTERS"]

  It was almost ten o'clock when an Indian boy, little Fleet-as-an-Arrow,like a flash of color in the dark of the night, darted down the street.He was wrapped from head to foot in his scarlet blanket. He was panting.His bare limbs were cold. He had come a long, long way without foodsince morning, but he did not stop running now that he was nearing hisgoal. The dim little town frightened him, though. He had never been inso strange a place before. The home that little Fleet-as-an-Arrow knewwas a wide plain with a background of forests; his house was a paintedwigwam; and his light was a camp fire. But he pressed against his hearta bit of white birch bark upon which a little white boy of his own age,brought to the camp a captive with a band of prisoners, had printedstrange characters. It was not like the picture writing of the tribe,but it must be important for all that, Fleet-as-an-Arrow knew. Thelittle white boy, whom this little Indian boy had grown to love like hisown brother, had begged him to carry the writing to his mother.

  "Go to the North," he had said. So Fleet-as-an-Arrow had watched themoss on the trees and followed the north star. Here he was, but howcould he tell in which of all these strange wigwams the mother of hislittle white friend lived?

  Suddenly Fleet-as-an-Arrow's dark eyes flashed into a smile. At the endof the street a bright light attracted him. He ran on, bravely followingit. Of all the windows in the whole village this was the only one thatwas unbarred, and where the curtains were parted. As he came nearer thelight, Fleet-as-an-Arrow's heart almost stopped beating for admirationand wonder. Never in all his twelve years had the little Indian boy seena sight like this. It was an evergreen tree such as he knew and loved inhis own home forest, but it was covered with glimmering, sparkling,starry lights. There it stood, Hannah's Christmas tree, the littletallow candles drawing Fleet-as-an-Arrow with Nathaniel's message like amagnet.

  "HE BEAT THE HEAVY OAK PANELS WITH HIS HALF-FROZEN, BROWNLITTLE HANDS"]

  He stopped at the door and beat the heavy oak panels with hishalf-frozen, brown little hands. When Mistress Wadsworth, followedclosely by Hannah, opened it, frightened and dazed at the strange visitin the night, Fleet-as-an-Arrow looked at them a minute on thethreshold. In the light of the little Christmas tree he could seeHannah's pink cheeks and wide-open, blue eyes and the pale gold braidsof her hair. Why, she looked like the boy that he had left in theIndian's camp, Fleet-as-an-Arrow saw. He knew now that he had found theright place. He went inside and pulled the message, written with a bitof charcoal in scrawling letters on the square of birch bark, frombeneath his blanket. Then he thrust it into Mistress Wadsworth's hands.She read it in the glow of the fire.

  "We are safe, but the Indians will not let us go without gifts of beads and corn. Send some men to fetch us.

  Your son, Nathaniel."

  With a glad cry, Mistress Wadsworth put her arms about the little Indianboy. Then, while she put on her bonnet and cloak and lighted the big,brass lantern, Hannah drew Fleet-as-an-Arrow up to the fire and broughthim food. Running with her lantern from one sleeping house to another,Mistress Wadsworth soon roused the men of the village who organizedthemselves into a rescuing party.

  When the first pale pink of the morning sun tinged the sky, the party,with the gifts which the Indians demanded as a ransom for theircaptives, was on its way. They carried Little Fleet-as-an-Arrow in frontas their guide.

  Such a Christmas Eve as it was. Father and Nathaniel, ragged and hungry,but safe, were home in time! Two of the large tallow candles in thepolished brass candlesticks shone on the mantelpiece over the fireplace,and Hannah lighted the little Christmas tree again. She and brotherNathaniel, hands clasped happily together, sat in its light, so glad tobe together again that they needed neither gifts nor sweets to maketheir Christmas joy.