“Sing, Tessa; sing! Quick! quick!” cried Tommo, twanging away with all his might, and showing his white teeth, as he smiled back at the little gentle-folk.
Bless us! How Tessa did tune up at that! She chirped away like a real bird, forgetting all about the tears on her cheeks, the ache in her hands, and the heaviness at her heart. The children laughed, and clapped their hands, and cried “More! more! Sing another, little girl! Please do!” And away they went again, piping and playing, till Tessa’s breath was gone, and Tommo’s stout fingers tingled well.
“Mamma says, come to the door; it’s too muddy to throw the money into the street!” cried out a kindly child’s voice as Tessa held up the old cap, with beseeching eyes.
Up the wide stone steps went the street musicians, and the whole flock came running down to give a handful of silver, and ask all sorts of questions. Tessa felt so grateful that, without waiting for Tommo, she sang her sweetest little song all alone. It was about a lost lamb, and her heart was in the song; therefore she sang it well, so well that a pretty young lady came down to listen, and stood watching the bright-eyed girl, who looked about her as she sang, evidently enjoying the light and warmth of the fine hall, and the sight of the lovely children with their gay dresses, shining hair, and dainty little shoes.
“You have a charming voice, child. Who taught you to sing?” asked the young lady kindly.
“My mother. She is dead now; but I do not forget,” answered Tessa, in her pretty broken English.
“I wish she could sing at our tree, since Bella is ill,” cried one of the children peeping through the banisters.
“She is not fair enough for the angel, and too large to go up in the tree. But she sings sweetly, and looks as if she would like to see a tree,” said the young lady.
“Oh, so much!” exclaimed Tessa; adding eagerly, “my sister Ranza is small and pretty as a baby-angel. She could sit up in the fine tree, and I could sing for her from under the table.”
“Sit down and warm yourself, and tell me about Ranza,” said the kind elder sister, who liked the confiding little girl, in spite of her shabby clothes.
So Tessa sat down and dried the big boots over the furnace, and told her story, while Tommo stood modestly in the background, and the children listened with faces full of interest.
“O Rose! let us see the little girl; and if she will do, let us have her, and Tessa can learn our song, and it will be splendid!” cried the biggest boy, who sat astride of a chair, and stared at the harp with round eyes.
“I’ll ask mamma,” said Rose; and away she went into the dining-room close by. As the door opened, Tessa saw what looked to her like a fairy feast—all silver mugs and flowery plates and oranges and nuts and rosy wine in tall glass pitchers, and smoking dishes that smelt so deliciously she could not restrain a little sniff of satisfaction.
“Are you hungry?” asked the boy in a grand tone.
“Yes, sir,” meekly answered Tessa.
“I say, mamma; she wants something to eat. Can I give her an orange?” called the boy, prancing away into the splendid room, quite like a fairy prince, Tessa thought.
A plump motherly lady came out and looked at Tessa, asked a few questions, and then told her to come to-morrow with Ranza, and they would see what could be done. Tessa clapped her hands for joy—she didn’t mind the chilblains now—and Tommo played a lively march, he was so pleased.
“Will you come, too, and bring your harp? You shall be paid, and shall have something from the tree, likewise,” said the motherly lady, who liked what Tessa gratefully told about his kindness to her.
“Ah, yes; I shall come with much gladness, and play as never in my life before,” cried Tommo, with a flourish of the old cap that made the children laugh.
“Give these to your brothers,” said the fairy prince, stuffing nuts and oranges into Tessa’s hands.
“And these to the little girl,” added one of the young princesses, flying out of the dining-room with cakes and rosy apples for Ranza.
Tessa didn’t know what to say; but her eyes were full, and she just took the mother’s white hand in both her little grimy ones, and kissed it many times in her pretty Italian fashion. The lady understood her, and stroked her cheek softly, saying to her elder daughter, “We must take care of this good little creature. Freddy, bring me your mittens; these poor hands must be covered. Alice, get your play-hood; this handkerchief is all wet; and, Maud, bring the old chinchilla tippet.”
The children ran, and in a minute there were lovely blue mittens on the red hands, a warm hood over the black braids, and a soft “pussy” round the sore throat.
“Ah! so kind, so very kind! I have no way to say ‘thank you’; but Ranza shall be for you a heavenly angel, and I will sing my heart out for your tree!” cried Tessa, folding the mittens as if she would say a prayer of thankfulness if she knew how.
Then they went away, and the pretty children called after them, “Come again, Tessa! come again, Tommo!” Now the rain didn’t seem dismal, the wind cold, nor the way long, as they bought their gifts and hurried home, for kind words and the sweet magic of charity had changed all the world to them.
I think the good spirits who fly about on Christmas Eve, to help the loving fillers of little stockings, smiled very kindly on Tessa as she brooded joyfully over the small store of presents that seemed so magnificent to her. All the goodies were divided evenly into three parts and stowed away in father’s three big socks, which hung against the curtain. With her three dollars, she had got a pair of shoes for Nono, a knit cap for Sep, and a pair of white stockings for Ranza; to her she also gave the new hood; to Nono the mittens; and to Sep the tippet.
“Now the dear boys can go out, and my Ranza will be ready for the lady to see, in her nice new things,” said Tessa, quite sighing with pleasure to see how well the gifts looked pinned up beside the bulging socks, which wouldn’t hold them all. The little mother kept nothing for herself but the pleasure of giving everything away; yet, I think, she was both richer and happier than if she had kept them all. Her father laughed as he had not done since the mother died, when he saw how comically the old curtain had broken out into boots and hoods, stockings and tippets.
“I wish I had a gold gown and a silver hat for thee, my Tessa, thou art so good. May the saints bless and keep thee always!” said Peter Benari tenderly, as he held his little daughter close and gave her the good-night kiss.
Tessa felt very rich as she crept under the faded counterpane, feeling as if she had received a lovely gift, and fell happily asleep with chubby Ranza in her arms, and the two rough black heads peeping out at the foot of the bed. She dreamed wonderful dreams that night, and woke in the morning to find real wonders before her eyes. She got up early to see if the socks were all right, and there she found the most astonishing sight. Four socks, instead of three; and by the fourth, pinned out quite elegantly, was a little dress, evidently meant for her—a warm, woollen dress, all made, and actually with bright buttons on it. It nearly took her breath away; so did the new boots on the floor, and the funny long stocking like a grey sausage, with a wooden doll staring out at the top, as if she said, politely, “A Merry Christmas, ma’am!” Tessa screamed and danced in her delight, and up tumbled all the children to scream and dance with her, making a regular carnival on a small scale. Everybody hugged and kissed everybody else, offered sucks of orange, bites of cake, and exchanges of candy; every one tried on the new things and pranced about in them like a flock of peacocks. Ranza skipped to and fro airily, dressed in her white socks and the red hood; the boys promenaded in their little shirts, one with his creaking new shoes and mittens, the other in his gay cap and fine tippet; and Tessa put her dress straight on, feeling that her father’s “gold gown” was not all a joke. In her long stocking she found all sorts of treasures; for Tommo had stuffed it full of queer things, and his mother had made gingerbread into every imaginable shape, from fat pigs to full omnibuses.
Dear me! What happy little souls they we
re that morning; and when they were quiet again, how like a fairy tale did Tessa’s story sound to them. Ranza was quite ready to be an angel; and the boys promised to be marvellously good, if they were only allowed to see the tree at the “palace,” as they called the great house.
Little Ranza was accepted with delight by the kind lady and her children, and Tessa learned the song quite easily. The boys were asked; and, after a happy day, the young Italians all returned, to play their parts at the fine Christmas party. Mamma and Miss Rose drilled them all; and when the folding-doors flew open, one rapturous “Oh!” arose from the crowd of children gathered to the festival. I assure you, it was splendid; the great tree glittering with lights and gifts; and, on her invisible perch, up among the green boughs, sat the little golden-haired angel, all in white, with downy wings, a shining crown on her head, and the most serene satisfaction in her blue eyes, as she stretched her chubby arms to those below, and smiled her baby smile at them. Before any one could speak, a voice, as fresh and sweet as a lark’s, sang the Christmas Carol so blithely that every one stood still to hear, and then clapped till the little angel shook on her perch, and cried out, “Be ’till, or me’ll fall!” How they laughed at that; and what fun they had talking to Ranza, while Miss Rose stripped the tree, for the angel could not resist temptation, and amused herself by eating all the bonbons she could reach, till she was taken down, to dance about like a fairy in a white frock and red shoes. Tessa and her friends had many presents; the boys were perfect lambs, Tommo played for the little folks to dance, and every one said something friendly to the strangers, so that they did not feel shy, in spite of shabby clothes. It was a happy night: and all their lives they remembered it as something too beautiful and bright to be quite true. Before they went home, the kind mamma told Tessa she should be her friend, and gave her a motherly kiss, which warmed the child’s heart and seemed to set a seal upon that promise. It was faithfully kept, for the rich lady had been touched by Tessa’s patient struggles and sacrifices; and for many years, thanks to her benevolence, there was no end to Tessa’s Surprises.
L. M. MONTGOMERY
1874–1942
THE CHRISTMAS SURPRISE AT ENDERLY ROAD
“Phil, I’m getting fearfully hungry. When are we going to strike civilization?”
The speaker was my chum, Frank Ward. We were home from our academy for the Christmas holidays and had been amusing ourselves on this sunshiny December afternoon by a tramp through the “back lands,” as the barrens that swept away south behind the village were called. They were grown over with scrub maple and spruce, and were quite pathless save for meandering sheep tracks that crossed and recrossed, but led apparently nowhere.
Frank and I did not know exactly where we were, but the back lands were not so extensive but that we would come out somewhere if we kept on. It was getting late and we wished to go home.
“I have an idea that we ought to strike civilization somewhere up the Enderly Road pretty soon,” I answered.
“Do you call that civilization?” said Frank, with a laugh.
No Blackburn Hill boy was ever known to miss an opportunity of flinging a slur at Enderly Road, even if no Enderly Roader were by to feel the sting.
Enderly Road was a miserable little settlement straggling back from Blackburn Hill. It was a forsaken looking place, and the people, as a rule, were poor and shiftless. Between Blackburn Hill and Enderly Road very little social intercourse existed and, as the Road people resented what they called the pride of Blackburn Hill, there was a good deal of bad feeling between the two districts.
Presently Frank and I came out on the Enderly Road. We sat on the fence a few minutes to rest and discuss our route home. “If we go by the road it’s three miles,” said Frank. “Isn’t there a short cut?”
“There ought to be one by the wood-lane that comes out by Jacob Hart’s,” I answered, “but I don’t know where to strike it.”
“Here is someone coming now; we’ll inquire,” said Frank, looking up the curve of the hard-frozen road. The “someone” was a little girl of about ten years old, who was trotting along with a basketful of school books on her arm. She was a pale, pinched little thing, and her jacket and red hood seemed very old and thin.
“Hello, missy,” I said, as she came up, and then I stopped, for I saw she had been crying.
“What is the matter?” asked Frank, who was much more at ease with children than I was, and had always a warm spot in his heart for their small troubles. “Has your teacher kept you in for being naughty?”
The mite dashed her little red knuckles across her eyes and answered indignantly, “No, indeed. I stayed after school with Minnie Lawler to sweep the floor.”
“And did you and Minnie quarrel, and is that why you are crying?” asked Frank solemnly.
“Minnie and I never quarrel. I am crying because we can’t have the school decorated on Monday for the examination, after all. The Dickeys have gone back on us . . . after promising, too,” and the tears began to swell up in the blue eyes again.
“Very bad behaviour on the part of the Dickeys,” commented Frank. “But can’t you decorate the school without them?”
“Why, of course not. They are the only big boys in the school. They said they would cut the boughs, and bring a ladder tomorrow and help us nail the wreaths up, and now they won’t . . . and everything is spoiled . . . and Miss Davis will be so disappointed.”
By dint of questioning Frank soon found out the whole story. The semi-annual public examination was to be held on Monday afternoon, the day before Christmas. Miss Davis had been drilling her little flock for the occasion; and a program of recitations, speeches, and dialogues had been prepared. Our small informant, whose name was Maggie Bates, together with Minnie Lawler and several other little girls, had conceived the idea that it would be a fine thing to decorate the schoolroom with greens. For this it was necessary to ask the help of the boys. Boys were scarce at Enderly school, but the Dickeys, three in number, had promised to see that the thing was done.
“And now they won’t,” sobbed Maggie. “Matt Dickey is mad at Miss Davis ’cause she stood him on the floor today for not learning his lesson, and he says he won’t do a thing nor let any of the other boys help us. Matt just makes all the boys do as he says. I feel dreadful bad, and so does Minnie.”
“Well, I wouldn’t cry any more about it,” said Frank consolingly. “Crying won’t do any good, you know. Can you tell us where to find the wood-lane that cuts across to Blackburn Hill?” Maggie could, and gave us minute directions. So, having thanked her, we left her to pursue her disconsolate way and betook ourselves homeward.
“I would like to spoil Matt Dickey’s little game,” said Frank. “He is evidently trying to run things at Enderly Road school and revenge himself on the teacher. Let us put a spoke in his wheel and do Maggie a good turn as well.”
“Agreed. But how?”
Frank had a plan ready to hand and, when we reached home, we took his sisters, Carrie and Mabel, into our confidence; and the four of us worked to such good purpose all the next day, which was Saturday, that by night everything was in readiness.
At dusk Frank and I set out for the Enderly Road, carrying a basket, a small step-ladder, an unlit lantern, a hammer, and a box of tacks. It was dark when we reached the Enderly Road schoolhouse. Fortunately, it was quite out of sight of any inhabited spot, being surrounded by woods. Hence, mysterious lights in it at strange hours would not be likely to attract attention.
The door was locked, but we easily got in by a window, lighted our lantern, and went to work. The schoolroom was small, and the old-fashioned furniture bore marks of hard usage; but everything was very snug, and the carefully swept floor and dusted desks bore testimony to the neatness of our small friend Maggie and her chum Minnie.
Our basket was full of mottoes made from letters cut out of cardboard and covered with lissome sprays of fir. They were, moreover, adorned with gorgeous pink and red tissue roses, which Carrie and Mabel ha
d contributed. We had considerable trouble in getting them tacked up properly, but when we had succeeded, and had furthermore surmounted doors, windows, and blackboard with wreaths of green, the little Enderly Road schoolroom was quite transformed.
“It looks nice,” said Frank in a tone of satisfaction. “Hope Maggie will like it.”
We swept up the litter we had made, and then scrambled out of the window.
“I’d like to see Matt Dickey’s face when he comes Monday morning,” I laughed, as we struck into the back lands.
“I’d like to see that midget of a Maggie’s,” said Frank. “See here, Phil, let’s attend the examination Monday afternoon. I’d like to see our decorations in daylight.”
We decided to do so, and also thought of something else. Snow fell all day Sunday, so that, on Monday morning, sleighs had to be brought out. Frank and I drove down to the store and invested a considerable share of our spare cash in a varied assortment of knick-knacks. After dinner we drove through to the Enderly Road schoolhouse, tied our horse in a quiet spot, and went in. Our arrival created quite a sensation for, as a rule, Blackburn Hillites did not patronize Enderly Road functions. Miss Davis, the pale, tired-looking little teacher, was evidently pleased, and we were given seats of honour next to the minister on the platform.
Our decorations really looked very well, and were further enhanced by two large red geraniums in full bloom which, it appeared, Maggie had brought from home to adorn the teacher’s desk. The side benches were lined with Enderly Road parents, and all the pupils were in their best attire. Our friend Maggie was there, of course, and she smiled and nodded towards the wreaths when she caught our eyes.
The examination was a decided success, and the program which followed was very creditable indeed. Maggie and Minnie, in particular, covered themselves with glory, both in class and on the platform. At its close, while the minister was making his speech, Frank slipped out; when the minister sat down, the door opened and Santa Claus himself, with big fur coat, ruddy mask, and long white beard, strode into the room with a huge basket on his arm, amid a chorus of surprised “Ohs” from old and young.
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