A Merry Christmas

by Louisa May Alcott

  “Come softly and look in,” he whispered, beckoning to the rest. “It’s a pretty little sight even if it is in a kitchen.”

  Quietly creeping to the two low windows, they all looked in, and no one said a word, for the lonely little figure was both pretty and pathetic when they remembered the letters lately read. Patty lay flat on the old rug, fast asleep with one arm pillowed under her head. In the other arm lay Puss in a cozy bunch, as if she had crept there to be sociable since there was no one else to share Patty’s long vigil. A row of slippers, large and small, stood warming on the hearth, two little nightgowns hung over a chair, the teapot stood in a warm nook, and through the open door, they could see the lamp burning brightly in the sitting room, the table ready, and all things in order.

  “Faithful little creature! She’s thought of every blessed thing, and I’ll go right in and wake her with a good kiss!” cried Mrs. Murray, darting for the door.

  But Aunt Jane drew her back, begging her not to frighten the child by any sudden, unexpected demonstrations of affection. So they all went softly in—so softly that tired Patty did not wake, even though Puss pricked up her ears and opened her moony eyes with a lazy purr.

  “Look here!” whispered Bob, pointing to the poor little gifts half tumbling out of Patty’s apron. She had been pinning names on them when she fell asleep, and now her secret was known too soon.

  No one laughed at the presents, and with a look of tender pity, Ella covered the few humble treasures in Patty’s box. As she laid back, she remembered what she had once called “rubbish,” how full her own boxes were with the pretty things girls love, and how easy it would have been to add to Patty’s pitiful store.

  No one exactly knew how to awaken the sleeper, for she was something more than a servant in their eyes now. Aunt Jane settled the matter by stooping down and taking Patty in her arms. The big eyes opened at once and stared up at the face above. Then a smile so bright, so glad, shone all over the child’s face as she clung to Aunt Jane, crying joyously—

  “Is it really you? I was so afraid you wouldn’t come that I cried myself to sleep.”

  Never before had any of them seen such love and happiness in Patty’s face, heard such a glad, tender sound in her voice, or guessed what an ardent soul dwelt in her quiet body.

  She was herself again in a minute, and jumping up, slipped away to see that everything was ready should anyone want supper after the cold drive.

  Soon the family went off to bed, and there was no time to let out the secret. Patty was surprised by the kind good nights everyone sent her way, but she thought no more of it than to feel that Miss Jane brought a warmer atmosphere to the home.

  Patty’s surprise began early the next day, for the first thing she saw upon opening her eyes was a pair of new stockings crammed full of gifts hanging at the foot of her bed and several parcels lying on the table.

  What a good time she had opening the delightful bundles. She laughed and cried at the droll things the boys gave and the comfortable and pretty things the elders sent. Such a happy child was she that when she tried to say her prayers, she couldn’t find words beautiful enough to express her gratitude for so much kindness!

  A new Patty went downstairs that morning—a bright-faced girl with smiles on the mouth that used to be so sad and silent, confidence in the timid eyes, and the magic of the heartiest goodwill to make her step light, her hand skillful, her labor a joy, and service no burden.

  They do care for me, after all, and I never will complain again, she thought with a glad flutter at her heart and sudden color in her cheeks as everyone welcomed her with a friendly, “Merry Christmas, Patty!”

  It was the merriest Christmas ever, and when the bountiful dinner was spread and Patty stood ready to wait, you can imagine her feelings as Mr. Murray pointed to a seat near Miss Jane and said in a fatherly tone that made his gruff voice sweet—

  “Sit down and enjoy it with us, my girl; nobody has more right to it, and we are all one family today.”

  Patty could not eat much, her heart was so full, but it was a splendid feast to her, and when toasts were drunk she was overwhelmed by the honor Harry did her, for he bounced up and exclaimed: “Now we must drink to ‘Our Patty’—long life and good luck to her!”

  That really was too much, and she fairly ran away to hide her blushes in the kitchen and work off her excitement washing dishes.

  More surprises came that evening. When she went to put on her clean calico smock, she found the pretty blue dress and white apron laid ready on her bed along with a note that read, “With Ella’s love.”

  “It’s like a fairy story that keeps getting nicer and nicer since the godmother came,” whispered Patty, as she glanced shyly at Aunt Jane.

  “Christmas is the time for all sorts of pleasant miracles,” answered Aunt Jane, smiling back at her little maiden, who looked so neat and blithe in her new dress and happy face.

  Patty thought nothing further in the way of bliss could happen to her that night, but it did when Ned, anxious to atone for his past neglect, pranced up to her as a final dance was forming and said heartily—

  “Come, Patty, everyone is to dance this one, even Harry and the cat!” And before she could collect her wits enough to say “No,” she was leading off and flying down the middle with the young master, in great style.

  That was the crowning honor, for she was a girl with all a girl’s innocent hopes, fears, desires, and delights, and it had been rather hard to stand by while all the young neighbors were frolicking together.

  When everyone was gone, the tired children asleep, and the elders on their way up to bed, Mrs. Murray suddenly remembered she had not covered the kitchen fire. Aunt Jane said she would do it, and went down so softly that she did not disturb faithful Patty, who had also gone to see that all was safe.

  Aunt Jane stopped to watch the little figure standing on the hearth alone, looking into the embers with thoughtful eyes. If Patty could have seen her future there, she would have found a long life spent in glad service to those she loved and who loved her. Not a splendid future, but a useful, happy one—“only a servant” perhaps, yet a good and faithful woman, blessed with the confidence, respect, and affection of those who knew her genuine worth.

  As a smile broke over Patty’s face, Miss Jane said with an arm round the little blue-gowned figure—

  “What are you dreaming and smiling about, deary? The friends that are to come for you someday, with a fine fortune in their pockets?”

  “No, Ma’am, I feel as if I’ve found my folks. I don’t want any finer fortune than the love they’ve given me today. I’m trying to think how I can deserve it, and smiling because it’s so beautiful and I’m so happy,” answered Patty, looking up at her first friend with full eyes and a glad glance that made her lovely.

  Tilly’s Christmas

  “I’M SO GLAD TOMORROW IS CHRISTMAS because I’m going to have lots of presents,” said Kate, glowing with anticipation.

  “I’m glad as well,” Bessy chimed, “though I don’t expect any presents but a pair of mittens.”

  It was Tilly’s turn to speak, and she startled them with her words, “I’m very glad tomorrow is Christmas, even though I shan’t have any presents at all.”

  These sentiments were spoken as the three little girls trudged home from school, and Tilly’s words struck a cord of pity in the others. Kate and Bessy wondered how she could speak so cheerfully and be so happy when she was too poor to receive even the smallest of gifts on Christmas Day.

  “Don’t you wish you could find a purse full of money right here in the path?” asked Kate, the child who was going to have lots of presents.

  “Oh, don’t I! If I could keep it honestly, that is,” said Tilly, her eyes glowing at the prospect.

  “What would you buy?” asked Bessy, rubbing her cold hands and longing for her mittens.

  “I’ve worked it all out in my mind,” Tilly responded. “I’d buy a pair of large, warm blankets, a load of wood, a s
hawl for mother, and a pair of shoes for me. If there was enough left, I’d give Bessy a new hat so that she would not have to wear Ben’s old felt one.”

  The girls giggled at that, but Bessy pulled the funny hat down over her ears and said she was much obliged but she would rather have candy.

  “Let’s look, and maybe we can find a purse. People are always going about with money at Christmastime. How do we know someone has not lost it here on this path?” said Kate.

  So the three little girls went along the snowy road, looking about them, half in earnest, half in fun. Suddenly, Tilly sprang forward, exclaiming loudly, “I see it! I’ve found a purse!”

  Kate and Bessy followed quickly, but sputtered with disappointment as they realized that there was no purse lying in the snow but only a little bird. It lay upon the snow with its wings spread and feebly fluttered, too weak to fly. Its little feet were benumbed with cold and its once bright eyes were dull with pain. Instead of a chipper song, it could only utter a faint chirp now and then as if pleading for help.

  “Nothing but a stupid old robin. How maddening!” cried Kate, sitting down to rest on a nearby tree stump.

  “I shan’t touch it. I found one once and took care of it until it was well. The ungrateful thing flew away the minute it was able,” said Bessy, creeping under Kate’s shawl and pulling her hands up under her chin to warm them.

  Tilly heard not a word. “Poor little birdie!” she crooned. “How pitiful you look and how glad you must be to see someone coming along to help you. I’ll take you up gently and carry you home to Mother. Don’t be frightened, dear. I am your friend.” Tilly knelt down in the snow, stroking the bird with her hand and the tenderest pity in her face.

  It was only then that she realized Kate and Bessy were laughing.

  “Don’t stop for that thing,” they chided. “Now come along. Let’s continue looking for a purse before it gets too cold and dark.”

  “You wouldn’t leave it to die!” cried Tilly. “I’d rather have the bird than the money we might find in a purse. After all, the purse would not be mine, and I would only be tempted to keep it. But this poor little creature will thank and love me for my trouble. Thank goodness I came in time.”

  Gently lifting the bird, Tilly felt its tiny, cold claws cling to her hand and its dim eyes brighten as it nestled down with a grateful chirp.

  “Now I’ve a Christmas present after all,” she said smiling. “I’ve always wanted a bird, and this one will be such a pretty pet for me.”

  “He’ll fly away the first chance he gets and die anyhow,” said Bessy. “You’d be better off not to waste your time with him.”

  “He can’t pay you for taking care of him, and my mother says it isn’t worthwhile to help folks that can’t help us,” added Kate.

  “My mother said, ‘Do to others as you would to be done to by them,’ and I’m sure I’d like someone to help me if I was dying of cold and hunger. I also remember the little saying, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ This bird is my little neighbor, and I’ll love him and care for him, just as I often wish our rich neighbor would love and care for us,” answered Tilly. She leaned forward slightly, breathing her warm breath over the tiny bird, who looked up at her with confiding eyes, quick to feel and know a friend.

  “What a funny girl you are,” said Kate. “Caring for that silly bird, and talking about loving your neighbor in that serious way. Mr. King doesn’t care a bit for you, and he never will, though he knows how poor you are. So I don’t think your plan amounts to much.”

  “I believe it, and I shall be happy to do my part,” answered Tilly. “I must bid you good night now, and I hope you’ll have a merry Christmas and receive lots of lovely things.”

  As she left her friends and walked on alone toward the little old house where she lived, Tilly’s spirits began to sink. Suddenly, she felt so poor. Her eyes were filled with tears as she thought of all the pretty things other children would be finding in their stockings on Christmas morning. It would have been so pleasant to think of finding something for herself and pleasanter still to have been able to give her mother something nice. So many comforts were lacking with no hope of getting them. The little family was pressed enough to simply find food and firewood.

  “Never mind, birdie,” whispered Tilly. “We’ll make the best of what we have and be merry in spite of our lack. You shall have a happy Christmas, anyway, and I know God won’t forget us, even if everyone else does.”

  Tilly stopped a moment to dry her eyes and lean her cheek against the bird’s soft breast. The tiny creature afforded her much comfort, though it could only love her, not one thing more.

  “See, Mother, what a nice present I’ve found,” she cried, entering the house with a cheery face that was like sunshine in the dark room.

  “I’m glad of that, dearie, as I have not been able to get my little girl anything but a rosy apple. What a poor little bird it is. Here, quickly, give the poor thing some of your warm bread and milk.”

  “Why Mother, this bowl is so full. I’m afraid you gave me all the milk,” said Tilly, smiling over the nice, steaming supper that stood ready for her.

  “I’ve had plenty, dear. Sit down and warm your feet. You may put the bird in my basket on this cozy flannel.”

  After placing the bird tenderly into the basket, Tilly peeped into the closet and saw nothing there but dry bread.

  “Oh dear,” Tilly exclaimed to herself, “Mother’s given me all the milk and is going without her tea because she knows I’m hungry. I’ll surprise her by fixing her a good supper while she is outside splitting wood.”

  As soon as her mother left the room, Tilly reached for the old teapot and carefully poured out a part of the milk. Then from her pocket, she drew a great, plump bun that one of the school children had given her. She had saved it for just this purpose. She toasted a slice of the bun and set a bit of butter on the plate for her mother to put on it. When her mother came in, she found the table drawn up in a warm place, a hot cup of tea ready, and Tilly and the birdie waiting patiently.

  Such a poor little supper, and yet such a happy one, for love, charity, and contentment were welcome guests around the humble table. That Christmas Eve was a sweeter one even than that at the great house, where light shone, fires blazed, a great tree glittered, music sounded, and children danced and played.

  “We must go to bed early,” said Tilly’s mother as they sat by the fire. “We must save the wood, for there is only enough to last through tomorrow. The day after, I shall be paid for my work, and we can buy more.”

  “If only my bird were a fairy bird and would give us three wishes,” Tilly said quietly. “How nice that would be! But, the poor dear can give me nothing, and it is of no matter.” Tilly was looking at the robin, who lay in the basket with his head under his wing, nothing more than a feathery, little ball.

  “He can give you one thing, Tilly,” her mother said. “He can give you the pleasure of doing good. That is one of the sweetest things in life, and it can be enjoyed by the poor as well as the rich.” As Tilly’s mother spoke, she softly stroked her daughter’s hair with her tired hand.

  Suddenly Tilly started with surprise and pointed toward the window. “I saw a face—a man’s face,” she confided in a frightened whisper. “He was looking in. He’s gone now, but I truly saw him.”

  Tilly’s mother stood up and went to the door. “Some traveler attracted by the light perhaps,” she said.

  The wind blew cold, the stars shone bright, the snow lay white on the field and the wood, and the Christmas moon was glittering in the sky; but no human person was standing within sight.

  “What sort of face was it?” asked Tilly’s mother, quickly closing the door.

  “A pleasant sort of face, I think, but I was so startled to see it there that I don’t quite know what it was like. I wish we had a curtain there,” said Tilly.

  “I like to have our light shine out in the evening, for the road is dark and lonely just here, and the t
winkle of our lamp is pleasant to people as they pass by. We can do so little for our neighbors. I am glad we can at least cheer them on their way,” said Tilly’s mother. “Now put those poor, old shoes to dry and go to bed, dearie. I’ll be coming soon.”

  Tilly went, taking her birdie with her to sleep in his basket near her bed, lest he should be lonely in the night. Soon the little house was dark and still.

  When Tilly came down and opened the front door that Christmas morning, she gave a loud cry, clapped her hands together, and then stood still, quite speechless with wonder and delight. There, near the stoop, lay a great pile of firewood all ready to be burned. There was also a large bundle and a basket with a lovely nosegay of winter roses, holly, and evergreen tied to the handle.

  “Oh, Mother! Who could have left it?” cried Tilly, pale with excitement and the surprise of it all. She stepped out to bring in the basket, and her mother, a few steps behind, stooped down to scoop up the bundle.

  “The best and dearest of all Christmas angels is called ‘Charity,’” Tilly’s mother answered, her eyes welling with tears as she undid the bundle. “She walks abroad at Christmastime doing beautiful deeds like this, and never staying to be thanked.”

  It was all there—all that Tilly had imagined. There were warm, thick blankets, the comfortable shawl, a pair of new shoes, and best of all, a pretty winter hat for Bessy. The basket was full of good things to eat, and on the flowers lay a small note saying, “For the little girl who loves her neighbor as herself.”

  “Mother, I really do think my little bird is an angel in disguise and that all these splendid things came from him,” said Tilly, laughing and crying with joy.

  It really did seem so. As Tilly spoke, the robin flew to the table, hopped to the nosegay, and perching among the roses, began to chirp with all his little might. The sun streamed in on the flowers, the tiny bird, and the happy child with her mother. No one saw a shadow glide across the window or ever knew that Mr. King had seen and heard the little girls the night before. No one ever dreamed that the rich neighbor had learned a priceless lesson from his poor, little neighbor girl.