Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe

by Harriet Beecher Stowe

  Spring, who had got into the slip with the boys, and been an equally attentive and edified listener, after service began a tour of investigation, dog-fashion, with his nose; for how could a minister’s dog form a suitable judgment of any new procedure if he was repressed from the use of his own leading faculty? So, Spring went round the church conscientiously, smelling at pew doors, smelling of the greens, smelling at the heels of gentlemen and ladies, till he came near the door of the church, when he suddenly smelt something which called for immediate attention, and he made a side dart into the thicket where Dolly was sleeping, and began licking her face and hands and pulling her dress, giving short barks occasionally, as if to say, “Come, Dolly, wake up!” At the same instant Hiel, who had seen her from the gallery, came down just as the little one was sitting up with a dazed, bewildered air.

  “Why, Dolly, how came you out o’ bed this time o’ night? Don’t ye know the nine o’clock bell’s jest rung?”

  Dolly knew Hiel well enough — what child in the village did not? She reached up her little hands, saying in an apologetic fashion:

  “They were all gone away, and I was so lonesome!”

  Hiel took her up in his long arms and carried her home, and was just entering the house door with her as the sleigh drove up with Parson Cushing and his wife.

  “Wal, Parson, your folks has all ben to the ‘lumination — Nabby and Bill and Tom and Dolly here; found her all rolled up in a heap like a rabbit under the cedars.”

  “Why, Dolly Cushing!” exclaimed her mother. “What upon earth got you out of bed this time of night? You’ll catch your death o’ cold.”

  “I was all alone,” said Dolly, with a piteous bleat.

  “Oh, there, there, wife; don’t say a word,” put in the parson. “Get her off to bed. Never mind, Dolly, don’t you cry;” for Parson Cushing was a soft-hearted gentleman and couldn’t bear the sight of Dolly’s quivering under lip. So Dolly told her little story, how she had been promised a sugar dog by Nabby if she’d be a good girl and go to sleep, and how she couldn’t go to sleep, and how she just went down to look from the yard, and how the music drew her right over.

  “There, there,” said Parson Cushing, “go to bed, Dolly; and if Nabby don’t give you a sugar dog, I will. This Christmas dressing is all nonsense,” he added, “but the child’s not to blame — it was natural.”

  “After all,” he said to his wife the last thing after they were settled for the night, “our little Dolly is an unusual child. There were not many little girls that would have dared to do that. I shall preach a sermon right away that will set all this Christmas matter straight,” said the Doctor. “There is not a shadow of evidence that the first Christians kept Christmas. It wasn’t kept for the first three centuries, nor was Christ born anywhere near the 25th of December.”

  * * * * *

  The next morning found little Dolly’s blue eyes wide open with all the wondering eagerness of a new idea.

  Dolly had her wise thoughts about Christmas. She had been terribly frightened at first, when she was brought home from the church; but when her papa kissed her and promised her a sugar dog she was quite sure that, whatever the unexplained mystery might be, he did not think the lovely scene of the night before a wicked one. And when Mrs. Cushing came and covered the little girl up warmly in bed, she only said to her, “Dolly, you must never get out of bed again at night after you are put there; you might have caught a dreadful cold and been sick and died, and then we should have lost our little Dolly.” So Dolly promised quite readily to be good and lie still ever after, no matter what attractions might be on foot in the community.

  Much was gained, however, and it was all clear gain; and forthwith the little fanciful head proceeded to make the most of it, thinking over every feature of the wonder. The child had a vibrating, musical organization, and the sway and rush of the chanting still sounded in her ears and reminded her of that wonderful story in the “Pilgrim’s Progress”, where the gate of the celestial city swung open, and there were voices that sung, “Blessing and honor and glory and power be unto Him who sitteth on the throne.” And then that wonderful star, that shone just as if it were a real star — how could it be! For Miss Ida Lewis, being a young lady of native artistic genius, had cut a little hole in the centre of her gilt paper star, behind which was placed a candle, so that it gave real light, in a way most astonishing to untaught eyes. In Dolly’s simple view it verged on the supernatural — perhaps it was the very real star read about in the Gospel story. Why not? Dolly was at the happy age when anything bright and heavenly seemed credible, and had the child-faith to which all things were possible.

  “I wish, my dear,” said Mrs. Cushing, after they were retired to their room for the night, “that to-morrow morning you would read the account of the birth of Christ in St. Matthew, and give the children some advice upon the proper way of keeping Christmas.”

  “Well, but you know we don’t keep Christmas; nobody knows anything about Christmas,” said the Doctor.

  “You know what I mean, my dear,” replied his wife. “You know that my mother and her family do keep Christmas. I always heard of it when I was a child; and even now, though I have been out of the way of it so long, I cannot help a sort of kindly feeling toward these ways. I am not surprised at all that the children got drawn over last night to the service. I think it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I know by experience just how attractive such things are. I shouldn’t wonder if this other church should draw very seriously on your congregation; but I don’t want it to begin by taking away our own children. Dolly is an inquisitive child; a child that thinks a good deal, and she’ll be asking all sorts of questions about the why and wherefore of what she saw last night.”

  “Oh, yes, Dolly is a bright one. Dolly’s an uncommon child,” said the Doctor, who had a pardonable pride in his children — they being, in fact, the only worldly treasure that he was at all rich in.

  He rose up early on the following Sabbath and proceeded to buy a sugar dog at the store of Lucius Jenks, and when Dolly came down to breakfast he called her to him and presented it, saying as he kissed her:

  “Papa gives you this, not because it is Christmas, but because he loves his little Dolly.”

  “But isn’t it Christmas?” asked Dolly with a puzzled air.

  “No, child; nobody knows when Christ was born, and there is nothing in the Bible to tell us when to keep Christmas.”

  And then in family worship the Doctor read the account of the birth of Christ and of the shepherds abiding in the fields who came at the call of the angels, and they sung the old hymn:

  “While shepherds watched their flocks by night.”

  “Now, children,” he said when all was over, “you must be good children and go to school. If we are going to keep any day on account of the birth of Christ, the best way to keep it is by doing all our duties on that day better than any other. Your duty is to be good children, go to school and mind your lessons.”

  Tom and Bill were quite ready to fall in with their father’s view of the matter. As for Dolly, she put her little tongue advisedly to the back of her sugar dog and found that he was very sweet indeed — a most tempting little animal. She even went so far as to nibble off a bit of the green ground he stood on — yet resolved heroically not to eat him at once, but to make him last as long as possible. She wrapped him tenderly in cotton and took him to the school with her, and when her confidential friend, Bessie Lewis, displayed her Christmas gifts, Dolly had something on her side to show, though she shook her curly head and informed Bessie in strict confidence that there wasn’t any such thing as Christmas, her papa had told her so — a heresy which Bessie forthwith reported when she went home at noon.

  “Poor little child — and did she say so?” asked gentle old Grandmamma Lewis. “Well, dear, you mustn’t blame her — she don’t know any better. You bring the little one in here to-night and I’ll give her a Christmas cooky. I’m sorry for such children.”


  And so, after school, Dolly went in to see dear old Madam Lewis, who sat in her rocking-chair in the front parlor, where the fire was snapping behind great tall brass andirons and all the pictures were overshadowed with boughs of spruce and pine. Dolly gazed about her with awe and wonder. Over one of the pictures was suspended a cross of green with flowers of white everlasting.

  “What is that for?” asked Dolly, pointing solemnly with her little forefinger, and speaking under her breath.

  “Dear child, that is the picture of my poor boy who died — ever so many years ago. That is my cross — we have all one — to carry.”

  Dolly did not half understand these words, but she saw tears in the gentle old lady’s eyes and was afraid to ask more.

  She accepted thankfully and with her nicest and best executed courtesy a Christmas cooky representing a good-sized fish, with fins all spread and pink sugar-plums for eyes, and went home marveling yet more about this mystery of Christmas.

  As she was crossing the green to go home the Poganuc stage drove in, with Hiel seated on high, whipping up his horses to make them execute that grand entrée which was the glory of his daily existence.

  Now that the stage was on runners, and slipped noiselessly over the smooth frozen plain, Hiel cracked his whip more energetically and shouted louder, first to one horse then to another, to make up for the loss of the rattling wheels; and he generally had the satisfaction of seeing all the women rushing distractedly to doors and windows, and imagined them saying, “There’s Hiel; the stage is in!”

  “Hulloa, Dolly!” he called out, drawing up with a suddenness which threw the fore-horses back upon their haunches. “I’ve got a bundle for your folks. Want to ride? You may jest jump up here by me and I’ll take you ‘round to your father’s door;” and so Dolly reached up her little red-mittened hand, and Hiel drew her up beside him.

  “‘Xpect ye want a bit of a ride, and I’ve got a bundle for Widder Badger, down on South Street, so I guess I’ll go ‘round that way to make it longer. I ‘xpect this ‘ere bundle is from some of your ma’s folks in Boston—’Piscopals they be and keeps Christmas. Good-sized bundle ’tis; reckon it’ll come handy in a good many ways.”

  So, after finishing his detour, Hiel landed his little charge at the parsonage door.

  “Reckon I’ll be over when I’ve put up my hosses,” he said to Nabby when he handed down the bundle to her. “I hain’t been to see you much lately, Nabby, and I know you’ve been a-pinin’ after me, but fact is—”

  “Well, now, Hiel Jones, you jest shet up with your imperence,” said Nabby, with flashing eyes; “you jest look out or you’ll get suthin.”

  “I ‘xpect to get a kiss when I come ‘round to-night,” said Hiel, composedly. “Take care o’ that air bundle, now; mebbe there’s glass or crockery in’t.”

  “Hiel Jones,” said Nabby, “don’t give me none o’ your saace, for I won’t take it. Jim Sawin said last night you was the brassiest man he ever see. He said there was brass enough in your face to make a kettle of.”

  “You tell him there’s sap enough in his head to fill it, anyway,” said Hiel. “Good bye, Nabby, I’ll come ‘round this evenin’,” and he drove away at a rattling pace, while Nabby, with flushed cheeks and snapping eyes, soliloquized:

  “Well, I hope he will come! I’d jest like a chance to show him how little I care for him.”

  Meanwhile the bundle was soon opened, and contained a store of treasures: a smart little red dress and a pair of red shoes for Dolly, a half dozen pocket-handkerchiefs for Dr. Cushing, and “Robinson Crusoe” and “Sanford and Merton,” handsomely bound, for the boys, and a bonnet trimming for Mrs. Cushing. These were accompanied by a characteristic letter from Aunt Debby Kittery, opening as follows:

  “Dear Sister:

  “Mother worries because she thinks you won’t get any Christmas presents. However, this comes to give every one of you some of the crumbs which fall from the church’s table, and Mother says she wishes you all a pious Christmas, which she thinks is better than a merry one. If I didn’t lay violent hands on her she would use all our substance in riotous giving of Christmas presents to all the beggars and chimney sweeps in Boston. She is in good health and talks daily of wanting to see you and the children; and I hope before long you will bring some of them, and come and make us a visit.

  “Your affectionate sister,

  “Debby Kittery.”

  There was a scene of exultation and clamor in the parsonage as these presents were pulled out and discussed; and when all possible joy was procured from them in the sitting-room, the children rushed in a body into the kitchen and showed them to Nabby, calling on her to join their acclamations.

  On the whole, when Dolly had said her prayers that night and thought the matter over, she concluded that her Christmas Day had been quite a success.

  The Second Christmas.

  Once more had Christmas come round in Poganuc; once more the Episcopal church was being dressed with ground-pine and spruce; but this year economy had begun to make its claims felt. An illumination might do very well to open a church, but there were many who said “to what purpose is this waste?” when the proposition was made to renew it yearly. Consequently it was resolved to hold the Christmas Eve service with only that necessary amount of light which would enable the worshipers to read the prayers.

  On this Christmas Eve Dolly went to bed at her usual hour with a resigned and quiet spirit. She felt herself a year older, and more than a year wiser, than when Christmas had first dawned upon her consciousness.

  Mis’ Persis appeared on the ground by day-dawn. A great kettle was slung over the kitchen fire, in which cakes of tallow were speedily liquefying; a frame was placed quite across the kitchen to sustain candle-rods, with a train of boards underneath to catch the drippings, and Mis’ Persis, with a brow like one of the Fates, announced: “Now we can’t hev any young ‘uns in this kitchen to-day;” and Dolly saw that there was no getting any attention in that quarter.

  Mis’ Persis, in a gracious Saturday afternoon mood, sitting in her own tent-door dispensing hospitalities and cookies, was one thing; but Mis’ Persis in her armor, with her loins girded and a hard day’s work to be conquered, was quite another: she was terrible as Minerva with her helmet on.

  Dinner-baskets for all the children were hastily packed, and they were sent off to school with the injunction on no account to show their faces about the premises till night. The Doctor, warned of what was going on, retreated to his study at the top of the house, where, serenely above the lower cares of earth, he sailed off into President Edwards’ treatise on the nature of true virtue, concerning which he was preparing a paper to read at the next association meeting.

  That candles were a necessity of life he was well convinced, and by faith he dimly accepted the fact that one day in the year the whole house was to be devoted and given up to this manufacture; and his part of the business, as he understood it, was, clearly, to keep himself out of the way till it was over.

  “There won’t be much of a dinner at home, anyway,” said Nabby to Dolly, as she packed her basket with an extra doughnut or two. “I’ve got to go to church to-day, ‘cause I’m one of the singers, and your ma’ll be busy waitin’ on her; so we shall just have a pick-up dinner, and you be sure not to come home till night; by that time it’ll be all over.”

  Dolly trotted off to school well content with the prospect before her: a nooning, with leave to play with the girls at school, was not an unpleasant idea.

  But the first thing that saluted her on her arrival was that Bessie Lewis — her own dear, particular Bessie — was going to have a Christmas party at her house that afternoon, and was around distributing invitations right and left among the scholars with a generous freedom.

  “We are going to have nuts, and raisins, and cakes, and mottoes,” said Bessie, with artless triumph. The news of this bill of fare spread like wildfire through the school.

  Never had a party been heard of which conte
mplated such a liberal entertainment, for the rising generation of Poganuc were by no means wearied with indulgence, and raisins and almonds stood for grandeur with them. But these mottoes, which consisted of bits of confectionery wrapped up in printed couplets of sentimental poetry, were an unheard-of refinement. Bessie assured them that her papa had sent clear to Boston for them, and whoever got one would have his or her fortune told by it.

  The school was a small, select one, comprising the children of all ages from the best families of Poganuc. Both boys and girls, and all with great impartiality, had been invited. Miss Titcome, the teacher, quite readily promised to dismiss at three o’clock that afternoon any scholar who should bring a permission from parents, and the children nothing doubted that such a permission was obtainable.

  Dolly alone saw a cloud in the horizon. She had been sent away with strict injunctions not to return till evening, and children in those days never presumed to make any exceptions in obeying an absolute command of their parents.

  “But, of course, you will go home at noon and ask your mother, and of course she’ll let you; won’t she, girls?” said Bessie.

  “Oh, certainly; of course she will,” said all the older girls, “because you know a party is a thing that don’t happen every day, and your mother would think it strange if you didn’t come and ask her.” So, too, thought Miss Titcome, a most exemplary, precise and proper young lady, who always moved and spoke and thought as became a schoolmistress, so that, although she was in reality only twenty years old, Dolly considered her as a very advanced and ancient person — if anything, a little older than her father and mother.

  Even she was of opinion that Dolly might properly go home to lay a case of such importance before her mother; and so Dolly rushed home after the morning school was over, running with all her might, and increasing in mental excitement as she ran. Her bonnet blew off upon her shoulders, her curls flew behind her in the wind, and she most inconsiderately used up the little stock of breath that she would want to set her cause in order before her mother.