The Stairway to Happiness The Story of a Christmas Eve by Dellah Dimmit, Now,
Mamsie, I just will pull those wet rubbers off your poor tired feet
here, stick them out. Why there's a hole in the heel of this
one, and you've tried to stop it with a wad of paper. Oh,
you naughty Mamsie, not to have bought yourself new rubbers instead of the
muffler. You got me me wearing a muffler, and you with a hole
in your rubbers. Oh, Mamsie Judith, you ridiculous child. The offending
rubber was whisked instantly out of sight, divested of her moist outer garments by
three pairs of willing, girlish hands. The indomitable figure of Mamsie straightened,
showing in the lamp light's glow not a trace of the weariness with which she
had plodded home through the dark, slushy illy lighted streets, not daring to
use even the small price of a car fare. Come children, The voice
was that of a girl herself. Let us see what Ellen has for our
tea to night, same as last night and the night afore, Mamsie,
dear the voice of Ellen, familiarly known as the market Woman, came blithely
floating back from the dining room where she had retired to light up tea and
toast the butter spread a little thinner, just for the sake of variety,
Would we dare buy a chicken, a very small one, Mamsie, for
our Christmas dinner tomorrow? No, dear, the full round cheerfulness of Mamsie's
tone never wavered. You know, we all agreed that this was to be
a penny Christmas and we must abide by the articles. That's all right,
Mamsie, as cheerfully responded the market Woman. I just asked for information,
that was all. There's enough of the cold Heart left over from Sunday's dinner
to serve another meal, and with some fresh dressing, it will be delicious.
Want to hear what's on the boards for tonight, Mamsie? Dear,
Well, we're going to turn ourselves into real Christmas weights for thing after supper
and stroll through town singing carols on people's doorsteps. That was Judith's idea,
isn't it clever? And we're going to leave you to do the dishes all
by your lone self, Mamsie, you haven't had all the exercise that's rightly
coming to you down at that employment bureau, wrestling with other folk servant girl
problems for the munificent sum of a dollar a day. So we're just going
to let you wash all these dishes. After that you may cuddle up by
the fireplace in here and warm your toes into exactly as you please all the
rest of the time we're gone. Only do not go into the east room
where we fix the tree and snip off all your presents to give to somebody
else. We, for our part, have sure lived up to the articles.
For there isn't a blessed thing on that tree or among any of the
packages that Rastus carried round for us this afternoon that cost more than a penny.
And that's a certified fact. Mother, Wait that Judith Dabney, Ellen
Maria and Eileen Mayo Weight can each fix her hand and seal there too.
But Mamsie, I'm desperately afraid some of the dear people exchanging with us have
not lived up to the agreement as they said they would. Aunt Lucy Landis,
for one, has sent a little remembrance in a great big bandbox affair,
and some of the other packages are sizeable and hefty too. In that
case, and Mamsie's face was gravity itself. I would advise the calling in
of a committee to appraise the gifts all round. And if by any chance
someone's offering exceeds your own in value, why carry it back without delay and
demand your own on the spot. Let us preserve our independence though the heavens
fall. But mother, a bright red spot burned in either of Judith's smooth,
olive cheeks. We girls don't mind being poor the least little bit in
the world. It's only being paupers that hurts, I understand, Dear,
returned Mamsie, who, knowing a better way, never argued with her daughters.
Now wrap up warmly, she admonished, as the girls rose from the
table, leaving her to finish her tea alone. Put on your muffler,
Judith, and don't expose that precious throat, Dear, more than you can
help my charming weights, she exclaimed, as presently the gay group came flitting
down the stairway, cloaked for the street, their dainty heads all bound in
bright scarves. What a sweet way you have chosen to usher in the Christmas
joys. Now give all our dear dear friends your mother's kindliest greeting, and
thank each one who has in any way contributed to our own Christmas. We
can, still, in spite of our changed circumstances, afford to be gracious.
Tell Miss Eliza Elkins that I am promising myself the pleasure of a little
visit with her tomorrow, directly after dinner. She will understand why we cannot
this year invite our friends to us, And say to Doctor Gliddon that I
wish him to accept with my dearest love, this gift in remembrance of your
father. You are all willing, are you not? That I should part
with it? She had risen as she spoke from the meagerly furnished tea table,
and drawn from a secret drawer in a man's much worn desk, still
filled with his unused possessions, a packet wrapped in fine tissue paper a watch.
It proved to be a watch of magnificent workmanship and priceless, for it
had been presented to the dead father of the girls by the Medical Association of
his state. As the lines engraved on the inner lid of the watch read
in token of appreciation for his distinguished service in behalf of suffering humanity. How
sweet of you, mother, How sweet Judith's voice was pointed with little tender
thrills. May I carry it over. With the departure of the girls,
the old house grew strangely oppressively quiet. But to the mother it was an
intense relief to sink into the shabby, sheltering arms of the chair that had
been her husband's, and there alone, among the wavering shadows of the fire
lit room, with no solicitous young eyes on her, just be without dissimulation.
What in sad reality she was only a tired, utterly dispirited woman with
the battle of life going against her. Brooding was a costly luxury, but
she gave herself up to it, And as the images of the old bright
days when a strong arm had shielded her and her little brood from the rigors
of a hard world without rose before her, tears forced themselves between the tightly
closed eyelids in the secrecy of her heart. She was compelled to admit the
sheer, blank wall confronting her whichever way she turned. There was the matter
of the twins being kept in the academy the remainder of the year, the
tuition she might, by dint of closer management, yet possibly provide for,
But their graduation gowns and other incidentals were beyond her power of obtaining. Then
there were judas mens music lessons, so few remaining until the child could complete
the course and measurably fit herself for teaching the art she so passionately loved.
But that too was not to be thought of. Already they were restricting themselves
in the matter of living expenses to the barest necessities. It had gone to
her heart to deny Ellen's unspoken wish in the matter of the Christmas dinner,
but it had to be done silently. She lifted up her heart in a
prayer for sustaining grace and a yet larger human wisdom in meeting these and all
emergencies. At the first sound of tripping feet, she drew herself up,
and, as though by some magic, seemed to become young and eager eyed
again, Oh Mamsie, the gay weight, Their cheeks flushed, their eyes
sparkling, and all speaking at once burst in upon her. Such a time
as we've had, such a wonderful, wonderful time. Why you haven't watched
the dishes, girl, She hasn't washed the dishes, nor cleared the table.
And above the din rose Mamsie's own blithe voice, denying the charge of
mooning, and engaging to do the forgotten dishes twice next day by way of
penance. If only they might be allowed to stand tonight, since this was
Christmas Eve. Now tell me all that happened. Mamsie's expressive face shone with
the light of anticipation. Mamsie's voice quivered under the enchantment of the hour,
still as pretty as any of her girls. What a picture Mamsie made,
and what a Christmas Eve they were all having. Now, don't leave out
a bit. I'm wild to know what everybody did and said. I know
they must all have thought it bright and clever, a really beautiful thing in
you to turn yourselves into real Christmas weights and come singing their festivities in Where
did you go first? Why, Mamsie? What a question to doctor Gliddon's,
of course. And when the dear blessed old man came and softly opened
his door, and we could see him sitting there inside with his grand white
head bowed, listening with his hand up to his good ear. We just
stole inside and made a little circle round him and sang him every one of
our carols. Then we presented him the watch, and he arose and made
us a little speech. I don't believe any of us ever quite realized before.
I'm afraid we did not what a perfectly splendid man our father was.
But doctor Gliddon told us some things about him to night Mother, some things
which he had done for folks, oh, poor suffering folks who could never
pay him anything, you know. That made us feel very exalted and very
humble too. And then doctor Gliddon just slipped father's watch inside his pocket and
said he would carry it, thinking ever of his great and good friend Wyndham
Weight, and hoped that he himself might one day pass it back into our
family again, untarnished and with its usefulness unimpaired. Why it was just as
though Mother, he were giving us some great and unspeakable gift, instead of
us giving him one any man can give, dear, But it takes a
gentleman to receive Mamsie's voice thrilled. So when the watch finally comes back into
your hands, its value will be enhanced by all the sacred and beautiful memories
of the christly minister who received both your father and mother into the church,
married them, christened their three children, and read the commitment service over your
father's grave. The dear doctor well where next to miss Eliza's, and we
found her crying over Eileen's letter calendar. She had just opened it because she
couldn't wait any longer. And the poor old soul kept saying, three hundred
and sixty five letters, three hundred and sixty five letters, all for me.
I can't die this year. I've simply got to keep alive until the
last one of those letters is read. So then we told her that the
very last of all was the autograph letter from General Lee to great Aunt Sallie
Wcut on the eve of her marriage. And miss Eliza said, children,
has Sallie Wait committed that treasure to my hands? And mother, you'd have
thought she held an empire's crown jewels in her hands. Oh, I can
well believe it, tremulously, responded missus Waite. For Miss Eliza, then,
in her beautiful girlhood, was bridesmaid to Aunt Sallie, and her own
sweetheart was one of the General's aides, and after his early tragic death,
the General wrote Miss Liza a letter, but her letter was lost in the
family's flight that next year out of Petersburg. Yes, yes, dear miss
Eliza, I knew she would prize that letter above all earthly possessions. And
Missus French, poor lady, did you sing under her window? Oh yes,
Mamsie. And when we told them we wanted to come once a week
throughout the year and sing as our Christmas present to them, the Major followed
us outside to thank us and to whisper that this would be the most acceptable
gift we could possibly have brought. That Missus French was always better for days
after one of our little sings. And oh, Mamsie, old bedridden Missus
Maynard was so happy over her portable window garden gay and all those blossoms we
had coaxed out under the window glass. And Aunt Lucy exclaimed and kept on
exclaiming over Ellen's sewing basket made out of the cheese box, lacquered and lined
with the flounce off my old pink dimity. Really it did look handsome with
those bands of brass beating tacked around it, and it just fitted into the
jet in her bay window, and oh, everybody else was charmed, and
it was such fun. Why, Mother, it just seemed like we actually
had more to give this year, when we thought the locusts had just about
eaten us out of everything we possessed than we ever had to give before.
They all seemed to think that even if we hadn't put money, as we
had put time and ingenuity and heaps of love, or as Aunt Lucy Landis
expressed it, we had put ourselves, the whole of ourselves into our home
made presents. Why it was beautiful, just beautiful, Mother, And we
were so carried away by the spirit of it, and feeling so sort of
Christmasy ourselves that we forgot everything about the bank breaking and us losing all the
money we had in the world. And do you know what we've gone and
done? Mother? Why we told miss Eliza and Doctor Gliddon and Major and
missus French that we were expecting them all quite as usual for Christmas dinner tomorrow.
We never meant to Mother, truly we didn't, But what else were
we to say when every one of them said to us that they supposed they
were to come as usual to us? Tomorrow. Whatever are we going to
do about it, Mamsie. Do Mamsie's heart, it is true, gave
one dismayed bound, but not for worlds and more worlds? Would she have
let her girls know it? Do? Why? We will make them all
welcome. Of course. We will set out our best china and my finest
damask in the silver service that was your great great grandmother's, which has graced
every like occasion all these years, And with Doctor Gliddon's dear voice invoking God's
blessing upon us, all even warmed over heart, will furnish a feast.
Besides, I think there is little of the quince marmalade left, and with
some of Ellen's milk biscuit, I have no doubt but that we shall fare
famously. Now let us have our tree. But first, if you are
not too hoarse, sing just for me. It came upon the midnight clear
Mamsie seated at the old piano, touching the time stained keys with light fingers,
listened with straining heart for the lines. And ye beneath life's crushing load,
whose forms are bending low, who toil along the climbing way with painful
steps and slow look now for glad and golden hours. Come swiftly on the
wing oh rest beside the weary road, and hear the angels sing. The
little glimmering Southern Pine, soon relieved of its light burden of home gifts,
stood in uncom promising stiffness above the packages from outside acquaintances. Judith picked up
the band box affair and handed it to her mother, saying, with a
little catch in her voice, I don't care if there's a town lot in
side of this, mother. If Doctor Gliddon could receive father's watch and Miss
Eliza Aunt Sally's letter in the spirit in which they were both given, we
are mighty poor in soul if we haven't caught a little bit of their nobleness.
Take off the lid, Mamsie. But the band box, unwrapped,
yielded nothing but a round footrest that stood apologetically on four wobbly screw legs,
and some other articles, crying loudly their home manufacture. Poor Aunt Lucy Landis
had done her conscientious best, but even the girls could see that it had
been the most dismal kind of failure. They stood in a little hushed group,
thinking remorsefully of what it must have cost this most generous of friends to
have dispatched these poor contrivances. Oh, Mamsie exclaimed Judith contritely, weren't we
vulgar? Weren't we vulgar? Though? To go around telling folks that because
we were poor they couldn't pay anything for the presents they gave us not vulgar,
dear, amended Mamsie, only thoughtless and a little unmindful of the rights
of others who like to give as well as to receive. They would not
perhaps have admitted it, but there was a sense of disappointment, of something
lacking, which even the cards and notes, freighted with love and tender wishes
could not altogether cover. Deeper than the dearth of gifts or the meagerness of
such as were sent, was the consciousness of pain inflicted on some whose friendship
had made much of the sweetness of life to them all. But they were
not left long to such reveries, for presently there broke a sound as of
shuffling feet on the back gallery, some colored person, doubtless come to ask
a donation for a Christmas festivity. Mamsie's first regretful thought was that, for
the first and only time in her life, she would be compelled to deny
any such demand on her slender resources. Then it was that Judith, upon
opening the door, received the warm, soft little bundle being thrust unceremoniously upon
her. Instinctively her arms close round it. Those of her family within the
inner room caught the drawling, honeyed voice such as the southern negress alone of
all the world possesses, saying, tell miss Sallie, I'd nun waited a
mighty long time on them, no count white folks what never come back after
this her baby, And I'd just blage to get back home and change this
old dress and get all my good shoes, and say to miss Sallie child,
if she'd be pleased to look after it till we all's church Christmas suppers
over, I'll shaw'll come back and rid her of it. P is like
to me the same rich, warm voice went on complainingly that some folks as
mighty careless of their chillin drop an I'm raul for we old a tan what
ain't no kin to em at all? Missus Waite came hastening to the door.
Oh suki, she broke in at once. Has no one from the
foundling's home been over yet after that, poor little knight, Why, of
course I will keep the baby. You did perfectly right to bring it over
to me, Only do not come back for it. Not to night,
Suki, I myself will see that it is cared for this one night at
least, She closed the door on the already rapidly retreating Suki, whose thoughts
were all centered on the church supper and her own proper adorning for that all
important function. Meanwhile, Judith had carried her unsought burden into the warmth and
light of the living room, and was engaged in unswathing the coarse, soiled
wrappings from about a plump and fuzzy headed baby, who fixed a pair of
unwinking and very blue eyes upon her and continued steadily to regard her. Howdy
do inquired the object of this concentrated screw affably, while the other girls gathered
round in laughing wonderment, all questioning at once where did he come from?
Mamsie? Is it a him? Or is he a her? Oh?
Isn't he the darlingest thing? Ever? He's ours to keep, isn't he?
Mamsie? In the midst of such rapid cross fire, of inquiries piecemeal,
such slight details as were known concerning the baby came out. He had
been found. Indeed, Mamsie herself had picked him up that morning, having
almost stepped upon the odd looking bundle wrapped about with a soiled gray blanket and
thrust a short way within a dark alley through which she was hastening to reach
the office on time. It appeared to be a simple case of child abandonment,
although no trace of any person or persons leaving a child had as yet
been found, other than a mover's wagon with tightly drawn cover had been seen
very early that morning in the neighborhood of the alley into which the baby had
been placed. The supposition was that these were the people who had cast off
the child. There had been some talk of pursuing the wagon, but or
so Mamsie argued, the persons in the wagon had shown their unfitness for any
responsibility on its behalf, parental or otherwise by their heartless act of abandonment,
and so she was inclined to believe that no move had been made in the
matter. At least she hoped that none had been made. She said this
with her eyes resting on the baby, thinking how soft and tender a blue
his eyes were, and thinking too of the hardness of heart of any who
could cast adrift on a cold December morning, so small and helpless a creature.
What do you suppose his name is, Mamsie? Could you make a
guess just by looking at him? Suddenly asked Judith, transferring her interest from
the uninteresting matter of the baby's guardians to the baby itself, who still maintained
a fixity of gaze, as though he would determine what sort of a strange
creature this was, with the vivid red cheeks and the very dark eyes,
who seemed to have appropriated him all to herself. I'll tell you what he
looks like, said Ellen, her head turned critically to one side. He
looks why, he looks, for all the world like a chicken. That's
just Pip the shell. I say, let's call him Pip. Pip Pip,
Oh, you dear fuzzy headed Pip, Mamsie, I say, Mamsie,
can't we keep Pip for our very own Yes, yes, Mamsie,
they won, and all now chimed in. Do let us keep him?
It won't take any more to feed Pip than it does to feed one of
the kittens. This from Ellen, and I'll make all his clothes. I'll
wash an iron for him too, This from Judith. Yes, do let
us keep him? Do do? Now? They were all three talking clamorously
at once. Please do, Mamsie. We won't let him be one speck
of trouble to you. We'll give the white kitten and the gray kitten,
and yes, the Maltese kitten all away. Indeed we will, Mamsie,
just as soon as ever we can find good Christmas holmes for them. Please
say that we may keep Pip. Mamsie said nothing at all. She only
looked at little Pip. They couldn't keep him, of course they couldn't.
It was not to be considered for one moment. But what a dear,
downy yellow head Pip had. It cost far more to keep a baby than
it did to keep a kitten, or two kittens, or three kittens,
or any number of kittens. Mamsie knew that if the girls didn't, No,
she could not, She positively could not allow herself to think of it.
But what round wondering eyes Pip had, and so blue? No,
she must not, she positively must not. So stealing her heart as she
invariably tried to steal it Whenever a new wave of a kitten appeared to have
its fate decided, she began quite firmly, I am sure you wouldn't have
me, When all at once it flashed upon her that it was on just
such a night as this the inn had been too full to receive another such
little child. No, I am sure you wouldn't have me, she recommenced,
in a strangely altered voice, turn a helpless baby out into the wet
and storm of of a Christmas eve. Oh Pip, you're going to be
my baby? No, mine, mine, I say again. All three
voices were raised at one and the same time, each striving to outbid the
others. Oh, Pip, we'll have to divide you, Yes, Snip,
you wentto two no, into three parts with the scissors. How will
you like that, Pip? Apparently, Pip looked with no favor on this
just division of him into three several parts, For suddenly, and without warning,
he lifted up his voice in an anguish and prolonged wail. He's scared
to death, exclaimed Judith, hugging Pip in his entirety, jealously to her
breast. It's more likely that he's hungry, said the more experienced Mamsie.
Have we any milk, dear, she asked vellin only what we got for
our breakfast. Mamsie, bring that, then we surely can go without our
breakfast on a Christmas morning, that a little hungry child may be fed.
She took the baby and sat down with him in her arms, hardly daring
to think of the grave uncertainties to which she had just committed herself. She
only knew that one of those swift and searching tests that reached to the very
root and groundwork of character had come to her, and she had met it
in the only way she could. It was as though she had been obliged
to step off on to a frail raft, and without owe or any means
of determining her course, trust herself to the open sea, and for the
moment she was uplifted above fear, even the fear of the uncertainties of the
future touching herself and her helpless family, which had been for weeks gnawing at
her heart, That too, had somehow, for the moment, vanished a
lightness of spirit. It might be from the very desperation of her case had
taken free and full possession of her. Pip had been very hungry. At
each spoonful of sustenance offered, he stretched his mouth widely in the manner of
a young fledgling impatient for a worm, till at length a gasping hiccough proclaimed
him full to the point of spilling over. Then, leaving Pip to the
girl's care and bearing a candle, Mamsie went upstairs to bring from the lavendered
hiding place in an upper chamber the cherished things which had clothed her own baby
daughters and that were now to become the possession of the waif so strangely drifted
into her care. Only once did Mamsie falter in her task, and that
was when, with full arms, she began to descend the stairway on another
Christmas Eve, just twenty two years ago. That very night, and at
the self same hour, she was placing a white slippered foot on this same
old stairway, a broad and beautiful thing of grace, its slender carved hand
rail, rich with the mellow tones of age, rounding out into the full
and gracious curve of the final downward step. It had been fitly called the
stairway to happiness because of so many brides, two generations of them before Mamsie's
time, having come down its shining length on this night of all nights,
memories crowded thick and fast upon her, and for a moment it seemed as
though she would sink upon the steps. Then it came to her that this
was, not, after all, the way by which any had crossed the
mystic borderline into life's happiness. This stairway, shining and beautiful though it was,
was but the outward and visible symbol of the real stairway by which she,
following after those long vanished brides, and young Wyndham Wait who had become
her husband on that long ago night, had passed over into happiness. That
stairway, the reels stairway they had together builded for themselves. Its base lay
deep in self surrender, in kindly thought, in tender deed, each for
the other, and for so much of the wide world as lay within their
reach. Why all the span of her husband's short professional life had been one
continuous mission of mercy. His very death from yellow fever, caught while going
freely about among its suffering victims an act of devotion. No, no,
no, this was not that over which they had entered into happiness. That
the real stairway was a thing of the spirit, mystic, imperishable, as
are the things that belonged to God. The baby had scarcely been put into
its white slip of a night gown when in walked Doctor Gliddon, having come
in person, as had been his habit through all the happy, changeful years,
to bring the season's greetings. It was a pretty sight to see the
girls instantly cluster about the benign figure of this most revered of friends, one
taking his cane, another his hat, and still another helping him out of
his greatcoat. He listened in silence to the commonplace story of the baby.
Such things were of daily occurrence. Babies were everywhere thrust upon the cold mercies
of the world with as little care for what might befall them. Perhaps it
was the night, perhaps it was the smallness and helplessness of little Pip,
but at any rate, something seemed to have filled all their hearts with an
inexplicable and overflowing tenderness. Saying no word, doctor Gliddon took the little one
and placed it on his knee, then very gently he laid his hand upon
its small, downy head. He too, had quite forgotten that this was
a foundling. It might have been the Christ himself, for the welcome one
and all had given him. They were still sitting there, a mood and
silent group, when all at once a strange and thunderous knocking began that shook
the old house to its oaken beams. Mamsie again took up the lighted candle
and went hurriedly through the wide front hall, out of which the stairway wound.
Mamsie was unacquainted with fear, and yet she acknowledged to herself a sense
of safety in the presence of doctor Gliddon within. Reaching the door, she
flung it widely open. It may have been that the group outside were not
entirely prepared for the appearance of a slender woman with softly shining, unafraid eyes
holding a candle aloft as she peered into the night. At any rate,
there was a something hostile, a something suggestive of a challenge, a threat,
even in the voice demanding to know if a certain Missus Waite lived in
that house. I am missus Waite. There was not a tremor in Mamsie's
voice, Will you walk in, gentlemen, One lone man, and not
the one who had spoken, stepped swiftly forward into the solitary ray of light
made by the candle's wind blown flame beyond him. Mamsie could not at the
moment see the darkness, however, seemed palpitant with other living, breathing persons,
how many she could not sense. One sidelong glance was sufficient to assure
her that the man closely following her was young. There was about him a
certain disorder of appearance, as though he might have jumped into his clothes days
ago and then forgotten ever to take them off. There was a strained look
in his eyes, a haggardness in his face that, taken in connection with
the tell tale splotches of mud on his furred overcoat, told of fast and
furious riding, very possibly in a forward leaning posture, as though he would
outride the wind itself. It would have been a curiously interesting thing to know
just which of the many conflicting emotions surging through the man's soul was, at
the moment uppermost. When Mamsie's light touch on the door knob disclosed. The
picture within it was a very simple picture, just a benign and beautiful old
man sitting holding a sleeping child in his arms, three young girls hovering over
both. A hoarse and scarcely articulate sound that seemed to have the name of
God in it escaped the man's lips. In two swift strides, he had
crossed the room and himself stood over the whole group. The little Chap's all
right, eh, he spoke, breathlessly and with a swift, sliding inflection.
His voice shook, and his face had in it the paleness of death.
Do you say he's all right, ma'am? At the first sound of
his voice, all three of the girls sprang up and ranged themselves in front
of the baby, shutting him clear away from the sight of this brusque interloper,
whoever he might be. If you have come after our baby, cried
Judith vehemently, you may as well go away. We found him first,
and we mean to keep him. To keep him, they all three exclaimed
simultaneously for a very own hush, and Mamsie put out her hand for silence.
No one heeded her. He's ours chanted the girls together again. They
formed a half circle, their short skirts stretched out as a screen hostility in
the eyes of them all. Pip is ours, and we mean to have
him christened tomorrow, because he's a Christmas baby, christened. The ghost of
a smile for just a bare second wavered on the stranger's lips. Christened Pip.
Why know, that's what we are going to call him, just among
ourselves. His real name will be will be, well, something quite different,
is it? Is it of any interest to you, sir, what
we name our baby now that we've adopted him? Well, yes, a
little again, that suspicion of a smile just touched the man's lips. Are
you? Are you from the Foundlings Home? Sorry, but I can't claim
the honor. Are you any any relation of Pips? Only his father,
that's all. And then a thing happened that only a skilled physician could fully
have understood. The stranger with a backward fling of his head, burst suddenly
and crazily into laughter. It was little wonder that they all stared at him.
The revelation and the man's behavior were alike astounding. Judith was the first
to recover speech. Well, she said, witheringly, it doesn't seem to
me that anybody who would leave a dear little baby like this out in the
cold and wet, to starve and die deserves to be a father. By
way of answer, the stranger suddenly and almost roughly, thrust her aside.
Thrust them all aside. Stooping, He lifted the sleeping baby and strained it
to his heart. And as he stood holding it so they saw that his
eyes were wet. The baby stirred and uttered a faint cry. Gently,
the father laid it back in Doctor Gliddon's arms. I'll have to ask you
to keep him a little longer, he said, and this time his voice
sounded controlled. There's further business to do to night. Some telegraphing too,
that I can entrust to no one but myself. You won't mind, madam,
He turned towards missus Waite, who had scarcely yet recovered presence of mind.
You won't mind if I throw a guard about your house? Will you?
I know if you think it at all necessary? Sir? But would
it not be a hard hearted person who would harm a little child? There
are such in the world, he made quick answer. Only four nights ago
this boy was taken from his crib stolen away. Oh my god, I
expected. Mamsie's low cry interrupted him. Has he a mother? If she
hasn't drowned herself in her tears? Oh, then, sir, don't stop
here a minute. Throw twenty guards if you wish about my house. Only
do not keep her in suspense a moment longer. Tell her, Oh,
tell her for me that not a hair of his head has been harmed.
Stooping, she gathered the sleeping baby to her tender breast, and as she
rose to face the father, her own eyes were as full of tears as
his had been. Doctor Gliddon rose at once. I will go with you,
he said, with grave courtesy. You may require a friend's aid,
and together they passed out into the night. Soon, the storm, which
had been all day gathering, broke with sullen fury. The wind increased in
violence, and the long withheld rain poured in a succession of slanting sheets broadside
of the old house, stoutly resisting its beating pressure. The stars faintly showing
in the uncertain earlier evening, had all been blotted out of the sky,
and except for the recurrent flashes of lightning in the riven sky, the outside
world seemed but a mass of trembling blackness, filled with a multiplied roar,
as of something alive and moving from far up the valley. The girls huddled
on the floor drew closer about their holding the sleeping baby on her lap.
They were quite alone, as all new, But there were strange noises breaking
every now and then in the dim and silent chambers of the upper regions of
the house, as though the dead and vanished life up there were awaking and
endeavoring to join in the universal tumult hemmed in surrounded all but engulfed. It
seemed to Mamsie's aroused consciousness that the rise of another hostile wave would surely sweep
her and all belonging to her as driftwood. Before it, she knew not
where of them all. Little Pip alone was undisturbed. In the safe shelter
of Mamsie's encircling arms. He slept peacefully on his breath, now and again,
coming in little swift catches, his warm mouth touched at times by a
fleeting smile, as though he had found a sweet security in the port of
dreams. A paleness came into Mamsie's cheek and a tremulousness to her lips.
The storm all at once had taken on terrifying significance. In its all encompassing
might, It was like unto that which was ruthlessly sweeping down upon her.
At last, doubt and despair had pounced upon her. She was afraid,
with an inward, anguished cry for help. When no help was at hand,
she struggled to her feet, the baby still in her arms. Oh
don't leave us, Mamsie wailed, the girls together laying restraining hands upon her.
Just a moment, DearS, I I think I hear some one at
the back trying to find the way in. And we must not turn any
shelterless away on a night like this. Thrusting Pip into Judith's embrace, she
slipped away from their hold. It was only old Rastus who had made his
way through the night and the storm to see if all was right with his
beloved family. There was something warm and comforting in the old man's presence.
His father had served Mamsie's grandfather in his faithfulness and devotion to her and hers.
Rastus represented the stability that had seemed to characterize the old order. She
saw that he was drenched from head to foot, the water streaming from the
ragged cap. In his trembling old hand, and in her sudden solicitude for
his comfort, she almost forgot the storm. Rastus must have dry things to
put on, and she went to fetch them. But he was strangely oblivious
to his own condition. He didn't seem to be aware that his garments were
soaked through. Something of infinitely more importance lay heavily upon his mind. What
you all goin to have? The old dinner to mora? He said,
in a troubled voice. I don't know, said Mamsie, simply with a
sudden swift recollection of a multitude fed once upon a barley loaf and a few
small fishes. It's mighty curse to ask folks to dinner and not know how
they's to be fed, the old man said, with a shake of his
gray head, expressive of his own deep misgivings. Yes, isn't it.
And she tried to force a smile. But that is what we appear to
have done. Before she had ceased speaking, Doctor Glydden burst in through the
front door. He too brought in with him a breath of the storm.
But unlike Rastus. He was dry. Some provident hand had seen to his
protection. A majestic looking old man, he seemed under the soft, revealing
light from the old hall chandelier, which had been set dimly burning, even
taller and broader than before. Missus Waite flew to his side, Sally,
he said, tranquility, before she had time to speak. The gentleman will
be back presently to remain over night, possibly through Christmas, with you,
he and the child. There's been a wash out somewhere up through the mountain
road, and the wires are down. They are relaying the message to the
mother by courier, and say they will get it through before morning, so
that her anxie piety will shortly be allayed. If you would like to have
me, Sallie, I also will remain with you over night. I see
Rastus out there. Have him light up the Christmas fires, Sallie, as
he used in the old days. Tell him to pile on the wood,
that there may be a cheerful glow everywhere upstairs and down. This is such
a beautiful old house, Sallie, so mellowed by time, so redolent of
memories, fine and sweet. The old man's gaze wandered about a moment,
then fastened down the stairway, the beautiful, soaring stairway, disappearing in the
obscurity of the shadows above, much as human life vanishes at last in the
mysteries of the infinite. And yet he continued, slowly and meditatively. You
could not have kept the old place six months longer, I know, she
said, with quivering lips, and in so low a whisper that he did
not hear it, although he somehow sensed the meaning of it, and knowing
all that you could yet take a little child in, I couldn't turn one
away. No, turning folks away from your door is a thing you have
never yet learned. He placed his hands, in fatherly affection on the shoulders
of the woman he had held as a child upon his knee. If you
had, things might have turned out to be vastly different, both for you
and for the child. It would have died, perished in the storm,
and there would have been an unassuageable grief in a very grand home to night.
You did not know that you were saving the life of what is perhaps
the richest baby in all the land. You did not know that impossible,
cried Mamsie. You are dreaming, dreaming, am i? The old man
laughed softly as he thrust something shining and leathery into her hand. And is
that a dream too? Within it is the price a gang of beasts,
hunted to their lair, thought to place on a baby's little life. And
since they failed to secure it, it falls to you. There is enough
in there to save your home, to secure your future. Two Why why,
Sally, what are you crying for? And of the Stairway to Happiness.
The Story of a Christmas Eve by Dellah Dimit