Speaker 1: 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