Speaker 1: Aunt Cyrilla's Christmas Basket by Lucy Maud Montgomery. When Lucy
Rose met Aunt Cyrilia coming downstairs, somewhat flushed and breathless
from her ascent to the garret, with a big, flat
covered basket hanging over her plump arm, she gave a
little sigh of despair. Lucy Rose had done her brave
best for some years, in fact, ever since, she had
put up her hair and lengthened her skirts to break
Aunt Cyrilia of the habit of carrying that basket with
her every time she went to Pembroke. But Aunt Cyrilia
still insisted on taking it and only laughed at what
she called Lucy Rose's finicky notions. Lucy Rose had a horrible,
haunting idea that it was extremely provincial for her aunt
always to take that big basket packed full of country
good things whenever she went to visit Edward and Geraldine.
Geraldine was so stylish and might think it queer. And
then Aunt Cyrilia always would carry it on her arm
and give cookies and apples and molasses taffy out of
it to every child she encountered, and just as often
as not to older folks too. Lucy Rose, when she
went to town with Aunt Syrilia, felt chagrined over this,
all of which goes to prove that Lucy was as
yet very young and had a great deal to learn
in this world. That troublesome worry over what Geraldine would
think nerved her to make a protest in this instance. Now,
Aunt Cyrilia, she pleaded, you're surely not going to take
that funny old basket to Pembrook this time Christmas Day?
And all indeed, indeed I am, returned Aunt Celia briskly
as she put it on the table and proceeded to
dust it out. I never went to see Edward and
Geraldine since they were married, that I didn't take a
basket of good things along with me for them, And
I'm not going to stop now. As for it's being Christmas,
all the more reason. Edward is as always real glad
to get some of the old farmhouse goodies. He says,
they beat city cooking all hollow, and so they do.
But it's so countrified, moaned Lucy Rose. Well I am countrified,
said Aunt Sylia firmly, and so are you. And what's more,
I don't see that it's anything to be ashamed of.
You've got some real silly pride about you, Lucy Rose.
You'll grow out of it in time, but just now
it is giving you a lot of trouble. A basket
is a lot of trouble, said Lucy Rose crossly. You're
always mislaying it, or afraid you will. And it does
look so funny to be walking through the streets that
big bulgy basket hanging on your arm. I'm not a
mite worried about its looks, returned Aunt Sylia calmly. As
for its being a trouble, why maybe it is, But
I have that and other people have the pleasure of it.
Edward and Geraldine don't need it. I know that, but
there may be those that will. And if it hurts
your feelings to walk alongside of a countryfied old lady
with a countryfied basket, while you can just fall behind,
as it were, Aunt s Cyrilia nodded and smiled good humoredly,
and Lucy Rose, though she privately held to her own opinion,
had to smile too. Now let me see, said Aunt
s Cyrilia, reflectively, tapping the snowy kitchen table with the
point of her plum dimpled forefinger. What shall I take?
That big fruitcake for one thing? Edward does like my fruitcake,
and that cold boiled tongue for another. Those three mince
pies too, they'd spoiled before we got back. Or your
uncle make himself sick eating them. Mince pie is his
besetting sin. And that little stone bottle full of cream.
Gerald Deane may carry any amount of style, but I've
yet to see her look down on real good country
cream lucy rose, and another bottle of my raspberry vinegar.
That plate of jelly cookies and doughnuts will please the
children and fill up the chinks. And you can bring
me that box of ice cream candy out of those pantry,
and that bag of striped candy sticks your uncle brought
home from the corner last night. And apples, of course,
three or four dozen of those good eaters, and a
little pot of my green gage preserves ed riddle like that,
and some sandwiches and pound cake for a snack for ourselves. Now,
I guess that will do for eatables. The presents for
the children can go in on top. There's a doll
for Daisy and a little boat your uncle made for ray,
and a tatted lace handkerchief apiece for the twins, and
the crocheted hood for the baby. Now is that all?
There's cold roast chicken in the pantry, said Lucy Rose wickedly,
And the pig Uncle Leo killed is hanging up in
the porch. Couldn't you put them into? Aunt Celia smiled broadly. Well,
I guess we'll leave the pig alone, but since you
have reminded me of it, the chicken may as well
go in. I can make room. Lucy Rose, in spite
of her prejudices, helped with the packaging, and not having
been trained under Aunt's Cyrilia's eye for nothing, did it
very well too, with much clever economy of space. But
when Aunt Cyrilia had put in, as a finishing touch,
a big bouquet of pink and white everlastings and tied
the bulging covers down with a firm hand, Lucy Rose
stood over the basket and whispered vindictively, someday I'm going
to burn this basket. When I get courage enough, then
there'll be an end of lugging it everywhere we go,
like a like an old market woman. Uncle Leopold came
in just then, shaking his head dubiously. He was not
going to spend Christmas with Edward and Geraldine, and perhaps
the prospect of having to cook and eat his Christmas
dinner all alone made him pessimistic. I mistrust you folks
won't get to Pembroke tomorrow, he said, sagely. It's going
to storm. Aunt Syrilia did not worry over this. She
believed matters of this kind were fore ordained, and she
slept calmly. But Lucy Rose got up three times in
the night to see if it were storming, and when
she did sleep, had horrible nightmares of struggling through blinding snowstorms,
dragging Aunt Syrilia's Christmas basket along with her. It was
not snowing in the early morning, and Uncle Leopold drove
Aunt Srilia and Lucy Rose and the basket to the
station four miles off. When they reached there, the air
was thick with flying flakes. The station master sold them
their tickets with a grim face. If there's any more snow,
the trains might as well keep Christmas too, he said.
There's been so much snow already that traffic is blocked.
Half the time, and now there ain't no place to
shovel the snow off onto. Aunt Syrilia said that if
the train were to get to Pembroke in time for Christmas,
it would get there. And she opened her basket and
gave the station master and three small boys an apple apiece.
That's the beginning, groaned Lucy rose to herself. When their
train came along, Aunt Syrilia established herself in one seat,
at her basket in another, and looked beamingly around her
at her fellow travelers. These were few in number, and
a delicate little woman at the end of the car
with a baby and four other children, a young girl
across the aisle with a pale pretty face, a sunburned
lad three seats ahead in a khaki uniform, a very handsome,
imposing old lady in a seal skin coat ahead of him,
and a thin young man with spectacles opposite. A minister,
reflected Aunt Cyrilia, beginning to classify who takes better care
of other folk's souls than of his own body? And
that woman in the seal skin is discontented and cross
at something got up too early to catch the train maybe,
and that young chap must be one of the boys
not long out of the hospital. That woman's children look
as if they hadn't enjoyed a square meal since they
were born. And if that girl across from me has
a mother, I'd like to know what the woman means
letting her daughter go from home in this weather and
clothes like that. Lucy Rose merely wondered, uncomfortably what the
others thought of on Cyrilia's basket. They expected to reach
Pembroke that night, but as the day wore on, the
storm grew worse. Twice the train had to stop while
the train hands dug it out. The third time it
could not go on. It was dusk when the conductor
came through the train, replying brusquely to the questions of
the anxious passengers, A nice lookout for Christmas. No impossible
to go on or back track blocked for miles? What's that, madame?
No no station near woods for miles. We're here for
the night. These storms of late have played the mischief
with everything, Oh dear, groaned Lucy Rose. Aunt Syrilia looked
at her basket complacently. At any rate, we won't starve,
she said. The pale, pretty girl seemed indifferent. The seal
skin lady looked crosser than ever. The Khaki boy said,
just my luck, and two of the children began to cry.
Aunt Cyrilia took some apples and striped candy sticks from
her basket and carried them to them. She lifted the
oldest into her ample lap and soon had them all
around her, laughing and contented. The rest of the travelers
straggled over to the corner and drifted into conversation. The
Khaki boy said it was hard lines not to get
home for Christmas, after all, I was invalided from South
Africa three months ago and I've been in the hospital
at Netley ever since. Reached Halifax three days ago and
telegraphed the old folks I'd eat my Christmas dinner with them,
and to have an extra big turkey because I didn't
have any last year. They'll be badly disappointed. He looked
disappointed too. One khaki sleeve hung empty by his side.
I Srilia passed him in apple. We were all going
down to Grandpas for Christmas, said the little mother's oldest boy, dolefully.
We've never been there before, and it's just too bad.
He looked as if he wanted to cry, but thought
better of it and bit off a mouthful of candy.
Will there be any Santa Claus on the train, demanded
small sister. Cheerfully, Jack says there won't. I guess you'll
find out, said Aunt Cyrilia, reassuringly. The pale, pretty girl
came up and took the baby from the tired mother.
What a dear little fellow, she said softly. Are you
going home for Christmas? Too, asked Aunt Cylia. The girl
shook her head. I haven't any home. I'm just a
shop girl out of work at present, and I'm going
to Pembroke to look for some Aunt Cyrilia went to
her basket and took out her box of cream candy.
I guess we might as well enjoy ourselves. Let's eat
it all up and have a good time. Maybe we'll
get down to Pembroke in the morning. The little group
grew cheerful as they nibbled, and even the pale girl
brightened up. The little mother told Aunt Syrilia her story aside,
she had been long estranged from her family, who had
disapproved of her marriage. Her husband died the previous summer,
leaving her in poor circumstances. Father wrote to me last
week and asked me to let bygones be bygones and
come home for Christmas. I was so glad, and the
children's hearts were set on it. It seems too bad
that we are not to get there. I have to
be back at work. The morning after Christmas, the Khaki
boy came up again and shared the candy. He told
amusing stories of campaigning in South Africa. The minister came
too and listened, and even the seal skinned lady turned
her head over her shoulder. By and by the children
fell asleep, one on Aunt Syrilia's lap and one on
Lucy Rose's, and two on the seat. Aunt Cyrilia and
the pale girl helped the mother make up beds for them.
The minister gave his overcoat, and the seal skin lady
came forward with a shawl. This will do for the baby,
she said. We must get up some Santa Claus for
these youngsters, said the Khaki boy. Let's hang their stockings
on the wall and fill em up as best. We can.
Have nothing about me but some hard cash and a jackknife.
I'll give em each a quarter, and the boy can
have the knife. I've nothing but money either, said the
seal skin Lady regretfully. Aunt Syrilia glanced at the little mother.
She had fallen asleep with her head against the seat back.
I've got a basket over there, said Aunt Cyrilia firmly,
and I've got some presents in it that I was
taking to my nephew's children. I'm going to give 'em
to these. As for the money, I think the mother
is the one for it to go to. She's been
telling me her story, and a pitiful one it is.
Let's make up a little purse among us for a
Christmas present. The idea met with favor. The Khaki boy
passed his cap, and everybody contributed. This seal Skin Lady
put in a crumpled note. When Aunt Sylia straightened it out,
she saw that it was for twenty dollars. Meanwhile, Lucy
Rose had brought the basket. She smiled at Aunt Syrila
as she lugged it down the aisle, and Aunt Cyrilia
smiled back. Lucy Rose had never touched that basket of
her own accord. Before Ray's boat went to Jackie and
Daisy's doll to his oldest sister. The twins lace handkerchiefs
to the two smaller girls, and the hood to the baby.
Then the stockings were filled up with doughnuts and jelly cookies,
and the money was put in an envelope and pinned
to the little mother's jacket. That baby is such a
dear little fellow, said the Sealskin lady gently. He looked
something like my little son. He died eighteen christmases ago.
Aunt Syrila put her hand over the lady's kid glove.
So did mine, she said. Then the two women smiled
tenderly at each other. Afterwards they wrested from their labors
and all had what Aunt Syrilia called a snack of
sandwiches and pound cake. The Khaki boy said he hadn't
tasted anything half so good since he left home. They
didn't give us pound cake in South Africa, he said.
When morning came and the storm was still raging, the
children wakened and went wild with delight over their stockings.
The little mother found her envelope and tried to utter thanks,
and broke down, and nobody knew what to say or do.
When the conductor fortunately came in and made a diversion
by telling them they might as well resign themselves to
spending Christmas on the train. This is serious, said the
Khaki boy, when you consider that we've no provisions. Don't
mind for myself used to have rations or no rations
at all, But these kiddies will have tremendous appetites. Then
Aunt Cyrilia rose to the occasion. I've got some emergency
rations here, she announced. There's plenty for all, and we'll
have our Christmas dinner, although a cold one breakfast. First thing,
there's a sandwich apiece left, and we must fill up
on what is left of the cookies and doughnuts and
save the rest for a real good spread at dinnertime.
The only thing is I haven't any bread. I have
a box of soda crackers, said the little mother eagerly.
Nobody in that car will ever forget that Christmas to
begin with. After breakfast, they had a concert. The Khaki
Boy gave two recitations, sang three songs, and gave a
whistling solo. Lucy Rose gave three recitations, and the Minister
a comic reading. The Pale Shop Girl sang two songs.
It was agreed that the Khaki boys whistling solo was
the best number, and Aunt Cyrilia gave him the bouquet
of Everlastings as a reward of merit. Then the conductor
came in with the cheerful news that the storm was
almost over, and he thought the track would be cleared
in a few hours. If we can get to that
next station will be all right, he said. The branch
joins the main line there and the tracks will be clear.
At noon, they had dinner, the train hands were invited
in to share it. The minister carved the chicken with
the brakeman's jackknife, and the Khaki boy cut up the
tongue and the mince pies, while the Sealskin Lady mixed
the raspberry vinegrette with its due proportions of water. Bits
of paper served as plates. The train furnished a couple
of glasses. A tin pint cup was discovered and given
to the children on Srilia and Lucy Rose and the
Sealskin Lady drank turn about from the latter's graduated medicine glass.
The shopgirl and the little mother shared one of the
empty bottles, and the Khaki Boy, the Minister and the
train men drank out of the other bottle. Everybody declared
they had never enjoyed a meal more in their lives.
Certainly it was a merry one, and Aunt Cyrilia's cooking
was never more appreciated. Indeed, the bones of a chicken
and the pot of preserves were all that was left.
They could not eat the preserves because they had no spoons,
and Aunt Syrilia gave them to the little mother. When
all was over, a hearty vote of thanks was passed
to Aunt Syrilia and her basket. The Sealskin Lady wanted
to know how she made her pound cake, and the
Khaki Boy asked for her recipe for jelly cookies. And
when two hours later the conductor came in and said
the snowplows had got along and they'd soon be starting,
they all wondered if it could really be less than
twenty four hours since they met. I feel as if
I'd been campaigning with you all my life, said the
Khaki boy. At the next station, they all parted. The
little mother and the children had to take the next
train back home. The minister stayed there, and the Khaki
Boy and the Sealskin Lady changed. The Sealskin Lady shook
Aunt Srilia's hand. She no longer looked discontented or cross.
This has been the pleasantest Christmas I have ever spent,
she said heartily. I shall never forget that wonderful basket
of yours. The little shop girl is going home with me.
I've promised her a place in my husband's store. When
Aunt Syrilia and Lucy Rose reached Pembroke, there was nobody
there to meet them because everyone had given up expecting them.
It was not far from the station to Edward's house,
and Aunt Syrilia elected to walk. I'll carry the basket,
said Lucy Rose. Aunt Cyrilia relinquished it with a smile.
Lucy Rose smiled too. It's a blessed old basket, said
the latter, and I love it. Please forget all the
silly things I ever said about it, Aunt Syrilia. End
of Aunt Syrilia's Christmas Basket by Lucy Maud Montgomery