Speaker 1: A snow bound Christmas. Most of the occupants of the
small room sat gazing out of the windows into the
snow filled air. There were windows enough to go around,
though the room was long and narrow and contained six
or eight persons. All day they had spent together in
this one room, each sitting quietly in his place. There
had been but little conversation. The tall, dark man with
a white mustache and tired face had slept much with
his head resting on his folded overcoat. A boy opposite,
who showed sullen anger and defiance in every line of
his young face, had watched him and wondered how a
man could sleep in the daytime. The boy did not
know that those long, nervous white hands wielding a surgeon's
knife had saved a life the day before, and the
tired eyes had watched for many hours following. An earnest,
bright faced young girl near by I had observed him too,
while he slept, as she eyed all her neighbors with
keen interest. There was the old lady in the corner,
a man with sample cases piled at his side, the
shabby little woman holding a big baby, and a middle
aged man with stolid joyless countenance, who had read three
newspapers through from beginning to end without a change of expression,
and since then had sat staring straight before him. The girl,
in her active mind had tried to combine these various
personages into a story, but she gave it up with
a little sigh. For their common placeness an ill assorted company,
it was. Surely they would have chosen to spend the
day before Christmas together for no other reason than, as
it happened, they all wished to travel over this branch road,
which ran between the Northern Line from Little Falls and
the Grand Central. The day was nearly over, and the
journey should have been, but the snow, which had been
falling steadily since morning, grew heavier. The speed of the
train perceptibly decreased, and the engine groaned and labored. The
engineer watched apprehensively as they drew near a certain cut,
narrow and deep through the hills. It was drifted high,
and meeting that soft, still resistless opposition, the great engine
slowed and stopped. The drifting snow hid the familiar landmarks,
And so it happened that, just as the passengers were
anxiously questioning one another, as to the cause of the
stop in that lonely place, Jim case, the fireman, swinging
himself off the engine, slipped over a culvert and in
the fall of only a few feet, broke his arm
with startling ease and completeness. He was lifted back, white
and fainting. And when the brisk conductor hurried into the
passage your coach, he responded to the anxious queries with
a brief snowed up and then addressing the dark man,
he said, I don't suppose you're a doctor, are you? Yes,
said the man, with an inquiring glance. Does some one
need me? The conductor looked relieved. Now ain't that the luck?
Said he surgeon too, I guess. The doctor nodded assent.
In a few words, the conductor told of the accident
amid exclamations of mingled sympathy and dismay from the listeners,
And as the doctor picked up his small black bag
and followed him into the forward car, the conductor continued,
not many of you travel on this road, but I
thought that was your trade when I took your ticket.
I gave a job to a surgeon once when I
was hurt in a wreck, That was a good while ago,
but I have never forgot the look or the feel
of his hand, so steady and strong and white, he
added with an apologetic smile. Here we are, Jim, he
called out cheerfully, here's the doctor and the head nurse.
You just break your bones and we will do the rest,
you know. The fireman lay stretched upon the floor, his
head resting languidly on a pile of waist, and a
pretty five year old boy, sobbing with fright, was kneeling
close beside him. Who is this little fellow, asked doctor Carleton,
after the examination was over and he was skillfully bandaging
the injured arm. He's mine, poor little Chap, said the
fireman with a tender glance, though his lips were white
with pain. The boy, who was a sturdy little fellow
just out of dresses, stopped his sobs when he heard
his father's voice, and, looking up at the doctor, asked,
now will we go to Grandma's and have a Christmas?
The man winced again and closed his eyes, and the
conductor explained in a kindly aside, little Chap's mother is dead,
just buried her a week ago. She had him filled
up choke full of Christmas and seems as if he
couldn't give it up. They're goin on to Jim's mother's.
She's going to take care o Jamie, and I guess
the old lady had promised to have a tree. Jamie
was listening eagerly and broke in forgetting his shyness. Yes,
a Christmas tree and candles for grandma. Said so, seems
as if that's all he thinks of, said the fireman
is poor mother. She and he stopped and closed his
eyes again. Shall we go, now, insisted Jamie. You said
we'd get there the night before Christmas. Now, young fellow,
broke in the conductor. You know this is road luck.
You're a railroad man and must learn to keep a
stiff upper lip when things go wrong. Brace up an
let that tree wait a day or so. But Jamie's
sobs broke out afresh. Fireman Jim's head turned languidly away.
I should think some of those women might know what
to do for the boy, said the conductor. The doctor nodded,
take him away and have him amused, if you can,
said he he troubles his father. He ought to have
something to eat. The doctor hesitated and then added, though
I suppose it does no good to say so, Have
you anything any way of making a cup of tea
or any beef extract? Do you go prepared for these emergencies?
The conductor shook his head. I'm afraid not, said he
unless some of the passengers might have something left from lunch.
We were due in at five thirty, you know, and
we get our supper in town. Well you might inquire,
said the doctor. He would feel better after having a
bit of something. So the conductor, carrying the crying Jamie,
went back to the passenger car. He found the young
girl the center of what seemed almost a social circle.
The good natured baby, who had been drowsily nodding, was
sound asleep in one of the farthest seats, as content
as a veteran traveler in a pullman's stay room, while
his mother sat shyly on the outskirts of the little company.
The traveling man's sample cases, covered with a napkin, formed
an improvised table, and upon this the stock of eatables
was being spread. Well, anyhow, we sha'n't be starved, the
old lady said that there basket, pointing to a huge
covered wicker is full of fixin's. I was taken to
John's folks. I expect it won't seem so like Christmas
to the children if they don't have them leaf cookies
and the gingerbread animals. And they are good, if I
do say it, that oughtn't. But I'm sure I never
thought when I was bakin' em that they would save
our lives. We'll hope they need not do quite so
much for us, laughed the pretty girl, whose name on
the one modest trunk in the rear car was D. M. Marsh.
But we'll not touch the children's cookies unless we are
starved into such robbery. How glad I am? My aunt
Mary made me take this great box of luncheon. I
hardly made an impression on it this noon. And she
brought out an unopened jar of pressed chicken. This will
be our Christmas turkey, she announced. Isn't there some way
of melting that down into soup? Asked the conductor, who
came in at just this point. How is the injured man?
Inquired the commercial traveler, while the old lady held out
her motherly arms for Jamie as she said, you, poor lamb.
Is it his paw that's killed. He's all right, said
Conductor Brooks. Only his arm is broken and he's knocked
out and faint. The doctor was asking for some soup
or something to brace him a little. If that was
chicken broth, now it would just fit. Why we can
make broth in just a few minutes, said miss marsh
And in a moment she had brought from her trunk
a pretty chafing dish and lighted it, the old lady
nodding approval. Alcohol too, the girl said, laughing, left over
from the last oyster spread at college. The lamp was
quickly adjusted and into the bright pan went part of
the jellied chicken. It's a privilege now a days to
see a young girl know something about cooking, said the
old lady, while the stolid faced man silently proffered a match,
and Jamie stopped crying to taste the broth, when an
appetizing odor began to diffuse through the car. During all
that had passed, the boy had hardly left his dark corner.
He did not wish to talk. It was nobody's business
where he was going, and some one would be sure
to ask. But he looked on and thought, how bright
and quick and pleasant, the girl was. When the broth
was sent to Jim and the doctor returned. The remainder
of Aunt Mary's bread and butter and pickles was spread,
with various additions from the other's lunch baskets. Part was
reserved for breakfast, and the little group, whose common misfortune
had thawed all reserve supped together merrily, if not bountifully.
The boy declined all but a single sandwich. He was hungry,
but the angry, defiant pride which had hardened his face
all day, melted somewhat, and he felt less like eating.
And tomorrow is Christmas, said the traveling man, whose name
was Osgoode. I've worked like two men to get through
so as to have that day at home with the
wife and babies. And it is hard to be stalled
up so near. And there's my son John and Milly
and the children. I haven't missed a Christmas with them
since John was married. They all come to me Thanksgiving,
said the old lady. But we are all alive, and
that's a great mercy. Never mind, said Miss marsh We'll
have the evening at home. But I wish I hadn't
stayed with Aunt Mary until the last moment. I want
a Christmas, sobbed Jamie, his ready tears bursting forth again.
Mamma said I should have a Christmas, and Grandma's got
a tree, and I want a Christmas again. The big
conductor told the sad little story of the dead mother
who had promised a happy day to her boy, and
Miss Marsh looked steadily out of the car window a
half minute while her eye brightened and a resolve formed.
Jamie boy said, Miss Marsh, you shall have your Christmas.
It's Christmas here, just the same as all over the world,
and you shall have a real one. He looked up
in joyful trust. And a tree, Yes, dear, a real tree,
said the girl. The others listened in astonishment. The old
lady opened her lips to remonstrate, but shut them again.
The traveling man whistled softly and skeptically, and the doctor
looked on amused. Only Jamie and the boy gazed at
her with implicit confidence. When shall I have it, asked Jamie.
Tomorrow Christmas morning, said the girl brightly. Now go to
your Papa and go right to sleep, and in the
morning you'll see with tears undry, but with a face
beaming with happiness, Jamie let himself be carried away to
his makeshift bed by his father's side. And a tree,
he said, as the sleepy eyes closed. And candles and well,
said mister Osgoode with a quizzical smile of doubt. But
before Miss Marsh could reply, the boy said briefly, I'll
get it. I saw him before it got dark. He
was already buttoning his coat and seizing the red handled
axe that hung near the stove. He bravely leaped out
into the drifts. Those little evergreens, you know, said Miss Marsh.
They're just a few feet away. He can see them
by the light from the windows, I think, And we
can make it pretty somehow, she continued eagerly. Jamie such
a little lad, and Christmas means so much to him.
Mister Osgoode nodded. But what's going to be on the tree,
asked the practical old lady. It's all foolishness, go into
so much trouble for that one child. An we at tremblin',
you might say, between life and death, but I declare
for it. I hate to have the day go by
an do nothin'. An even if we're rescued tomorrow, as
that conductor says he thinks probable, which I don't more'n
half believe, what with gettin home and the explainin' when
you do get there, which please mercy, we may why
the day's as good as gone. And anyhow, I've got
a pair of red knit mittens for John's Alexander, and
I'm going to give 'em to that poor motherless lamb,
and you can hang 'em on the tree. For one thing,
Miss Marsh splendid, said Miss Marsh, and I have a
red skating cap in my satchel. I believe it will
just fit him. Is he too small for a knife?
Asked mister Osgoode. Let's see about five? Isn't he My
wife makes six the knife line. I guess i'd better not,
and he returned it to his pocket. Oh hold on,
said he, with sudden inspiration. I've got some illustrated catalogs
here that could pass for picks. Yes, and cards too,
are new ones. And diving into his cases, he brought
out a pile of brilliant pictures. Will miss Santa Claus
accept this, asked Doctor Carleton, offering a pocket microscope. Just
then the door opened, and the boy came in, dragging
triumphantly a small evergreen. Everyone laughed excitedly, and it did
begin to seem something like as the old lady said then,
how they worked. The tree was braced firmly at the
end of the aisle, the lumps of ice and snow
shaken off, and a more durable quality of soft cotton
flakes from Doctor Carleton's surgical stores added leaf cookies and
astonishing gingerbread animals dangled from the branches, and Alexander's red
mittens waved in welcome. Even the man of the immovable
visage helped with something like a softening of his hard features,
and when he fastened to the brandch a red blank
book and pocket pencil, there was an outburst of laughing applause. Meanwhile,
doctor Carleton talked quietly with the shabby little woman. He
had asked about the baby's teething, and she unconsciously gave
him much of her simple story. Her husband had lost
his place in the little town where they had lived.
He had found work in the city, and she was
going to meet him. They had no folks. She worked
in a factory before she was married. No the baby
hadn't cut any teeth yet. She hoped he wouldn't fuss
or be sick about it when the teeth came. She
didn't know much about babies. The doctor listened with sympathy,
and a little later, wrapping a bright gold piece in
a bit of paper, he marked it for baby Burns
to cut his teeth on, and it was added to
the tree. The boy looked on with a dull ache
in his throat. He hoped it was not going to
be sore. How sick he had been with those bad throats,
and how good m there always was. Mother was filling
the children's stockings at home. Now, she always managed to
have something for them somehow, poor mother, she would have
it all to bear alone. Now, how could he leave her?
Why didn't he think of her part? But I won't
go back, he said to himself. I can't go back now.
I'll come back home rich some day and give mother
everything she wants. But I won't sneak back now. Then
he didn't care to think any more. I can make
a top, he whispered to Miss Marsh. If I have
a piece of wood, shall I He would like that
best of all I know, said Miss Marsh. Heartily. Then
she added aloud, now we must have a star for
the top. What can we do about it? Well, I
guess it's good enough, said the old lady. I guess
he won't miss a star. But the girl looked from
one to another in a perplexed appeal. Why must there
be a star, asked the boy shyly. Miss marsh hesitated
a moment. She did not know much about boys, this
brotherless college girl, but she said, almost as shyly as he,
don't you think the Christmas Star is the most beautiful
thing in the world. You know, the christ Child was
born beneath a star, And I think it meant for
one thing, that for every new life, there is a
star set in heaven that will light that life all
the way if once we catch a glimpse of it
and know it is there for us. The boy listened breathless.
He could not have told just what the girl's words meant,
but the moral courage that all that day had been
struggling to live took new strength and began to shape
itself into a resolution. They stood looking at each other
when the traveling man, who was down again in his cases,
emerged in triumph, waving some tinfoil cut out the star
from that pasteboard box, he cried, and here's the glory
for it. We can't stop short of perfection in this tree. Well,
I'm blessed, said Conductor Brooks, staring at the sight when
he came in a little later. Where do you folks
think you are at a Sunday school festival? Never you
mind where we be, said the old lady. Her bonnet
was awry and her spectacles on her forehead. You just
help hist up that star and then we're all done.
Christmas morning, Jamie woke up, round eyed and expectant. I
want my tree, he said, And I want my breakfast,
And as the waiting holiday makers were as impatient as he,
the breakfast was hurried through, and then they all filed in,
Jamie in Conductor Brooks's arms, his father, who was doing bravely,
coming behind, followed by the engineer. Jamie gazed at the
tree as if dazed by his surprise, but after the
first moment, a smile of radiant, ecstatic joy spread over
the round baby face. Not a word or sound, only
that beaming, blissful smile. It was irresistible, and with shouts
of laughter, the tree was despoiled of its offerings, and
Jamie's cup of happiness was full. In the midst of
the merriment, Miss Marsh glanced at the boy. He was
gazing at the star with a curious expression, and she
thought of their words. The night before. In her bodice
was thrust a pin whose head was a tiny golden star,
the badge of her class society. She drew it out,
and pressing it into one of the leaf cookies which
were being passed about, she handed it to him with
a whispered Merry Christmas. He saw it, and there was
a quick rush of color to his face and tears
to his eyes. And that little star weighed down the
balance of decision on the right side and made a
man of him. But the girl never knew. When the
laughing talk had quieted a little, Jamie turned confidently to
Miss Marsh. Now the story. He said, what story, Laddie,
She asked, the Christmas story. Mamma said, there was a
Christmas story, and she saved it up for Christmas Day.
Is the nicest story I ever heard, Mamma said. Every
one was still for a moment. Poor Jim turned away.
She would have made a good man of him was
the thought in his heart. The girl felt her own
heart beat quickly. Could she before all these strange people,
what would they think? No, she couldn't. She would have
a chance to talk to Jamie alone before the day
was over. That would be much better. But the childish
eyes were gazing expectantly into hers, and with the swift
thought of the dead mother, she lifted the little boy
gently to her knee, and, with softly flushing cheeks and
a voice that trembled a little, she began long ago
in a beautiful country over the sea. There were shepherds
in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night.
The sweet voice grew stronger as the simple words of
the wonderful story held the listeners in solemn silence. The
little woman's tears dropped on her baby's head as she
heard of the mother for whom there was no room
in the inn, and a vague, trembling prayer went up
from her burdened heart to the Christ who was a child.
The boy's eyes shone with a new light as he
thought of the star set in heaven for the Christ
who was a boy, and with a thrill of newly
awakened love, and appreciation. He placed his own weary, hard
worked mother on her throne in her boy's heart. There
were eloquent sermons preached in the churches that Christmas Day,
and wonderful music was sung. But as truly as in
his visible temples, Christ was preached and worshiped about that
little tree whose balsam breath went up as frankincense and myrrh.
A little later in the day, after the relief had
come and the train pulled into the city station, the
Christmas party stopped a moment for the last hand shakings
and farewells. Twenty four hours before they would have parted
with scarcely a glance at one another. Now they seemed
old friends. The busy doctor hurried away first, followed by
a long grateful look from the baby's mother. I'll never
forget it of him, she thought. The boy took a
step towards Miss marsh One of her hands was tight
in Jamie's chubby clasp, the other was held in the
old ladies. He looked a moment, then turned with a
resolute face and walked to the ticket office. Gimme a
ticket on the first train that goes back to Little Falls,
he said, end of a snow Bound Christmas by Francis
Cole Burr