Daisy
Words and smiles answered her. "We's had a splendid time, Aunt Maria,"
said one young man as he set down his glass. He was a worker in the
garden.
"Den I hope's we's all willin' to gib de Lord t'anks for His goodness.
Dere ain't a night in de year when it's so proper to gib de Lord
t'anks, as it be dis precious night."
"It's to-morrow night, Aunt Maria," said Pete. "To-morrow's Christmas
night."
"I don't care! One night's jus' as good as another, you Pete. And now
we's all together, you see, and comfortable together; and I feel like
giving t'anks, I do, to de Lord, for all His mercies."
"What's Christmas, anyhow?" asked another.
"It's jus' de crown o' all the nights in de year. You Solomon, it's a
night dat dey keeps up in heaven. You know nothin' about it, you poor
critter. I done believe you never hearn no one tell about it. Maybe
Miss Daisy wouldn't read us de story, and de angels, and de shepherds,
and dat great light what come down, and make us feel good for
Christmas; and Uncle Darry, he'll t'ank de Lord."
The last words were put in a half-questioning form to me, rather
taking for granted that I would readily do what was requested. And
hardly anything in the world, I suppose, could have given me such
deep gratification at the moment. Margaret was sent upstairs to fetch
my Bible; the circle closed in around the fire and me; a circle of
listening, waiting, eager, interested faces, some few of them shone
with pleasure, or grew grave with reverent love, while I read slowly
the chapters that tell of the first Christmas night. I read them from
all the gospels, picking the story out first in one, then in another;
answered sometimes by low words of praise that echoed but did not
interrupt me--words that were but some dropped notes of the song that
began that night in heaven, and has been running along the ages since,
and is swelling and will swell into a great chorus of earth and heaven
by and by. And how glad I was in the words of the story myself, as I
went along. How heart-glad that here, in this region of riches and
hopes not earthly, those around me had as good welcome, and as open
entrance, and as free right as I. "There is neither bond nor free."
"And base things of this world, and things which are despised, hath
God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things
that are."
I finished my reading at last, amid the hush of my listening audience.
Then Maria called upon Darry to pray, and we all kneeled down.
It comes back to me now as I write--the hush and the breathing of the
fire, and Darry's low voice and imperfect English. Yes, and the
incoming tide of rest and peace and gladness which began to fill the
dry places in my heart, and rose and swelled till my heart was full. I
lost my troubles and forgot my difficulties. I forgot that my father
and mother were away, for the sense of loneliness was gone. I forgot
that those around me were in bonds, for I felt them free as I, and
inheritors of the same kingdom. I have not often in my life listened
to such a prayer, unless from the same lips. He was one of those that
make you feel that the door is open to their knocking, and that they
always find it so. His words were seconded--not interrupted, even to
my feelings--by low-breathed echoes of praise and petition, too soft
and deep to leave any doubt of the movement that called them forth.
There was a quiet gravity upon all when we rose to our feet again. I
knew I must go; but the kitchen had been the pleasantest place to me
in all Magnolia. I bade them good-night, answered with bows and
curtseys and hearty wishes; and as I passed out of the circle, tall
black Pete, looking down upon me with just a glimmer of white between
his lips, added, "Hope you'll come again."
A thought darted into my head which brought sunshine with it. I seemed
to see my way begin to open.
The hope was warm in my heart as soon as I was awake the next morning.
With more comfort than for many days I had known, I lay and watched
Margaret making my fire. Then suddenly I remembered it was Christmas,
and what thanksgivings had been in heaven about it, and what should be
on earth; and a lingering of the notes of praise I had heard last
night made a sort of still music in the air. But I did not expect at
all that any of the ordinary Christmas festivities would come home to
me, seeing that my father and mother were away. Where should Christmas
festivities come from? So, when Margaret rose up and showed all her
teeth at me, I only thought last night had given her pleasure, and I
suspected nothing, even when she stepped into the next room and
brought in a little table covered with a shawl, and set it close to my
bedside. "Am I to have breakfast in bed?" I asked. "What is this
for?"
"Dunno, Miss Daisy," said Margaret, with all her white teeth
sparkling;--"'spose Miss Daisy take just a look, and see what 'pears
like."
I felt the colour come into my face. I raised myself on my elbow and
lifted up cautiously one corner of the shawl. Packages--white paper
and brown paper--long and short, large and small! "O Margaret, take
off the shawl, will you!" I cried; "and let me see what is here."
There was a good deal. But "From Papa" caught my eye on a little
parcel. I seized it and unfolded. From papa, and he so far away! But I
guessed the riddle before I could get to the last of the folds of
paper that wrapped and enwrapped a little morocco case. Papa and
mamma, leaving me alone, had made provision beforehand, that when this
time came I might miss nothing except themselves. They had thought and
cared and arranged for me; and now they were thinking about it,
perhaps, far away somewhere over the sea. I held the morocco case in
my hand a minute or two before I could open it. Then I found a little
watch; my dear little watch! which has gone with me ever since, and
never failed nor played tricks with me. My mother had put in one of
her own chains for me to wear with it.
I lay a long time looking and thinking, raised up on my elbow as I was,
before I could leave the watch and go on to anything else. Margaret
spread round my shoulders the shawl which had covered the Christmas
table; and then she stood waiting, with a good deal more impatience and
curiosity than I showed. But such a world of pleasure and pain gathered
round that first "bit of Christmas"--so many, many thoughts of one and
the other kind--that I for awhile had enough with that. At last I closed
the case, and keeping it yet in one hand, used the other to make more
discoveries. The package labelled "From Mamma," took my attention next;
but I could make nothing of it. An elegant little box, that was all,
which I could not open; only it felt so very heavy that I was persuaded
there must be something extraordinary inside. I could make nothing of it:
it was a beautiful box; that was all. Preston had brought me a little
riding whip, both costly and elegant. I could not but be much pleased
with it. A large, rather soft package, marked with Aunt Gary's name,
unfolded a riding cap to match; at least, it was exceeding rich and
stylish, with a black feather that waved away in curves that called forth
Margaret's delighted admiration. Nevertheless, I wondered, while I
admired, at my Aunt Gary's choice of a present. I had a straw hat which
served all purposes, even of elegance, for my notions. I was amazed to
find that Miss Pinshon had not forgotten me. There was a decorated pen,
wreathed with a cord of crimson and gold twist, and supplemented with two
dangling tassels. It was excessively pretty, as I thought of Aunt Gary's
cap; and _not_ equally convenient. I looked at all these things while
Margaret was dressing me; but the case with the watch, for the most part,
I remember I kept in my hand.
"Ain't you goin' to try it on and see some how pretty it looks, Miss
Daisy?" said my unsatisfied attendant.
"The cap?" said I. "Oh, I dare say it fits. Aunt Gary knows how big my
head is."
"Mass' Preston come last night," she went on; "so I reckon Miss
Daisy'll want to wear it by and by."
"Preston come last night!" I said. "After I was in bed?"--and feeling
that it was indeed Christmas, I finished getting ready and went
downstairs. I made up my mind I might as well be friends with
Preston, and not push any further my displeasure at his behaviour. So
we had a comfortable breakfast. My aunt was pleased to see me, she
said, look so much better. Miss Pinshon was not given to expressing
what she felt; but she looked at me two or three times without saying
anything, which I suppose meant satisfaction. Preston was in high
feather, making all sorts of plans for my divertisement during the
next few days. I, for my part, had my own secret cherished plan, which
made my heart beat quicker whenever I thought of it. But I wanted
somebody's counsel and help; and on the whole I thought my Aunt Gary's
would be the safest. So after breakfast I consulted Preston only about
my mysterious little box, which would not open. Was it a paper weight?
Preston smiled, took up the box and performed some conjuration upon
it, and then--I cannot describe my entranced delight--as he set it
down again on the table, the room seemed to grow musical. Softest,
most liquid sweet notes came pouring forth one after the other,
binding my ears as if I had been in a state of enchantment; binding
feet and hands and almost my breath, as I stood hushed and listening
to the liquid warbling of delicious things, until the melody had run
itself out. It was a melody unknown to me; wild and dainty; it came
out of a famous opera, I was told afterward. When the fairy notes sunk
into silence, I turned mutely towards Preston. Preston laughed.
"I declare!" he said,--"I declare! Hurra! you have got colour in your
cheeks, Daisy; absolutely, my little Daisy! there is a real streak of
pink there where it was so white before."
"_What_ is it?" said I.
"Just a little good blood coming up under the skin."
"Oh no, Preston--_this_; what is it?"
"A musical box."
"But where does the music come from?"
"Out of the box. See, Daisy; when it has done a tune and is run out,
you must wind it up, so,--like a watch."
He wound it up and set it on the table again. And again a melody came
forth, and this time it was different; not plaintive and thoughtful,
but jocund and glad; a little shout and ring of merriment, like the
feet of dancers scattering the drops of dew in a bright morning; or
like the chime of a thousand little silver bells rung for laughter. A
sort of intoxication came into my heart. When Preston would have wound
up the box again, I stopped him. I was full of the delight. I could
not hear any more just then.
"Why, Daisy, there are ever so many more tunes."
"Yes. I am glad. I will have them another time," I answered. "How very
kind of mamma!"
"Hit the right thing this time, didn't she? How's the riding cap,
Daisy?"
"It is very nice," I said. "Aunt Gary is very good; and I like the
whip _very_ much, Preston."
"That fat little rascal will want it. Does the cap fit, Daisy?"
"I don't know," I said. "Oh yes, I suppose so."
Preston made an exclamation, and forthwith would have it tried on to
see how it looked. It satisfied him; somehow it did not please me as
well; but the ride did, which we had soon after; and I found that my
black feather certainly suited everybody else. Darry smiled at me, and
the house servants were exultant over my appearance.
Amid all these distracting pleasures, I kept on the watch for an
opportunity to speak to Aunt Gary alone. Christmas day I could not. I
could not get it till near the next day.
"Aunt Gary," I said, "I want to consult you about something."
"You have always something turning about in your head," was her
answer.