Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 11 (15 page)

 
          
           
 By the time the first raptures were over Dolly and Nurse and Betsey Jane
(a girl hired for the occasion) had got dinner on the table; and the
procession, headed by Madam proudly escorted by her eldest son, filed into the
dining-room where such a party had not met for years.

 
          
           
 It would be quite impossible to do justice to that
dinner,
pen and ink are not equal to it. I can only say that every one partook
copiously of every thing ; that they laughed and talked, told stories, and sang
songs; and when no one could do any more, Uncle George proposed grandma's
health, which was drunk standing, and followed by three cheers. Then up got the
old lady, quite rosy and young, excited and gay, and said in a clear strong
voice, —

 
          
           
 "I give you in return the best of grandchildren, little Kate."

 
          
           
 I give you my word the cheer they gave grandma was nothing to the shout
that followed these words; for the old lady led off with amazing vigor, and the
boys roared so tremendously that the sedate tabby in the kitchen flew off her
cushion, nearly frightened into a fit.

 
          
           
 After that, the elders sat with grandma in the parlor, while the younger
part of the flock trooped after Kate all over the house. Fires burned
everywhere, and the long unused toys of their fathers were brought out for
their amusement. The big nursery was full of games, and here Nursey collected
the little ones when the larger boys and girls were invited by Kate to go out
and coast. Sleds had been provided, and until dusk they kept it up, the city
girls getting as gay and rosy as Kate herself in this healthy sport, while the
lads frolicked to their hearts' content, building snow forts, pelting one
another, and carousing generally without any policeman to interfere or any
stupid old ladies to get upset, as at home in the park.

 
          
           
 A cosey tea and a dance in the long hall followed, and they were just
thinking what they would do next when Kate's second surprise came.

 
          
           
 There were two great fireplaces in the hall: up the chimney of one roared
a jolly fire, but the other was closed by a tall fire-board. As they sat about,
resting after a brisk contra dance, a queer rustling and tapping was heard
behind this fire-board.

 
          
           
 “Rats!" suggested the girls, jumping up into the chairs.

 
          
           
 “Let's have 'em out!" added the boys, making straight for the spot,
intent
on fun.

 
          
           
 
But before they got there, a muffled voice cried,
"Stand from under!" and down went the board with a crash, out bounced
Santa Claus, startling the lads as much as the rumor of rats had the girls.

 
          
           
 A jolly old saint he was, all in fur, with sleigh* bells jingling from
his waist and the point of his high cap, big boots, a white beard, and a nose
as red as if Jack Frost had had a good tweak at it. Giving himself a shake that
set all the bells ringing, he stepped out upon the hearth, saying in a
half-gruff, half-merry tone,—

 
          
           
 "I call this a most inhospitable way to receive me! What do you mean
by stopping up my favorite chimney? Never mind, I'll forgive you, for this is
an unusual occasion. Here, some of you fellows, lend a hand and help me out
with my sack."

 
          
           
 A dozen pair of hands had the great bag out in a minute, and, lugging it
to the middle of the hall, left it beside St. Nick, while the boys fell back
into the eager, laughing crowd that surrounded the newcomer.

 
          
           
 "Where's my girl? I want my Kate," said the saint, and when she
went to him he took a base advantage of his years, and kissed her in spite of
the beard.

 
          
           
 "That's not fair," whispered Kate, as rosy as the holly-berries
in her hair.

 
          
           
 "Can't help it, — must have some reward for sticking in that horrid
chimney so long," answered Santa Glaus, looking as roguish as any boy.
Then he added aloud, "I’ve got something for everybody, be make a big
ring,
and the good fairy will hand round the gifts."

 
          
           
 With that he dived into his bag and brought out treasure after treasure,
some fine, some funny, many useful, and all appropriate, for the good fairy
seemed to have guessed what each one wanted. Shouts of laughter greeted the
droll remarks of the jolly saint, for he had a joke about every thing, and
people were quite exhausted by the time the bottom of the sack was reached.

 
          
           
 "Now, then, a rousing good game of blind man's buff, and then this
little family must go to bed, for it's past eleven."

 
          
           
 As he spoke, the saint cast off his cap and beard, fur coat, and big
boots, and proceeded to dance a double shuffle with great vigor and skill;
while the little ones, who had been thoroughly mystified, shouted, "Why,
it's Alf!" and fell upon him en masse as the best way of expressing their
delight at his successful performance of that immortal part.

 
          
           
 The game of blind man's buff that followed was a "rouser" in
every sense of the word, for the gentlemen joined, and the children flew about
like a flock of chickens when hawks are abroad. Such peals of laughter, such
shouts of fun, and such racing and scrambling that old hall had never seen
before. Kate was so hunted that she finally took refuge behind grandma's chair,
and stood there looking at the lively scene, her face full of happiness as she
remembered that it was her work.

 
          
           
 The going to bed that night was the best joke of all; for, though Kate's
arrangements were peculiar, every one voted that they were capital. There were
many rooms, but not enough for all to have one apiece. So the uncles and aunts
had the four big chambers, all the boys were ordered into the great play-room,
where beds were made on the floor, and a great fire blazing that the camping
out might be as comfortable as possible. The nursery was devoted to the girls,
and the little ones were sprinkled round wherever a snug corner was found.

 
          
           
 How the riotous
flock were
ever got into their
heels no one knows. The lads caroused until long past
midnight
, and no knocking on the walls of paternal boots,
or whispered entreaties of maternal voices through key-holes, had any effect,
for it was impossible to resist the present advantages for a grand Christmas
rampage.

 
          
           
 The girls giggled and gossiped, told secrets, and laid plans more
quietly; while the small things tumbled into bed, and went to sleep at once,
quite used up with the festivities of this remarkable day.

 
          
           
 Grandma, down in her own cosey room, sat listening to the blithe noises
with a smile on her face, for the past seemed to have come back again, and her
own boys and girls to be frolicking above there, as they used to do forty years
ago.

 
          
           
 "It’s all so beautiful I can't go to bed, Dolly, and lose any of it.
They '11 go away to-morrow, and I may never see them any more," she said,
as Dolly tied on her night-cap and brought her slippers.

 
          
           
 "Yes, you will, mum. That dear child has made it so pleasant they
can't keep away. You’ll see plenty of'em, if they carry out half the plans they
have made. Mrs. George wants to come up and pass the summer here; Mr. Tom says
he shall send his boys to school here, and every girl among them has promised
Kate to make her a long visit. The thing is done, mum, and you '11 never be
lonely any more."

 
          
           
 "Thank God for that!" and grandma bent her head as if she had
received a great blessing. "Dolly, I want to go and look at those
children. It seems so like a dream to have them here, I must be sure of
it," said grandma, folding her wrapper about her, and getting up with
great decision.

 
          
           
 "Massy on us, mum, you haven't been up them stairs for months. The
dears are all right, warm as toasts, and sleepin' like dormice, I'll warrant,'
answered Dolly, taken aback at this new w T him of old madam's.

 
          
           
 But grandma would go, so Dolly gave her an arm, and together the two old
friends hobbled up the wide stairs, and peeped in at the precious children. The
lads looked like a camp of weary warriors reposing after a victory, and grandma
went laughing away when she had taken a proud survey of this promising portion
of the rising generation. The nursery was like a little convent full of rosy
nuns sleeping peacefully; while a pictured Saint Agnes, with her lamb, smiled
on them from the wall, and the firelight flickered over the white figures and
sweet faces, as if the sight were too fair to be lost in darkness. The little
ones lay about promiscuously, looking like dissipated Cupids with sugar hearts
and faded roses still clutched in their chubby hands.

 
          
           
 "My darlings!" whispered grandma, lingering fondly over them to
cover a pair of rosy feet, put back a pile of tumbled curls, or kiss a little
mouth still smiling in its sleep.

 
          
           
 But when she came to the coldest corner of the room, where Kate lay on
the hardest mattress, under the thinnest quilt, the old lady's eyes were full
of tender tears; and, forgetting the stiff joints that bent so painfully, she
knelt slowly down, and, putting her arms about the girl, blessed her in silence
for the happiness she had given one old heart.

 
          
           
 Kate woke at once, and started up, exclaiming with a smile, —

 
          
           
 “Why, grandma, I was dreaming about an angel, and you look like one with
your white gown and silvery hair!"

 
          
           
 "No, dear, you are the angel in this house. How can I ever give you
up ?
" answered
madam, holding
fast the treasure that came to her so late.

 
          
           
 "You never need to, grandma, for I have made my choice."

 
          
           
Little Tessa sat alone by the fire, waiting for her father to come home from
work. The children were fast asleep, all four in the big bed behind the
curtain; the wind blew hard outside, and the snow beat on the window-panes; the
room was large, and the fire so small and feeble that it didn't half warm the
little bare toes peeping out of the old shoes on the hearth.

 
          
           
Tessa's father was an Italian plaster-worker, very poor, but kind and honest.
The mother had died not long ago, and left twelve-year old Tessa to take care
of the little children. She tried to be very wise and motherly, and worked for
them like any little woman; but it was so hard to keep the small bodies warm
and fed, and the small souls good and happy, that poor Tessa was often at her
wits' end. She always waited for her
father,
no matter
how tired she was, so that he might find his supper warm, a bit of fire, and a
loving little face to welcome him. Tessa thought over her troubles at these
quiet times, and made her plans; for her father left things to her a good deal,
and she had no friends but Tommo, the harp-boy upstairs, and the lively cricket
who
lived in the chimney. To-night her face was very
sober, and her pretty brown eyes very thoughtful as she stared at the fire and
knit her brows, as if perplexed. She was not thinking of her old shoes,
nor the empty closet, nor
the boys' ragged clothes just
then. No; she had a fine plan in her good little head, and was trying to
discover how she could carry it out.

 
          
           
You see, Christmas was coming in a week; and she had set her heart on putting
something in the children's stockings, as the mother used to do, for while she
lived things were comfortable. Now Tessa had not a penny in the world, and
didn't know how to get one, for all the father's earnings had to go for food,
fire, and rent.

 
          
           
'If there were only fairies, ah!
how
heavenly that would be; for then I should tell them all I wish, and, pop!
behold
the fine things in my lap!' said Tessa to herself. 'I
must earn the money; there is no one to give it to me, and I cannot beg. But
what can I do, so small and stupid and shy as I am? I
must
find some way to give the little ones a nice Christmas. I
must
! I
must
!' and Tessa pulled her long hair, as if that would help her
think.

 
          
           
But it didn't, and her heart got heavier and heavier; for it did seem hard that
in a great city full of fine things, there should be none for poor Nono, Sep,
and little Speranza. Just as Tessa's tears began to tumble off her eyelashes on
to her brown cheeks, the cricket began to chirp. Of course, he didn't say a
word; but it really did seem as if he had answered her question almost as well
as a fairy; for, before he had piped a dozen shrill notes, an idea popped into
Tessa's head—such a truly splendid idea that she clapped her hands and burst
out laughing. 'I'll do it! I'll do it!
if
father will
let me,' she said to herself, smiling and nodding at the fire. 'Tommo will like
to have me go with him and sing, while he plays his harp in the streets. I know
many songs, and may get money if I am not frightened; for people throw pennies
to other little girls who only play the tambourine. Yes, I will try; and then,
if I do well, the little ones shall have a Merry Christmas.'

 
          
           
So full of her plan was Tessa that she ran upstairs at once, and asked Tommo if
he would take her with him on the morrow. Her friend was
delighted,
for he thought Tessa's songs very sweet, and was sure she would get money if
she tried.

 
          
           
'But see, then, it is cold in the streets; the wind bites, and the snow freezes
one's fingers. The day is very long, people are cross, and at night one is
ready to die with weariness. Thou art so small, Tessa, I am afraid it will go
badly with thee,' said Tommo, who was a merry, black-eyed boy of fourteen, with
the kindest heart in the world under his old jacket.

 
          
           
'I do not mind cold and wet, and cross people, if I can get the pennies,'
answered Tessa, feeling very brave with such a friend to help her. She thanked
Tommo, and ran away to get ready, for she felt sure her father would not refuse
her anything. She sewed up the holes in her shoes as well as she could, for she
had much of that sort of cobbling to do; she mended her only gown, and laid
ready the old hood and shawl which had been her mother's. Then she washed out
little Ranza's frock and put it to dry, because she would not be able to do it
the next day. She set the table and got things ready for breakfast, for Tommo
went out early, and must not be kept waiting for her. She longed to make the
beds and dress the children over night, she was in such a hurry to have all in
order; but, as that could not be,
she
sat down again,
and tried over all the songs she knew. Six pretty ones were chosen; and she
sang away with all her heart in a fresh little voice so sweetly that the
children smiled in their
sleep,
and her father's tired
face brightened as he entered, for Tessa was his cheery cricket on the hearth.
When she had told her plan, Peter Benari shook his head, and thought it would
never do; but Tessa begged so hard, he consented at last that she should try it
for one week, and sent her to bed the happiest little girl in
New
York
.

 
          
           
Next morning the sun shone, but the cold wind blew, and the snow lay thick in
the streets. As soon as her father was gone, Tessa flew about and put
everything in nice order, telling the children she was going out for the day,
and they were to mind Tommo's mother, who would see about the fire and the
dinner; for the good woman loved Tessa, and entered into her little plans with
all her heart. Nono and Giuseppe, or Sep, as they called him, wondered what she
was going away for, and little Ranza cried at being left; but Tessa told them
they would know all about it in a week, and have a fine time if they were good;
so they kissed her all round and let her go.

 
          
           
Poor Tessa's heart beat fast as she trudged away with Tommo, who slung his harp
over his shoulder, and gave her his hand. It was rather a dirty hand, but so
kind that Tessa clung to it, and kept looking up at the friendly brown face for
encouragement.

 
          
           
'We go first to the
café
, where many
French and Italians eat the breakfast. They like my music, and often give me
sips of hot coffee, which I like much. You too shall have the sips, and perhaps
the pennies, for these people are greatly kind,' said Tommo, leading her into a
large smoky place where many people sat at little tables, eating and drinking.
'See, now, have no fear; give them "Bella Monica;" that is merry and
will make the laugh,' whispered Tommo, tuning his harp.

 
          
           
For a moment Tessa felt so frightened that she wanted to run away; but she
remembered the empty stockings at home, and the fine plan, and she resolved
not
to give it up. One fat old Frenchman
nodded to her, and it seemed to help her very much; for she began to sing
before she thought, and that was the hardest part of it. Her voice trembled,
and her cheeks grew redder and redder as she went on; but she kept her eyes
fixed on her old shoes, and so got through without breaking down, which was
very nice. The people laughed, for the song
was
merry; and the fat man smiled and nodded again. This gave her courage to try
another, and she sung better and better each time; for Tommo played his best,
and kept whispering to her, 'Yes; we go well; this is fine. They will give the
money and the blessed coffee.'

 
          
           
So they did; for, when the little concert was over, several men put pennies in
the cap Tessa offered, and the fat man took her on his knee, and ordered a mug
of
coffee,
and some bread and butter for them both.
This quite won her heart; and when they left the
café
, she kissed her hand to the old Frenchman, and said to her
friend, 'How kind they are! I like this very much; and now it is not hard.'

 
          
           
But Tommo shook his curly head, and answered, soberly, 'Yes, I took you there
first, for they love music, and
are
of our country;
but up among the great houses we shall not always do well. The people there are
busy or hard or idle, and care nothing for harps and songs. Do not skip and
laugh too soon; for the day is long, and we have but twelve pennies yet.'

 
          
           
Tessa walked more quietly, and rubbed her cold hands, feeling that the world
was a very big place, and wondering how the children got on at home without the
little mother. Till
noon
they did not
earn much, for every one seemed in a hurry, and the noise of many sleigh-bells
drowned the music. Slowly they made their way up to the great squares where the
big houses were, with fine ladies and pretty children at the windows. Here
Tessa sung all her best songs, and Tommo played as fast as his fingers could
fly; but it was too cold to have the windows open, so the pretty children could
not listen long, and the ladies tossed out a little money, and soon went back
to their own affairs.

 
          
           
All the afternoon the two friends wandered about, singing and playing, and
gathering up their small harvest. At dusk they went home, Tessa so hoarse she
could hardly speak, and so tired she fell asleep over her supper. But she had
made half a dollar, for Tommo divided the money fairly, and she felt rich with
her share. The other days were very much like this; sometimes they made more,
sometimes less, but Tommo always 'went halves;' and Tessa kept on, in spite of
cold and weariness, for her plans grew as her earnings increased, and now she
hoped to get useful things, instead of candy and toys alone.

 
          
           
On the day before Christmas she made herself as tidy as she could, for she
hoped to earn a good deal. She tied a bright scarlet handkerchief over the old
hood, and the brilliant color set off her brown cheeks and bright eyes, as well
as the pretty black braids of her hair. Tommo's mother lent her a pair of boots
so big that they turned up at the toes, but there were no holes in them, and
Tessa felt quite elegant in whole boots. Her hands were covered with
chilblains, for she had no mittens; but she put them under her shawl, and
scuffled merrily away in her big boots, feeling so glad that the week was over,
and nearly three dollars safe in her pocket. How gay the streets were that day!
how
brisk every one was, and how bright the faces
looked, as people trotted about with big baskets, holly-wreaths, and young
evergreens going to blossom into splendid Christmas trees!

 
          
           
'If I could have a tree for the children, I'd never want anything again. But I
can't; so I'll fill the socks all full, and be happy,' said Tessa, as she
looked wistfully into the gay stores, and saw the heavy baskets go by.

 
          
           
'Who knows what may happen if we do well?' returned Tommo, nodding wisely, for
he had a plan as well as Tessa, and kept chuckling over it as he trudged
through the mud. They did
not
do well
somehow, for every one seemed so full of their own affairs they could not stop
to listen, even to 'Bella Monica,' but bustled away to spend their money in
turkeys, toys, and trees. In the afternoon it began to rain, and poor Tessa's
heart to fail her; for the big boots tired her feet, the cold wind made her
hands ache, and the rain spoilt the fine red handkerchief. Even Tommo looked
sober, and didn't whistle as he walked, for he also was disappointed, and his
plan looked rather doubtful, the pennies came in so slowly.

 
          
           
'We'll try one more street, and then go home, thou art so tired, little one.
Come; let me wipe thy face, and give me thy hand here in my jacket pocket;
there it will be as warm as any kitten;' and kind Tommo brushed away the drops
which were not
all
rain from Tessa's
cheeks, tucked the poor hand into his ragged pocket, and led her carefully
along the slippery streets, for the boots nearly tripped her up.

 
          
           
At the first house, a cross old gentleman flapped his newspaper at them; at the
second, a young gentleman and lady were so busy talking that they never turned
their heads, and at the third, a servant came out and told them to go away,
because some one was sick. At the fourth, some people let them sing all their
songs and gave nothing. The next three houses were empty; and the last of all
showed not a single face as they looked up anxiously. It was so cold, so dark
and discouraging, that Tessa couldn't help one sob; and, as he glanced down at
the little red nose and wet figure beside him, Tommo gave his harp an angry
thump, and said something very fierce in Italian. They were just going to turn
away; but they didn't, for that angry thump happened to be the best thing they
could have done. All of a sudden a little head appeared at the window, as if
the sound had brought it; then another and another, till there were five, of
all heights and colors, and five eager faces peeped out, smiling and nodding to
the two below.