Christmas Angel — 03 - Chapters 8 - 10
CHAPTER VIII JACK AGAIN
The Christmas Angel gently waved his hand to and fro.
Gradually, as Miss Terry sat back in her chair, the library grew dark; or rather, things faded into an indistinguishable blur.
Then it seemed as if she were sitting at a theatre gazing at a great stage.
But at this theatre there was nothing about her, nothing between her and the place where things were happening.
* * * * * First she saw two little ragamuffins quarreling over something in the snow.
She recognized them.
They were the two Jewish boys who had picked up the Jack-in-the-box.
An officer appeared, and they ran away, the bigger boy having possession of the toy; the smaller one with fists in his eyes, bawling with disappointment.
Miss Terry's lips curled with the cynical disgust which she had felt when first witnessing this scene.
But a sweet voice--and she knew it was the Angel's--whispered in her ear, "Wait and see!"
She watched the two boys run through the streets until they came to a dark corner.
There the little fellow caught up with the other, and once more the struggle began.
It was a hard and bloody fight.
But this time the victory was with the smaller lad, who used his fists and feet like an enraged animal, until the other howled for mercy and handed over the disputed toy.
"Whatcher want it fer, Sam?"
he blubbered as he saw it go into the little fellow's pocket.
"Mind yer own business!
I just want it," answered Sam surlily.
"Betcher I know," taunted the bigger boy.
"Betcher yer don't." "Do!"
"Don't!"
Another fight seemed imminent.
But wisdom prevailed with Sammy.
He would not challenge fate a third time.
"Come on, then, and see," he grunted.
And Ike followed.
Off the two trudged, through the brilliantly lighted streets, until they came to a part of the city where the ways were narrower and dark.
"Huh!
Knowed you was comin' here," commented Ike as they turned into a grim, dirty alley.
Little Sam growled, "Didn't!"
apparently as a matter of habit.
"Did!"
reasserted Ike.
"Just where I was comin' myself."
Sam turned to him with a grin.
"Was yer now?
By--!
Ain't that funny?
I thought of it right off."
"Sure.
Same here!"
They both burst into a guffaw and executed an impromptu double-shuffle of delight.
They were at the door of a tenement house with steep stairs leading into darkness.
Up three flights pounded the two pairs of heavy boots, till they reached a half-open door, whence issued the clatter of a sewing-machine and the voices of children.
Sam stood on the threshold grinning debonairly, with hands thrust into his pockets.
Ike peered over his shoulder, also grinning.
It was a meagre room into which they gazed, a room the chief furniture of which seemed to be babies.
Two little ones sprawled on the floor.
A third tiny tot lay in a broken-down carriage beside the door.
A pale, ill-looking woman was running the machine.
On the cot bed was crumpled a fragile little fellow of about five, and a small pair of crutches lay across the foot of the bed.
When the two boys appeared in the doorway, the woman stopped her machine and the children set up a howl of pleasure.
"Sammy!
Ikey!"
cried the woman, smiling a wan welcome, as the babies crept and toddled toward the newcomers.
"Where ye come from?"
"Been to see the shops and the lights in the swell houses," answered Sammy with a grimace.
"Gee!
Ain't they wastin' candles to beat the cars!"
"Enough to last a family a whole year," muttered Ike with disgust.
The woman sighed.
"Maybe they ain't wasted exactly," she said.
"How I'd like to see 'em!
But I got to finish this job.
I told the chil'ren they mustn't expect anything this Christmas.
But they are too little to know the difference anyway; all but Joe.
I wish I had something for Joe."
"I got something for Joe," said Sammy unexpectedly.
The face of the pale little cripple lighted.
"What is it?"
he asked eagerly.
"Oh, what is it?
A real Christmas present for me?"
"Naw!
It ain't a Christmas present," said Sam.
"We don't care anything about Christmas," volunteered Ikey with a grin.
Sam looked at him with a frown of rebuke.
"It's just a _present_," he said.
"And it didn't cost a cent.
I didn't buy it.
I--we found it!"
"Found it in the street?"
Joe's eyes shone.
"Yah!"
the boys nodded.
"Oh, it _is_ a Christmas present!"
cried Joe.
"Santa Claus must have dropped it there for me, because he knew we hadn't any chimney in this house, and he sent you kind, kind boys to bring it to me."
The two urchins looked sideways at each other, but said nothing.
Presently Sam drew out the box from his pocket and tried to thrust it into Ike's hand.
"You give it to 'um," he said.
"You're the biggest."
"Naw!
You give it.
You found it," protested Ike.
"Ah, g'wan!"
"Big fool!"
There was a tussle, and it almost seemed as if the past unpleasantness was to be repeated from an opposite cause.
But Joe's voice settled the dispute.
"Oh, Sammy, please!"
he cried.
"I can't wait another minute.
Do please give it to me now!"
At these words Sam stepped forward without further argument and laid the box on the bed in front of the little cripple.
The babies crowded about.
The mother left her machine and stood smiling faintly at the foot of the bed.
Joe pressed the spring.
_Ping!
_ Out sprang the Jack-in-the-box, with the same red nose, the same leer, the same roguish eyes which had surprised the children of fifty years ago.
[Illustration: _PING!
_ OUT SPRANG THE JACK-IN-THE-BOX]
Jack was always sure of his audience.
My!
How they screamed and begged Joe to "do it again."
And as for Joe, he lay back on his pillow and laughed and laughed as though he would never stop.
It was the first Jack any of them had seen.
Tears stood in the mother's eyes.
"Well," she said, "it's as good as a play to see him.
Joe hasn't laughed like that for months.
You boys have done him lots of good.
I wouldn't wonder if it helped him get well!
If you was Christians I'd say you showed the real Christmas spirit.
But Lord--perhaps ye do, all the same!
I dunno!"
Sam and Ike were so busy playing with the children that they did not hear.
* * * * * Gradually the tenement house faded and became a blur before Miss Terry's eyes.
Once more she saw the mantel-shelf before her and the Christmas Angel with outstretched arms waving to and fro.
"You see!"
he said.
"You did not guess all the pleasure that was shut up in that box with old Jack, did you?"
Miss Terry shook her head.
"And you see how different it all was from what you thought.
Now let us see what became of the Canton-flannel dog."
"The Flanton Dog."
Miss Terry amended the phrase under her breath.
It seemed so natural to use Tom's word.
"Yes, the Flanton Dog," the Angel smiled.
"What do you think became of him?"
"I saw what became of him," said Miss Terry.
"Bob Cooper threw him under an automobile, and he was crushed flatter than a pancake."
"Then you left the window," said the Angel.
"In your human way you assumed that this was the end.
But wait and see."
Once more the room darkened and blurred, and Miss Terry looked out upon past events as upon a busy, ever-shifting stage.
CHAPTER IX THE DOG AGAIN
She saw the snowy street, into which, from the tip of his stick, Bob Cooper had just tossed the Flanton Dog.
She saw, what she had not seen before, the woman and child on the opposite side of the street.
She saw the baby stretch out wistful hands after the dog lying in the snow.
Then an automobile honked past, and she felt again the thrill of horror as it ran over the poor old toy.
At the same moment the child screamed, and she saw it point tearfully at the Flanton tragedy.
The mother, who had seen nothing of all this, stooped and spoke to him reprovingly.
"What's the matter, Johnnie?"
she said.
"Sh!
Don't make such a noise.
Here we are at Mrs. Wales's gate, and you mustn't make a fuss.
Now be a good boy and wait here till Mother comes out."
She rang the area bell and stood basket in hand, waiting to be admitted.
But Johnnie gazed at one spot in the street, with eyes full of tears, and with now and then a sob gurgling from his throat.
He could not forget what he had seen.
The door opened for the mother, who disappeared inside the house, with one last command to the child: "Now be a good boy, Johnnie.
I'll be back in half a minute."
Hardly was she out of sight when Johnnie started through the snowdrift toward the middle of the street.
With difficulty he lifted his little legs out of the deep snow; now and then he stumbled and fell into the soft mass.
But he rose only the more determined upon his errand, and kept his eyes fixed on the wreck of the Flanton Dog.
Bob Cooper, who was idly strolling up and down the block, smoking a cigarette, as he watched the flitting girlish shadows in a certain window opposite, saw the child's frantic struggles in the snow and was intensely amused.
"Bah Jove!"
he chuckled.
"I believe he's after the wretched dawg that I tossed over there with my stick.
Fahncy it!"
And carelessly he puffed a whiff of smoke.
At last the baby reached the middle of the street and stooped to pick up the battered toy.
It was flattened and shapeless, but the child clasped it tenderly and began to coo softly to it.
"Bah Jove!"
repeated Cooper.
"Fahncy caring so much about anything!
Poor kid!
Perhaps that is all the Christmas he will have."
He blew a thoughtful puff through his nose.
"Christmas Eve!"
The thought flashed through his mind with a new appeal.
Just then came a sudden "_Honk, honk!
_" An automobile had turned the corner and was coming up at full speed.
It was the same machine which had passed a few minutes earlier in the opposite direction.
"Hi there!"
Cooper yelled to the child.
But the latter was sitting in the snow in the middle of the street, rocking back and forth, with the Flanton Dog in his arms.
There was scarcely time for action.
Bob dropped his cigarette and his cane, made one leap into the street and another to the child, and by the impact of his body threw the baby into the drift at the curb.
With a horrified _honk_ the automobile passed over the young man, who lay senseless in the snow.
[Illustration: BOB COOPER SAVES THE BABY] He was not killed.
Miss Terry saw him taken to his home close by, where his broken leg was set and his bruises attended to.
She saw him lying bandaged and white on his bed when the woman and her child were brought to see him.
Johnnie was still clasping closely the unlucky Flanton Dog.
"Well, Kid," said the young man feebly, "so you saved the dog, after all."
"O sir!"
cried the poor woman, weeping.
"Only to think that he would not be here now but for you.
What a Christmas that would have been for me!
You were so good, so brave!"
"Oh, rot!"
protested Bob faintly.
"Had to do it; my fault anyway; Christmas Eve,--couldn't see a kid hurt on Christmas Eve."
He called the attendant and asked for the pocket-book which had been in his coat at the time of the accident.
Putting it into the woman's hand, he said, "Good-by.
Get Johnnie something really jolly for Christmas.
I'm afraid the dog is about all in.
Get him a new one."
But Johnnie refused to have a new dog.
It was the poor, shapeless Flanton animal which remained the darling of his heart for many a moon.
* * * * * All this of past and future Miss Terry knew through the Angel's power.
When once more the library lightened, and she saw the pink figure smiling at her from the mantel, she spoke of her own accord.
"It was my fault, because I put the dog in the way.
I caused all that trouble."
"Trouble?"
said the Angel, puzzled.
"Do you call it _trouble?
_ Do you not see what it has done for that heartless youth?
It brought his good moment.
Perhaps he will be a different man after this.
And as for the child; he was made happy by something that would otherwise have been wasted, and he has gained a friend who will not forget him.
Trouble!
And do you think _you_ did it?"
He laughed knowingly.
"I certainly did," said Miss Terry firmly.
"But it was I, yes _I_, the Christmas Spirit, who put it into your head to do what you did.
You may not believe it, but so it was.
You too, even you, Angelina, could not quite escape the influence of the Christmas Spirit, and so these things have happened.
But now let us see what became of the third experiment."
CHAPTER X NOAH AGAIN
In the street of candles a woman dressed all in black had picked up the poor old Noah's ark and was looking at it wildly.
She was a widow who had just lost her only child, a little son, and she was in a state of morbid bitterness bordering on distraction.
When the second woman with the two little ones came up and begged for the toy, something hard and sullen and cruel rose in the widow's heart, and she refused angrily to give up the thing.
She hated those two boys who had been spared when her own was taken.
She would not make them happy.
"No, you shall not have it," she cried, clutching the Noah's ark fiercely.
"I will destroy it."
The poor woman and the children followed her wistfully.
The little boys were crying.
They were cold and hungry and disappointed.
They had come so near to something pleasant.
They had almost been lucky; but the luck had passed over their heads to another.
The woman in mourning strode on rapidly, the thoughts within her no less black than the garments which she wore.
She hated the world; she hated the people who lived in it.
She hated Christmas time, when every one seemed merry except herself.
And yes, yes!
Most of all she hated children.
She clenched her teeth wickedly; her mind reeled.
Suddenly, somewhere, a chorus of happy voices began to sing the words of an old carol:-- "Holy night!
Peaceful night!
All is dark save the light, Yonder where they sweet vigil keep, O'er the Babe who in silent sleep Rests in heavenly peace."
Softly and sweetly the childish voices ascended from the street.
The woman in black stopped short, breathing hard.
She saw the band of choristers standing in a group on the sidewalk and in the snow, their hats pulled down over their eyes, their collars turned up around their ears, their hands deep in pockets.
In their midst rose the tall wooden cross carried by a little fellow with yellow hair.
They sang as simply and as heartily as a flock of birds out in the snow.
The woman gave a great sob.
Her little lad had been a choir boy,--perhaps these were his one-time comrades.
The second verse of the carol rang out sweetly:-- "Holy night!
Peaceful night!
Only for shepherds' sight Came blest visions of angel throngs, With their loud Hallelujah songs, Saying, Jesus is come!"
Suddenly it seemed to the distracted mother that her own boy's voice blended with those others.
He too was singing in honor of that Child.
Happy and ever young, he was bidding her rejoice in the day which made all childhood sacred.
And for his sake she had been hating children!
With a sudden revulsion of feeling she turned to see what had become of the poor mother and her boys.
They were not far behind, huddling in the shadow.
The black woman strode quickly up to them.
They shrank pitifully at her approach, and she felt the shame of it.
They were afraid of her!
"Here," she said, thrusting the Noah's ark into the hands of the larger boy.
"Take it.
It belongs to you."
The child took it timidly.
The mother began to protest thanks.
Trying to control the shake in her voice the dark lady spoke again.
"Have you prepared a Christmas for your children?"
The woman shook her head.
"I have nothing," she sighed.
"A roof over our heads, that's all."
"Your husband?"
"My man died a month ago."
So other folk had raw sorrows, too.
The mourner had forgotten that.
"There is no one expecting you at home?"
Again the woman shook her head dolefully.
"Come with me," said the dark lady impulsively.
"You shall be my guests to-night.
And to-morrow I will make a Christmas for the children.
The house shall put off its shadow.
I too will light candles.
I have toys,"--her voice broke,--"and clothing; many things, which are being wasted.
That is not right!
Something led you to me, or me to you;
something,--perhaps it was an Angel,--whoever dropped that Noah's ark in the street.
An Angel might do that, I believe.
Come with me."
The woman and her sons followed her, rejoicing greatly in the midst of their wonder.
* * * * * There were tears in the eyes through which Miss Terry saw once more the Christmas Angel.
