long strings of pop-corn and scarlet cranberries from bough to
bough, with the glittering necklaces hung where the light would
show their colors best.
“I never saw such a splendid tree before. I’m glad we could help,
though we were ill. Is it all done now?” asked Jill, when the last
parcel was tied on and everybody stood back to admire the pretty
sight.
“One thing more. Hand me that box, Frank, and be very careful
that you fasten this up firmly, Ralph,” answered Mrs. Minot, as she
took from its wrappings the waxen figure of a little child. The rosy
limbs were very life-like, so was the smiling face under the locks
of shining hair. Both plump arms were outspread as if to scatter
blessings over all, and downy wings seemed to flutter from the
dimpled shoulders, making an angel of the baby.
“Is it St. Nicholas?” asked Jill, who had never seen that famous
personage, and knew but little of Christmas festivities.
“It is the Christ-child, whose birthday we are celebrating. I got the
best I could find, for I like the idea better than old Santa Claus;
though we may have him, too,” said Mamma, holding the little
image so that both could see it well.
“It looks like a real baby”; and Jack touched the rosy foot with the
tip of his finger, as if expecting a crow from the half-open lips.
“It reminds me of the saints in the chapel of the Sacred Heart in
Montreal. One little St. John looked like this, only he had a lamb
instead of wings,” said Jill, stroking the flaxen hair, and wishing
she dared ask for it to play with.
“He is the children’s saint to pray to, love, and imitate, for he never
forgot them, but blessed and healed and taught them all his life.
This is only a poor image of the holiest baby ever born, but I hope
it will keep his memory in your minds all day, because this is the
day for good resolutions, happy thoughts, and humble prayers, as
well as play and gifts and feasting.”
While she spoke, Mrs. Minot, touching the little figure as tenderly
as if it were alive, had tied a broad white ribbon round it, and,
handing it to Ralph, bade him fasten it to the hook above the
tree-top, where it seemed to float as if the downy wings supported
it.
Jack and Jill lay silently watching, with a sweet sort of soberness
in their young faces, and for a moment the room was very still as
all eyes looked up at the Blessed Child. The sunshine seemed to
grow more golden as it flickered on the little head, the flames
glanced about the glittering tree as if trying to climb and kiss the
baby feet, and, without, a chime of bells rang sweetly, calling
people to hear again the lovely story of the life begun on
Christinus Day.
Only a minute, but it did them good, and presently, when the
pleasant work was over, and the workers gone, the boys to church,
and Mamma to see about lunch for the invalids, Jack said, gravcly,
to Jill,
“I think we ought to be extra good, everyone is so kind to us, and
we are getting well, and going to have such capital times. Don’t see
how we can do anything else to show we are grateful.”
“It isn’t easy to be good when one is sick,” said Jill, thoughtfully. “I
fret dreadfully, I get so tired of being still. I want to scream
sometimes, but I don’t, because it would scare Mammy, so I cry.
Do you cry, Jack?”
“Men never do. I want to tramp round when things bother me; but I
can t, so I kick and say, ‘Hang it! and when I get very bad I pitch
into Frank, arid he lets me. I tell you, Jill, he’s a good brother!” and
Jack privately resolved then and there to invite Frank to take it out
of him in any form he pleased as soon as health would permit.
“I rather think we shall grow good in this pretty place, for I don’t
see how we can be bad if we want to, it is all so nice and sort of