CHAPTER XXII.
THE CHRISTMAS-TREE’S SECOND CROP.
The habits of even a short life-time are not easily changed; so before a single servant was astir in that luxurious household Marion had risen and dressed herself. Lily had no early-rising habits to contend with, and so slept peacefully on till Adèle came in to say that Mrs. Ashley wished to know if the young ladies required assistance in dressing and to tell them breakfast would be ready in half an hour.
Lily slipped her feet into a pair of slippers and came into Marion’s room in a half-awake condition.
“Why, you early bird!” she exclaimed, “I do believe you got up to gloat over your new breastpin.”
Marion laughed and blushed, for it was true that she had been contemplating her first piece of jewelry for a long time with great content.
“I envy you,” said Lily, “not the pin, but not having your ‘first times’ till you were old enough to realize them. I thought of it last night, when your eyes were shining like diamonds and you looked like a peri who had squeezed into Eden after long shivering at the gate, like the one in Moore’s poems. Now, my dear little rosy-round, daddy isn’t frightfully rich like Mr. Ashley, but then I’ve always had more trinkets and things than I needed, and I don’t begin to have the fun out of them that you have had already over your one poor little breastpin.”
“O, it isn’t poor or little!” exclaimed shocked Marion. “It is as pretty a pin as any of the girls had at school.”
“And you did long for one, didn’t you, poor little kitty mouse?”
“No, I didn’t, because I didn’t see how it was possible I could ever have one. But, Lily, you wont be ready for breakfast.”
That was a very informal meal in the Ashley house, for the family never waited for the mistress, who was apt to breakfast in her own room, and Mr. Ashley was such a restless, active person that he usually dispatched his breakfast before any one else began and trotted off to call on his two sets of grandchildren. This morning the three girls had the table all to themselves, and Marion was lost in wonder at Lily, who did not seem in the least awed by the solemn butler, who seemed to her to be the most scornful and disapproving looking gentleman she had ever seen; and when Katie, with the courage of a lion-tamer, calmly sent him down-stairs because they wanted to discuss a private matter she almost looked for an earthquake to happen next.
The private matter was a present Mrs. Ashley wished to make to Mrs. Abbott and was going to leave to the three girls to select and present as an offering from themselves. The discussion seemed interminable, and was still in full tide when Mr. Ashley came in, rubbing his hands and crying “Merry Christmas!” to them.
“Here are sweets to the sweet,” he continued, handing them each a two-pound box of Huyler’s very best, “and here are charms to the charmers and gloves to the gloveless;” and with chuckles of delight he arranged the packages in front of the girls, walking around the table and rubbing his hands gleefully while they unwrapped and explored. Every thing was alike in each instance. Two pairs of gloves apiece—extra length, he explained, solemnly, because the tops could be used to resole the bottoms. The “charms” were lovely silver chatelaines, with smelling-bottle, bon-bon box, and other hanging appurtenances; and the girls uttered their approbation in little screams of delight, in the midst of which Mr. Ashley put his hands over his ears and ran out of the room.
“And the best of papa’s Christmas morning gifts is that he don’t mind your giving them away to somebody else if you want. He wouldn’t forgive any one who parted with Christmas-tree things, but these have no sentiment, he says.”
“There’ll be no danger of my parting with these glorious gloves,” said Lily. “I never had any a mile long before. And do see Marion. She’s regarding hers with such reverence that I expect to see her swing incense in front of them in a minute. I believe she likes them better than her lovely chatelaine.”
“O, no, but I can wear the gloves.”
“Well, I suppose papa thought you could; but can’t you wear the chatelaine too?”
“It seems too fine for me, with the kind of clothes I wear.”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Katie, hurriedly, to avoid noticing Marion’s embarrassment, “we’ll go around to the Gorham to-morrow right after breakfast and change off that chatelaine for other things. I know you’re such a silly goose that you’d rather have a half-dozen trinkets to give away than this.”
It was worth something to see the pleasure in Marion’s face at this suggestion; but Lily did not give her time to say any thing, for she sprang up and gave Katie a hug and resounding kiss, with an emphatic declaration that she was the dearest girl that ever lived.
“And we’ll give her our votes for the Bellamy prize, wont we, though?” she said to Marion, as she resumed her seat.
Adèle came in then with a request from Mrs. Ashley that they would not fatigue themselves in their morning amusements, as she depended upon them to entertain her guests at her Christmas-tree from four to six in the afternoon.
The drawing-room was mysteriously closed; and when, at the appointed hour, the girls went in with Mrs. Ashley they found it greatly changed from the night before. The tree was equally well filled, but with gifts of a widely different character, and by its side and behind it stood tables strangely loaded. One was covered with stout shoes; another held a pyramid of bundles, each bearing a small placard. The third table, longer and wider than the others, was loaded with hats and caps.
The room was lighted with gas, which seemed to have a bewildering effect upon the twenty guests who now began to arrive. The sudden change from daylight, or else the splendor of the brilliant tree, made each girl as she entered rub her eyes and look helplessly about for an instant. They were the members of Mrs. Ashley’s class in the mission school, and every year she entertained them in this way.
Katie and Lily did their best to make the company feel at home; but perhaps there was a tiny bit of condescension in their efforts, for the girls seemed shy and afraid to converse; but with Marion it was different. She knew by her own experience how embarrassing it was to step from the surroundings of poverty into unaccustomed elegance, and the lessons she had learned made her know what to say to these shy, awkward strangers to make them feel comfortable and at home.
The guests were all gathered at last and seated where their eager eyes could feast upon the ever-fertile tree, as Lily called it. Then, from behind the portieres, appeared Santa Claus, smothered in furs. His long white beard indicated great age, but his agile and jerky method of skipping about contradicted the venerable effect. His pockets were puffed out and he carried a loaded pannier on his back.
Taking his station with his back to the mantel, Santa Claus waved his sealskin-gloved hands toward the company, saying, “Class, please to rise;” whereupon the guests all stood up, Katie and her friends also rising.
“If any one present,” continued Santa Claus, whisking up to the tree and back again to his place, “wishes a share in these gifts, will she kindly signify it by saying ‘I would?’”
Such an animated chorus of “I woulds” arose then that Santa Claus put his hands over his ears.
“Please don’t all speak at once next time,” he said. “Now, head of the class, tell me which were made first, cats or kittens? What, don’t know? Next, then. You don’t know either? nor you? Why, who does know?”
All the class were giggling and nudging each other in great amusement, and at the last question one girl called out “Cats!” and sank back upon a chair in a paroxysm of half-nervous laughter.
“Wrong,” said Santa Claus, severely. “You know every cat has to be a kitten first. Try again.”
“Kittens!” screamed the whole class in concert.
“O, what an ill-taught class!” said Santa Claus, looking around slyly at Mrs. Ashley. “I should think you’d know there couldn’t be kittens without cats for mothers.”
“Which of’em was made first then?” said the boldest member of the class; but the others pounced on her and called out, “For shame, ’Lizy Maria!” so vigorously that she was completely crushed.
“You must ask your teacher,” said Santa Claus, politely, beginning to unload his pockets and hand out blue, scarlet, and brown mittens—a pair for each girl. “And as you have such strange ideas of cats and kittens, here are some articles to refresh your memories about them;” and by some dexterous gymnastics he freed himself from the large sack or pannier that ornamented his back and poured its load of muffs upon the floor. There was one for each girl, and they were quickly picked up and appropriated at the word of command.
Then there was a general distribution of the useful gifts upon the table and of those upon the tree, which were prettier if less useful, being little books, work-baskets, photograph frames, and other trifles, such as girls without pocket-money prize.
There were some merry games then in which Katie and her friends took part, and then the twenty happy visitors took their gifts home with beaming faces and grateful hearts.
“It may pall upon your fancy, my Marion,” said Lily that night when they were undressing, “but for the fiftieth time I must repeat my conviction that these Ashleys deserve their wealth.”
“O, they do,” assented Marion, enthusiastically, “and Katie grows nicer every day.”
“Yes, Katie’s getting gooder and gooder all the time, as little Elfie says, bless her heart!”