THE CHRISTMAS JOY THAT CAME TO BETTY.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2693, 24 December 1909, Page 4 (Supplement)

THE CHRISTMAS JOY THAT CAME TO BETTY.

A STORY OF THE GREATNESS OF

MOTHER-LOVE

(By Anne Warner, Author of “Susan Clegg and Her Friend Mrs Lathrop,” “Seeing France With Uncle John,” etc.)

At the top of the third flight of stairs she always had to stop and rest. She used to stand there with one hand on the rail and feel that if it had not been for Little Sister and Baby she never, never could have got started again. The end always seemed miles farther on as she paused at the top of the third flight, but she was so regular in the way and hour of her homecoming that as she stood there panting the same noise always sounded overhead, and that noise always gave her strength enough to go on almost at once.

The noise was the noise of a squeaky, opening door followed by the noise of little feet. The squeaky door was Betty's own door and the pattering feet were the feet of Little Sister and Baby. When the clock struck the halfhour Little Sister always opened the door and she and Baby came out into the hall and perched on the highest step of all the many curling, climbing steps that led the way up to there, and then they sat and waited for Mamma. Little Sister always held Baby’s hand for fear that Baby might fall down the stairs, and Baby, who had no responsibility at all—not even the responsibility of keeping her small self from rolling downstairs —always devoted all her mentality to looking downward to where an additional shadow of the unlighted way was invariably. to develop two minutes later into a mother whose tired pallor was ever ready to flush rosy at the hugs and kisses awaiting her above. Betty always heard them come out and always drew her breath deeper as she listened. ' It was such a joy to hear their little voices whispering—such a joy to know that they were there awaiting her. For twelve hours to come they were sure to stay all safe—safe in her arms—for Betty loved her babies passionately. * * * After a minute she went on up the fourth flight. It seemed so very long to-niglht, and her heart labored horribly. And the fifth flight wa s still to come. ‘Oh, God —oh, God!” she murmured as she felt her breath deserting her to. the point of faintness. And then she felt something worse than any failing breath —she felt the paper rustle in her bosom, and its suggestion carried away the last remnant of her strength. “Dat you, Mamma?” Little Sister cried from above. “At 00, Mamma?” Baby cried too. “Yes,” said Betty, “yes—in—in just a minute, my darlings.” And then she sank down on the lowest step of the .fifth flight and knew that it was awfully, woefully near to its ending. The paper rustled afresh as she panted for breath and it sickened her afresh. She looked up at her children who sat above there in the beam of lig£ht from the open door, and their faces smiled upon her. Little Sister’s hair encircled her head like a halo of gold and Baby’s hair suggested a ring of woven sunbeams. Betty tried to smile up at them, although they could not see her face in the darkness, but her smile quivered away and the merciful shadows drey a veil over what it merged into. Then, in a minute, she arose and toiled up the last flight to where their eagerness was waiting to be kissed. “You’re very tired,” said observant Little Sister, as they all three entered the room together. “Berry ti’ed,” said Baby, pressing

close. Betty nodded as she hung up her hat and jacket. “Is tea all ready?” she asked. It seemed as if she must eat before she could speak. Little Sister hurried importantly about.

The table was set with its poor array of cups and spoons, and in the middle on a plate was the very small end of a loaf of bread. Betty’ s eyes fell on the bread, while Little Sister tvas winding her hand up in an old strip of black merino preparatory to lifting the boiling kettle from the oil-stove. “Isn’t there more bread than that?” she asked. Little Sister carefully set the kettle doivn, unwound her hand and arm and then came around in front of her mother. Baby came instantly and stood beside her. “Mamma,” said Little Sister, “it was Baby.” “It wad me,” said Baby. “She was so hungry to-day,” said Little Sister. “I wud to hundry,” said Baby. “She took the loaf and cut a big piece for herself,” said Little Sister earnestly. “I tut a bit peet for myset,” said Baby. • “And then she cut another,” said little Sister, her eyes widening ever so slightly, “and she ate it.” “An ’en I tut anudder,” said Baby, “an’ I ate ’at too.” Little Sister’s hand bent forth and took Baby’s little hand close in its clasp." '' • " r ' : • “She was so hungry,” said Little Sister, softly. ’ .“I wud to hundry,”, said Baby also softly. ■ ■ „ ' MmwMrn&rgfm ■ -v- ■■ : vr,•#.>#;.; *. fe Betty leaned her head upon her hand ■ looked at them both and then at small piece of bread. She had no igth to g)o and, buy more, but that not the worst of it, “No strength” d ; enough and pitiful enough, Hea- , knows, but “no strength” going I in hand with “no money” is the

saddest and most pitiful thing in all the, wide world., i '- } I,f1 ,f ''

“You’re not vexed?” said Little Sister, without any anxiety in her tone. “Oo not ’exed?” said Baby.

Betty shook' her head, and then she took the bit of bread up in her fingers and broke it slowly in two and laid it on their two plates.

“Don’t you want mine?” said Little Sister.

Betty shook her head again and tried hard to smile. She had to lay a steadying hand upon her heart as che made the effort, and the paper rustled again. She looked at Little Sister, and she looked at Baby, and then she rose and went and opened the window a little and breathed the cold, damp air deep into her lungs. When she turned the bread had disappeared and Little Sister was pouring out the tea.,' ‘Drink some, Mamma,” she said.

Betty sat down and drank some, and then she remained sitting there while Little Sister undressed Baby and put her into the wide bed and undressed \ herself and crept in after her. Betty . got up then and went over and kissed ; them both, and they clasped their arms [ about her neck and smiled, and turned upon- their pillows and went to sleep, i When they were asleep she unfasten- > ed her dress and took out the paper . a ud opened it and turned to the place, r Her heart was burning her with a tearing sensation of contending emotions. - She glanced toward Hie bed and then 1 turned her eyes resolutely down upon t the page and read: } “WANTED, to adopt, a little ! golden-haired girl' between 1 three and six years of age.—■ j Apply Sunday, 4S Mayfair.” r Little Sister was six and Baby was ! three, aud they each had hair as soft _ and yellow a s the liquid light that fills D the sunset world. r Betty sat with her tired head sup--1 ported on her tired hands for a long half-hour. Then finally she slipped l from her chair on to her knees and i tried to pray. But she could not. All r she could see was Little ,Sister alone, x Or Baby alone. And the long, sad days. And the eeaseles s struggle. And - then at last she found herself so near - to falling on the floor that she sum- ’ moned her last atom cf physical force and tottered to the bed and fell into the place they left for her, a place ? which always let her stretch one arm ; across Little Sister so that her hand - rested on Baby’s regular breathing. ) They were still both hers to-night at - all events, and the hot tears came ; storming at the thought. And then i her great exhaustion overpowered even - her tortured mind, and she slept—slept i dreamlessly and for long hours. It was a lovely Sunday—a Sunday : like spring. No one who was unaccustomed to that envious individual—- • the Weather-God of London—would ever have supposed that Christmas was but three days away. The air was : bright and clear, the blue mist rested : softly among the soft, brown bareness i of the trees in the parks, the grass -was - sweet and green, and the world seems ed ready to burst into bloom three • months ahead cf time. : On top of an omnibu s lumbering up s the aristocratic length of Park Lane > sat Betty, Little Sister and Baby. All l three were dressed in a best that was • as pitiful as it was courageous > “It’s s o beautiful,” said Little Sister, looking up at her mother just tifen. ; “So booful,” said Baby. ‘ Betty smiled. ■ ' Then after a little it came their turn • to get down, and her heart began to choke her as she went up the stately side street with its row of grand, silent, unsympathetic-looking houses. No. 48 was especially grand, silent, - and unsympathetic-looking, and there -was a manrin livery in front who seemed stationed there on purpose to l warn those whose misery drove them to the borderland of desperation away - from the great door of wood and gold. There was a way that led down underneath the grandeur, and that was the way that Betty and her children took, and which led them, after ten minutes of most overawing experience, to where they found themselves alone together in a small red room. A bright fire burned there, and the chairs were too soft for words. Betty • sat timidly down, and. Little Sister took another chair ' and perched .modestly on its extreme, edge, but Baby climbed way up and into the biggest and softest chair in the room and folded her tiny red hands in her lap and sighed a big sigh of utter pleasure. , • * * After a few minutes the door opened and a voice that seemed to belong to the hand that opened it said in stately tones: “Here, my lady.” And then something as pretty as Little Sister and Baby—either or both —came into the room. The something was a young lady—a very young lady, all cream and roses and silk and gold. Her hair and ner.. eyes and her lips and her smile all as perfect as hair and eyes and lips can be. Her dress was rose, and great folds and falls of lace flowed over it. Around her-waist a great golden lope was knotted, on her finger s were sparkling gems, on her wrists were more gems, on her white throat were.-still more gems. She -was beautiful <-i.d dazzling, and dazzlingly beautiful, and as Betty and the children stared in an utter wonder that killed aiiketheir speech and their' manners the lovely Vision cried: -4 “Oh, the dear little golden-heads! They- are real little golden-heads!. These are exactly wliat I wanted.” : Betty was standing and Little .Sister had risen too, but Baby was still and dumb. . , , “Are they .sisters?” the Vision asked, addressing Betty, hut never lifting her eyes from the two children. ... : “Yes, my lady,” said Betty. “Are they yours?” “Yes, my lady?” <

“I want "them both!” . There was a curious flush in the room —it seemed to the poor mother —and then the Vision spoke again: “Yes, I want them both. They are too dear. They will be so sweet to dress and shop for.” She swept down on her knees by Baby then, and all the pink and white and gold of her wonderful gown encircled Baby and her, /poor little coat and her red little hands.

“Think of it,” the Vision exclaimed; “a doily and a dolly-tub, a little dog to lead by a chain, and cakes and tea, and a white frock with a big, broad belt! Only think of it!” As Baby knew very little of any of the delight s thus vividly portrayed to her small imagination she was not greatly affected by this speech, but Little Sister knew and drew nearer. Betty stood still, and her heart seemed dripping tears within her—tears of blood. , .

‘A little room,” continued the Vision, “and a dear little bed, and a little chair and table, and a little pair of slippers, and a Title warm gown to tuck up in each night!”

Little Sister was looking very earnest. “She i s warm nights,” she said; “I hold her.”

“Her holds me,” said Baby. Oh, the poor mother! standing listening.

“And you, too, little one,” said the Vision; “you’ll have just the samejust exactly the same. I want you both. I must have you both.” Then she rose and turned to Betty. “I can have them both—can’t I?’’ she asked. “It will save you such a lot of trouble.” Betty did not look" at the children — she looked at the fire. She felt as if her last hour had come. She thought perhaps this was the way in which the good .God had planned to care for Little Sister and Baby. She kept on looking at the fire. But she bowed bethead. The Vision still turned toward her. * * * * “Can’t they stay now?” the Vision asked; “then I can take them out early to-morrow morning and buy them things. I want to buy them so many things. And then there’s Christmas.” At the words she turned to Baby again. “A great big tree,” she exclaimed, “and candles and bonbons and dancing paper dollies and chains of silver and gold. And everything that we can find that’s fun to play with!” Little Sister’s cheeks were deepening in color.

“You will leave them, won’t you?” the Vision asked again, and just a s she spoke the door opened and a footman entered bearing a tray with oranges and little currant biscuits.

The children’s faces at the sight told a long story, and decided the mother. If a world of warmth and food was spen to those little hungry mouths, to those little delicate bodies, she would not stand in their way.

“You’ll leave them, won’t you?” said the Vision for the third time. And poor Betty bowed her head.

“Can I come and see them?” sbe asked in a very low tone, and not looking at them—not daring to look at them, in fact. “Of course,” said the Vision; ‘‘come on Christmas and see how happy they will be. Come when you like.”

Betty never knew why she did what she did next, for she crossed the room to the door as quickly as she coaid, ran out through the hall, through another hall, found an open door into a court, and au archway that led from a court into the street, and then, dizzy, frightened, her heart one racking pain of unutterable misery, she somehow found her way home. Oh, the stairs —the stairs I With no Little Sister and Baby at the top. How she climbed them she could never guess afterward. The fire was out 1 and the room was cold. She undressed and went to bed. The bed was cold and empty as her aching, breaking heart. After a long time she slept, and she slept until the milliner who lived in the next room woke her-next day to know what had become of the children. Betty told her in a cold, stony way that she Jiad given them both away. The milliner-thought that, she had done wisely.

Ah, well, perhap s she had! She was too ill to go to the shop, and the next day, too, but on the ti.ird. morning she remembered that it • was Christmas and that she could go to see them, and somehow strength came hack at the thought, and she crept out of bed and made some tea and-soaked the hard bread that had stood on the table for three days and ate it. And then life looked a bit better and she dressed and sat by the window, and outside Christmas was reigning fair and bright.

It was the squeaking-of. the squeaky door that startled her back to life, and her eyes as they opened beheld that which meant Paradise to her, life and love. 11 : -

Little -Sister, and : Baby stood before her. J ■; *' - ■ . , Little. Sister’ -was dressed in a lilacvelvet coat, with a big black hat tied under.her chin in a big black bow. She had on black gaiters and a little, soft, furry muff, and deep in the soft fur nestled a lilac bow. She had little gloves and a little pocket-handkerchief, and in her arms she held a huge doll whose costume was a-replica in, miniature of her own. Baby was beside her in pink velvet, also a big black hat, also black gaiters. But a smaller furry tippet and a smaller -furry muff . Also small .gloves and a tiny 'pocket-handkerchief. Also a dolldressed like- herself. .- Smash went both dolls’ heads as both dolls struck the floor with a united bang. And in the next instant Betty and her babies were reunited. Little Sister’s arms were - about her mother’s neck and Baby was clinging close in the angle of her arm and crushing the big

hat into a new and curious shape against her bosoni; 'V; !■- “We were lonesome,” sobbed Little Sister.

“We wud ’onesome,” echoed Baby. Betty didn’t know care, or past or future, in that minute. She only knew that she had them in her arms again.

While the hugging and kissing were still going on, and no one of the three knew anything but its sweetness, the door gave another squeak, a'nd a big, rosy, old gentleman entered the room. Betty gave a little, cry of surprise, and the children raised their heads to see what was the matter, and, seeing the old gentleman, did not appear to consider his entry as any matter at all. “He brought us back,”' said Little Sister.

“B'ought us back,” said Baby. “Merry Christmas,” said the old gentleman, “and thank God that I was able to bring them back?” Betty tried to put the children on one side so that she might rise, hut he saw her intention and crossed to her and laid liis hand upon her shoulder. “Please don’t,” he said; “I’ll sit down -and tell you about it and then we’ll all four go back to the Christmas tree together.’* « • * “Oh, the biggest tree!” cried Little Sister. “The biddest tree!” cried Baby. “And two little maidens standing before it this morning,” said the gentleman —“two little maidens with tears streaming down their cheeks, because nothing was pretty and no present was what they wanted until Mamma could be found, and no one, no one, no one knew where Mamma had come from nor where Mamma had gone back to.” ‘We took a cab to hunt,” cried Little Sister, her cheeks flushing suddenly crimson.

“A tab,” cried Baby. “There was nothing else to do,” said the gentleman; “every one in the house was half-insane with trying to think of a ivay to find Mamma, and it needed me to discover it, after all. I took a cab, and as Little Sister and Baby, both remembered the -park we drove by the park until we came to a monument where Little Sister remembered changing to another ’bus. Then we drove slowly up and down some of the streets until Baby remembered a red parasol hanging over a shop door. Then we drove a very long way along that street until Little Sister saw the bridge that she came over on Sunday. And so we found our way back here at last.”

“Oh, sir,” said Betty, “I hope that all your life you may be rewarded for what you have done. They are my life, and my life was going—because they were gone.”

“Ah,” said the gentleman, “that is what I must speak of at once. You must not suffer further —nor they. I have measured it all—twice over. There were two little daughters came one after another into our lives, and went away as they came and left us desolate. That is why, when the third came, we were uever quite able to cross her in any way, and as a consequence I’m. afraid she’s very spoiled indeed. She’s had all her fancies indulged and all her wishes gratified from her babyhood, for we can’t seem to. do anything except be so very happy just to know she’s ours. So, when I had her letter that she wanted to adopt a child, of course I wrote her that she could do it, but I didn’t quite expect when I arrived home last night —two weeping babies who wanted their mother, and whose mother’s name and address no, one had thought to write down.”

“We cried,” said Little Sister, laying her soft cheek against her mother’s.

“We tried hard,” said Baby, nestling closer even- than she nestled before.

The gentleman rose and began to pace the harrow room. “All this won’t do, you know,” he began presently. “All this must be changed. Little Sister and Baby cannot come back . here to live, and neither can they spare a niother out of their daily-lives. I think I had better explain .at once that, as no household is big enough to spare a'maid to attend, to two unexpected babies, suppose I offered you the position. Maude will not give the children up now, but after a while she’ll be leaving town, and she’ll leave it to travel where children do not go. When she leaves we all leave, and I’m thinking that in Camberley there’s a big place with a pretty lodge where Maude’ s old nures lives all alone with her son. It’s just the place for Little Sister and Baby and their mother. There’s a school in the village, and all the garden and some of the -wood to play in. There’s a pony-cart and chickens and other little children and fresh air, all very necessary to a good bringing-up. I think that’s the best way to settle the matter. What do you think?” Betty’ s thoughts were overpowering and speechless. She could only lift her eyes. . The old gentleman became quite busy and bustling at once.

“Very well, then,” he said, holding out his hand; “come, Baby, you and I’ll go and look for a four-wheeler while Little Sister helps Mamma to get ready, and then we’ll all hurry back to the Christmas tree.” “Such a beautiful tree,” said Little Sister, hugging her mother ecstatically. “A booful, booful,.booful tree,” said Baby with three flags on her own account.

Audi then - all three laid theirSheads together once; more. , / “Isn’t it a nice Christmas?” Little Sister asked when she lifted her face from, her mother’s shoulder. “A nice Titmus,” echoed Baby.

And no sunshine and no Christmas Day that ever has been or ever will be have seen more joy than swelled in Betty’s heart. .