Nibsys Christmas | Page 8

glad faces were all about. A flock of children danced with
gleeful shouts about a great Christmas-tree in the middle of the floor.
Upon its branches hung drums and trumpets and toys, and countless
candles gleamed like beautiful stars. Farthest up, at the very top, her
doll, her very own, with arms outstretched, as if appealing to be taken
down and hugged. She knew it, knew the mission-school that had seen
her first and only real Christmas, knew the gentle face of her teacher,
and the writing on the wall she had taught her to spell out: "In His
Name." His name, who, she had said, was all little children's friend.
Was he also her dolly's friend, and would know it among the strange
people?
The light went out; the glory faded. The bare room, only colder and
more cheerless than before, was left. The child shivered. Only that
morning the doctor had told her mother that she must have medicine
and food and warmth, or she must go to the great hospital where papa

had gone before, when their money was all spent. Sorrow and want had
laid the mother upon the bed he had barely left. Every stick of furniture,
every stitch of clothing on which money could be borrowed, had gone
to the pawnbroker. Last of all, she had carried mamma's wedding-ring,
to pay the druggist. Now there was no more left, and they had nothing
to eat. In a little while mamma would wake up, hungry.
The little girl smothered a last sob and rose quickly. She wrapped the
doll in a threadbare shawl, as well as she could, tiptoed to the door and
listened a moment to the feeble breathing of the sick mother within.
Then she went out, shutting the door softly behind her, lest she wake
her.
Up the street she went, the way she knew so well, one block and a turn
round the saloon corner, the sunset glow kissing the track of her bare
feet in the snow as she went, to a door that rang a noisy bell as she
opened it and went in. A musty smell filled the close room. Packages,
great and small, lay piled high on shelves behind the worn counter. A
slovenly woman was haggling with the pawnbroker about the money
for a skirt she had brought to pledge.
"Not a cent more than a quarter," he said, contemptuously, tossing the
garment aside. "It's half worn out it is, dragging it back and forth over
the counter these six months. Take it or leave it. Hallo! What have we
here? Little Finnegan, eh? Your mother not dead yet? It's in the
poor-house ye will be if she lasts much longer. What the----"
He had taken the package from the trembling child's hand--the precious
doll--and unrolled the shawl. A moment he stood staring in dumb
amazement at its contents. Then he caught it up and flung it with an
angry oath upon the floor, where it was shivered against the coal-box.
"Get out o' here, ye Finnegan brat," he shouted; "I'll tache ye to come
a'guyin' o' me. I'll----"
The door closed with a bang upon the frightened child, alone in the
cold night. The sun saw not its home-coming. It had hidden behind the
night-clouds, weary of the sight of man and his cruelty.

Evening had worn into night. The busy city slept. Down by the wharves,
now deserted, a poor boy sat on the bulwark, hungry, footsore, and
shivering with cold. He sat thinking of friends and home, thousands of
miles away over the sea, whom he had left six months before to go
among strangers. He had been alone ever since, but never more so than
that night. His money gone, no work to be found, he had slept in the
streets for nights. That day he had eaten nothing; he would rather die
than beg, and one of the two he must do soon.
There was the dark river, rushing at his feet; the swirl of the unseen
waters whispered to him of rest and peace he had not known since----it
was so cold--and who was there to care, he thought bitterly. No one
who would ever know. He moved a little nearer the edge, and listened
more intently.
A low whine fell on his ear, and a cold, wet face was pressed against
his. A little, crippled dog that had been crouching silently beside him
nestled in his lap. He had picked it up in the street, as forlorn and
friendless as himself, and it had stayed by him. Its touch recalled him to
himself. He got up hastily, and, taking the dog in his arms, went to the
police station near by and asked for shelter. It was the first time he