The Alchemists Secret | Page 3

farmhouse the snow was
falling thickly, silently, on all around.
"Twill be a bad storm," thought Tony. "God pity any who are abroad
this night."
Pushing open the kitchen door he entered quickly, divesting himself of
cap, muffler, and ragged overcoat, and hanging them near the stove to
dry. He lighted the lamp and threw some wood upon the fire which had
burned low. Then, turning, he spied for the first time, a basket upon the
table. A pleased smile overspread his face. So they had not forgotten,
after all! How he and Martha had always watched for that Christmas
basket from Cousin John's folks over at the market town! It was not so
much the value of the gift, for John was not over-plentifully blessed
with the goods of this world and had a large family dependent upon
him. It was more the fact of being remembered kindly, the knowledge
that there was still some one who thought of them occasionally.
He commenced unpacking the basket and arranging the contents upon
the table: home-baked bread, pies, cakes; a package of tea, another of
tobacco; oranges, nuts, candy; warm mittens and socks that John's wife
had knit for him. She was a good woman, John's wife, kind-hearted and
thoughtful; she must have guessed how badly he needed socks and
mittens now that Martha was no longer there to make them for him. He
started for the cupboard, a pie in one hand, a loaf of bread in the other,
then stopped in the middle of the room and eyed them meditatively.
What was it Martha used to say?
"Never, never let Christmas pass without doing something for some
one. No matter how poor one may be, Tony, they're always others
poorer still. If it be no more'n a loaf of bread, give something to the
poor at Christmas time in the name of the little Babe that had none but
the shepherds to do a hand's turn for Him."

Each year he and Martha had found some one to whom they gave in the
Christ-Child's name, for the sake of the girl who was never absent from
their thoughts by day or by night. Even last year, as poor as he was, he
had met with one more needy still and sent him on his way rejoicing--a
poor lad, out of work, out of money, tramping from city to city in
search of employment. They had taken him in for Sallie's sake, given
him food and shelter, and when the boy left the farm a silver dollar,
nearly the last of Tony's small store, was pressed into his hand. The
dollar had been returned, for at the next town the object of Tony's
charity had found steady work. That was last year. This Christmas he
was not doing a thing for any one; he had forgotten completely,
probably because Martha was not there to remind him.
He placed the bread and the pie back upon the table and stood looking
at them long and earnestly. He knew of one who needed them far more
than he did, a poor widow over in "the hollow," whose five small
children, sickly, starved little creatures, were more than half the time
crying with cold and hunger. He opened the package of tobacco, filled
his pipe and sat down in his chair by the stove to smoke and think.
How those poor children would enjoy the bread and pies and cakes
which John's wife had sent him! Poor little things, they seldom, if ever,
tasted fare like that. He really did not need them; he managed to get
along pretty well and the neighbors were all good to him; especially
since Martha died. He would really be glad to give those children
something, but he was so tired, so tired, and it was quite a walk over to
the hollow.
Then, the storm! How the wind shrieked and tore around the house, and
how steadily the snow beat against the window panes! It was warm and
comfortable there by the fire, but outside----. And he was unusually
tired to-night; that walk to the village had been almost too much for
him. Besides, he must be up in time for first Mass in the morning; he
had never missed first Mass and Holy Communion on Christmas since
the day he and Martha were married. Year after year, they had knelt
side by side at God's altar; for many years Sallie had knelt there with
him; now he was all alone but he meant to continue the custom for

Martha's sake.
How the storm did rage, to be sure; but those poor children, those poor
little children! Perhaps somewhere in the wide world his Sallie was in
need of help and comfort this night and those who might