The Potato Child and Others | Page 4

but
perhaps it don't make so much difference if I have forgotten the name
of the town. He came to teach us. Sure I won't forget that. Love can
never die. That's the present He gave to everybody. So if nobody else
gives us a Christmas present, we always have the one He gave us."
Silence for a little.
"I am very sorry for Miss Amanda, dear. She has no child to love. She
has a very sad and lonely life."
Her teeth chattered a little. "It seems like a very cold night; the covers
are quite thin, but we can never really suffer while our hearts are so
warm. I'm glad you feel real well, and are just as plump as ever, but
your little skin is just one bit wrinkled. You are not going to take cold
or be sick? Oh, I couldn't give you up! I should miss you so much, you
happy, good little child."
Miss Amanda heard a kiss. "Good-night, dear. I'm so tired. God bless
us all, and help us to remember Miss Amanda, and let her find her
present to-night."
Miss Amanda crept back to her warm room, and waited until she was
sure the child was fast asleep. Then she took a down quilt off the foot
of her own bed, picked up her candle, and retraced her way up-stairs.
She softly dropped the comforter upon Elsie. She heard, as a sort of

echo, a soft sigh of content. Miss Amanda waited a moment, then
shading the candle with one hand, she looked at the sleeping child.
The face was pale and thin. The lashes lay dark upon the white cheeks.
They were quite wet; but, pressed close to them, and carefully covered
by little, toil-hardened hands, was the grotesque potato in its white
night-gown.
Miss Amanda was surprised by a queer click in her throat, and hurried
out of the room.
She stood before her fire, candle in hand, and bitterly compressed her
lips. She hopes "I'll find my Christmas present to-night. Who will send
it to me, and what will it be? Whom do I care for, and who cares for me?
No one. Not one human being."
She crossed the room, and, placing her candle upon the dressing-table,
gazed at herself in the glass. "I am growing old, old and hard, and
perfectly friendless."
But why that start and cry? There before her eyes, in the big,
flourishing, boyish handwriting so well remembered, she reads: "Our
love can never die. We have nothing in the world except each other,
dear sister, and no matter what may come, our love can never change."
She snatched up the paper and threw herself into a chair.
"Where did it come from"? she cried. "What evil genius placed it here
this night? Haven't I, years ago, torn and destroyed every word that
wretched boy ever wrote me?"
She tossed her arms over her head, and rocked back and forth, and
groaned aloud. She could not help her thoughts now, or keep them from
going back over the past. Her heart softened as she remembered, and
the scalding tears fell.
She was only a child, not much older than the one up-stairs, when her
dying mother had placed her baby-brother in her arms, saying:
"He is all I have to leave you, Amanda. I know you love him. Don't
ever be harsh or unforgiving to him."
How had she kept her trust? She had loved him. She had worked early
and worked late for him. She had given up everything; but she had been
ill-repaid.
"Ill," do I say? Verily, is this not true of Love: that it brings its own
blessedness?
The fire burned low, and the room settled cold and still. She seemed to

feel a pair of boyish arms about her neck and a boy's rough kiss upon
her cheek.
When she was but a young woman she had moved to the big city, and
started her dressmaker's shop, so that he could have a better chance at
school. What a loving boy he was! So full of fun!
The wind whistled outside. She thought it was he, and she heard him
again: "You're my handsome sister. Not one of the fellows have as
handsome a sister as I."
How proud she had felt when she had started him off to college. "It
only means a few years of a little harder work, and then I'll see my boy
able to take his stand with anybody."
But now she wept and groaned afresh. "Oh, how could he treat me so,
how could he! The wretched disgrace!"
He had been expelled. The president's letter was severe; but the young
man's letter regretted it as only a boyish prank. He was sorry. He had
never