The Romance of a Christmas Card | Page 4

it half the time because the
market is bad. The first thing I'd do would be to get my cannibals to
raise sheep. If they ate more mutton, they wouldn't eat so many
missionaries."
Letty laughed. "You're so funny, Reba dear, and I was so sad before
you came in. Don't let the minister take you to the cannibals until after I
die!"
"No danger!--Letty, do you remember I told you I'd been trying my
hand on some verses for a Christmas card?"
"Yes; have you sent them anywhere?"

"Not yet. I couldn't think of the right decoration and color scheme and
was afraid to trust it all to the publishers. Now I've found just what I
need for one of them, and you gave it to me, Letty!"
"I?"
"Yes, you; to-night, as I came down the road. The house looked so
quaint, backed by the dark cedars, and the moon and the snow made
everything dazzling. I could see the firelight through the open window,
the Hessian soldier andirons, your mother's portrait, the children asleep
in the next room, and you, wrapped in your cape waiting or watching
for something or somebody."
"I wasn't watching or waiting! I was dreaming," said Letty hurriedly.
"You looked as if you were watching, anyway, and I thought if I were
painting the picture I would call it 'Expectancy,' or 'The Vigil,' or
'Sentry Duty.' However, when I make you into a card, Letty, nobody
will know what the figure at the window means, till they read my
verses."
"I'll give you the house, the room, the andirons, and even mother's
portrait, but you don't mean that you want to put me on the card?" And
Letty turned like a startled deer as she rose and brushed a spark from
the hearth-rug.
"No, not the whole of you, of course, though I'm not clever enough to
get a likeness even if I wished. I merely want to make a color sketch of
your red-brown cape, your hair that matches it, your ear, an inch of
cheek, and the eyelashes of one eye, if you please, ma'am."
"That doesn't sound quite so terrifying." And Letty looked more
manageable.
"Nobody'll ever know that a real person sat at a real window and that I
saw her there; but when I send the card with a finished picture, and my
verses beautifully lettered on it, the printing people will be more likely
to accept it."

"And if they do, shall I have a dozen to give to my Bible-class?" asked
Letty in a wheedling voice.
"You shall have more than that! I'm willing to divide my magnificent
profits with you. You will have furnished the picture and I the verses.
It's wonderful, Letty,--it's providential! You just are a Christmas card
to-night! It seems so strange that you even put the lighted candle in the
window when you never heard my verse. The candle caught my eye
first, and I remembered the Christmas customs we studied for the
church festival,--the light to guide the Christ Child as he walks through
the dark streets on the Eve of Mary."
"Yes, I thought of that," said Letty, flushing a little. "I put the candle
there first so that the house shouldn't be all dark when the Pophams
went by to choir-meeting, and just then I--I remembered, and was glad
I did it!"
"These are my verses, Letty." And Reba's voice was soft as she turned
her face away and looked at the flames mounting upward in the
chimney:--
My door is on the latch to-night, The hearth fire is aglow. I seem to
hear swift passing feet,-- The Christ Child in the snow.
My heart is open wide to-night For stranger, kith or kin. I would not bar
a single door Where Love might enter in!
There was a moment's silence and Letty broke it. "It means the sort of
love the Christ Child brings, with peace and good-will in it. I'm glad to
be a part of that card, Reba, so long as nobody knows me, and--"
Here she made an impetuous movement and, covering her eyes with
her hands, burst into a despairing flood of confidence, the words
crowding each other and tumbling out of her mouth as if they feared to
be stopped.
"After I put the candle on the table ... I could not rest for thinking ... I
wasn't ready in my soul to light the Christ Child on his way ... I was

bitter and unresigned ... It is three years to-night since the children were
born ... and each year I have hoped and waited and waited and hoped,
thinking that David might remember. David! my brother, their father!
Then the fire on the hearth, the moon and the snow quieted me, and I