christmas eve had come. there had been joy in the curate's home—carols and prayer around the lighted tree, the distribution of simple gifts, and the consumption of any amount of rice porridge. even the grave pastor had grown playful as the evening went on. this had prompted one of the boys to exclaim that he was the very best father in the world—a comprehensive assertion that was approved by all parties present. the power to cast off care and even serious thought for a time, and frolic with children, was one of the secrets of the curate's personal power. in his sacred capacity he was above and apart from all; as a father or a friend he was near and familiarly dear to all, even to the youngest in his household and the humblest of his people.[pg 90]
now he gave a start, and there was a look of astonishment all round the family as there was the sound of heavy cart-wheels grinding along over the sand under the parsonage windows.
in another moment there was a steady tramping on the side steps, then through the passage to the dining-room, where the family were assembled.
four strong men were bearing a huge box, and now entered, much embarrassed at being unable to take off their caps in the presence of the pastor, but their deep voices pronounced a "good yule!" and their thick, soft caps went off in a hurry when they had deposited their heavy burden. "we were to open it, pastor," they said, and they forthwith produced their tools from the slouching pockets of their strong coats. the pastor's wife disappeared instantly, thinking, as usual, of others more than of herself; for she, too, would have liked a peep into the box when the thick boards had been thrown up and the packed stores were first visible. she had, however, what pleased her better—some hot coffee, a cake of saffron bread, and the remains of the porridge on the table in the kitchen when the last nail had been drawn out. the men disappeared, grinning with satisfaction; while the wondering children superin[pg 91]tended, with occasional wild dances and leaps of delight, the unfolding of the secrets of the wonderful box.
a prosperous "possessionat" who had learned that the chief joy of possession is the power of giving had sent household stores on a munificent scale. a happy wife, accustomed to see her own husband always dressed as for a holiday, having a full remembrance of the pastor's outer man, and of his wife's forgetfulness of herself, had sent for him a full black suit, and for his wife a handsome dark dress, as well as a warm fur cape. a little girl, who had learned to remember that there were other people beside herself to be thought of in the world, had selected books and toys for the children. the orphan girl had not been forgotten. she looked with astonishment at the substantial winter coat that had been marked with her name, and wondered who could have thought of her. there was still a beautiful, closely-woven white basket, with a firm handle, at one side of the box. it was lifted out and opened. there were all sorts of things—potted, canned, dried, and preserved, to make, with good bread and butter, a nice evening meal for an unexpected guest; a most welcome present in a family where hospitality never failed, and yet the larder was often scantily pro[pg 92]vided. at the bottom of the basket lay a card, on which was written, "from a humble friend, in remembrance of 'the basket.'"
the tears rushed to the eyes of the curate and his wife, and their hands met, while their thoughts were with the little old cottage saint now in heaven, and a prayer was sent up for the daughter that she might continue to walk in the ways of peace.
"o mamma, what a good basket to keep all your mending in!" said one of the boys.
"just what i will do," said the mother; "i shall like to have it always near me."
"do put on your new suit, papa," urged the children. he vanished into his room close at hand, and soon reappeared transformed into a new and complete edition of his old self, as it were, in a fine fresh binding.
the suit was not a perfect fit, but hung less loosely about him than his wonted best garments, made long, long ago.
the pastor playfully walked up and down the room with a consequential air, to the great amusement of the children. "you will wear your new suit to-morrow!" they exclaimed, one after another, as in the refrain of a song.[pg 93]
"on new-year's day, perhaps," said the father. "for to-morrow i like my old suit best; for we are to remember then how the loving lord of all humbled himself to be the babe of bethlehem."
there were a few words of prayer and thanksgiving, and then the family, with a kiss all round, parted for the night.
perchance the angels who sang again the christmas song, "on earth peace, good will toward men," lingered over the curate's home with a kindred feeling for him; for was he not, too, a messenger, sent "to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation"?
