as the days passed, and christmas-tide drew nearer, berty’s wish gained fuller and fuller possession of her childish heart. to get a christmas tree for these poor little children, who had no father or mother, who had “only bert,”—to make them for once perfectly happy, as happy as rich herr westermann’s boys and girls,—and to do this all herself,—how delightful, and yet how impossible the project seemed.
how bright and cheerful the old garret would appear, lighted up by the glories of such a tree as the westermann’s, for bertha’s dim german recollections were wonderfully freshened by gottlieb’s descriptions; how her mother would smile from her sweet rest in paradise upon the little pale girl to whose feeble care she had, with such a failing heart, committed her little ones;[pg 22] how sweetly her father would sleep in his bed there under the sea, if he knew how happy his darlings were made.
then the gifts, too. oh, how berty’s imagination revelled in those gifts! of course, there must be the blazing tapers, and the gold and silver nuts, and the apples, and oranges, and candy; but there must be also—what?—ah, a little cart for fritzy, and—oh yes, a whole row of pewter soldiers, and a whistle, and a rattle;—only think of a baby who had never had a rattle! then there must be a doll for rosa, and perhaps a cradle to rock it in; and lieb must have a drum, for he so dearly loves to make a noise, and perhaps a tin sword too, and a soldier’s cap;—then he might “train” with the other boys upon the street, perhaps even be captain of a company: how lieb would like that! and lina must have a set of dishes, for lina was such a tidy little housekeeper she would be sure to like that best of all. and berty—ah! berty would have done it; surely, that would be fun enough: berty was the little mother; surely, that was joy enough for her.
[pg 23]
o yes! it was easy enough to arrange all that; it was easy enough to think what to get; but how to get it—that was quite another thing. so, whenever this troublesome question came up, berty was fain, for a long time, to put it out of her head. but at last the simple child bethought herself that this question, “how to do it,” was by far the most important question of the two. if the christmas tree was ever to be anything more than a beautiful dream, this question must be settled first of all. and so she set herself resolutely to consider it.
the fairy godmother of mrs. flanagan’s tales was, as i said, the first thought; but bertha, having been born in germany, instead of ireland, could never feel quite certain that she had a fairy godmother. biddy, to whom she applied in her perplexity, knew nothing about german fairies; she could only speak confidently about the “good little people” of her own green island, who were but too fond of children, as she knew; for had not her own husband’s first cousin had a child carried off by them, changed in its cradle for a fairy babe,—a strange little[pg 24] being, which never grew older or larger, but remained always a merry, silly child. berty did not like this view of the subject at all: but for the christmas tree, she would have been relieved to know that there was no such person about, for she had no mind to have her fritzy exchanged for any fairy folk. ah, if she would but bring the christmas tree, and then fly away, and never, never, come back any more! but, even if she had such a guardian, how could she be sure that it had not been left in the “old country,” along with the rest of their household treasures: the donkey, the goat, the pet kid, the pink china shepherdess, the painted tea-set, and the great old pewter tankard, which she dimly remembered.
again she applied to biddy:—did fairies ever emigrate? “whisht, child!” answered mrs. flanagan; “how can i tell? sure, the fairy folk are very wise, and is it likely they’d fash themselves with crossing the salt wather? and ameriky’s but a wild counthry, wid snakes, and bears, and injuns,—not tame and tidy like ould ireland; and the weeny people could never bide in cities.[pg 25] they must have their green rings to dance upon, and all that. troth, though, i did see a place in the park whin we wint there the day, so trim and green i tould mike it looked a likely spot for the good folk; but thin there’s the p’leecemen. whisht, child, how can i tell? and why need ye be talkin’ so much of them? sure, berty, they don’t like it; and it’s not good to vex them.”
so at last, all things considered, bertha came to the conclusion that this fairy godmother was much too uncertain a personage to be trusted with such an important and difficult matter as her christmas tree. but she could not manage alone,—how could she? it was almost impossible for her, with all the help she had from the kind world, to get food enough for all those children to eat, and clothing enough for them to wear: how could she, whose only living was gained by picking up what other people threw away as worthless, hope to indulge in this luxury of giving, which few of the people around her, so much better off than herself, could afford? no, she could never do it[pg 26] alone. who then would help her? not biddy: she was much too poor and too busy to bother herself with such a matter. not madame hansmann: she might be willing, but her cross, beer-drinking son, with whom she lived, and of whom she stood in such terror that she never permitted the children to come to her except when he was absent, would never allow it. who, then, would help her? she had no one else.
“no one else!” it was to this sad conclusion of all her hopes and schemes that berty had come upon the evening when my story begins, when she sat by the window, looking up at the dull rainy sky. it was this dreary thought which made her turn back, with such a weary sigh, to her unpleasant work at gottlieb’s summons. poor berty! the rags had never seemed so filthy, the bits of iron never so rusty, the whole basket of odds and ends never so worthless, as they did that night. she had no sympathy with gottlieb’s rejoicing over his two horse-shoes, no patience with lina’s lingering over the bits of an illustrated newspaper; and, when she crept into her bed[pg 27] in the darkness, after gottlieb had returned from his nightly chaffer with “moses,” the vaterunser was, i am sorry to say, forgotten.
“no one else!” what was it, then, that put into berty’s mind, as she lay there awake in the darkness, brooding over her fruitless plans, the remembrance of that old talk of the children which had given rise to them? what was it made her recall that sweet thought of little rosa’s, that it was the christ-child brought the gifts,—or that still sweeter faith of lina’s, that jesus would never forget them because they were poor. what was it? oh, my children! rather, who was it? who but that friend, the best and dearest who watches over us all, even while we forget him, and showers upon us new blessings, even while we are unthankful for those he has already sent.
jesus would not forget them: they had no father, no mother; but they still had him. i cannot tell you with what a flash of joy and hope this thought filled little bertha’s lonely heart. i suppose you could never fully understand it until, like bertha,[pg 28] you had “no one else”; which, god grant, may never be your case; for it is a hard trial, this having no one else, though it is an inestimable blessing to have him. and so berty found it when she rose from her bed, and, kneeling once more by the window, with her face turned toward the sky, laid all her cares and hopes and wishes at his feet.
and i cannot think that berty was wrong or foolish in this, even though her trouble was about such a little thing; for i am sure that he who cares for the sparrows, and who has provided so many beautiful things for us to enjoy, cares even for our slightest pleasures, and helps us to gain them when they are right.
