FullReads

“Don’t you think, mamma,” Jamie asked, “that God will let papa come down from heaven and spend Christmas with us? He might be here like the angels, and we not see him.”

“I’m afraid not,” the sad woman replied, shaking her head and speaking more to herself than to the child. “I don’t see how he could go back to heaven and be happy if he knew all. No, we must be patient and try to do our best, so that we can go to him. Go now, Jamie, before it gets too late. I’ll get supper, and then we’ll sing a Christmas hymn; and you and Susie shall hang up your stockings, just as you did last Christmas, when dear papa was with us. We’ll try to do everything he would wish, and then by and by we shall see him again.”

As the boy started on his errand his father stepped back out of the light of the window, then followed the child with a great yearning in his heart. He would make sure the boy was safe at home again before he carried out his plan. From a distance he saw the little fellow receive the coal and start slowly homeward with the burden, and he followed to a point where the light of the street- lamps ceased, then joined the child, and said in a gruff voice, “Here, little man, I’m going your way. Let me carry your basket;” and he took it and strode on so fast that the boy had to run to keep pace with him. Jamie shuffled along through the snow as well as he could, but his little legs were so short in comparison with those of the kindly stranger that he found himself gradually falling behind. So he put on an extra burst of speed and managed to lay hold of the long blue skirt of the army overcoat.

“Please, sir, don’t go quite so fast,” he panted.

The stranger slackened his pace, and in a constrained tone of voice, asked:

“How far are you going, little man?”

“Only to our house–mamma’s. She’s Mrs. Marlow, you know.”

“Yes, I know–that is, I reckon I do. How much further is it?”

“Oh, not much; we’re most half-way now. I say, you’re a soldier, aren’t you?”

“Yes, my boy,” said Marlow, with a lump in his throat. “Why?”

“Well, you see, my papa is a soldier, too, and I thought you might know him. We haven’t heard from him for a good while, and–” choking a bit–“mamma’s afraid he is hurt, or taken prisoner or something.” He could not bring himself to say “killed.”

Jamie let go the overcoat to draw his sleeve across his eyes, and the big man once more strode on faster than ever, and Jamie began to fear lest the dusky form might disappear in the snow and darkness with both basket and coal; but the apparent stranger so far forgot his part that he put down the basket at Mrs. Marlow’s gate, and then passed on so quickly that the panting boy had not time to thank him. Indeed, Anson Marlow knew that if he lingered but a moment he would have the child in his arms.

“Why, Jamie,” exclaimed his mother, “how could you get back so soon with that heavy basket? It was too heavy for you, but you will have to be mamma’s little man mow.”

“A big man caught up with me and carried it. I don’t care if he did have a gruff voice, I’m sure he was a good kind man. He knew where we lived too, for he put the basket down at our gate before I could say a word, I was so out of breath, and then he was out of sight in a minute.” Some instinct kept him from saying anything about the army overcoat.

“It’s some neighbor that lives further up the street, I suppose, and saw you getting the coal at the store,” Mrs. Marlow said, “Yes, Jamie, it was a good, kind act to help a little boy, and I think he’ll have a happier Christmas for doing it.”