FullReads

Eight little hands clapped their new mittens together in token of joy, but poor little Mixie Brownson began to cry. She had never in her life been away from the brown house.

Tea was served, and Mixie was comforted for a short time. After that came games again, until all were weary with play; and Otis Grey begged Mrs. Livingston for a story.

Mixie was tearful still, and she crept shyly to the lady’s side and sobbed forth: “I wish you was my grandma and would take me in your lap.”

Mrs. Livingston stooped and kissed Mixie’s cheek, then lifted her on her knees and began to tell the children a story. It must have been a very pretty picture that the old, blowing snowstorm looked in upon that night, in this very room: twenty or more children seated around the fire-circle, with stately Mrs. Livingston and pretty Aunt Elise in their midst.

Whilst all this was going on within, outside a band of Indians, led by a white man, was approaching Fort Safety to burn it down.

Step by step, the savages crept nearer and nearer, until they were standing in the very light that streamed out from the Christmas windows.

The white man who led them was in the service of the English, and knew every step of the way, and just who lived in the great house.

He ordered them to stand back while he looked in. Creeping closer and closer, he climbed, as Otis Grey had done, and put his face to the window-pane. He saw Mrs. Livingston and Miss Elise, and the great circle of eager, interested faces, all looking at the story-teller, and he wiped his eyes in order to get one more good look, for he could not believe the story they told to him: that his own poor little Mixie was in there, sitting in proud Mrs. Livingston’s lap, looking happier than he had ever seen her. He stayed so long, peering in, that the savages grew impatient. One or two of their chief men crept up and put their swarthy faces beside his own.

It so happened that at that moment Aunt Elise glanced toward the window. She did not scream, she uttered no word; but she fell from her chair to the floor.

Mixie’s father, for it was he who led the savages, saw what was happening within, and ordered the Indians to march away and leave the big house unhurt. They grunted and grumbled, and refused to go until they had been told that the little girl on the lady’s knee was his little girl.

“He not going to burn his own papoose,” explained the Indian chief to his red men; and then the evil band went groping away through the storm.

The story to the children was not finished that night, for on the floor lay pretty Aunt Elise, as white as white could be; and it was a long time before she was able to speak. As soon as she could sit up, she wished to get out into the open air.

Mrs. Livingston went with her, and when she was told what had been seen at the window, they together examined the freshly fallen snow and found traces of moccasined feet.

With fear and trembling, the two ladies entered the house. Not a word of what had been seen was spoken to servant or child. Aunt Elise from an upper window kept watch during the time that Mrs. Livingston returned thanks to God for the happy day the children had passed, and asked His love and protecting care during the silent hours of sleep.

Then the sleepy, happy throng climbed the wide staircase to the rooms above, went to bed and slept until morning.

Not a red face approached Fort Safety that night. The two ladies, letting the Christmas fires go down, kept watch from the windows until the day dawned.

“I’m so glad,” exclaimed Carl, “that my fine, old, greatest of grandmothers thought of having that good time at Christmas.”

“Dear me!” sighed Bessie, “if she hadn’t, we wouldn’t have this nice home to-day.”

“Mamma,” said Dot, “let’s have a good stocking-time next Christmas; just like that one, all but the Indians.”

“O, mamma, will you ?” cried Bessie, jumping with glee.

“Where would we get the soldiers’ children, though,” questioned Carl.

“Lots of ’em in Russia and Turkey, if we only lived there,” observed Bessie. “But there’s always plenty of children that want a good time and never get it, just as much as the soldiers’ children did. Will you, mamma?”

“When Christmas comes again, I will try to make just as many little folks happy as I can,” said Mrs. Livingston.

“And we’ll begin now,” said Carl, “so as to be all ready. I shall saw all summer, so as to make lots of pretty brackets and things.”

“And I s’pose I shall have to dress about five hundred dolls to go ’round,” sighed Bessie, “there are so many children now-a-days.”