Birds' Christmas Carol Read online

  II.

  DROOPING WINGS.

  It was December, ten years later. Carol had seen nine Christmas treeslighted on her birthdays, one after another; nine times she hadassisted in the holiday festivities of the household, though in herbabyhood her share of the gayeties was somewhat limited.

  For five years, certainly, she had hidden presents for Mama and Papa intheir own bureau drawers, and harbored a number of secrets sufficientlylarge to burst a baby's brain, had it not been for the relief gained bywhispering them all to Mama, at night, when she was in her crib, aproceeding which did not in the least lessen the value of a secret inher innocent mind.

  For five years she had heard "'Twas the night before Christmas," andhung up a scarlet stocking many sizes too large for her, and pinned asprig of holly on her little white night gown, to show Santa Claus thatshe was a "truly" Christmas child, and dreamed of fur-coated saints andtoy-packs and reindeer, and wished everybody a "Merry Christmas" beforeit was light in the morning, and lent every one of her new toys to theneighbors' children before noon, and eaten turkey and plum pudding, andgone to bed at night in a trance of happiness at the day's pleasures.

  Donald was away at college now. Paul and Hugh were great manlyfellows, taller than their mother. Papa Bird had grey hairs in hiswhiskers; and Grandma, God bless her, had been four Christmases inheaven. But Christmas in the Birds' Nest was scarcely as merry now asit used to be in the bygone years, for the little child that oncebrought such an added blessing to the day, lay, month after month, apatient, helpless invalid, in the room where she was born.

  She had never been very strong in body, and it was with a pang ofterror her mother and father noticed, soon after she was five yearsold, that she began to limp, ever so slightly; to complain too often ofweariness, and to nestle close to her mother, saying she "would rathernot go out to play, please." The illness was slight at first, and hopewas always stirring in Mrs. Bird's heart. "Carol would feel strongerin the summer-time;" or, "She would be better when she had spent a yearin the country;" or, "She would outgrow it;" or, "They would try a newphysician;" but by and by it came to be all too sure that no physiciansave One could make Carol strong again, and that no "summer-time" nor"country air," unless it were the everlasting summer-time in a heavenlycountry, could bring back the little girl to health.

  The cheeks and lips that were once as red as holly-berries faded tofaint pink; the star-like eyes grew softer, for they often gleamedthrough tears; and the gay child-laugh, that had been like a chime ofChristmas bells, gave place to a smile so lovely, so touching, sotender and patient, that it filled every corner of the house with agentle radiance that might have come from the face of the Christ-childhimself.

  Love could do nothing; and when we have said that we have said all, forit is stronger than anything else in the whole wide world. Mr. andMrs. Bird were talking it over one evening when all the children wereasleep. A famous physician had visited them that day, and told themthat sometime, it might be in one year, it might be in more, Carolwould slip quietly off into heaven, whence she came.

  "Dear heart," said Mr. Bird, pacing up and down the library floor, "itis no use to shut our eyes to it any longer; Carol will never be wellagain. It almost seems as if I could not bear it when I think of thatloveliest child doomed to lie there day after day, and, what is stillmore, to suffer pain that we are helpless to keep away from her. MerryChristmas, indeed; it gets to be the saddest day in the year to me!"and poor Mr. Bird sank into a chair by the table, and buried his facein his hands, to keep his wife from seeing the tears that would come inspite of all his efforts. "But, Donald, dear," said sweet Mrs. Bird,with trembling voice, "Christmas day may not be so merry with us as itused, but it is very happy, and that is better, and very blessed, andthat is better yet. I suffer chiefly for Carol's sake, but I havealmost given up being sorrowful for my own. I am too happy in thechild, and I see too clearly what she has done for us and for our boys."

  "That's true, bless her sweet heart," said Mr. Bird; "she has beenbetter than a daily sermon in the house ever since she was born, andespecially since she was taken ill."

  "Yes, Donald and Paul and Hugh were three strong, willful, boisterousboys, but you seldom see such tenderness, devotion, thought for othersand self-denial in lads of their years. A quarrel or a hot word isalmost unknown in this house. Why? Carol would hear it, and it woulddistress her, she is so full of love and goodness. The boys study withall their might and main. Why? Partly, at least, because they like toteach Carol, and amuse her by telling her what they read. When theseamstress comes, she likes to sew in Miss Carol's room, because thereshe forgets her own troubles, which, Heaven knows, are sore enough!And as for me, Donald, I am a better woman every day for Carol's sake;I have to be her eyes, ears, feet, hands--her strength, her hope; andshe, my own little child, is my example!"

  "I was wrong, dear heart," said Mr. Bird more cheerfully; "we will trynot to repine, but to rejoice instead, that we have an 'angel of thehouse' like Carol."

  "And as for her future," Mrs. Bird went on, "I think we need not beover-anxious. I feel as if she did not belong altogether to us, andwhen she has done what God sent her for, He will take her back toHimself--and it may not be very long!" Here it was poor Mrs. Bird'sturn to break down, and Mr. Bird's turn to comfort her.