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___the belfry tower, one of them Edgar Clarke.,,
¢/4 “For the Companion.
w MARY CLARKE’S CHRISTMAS.
The Christmas bells rang out cheerily, although
the ‘night was dark and ‘somewhat: ‘cloudy? Up in
the belfry of the old North church they swayed to| ;
and fro; vibrating to the guiding hand of a boy of} +:
fifteen. Ie was not alone in, the’ rough tower
overlaid with huge beams ; there were two lads be- |
side ‘himself, (there’ had been: three, | but Edgar
Clarke! had gone,) two sturdy fellows with trough
exteriors but honest faces,’ * :
‘““T say, boys, I don’t believe Ed. can raise a ture 4
key to-morrow, his father drinks so,” said the bell+
ringer. “He didn't havé oné last Christmas, I
know, and I move we buy him | one; Tl put “my
put towards it.) °°”
; “Agreed,” ‘said the others. “Ed)s a ‘tip top
f: ‘Her, and it’s a shame that old Clarke: should be
what he is. He looks ‘like a . gentleman but whe
acts like a fool.” “i. ! .
«Then we'll get. a small one and send it ‘Found, ”
said “the bell-1 Lringer, | whose name:was Charlie!’
Morse, “they” ‘re only three; it won’t cost much.”
% Edgar Clarke was known to have a very unhap-| 5,
py ‘home. ‘ His mother in her youth had seen but
little sorrow, for she was, the idol of rich | parents.
She married ‘Thomas Clarke for his handsome face
and fine talents, and for a few years missed’ none
of the comforts of her youth..’ But, unfortunately,
her husband became associated with reckless com-
panions and deserted his home for, more, than
doubtful places of resort. Hos 3
~ The affection of his wife, the beauty ‘of his little
child were not ‘powerful enough to win him from
the’ course he, shad chosen, so when Edgar was
fourteen, a slender, sickly lad for want of ‘nourish-
ment and care, Thomas Clarke was 'a + wretchedly
dissipated | man.) °F ual tee “ict dea bee ge
“At nine that evening ‘thea boys were scat d ii mn
{What are you, going to do to-morrow a
Charlie Morse of one of the boys..;>!010 to 1
1 “Nothing in particular,” was the reply, Htexedpt
e joy a tip top dinner.” T always f finda Tittle | pres-
eat in my stocking, Christmas morning. “I wonder
what it will be to-morrow?" | tone tad eh
Edgar Clarke sighed heavily, though ‘almost un-
coneciously, ' “His heart’ swelled with a. hopeless
sense of his own poverty. There was nothing for
his dinner to-morrow, but a bit of cold meat, “with
perhaps a few potatoes. i How he longed once
again to eat a sufficient meal—no matter what it
was. It took nearly’all his money and all his
mother’s earnings to pay the rent, small as it was.
Ile turned away as ‘he sighed ‘and hurried down
from the belfry, and, still with a ehoking feeling
in his throat, wended his way homeward. .
‘ “I'd just as lief it would snow or rain to-morrow
as not,”, he said to himself, as he neared the
mean tenement where the faint light in one corner
told of a weary woman stitching, often into the
dark, midnight, to buy food and scant clothing.
Edgar stumbled up the broken stairway into the
illy lighted room.. Two small apartments were
called home. © In one of them, to-night, the miser-
able father had’ stretched “himself on the bed to
sleep off the | effects of a‘drunken debauch, t
#0, Edgar, Tm glad you've come ;” said a pale,
sweet-faced woman, 2s he entered.’ ‘‘Somchow
I'm getting‘ afraid of your being’ out nights—be- | .
sides, I feel lonesome after dark, particularly an
Christmas eve. She stooped lower and wiped the
tears away, but she found it difficult to control her
fvelings, and in another minute was sobbing aloud.
! «Why, ‘mother !” cried Edgar, inalarm, | It was
the first time he had ever seen her so moved,
«J can't help it, Edgar. I suppose I am weak
and nervous—but O! I always dread Christmas.
Last Christmas eve my little Benny laid there on
that table; the Christmas before sweet little Jenny,
that I loved as I Joved my life; and always the
Christmas bells have chimed out over my grief and
disappointment ever. since I was: first! married.
You can't tell, my dear, how L have been dreading
this Christmas ; and I have expected every moment
that something had happened to you. Thank God!
If only your father—” she stopped,
overcome again, not! rknowing that the drunkard
in the other room had lifted himself ‘upon his elbow,
and was listening with a greedy ear.
AN ever mind, mother,” said Edgar, trying to
you are safe. .
t'oo>|atember Iam almost a man.
. ‘| but not much.”
‘. [ fests ok ast Tal B
speak with cheerfulness, “jour Christmas to-mor-
row will be nothing very: ‘sad, perhaps. si If we
don’t get.a turkey we shau't, be hungry.,;, And rey
It live you shall
have more ‘than one merry | Christmas. Where i is
father?” .
“Tn the next room,”
“If. he -would only be sober tomorro »
the boy—‘tit would be'a happy ‘Christma: in
of our poor fare, but I suppose’ it ‘will be'as it, al:
ways has been... I could be! so Proud of father Yn
he cried, almost passionately. lye
““T have been proud—far too ‘proud, viuriured
:] the sad woman—"but God knows just how mach
trial Tneed.’ When He sces fit I know. He. will
either take me home, or give ny poor tusband his
right mind again.”.5: 9 5)
There was a silence, broken. only by the steady
click of the needle through the stiff linen. After a
few moments a. haggard, unshaven face appeared
at the doorway. The man was stretching himself
in his usual lazy fashion, .- Ilis eyes wore a glassy,
troubled look—a shame that, he had never felt be-
fore changed his face so much that bis wife asked
him if he was ill;
j No,"—he replied, shorly—“T'm_
Anything in the house for dinner to-morrow P™.,
> ‘A little, ‘Thomas—some steak I saved \to-day—
raft
“going out.
ad
“Well, I'm off; don't mind if li aint back till
late”—and he hurried out of the room.’ . } »
“O! dear"—sighed the woman, sadly. “There
go the bells—it must be eleyen—and when will he
come back? ; Come, Edgar, we can read and pray,
Get the Bible; I can’ truly say it is my only sup-
port.” , The boy took down the sacred volume and
read, in a low, soft ,voice, a chapter in. Matthew.
Then quietly the care-worn, woman knelt down,
’ |commending her ' little; household to. the great
Father. , And the bells Tang. out,» chiming old
Boylston. - .
Thomas Clarke, when he left the house, walked
up the street in a strange frame of mind. : He
passed the old burying ground, pausing a moment
ashe whispered, softly, Poor little babies—
how quietly they sleep there !"—turned down a by-
street, and presently stepped before an old-fash-
‘lioned mansion. © He entered the yard and gave a
loud rap with the great knocker, "A portly figure
divested of coat and in slippers, answered it, . ..
“Why, Thomas, is that you?” cried the hearty
yoice. “1, was just talking about yous Walk
right in.”
“Mr. Tal ” ‘said, the man, in | subdued tones—
“Tve been thinking over that offer I rejected.
You offered me fifty dollars, this afternoon, if I'd
give up drink and take a situation in your place.
I wasn’t grateful then for your, kindness, , I felt
that I couldn't put down this appetite that rages
within; but if you'll give me, the fifty dollars jto-
morrow, moriing I'll promise to lead a sober life
from this time, and to take any situation you may
offer,
“Ah!, that does me e: pod, "cried the cheery
vic! “Come in—come right in.’ If, T have
8 s Clarke's promise, thit's alll need. Why,
certainly ‘you’ xball have the 3 money, now if you
want it.”
Thomas entered, shabby, unsteady in his gait,
: for he had gone longer than usual without, his dram,
and just'as he went into the handsome sittiig-room
the Christmas bells pealed out—"O! that, will be
joyful”
““Do- you hear it? do you hear ‘that? pn cried the
pleasant faced man,’ I tell you you have done
thai to-night which wil mal
joice. ' Tow happy your ‘wife will be, poor thing!
L used to think she was the’ sweetest girl, ‘and the
handsomest, Iever saw. But cheer up, man, cheer
up—you’re born to-night into a new life—a Christ-
mas_ birth. | How is the boy’ and how" is’ the
mother?” | ’* .
< “Both sorrowful ‘enough, poor things said
‘Thomas, bending his head to his hands, '
«But they won't be, after to-morrow. ° Bless
me! I should like to sce the good wife's face when
set finds it all out. Tom, I'll let you into a little
‘When you and I were boys together, I
fancied Mary Dyer's face nearer perfection than
any, other mortal sct'of features.’ I thought of
her by day and dreamed of her by night;. and
i} when’ I became a young man the fancy grew
stronger still. ‘ But when I saw which way her
«| beart inclined, why I set myself resolutely to work
to give her, up. Still, although I found another
woman who has become the very light of my eye,
I have never forgotten Mary; and that is the rea-
son, Tespecting and pitying her as I have, that I
have felt it would be God’s greatest blessing to me
if I could prevail upon you, to give up your cups.
Your mind is made up, Tom?
“Quite made ‘up, Charlie, if, you'll let 3 me call
you by the oldname. “And there’s one more favor
I want to ask of you. ~ The fact is I'm aftaid to go
out again—I shall feel stronger to-morrow, I know
I shall, with the money in my hand, and thinking
of her, . But passing by the corner I don’t know
—I might be tempted.”* :' 2+)
«And you'd like to stay ‘here to-night ; certaily
you shall—but the wife—”,
. “She will not know—pevhaps by this time, care”
—and he. sighed heavily“ have often stayed
out all night.”
“Well, Tom ‘don't be down- hearted you’ re
welcome to my roof, right welcome. In the morn-
1] ing we'll send up to Garroway, my tailor, and see
what can be done in the way of a handsome outfit.”
- “No no, Charlie, I can’t accept so much.” °
“But Tsay you shall, ‘Don’t feel hurt; there's
no.‘occasion, ,I don't mean_ to give it to you.
There'll be Plenty: of time to work it out. - Now
go to bed.” = §
Tho comfortable chamber into “which he ‘was
ushered was very little like the drunkard's home.
“What a fool Ihave been!” muttered ‘Thomas
:'Ciarke, as his head touched the pillow of down.
a .
. | was a poorer man than I,
2 ‘the very angels re= | 5 poor woman, sinking ‘down, helpless ;
{said his mother, in a choked voice.
» 22 SCHOOL STREET, ' BO BOSTON.
“Charlie Tall and I ‘began lite, together, and be
‘ Le dees a de thea
5 win tot Ted olf
“Mother, » cried Edgar, the next morning, all .
in a tremble of delight. 4
, “Yes, dear, I'm coming. , I didn’ t mean 2 to sep
so late, but I was tired yesterday.” r
“Mother, what does it mean?” , ©
,Edgar stood by the open door, Me shad awept
the poor room, and made a fire in the stove from
through the sparkling frost on the window. -panes—,
the merry Christmas, sun, Mrs, Clarke § followed
the direction of the boy’s wondering eyes. There,
Es) stood alarge market basket, heaped full of luxu-,
ries—a pair of chickens, golden-breasted, a turkey,
silver-coated onions,-sweet potatoes, and many
paper packages, while here and there, from the
delicacies - they ,, surrounded, ;,bright,: crimson-.
“And, mother, here is a note.”, .,) , 4 1;
: ‘Mrs. Clarke took it and read aloud— ,
‘Dear’ Dorry,—Iave breakfast by nine In
be in by that time, I want the chickens cooked, and
we'll enjoy them together, ,,, “Ypure,. + Tom.
Ilow the thin, cwhite hand trembled and two’
large tears came coursing down the pale cheeks,
“Of: Edgar, what‘ can ‘it mean? Ile hasn't.
called me the old name for years, He always did
when I was’a girl and ‘was first married. ' ‘Im
afraid to think it may be all right 0 once more j Tm
afraid to be happy.” |! we ee
“See, mother, a load of wood, woe
“And a barrel of flour,” ejaculated Mrs, Clarke.
“Who can they be for?” ’ “
“And a bushel of apples r cried Edgar—“O1)
such beauties [.) 0"
o“For Mrs.’ Clarke ;" chonted the many § as the
family below opened the door.
“Eds gar, are we, dreai aming, dear?” asked the ,
‘Tm aliaid »
I shall wake up soon.” »
“No, mother, don’t you hear them coming up
stairs? Hurrah! I don’t recollect as I ever saw
a barrel’ of. flour in our house before.’ ‘Come,
mother, we'll get breakfast, anyhow, before he’
comes.’ O! I didn’t wish you a happy Christmas '
—how could1?, But I can now, with a jolly good-
will—hurrah! Happy Christmas,| mother ! ®
«Mrs. Clarke smiled through her tears, at Edgar's
extravagant manifestations.
“Tl eat one chicken,” he cried, when =P, Tp,
came another knock at the door,
+A turkey for Mrs. Clarke,” said the 1 man, and
one of the children down ’stairs—too poor to eat”
turkey on that or any other day, deposited it, with
staring eyes, in Mrs,’ Clarke’s hands.’ IIe had
hardly left when up “came another market-man
bearing a ponderous gobbler, and as a matter, of
course, called out, =|
A turkey for Mrs. Clarke.” °
“It never rains but it ‘pours, mother. | What’
shall we do with them?”
«And who ean be sending them all >? cried the
bewildered woman; “O!” “and she read from a
slip of paper fastened to the turkey’s wing, °°
. “With compliments of Mrs, Charlie Yall” .
“What a bouncer! the others are little fellows,”
caid Edgar, “but this must weigh fifteen Panes,
if it weighs an ounce.”
» “We are overwhelmed with blessings toot”
“I wo .
what else is coming ?”
little window.’ “Like as not he’s brought some-
thing for Mrs, Clarke. It's—no! it can't be—it
is—yes, it is, mother, as true as you livo—it's:
father!” pos va
Father! dressed and in his right mind; erect,
grave,’ handsome. — Father! bringing something
for Mrs. Clarke—bringing the foundations of the
new life to build on the ruins of the old. .Bring~
ing a heart purged of its base affections, loving,
and tender, and true onee more; bringing good
news on this rarest of alf happy Christmas days.
O! what a meeting it was! How Mary, for
very happiness, sobbed on his breast! and Edgar
clung to him, holding his face against his shoulder,
and bedewing the new brosdcloth with tears.:
ase
it or
cheeked cranberries peeped daintily out. , bone
“Why, a gentleman,” evied Edgar, going to the
-And what a feast it was! . It seemed as if the sad-
».
the last of their dry faggots. , The, sun shone in 7
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