The Big Book of Christmas

by Anton Chekhov

  It was much more interesting to serve grass and acorn kernels from broken bits of china than it was to have a real tea-party in an orderly nursery with real cups and saucers, and the strange doll added to the zest of the play because she was an unknown. The children speculated upon who might be her possible owner, and wondered if she were mourned and missed, or only forgotten. A fat toad, tempted out by the warm sunshine, hopped from under the stone and sat blinking at the children in such a funny way that they laughed so loud as to send him away.

  Everything was going on merrily when presently the shrill whistle of the factory announced that it was noon, and pretty soon crowds of men, women, boys and girls trooped down the road toward a group of small houses further along. It was a noisy, jostling crowd and the two children were glad they were not nearer. They cowered down behind the big rock to wait till the factory hands had passed by.

  In a few minutes Patty peeped forth. "They've gone," she whispered. "I don't believe they would have noticed us anyhow. Let's play that the fat toad is an enchanted prince, and that Miggy Wig is going to liberate him from his enchantment."

  "All right," agreed Marian. "What shall Patty Wee be?"

  "If Miggy Wig is the fairy, Patty Wee can be the princess who will wed the prince. Now Miggy Wig and I are going to gather three kinds of herbs to make the charm," said Patty.

  Marian was delighted. She had but lately entered the wonderful region of fairy-land, but under Patty's guidance was becoming very familiar with its charms and enchantments.

  Patty and Miggy Wig hied forth to gather the three kinds of herbs while Marian kept watch with Patty Wee. It was now so quiet that the toad ventured out again. Patty had dubbed him Prince Puff, a very fitting name the girls agreed. Marian was watching him as he did his funny act of swallowing, shutting his eyes and looking as if he meant to eat his own head, Patty said, when suddenly voices sounded behind her, angry voices.

  "Well ain't that cheek?" cried some one.

  Marian looked up and saw two shabby looking girls about her own age. She quickly rose to her feet, letting Patty Wee slip to the ground. The other Patty was some distance away.

  "What business have you got here?" said the taller of the strange girls, stepping up.

  "Why, we're just playing," replied Marian.

  "Just playing," mimicked the girl. "Do you hear that, Pearl? Just playing with our things. Ain't that cheek for you? Let's show her what we think of folks that steal our belongings."

  "I haven't taken a thing," said Marian indignantly. "I am not a thief."

  "Where's my doll, then? Call me a liar, do you?" said the girl fiercely, and stepping still nearer she gave Marian a sounding slap on the cheek.

  By this time Patty had seen the newcomers and had hurried up. "Don't you dare touch my friend," she cried. "We're not doing any harm to you and your things."

  "Well, you've meddled with them, and you were going to take my doll; you've got it now. Give it to me," and the girl snatched Miggy Wee from Patty's hand. "They meddled, didn't they, Pearl?"

  "Yes, they did," chimed in the younger girl. "They meddled, so they did."

  "Well, they've got to hustle off pretty quick or I'll set my father's big dog on them. Get out, you thieves," she said to Patty and Marian.

  "We are not thieves," replied Patty indignantly.

  "What were you doing with my doll, then?"

  "I didn't know it was yours. I didn't know it belonged to any one."

  "Oh, you didn't," in sarcastic tones. "Perhaps you thought it grew here like that there weed; you look green enough to think that."

  Patty clenched her hands and bit her lip to keep from making an answer which she knew would only aggravate matters. She drew herself up and gave the girl a withering look, then she turned to Marian. "Come, let us go," she said.

  "Oh, you think you're very grand, don't you," said the girl teasingly. "Well, you're not, and I can tell you we're not going to let you off so easy. You've got to pay for the use of our playhouse. I'll take this in pay," and she grabbed Patty Wee from Marian.

  "Oh, no, no," cried Marian in distress, "you can't have my doll."

  "I can't, can't I? I'll show you whether I can." And the girl faced Marian so threateningly that she shrank away.

  Then Patty thought of a device. "You'd better not come too near us," she cried, "for we've got the whooping-cough," and indeed just then by reason of the excitement she did have a paroxysm of coughing which plainly showed that she spoke truly.

  The girl backed away, and as soon as Patty had recovered, she grasped Marian's hand and hurried her away. "Never mind Patty Wee," she said; "I'll get you another just like her. Let's get away as fast as we can."

  Marian realized that this was the wiser plan, and they hurried off, their two enemies calling after them mockingly.

  Their breathless flight set them both coughing, and when they recovered breath they both walked soberly on without saying a word, their object being to get as far away as possible from the scene of trouble. Up hill and down again they trudged, and presently saw ahead of them a house and garden at the junction of two roads.

  "I never saw that place before," said Patty, looking at it with a puzzled air. "I'm sure I don't know where we are."

  "Oh, Patty," exclaimed Marian in dismay, "are we lost?"

  "Well no, not exactly. We'll stop at that house and ask the way."

  As they approached they saw that the front of the house was a small country store, so they went around to the door and opened it. A bell jangled sharply as they entered, and from somewhere in the rear a woman came forward. "What's wanting?" she asked.

  "Will you tell us how far we are from Revell?" said Patty. "We want to go there, to the college."

  The woman looked at her with some curiosity.

  "It's about three miles," she said. "You go up this road and turn to your left about a mile on, just before you come to the factories. You pass by them and keep straight on."

  "Thank you," said Patty. Then seeing piles of rosy apples, boxes of crackers, and such eatables, she realized that she was very hungry. "Will you tell me what time it is?" she said.

  The woman looked up at a big clock over the door. "It is after two," she said, "about quarter past."

  "Oh, dear," Patty looked at Marian, "we can't get back to dinner." Suddenly all the joys of a gypsy life faded away. She looked at the apples, felt in her coat pocket for her five cents, and fortunately found it. "How much are those apples?" she asked.

  "Ten cents a quarter peck," the woman told her.

  "Oh, I meant how much apiece."

  "I guess you can have 'em for a cent apiece. There'll be about ten in a quarter, I expect."

  "Then I'll take two." The woman picked out two fine red ones and handed them to her. "I have three cents left," said Patty. "What shall I get, Marian?" Her eyes roved along the shelves.

  "That soft mixture's nice," said the woman, "and it's right fresh."

  "Can I get three cents' worth?"

  "Oh, yes."

  "Then I'll take it."

  The woman took down a box of mixed cakes and weighed out the necessary amount. Patty gave the five cents and the two little girls left the store.

  "I never was so hungry," said Patty, her teeth immediately seeking the apple.

  "Nor I," said Marian, following her example. And they trudged along munching the apples till they reached the top of the hill. They could see the factory chimneys in the distance and knew they could find their way, though both dreaded to pass the neighborhood of the rude girls who must live near the factory. They almost held their breath as they approached the spot, but they got by safely, and toiled on toward home, two thoroughly weary, disgusted little girls.

  "It wasn't much fun," said Marian plaintively, as they neared the house.

  "I shall never, never want to go that way again," said Patty contritely. "We haven't had any real dinner; I've spent my five cents, and you've lost Patty Wee."

  At the thought of this las
t disaster Marian's eyes filled. "Don't feel so," said Patty in distress. "I'll buy you another the very first time I go to the city. I know Dolly will give me five cents."

  "But it won't be Patty Wee," said Marian mournfully.

  Patty was honest enough to go straight to her sister Emily with the whole story of the morning's trouble. "You knew you were disobedient, didn't you, Patty?" said Emily gently. "Now you see why daddy always forbade your going down that way. He knows those factory people are a rough set."

  Patty hung her head. "I know I was as bad as could be, Emily, but I'll never do it again."

  "The worst part is that you led Marian into it, for she didn't know, as you did, that you mustn't go that way. You say those girls struck her, and took her doll away from her. I think she had the worst of it, and yet it was all your fault, Patty."

  "Oh, dear, oh, dear, I am wickeder than I thought," sobbed Patty. "What can I do, Emily, to make up for it? I will do anything you think I ought. I spent my five cents and I haven't any more to get another Patty Wee."

  "If you will go without dessert for a week I will give you five cents to buy another doll. I think you have had punishment enough otherwise, but you can't make up to Marian for having those girls treat her so."

  Patty's tears flowed afresh, but she agreed to give up what meant a great deal to her.

  However, the five cents did not go toward buying another Patty Wee, for when Patty told her brothers of the morning's adventure, they looked at each other knowingly, and a little later on plotted together in the shed. So a few days after they triumphantly appeared with the lost Patty Wee which they restored to the delighted Marian. They would never tell how they recovered the doll, but Pearl and Evelina have memories of three big determined boys bearing down upon them when they were playing under the big tree, boys who demanded a doll taken by force, and having great respect for manly strength the girls gave up Patty Wee without a word.

  A Letter's Reply

  The lovely Indian summer was over, and Thanksgiving Day passed happily. It was a great time for Marian, for Miss Dorothy was home for several days and together they planned the book of photographs to be sent to Marian's father. "I think it would better go in ample time," said Miss Dorothy, "for at Christmas time there will be such budgets going that we must be sure to get ours in before the rush begins. I should give it two or three weeks anyhow, and even if it does get there too soon, that will be better than too late."

  "Don't you think it is time I was getting an answer to my letter?" asked Marian.

  "It is high time, but perhaps your father has been away, and has not had his mail forwarded."

  And indeed that was exactly the way of it as was proved the very next day when the morning's mail brought Marian her long-looked-for letter. She trembled with excitement when Mr. Robbins placed it in her hands, and her eyes eagerly sought Miss Dorothy. "Won't you go with me somewhere and read it to me?" she whispered.

  Miss Dorothy hesitated. "Perhaps your father has written it for your eyes alone."

  "But suppose I can't read it."

  "Well, then we'll go to my room and you can open it there. If you can't read it I'll help you out. Will that do?"

  "Oh, yes, thank you, dearest Miss Dorothy." Marian had learned from Patty to use many endearing terms.

  They went up-stairs to the pleasant front room with its pretty paper and hangings of roses on a creamy ground, and by the window they sat down while Marian carefully opened the envelope. As she unfolded the sheet of paper it held, something fell out in her lap. "It is a photograph of papa," she cried as she picked it up. "I never had one of my very own, and see, Miss Dorothy, the letter is typewritten so I can read it quite easily, but please sit by me while I see what he says."

  It was a long, loving letter in which the writer spoke of the pleasure it had been to him to hear from his little daughter, of how her accounts of her daily life had taken him back to his own childhood, and of how often he thought of her and longed to see her. "If I thought it best, my dear little daughter," he said, "I should not let the ocean roll between us, though some day I hope you can come to me if I may not go to you." There were many more things, entertaining descriptions of the places to which he had lately been, accounts of his doings and his friends, the whole ending with a request that Marian would write as often as she could. As she finished the closing lines Marian held out the letter to Miss Dorothy. "Do read it," she said. "I know he would not care. There isn't anything in it that you mustn't see. I'd like you to read it out loud to me, Miss Dorothy; I can't quite get the sense of it myself." So Miss Dorothy did as she was requested and agreed with Marian that it was a very nice letter, that her father did love her, and that the reason he did not come home was because he felt he would not be welcome.

  After this it was an all-important matter to get the photographs ready to send and to write a letter in answer to the one Marian had just received. Patty was very much interested in the photographs, for besides those taken in Greenville of Marian and the cats in the garden, of Marian at school, in the sitting-room with her grandparents, in her own room and in Mrs. Hunt's kitchen, there were a number taken in Revell where various members of the Robbins family appeared and where Patty herself was always a conspicuous figure. But the very last one was of Marian alone with arms outstretched and face upheld for a kiss. Under it was written, "A hug and kiss for you, dear papa, when you come back to your little Marian." This was the child's own idea, and Miss Dorothy carried it out as well as she could.

  "Just think," Marian said to Patty, "how much better I know my papa, and I shall keep on knowing him better and better."

  "Shall you show your grans the photographs, and the one of him?" asked Patty.

  "Yes," returned Marian thoughtfully, "Miss Dorothy thinks I ought to, and that I shall have to tell about my writing to him. I think grandma will be glad, and maybe grandpa will be, too, though he won't say so."

  Miss Dorothy overhearing this wise remark, smiled. She quite believed that both Mr. and Mrs. Otway would be glad.

  As the days were getting both colder and shorter Miss Dorothy decided that, for the present at least, she must give up coming home every week, and must wait till the Christmas holidays before seeing her family again. On the day she announced this she said also that Mrs. Otway had said that Marian had stayed away long enough. Miss Almira Belt was getting better and her sister could now help with the sewing, especially as a niece was coming to help her, so as Marian needed a new frock she must come home the following Monday with Miss Dorothy. Mrs. Hunt had said she was longing for a sight of her chickadee, Mr. Otway had remarked that it would be pleasant to hear a child's voice in the house once again, and so Marian must go.

  Patty was in tears at this news, and Marian herself looked very sorry. "Don't you want to go?" asked Miss Dorothy. "Tippy and Dippy are very anxious to see you and so is Rosamond. I saw her sitting in your room all alone the other day, and she looked very forlorn." Rosamond was Marian's big doll. "I told Ruth you were coming back, and she said: 'Good, good. Give my love to her and tell her I am crazy to see her. I've had the whooping-cough and I'm not a bit afraid of her.' Then, too," Miss Dorothy bent her head and whispered: "Some one who has the room next yours misses you very much and longs for her little neighbor."

  Marian smiled at this, but at sight of Patty's tears grew grave again. "If I could take Patty with me," she said, "I should not mind it a bit."

  "Maybe Patty can come some time. Mrs. Hunt asked me to bring her and to let her make a little visit there at her house, so we will think of it later on."

  This was so pleasant a prospect that Patty brightened up, and though at parting she could not be comforted, Marian went away rather happier than she expected. There would be some excitement in getting back. She would go to see Mrs. Hunt very often, and perhaps Ruth Deering would come to see her, or her grandmother would let her spend an afternoon with Ruth sometimes. Mrs. Otway approved of Ruth, she remembered. But here the thought of Patty came up, a
nd Marian realized that no one could take Patty's place, dear, bright, funny, affectionate Patty, who had been so generous and loving, though she did fly into a temper sometimes and say things she was sorry for afterward. She had tried to help Marian with her writing and had encouraged her so that now Marian could form her letters very well and need not be ashamed when she went back to school. Then, too, Patty had pressed upon her a favorite book of fairy tales which they had read together and which had been the groundwork of many delightful plays. Oh, no, there was nobody like Patty.

  Yet as Marian walked with Miss Dorothy up the familiar street, she felt that it was not bad to get back again. There was Mrs. Hunt watching out for her at the gate, to give her a tremendous hug and many kisses. There was Miss Hepzibah Toothacre, "pleasant as pie," at the door to welcome back the child. "Here she is," cried Heppy, and from his study rushed grandpa, from the sitting-room issued grandma, both eager to get to Marian first. "Heigho, heigho, little girl," said grandpa, "it is good to get you back again."

  "Well, my dear, how are you? Come kiss grandma," came from Mrs. Otway, and Marian, pleased and surprised, felt that home was not such a bad place after all.

  Then there were Dippy and Tippy, and also a surprise, for Heppy mysteriously led the way to the wood-shed which was just outside the kitchen, and what should Marian see there but three new baby kittens with Tippy proudly rubbing and purring around. Marian was on her knees before them in a minute, and had picked out the prettiest to cuddle. "Oh, if I might only keep this one," she said, "and perhaps we could find homes for the others."

  "I guess Mis' Otway ain't goin' to allow three cats under foot," said Heppy discouragingly. And indeed when Marian made her request to keep one of the kittens she was straightway denied.

  "You may keep two cats," said Mrs. Otway, "but no more will I have. If you choose to get rid of one of the larger ones and keep the little kitten I have no objection, but you will have to decide that for yourself."

  But here, as usual, Mrs. Hunt came to the rescue. "Now, chickadee," she said, when Marian told her the dilemma she was in, "you just let me have that nice big gray cat of yours. Our house cat got so he wouldn't live anywhere but in the stable, and grew so wild that I scarcely ever saw him; finally he went away altogether. You bring Dippy here and then you can see him as often as you want to."