Rensselaer Union, Volume 6, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 December 1873 — JOHN MARROW PRAT’S CHRISTMAS. [ARTICLE]

JOHN MARROW PRAT’S CHRISTMAS.

BY WILLIAM ANDROSE.

“It’s very odd,” said John Marrowprat, scratching his head with the end of his penholder, and looking dubiously at the columns of figures he had been adding up. Mr. Marrowprat had been clerk for Josiah Lickpenny, ship chandler, for ten long years, but never, in all his experience, had he encountered so obstinate a set of figures as those before him. Three times had he carefully arranged and compared them, each time in a different way, but every combination had successfully resisted his endeavors to strike a proper balance. Whether it was owing to the fact that the solitary candle, mounted in the neck of an old ink-bottle, gave so poor a light, or that the dav’s labor had been very arduous, or that his mind was employed upon some other subject than the one then before it, Ido not know. Certain it was that the results he obtained were anything but correct, and they so perplexed him that from scratching his head he proceeded to rub his nose, and afterwaras gazed into the three-cornered bit of looking-glass tacked up before him to see if any wandering ink had found a resting-place on his face. Satisfied that such was not the case, he ran the fingers of his left hand carelessly through his locks, and saw for the first time that here and there a gray hair had entwined itself with its brown fellows. Then he put his pen in his tnouth and, biting it, allowed his thoughts to wander much in this wise: “Christmas Eve again. Christmas Eve! the happiest eve of all the long year to many; but to John Marrowprat the gloomiest ? Hasn’t he got a good position at a fair salary, with the prospect of seeing a new sign nun g over the door in the near future bearing the names of ‘Eickpenny & Marrowprat?’ Hasn’t he got a comfortable back-room at Mrs. Windle’s, with a little stove in it that does heat terribly when well fed, and a large, cozy rockingchair, and a shelf of books, and a table with two drawers in it, and pleasant light? Isn’t there old Mr. Windle to talk to, and Miss Coy to play chess with? Miss Coy to be sure. I must have played as many as twenty games with her, and yet, now that I think of it, we are not well acouainted. She seems to be a very nice little body though, and has a very pleasant smile: a smile very like the one that so frequently illumined mother’s kind face. Ah, the old home! How joyous were the holidays I Spent there! Again can I hear mother’s gentle reproof for our boisterousness, and again do I see the ruddy face of father as he heaps the wood upon the roaring fire. Those were happy days beneath the old roof—days never to return; for the earth covers all those dear faces that no longer can brighten at the sound of Christmas bells—no longer gather about the dear old family board." There were tears in simple John Marrowprat’s eyes as he trimmed the candle and turned again to his figures. “John,” said Mr. Lickpenny, thrusting a very red face, surrounded by a frame of stubborn sandy hair, through the little window in the partition that divided the private office from the store, “when can I have a statement?” “Almost any time, sir; I’ll come down after supper and finish up," answered Mr. Marrowprat, wiping his pen on his coatsleeve, and proceeding to close and put away the books. Mr. Lickpenny shut the little window, but immediately reappeared in the doorway, and, advancing, said: “Well, John, it’s Christmas Eve, and pay-day, too.” “Yes,” replied John, somewhat sadly. “It has always been my custom, as you well know, to add something to the usual wages at this time of the year,” continued Mr. Lickpenny, producing a well-worn pocket-book, “but money has been so awfully tight with me for the past few months, and things work so uncommon bad that—eh!—l have thought it best to dispense with that little ceremony. Of course, to one who expects a change in the condition of things, and is in a measure preparing fer that change (which is not as far distant as it might be), this is no great disappointment. I only mention this, Mr. Marrowprat, that you may know the whole matter.” -As he handed his honest clerk the amount of his week’s salary there wasa cunning gleam of the eyes and a twitching at the corners df the mouth that iU-beflttea the gravity of his speech. «

“So far as that’s concerned, sit, referr ing, of course, to the promise of advancement you have made, I’ve always endeavored to do my duty. If, in time, I have become worthy of a closer connection, I shall endeavor to deserve it,” answered John, as in substance he had answered many times before. Mr. Lickpenny nodded and smiled, and so did John. Then Mr. Lickpenny went back into his little office, rubbing bis hands; and John, putting on his great coat, went forth into the cold evening air. The lamps were lighted throughout the city, ana the toy and candy stores were resplendent with gold and red and silver ornamentation. As he passed one of them, and saw the throng of pleasant-faced people within, purchasing happiness for the little ones at home, his heart was heavy with the’ thought that there was no little soul, near and dear, for him to gladden on the morrow. It was a short walk to Mrs. Windle’s boarding-house, and, soon reaching it, he entered by means of a latch-key. He had built a fire at noon, and his room was now warm, but tlere was an air of loneliness to it that it had never worn before. After washing, he passed the few minutes elapsing before supper in looking over the evening paper, a copy of which he had purchased on his way home. His eye naturally sought the amusement column—not that he was in the habit of frequenting theaters, but because he hoped to find there some cheerful notices of Christmas pantomimes and plays. There were, indeed, several announcements of this sort of entertainment, but they were not attractive. The time had been when he had read with delight the names of the Clown and Columbine; but these fictions no longer possessed any fascination for him, ana to-night they served but to arouse sad memories of boyish frolics. At the bottom of the column, however, was the notice of a performance of “The Messiah,” and he read the names cf the singers and the other particulars with interest. Nothing could exceed his love of oratorio music. At the supper-table he sat beside Miss Coy, and learned from her that she had several errands to call her out that evening, but was in fear of being disappointed in her desire to perform them, as it had begun to snow. “That need make no difference,” saidJohn, endeavoring to look unconcernedly at a plate of toast before them. “I am going out again, and have a very large umbrella, and If you are not afraid of getting wet, I should be glad to accompany you.” It was not a very elaborate or artistic invitation, but Miss Coy seemed delighted with it, and soon after supper was seen by several of the boarders essaying from the front door steps with her mittened hand on Mr. Marrowprat’s arm. Now John was anything but a ladies’ man. He was somewhat awkward in their presence, and was painfully conscious- of the fact; and very frequently he got tongue-tied. But when Miss Coy told him that the object of her excursion was the purchase of some trifles for her sister’s children, whose hearts would be broken if Aunt Annie neglected them on the morrow. John became forgetful of himself, ana was soon peering in at windows with a beaming face end making suggestions regarding the purchases, ana went so far as to buy a squeaking dog with pink eyes and a woolly tail for his landlady’s little boy. Long before they got to this point, however, they had become quite communicative. “I should think,” said John, placing the umbrella so as to more effectually protect his companion from the storm, “that you’d find it very tiresome teaching school.” “Oh, sometimes I do. But there are many pleasures that compensate for the fatigue,” was the cheerful reply. “I forget all about myself in watching the children’s faces. There’s nothing so pleasant to look at as a child’s face.” “That’s so,” said John, “It makes us feel young again. That is,” he instantly added, conscious of a blunder, “such as are old.” “I’m sure you don’t call yourself old,” responded Miss Coy, in a tone strongly deprecating such a conclusion. “Yes, I do,” said John, in all sincerity ; “ I’m getting along fast At least, I feel so. Perhaps it is owing to my solitary way of living, perhaps not. I don’t know.” There was such a yearning for sympathy expressed in his voice that the bright look that Miss Coy habitually wore faded for a moment, and one of kind concern took its place. But it came back almost immediately, and her increased vivacity was an evidence of her desire to dispel the sadness that had fallen upon him. And she was very successful. The snow, which had begun to fall early in the evening, had given place to rain, that froze as soon as it reached the earth and covered the walks with an icy coating exceedingly dangerous to pedestrians. Mr. Marrowprat, with the brown paper parcels containing their purchases in one hand, and the wind -tossed umbrella in the other, found considerable difficulty in supporting his fair companion, Twice she slipped, and twice, with his assistance, laughingly recovered herself. By and by, one of the bundles fell; and, in stooping to pick it up, John felt his feet fly from under him, and, notwithstanding a convulsive catch at the air, down he went heavily, and something snapped. In attempting to rise he found that he had in some manner injured his left foot, for he could bear no weight upon it. “ I’m afraid that I’ve sprained my ankle; Miss Coy,” he said, endeavoring to limp along. “ How unfortunate!” “ Oh! I hope not," she answered in a flutter; “ let me take the packages—lean on me.” John looked at the little figure beside him and smiled ; but he gave her the bundles nevertheless, and attempted to proceed. “ I can’t get on,” he said, with * groan. “ Dear me!” cried Miss Coy, “ what can I do for you ?” “Hurt?" sententiously inquired a po. liceman who had witnessed the accident. “Yes,” said John. “Get a carriage, will you ?” He leaned against a convenient railing and awaited its arrival, endeavoring to avoid any expression of the pain that grew more intense every moment He stilfgallantly held the umbrella over Miss Coy, whose anxiety was great When the officer helped him in, and as he was about to perform the same service for Miss Coy he said bluntly: “ You’d better get » doctor to him as soon as you can, for in my humble opinion he’s got a broken leg. I heard it snap.” rolled away. In a short time it drew up before Mrs. Windle’s, and with the aw

sistanco of the stout and sympathetic hackman John was taken in and placed upon his bed, where he was soon surrounded by his landlady and such of the boarders as happened to be at home. When the doctor came he sent them all •at of the room, however, and soon declared that Mr. Marrowprat had sustained a very ugly fracture of the leg. Mr. Johnson, a fellow-boarder, remained with him that night* but in the morning left him to fulfill an engagement. After breakfast there was the nwS timid knock on the dbor imaginable, and in answer to bis invitation Miss Coy came softly in. There was no denying the fact that he was glad to see her pleasant face and to listen to«her greeting of “Merry Christmas,” for his face brightened and his restlessness ceased. “It’s all but a merry Christmas to me,” said John. “It’s all for the best,” she answered, “although I’m afraid that I was the cause of it” “No, no!” responded John earnestly. “I Was going out any ,way.” And there flashed across his mind the long columns of forgotten figures that had worried him so, and which he had promised Mr. Lickpenny to care for on the preceding evening. He was wondering what Mr. Lickpenny would say, when his visitor asked him if she could not write to some of his relatives for him. *1 have none to write to,” he answered, aadly. “Your friends, then,” she hastily added. "Nor friends,” said John. She remembered the sad tone that their conversation of the night before had taken, and was turning away with tears in her eyes when John said: “Would you kindly write a little note for me to Mr. Lickpenny She gladly certified her willingness, but had scarcely prepared the materials when they were interrupted by a knock at the door, which, opening, disclosed the figure of Mr. Lickpanny himself. “Unaph!” said he ; ‘‘broke your leg, did you ?” As he approached the bed he winked so familiarly at Miss Coy that that young lady blushed, and John stared at him in amazement. “Yes, sir,” replied John, when he had recovered himself. “Umph!” ejaculated Mr. Lickpenny, “it don’t pay to go on love excursions on winter nights, does it?” He winked again at Miss Coy, but she turned away her head in conftision, and hurriedly put up the ink and paper. “What P -cried-John, lifting himself up on his elbow and surveying his employer with indignation. “Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Mr. Lickpenny, “caught at your age, who’d have thought it. Come, don’t look so innocent. When a man neglects his business and goes off with young women, a thing he never was guilty of before, the case is very plain.” Miss Coy having replaced the writing material hastened from the room with a burning face, and John, greatly distressed, fell back on his pillow again. “Well, John,” said Mr. Lickpenny, when she had gone, “how did it happen, and how in the deuce am I to get those books balanced ?” Never until this moment had John considered Mr. Lickpenny other than a gentleman. To be sure, during all his years of service he had never seen him under circumstances calling for precise deportment; but instinctively he had clothed him with all necessary attributes only to have them now torn off, and the true character of the man displayed in all its deformity. The scales fell from John’s eyes, and his blood boiled at the insults offered to innocent, kind-hearted Miss Coy. He held his anger, however, and answered as calmly as possible. “Mr. Lickpenny,” said he, “you have insulted a very worthy young lady, without the least cause; and my astonishment at your ungentlemanly remarks is only exceeded by my disappointment. I did think, so lately as yesterday, that you were something different from this.” “Ha! ha! ha “’laughed Mr. Lickpenny; “can’t stand raillery, hey?.. Why, John, you’re worse than a’boy." “if I was out of this bed, sir, you’d find out. the difference,” cried John, waxing wroth; “you can leave the room —the sooner the better. Get your confounded books fixed up as best you can. I wontt touch them again, by a jugful.” Mr. Lickpenny suddenly became grave, and began expostulating, but John would not listen to him, and demanded that he leave the room in such loud tones that the landlady appeared, asserting that she thought he had called for her. There be-ing-no alternative, Mr, Lickpenny angrily departed; but John, in his excitement, having attempted to move his injured leg, immediately fainted with the pain. Mrs. Windle was a tall, muscular female, who had never suffered from nervousness. She very coolly raised his head, and, calling to Miss Coy, who happened to be passing, and who she espied through the half-open door, she soon, with her assistance, brought him back to consciousness. As he was slowly recovering, he thought he heard, as if in the distance, the voice of Miss Coy, saying: “Poor fellow, he seems to quite alone in the world;" but when he opened his eyes they beheld no one in the room save his landlady. He lay for some time, until his mind was quite clear, and then he sent the landlady for Miss Coy, who hesitated, bjit at last came in. When he saw her all his old diffidence returned, and it was with difficulty that he told her of bis deep regret at the insult she had suffered, of his self-dismissal from the employment of Mr. Lickpenny, and of his sorrow at being unable to take her to the oratorio that evening, as he knew she loved good music. ■ “Do not mention it,” she said; “you have suffered too much for my sake. If there is anything I can do for you, I pray you let me do it” “Miss Coy,” said John, his heart speaking through his faltering lips, “I have lived alone, quite by myself, for a number of years and have few friends and no relatives to take care of me; can I ask you to do so?” “Oh, gladly!” she said. “I can spend considerable time with you, and will read to you or write for you as you wish.” “I mean/oreeer,” continued John, with emphasis. She put her hands to her face and burst into tears;.but, hearing John bitterly repenting his rudeness, she went to him then and knelt beside the bed. Tenderly he smoothed her hair and softly fell his words upon her 6ar: “If I am not too old, dear, it is indeed a merry Christmas to me.” And, raising her head and looking into his kind, sad eyes, she answered-. “We will grow old, together, John,” and laid her head on his happy breast. Five years have passed, and again the bells are ringing on the eve of the blessed holiday. John Marrowprat, seated in his own house, with a fair-haired child upon his knee, hears them with a calm contentment, for the sad pictures of the past, that of old were conjured up by their silvery tones, have grown compared with the happy pictures of the present.— Daily Graphic. .. g ~ Raised Cake.—Two cups of raised dough; two eggs; two cups of sugar; one cup of butter; one cup of sweet milk; one of soda; two cups of flour; one cup of fruit; cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. To be put into the oven at once.