Rensselaer Union, Volume 11, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 December 1878 — TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS. [ARTICLE]

TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS.

“ One two-dollar bill, two one-dollArs, and a fiftv-cent piece, and two twentyfires. That’s fire dollars. And I want to get a present for mamma and papa ana Molly and Ned and Tom ana tne two maia-girls,” Ella Lindsay, otherwise Trot Lindsay, was sitting at the nursery window, with the contents of a tin “ bank” tipped into her lap, and a forest of silver paper, Berlin wools, and perforated card, oh the floor aronnd her. Outside the snow was falling slowly, drifting into odd corners of city streets, piling itself on roofs, and lodging on ledges of lamp-posts and house-fronts. But up above, between the high roofs, a little glimpse of blue sky was risible. “ It’s a perfect shame! It always storms when I want to do anything!” Trot went on, soliloquizing. “I ain’t going to make any more of those silver paper things and' bookmarks, anyway. I’m too old for that!” And the speaker, who had arrived at the mature age of eight, counted her money again. "Five dollars. Mamma doesn’t know I want to make any presents beside bookmarks; but l do. Everybody’ll give me something, and I feel mean.” Here Trot suddenly jumped down from her chair, and went over to the other window, where her seventeen-year-old sister Molly was sewing. “ Molly, the sun is coming out.” Molly precipitately pulled up a piece of cotton clotn, to hide a doll’s scarlet silk shoe that she had been stealthily lacing together, and began to hem busily. "Is it?”

“ Molly, wouldn’t you go out with me to some stores P I want to get Christmas things.” “O, my dear! Go out in this slush and snow? Mamma and I are going out to-morrow, and you shall go, too. “ But I want to go to-day. It’ll storm to-morrow, maybe, or you’ll have a headache, or something.’’ “No, I shan’t. Why don’t you finish what you’re doingP” “Nobody’ll care for old silver crosses,” said Trot, hopelessly, " and they’re awful bothersome. I’ve got to get seven presents.” “O, you needn’t mind getting presents, Trot. Don’t trouble your little head about it.” “Why, everybody’s going to give me something, ain’t they?” “ Maybe. But—” Kero a call from the next room interrupted Molly, and she hurried away, leaving Trot standing by her rockingchair with a cloudy brow. A gleam of sunshine at this moment shone into the room, and glistened on the heap of silver paper under the window. Trot took a sudden resolution. Putting the money in her pocket, she ran into her. own room, pulled off her apron, and put on her cloak. “ I’ll go alone, I’m big enough,” she thought, as, breathless with excitement, she hunted for her hat. But here came a difficulty. Molly had taken her “ common hat” to fix over, and she could not wear her best blue velvet cap with white plumes, out into a snowstorm. She stood a moment at a loss what to do, then ran into her sister’s room, and, after mmmaging in the closet, prodneed Molly’s "second best” hat, a black felt trimmed with pink roses.

“ Inhere! it won’t hurt this to get snowed on,” Trot said, surveying herself in the glass, with a satisfied air. A funny small figure she was, too, with the dressy hat tied down over her short golden-brown curls, and a wrinkle of care in the middle of her. fair little forehead. She knew there was an umbrella in the hall. As for gloves and rubbers, she entirely forgot those in her eagerness to be gone. Holding her breath, and momentarily in terror of some one’s stopping her, she tiptoed down stairs ana through the hall. Seizing her father’s big umbrella, which was about as loug as she was tall, she hastened out, shut the door with a slam, feeling very important as she heard the nightlatch click, and was fairly\on the street. Sipe knew the way down town, and having tried in vain to open the umbrella went off, dragging it by the tassel, pondering deeply about what she should get. “1 guess I’ll find something for mamma, first,” thought Trot, splashing through the watery snow with thin kid boots, and a good deal worried by the necessity of keeping the umbrella out of people’s way. So, when she finally arrived in the vicinity of Winter streot, she first directed her attention to dry-goods stores. Seeing an attractve display of silks and laoes in window, she 'entered, and, walking past a row of idle clerks in a very dignified manner, as she had seen her mother and sister do, she said to the man in waiting: “ J want silks, please.” Being forthwith piloted to the silk counter, Trot forced her way between two eager customers, and for a moment forgot everything in admiration at the luster of a rich, blue silk which the clerk was exhibiting. “ Please, sir,” she exclaimed presently, “ please, how much is it?”* The olerk looked in surprise at the mite of a speaker, whose eyebrows were just on a level with the top of the counter, and responded with a smile: “Four'dollars, Missy.” Trot’s blue eyes opened wide, first with wonder at the price, then with indignation at being called “Missy.” She turned her back on the olerk. “Four dollars! And I’m sure it would take twenty yards to make mamma a dress. Just to think!” She was stopped on her way out by the attractions of the glove-counter. A certain pair of brown kid gloves with tassels looked about the right size for hey mamma. 1 “ How much do Vou ask for these?” catching the eye of a busy salesman. “ Marked down to a dollar twelve,” was the polite and hurried answer. “ I’ve come loan awfulhigh plaoeT” - the disgusted Trot said to herself, as she made the best of her way to the door. She was immediately attracted by another window which bore a staring sign: “ Human Hair.” “O! O! I’ll get mamma a switch of hair! Th*l won’t ops* much,” and hurrying in, she accosted the shopwoman: “I want a switch cjf brown hair.” “Certainly, miss. Where is the specimen yon want to match?” ' . “ Speo-i-men P” , was the doubtful query. “ She means whoselhair do you want it like,”, said a rosy-faped girl behind the counter, with an encouragingsmile.

“ Oh! like my mamma’s!” " Well, have yon any of her hair with youP” “ No, I didn’t think of that, but I can toll. I guess I’ll take this one—it’s about the color. How much is it?” "That? Let me seeP I’ll sell that fbr fifteen dollars.” Trot dropped the switch as if it hod stung her, grasped her umbrella and turned away, t , “It won’t do to beat people down,” she reflected, “ but folks must beureadful extravagant. My winter cloak only cost fifteen dollars. Mamma said so.” Mado wiser by experience, she went quite a long distance before venturing into a fancy store, where a gray-haired clerk smiled benignly down on the little face under the big roses. Trot had seen some velvet-cased pictures in the window, which were shown her, and which, of course, proved too high. "Oh dear!” said tho disappointed questioner, with tears of vexation in her eyes, “ everything is ten or fifteen dollars.” “I have plenty of cheap things,” was the compassionate response. “ What do you want to get? Here are some hand-baskets and work-baskets. You may have this for seventy-five cents.” It was a pretty Indian basket, whose interior was divided Into compartments. Trot was delighted. " Oh, 1 can take that! and I guess mamma’ll like it. Have you got something else, cheap? Something for a man, you know?” The salesman made a puzzled review of his shelves. “ Would you like a pipe, or a cigarholder, or—” . , " What are those scarlet sort of pouches?” Trot demanded. "Papa’s got lots of pipes, but he ain’t got a tobacco pouch.” The clerx produced the article at which she pointed, with a laugh. “That isn’t a tobacco-pouch, that is a child’s toy. Something they call a * gyrator;’ ” and, pressing a concealed spring, he caused .the mouth of the embroidered case to open, and a jointed wooden man to leap dut, whose arms and legs began to fly round in the wildest fashion.

“ Can’t you take the man out?” inquired Trot, surveying the figure with great surprise. “ Yes, you can have him taken out. But you can have the case and man and all for thirty cents.” "1 canl Oh, that’sever so nice!” and Trot went out of the storo greatly encouraged, with her pouch and her basket. “I don’t know what to get Molly. There’s some prettjr calico. I might get Bridget and Ann some calico dresses. I’ve got three dollars, and ninetyfive cents left.” <«. "Well, what cAn I do for you?” inquired a supercilious young man, with weak eyes and light hair, who stood behind a calico counter. “ I want to look at these,” said poor Trot, who was almost borne down by the throng of people. “ How much is this striped one?’’ “ Ail twelve cents a yard, every one of them.” “ Only twelve cents! O then, I’ll have —I guess I’ll have about —” “Want it for yourself?” “ Fora maid-girl,” said Trot with dignity. “She’s very large, and I guess I’ll have twenty yards—let me see what that would come to.” The clerk laughed immoderately, at what, Trot could not tell, then whispered to a brother salesman, who leaned indolently over the counter, and laughed too, looking at Trot. “Pretty good joke, eh?” said the first, as he rapidly measured off the calico. “Where’ll you have it sent?” Trot, who was struggling to make out two dollars and forty cents, handed over that amount with a sigh of relief.

“That’s just right. You needn’t send it. I’ll carry it.” “Come, now, you can’t do that. You’rß not as large as your maid-serv-ant, you know. Where do you live?” “ Columbus avenue. I’m Ella Lindsay.” “ All right. What numbers!” “I don’t know, but I can findit. You do up the bundle.” Despite her resolution, Trot was so appalled at the size and weight of the package returned, that she gave up all idea of getting another calico dress for Ann, and labored heavily out into the street, with her basket, pouch, bundle and umbrella. Her little feet were soaked Bnd very tired indeed, and the persistent almost blinded her; but there were Ned and Tom and Molly to be thought of. “I wonder, she mused, shiftingthe heavy bundle, as the string cut her fingers, “if I couldn’t buy a mustache for Ned. I heard him wishing he had one, and people sell hair. I’ll try!” And walking into a gentleman's furnishing store, she astonished a smartlooking boy behind the counter: “ Do you have mustachesP” “Have what?" I “ Mustaches, please.”

The boy surveyed Trot a moment, and then was overcome by the “ridiculous side of the thing,” as he said to a brother clerk, when he had finished laughing. ‘•Here’s a young one wants a mustache. Did you ever!” “ Maybe she wants a false one for theatricals or something.” “I don’t. 1 want it for my brother Ned,” said Trot, standing her ground. “Ho ain’t got one, and I heard him say he wanted one. Have, you got ’em to soil?” she insisted, getting red in the face as the boy disappeared behind the counter with a yell of laughter. Trot certainly was a funny sight standing there, with the bedraggled big hat ana flaming cheeks. The senior clerk, with a wink to the proprietor, remarked: “I shouldn’t think vour brother could be old enough to have a mustache. Tell him to wait till it comes.” Now if Trot had one failing it was temper. Stamping her little foot on the ground she exclaimed, with flashing eyes: s “1 sha’n’t either! He's old enough now. And if he hasn’t got a mustache on his upper lip like you, he’s got a dear little one on his ear, so there!” A perfect shriek of laughter followed this speech, in the thijdst of which Trot rushed out of the store and hurried back along the stormy street with tears rolling down her hot cheeks. “On dear! oh dear! those hateful people! I wish I hadn’t come at all. Every body laughs at me, and I can’t go bome>with presents for only half of ’em*” 7) , ■ ‘‘Ope dollar and fifty-five cents, and three presents to get beside Ann’s. Oh! I’d better go back to the man that sold thingi so cheap!” " i What a long way it was back, struggling against tho wind and storm! And how Trot’s arm ached! But there was the store at lost. She dragged herself in and asked,’with what strength she

had left, for the man that sold her the basket. “He has gone to dinner,” said the lady she asked. Poor Trot sat down on her bundle of oalioo and burst into tears of such despair that the lady hurried round the Counter and took her in her arms. “Why, my child, how wet you are, and how sola!- How far have you to go?” “I can’t go at all till I get my presents,” sobbed persistent Trot; and then she told her story, still Sitting on the calico, and ended with! a sudden question:’ “ What.time is itP” , j “ About half-past three.” “Oh! ever so long past lunch. Wbat will they think Is the mattprP” “Where is your house?” asked the lady, who had carried Trot into a rear room, and, having set her down by a stove, was trying to draw off her sodden shoes. ( “Columbus avehuc.” “ But what numberP” l “ I don’t know, but I know the house because there is a dead oleander in the balcony next door.” Trot chatted away while the lady proceeded to hang up her stockings, dry her drenched feet, and remove her wet clothing. “ I must find some things for you to wear home, and then I think *1 will take you there in a can Jamie wiil take my place for a while,” she said, looking toward a boy in the store. “ But I haven’t got my presents.” “Oh! I forgot. You want to get four, and have about a dollar ana a half, haven’t youP Suppose you get some candy for yoqr brothers?” ' “ You don’t keep it, do you?” “ No, but Jamie can go and get you some. Two pounds, at thirty cents a pound, would leave you ninety-five cents.” . “Only ninety-five cents for Molly and Annl” “ You can get a little ivory tablet, that I think your sister would like, for half a dollar. And for Ann—”

The lady thought a moment. “ Wouldn’t she like some bright ribbonP Jamie can get that, too. Three yards of scarlet ribbon, enough for bows for neck and hair, will be very pretty.” Poor Trot was too much tired out to cais what was done. When Jamie returned with his purchases she was half asleep, done up in a shawl. The multiplicity of her bundles decided the lady to call a cab, in which Trot was presently placed, her wet clothes in a separate parcel, and her feet encased in a pair of number four boots, that had to be tied on. Very thankful was she to ceme in sight of the aforesaid dead oleander, and very thankful were the excited inmates of her home to see her safe and sound. Not quite sound, however, for she was a little feverish, and in such disreputable attire that she was conveyed immediately up-stairs. Great amusement was then created by the contents of the cab, conspicuous among which was Molly’s ruined hat. After delivering these the lady, refusing more substantial thanks, was driven away. - It was not till the next noon that Trot felt sufficiently recovered to at tend to her presents. She then begged Ned to take the gyrator out of the pouch, and leave it free for tobacco. She took him into the nursery to do it, where there was no one but Molly, and while he worked she told about the episode of the mustache. She felt perfectly sure of sympathy, and was utterly amazed when Ned, after staring at her a minute in blank surprise, threw down the gyrator and laughed till the room rang, while Molly created a chorus by joining in. “Molly! Molly!” gasped Ned, finally sitting upright, and wiping the tears from his eyes. “ Did you hear? She told the man 1 had one"on my ear! O Trot! you’ll be the death of me yet!” “ You have got one on your ear!” said the indignant Trot. “ I saw it the other day; a little one just coming!” “O Ned!” Molly said, amid her laughter. “ She saw that mole on your ear, and it has two or three hairs on it. Never mind, Trot dear, you didn’t know any better.” But Trot did mind. For some years the history of that day’s shopping was a standing joke in the family, and the heroine was greatly ashamed of it. But now that the aforesaid heroine is a young lady, she can laugh as merrily as anyone" at the remembrance of the Christmas when she tried to buy her brother a mustache. —Hannah H. Hudson, in Wide-Awake.