# Scarlet Sister Mary (1928, Bobbs-Merrill Company)/Chapter 7

Christmas Eve was the gayest in years, for the crops had been good, the price of cotton high and money more plentiful than usual. All day the sky had been overcast, but at sunset a keen wind rose from the west and brought out the stars and swept the crisp brown leaves from the cotton stalks down the long straight rows of the field to mix with the leaves that were falling from the trees in the Quarters. Some of them skipped gaily about on pointed tips until they found quiet spots to rest, while others joined small whirling groups and kept going from place to place.
All the doors and windows on the north side of the Quarter houses were shut tight to keep out the cold, but every cabin was brightened by a great fire roaring up its chimney. At one end of the street where a great bonfire gleamed, crowds of little children dressed up in their Sunday clothes were playing, munching apples, suck ing sticks of red and white peppermint candy, pulling roasted sweet potatoes out of the hot ashes and slyly slipping in fire-crackers to see ​how the old folks jumped and laughed and cried out threats with every small explosion. "Better mind! Santy Claw ain' gwine fetch you a Gawd's "ting if you don' stop you crazy doins."
Every gust of wind fanned out sparks from the flames and a smell of oak smoke that was flavored with powder from fire-crackers or from the occasional Roman candles and skyrockets that flared clear up among the stars.
From Mary's doorway she could see a ring of people, men and women, children, all ages, all sizes, holding hands to make a big ring, moving round and round the big fire, singing as they circled, and keeping step to the song while a blindfolded girl outside the ring sang answers to their questions:
"Aun' Katie dead?" the chorus chimed.
"Yes, ma'am," came a girl's voice in answer.
"Is you been to de buryin?" chimed again.
"Yes, ma'am," fell promptly, clearly.
"Did you git some cake?"
The circle stepped faster.
"Yes, ma'am," keeping quickened time.
"Did you git some coffee?" faster still.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Did you git some tea?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Den, shoo, ducky, shoo, don't come by me!"
​Shouts of laughter followed as the blindfolded girl tried to catch somebody in the ring, to take her place. If July were at home, Mary would join them, but he had taken his box and gone to the crossroads store to pleasure himself with his friends there.
The merry musical voices were as crisp as if the frost had touched them, and the steps were light and quick.
Nobody would sleep to-night. The cattle and the sheep would get on their knees and pray like people when midnight came. The all-night watch meeting would be held at Maum Hannah's house, and most of the people, sinners and Christians, would be gathered there, but some of the sinner men would go off to the woods and build up a fire and shoot craps until dawn.
The old cow-bell was ringing. Meeting-time had come, and the cabin doors were flung open filling the dark street with ruddy light, while people poured out of them, laughing, talking, greeting one another. When Christmas comes people have to pray as well as play. July had taken his box and gone off to pleasure himself, so Mary went to meeting with June, sitting near the door and watching the people crowd in. They came in groups, laughing and talking until ​they reached the door, then they all grew sober and silent and came in quietly, sitting close together so as to make all the room they could. The old meeting benches stayed under the house except at prayer-meeting time on Sunday and Wednesday nights, and again on Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve when the people spent the whole night singing and shouting and praying to God.
All the members in good standing took places up in front, close to the fire, but the sinners had to sit wherever they could find room, back against the wall or on the steps outside. Mary sat back with the sinners.
When the room was packed and the steps full to the very bottom one, the service began with a hymn which Brer Dee read out of a book two lines at a time:
There was a deep hush while the old man raised the tune, then every one joined in with such deep feeling that Mary was thrilled to her very heart. Christmas was a wonderful time. When the hymn was ended and Brer Dee said, "Let us pray," she got down on her knees and closed her ​eyes and prayed for herself and July and for their little unborn child who would be almost big enough to hang up his stocking by the time Christmas came again.
Brer Dee read out of the Book how Mary and Joseph went all the way to Bethlehem to pay taxes, and how, because there was no room for them in the Inn, Mary's son, little Jesus, was born in a manger. Only three wise men on earth knew who the child was and they came from a far country to see him and bring him gifts, but the angels in Heaven knew him well, and they sang all night in the sky, while a great star shone to give them light. Hallelujahs and shouts of Glory to God rose all about over the room, Mary herself could hardly keep back her tears, so moved was she with the story. Her joy would have been complete if only July were with her, singing to God and asking humbly for His blessing during the coming year. But July was as likely as not already in a crap game, and since it was Christmas Eve, he would hardly be home until morning. But she was not lonely or unhappy, here with so many kind friends thick all around her, singing and praying and hearing the story of that other Mary who was the mother of God's own son.