New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1869-12-25
A HOMELY STORY OF HOME.
FOR CHRISTMAS READERS OF THE TRIBUNE.
BY MRS. REBEccA HARDING DAVIS.
CHAPTER I.

Christmas Eve! J0nn FlrtD 1ancleu tDat e'eh Ino
speechless nature about him knew what day 1T was,
and waited for the Babe that TO bring brother
hood to man. The distant mountain peaks, that had
faced the for ages with the awful, inexpll-
cable meaning, wrapped themselves to-day in soft
white rnantles, and bent their heads like prophets
who had heard at last some kindly answer TO the
lOng-vexed riddle of the world. Between them, the
little seaport town cuddled snugly. full of life and
heat. The air was alive with childrens voices and
the tnkle of bells the had enchanted the dull
shop-fronts into white Gothic arches or glittering
Eastern mnarets; the shops themselves had become
nothing less than little Ali Bahia caves OF lewery, or
sparkling candies or yellow turkeys wreathed about
with feathery green crow's-foot. The house WIN
dows, too, were open, and inside were Christmas
trees and people, hot and hurried. about them.
lighting the fairy candles before the children would
come home Overhead the setting had burned
the sky crimson and at the end of the narrow street
one could see the glitter Of the icy coastlne. the
flag Tapping on the fort against the wind, and the
great plane of the sea- with the surf rolling in IN
low, joyous murmurs.
People ran against Firth and his wife continually,
so great was the hurry of the crowd calling Hillo,
FIRTH" or Happy Christmas, Johnp Everybody
was loaded with bundles except themselves. Their
hands were empty. Mrs. Firth looked sOurly at
Squire Dunn's carriage as it rolled by filed with
doll in bridal dress and toy castle but when she
came to her washerwoman's shanty at the corner,
her contempt broke into words for there was Betty
with bit of pine bush, hanging bag of marbles
and wooden doll on it,
1T is the very madness Of wastew cried Mrs.
Firth. :" How many of these poor wretches know
where next weeks bread is to come from. wonderT
John did not speak for minute. And yet was
Just thinking Mary" he said at last, "how good 10
was that one morning in the year the one beautiful
thought should come to all the world to the banker
at his desk and the thief in the prison to poor
Betty here in her cabin, well as TO the queen IN
her palace. They all forced to see once in tho
| year the same picture
| What do you means" The cold, dry tone some
| how reminded Firth that his wife member OF
| the church, and he was not.
| He answered uneasily. Il meant the white flocks
asleep on the hills of Gailee and the star shining
down into the stable where the child lay,' lowering
| his tone.
| "What proof is there that Christ born on tho
| twenty7ffth of December JohnP in her quietest
| tone of argument.
81 don't know, Mary" hastily. ave will not say
| anything more about IT,"
Probably that would be better folding her lead
colored shawl tighter about her spare figure.
But thought" hurrying his words out before
| his courage gave way, that 1 would take home
some trihe to Rob. To mark the day, you know.
Very inexpensive, Of course Mary. That is, If You
| do not object"
1T is as well you consulted me. You seem to have
forgotten that the religious education of the children
was to be left 10 me. have tried to show Robert.
young as he is his condition as a sinner, and the
| necessity of repentance. / certainly do object to
| filling his head with pictures of the stable, or of
ocks asleep and calling that religion. 1t is Catholic
and heathenish," her high cheek-bone growing hot
| They walked on in silence.
"RobDy has not been out today" said Firth.
looking wistfuly down at the noisy troops Of boys
| with blue noses, and their pockets full of pennies,
staring with insatiate eyes in at the shop windows.
| mo. He had not finished his lessons. am will
ing he should out, though. There's no better
| lesson than selfdenial to teach child'
mo, no! Let him stay indoors" John Firth
Jagged behind his wife, Squire Dunn came along
behind him, capping the thin little man on tho
shoulder and taking in with a shrewd glance mis-
sunken dulled eye and shabby suit of black Hllo-
FIRTH This won't do! You Newspaper men don't
know what moderation is, even in work. Take a
holiday. boy. When you tap tree so deep rs that,
it's the life that's oozing out-mind tell yon."
John laughed and went on. A holiday God
knows Mary was a good woman But she had, in
some way shut all holidays out of their life 1t had
been for years one long, dull stretch of work for
religion, stern rules OF duty barring them IN on
either side and in the future certain fearful look
ing-for of judgment. He did want rest When thew
were in the house Mary would it. and instead of
going to her sewing would read Emerson or Edwards
on the VIII to him. She prided herself on knowing
what cordial TO give to an exhausted brain doubt
ing soul. 1t might be childish in him, but just then
he loathed Edwards on the Will and all sOEts Of
orthodox spiritual meat If he could take Rob by
the hand and go lOunging about the streets, joking
with old friends looking in ut the shop windows.
ending perhaps with the pantOmme at the theater,
If he could show to the dear boy the picture that had
haunted him all day If he could not rid himself Of
the words Of the old carol,
Z" God rest you, all good Christians,
Let nothing you dismay,
For Jesus Christ the Savior
Was born this Christmas day"
1t seemed to him that across the gulf of centuries
he could feel the healing touch of the innocent
Babes hand upon him. And he fancied, infdel az he
was that the Child came to bring back the world TO
divine childhood again, TO thrust out of it anxiety
for money and malice and sour discomfort,
and bring the day of brotherhood, of light hearts
and happy trust and jests and laughter. His fancies
dulled at his front door. That house. stranger
would think was the very squarest and painest OBJ
iect he had ever until he the inside OF IT,
aud understood how plain and square and meager
anything Gods earth could be made. John Firth
never crossed his dean clay yard with the ash
BIN at one side and the n-barrel she other with
out secret spasm. The narrow hall was laid with
yellow and red oilcloth and papered in gaudy stripes