The First Church's Christmas barrel — Reading Companion

barrel. “Aren’t these potatoes good, John? So mealy one hardly needs butter. Lucky thing, too! You didn’t know I skimped the family out of a pound of butter, did you? Yes, sir, it went into the candy money.” She meant it as a pleasantry, but somehow it failed, and she hurried on. “I wish there were more of the potatoes. Those boys do eat so! But never mind! After Christmas the hens will begin. Funny how hens can tell the time of the year, isn’t it?” She chattered on about anything and everything except the draft.

“This certainly is comfort,” he said at last, relaxing under the genial influence of food and warmth and companionship. “That’s a cold stretch coming out from town.”

“Didn’t you stop anywhere?”

“Yes. At Joe Henderson’s. Mary--his wife died!”

“Yes. Died last night. I never felt so sorry for anybody in my life. They think the baby will live; and the poor fellow doesn’t know what to do with it nor where to turn.”

“Oh, John! If only our cow weren’t going dry I would----”

“You shouldn’t do it, anyway,” he said savagely. “You have enough care now for three women!--Mary, the draft didn’t come.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “But, John, we’ll get along some way. It can’t last forever. The draft may come next week. And I was joking about the potatoes. We’ve a lot left.”

“It isn’t just the money,” he said, shaking his head despondently; “it’s the feeling of aloneness in the work. If I felt that the church back of us was doing all it could, it would not be so hard--this ‘hope deferred that maketh the heart sick.’ But sometimes I think--they don’t care.”

“They do, John--they do! Don’t allow yourself to think that. Why, look at this barrel! I know this is from some missionary society, and would any church send us this unless they knew about our work and were thinking of us? Why, of course not! Tell me about the barrel.”

“Well, I went to the post-office the first thing to get the draft. I found instead a letter from this First Church, saying they had sent us a barrel. I went over to the freight office and there it was. I didn’t have enough--”

“How providential that it came before Christmas!” she interrupted. “I’m crazy to see what’s in it! Aren’t you?”

He did not answer the question directly, being far from feeling her jubilance about it. “We’ll open it after a while,” he said evasively. In his heart he was protesting, “No! I don’t want their barrel! I want my money!”

“But not until the children are off. There will be Christmas things in it that they mustn’t see.... You got the candy, John? But of course you did.”

Her question was unanswered, but she did not notice it.

“Now I really think the animals will have to come in,” she said gayly. “You can be trainer for an hour while this keeper clears up the dishes.”

And with a whoop they were upon him--lion, tiger, kangaroo, and baby bear.

When the children were asleep they brought out the barrel--“our charity box,” the minister called it, half bitterly.

“I can’t help it, John. It may show an impoverished state of the blood--or of the spirit, I don’t know which--but when I think of all the things these children need I am glad of this box. I _am_--‘charity’ though you call it! I am almost sorry you spent the money for candy, for of course there will be a lot of it in here. Well, they will have enough for once in their lives! And they are so starved for candy.”

Again he started to speak, but she swept on in full tide of happy talk: