Star Light—Star Bright

Evening Star, Issue 20982, 22 December 1931, Page 5

Star Light —Star Bright

By CHRISTINE WHITING PARMENTER

Nan Gardner gave the lust red ribbon bow' an approving pat, tucked the package into a market basket already overflowing with similar parcels, and went to the window', looking out on a shining two-seater that stood before the house next door. It was the day before Christmas, and snow was descending in big. feathery flakes—a Christmassy looking afternoon, but biting cold, and the girl sighed as she turned to look down on the loaded basket. “ I wish f dared ask the use of his car,” she said aloud, in tho manner ol people who are much alone. Then she laughed ruefully. “To think that the day would come when Nan Gardner would envy Jimmy Newton a car or—anything! But 1 dp envy him,” she confessed honestly to herself, as she sat down and began pulling on her goloshes. “I envy everything lie’s had—college and travel, and even his Aunt Hannah! She loves him, even if he doesn’t seem to settle down, and,” her voice trembled, “I’m so dead tired of being alone.”

She stood up, donned a sweater — topped it with a coat that had seen better days, and pulled a tam over her soft, dark hair. As she faced the window again a big snowflake settled lazily on the glass, and, watching it curiously, the girl’s face brightened with pleasure. “It’s a perfect star!” she cried softly. “A star of Bethlehem!” Then, with a laugh at her own lancy, she added whimsically: “Star light—star bright, first star I’ve seen to-night, Wish I may—wish I might Have the wish I wish to-night. “I know,” she continued, “that I ought to be unselfish and wisli that I’ve chosen the right gifts for all those old people at the almshouses; but I think I’ll wish 1 something for myself, since there’s no one else to wish anything for me. I’m going to wish——” She smiled as her glance met a whitewrapped package adorned with silver ribbon and a sprig of holly. “There!” she exclaimed, closing her eyes a moment, “ it’s wished, and I can’t take it back, so this will have to go along.” She lifted the package, on which no name was written, and, placing it beside the others, stepped out into the frostv December air.

As she passed the car standing before the house next door, her mind flew back to its owner, and she thought of the changes time had wrought. Ten years before she and Jimmy Newton had left school—Nan was to go to college, but her neighbour expected to start work, in order to help support the aunt who had mothered him since he was left a helpless baby boy. Then, strangely, Fate had turned the tables. Jimmy’s aunt fell heir to an unexpected and comfortable legacy, and Nan’s mother lost her all in the failure of a local bank. The shock, and the anxieties that followed, caused her death, and Nan was left with no choice but to take care of “Cousin Lizzie,” who had made her home with them for years. She was not fond of Cousin Lizzie, who was a fretful and exacting invalid; but she felt that her mother would have wanted her to stand by, and stand by she did, for eight long years. Nan was twenty-seven now, and Cousin Lizzie had left her the merest trifle. She had a roof over her head, and barely enough income to pay taxes .and insurance. There was no time to train for anything congenial, so she applied for the position as assistant to Miss the librarian at the Free Library, and got it. She continued to live alone in her little house, and the neighbours decided after a few weeks of disapproval that Nan was so nearly an old maid that it didn’t matter; and after a. while they ceased to think of it at all.

As for Jimmy Newton, he had gone through college—a school of journalism, and spent a year abroad. Since then he had been at home “ fiddling away his time,” said Hillsboro, though it wouldn’t have dared say so to his Aunt Hannah! He spent many of his days roaming around the country in his car Sometimes, when she saw him start off, Nan wished she were going with him, though, like the rest of Hillsboro, she disapproved of his seemingly aimless existence. She wondered if she wouldn’t have made better use of an education than Jimmy had made of his.

In the old days Nan had regretted that he was not to have the advantages she expected to have herself. Some day, she had thought, with the optimism of untamed youth, she would be a poet. Secretly she had never quite given up the hope, though life with Cousin Lizzie was not conducive to writing poetry. Only on rare occasions—a moonilt night when the invalid was sleeping—a stolen Sunday afternoon spent in the woods—did the muse come forth to cheer her soul.

The fruits of those ten years, she had laboriously copied on the typewriter at the library—bound them into a book with her name upon the cover, and dedicated them to “ M.U.L.,” which stood for “My Unknown Lover,” which goes to show that Nan wasn’t such an old maid as her neighbours thought! In fact, the Ittle book contained some very exquisite love songs, into which Nan had put her yearning for all the things she had been denied. But they were not all love songs—those verses. Nature, which the girl loved passionately, had its full share; and there were others to homo, and family, and mother. Nan called them ‘ Songs of a Hearthstone.’ It would never have occurred to her to show' them to any of her friends. Yet that very day, yielding to a sudden impulse, she had wrapped the little book in tissue paper and tied it with silver ribbon.

“ I’m going to pretend that I’m giving it to him!” she told herself. Then, with a laugh, she added: “I hope I shan’t find him at the almshouses! It would bo awful if, after all these years, I should fall in love with a pauper!” The wind was blowing a gale as Nan reached the library. The door slammed after her, and Miss Curry looked up to see her laying down a basket as well as a bundle wrapped in tissue paper. “Gracious, child! Where are you going with all that stuff?” Nan laughed, and unwound her muffler.

“ Have you forgotten it’s Christmas Eve, Miss Mary?” Miss Curry moved nearer, casting an inquisitive eye upon Nan’s burdens. “ I should think you were providing for the town!”

‘‘lt’s only some little things I’m taking to the almshouses,” explained Nan as she pulled off her tarn. The older woman looked down at the basket—and up at Nan’s none-too-sturdy figure.

“ You’re not going to walk there—-to-day—with all that load!”

“ Flow else should I got there?” laughed Nan. “ But I did count on JQur letting me. leave hour; fearl^/A

“ You’ll go now,” said Miss Curry firmly, “ before it gets any colder or any darker. And there’s no need for you to come back at all. There won’t be a soul in on Christmas hive, so you can take a holiday. The idea of your lugging those things so far! I will say, Nan, you’re a brick. 1 hope the inmates will appreciate it. What’s that in the bundled A doll? But there aren’t any children there.” “ There’s an old child,” said Nan gently. “ Angy Littlefield. Her arms look so empty. 1— I thought I’d give her something to fill them.” Miss Curry had knelt by tho package, loosening the wrappings and gazing at a big doll, wonderfully like a baby. “ This must have cost you something, Nan.” “It did; but somehow—well, it’s always haunted me, seeing Angy holding that imaginary child, and rocking—rocking—rocking. It’s too pitiful.” “ She was in my class at school,” said Miss Curry softly. “ Such a pretty girl! I remember when that beast deserted her, leaving her with—well, the baby died—a good thing, folks said; but poor Angy was never quite right afterwards.”

Miss Curry rose stiffly, looking up at Nan, who .was considerably taller. “ Well, I will say, Nan Gardner, you’re a real brick. Now run along. Oh! that book came in—‘ The Flaming Forest ’ —but you won’t want to carry it with all that load.”

Nan’s face brightened. “Of course I’ll take it! I’ve been hoping it w'ould get here before. Christmas. Is it nice and long? I want it to last all day to-morrow.” “ It’s long enough,” responded the librarian, lifting a brand-new volume from tho desk. “ Well, Nan, I hope you’ll have a merry Christmas. I’m going over to Gorham to my brother’s people.”

The girl's eyes clouded as she lifted a dainty package from her basket. “ Just a bit of cheer for you, Miss Mary,” she said, forcing a smile. “ It’s not much, but Angy’s doll took all my savings. Merry Christmas, yourself; and thanks for letting me have the afternoon.”

“ You shouldn’t have given me anything, by dear,” reproved Miss Curry kindly, and added the now-familiar phrase: “You’re a real brick.” The door closed behind her, and Nan stepped out into the cold air, grasping her basket and tho doll securely as she faced the wind.

An I then it happened. Her foot struck a hidden bit of ice, and she went down, the doll still clasped safely in her arms, but her many packages strewn on the snowy ground. It was then that an unexpected masculine voice exclaimed: “You’re not hurt, aie you? Why, it’s Nan Gardner! ” Nan looked up, and stretched out a hand, which Jimmy Norton grasped as he helped her rise. His shining car stood a few'feet off. He began deftly gathering up her parcels. The snow ■was dry, and they seemed unharmed as ghe replaced them in the basket. “Not broken, are they?” said Jimmy anxiously. “ They feel all right. But—what a lot of ’em! Are you playing Santa Claus?” Nan was brushing the snorv from her old coat. Her head felt dizzy from the fall, and she wdshed vaguely that Jimmy Newton would go away; hut his rpiestion brought a smile as she replied: “ After a fashion. I’m taking a few things to the almshouses,” “ The almshouses? You aren’t going to walk there—this day? Nan laughed at his consternation, and replied whimsically: “Indeed, no! I’m expecting by chauffeur to appear with the limousine at any minute.”

The ghost of a smile played around Jimmy’s lips. “ I see. Well, he’s here, though he came in the two-seater because of the bad storm. Hop in, Nan! I may sound too familiar for a chauffeur, but for the life of me I can’t think of you as Miss Gardner!”

Despite his easy manner, Jimmy had flushed, which reminded Nan of the bashful boy she had known in school da vs.

“ I am sure,” she said, as she took the place beside him, “ that if you called me Miss Gardner I should feel —well, as old as I ought to feel, perhaps, and I don’t wrnnt to.” This time Jimmy smiled broadly. ‘‘ln that case,” he retorted, opening the throttle, “ I’ll stick to the Nan. It would be awful to feel as old as wc are, wouldn’t it?” Nan laughed. She felt curiously light and young. “ Do you know’,” she said, as the.* turned into a bit of woodland, “ that when I started out this afternoon I was envying you?” Jimmy’s cautious eyes left the road, to scan her face.

‘‘Me? Why?” “Lots of reasons: but principally thq car! Iso hated the thought of this long walk.” “ In the name of charity,” burst indignantly from her escort, “ why didn’t you ask mo to take you?” Nan looked at him, and the corners of her mouth turned upward. Suddenly he remembered that they used to do just that years ago when ar\thing amusing happened. “1 suppose,” she replied, “that in the name of charity I might have c'.-.ne so; but do you think that during the last year or so you’ve been the sort of neighbour of whom one asks favours?”

It was the curve to the corners of her mouth that took any sting from the words, hut Jimmy flushed again. “ I—l haven’t felt unneighbourly, however I may have behaved,” he said miserably, “ and I didn’t think ” “Why should you?” said Nan, sensing his discomfort. “Most people don’t think, Jimmy. They are too wrapped up in their" own affairs. Ah! here we are, T am filled with overwhelming gratitude to you—and the car! If I’d walked I’d have just about reached Pratt’s Mill and been frazzled out. I shall spend the rest of my life scheming to repay you.” Jimmy’s discomfort had vanished before her tact when they drew up before the sheltered doorway of a long, low building. Nan,' carrying the doll, disguised in its tissue wrappings, waved to an old woman who was peering excitedly from the window, wliile Jimmy carrying the basket, followed her within.

“They’ve been watching for you all the afternoon,” explained the bustling matron. “ though I told ’em you wouldn’t come for another hour. They’re as excited as children— ever}' one of ’em hut Angy. Seems to me she gets duller every day. Well, good people,” as they reached the big common room, “here’s Miss Gardner with some Christmas parcels. Let’s see if she’s forgotten anyone.” “ If .1 have,” said Nan, as she • aid her burden on a convenient chair a .id turned to Jimmy for the basket, “ I’ll go straight hack £o Jown and get jwhafc

ever he wants most. Merry Christmas, everybody!” She looked, thought Jimmy, as she pulled off her tam and scarf, every bit as excited as the inmates. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes shining. She lifted a dainty package from the top of the big basket, and read from its accompanying card: “ ‘Grandpa PeaselyA J do hope you’ll like it. Grandpa.” An old man, leaning on a cane, came forward as quickly as his limp permitted. He laid his cane on the chair beside the doll, and his hands shook as he fumbled clumsily with the ribbon bow. The other inmates were crowding in upon him, eager to see the gift. Only Angy, in her chair by the fireplace, remained oblivious to the commotion.

Jimmy's eyes, straying to her corner, noticed the way her arms enfolded an imaginary child, while her bent shoulders rocked slowly back and forth. He remembered, then, the story of Angy Littlefield. Years ago he had heard it whispered—and then forgotten it. Poor soul! Poor, lonely, betrayed woman, he thought compassionately; then a delighted exclamation from “ Grandpa Peasely ” broke in upon him, and his eyes came back to the group that surrounded Nan. The old man was holding aloft a crimson necktie, and his lips were parted in a toothless grin. “ I declare! ” he cried, “ if it ain’t just what I’ve wanted for twenty year and ain’t never dared to say so neither!” He was slipping the. new treasure about his neck, and Nan tied it for him; then handed him his cane so that he might hobble to a cracked mirror that hung against the wall.

“’You look as handsome as anything! ” she said approvingly; while the old man, like an antiquated bantam, cocked his head first one side and then the other, delighted with the effect of this unexpected bit of finery. Jimmy grinned. What power—what sixth sense, had caused Nan Gardner to buy a red necktie for that old cove? It was uncanny that she should have guessed his heart’s desire. Yet, as the next hour passed, and he saw one after another of those faded, discouraged faces take on new life at the girl’s thought of them, he marvelled more. Even Louis, the half-wit, smiled broadly at a gay, green wmoden parrot, and a box of sweets. Louis had white hair and the mind of a child of two, yet some long-gone intelligence flashed into his eyes as he took the gifts and carried them jealously away to his own corner. “ Well,” beamed the matron, as her charges departed happily to their interrupted tasks, “ you certainly did go to a lot of bother. I hope you didn’t have Angy on your mind. It wouldn’t pay. She just sits and ” “ Hush! ” warned Nan, for Angy, at the sound of her.own name, had raised her head. She seemed, for the first time, conscious of her surroundings. She looked a little frightened as her eyes fell upon Jimmy’s unfamiliar figure; then she turned away and continued her almost ceaseless rocking. “ She does that all day long,” began the matron volubly. “ Sometimes she sings a kind of lullaby. I ” She stopped suddenly. Nan had lifted the big package and drawn near to the gently rocking form. “ Angy,” she said quietly, * “ its Christmas, and I’ve brought you something—something to keep you from being so lonesome.” She knelt by the woman’s side and untied the ribbons. Angy, her wandering attention caught at last, was watching tensely; and Jimmy Newton, fascinated by some subtle atmosphere that had crept into the room, could not have drawn his eyes away. Even the matron ceased to talk; but as Nan, turning back the tissue paper, revealed a baby doll, almost life-size, she caught her breath.

And Jimmy Newton caught his. It was, all things considered, such a daring thing for Nan to do. Then her eyes misted, for Angy had uttered a little cry—a cry such as a mother might have crooned over a long-lost child. She stretched out her thin arms hungrily, and as Nan laid her inspired-gift within them, poor Angy’s burden dropped away. Jimmy was very quiet on the ride home. He wms still quiet when the car stepped before Nan’s cottage; and, taking the key from her cold fingers, he .stooped to unlock thd door. It struck Nan that it was nice to have someone to unlock her door! Funny how a little thing like that made homecoming less lonesome. . “ You’ve been an immense help,” she said gratefully. “If you come in I’ll make you a cup of coffee for a reward.”

“ I’ll call for it to-morrow,” answered Jimmy. “ Just now I fear Aunt Hannah is w’ondering about her wandering boy. Nan, You’re a wonder! I may be dumb, but ” His eyes dropped to her basket, and he broke off to say: “Look, you forgot those, didn’t you?” Nan shook her head. She held up the library book for his inspection.

“ This,” she said, “is to give me a happy Christmas. From all reports I judge it’s absorbing enough to make me forget that I haven’t any family. Have you read it,. Jimmy?”

Jimmy nodded. “ Is it as good as the critics say?” persisted Nan. “ I liked it—tremendously,” said Jimmy quietly. “ And it’s made a fortune for the author! Think of it, Jimmy! A first book, too, though I understand that the name upon the cover’s nom-de-plume. I wish I had the brains to w'rite a best-seller!”

“ Don’t you wish anything so foolish!” Jimmy’s voice sounded almost angry. “ What’s a best-seller compared wdth what you’ve done this afternoon? What’s wealth—or even fame —in comparison with the soul you put into poor Angy’s face to-day. If I’d done that I—l wouldn’t ask anything more of life—ever!”

Nan lifted amazed eyes. For once Jimmy Newton had forgotten to be shy. He was saying just what he felt, and the girl was infinitely touched. She said, lifting the silver-tied package tenderly: “ Thank you for—saying so.” Then, impulsively: “This is for you, Jimmy. I hope you’ll—like it.” Even as she spoke she lost her breath. It is safe to say that Jimmy Newton also lost his. And the riext moment he found himself outside Nan’s door staring at a Christmas gift from a girl he had hardly spoken to for ten years! He reached his own gate before he even remembered the car standing deserted before Nan’s little house.

Nan couldn’t sleep that night. She was too appalled at her impulsive act. At midnight, her eyes having refused to close, her brain being a whirl of agony over what Jimmy Newton would think of her when he read those poems, she switched, on her light and reached for the new book. Possibly it would make her forget that she had made a colossal fool of herself for once. She read till 4 o’clock, her own troubles forgotten in the troubles and triumphs of those living, breathing people in ‘ The Flaming Forest.’ It was as good as the critics said, she thought, as she switched off her light. It was better. It left one feeling that there was truth and beauty and honesty in one’s fellow-men; a healing antidote to some of the dreary literature of the day. Nan’s eyes were wet as she snuggled down to her delayed sleep. She felt at last that Jimmy Newton plight, after all, not think her .crazy I'' "

Nan slept late.- It was nearly noon when, clearing away her belated breakfast, she looked up to see Jimmy opening the kitchen door. “ Merry Christmas!” he said cheerfully. “ Isn’t it a corking day? The whole world looks like a Christmas card! I saw you at the window, which accounts for my not appearing properly at the front door. Here’s a posy for you.”

Froln beneath his coat he brought forth a bunch of violets—big, dewy Parma violets in a frill of paper lace.

“Oh!” cried Nan. Suddenly her cheeks flamed. She had remembered the poems; and lifting the violets she buried her burning face in their sweet coolness.

“ Like ’em?” asked Jimmy quietly, “ Oh—yes!” breathed Nan. “1— no one ever gave mo any before.” That was, surely, not a clever thing to admit to a young man. Nan knew it the moment the words were out; but Jimmy only said, “ That’s good. I’d hate to be second fiddle.”

He smiled, a smile that made the girl’s heart thump; though he said quite casually, as he slipped out of his coat, “ Give me a towel, Nan, and I’ll wipe the dishes. Aunt Hannah wants you to come to dinner.” Nan drew a breath of relief. Perhaps he wouldn’t mention the poems at all.

“ That’s good of Miss Hannah,” she said a trifle breathlessly, “ but\ I’ve just finished breakfast and shan’t need a bit till night. I overslept. I didn’t put my light out till four o’clock. I was reading ‘ The Flaming Forest.’- I couldn’t, stop.” Something like a grin appeared on Jimmy Newton’s sensitive lips. “ Bad girl—sitting up all night to read a best-seller! Like it?” he added, much as he had asked about the violets. “ I loved it!” replied Nan fervently. “ Lucky book,” said Jimmy quietly. Nan laughed. “ You, used to be bashful, if my memory doesn’t play me false,”- she said, handing Jimmy a coffee-cup to dry.

“ I still am,” he admitted. “ That’s why I’ve been so unneighbourly. I—l was afraid of you.” “ Afraid of me?” It doesn’t take long to wash breakfast dishes for one. Nan put the last plate in the rack as she added: “ Why on earth should you be afraid of me?”

She was beginning to enjoy herself. Evidently, like a sensible man, Jimmy was going to ignore her silly poems. She rinsed the dish towel, and dried her hands as he replied; “ You were so terribly clever, you know, at school. I can't get over being in awe of you.” A smile curved Nan’s mouth. She put* her violets in water and moved towards the nest room. Jimmy followed. She was standing the vase upon the mantel when he said,- almost causing her to drop it: “I suppose you want me to clear out and let you do all the silly housework that women tackle every morning; but I can’t go until I’ve said something about —about your gift to —me.”It had come! A numb, sick feeling crept through Nan like a fog. With deadly agony, she seemed to be slowly freezing to the floor. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t; but she felt Jimmy coming closer. He put a steadying arm across her shoulders, but mercifully refrained from turning her about. “ Where did you* get it—all that beauty, little Nan?”- he asked. “ You’ve never left this dull, old onehorse town. You spent eight years working for that abominable Cousin Lizzie. It was enough to wither anyone—and yet—that you could blossom so—so wonderfully—that you could express your lovely thoughts in such lovely words. Well, do you wonder that I’m still in awe of you—my dear?” Nan knew then that she was dying. She had never felt so weak in all her days. - Perhaps Jimmy guessed this, for his arm tightened, and he drew her to the sofa and sat beside her.

“Nan,” he said, “what made you give the book to me?” A shaky little laugh. escaped the girl. This was safe ground. Her voice sounded rather far away, but she managed to reply: “You see—l was feeling lonesome. I wrapped it up, pretending I had a—l mean—someone to give it to —someone who cared. And just then a snow star settled on the window, and for fun I said that silly old rhyme. You know—‘ Star light —star bright ’—and wished on it. And I wished that I’d find—well, the -right man to give my book to, before I got home that night; and,” she looked up shyly, “ you were the only man in sight, Jimmy. .What else could I do?” “ Nothing,” said Jimmy .soberly, though his lips twitched. “ You did exactly right; but—who’s ‘M.IT.L. ? X lay awake for hours trying to worry it out.” , “Did you?” said Nan. She laughed, a laugh as joyous as the brooks and birds of her own poems. “ Well, Jimmy, if you’re not bright enough to find out I’ll leave you guessing.” “ But—would he like your giving me the book, Nan?” “ He’d like it above all things,’ Nan replied. Jimmy made a gesture of surrender. “ I give it up; but some day, young lady, you’ll confess. In the meantime, I want to say, just in case you don’t know it, that you’re the sweetest girl in the whole world. I suspected it years ago. I knew it for a fact yesterday afternoon, when your beautiful understanding, of others needs brought peace to that poor, unhappy woman. I loved you then, Nan I shall always love you ; and last night when I read those poems, and saw straight down into the heart of you, I wished —oh, I know it’s presumptuous, but I wished more than I ever wished for anything, that they’d been dedicated to—me.” “They—were,” said Nan. She lifted her eyes to Jimmy s puzzled face. “ M.U.L.,” he mused softly. I don’t see it; but ”—his eyes brightened with sudden understanding if you’ll leave out the XJ, which doesn’t fit the case at all, I I think, Sear girl, I’d undertake to fill the “I’m not particular about the 17,” said Nan. , ■ , It was after a long, _ enchanted moment that she spoke again, her lips parted in the smile that Jimmy remembered from Childhood days. “Do you know,” she said, after I tied up that book so beautifully, Jimmy, I was worried for fear I’d find niy affinity at the almshouses. It would have been awful to have married a pauper, wouldn’t it?” Jimmy kissed her—the third time in as many minutes. It struck Nan that he had outgrown his shyness with amazing rapidity. “ Don’t worrv vour blessed head about that, Nan.” he said quietly. I’m not a candidate yet—quite. You see, my dear, X wrote ‘ The Flaming Forest ’! ” ■