POLLY SANDERS’ HAPPY CHRISTMAS

New Zealand Tablet, 21 December 1911, Page 2613

POLLY SANDERS’ HAPPY CHRISTMAS

Polly Sanders sat on the floor buttoning her shoes and talking to Mary Jane at the same time. Mary Jane was a big rag dollie which Santa Claus had left at her door one year ago. They were the very best of friends, and as Polly had no little brothers nor sisters she told all -her troubles to Mary Jane. Sit still, Mary Jane,' said Polly, ' and listen to what lam saying. To-morrow will be Christmas Day, and I have so much to do ! You know to-day all the fine ladies go shopping to buy presents for their friends. To-morrow they have turkeys and ice cream, pumpkin pies, plum pudding, and oh! such a fine time.' ' Don't cry, Janie/ said Polly if I sell all my flowers to-day, I'm going to buy some goodies, and we'll have a jolly time to-morrow. Sh—sh—you must not tell anyone. I'm going to' buy something for mother. Something real nice—and you, Missie, shall have a buggy. Now don't you feel real happy?' Mary Jane looked puzzled. ' Why, Janie/ said Polly, 'I don't believe you know much about Christmas, seeing you're only one year old. Be quiet and I will tell you what mother told to me: ' Many many years ago, there was born in the stable of Bethlehem a little Infant King. He was just as poor as we are, Janie, and still He was a king. The shepherds who were minding their flocks came over to see the little Christ Child, and the sheep came, too, and stood around the manger and tried to keep him warm. Three rich kings travelled oh, so far, Janie, just to see this new-born King, and they brought precious gifts to Him. Ever since that time, on the twenty-fifth of December, we celebrate Christ's birthday. On that day we remember the poor children and try to make them happy. ' We are very poor and we can't give much away, but mother says no one is so poor that he cannot help some one poorer.' Polly called Mrs. Sanders from the front room. Polly laid Mary Jane on the floor and hastened to her mother's room. Polly's mother had been ill for six long months, and the little girl had gone out every day selling flowers in order to pay the rent and keep the wolf from the door. Her father died when she was a wee baby, and the little one had known nothing but poverty during the ten years of her existence.

While her mother was .strong, she worked day and night to give her child as many comforts as possible, but now she was too weak to work and Polly must do her part. She rearranged her mother's pillows, smoothed out the bed clothes and tidied up the room. She went about like a little sunbeam, scattering sunshine everywhere. 1 'lt's Christmas Eve, mother/ said Polly. ' I may be a little late coming home. Shopping to do, you know.' 'Christmas Eve,' saSd Mrs. Sanders with a sigh. 'So it is, Polly.' ' 'Do you think St. Nicholas will be around tonight?' asked the little girl. M shouldn't wonder/ said her mother, forcing a smile. Somehow she seemed to have a doubt about Santa's visit to the humble little cottage in a secluded section of the city. ' I guess he calls on both rich and poor,' said Polly. ' Don't you think so, mother?' For an answer Mrs. Sanders gave Polly a long, loving kiss and blessed her little girl as she started out into the cold world with a basket of freshly-cut flowers under her arm. Polly walked quickly along until she came to the Made street where all the shop windows' were full of Christmas toys. Every now and then she peeped into a window to see some wonderful new toy. ' What a beautiful buggy,' thought Polly. 'I do wish I could buy it for Mary Jane. Poor dollie, I don't believe she ever had a ride in all her life. And those nice woolly slippers, those are just the things for mother. I'd like that little fur coat for mv.self.' A minute later she repented. ' No, I don't want anything for myself/ she said. At Christmas time we must make other people happy. I'll sell my flowers. I'll buy presents for mother and Janie. I'll not look in another window, for it seems as though I want everything I see. Mother says it's best not to wish for things we can't have, and I won't.' True to her word the little flower girl hurried on, looking neither to right nor to the left until she reached her accustomed place on the corner of a crowded street where she stood waiting for purchasers. It was a gay and happy throng that passed along, and laughing voices filled the air. Polly knew they would buy her flowers and counted out in her mind just how much she would receive. But alas! She was to be disappointed. One by one they passed her by. Men with long fur coats and collars turned up to keep out th.e chill air, whistled merrily and went their way. Ladies laden with bundles, laughing and talking of the pleasant time to come, hurried along. Polly held out the violets, and timidly asked them to buy a bunch but no one saw the pathetic little figure. They were too busy thinking of themselves and their loved ones. 'What's the matter?' thought Polly. 'No one looks my way. What if I shouldn't sell my flowers I Mary Jane couldn't have the buggy and I couldn't get the slippers for mothers.' A great big tear rolled down her cheek, and another and another, and'little Polly hid her head in her lap and sobbed as though her little heart would break. M only wanted to make mother happy/ she cried, 'and now I can't.' All her little plans were spoiled. Her flowers would not sell, Suddenly she heard footsteps on the pavement. She looked up. > 'Flowers?' asked Polly. 'No time said a rough voice, as he passed along with the crowd'of pleasure-seekers. After a while the talking and laughing ceased and Polly noticed that the streets were being deserted. _ The shopping was over, and the people were all hurrying home. ' I haven't sold a flower,' said Polly to herself No goodies to-morrow, Mary Jane.' She wrapped her shawl around her and started for home All at once she remembered her mother telling her when things went wrong, to pray. Polly knelt down on the cold earth, and looking up into the blue sky, asked the little Infant King to help her sell her flowers. 'Please whisper into some ones ear to buy them,' she prayed, and I will be oh, so good ! . . t : Mrs. Brown and Bessie, coming home from a day's shopping, passed the little figure, but did not notice her, so busy were they, thinking of the big warm fireside which awaited them. Bessie dropped a package

and turning round to pick it up, saw little Polly kneel- ■ ing in the middle of the street, her basket of violets by her side. It was a strange sight, one that little Bessie, who all her life had been used to every luxury, had never witnessed/She stood spellbound. 'Hurry, Bessie,' said Mrs. Brown, we are late as it is, and papa will be waiting.' Bessie did not move. She seemed rooted to the spot. A little impatiently the mother called again, but still Bessie did not stir. ' Come here mother, quickly,' she cried. 'Look over in the street • and see that poor little flower girl. Please let me run over and speak to her.' Mrs. Brown looked, and sure enough, saw the tiny figure. Her motherly heart was moved to pity ; she took little Bessie by the. hand and hurried over to the. child. Polly had not yet finished her earnest prayer, and did not notice their approach. Mrs. Brown lifted the little one tenderly and said, ' Why, my dear, what are you doing out so late on Christmas Eve?' ' Oh,' said Polly, ' please buy my violets, I haven't sold any to-day, and I do so want to sell them.' Bessie whispered something in her mother's, ear. 'Well,' said Mrs. Brown, ' you may do so if you wish, but you cannot have your doll.' 3 Bessie thought a moment. She thought of the big wax doll in the Emporium window, the doll with golden curls and real eyelashes. She felt in her pocket for the little purse which contained just money enough to buy it. She gave one long look at the ragged little creature in the and at once decided what to do. She would go without the wax doll and make other people happy. She handed the money to Polly, at . the same time throwing her arms a?ound her neck and kissing her over and over again. Tears of happiness rolled down the cheeks of the little flower girl. She clapped her hands and cried, ' Now Mary Jane can have the buggy and mother the fine woollen slippers.' 'Who is Mary Jane?' asked Bessie. My old rag doll,' said Polly. ' She and mother are all I have in the world. You don't know how much I love them.' Then Polly told Mrs. Brown about her poor sick mother and how she had worked to try to make her happy. The kind lady took off her own warm coat and wrapped it around the shivering little girl. Then taking one hand and Bessie the other they hurried along until they came to the big department store. Mrs. Brown bought the buggy and the slippers, also a little fur coat and cap for Polly. Bessie stood looking in the glass case at the wax dollie with the golden cirris and real eyelashes. Her mother guessed what was in her little girl's mind and asked, 'Are you sorry, dear?' Bessie looked at smiling little Polly and no longer wished for the doll. 'No, mother,' she said. ' I never was happier before.' Mrs. Brown and Bessie left Polly at her door, promising to come to see her soon. The little girl opened the door and a glad surprise awaited her. Her mother was sitting in the big arm chair. A cosy fire was burning, and the cupboard was full of goodies. A turkey's head peeped out of a basket, lying under the table. Mary Jane sat smiling in a corner. Mother,' said Polly, jumping around with delight. ' Has Santa Claus come so soon?' 'Yes, Polly,' said her mother, 'he came while you were on duty.' Polly did not know the kind ladies from the church had paid her home a visit and filled the cupboard with Christmas cheer, before leaving. Polly unbottoned her mother's shoes and put on the nice warm slippers. ' I met Santa too,' said Polly, ' and he gave me these for you.' Mary Jane was put in the buggy and taken for a ride through all the rooms. The little fur cap and coat were next 1 taken out. This was too much for Mrs. Saunders. She asked Polly what old St. Nicholas looked like. Polly told the story of Mrs. Brown and Bessie, and that night, before going to bed, Polly and her mother thanked the Infant King for His goodness to them that Christmas Eve. That night Bessie Brown dreamt about the little flower girl and the next morning the wax dollie with the long golden curls and real eyelashes was lying under

the Christmas tree. Santa Claus had come down the chimney and rewarded her for her kindness to Polly the little flower girl.—Monitor. • , ? '