From the Juvenile Instructor, November 1929 –

Christmas Candles

By Fanny A. Wilkes

The play-house stood across the way from Mr. Sweetapple’s grocery store. It nestled beside a little knoll on top of which a sturdy spruce tree grew. The tip of the spruce reached the top of the play-house roof, and the tree spread out its arms and protected the little cottage from the cold north wind.

Back of the play-house, a short distance away, loomed the hospital walls, grim and grey, and here the mistress of “the play-house went often to carry the clothes, which she washed and ironed for the nurses.

The play-house was built years ago for Mrs. Richbody’s children, and years ago, too, Jennie Post worked in Mrs. Richbody’s kitchen, When the play-house had outgrown its usefulness, and Jennie had outgrown hers, for she became quite deaf, they were sent away together in company with Toys, the little dog, and Colleen, the big doll, which Jennie had won in a guessing contest. And they all lived happily together besides the sturdy spruce tree.

Twice a week Jennie went to the hospital to fetch or carry clothes in a big brown basket, and twice a week she went to Mr. Sweetapple’s store with a small white basket. Whether she went with the big basket or the small one, she always carried a black ear trumpet swinging from her arm.

“You do the clothes beautifully,” the nurse would shout into the trumpet, and as likely as not Jennie would reply, “How often did you say?”

Or Mr. Sweetapple would call into the black depths, “Five cents for six rolls when they’re not quite fresh.” Whereat Jennie would gasp, “Five cents apiece, Mr. Sweetapple?” Then the kindly grocer would repeat it until the old lady really understood.

Though Jennie seemed so deaf to human beings, she heard more than the nurses or Mr. Sweetapple ever thought of hearing, for Jennie heard what Toys, the dog, and Colleen, the doll, said, quite distinctly.

One day, about a week before Christmas, Jennie returned from the hospital full of news.

“Toys,” she cried, “I saw a little sick girl today.”

Toys looked up quickly. “Wuf?” he said, which means, “very sick?” He came close up to the old woman’s knee.

“Very sick,” answered Jennie, the black trumpet swinging idly by her side. “And just think of it, Colleen, the little child begged to see the old woman who lived in the play-house.”

Colleen, from her seat on the corner shelf, fixed her round blue eyes upon Jennie and whispered, “Did they let you see her?”

“They let me see her,” echoed Jennie, “because she cried so. I’ve never had anyone cry for me before,” said the old woman, and smoothed her white hair, which the knitted hood had mussed a trifle.

“Poor little wee thing,” crooned Jennie after a moment. “She said she could see the play house from her window and the spruce tree standing guard. She was so eager to have me tell her about you, Toys, and about Colleen.”

“What did you tell her, and what did she say,” cried the dog and the doll with one voice.

“I told her what good company you were, and what a help at keeping house, and she said, ‘Tell me more, more, please. I can see a little from my bed, and I love to pretend that I am you, and live in a play house.’ Isn’t that the most wonderful thing you ever heard of ? She pretends she is old Jennie Post!”

“I wish I could see the little girl,” sighed Colleen.

“Christmas will soon be here,” the old woman said, “and I shall make you a coat and a bonnet and take you to see her on Christmas day.”

“Wow,” wailed Toys, “what about me? May’nt I go?”

“They don’t allow little dogs in the hospital, Toys, but perhaps some day when she is quite well, you shall see her too.” And Jennie got up from the tiny chair and hung her cape and hood up behind the stove.

The light had grown dim in the play-house, and Jennie lighted a candle and put on the tea-kettle to boil. She took out a loaf of bread and a bit of butter, and placed them on the table.

“Here is a bone for you, Toys, with Mr. Sweetapple’s compliments; and here is a bit of bread and milk. Colleen, come to the table, my dear! It makes it seem so much more like a family.”

The next morning, after Jennie had tidied up the house, she brought out a piece of cloth from a box which she kept under her cot, and began to make a little coat. First she cut, and then she basted, and then she tried it on Colleen.

“It fits beautifully,” said Jennie, happily, and sewed briskly away in her chair beside the window.

“Shall we trim it with braid, and put these fancy buttons on, Colleen?” Colleen gazed with round-eyed wonder at the buttons and then fell against Jennie in an ecstacy of delight. Stitch, stitch, stitch, snip, snip, snip, and at last the coat was done.

“It’s beautiful, Jennie dear,” sighed Colleen, “but you look tired to death. Leave the bonnet for another day.”

“I’m not a bit tired. I love to make little garments. It gives one such a family feeling,” said the old woman, and got up to set the table for three.

After the dishes were washed and the floor swept clean, Jennie brought out a bit of plum-colored velvet, and a tiny scrap of gold lace. First she cut a paper pattern, and then she tried it on Colleen’s golden head.

“It fits beautifully,” said Jennie, and sewed away in the chair beside the window. But she could not finish the plum-colored bonnet that day because she had no ribbon for string so she laid it aside.

The next morning Jennie went to the hospital to call for the soiled clothes- When she returned she found Toys waiting for her at the door, and Colleen nearly falling from her seat on the corner shelf in her eagerness to hear the news.

“Did you see the little sick girl,” they asked.

“Yes,” sighed Jennie, putting down the big brown basket “The little thing was determined to see me, but the nurse said I must n’t stay more than five minutes. I told the child about the coat and bonnet I made for you Colleen, and she said she could hardly wait for Christmas day. The poor little bairn, with tears in her eyes, said to me, ‘J ust think, I can’t have a Christmas tree this year, and I always love a Christmas tree better than anything else.’ ‘So do I,’ I told her. Then I thought of something that I could do for her and whispered it in her ear She said ‘Oh, how lovely’! and put her little arms around my neck and kissed me right here. I feel it yet,” murmured Jennie, “so soft and sweet. The nurse called to me quite sharply and said I had stayed six; minutes and a half but the child held me long enough to whisper, ‘I’ll watch for it, Jennie, dear’!”

“And what was it that you whispered, Jennie. Aren’t you going to tell us?”

“Yes, yes, come here both of you and I’ll whisper it in your ears.”

All the next day Jennie bent over her wash tub. Rub, rub, rub; swish, swish, swish; and cre-a-k groaned the wringer, and soon the clothes hung in a dazzling white row upon the line.

It was the day before Christmas that Jennie carried the clothes to the hospital. From the hospital she went to Mr. Sweetapple’s and bought gold and silver, and red, and green balls, besides sparkling ornaments of every kind. Last of all Jennie bought two dozen Christmas candles, with holders, and then went home with three stale rolls and a bit of milk for her Christmas dinner.

As soon as the light had faded from the winter sky, Jennie and Toys stole out of the house, having first placed Colleen at the window. It was almost too dark to see what the shadowy figure was doing as it moved about the spruce tree on the snow-covered knoll. Now and then there was a spark of light, a gleam of gold in the darkness, and still the dim figure of the old woman continued to move about the tree.

Suddenly a match flared out in Jennie’s hand and dimly revealed a glorified spruce tree. Then Jennie stood up on a chair and lighted all the candles, which glowed in the darkness, and their light was reflected a thousand times in the gold and silver balls upon the tree and the sparkling snow beneath.

Jennie looked up at the grim hospital building and smiled as she went in out of the cold to watch the tree with Toys and Colleen.

From one of the hospital windows a little sick girl was watching too. For a long time she had been lying there staring into the darkness. One of the nurses was singing a Christmas hymn and the tender melody floated into the child’s room:

“So of old the wise men, watching, Saw a little stranger star,
And they knew the king was given, And they followed from afar.”

As the voice ceased, a single starry light gleamed out in the darkness and trembled there alone for a moment.

“The star! the star!” cried the child, and then another twinkling light appeared, and another and another, until at last the cluster of glowing candles revealed that Sparkling Christmas tree standing there in the snow.

“Oh, the fairy look of it out there in the night!” she whispered. “It’s beautifuller than any tree I ever saw.”

Then clasping her hands she said, “I’m so happy I don’t know what to do. Dear Jennie Post, I’m going to take care of you when I get well.”

The sick child lay very quiet after that and watched the spruce tree until the twinkling lights went out upon the snow-covered knoll.