From the Young Woman’s Journal, December 1919 –

Reciprocal Gifts

By Ivy Williams Stone

The Christmas snow storm, with its large, fantastic flakes, was the one thing possessing a mortgage on time. Everything else seemed caught in the cyclonic whirl of the pre-Christmas rush. Delivery autos skidded recklessly through the slushy streets, messenger boys darted along the slippery sidewalks, while worried looking pedestrians hurried shopward or hastened home, laden with bundles. The spirit of universal peace was forgotten in the panic of the twelfth hour gift givers.

Up in the Wilcox apartment, Hazel, the schoolteacher daughter of the house, was wrapping her Christmas gifts. She cast frequent, hurried glances at the clock and the dining table was littered with mistletoe berries, holly ribbon, tissue paper, and fancy boxes. Her two younger sisters looked on admiringly, eager to catch the last glimpse of the dainty gifts, all of which were intended for Hazel’s numerous girl friends.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” breathed Ethel, the younger sister, as a pink crocheted yoke was being wrapped. “It’s so pretty, I just love it. I wish you wouldn’t give it to Maizie, Hazel, I just hate to have it leave our house!”

“Why Ethel,” remonstrated Hazel in a shocked tone, “you should be glad to have me give Maizie something pretty. She’ll undoubtedly send me something equally as beautiful, and with as much hand work on it too!”

“There you go,” interrupted Wayne Wilcox, from the parlor couch where he had stretched his entire six feet, “you girls make me tired! You’ve worked your very eyesight into that thing and Maizie will put it away in its original wrappings and won’t disturb it for a year or so. And it could be doing Ethel some real good—she’s got such a weakness for pink too. And Maizie will send you some foolish, useless thing that she’s stewed herself into a nervous wreck over, and you’ll hide it away in your hope chest for ten years, or until you get married, which is about the same thing,” he finished, with a wicked little grin.

“Listen!” said Hazel archly, glad for the interruption, “there’s the postman’s whistle. Run and see what he’s got, Margaret, that’s a good girl. And hurry dear, he’s whistled again. That means he has a registered package, or bundles too large for the box.”

“Stay where you are, Margaret,” commanded Wayne, striding toward the front door. “I’ll do the honors.” And with a great fuss and commotion he strode out into the storm.

“Whew!” he whistled, returning in a few minutes. “Enough bundles to make a pack mule groan. Christmas postals galore for everyone, a big, spicy smelling box for Mother, a tailor’s bill for me, and a mysterious, square box for Hazel E. Wilcox!”

“Hold it just a minute Wayne, till I get this lovers’ knot tied on Maizie’s gift. There, isn’t it a dear?” she finished, holding up the finished package.

“I’d be satisfied with just that pink bow for my Christmas,” sighed Margaret, “it’s so pretty. I love pink so much, I wish I could wear pink shoes!”

“I’ll take my mail now, Wayne,” said Hazel, extending an expectant hand.

“Will you?” queried Wayne mischievously, backing off to a safe distance. “Not until I get special delivery charges on it, I guess. If you think this poor T. B.’s going to take risks, exposing himself to the elements for nothing, you’re mistaken. You don’t get your mail till you give me some of those walnut stuffed, sugar coated dates you’ve got hidden away for Douglas Mason.”

“Wayne Wilcox,” expostulated Hazel. “The whole family have nibbled at those dates until the box looks skimpy already. I’d be ashamed to give it to my poorest pupil if another date is taken out!”

“Put ’em in a smaller box, sis,” replied Wayne, hugely enjoying himself. “You’ll need to, anyway, after I get through sampling ’em. Or suit yourself,” he finished loftily, “I don’t mind much if I don’t taste ’em. Only if I don’t, you’ll not even see the postmark on this box until New Year’s Eve.”

“Wayne,” Hazel assumed her most dignified, school-teacher air, “Hand me my mail!”

Wayne promptly retreated toward his own room.

“O dear little third grade teacher,” he teased, “I don’t have to mind you, like those poor little kids you boss around. And I don’t get the fun out of letting you boss me that Douglas does either. I won’t do as you tell me—I won’t stay in after school and fill my slate with capital R’s, and I won’t stand with my face to a corner. Which will it be, dates or mail—take your choice, schoolmam!”

“Mother,” in desperation Hazel turned to her mother, who was absorbed in adjusting tinsel stars to a crinoline frock, “won’t you make him behave?”

Mrs. Wilcox’s expression was worried. “I think you’d better give him a few dates,” she suggested. “It’s the easiest settlement, and you can make some more. And then, I wish you’d stop your bantering and help me fix this costume of Margaret’s. Somehow, these stars don’t set straight.”

“O Mother, I haven’t time,” replied Hazel, just a trifle vexed over her mother’s decision. “I’ve still got ever so many things to do about my gifts yet. Besides, it seems to me if Margaret has got to have such a fussed-up costume for her cantata, she ought to fix it herself. Take the dates, Wayne—” she finished crossly, “help yourself. I don’t care how many you eat. I hope you enjoy them though!”

Unabashed Wayne took a generous handful, and passed over the disputed package. “Um-um, these are sure fine,” he munched appreciatively. “If Douglas gets a taste of these, he’ll marry you right on the spot, sis, instead of hanging fire like he’s doing now.”

Hazel tried to ignore the thrust and turned to inspect her package. But the color mounted in her cheeks, for Wayne had touched a sensitive subject. Douglas Mason had been paying court to her for some considerable time, but even in their greatest moments of intimacy, he had never asked to be anything more than a friend. Some little barrier still rose between them, which Hazel could not quite understand. He called so frequently, was her constant escort, and was so attentive that her girl friends all jumped at the conclusion they were engaged. Hazel found the situation awkward, and often embarrassing. For she liked Douglas— liked him exceedingly well. And the fact that he did not more than like her, hurt her pride and hurt her heart.

“O look, Mother,” she cried, snipping the cord from her package. “This is from Glendon, way up in the mountains. Why it’s from Miss Elizabeth Swart—you remember that delightful lady I met when I was out camping last summer I told you all about her, you know. I never dreamed she’d send me a Christmas present. O look—” turning back the wrappings— “it’s a burnt-leather kodak book and it’s full of the snaps she took of us while we were in the canyons. How thoughtful of her—but goodness— I didn’t expect a present from her, and I haven’t made her a thing, and I haven’t a cent until next pay day either!”

“There you go spoiling the pleasure of your gift, just because you have nothing to send in return You tit-for-tat girls make me tired.” Wayne spoke in the disgusted tone which budding manhood feels toward all things feminine. “That’s the only non-family present you’ll get that was sent in the pure spirit of giving, excepting the ring you’ll get from Doug, of course,” he finished roguishly.

“Mother, lend me enough to buy her some little thing, please,” Hazel’s tone was wheedling.

“Why, daughter,” Mrs. Wilcox spoke in the quiet tone which was usually convincing with her family. “I wouldn’t send her anything now, if I were you. It will arrive so late that she will understand it is only a reciprocal gift, which it really would be, you know. Write her a nice letter of thanks. Besides you’ve already borrowed so much money for your Christmas presents that you will be until spring time before you get straight with the world again. I don’t believe in gift giving beyond a person’s means.”

“Well said, little Mother,” added Wayne,” and as a reward for your good, practical advice, I’ll construct you a geometrically accurate five pointed star pattern. Then sister Margaret can wave her star wand, and shake her star-spangled skirts in perfect mental symmetry!”

With a worried expression, Hazel gathered up her gift and went into her own room. She soon returned carrying a tissue wrapped package.

“Mother,” she began hesitatively, “do you think it would be improper, or look too ungrateful to Maizie, if I should send Miss Swart these bed slippers which Maizie gave me two years ago? They are just like new, you know, for they have been in my hope chest ever since. Maizie made them out of pink quilted satin and embroidered blue forget-me-nots on them—but—well you see, I’ve no real use for them. Do you think Miss Swart would appreciate them?”

Before his mother could answer, Wayne made his unsolicited speech.

“Bed slippers!” he scoffed. “For a healthy, active, red-blooded American girl! An Airedale Terrier pup or a pair of hunting boots would be just as acceptable.”

“They were given to you. Hazel,” answered Mrs. Wilcox when Wayne subsided. “That should make them sacred to you alone.”

“Well,” answered Hazel defensively, “I’ve simply got to send her something. There isn’t time to make anything, I’ve no money to spend, and you won’t loan me any so what else can I do? If you will be kind enough to loan me the necessary postage, Wayne, I’ll wrap them immediately and send Margaret to the post office with them at once. She won’t get the package until after Christmas, as it is. Perhaps it does seem funny to give away a thing that has been given to me, but these are the least personal things I had in my hope chest, and my pride simply won’t let me accept a Christmas gift without sending one in return.”

Christmas brought the Wilcox family some practical and many non-utilitarian presents. Hazel received many exquisitely made presents from her girl friends, the choicest one being a silk tatted dust cap from Maizie. But beautiful and numerous as her gifts were, they did not hold the charm Hazel had expected to derive from them. She had a deep, personal hurt which she was forced to make light of, even to her immediate family. Douglas Mason had foregone the opportunity of making her a real personal gift, and Hazel had felt that he would surely express himself as more than friend this Christmas. She even had visions of the ring of which Wayne teased so much. But Douglas had merely given her a box of choice confectionery and a leather bound volume of poems. Just such a gift as any man might make to any lady friend. The barrier was still there.

The day after Christmas, in response to a wheedling ‘phone invitation from Maizie. Hazel went to her home for a Christmas tea, in honor of one of Maizie’s outof-town guests. Margaret’s program was scheduled for that night and Mrs. Wilcox was still struggling with the fractious tinsel stars.

“I wish,” she began as Hazel was putting on her new furs—her family gift— “I wish you’d come—”

“I know, Mother,” interrupted Hazel. “I don’t suppose Margaret could get off to her program without help from me. I will get here in time to curl her hair and for other finishing touches, if it doesn’t interfere with Maizie’s plans.”

Arriving at Maizie’s, Hazel received her biggest Christmas surprise. Sitting comfortably by the cozy grate was Miss Elizabeth Swart, and on a settee by her elbow was quite, a little pile of unopened Christmas packages.

“Well, of all things! “You?” Hazel almost stuttered in her surprise. “Why I thought you were snowbound in Glendon. I had no idea you could get to town, and I didn’t know you knew Maizie.”

“I did, and I do,” smiled Miss Swart. “You see my vacation was too short for me to go home and here I am a day late, spending Christmas with some of my own kin. And better still I met the mailman plowing through the drifts as I came out of the valley, and he was good enough to give me my mail. So, I’ll open my Christmas packages this afternoon and let you girls share the pleasure of seeing the presents which my people and friends have sent to me. I think presents are always expressive of individualities, don’t you?”

Hazel gulped and nodded a mute assent. In all that pile of mail she could see only one package—containing a pair of hand embroidered bed slippers, and Maizie present to claim prior ownership. She wondered how much individuality the slippers would express for either of them. She wished she were miles away; that she had stayed at home and dressed Margaret for her program—that she had never seen quilted pink satin. She wished she could vanish into space—do anything, in fact, to get away from, the expression on Maizie’s face when Miss Swart should reveal those hated slippers.

“This package is from Mother, I know, so I will open it first,” continued Miss Swart, unconscious of Hazel’s mental distress. “She always sends books for Christmas presents, and she never gives a book unless she has read it herself. After I have read these, we will have a delightful time discussing the various characters. I like the idea so much, somehow it seems just like Mother.”

As she opened each package, Miss Swart commented upon some little personality of the giver, which made the present seem more sincere. There were many humble gifts, many unexpected ones, but each received the same measure of appreciation, even the tobacco can full of pine nuts from her most incorrigible boy. Before the packages were half opened, Hazel understood Miss Swart’s great charm. She had friends in all walks of life and was a sincere friend to each one.

When it came to Hazel’s package, she summoned all her courage. “Miss Elizabeth,” she said bravely, as the scissors posed above the cord, “that package is mine, or rather I sent it to you. You will do me a great favor if you will return it to me unopened. You see, I did not expect a present from you, so I hadn’t made anything specially for you. And when your beautiful kodak book came, it was too late to make you anything, so 1 just sent you—something—which I happened to have on hand. Please give it back, and I’ll replace it with a gift that expresses individuality.”

“I love to send unexpected presents,” answered Miss Swart in her smooth tone. “The fact that you had this on hand does not lessen its value to me. You sent it to me and that is sufficient. I appreciate the spirit which (prompted you to remember me, rather than the material gift.”

Shame-faced and soul-sick Hazel dropped her eyes and waited for Maizie’s exclamation when her own handiwork should be revealed as another’s. But no sound came from the little stool where Maizie sat by the grate. The silence, broken only by the crinkling of paper, caused Hazel to look up in surprise. Maizie’s face was a vivid red, and she looked as uncomfortable as Hazel felt.

“Merciful goodness!” she said, looking, not at Hazel, but at the slippers in Miss Elizabeth’s lap “Hazel, what in the world prompted you to send those things to Elizabeth? I guess they don’t show individuality. No wonder you wanted the package returned to you. Why, she—Elizabeth—” Maizie could get no further, choking over her own humble part in the little drama.

Miss Elizabeth was the first to break the strain. “This seems to be a pair of much traveled, unappreciated bed slippers,” she said easily. “I gave them to Maizie three years ago for the same reason that you sent them to me this year—because she sent me an unexpected present, and 1 had nothing else to send her.”

“Didn’t you make them yourself then?” There was surprise but intense relief in Hazel’s question to Maizie.

“There’s no use in giving any more false impressions,” answered Maizie, making quite an effort to be brave in her turn. “I never really told you I made them, but let you think I had. You remember, that was the year you made me that linen dresser scarf, and I hated to let you know my present to you wasn’t personally planned too. And when you thought I had made them, I never told you differently. I feel mortified to death, cousin Elizabeth, really I do! Why, it’s sort of uncanny, their finding their way back to you!”

“I didn’t make them either,” answered Miss Elizabeth, “so there is a little salve for your chagrin, Maizie. Brother Dan gave them to me, after he had been cajoled into paying a fabulous price for them at a church fair. If there were three slippers, I would suggest we each take one, as constant reminder against useless giving.”

“I don’t need a reminder,” Hazel spoke with a new decision. “Christmas presents have become a nightmare to me, both before and after,” she added, thinking of her unpaid bills. “I’ll never give another tit-for-tat present, as Wayne calls them, in all my life. Hereafter, my gifts will be planned within my means and will be suited to the practical needs of my immediate family and other deserving people. And I hope I never see those hateful, useless slippers again! So, if you will excuse me Maizie, I think I will go right home. I feel rather conscious stricken about Margaret and her program. I’ll go and fix her a pink sash and a fluffy bow to match.”

“We won’t urge you to stay,” Miss Elizabeth answered for Maizie. “We understand how you feel. But you did not commit any greater social offense than the rest of us. I think we have all learned a good lesson this day. But before you go,” she continued pleasantly, “I want you to witness a little ceremony.” She leaned toward the open grate and placed the befrilled, useless slippers, with their tissue paper wrappings and holly sprigs, upon the glowing coals. “They have taught the three of us a lasting lesson,” she said, “and that was their only possible use. Now we are all sure they will never go traveling again.”

Hazel surprised . her family by arriving home earlier than she was expected. Douglas Mason was there, indifferently playing chess with Wayne.

“I dropped in to take you skating,” he explained, “and as your Mother said you would be home soon, I waited. Would you like to go?”

“Not yet,” Hazel spoke with her school-teacher decision. “I’m going to get Margaret ready for her first appearance on the stage, so Mother can get off in peace herself. After they are gone I’ll do up the supper work, and then, if it isn’t snowing, I’ll go. You may wait if you like,” she added rather indifferently, “But you’ll have to entertain yourself, I’ll be too busy. Here Mussie dear, give me that costume. You’ve worked on it so long you’re all nervous and wornout. Ethel, bring me that bolt of pink ribbon from my dresser drawer and we’ll make Miss Margaret a beautiful bow for her hair. Yes, one for you too, if you really want it,” she finished, rightly interpreting the wistful look in her baby sister’s eyes.

Douglas decided to wait. He stayed for supper and was one of the surprised group when, after dessert, Hazel stood up and made a speech.

“Family and friends,” she commenced bravely, “lend me your ears. Like the Saxons of old, I am about to make a vow at my festive board. Those detestable bed slippers, which I sent to Miss Swart, never got to Glendon at all. She met the mailman as she was coming out of the valley, and brought the package back to town with her. She’s Maizie’s cousin and she opened that package right in Maizie’s parlor this afternoon!”

“Oh, Oh, Oh, that’s rich!” Wayne rocked from side to side in appreciative mirth.

“I was mortified and humiliated,” continued Hazel, “but so was Maizie, for it developed Miss Swart had given those identical slippers to Maizie the year before she gave them to me!”

“Bravo! More! More! I told you a pup would be a better present!” This from Wayne.

“And Miss Swart’s brother had given them to her before that,” continued Hazel, unflinchingly, “so we all three gave away something which had been given to us. And my vow is this: Hereafter, I will give to people who need and deserve, whether they give to me or not. I will never make another reciprocal gift!”

“Tit-for-tat presents is a better word ,Sis,” said Wayne, to relieve the tension. “We all know what it means, and even Ethel can spell it that way.”

Later, when her sisters and parents had gone to the church program, and Wayne had discreetly retired, Douglas and Hazel sat by the parlor grate. A fresh snow storm had spoiled all skating plans, and they sat in a softened light, watching the quiet, eager flakes pile against the window sill, as if seeking entrance. A prevading, peaceful influence seemed to blanket the world, as if the real spirit of Christmas had at last gained admission on earth. The watchers felt it and were mystified.

“Hazel, Hazel dear,” said Douglas in softened, diffident tones. “I’m so glad I had the privilege of listening to your speech tonight. It supplied the one little homely touch which, heretofore, you always seemed to lack. I have felt you were too superficial with your girl friends, always playing to conventions, and forgetting to be sincere. You didn’t seem to be considerate and kind enough to your family. But you now have the gift of understanding, which makes you more loveable than ever. Now, since I really gave you a box of chocolates for your Christmas present, don’t you think you could make one more reciprocal gift and give me yourself?”

“I could try,” answered Hazel the dignified, suddenly humbled. “Do you think it would be breaking my vow?”