III.
THE BIRD'S NEST.
Carol herself knew nothing of motherly tears and fatherly anxieties;she lived on peacefully in the room where she was born.
But you never would have known that room; for Mr. Bird had a great dealof money, and though he felt sometimes as if he wanted to throw it allin the ocean, since it could not buy a strong body for his little girl,yet he was glad to make the place she lived in just as beautiful as itcould be made.
The room had been extended by the building of a large addition thathung out over the garden below, and was so filled with windows that itmight have been a conservatory. The ones on the side were thus stillnearer the little Church of our Saviour than they used to be; those infront looked out on the beautiful harbor, and those in the backcommanded a view of nothing in particular but a littlealley--nevertheless, they were pleasantest of all to Carol, for theRuggles family lived in the alley, and the nine little, middle-sizedand big Ruggles children were the source of inexhaustible interest.
The shutters could all be opened and Carol could take a real sun-bathin this lovely glass-house, or they could all be closed when the dearhead ached or the dear eyes were tired. The carpet was of soft grey,with clusters of green bay and holly leaves. The furniture was ofwhite wood, on which an artist had painted snow scenes and Christmastrees and groups of merry children ringing bells and singing carols.
Donald had made a pretty, polished shelf and screwed it on to theoutside of the footboard, and the boys always kept this full ofblooming plants, which they changed from time to time; the head-board,too, had a bracket on either side, where there were pots of maidenhairferns.
Love-birds and canaries hung in their golden houses in the windows, andthey, poor caged things, could hop as far from their wooden perches asCarol could venture from her little white bed.
On one side of the room was a bookcase filled with hundreds--yes, Imean it--with hundreds and hundreds of books; books with gay-coloredpictures, books without; books with black and white outline-sketches,books with none at all; books with verses, books with stories, booksthat made children laugh, and some that made them cry; books with wordsof one syllable for tiny boys and girls, and books with words offearful length to puzzle wise ones.
This was Carol's "Circulating Library." Every Saturday she chose tenbooks, jotting their names down in a little diary; into these sheslipped cards that said:
"Please keep this book two weeks and read it. With love, Carol Bird."
Then Mrs. Bird stepped into her carriage, and took the ten books to theChildrens' Hospital, and brought home ten others that she had leftthere the fortnight before.
This was a source of great happiness; for some of the Hospital childrenthat were old enough to print or write, and were strong enough to doit, wrote Carol cunning little letters about the books, and sheanswered them, and they grew to be friends. (It is very funny, but youdo not always have to see people to love them. Just think about it,and see if it isn't so.)
There was a high wainscoting of wood about the room, and on top ofthis, in a narrow gilt framework, ran a row of illuminated pictures,illustrating fairy tales, all in dull blue and gold and scarlet andsilver and other lovely colors. From the door to the closet there wasthe story of "The Fair One with Golden Locks;" from closet to bookcase,ran "Puss in Boots;" from bookcase to fireplace, was "Jack theGiant-killer;" and on the other side of the room were "Hop o' myThumb," "The Sleeping Beauty," and "Cinderella."
Then there was a great closet full of beautiful things to wear--butthey were all dressing-gowns and slippers and shawls; and there weredrawers full of toys and games; but they were such as you could playwith on your lap. There were no ninepins, nor balls, nor bows andarrows, nor bean bags, nor tennis rackets; but, after all, otherchildren needed these more than Carol Bird, for she was always happyand contented whatever she had or whatever she lacked; and after theroom had been made so lovely for her, on her eighth Christmas, shealways called herself, in fun, a "Bird of Paradise."
On these particular December days she was happier than usual, for UncleJack was coming from Europe to spend the holidays. Dear, funny, jolly,loving, wise Uncle Jack, who came every two or three years, and broughtso much joy with him that the world looked as black as a thunder-cloudfor a week after he went away again.
The mail had brought this letter:--
"LONDON, Nov. 28th, 188-.
Wish you merry Christmas, you dearest birdlings in America! Preen yourfeathers, and stretch the Birds' nest a little, if you please, and letUncle Jack in for the holidays. I am coming with such a trunk full oftreasures that you'll have to borrow the stockings of Barnum's Giantand Giantess; I am coming to squeeze a certain little lady-bird untilshe cries for mercy; I am coming to see if I can find a boy to takecare of a little black pony I bought lately. It's the strangest thingI ever knew; I've hunted all over Europe, and can't find a boy to suitme! I'll tell you why. I've set my heart on finding one with a dimplein his chin, because this pony particularly likes dimples! ['Hurrah!'cried Hugh; 'bless my dear dimple; I'll never be ashamed of it again.']Please drop a note to the clerk of the weather, and have a good,rousing snow-storm--say on the twenty-second. None of your meek,gentle, nonsensical, shilly-shallying snow-storms; not the sort wherethe flakes float lazily down from the sky as if they didn't carewhether they ever got here or not, and then melt away as soon as theytouch the earth, but a regular business-like whizzing, whirring,blurring, cutting snow-storm, warranted to freeze and stay on!
I should like rather a LARGE Christmas tree, if it's convenient--notone of those 'sprigs,' five or six feet high, that you used to havethree or four years ago, when the birdlings were not fairly featheredout, but a tree of some size. Set it up in the garret, if necessary,and then we can cut a hole in the roof if the tree chances to be toohigh for the room.
Tell Bridget to begin to fatten a turkey. Tell her by the twentieth ofDecember that turkey must not be able to stand on its legs for fat, andthen on the next three days she must allow it to recline easily on itsside, and stuff it to bursting. (One ounce of stuffing beforehand isworth a pound afterwards.)
The pudding must be unusually huge, and darkly, deeply, lugubriouslyblack in color. It must be stuck so full of plums that the puddingitself will ooze out into the pan and not be brought on to the table atall. I expect to be there by the twentieth, to manage these littlethings--remembering it is the early Bird that catches the worm--butgive you the instructions in case I should be delayed.
And Carol must decide on the size of the tree--she knows best, she wasa Christmas child; and she must plead for the snow-storm--the 'clerk ofthe weather' may pay some attention to her; and she must look up theboy with the dimple for me--she's likelier to find him than I am, thisminute. She must advise about the turkey, and Bridget must bring thepudding to her bedside and let her drop every separate plum into it andstir it once for luck, or I'll not eat a single slice--for Carol is thedearest part of Christmas to Uncle Jack, and he'll have none of itwithout her. She is better than all the turkeys and puddings andapples and spare-ribs and wreaths and garlands and mistletoe andstockings and chimneys and sleigh-bells in Christendom. She is thevery sweetest Christmas Carol that was ever written, said, sung orchanted, and I am coming, as fast as ships and railway trains can carryme, to tell her so."
Carol's joy knew no bounds. Mr. and Mrs. Bird laughed like childrenand kissed each other for sheer delight, and when the boys heard itthey simply whooped like wild Indians, until the Ruggles family, whoseback yard joined their garden, gathered at the door and wondered whatwas "up" in the big house.