Kansas University Weekly.
291
neath the quilt. It would be hard to say which was more fragile the blossoms or the delicate fingers of the child. Softly Susie May caressed her flowers, fingering every petal as if it were a snow crystal which might melt at her touch.
"Are they turning white yet, mother? Mary Allen says pink flowers turn white before they die. Do you 'spose my geranium'll last till Christmas?"
"Most likely, child." The outlines of the room's poor furniture grew indistinct, then faded altogether. The mother still sat, thoughtfully silent on the edge of the bed.
"Mother!"—in a faint and tentative voice, Mother, Mary Allen says they ain't no Santy Claus; she says she knows they ain't." Ellen Greyson's thoughts were busy and the silence was broken only by a gentle settling of coals in the tiny stove.
"Mother!"—still more faintly, for Ellen's children regarded their mother with no little awe, "Mother, ef they ain't any Santy Claus, then I 'spose God must 'ov brought Jimmy's sled. Does God bring everything folks ask for?"
"Yes, child, if they need it." Years before Ellen Greyson had accepted her theology, and in the bitterest experiences of later life it had never occurred to her to question its adequacy.
She rose now, and setting the geranium, wrapped in Dan's number of the "Bethel Advance" back in its place on the window sill, felt her way to the match box in the kitchen.
Susie May could have sung for joy. The good God would certainly bring her the gift she so wanted, so needed. Her little heart overflowed with rapture as she thought of seeing her mother's face and the sunlight on her pink geranium. "I c'n take the string off my kitty's neck, an' tell her from Jimmy's jest by lookin' at her with my eyes."
"I ain't goin' to tell 'em what I ask fer," she thought,—"It'll be fer a supprise."
The Christmas passed quickly. The soft influences of the happy season were not unfelt even in Ellen Greyson's home. Jimmy and little Ellen were athrob with a half doubting hope,
and the face on the pillow shone with a quiet joy.
Dan's wife, after much deliberation and attempts at sharp bargaining promised to take the kitchen safe for two dollars and eighty-five cents, and bird cages were duly priced at Graft's and Steve Elkinses. The sewing machine man decided to wait another month before taking away his property and the weight on Ellen Greyson's shoulders was perceptibly lifting, when on Wednesday morning Susie May "took one of her bad turns." Susie May's "turns" were severe, but this time she seemed to rally with surprising promptness. By Thursday afternoon she was so like her old, bright self that the mother slipped away to fetch the bird cage which, with its gay little occupant was to give her child so much joy on the morrow.
She worked late at night finishing some bright, new mittens for Jimmy and putting the last stitches on a new wardrobe for Ellen's last year's doll. Finally she rose and gathering up her scraps of cloth went wearily into the kitchen to lock the back door. She could not refrain from glancing in at the tiny cage, carefully hidden away from Jimmy's curious eyes upon the top shelf of the safe.
"I ain't sorry I spent it," she muttered, as she went softly back to the sitting room.
"Mother!" Ellen Greyson started and put down the lamp she was about to carry into her narrow bedroom.
"Ain't you got to sleep yet, Susie May?"
"I can't, mother. Won't you set my geranium in the east window where the sun'll shine on it as soon as it's up?
Most likely I wouldn't know you ef I'm to see you," she continued, her sensitive fingers caressing her mother's face as Ellen stooped to kiss her. "I want you to come an' stan' by my bed as soon's it's light. You must see the gift God's goin' to bring me for Christmas." The voice was gay and the delicate cheeks were flushed with excitement.
"You ain't goin' to wake up soon's it's light ef you don't get to sleep pretty soon," answered Ellen choking back the tide of pain and