bundles. She laughed and cried at the droll things the boys gave and the comfortable and pretty things the elders sent. Such a happy child was she that when she tried to say her prayers, she couldn't find words beautiful enough to express her gratitude for so much kindness!
A new Patty went downstairs that morning—a bright-faced girl with smiles on the mouth that used to be so sad and silent, confidence in the timid eyes, and the magic of the heartiest goodwill to make her step light, her hand skillful, her labor a joy, and service no burden.
They do care for me, after all, and I never will complain again, she thought with a glad flutter at her heart and sudden color in her cheeks as everyone welcomed her with a friendly, "Merry Christmas, Patty!"
It was the merriest Christmas ever, and when the bountiful dinner was spread and Patty stood ready to wait, you can imagine her feelings as Mr. Murray pointed to a seat near Miss Jane and said in a fatherly tone that made his gruff voice sweet—
"Sit down and enjoy it with us, my girl; nobody has more right to it, and we are all one family today."
Patty could not eat much, her heart was so full, but it was a splendid feast to her, and when toasts were drunk she was overwhelmed by the honor Harry did her, for he bounced up and exclaimed: "Now we must drink to 'Our Patty'—long life and good luck to her!"
That really was too much, and she fairly ran away to hide her blushes in the kitchen and work off her excitement washing dishes.
More surprises came that evening. When she went to put on her clean calico smock, she found the pretty blue dress and white apron laid ready on her bed along with a note that read, "With Ella's love."
"It's like a fairy story that keeps getting nicer and nicer since the godmother came," whispered Patty, as she glanced shyly at Aunt Jane.
"Christmas is the time for all sorts of pleasant miracles," answered Aunt Jane, smiling back at her little maiden, who looked so neat and blithe in her new dress and happy face.
Patty thought nothing further in the way of bliss could happen to her that night, but it did when Ned, anxious to atone for his past neglect, pranced up to her as a final dance was forming and said heartily—
"Come, Patty, everyone is to dance this one, even Harry and the cat!" And before she could collect her wits enough to say "No," she was leading off and flying down the middle with the young master, in great style.
That was the crowning honor, for she was a girl with all a girl's innocent hopes, fears, desires, and delights, and it had been rather hard to stand by while all the young neighbors were frolicking together.
When everyone was gone, the tired children asleep, and the elders on their way up to bed, Mrs. Murray suddenly remembered she had not covered the kitchen fire. Aunt Jane said she would do it, and went down so softly that she did not disturb faithful Patty, who had also gone to see that all was safe.
Aunt Jane stopped to watch the little figure standing on the hearth alone, looking into the embers with thoughtful eyes. If Patty could have seen her future there, she would have found a long life spent in glad service to those she loved and who loved her. Not a splendid future, but a useful, happy one—"only a servant" perhaps, yet a good and faithful woman, blessed with the confidence, respect, and affection of those who knew her genuine worth.
As a smile broke over Patty's face, Miss Jane said with an arm round the little blue-gowned figure—
"What are you dreaming and smiling about, deary? The friends that are to come for you someday, with a fine fortune in their pockets?"
"No, Ma'am, I feel as if I've found my folks. I don't want any finer fortune than the love they've given me today. I'm trying to think how I can deserve it, and smiling because it's so beautiful and I'm so happy," answered Patty, looking up at her first friend with full eyes and a glad glance that made her lovely.
THE EDITOR'S NOTES
The Quiet Little Woman
The world of Patty, the orphan girl, was one with which Louisa May Alcott was quite familiar. Louisa's mother had been one of the first paid social workers in the United States, and all of the Alcott family had a strong sense of social obligation. By the standards of their day, they would have been regarded as quite progressive in their views, and many times they showed themselves ready to help those in need even as they had been helped in their impecunious days.
Nevertheless, Louisa May Alcott would have found it strange indeed if anyone had suggested to her that there could be a general scheme for helping all in need regardless of an individual's efforts and personal morality. She herself had put forth Herculean efforts to write enough stories, including some rather gaudy thrillers, to pull the Alcott family out of debt. Naturally, she came to believe that individual effort made a difference.
In all her writing, Louisa's characters exhibit virtue and vice within a context of personal responsibility. Characters like poor Patty may indeed need a helping hand from someone like Aunt Jane—especially at Christmastime—but Patty must help too. She has powers of her own and a will of her own that she must draw on to accept her lot and find happiness where she can.
No one could tell Miss Alcott about the nature of poverty and privation because she knew of it firsthand, and she also knew that there really were people in the world who had earned, or were worthy of, a second chance, while there were others, like the bad maid Lizzie Brown, who "deserved nothing" and squandered her chance at a good life.
Perhaps we today need to learn a lesson from Miss Alcott and from Patty. All too often we are told there is no limit to what we can do and what personal peace, comfort, and satisfaction we may achieve—if only hindrances to opportunity could be swept from our path, perhaps by the church, perhaps by a social organization, perhaps by the mercy of the government itself, regardless of whether we are worthy of the opportunity or not.
But for Patty and Louisa May, moral character cannot be excluded as a factor in our own well-being and in what we make of ourselves and of our opportunities. As we awaken morally to what is charitable, truthful, and good, we awaken our own souls to moral transformation. If we have been dealt a bad hand by life, the virtue of accepting what has been dealt to us strengthens us to our challenge. Others have overcome through worthy endeavors; so can we.
Christmas is a good time to ponder these truths. Charity is a theme of the season, yet how charity is received is important too.
As Louisa May Alcott knew from her own observations, moral good is rewarded, often in this life, and surely in the world to come. Vice, on the other hand, gives us no aid in battling against the odds of going upstream. Most success and even peace are achieved by overcoming, and goodness helps us rise to our occasion and opportunity, no matter how rarely they might come.
True, it has been observed that sometimes the unworthy do prosper, but even that cannot take away from the satisfaction of virtue. For virtue itself is a reward, a prosperity to the soul, to be enjoyed equally by both the humble and the great.
A Hospital Christmas
Adapted by Stephen W. Hines
"Merry Christmas!" "Merry Christmas!" "Merry Christmas, and lots of 'em, Ma'am!" echoed from every side as Miss Hale entered her ward in the gray December dawn. No wonder the greetings were hearty, that thin faces brightened, and eyes watched for the coming of this small luminary more eagerly than for the rising of the sun.
When
