Anna Bartlett Warner - Karl Krinken, His Christmas Stocking

“And Mark looked up as if he thought his mother must be posed now, if she never was before.

“It did occur to Mrs. Penly as she glanced at the child, that his cheeks were not very fat nor his dress very thick; and that a greater plenty of pies and other relishable things might exert a happy influence upon his complexion: but she stilled her heart with that word,—

“‘ Your Father knoweth that ye have need of such things. ’

“‘I am sure we have a great many good things, Mark,’ she answered cheerfully,—‘don’t you remember that barrel of flour that came the other day? and the molasses, and the pickles? We must have as much as is good for us, or God would give us more; for it says in another part of that Psalm, ‘ Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him .’ I wouldn’t keep from you anything that I thought good for you.’

“‘But you are my mother ,’ said Mark satisfactorily.

“‘Well,’ said the widow, ‘the Bible says that a mother may forget her child, yet will not God forget his children. So you see, dear, that if we have not a great many things which some other people have, it is not because God has forgotten to care for us, but because we are better without them.’

“‘I wonder why,’ said Mark. ‘Why should they hurt us any more than other people?’

“‘God knows,’ said his mother. ‘It is so pleasant to have him choose and direct all for us. If I could have my way, I dare say I should wish for something that would do me harm—just as you wanted to eat blackberries last summer when you were sick.’

“‘But we are not sick,’ said Mark.

“‘Yes we are—sick with sin; and sin-sick people must not have all that their sinful hearts desire; and people who love earth too well must want some of the good things of this world, that they may think more of heaven.’

“‘Well,’ said Mark, the last thing before he got into bed, ‘we’ll keep Thanksgiving, mother—you and I; and we’ll try to be as happy as we can without pies.’

“‘Maybe we shall have some pleasant thing that we do not think of,’ said his mother, as she tucked the clothes down about him.

“‘Why what?’ said Mark starting up in an instant. ‘Where could anything come from, mother?’

“‘From God in the first place,’ she answered; ‘and he can always find a way.’

“‘Mother!’ said Mark, ‘there’s a great many apples in the road by Mr. Crab’s orchard.’

“‘Well, dear’—said his mother—‘they don’t belong to us.’

“‘But they’re in the road ,’ said Mark; ‘and Mr. Smith’s pigs are there all day long eating ’em.’

“‘We won’t help the pigs,’ said his mother smiling. ‘They don’t know any better, but we do. I have cause enough for thanksgiving, Marky, in a dear little boy who always minds what I say.’

“Mark hugged his mother very tight round the neck, and then went immediately to sleep, and dreamed that he was running up hill after a pumpkin.

“But Mark woke up in the morning empty-handed. There were plenty of sunbeams on the bed, and though it was so late in November, the birds sang outside the window as if they had a great many concerts to give before winter, and must make haste.

“Mark turned over on his back to have both ears free, and then he could hear his mother and the broom stepping up and down the kitchen; and as she swept she sang.

“Mark listened awhile till he heard his mother stop sweeping and begin to step in and out of the pantry. She wasn’t setting the table, he knew, for that was always his work, and he began to wonder what they were going to have for breakfast. Then somebody knocked at the door.

“‘Here’s a quart of milk, Mis’ Penly,’ said a voice. ‘Mother guessed she wouldn’t churn again ’fore next week, so she could spare it as well as not.’

“Mark waited to hear his mother pay her thanks and shut the door, and having meanwhile got into his trousers, he rushed out into the kitchen.

“‘Is it a whole quart, mother?’

“‘A whole quart of new milk, Mark. Isn’t that good?’

“‘Delicious!’ said Mark. ‘I should like to drink it all up, straight. I don’t mean that I should like to really, mother, only on some accounts, you know.’

“‘Well now what shall we do with it?’ said his mother. ‘You shall dispose of it all.’

“‘If we had some eggs we’d have a pudding,’ said Mark,—‘a plum-pudding. You can’t make it without eggs, can you mother?’

“‘Not very well,’ said Mrs. Penly. ‘Nor without plums.’

“‘No, so that won’t do,’ said Mark. ‘Seems to me we could have made more use of it if it had been apples.’

“‘Ah, you are a discontented little boy,’ said his mother smiling. ‘Last night you would have been glad of anything . Now I advise that you drink a tumblerful of milk for your breakfast—’

“‘A whole tumblerful!’ interrupted Mark.

“‘Yes, and another for your tea; and then you will have two left for breakfast and tea to-morrow.’

“‘But then you won’t have any of it,’ said Mark.

“‘I don’t want any.’

“‘But you must have it,’ said Mark. ‘Now I’ll tell you, mother. I’ll drink a tumblerful this morning, and you shall put some in your tea; and to-night I’ll drink some more, and you’ll have cream, real cream; and what’s left I’ll drink to-morrow.’

“‘Very well,’ said his mother. ‘But now you must run and get washed and dressed, for breakfast is almost ready. I have made you a little shortcake, and it’s baking away at a great rate in the spider.’

“‘What’s shortcake made of?’ said Mark, stopping with the door in his hand.

“‘This is made of flour and water, because I had nothing else.’

“‘Well don’t you set the table,’ said Mark, ’because I’ll be back directly; and then I can talk to you about the milk while I’m putting on your cup and my tumbler and the plates.’

“It would be hard to tell how much Mark enjoyed his tumbler of milk,—how slowly he drank it—how careful he was not to leave one drop in the tumbler; while his interest in the dish of milk in the closet was quite as deep. Jack did not go oftener to see how his bean grew, than did Mark to see how his cream rose.

“Then he set out to go with his mother to church.

“The influence of the dish of milk was not quite so strong when he was out of the house,—so many things spoke of other people’s dinners that Mark half forgot his own breakfast. He thought he never had seen so many apple-trees, nor so many geese and turkeys, nor so many pumpkins, as in that one little walk to church. Again and again he looked up at his mother to ask her sympathy for a little boy who had no apples, nor geese, nor pumpkin pies; but something in the sweet quiet of her face made him think of the psalm he had read last night, and Mark was silent. But after a while his mother spoke.

“‘There was once a man, Mark, who had two springs of water near his dwelling. And the furthest off was always full, but the near one sometimes ran dry. He could always fetch as much as he wanted from the further one, and the water was by far the sweetest: moreover he could if he chose draw out the water of the upper spring in such abundance that the dryness of the lower should not be noticed.’