1546 
7ht  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
December  22,  1923 
Hope  Farm  Notes 
The  Gift  Upon  the  Altar 
Pajrt  II. 
Many  a  man  has  been  made  to  feel  very 
small  and  uncomfortable  when  halted 
by  the  eager  questioning  of  a  little  child. 
He  is  forced  to  admit  that  he  has  for¬ 
gotten,  if  he  ever  knew,  the  language  of 
youth.  And  he  is  forced  to  admit  that, 
framed,  as  it  is  in  the  purest  faith  and 
imagination,  the  limited  vocabulary  of  a 
little  child  is  the  cleanest  and  most  ex¬ 
pressive  part  of  the  language.  Just  at 
that  moment  Bryant  would  have  given  a 
good  share  of  all  he  possessed  for  the 
ability  to  tell  a  Christmas  story  that 
would  paint  a  hopeful  picture  on  the 
brain  of  this  little  country  boy.  A  feel¬ 
ing  of  sadness,  of  inefficiency,  swept  over 
him  as  he  realized  his  impotence  and 
lack  of  understanding. 
Hannah  came  and  led  the  boy  away, 
but  Bryant  felt  himself  regretting  that 
while  he  could  win  a  lawsuit  or  mako  a 
long  speech  on  some  great  public  ques¬ 
tion,  he  actually  could  not  tell  a  Christ¬ 
mas  story.  He  listened  while  Hannah, 
with  the  children  grouped  around  her 
told  a  simple  story  of  Santa  Claus  and 
Christmas.  This  girl  could  not  move  a 
jury  or  impress  a  judge,  yet  the  lawyer 
found  himself  envying  her  the  power 
to  bring  the  wonder  and  happiness  to 
these  little  eyes.  And  when  bedtime 
came  the  three  little  ones  sang : 
“God  took  care  of  the  baby 
And  in  His  words  we  see 
How  our  Father  in  Heaven 
Careth  for  you  and  for  me.” 
If  Bryant,  seated  in  his  comfortable 
chair  at  the  club  had  come  to  a  printed 
description  of  such  a  scene,  he  would 
have  skipped  it  with  a  sneer,  but  here 
before  the  fire,  in  this  lonely  place,  a 
feeling  of  peace  and  confort  came  over 
him  as  these  little  children  expressed  the 
faith  which  has  sustained  men  all  down 
through  the  ages. 
Bryant  had  never  passed  such  a  night. 
Wonder  after  wonder  swept  over  him. 
There  came  to  him  as  he  sat  there  a 
great  pitiful  longing  to  be  able  to  talk 
to  these  little  children  with  the  under¬ 
standing  with  which  he  could  talk  to  a 
jury.  He  heard  again  the  old  man  on 
the  court  house  steps. 
“I  know  it,  the  judge  is  mighty  smart, 
but  I’d  rather  wear  Billy’s  shoes!” 
After  the  children  went  off  to  bed  the 
old  man  expressed  his  great  regret : 
“For  the  first  time  in  some  years  I 
can’t  play  Santa  Claus  as  I’d  like.  My 
rheumatism  is  too  bad  for  me  to  be  out. 
It’ll  have  to  be  Hannah  this  year!” 
“What  do  you  do?”  asked  Bryant. 
“Why,  here’s  the  boy  that  put  that  hay 
down  by  the  gate  for  those  reindeer.  It 
would  break  his  heart  to  find  it  there  in 
the  morning.  Somebody’s  got  to  take 
that  hay  away.  Then  I  usually  lead  the 
old  buck  sheep  up  and  down  the  road. 
Books  like  reindeer  tracks.  Looks  kinder 
foolish,  I  know,  but  it’s  part  of  a  child’s 
faith.  You  can’t  break  that,  can  you?” 
“No,  of  course  you  can’t,”  said  Bryant, 
but  there  came  before  his  eyes  a  remem¬ 
brance  of  the  expression  on  the  faces  of 
that  woman  and  boy  in  the  court  room — 
as  he  shook  hands  with  his  purple-faced 
client. 
Then  there  came  into  Bryant’s  mind 
a  curious  suggestion.  To  this  day  he 
cannot  tell  where  it  came  from.  He  thinks 
it  was  some  subconscious  spirit  of  adven- 
ture.  He  suddenly  gave  voice  to  it : 
“Why  couldn’t  I  take  your  place?” 
“Mister.  I  hate  to  ask  you — but  it 
would  be  the  finest  thing  in  the  world  if 
you  could.  I’ll  show  you  how  I  do  it.” 
“The  finest  thing  in  the  world !” 
Bryant  thought  of  that  with  a  smile,  as, 
in  "spite  of  the  protests  from  the  women, 
he  prepared  to  play  Santa  Claus. 
“I’ve  got  the  whole  regalia  here,”  said 
the  old  man  and  surely  he  had  it — a  pair 
of  wool  boots,  brown  overalls,  a  jacket 
made  of  sheepskin,  a  fur  cap  and  a  false 
face  with  a  most  remarkable  white  beard. 
And  the  great  man  who  was  so  soon  to 
“adorn  the  bench”  as  the  papers  had  it, 
put  on  the  entire  outfit.  “The  finest 
thing  in  the  world !”  Not  some  great 
legal  decision,  or  some  great  stand  for 
human  liberty,  but  just  this  clown-like 
action  to  keep  the  faith  of  a  little  child 
alive.  As  Bryant  pulled  on  the  overalls 
he  smiled  to  remember  how  he  had 
scolded  Billy  for  spending  more  than  he 
could  afford  for  fool  Christmas  gifts. 
For  an  amateur  he  did  very  well.  He 
carried  the  hay  back  to  the  barn.  Then 
he  put  a  halter  on  the  old  ram  and  led 
him  through  the  gate.  Old  Buck  much 
preferred  his  warm  pen  to  playing  rein¬ 
deer,  and  twice,  when  Bryant  by  mis¬ 
take  walked  ahead  of  him  the  ram 
charged  with  good  effect.  The  resulting 
language  was  unworthy  of  Santa  Claus, 
but  the  ensuing  struggle  left  a  confusion 
of  tracks  in  the  mud  which  proved  that 
the ’reindeer  were  in  high  spirits.  Then 
Bryant  led  old  Buck  back  to  the  barn, 
somewhat  sore,  but  master  of  the  situa¬ 
tion.  For  good  measure  he  brought  a 
ladder  and  a  lantern  and  climbed  on  the 
porch  roof  with  a  large  chain  and  a  grain 
sack  stuffed  with  hay  on  his  back.  He 
rattled  the  chain  in  the  chimney  and 
climbed  back  to  the  ground,  while  at  the 
back  window  little  wide-open  eyes  were 
watching  him. 
lie  did  not  use  his  lawyer’s  voice  as 
he  called  to  his  imaginary  reindeer  and 
cracked  the  whip  which  the  old  ma.'ihad 
given  him. 
“The  finest  performance  of  Santa 
Claus  I  ever  saw — you  must  be  full  of  ex¬ 
perience,”  said  the  old  man  when  strip¬ 
ped  of  his  “regalia,”  Bryant  found  him¬ 
self  once  more  before  the  fire.  He  felt 
somehow  that  he  had  never  received  a 
finer  compliment.  The  young  woman 
brought  Bryant  a  g’-eat  piece  of  pumpkin 
pie.  He  sat  in  the  firelight  eating  it, 
watching  the  three  kindly  country  peo¬ 
ple  as  they  all  sat  in  silence  reading  a 
picture  of  memories  in  the  fire.  The  old 
man  and  the  older  woman  saw  pictures 
of  the  past.  The  girl  saw  a  strange  new 
country  far  over  the  sea,  where  the  bloom 
of  her  youth  would  be  spent.  The  man 
saw  only  this  girl.  What  a  woman  she 
uould  make — what  a  wife.  What  a 
shame  that  she  would  pass  out  of  his 
life  into  that  ignoble  service  for  people 
who  never  could  appreciate  her !  Yet 
after  all  was  it  ignoble?  What  service 
had  he  ever  rendered  that  could  equal  it? 
What  had  he  ever  done?  The  great 
judgeship  seemed  a  very  petty  thing  at 
this  moment.  What  had  he  to  offer  any¬ 
way?  He  could  give  money  at  least — 
and  he  had  actually  opened  his  mouth 
to  say  he  would  like  to  contribute  to  the 
cause  when  the  old  man  rose  from  his 
chair  and  took  a  well-worn  Bible  from 
the  table.  He  put  on  his  glasses  and 
looked  over  them  at  Bryant. 
“We  always  end  our  day  before  the 
family  altar,”  he  said.  “We’d  like  to 
have  you  join  us.” 
Bryant  nodded — what  else  could  he  do — 
and  the  old  man  fumbled  until  he  found 
his  place.  He  read  a  long  chapter,  but 
all  Bryant  could  remember  was  this  : 
“ Therefore .  if  thou  bring  thy  gift  to 
the  altar,  and  there  rememberest  that  thy . 
brother  hath  aught  against  thee: 
“ Leave  tliy  gift  before  the  altar  and 
go  thy  way ;  first  be  reconciled  to  thy 
brother,  and  then  come  and  offer  thy 
gift.” 
Long  after  the  others  were  asleep 
Bryant  sat  thinking.  Once  he  got  up  and 
fumbled  through  the  book  until  he  found 
the  passage.  By  what  curious  chance  had 
the  old  man  hit  upon  the  thing  that  was 
deepest  down  in  the  foundation  of  his 
character?  He  looked  out  through  the 
window.  The  gray  shadows  had  lifted. 
The  stars  were  out,  and  off  over  the  pines 
on  the  hill  there  seemed  a  new  light  in 
the  sky. 
&  *  *  *  * 
The  best  that  is  in  a  man  comes  out 
in  the  lonely  silence.  There  the  great 
thoughts  are  born.  There  God  speaks  to 
man  and  inspires  him  without  interrup¬ 
tion.  The  week  before  Bryant  had  met 
with  a  committee  of  notable  men  who 
were  preparing  a  set  of  welfare  and  up¬ 
lift  laws  designed  to  benefit  farmers  and 
country  people.  These  men  were  work¬ 
ing  on  the  underlying  theory  that  rural 
civilization  had  broken  down  because  as 
a  result  of  unjust  economic  conditions 
farmers  have  not  been  able  to  keep  pace 
with  the  city  people  in  the  things  which 
money  can  buy.  Therefore  these  law¬ 
makers  started  with  the  theory  that 
farmers  are  somehow  incapable  of  doing 
things  for  themselves.  They  must  be 
protected  and  managed  and  helped  by 
city  and  town.  Since  they  have  nothing 
Jo  offer  the  city  the  city  must  “protect” 
them — at  good  wages !  At  the  time  that 
had  seemed  reasonable  to  Bryant  but  now 
looking  out  into  the  night  at  the  light 
which  had  begun  to  glow  behind  the  trees 
the  folly  of  the  whole  theory  came  to 
him.  For  right  in  this  house,  before  his 
eyes  had  appeared  the  sacrifice,  the  love, 
the  family  feeling  which  gave  to  this 
hard,  lonely  life  a  beauty  and  power 
which  the  city  cannot  know.  It  was 
here,  in  these  quiet  homes  that  the  real 
power  of  America  was  kept  alive.  As 
lie  turned  from  the  window  his  eye  fell 
upon  the  little  Christmas  tree.  The  wo¬ 
men  had  decorated  it  and  hung  little 
gifts  upon  its  branches.  Five  dollars 
would  have  bought  all  there  was  there. 
Among  other  things  Bryant  noticed  three 
little  books  tied  to  the  tree  with  red  rib¬ 
bons.  He  took  one  of  them  in  his  hand 
and  read  the  card. 
“To  Willie  with  love  from  Hannah.” 
There  came  a  curious  twitch  at  the 
man’s  heart.  Under  ordinary  circum¬ 
stances  he  would  have  considered  it  a 
warning  that  he  must  see  the  doctor. 
But  it  came  to  him  standing  before  the 
dying  fire,  that  this  girl  who  he  thought 
was  offering  her  life  as  a  useless  sacri¬ 
fice  was  rich  in  the  fact  that  she  could  offer 
love,  love  unstinted,  while  he  was  worse 
than  a  pauper — for  he  had  no  love  in  all 
Iris  life  to  offer.  Then  he  suddenly  re¬ 
membered  that  he  had  three  silver  dol¬ 
lars  in  his  pocket.  How  he  had  cursed 
the  chauffeur  for  taking  them  in  change 
when  they  stopped  to  buy  gasoline.  Now 
this  despised  silver  was  just  what  he 
wanted.  He  slipped  a  dollar  into  each 
of  the  little  books.  As  he  did  so  he 
thought  that  Hannah  had  given  the  gold 
of  love — he  the  silver  of  commerce. 
They  must  have  worked  as  hard  as 
Santa  Claus  in  that  garage,  for  shortly 
after  breakfast  the  car  rolled  up  the 
hill  and  into  the  yard. 
“Mrs.  Graham,”  said  Bryant,  “I  want 
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=nl 
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