Karl Krinken, His Christmas Stocking

“‘Do?’ said the widow, rousing herself. ‘Why my dear if we cannot make any pies we will keep Thanksgiving without them.’

“‘I don’t think one can keep Thanksgiving without anything,’ said Mark, a little fretfully.

“‘Oh no,’ said his mother, ‘neither do I; but we will think about it, dear, and do the best we can. And now you may read to me while I mend this hole in your stocking. Read the hundred and third Psalm.’

“So Mark got his little Bible and began to read,—

“‘Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits: who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies–’

“‘Don’t you think, Mark,’ said his mother, ’that we could keep Thanksgiving for at least one day with only such blessings as these?’

“‘Why yes,’ said Mark, ‘I suppose we could, mother—though I wasn’t thinking of that.’

“‘No, of course not,’ said his mother; ‘and that is the very reason why we so often long for earthly things: we are not thinking of the heavenly blessings that God has showered upon us.’

“‘But mother,’ said Mark, not quite satisfied, ’it goes on to say,—

“‘Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle’s.’

“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.

‘Rejoice, the Lord is King;
Your Lord and King adore;
Mortals, give thanks and sing,
And triumph evermore.
Lift up your hearts, lift up your voice
Rejoice, again I say, rejoice.

Rejoice in glorious hope,
Jesus the Judge shall come,
And take his servants up
To their eternal home;
We soon shall hear th’ archangel’s voice;
The trump of God shall sound—Rejoice!’

“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.