Karl Krinken, His Christmas Stocking

‘O how happy are they
Who the Saviour obey,
And have laid up their treasure above.’

“The little voice had no more than brought these words to Clary’s ear, when a carriage came rolling by and the rest of the verse was lost; but in an instant Clary was at the house, and feeling as if this were the only chance she ever should have, she opened the little gate and went in.

“The child ceased singing and looked up at her in some surprise.

“‘I want to know–,’ said Clary,—and then suddenly recollecting her own poor dress, and comparing it with the little picture before her, she stopped short. But the words must come—they were spoken almost before Clary herself was aware.

“‘Will you please to tell me who the Saviour is?’

“And then blushing and frightened she could almost have run away, but something held her fast.

“The child’s eyes grew more and more wondering.

“‘Come in,’ she said gravely, getting up from her chair, and with some difficulty keeping the book and the little shawl in their places.

“But Clary drew back.

“‘O yes—come in,’ said the child, tucking the little book under her arm, and holding out her hand to Clary. ‘Please come in—mother will tell you.’

“And following her little conductor, Clary found herself the next minute in a pleasant, plain, and very neat room.

“‘Mother,’ said the child opening a door into the next room, but still keeping her eye upon Clary lest she should run away.—‘Mother—here’s a girl who never heard about Jesus.’

“‘I don’t understand thee, Eunice,’ said a pleasant voice, ‘but I will come.’ And a most pleasant face and figure followed the voice.

“‘What did thee say, child?’ she inquired, with only a glance towards Clary.

“‘Tell mother what you want,’ said the child encouragingly. ‘Mother, she never heard about Jesus.’

“‘Tell mother what you want,’ said the child, encouragingly. ‘Mother, she never heard about Jesus!’”—P. 224.

“‘Thee never heard about him, poor child,’ said the lady approaching Clary. ‘And how dost thou live in this world of troubles without such a Friend?’

“‘I don’t know, ma’am,’ said Clary, weeping. ‘We are very poor, and we never had any friends; and a long time ago in the winter I read a verse at the printing-office about some one who loved poor people,—and I thought maybe he would help us if he knew about us.’

“‘He knows all about thee now,’ said the good Mrs. Allen, with a look of strange wonder and pity on her pleasant face. ‘Sit down here child, and I will tell thee. Didst thou never hear about God?’

“‘Yes ma’am—’ said Clary, hesitatingly,—‘I believe I have. Mother says ‘God help us,’ sometimes. But we are very poor—nobody thinks much about us.’

“‘God is the helper of the poor and the father of the fatherless,’ said Mrs. Allen with a grave but gentle voice,—‘thee must not doubt that. Listen.—We had all sinned against God, and his justice said that we must all be punished,—that we must be miserable in this world, and when we die must go where no one can ever be happy. But though we were all so bad, God pitied us and loved us still—yet he could not forgive us, for he is perfectly just. It was as if we owed him a great debt, and until that debt was paid we could not be his children. But we had nothing to pay.

“‘Then the Son of God came down to earth, and bore all our sins and sorrows, and died for us, and paid our great debt with his own most precious blood.

“‘This is Jesus, the Saviour.’

“‘Yes ma’am,’ said Clary, whose heart had followed every word,—‘that’s what the verse said,—

‘Jesus the Saviour, is his name,—
He freely loves, and without end.”

“She stood as if forgetting there was any one in the room; her eyes fixed on the ground, and the quiet tears running down from them,—her hands clasped with an earnestness that shewed how eagerly her mind was taking in that ‘good news’—‘peace on earth and good will toward men’—which was now preached to her for the first time.

“Little Eunice looked wistfully at her mother, but neither of them spoke.

“At length Mrs. Allen came softly to Clary, and laying her hand on the bowed head, she said,

“‘Jesus is the Friend of sinners—but then they must strive to sin no more. Wilt thou do it? wilt thou love and obey the Saviour who has done so much for thee?’

“A sunbeam shot across the girl’s face as she looked up for one moment, and then bursting into tears, she said,

“‘Oh if I knew how!’

“‘Ask him and he will teach thee. Pray to Jesus whenever thou art in trouble—when thy sins are too strong for thee, and thy love to him too faint,—when thou art tired or sick or discouraged. Ask him to love thee and make thee his child—ask him to prepare a place for thee in heaven. For he hath said, ‘If ye shall ask anything in my name, I will do it.’”

“Little Eunice had gone softly out of the room while her mother spoke, and now returned with a little book in her hand, which was quietly placed in Clary’s, after a look of assent from her mother.

“‘That’s a Bible,’—said Eunice, with a face of great pleasure. ‘And you may have it and keep it always. I wish I had a hymn book for you too, but I’ve only got this one, and my Sunday school teacher gave it to me last Sunday. But the Bible is the word of God, and it will tell you all about Jesus; and every bit of it is perfectly true. O you will love it so much!—everybody does who loves Jesus. And won’t you come and read in my hymn book sometimes?’

“‘Yes—come very often,’ said Mrs. Allen, ‘and we will talk of these things.’

“And with a heart too full to speak, Clary left the house.

“But oh what a different walk home!

‘How happy are they
Who the Saviour obey—’

“She could understand that now, for with the simple faith of a child she believed what had been told her, and with her whole heart received the Friend of sinners to be her friend. Her earnest prayer that night, her one desire, was to be his child and servant,—to obey him then became sweet work; and thenceforth through all Clary’s life, if any one had called her poor, she would have answered out of the little hymn book that Eunice gave her for a Christmas present,—

‘Who made my heaven secure,
Will here all good provide:
While Christ is rich, can I be poor?
What can I want beside?’”

“Is that all?” said Carl when he had waited about two minutes for more.

“That is the story of one of my leaves,” said the hymn book.

“Well, I want to hear about all the others,” said Carl—“so tell me.”

“I can’t”—said the hymn book. “It would take me six weeks.”

“Were you Clary’s hymn-book?” said Carl.

“No, I was the other one—that belonged to little Eunice. But years after that, several of us met in an old auction-room,—there I learned some of the particulars that I have told you.”