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KINDNESS CONTAGIOUS

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Dec 24, 1902

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 28, No. 52.

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KINDNESS CONTAGIOUS.

“A Touch of Nature Makes the Whole World Kin.”
THIS story speaks of the common ground of peace and good-will among men at Christmas-tide, altho the daily paths of the lonely lady, the dainty girl, and the messenger boy lie far from each other. It is given as related by an eyewitness of the graceful deed.
It was the night before Christmas. I had gone to Oakland in the afternoon with some bundles for my small nephews, and was returning to San Francisco on the 7:30 boat. Going over, the steamer had been crowded with tired shoppers, their arms full of boxes and bundles of all sizes and descriptions, the gleanings of the city shops; but on the return trip the assemblage was different altogether—one of beautiful women, successful business men, merry girls and gay collegians, all going to spend the evening in the great city whose illuminated hills arose skywards along the horizon, and whose lights rivaled the twinkling stars.
The passengers were all well dressed and in high spirits. The atmosphere of Christmas was everywhere—a Californian Christmas, full of flowers and plenty. All over the great boat were sounds of laughter and merriment.
I took a seat well forward and began to watch the throng about me. To the left a chattering flock of girls came to rest like so many birds. Their fresh faces, their dainty clothes, and their laughing voices made a pretty picture. Opposite them sat a richly dressed woman with gray hair; she was alone, and there was a hungry look in her eyes as she watched the gay group, which made me remember that the richest are sometimes the loneliest at Christmas time.
Along the deck to join the others came another girl, who attracted my attention at once. She was tall and slight, with a poise to her figure that told of perfect health. Her eyes were clear and fearless; her hair was brown with a glint of gold, and curled softly around her face, which was all alight with merriment. Her dress, rich but in perfect taste, stamped her as the daughter of a refined and cultivated home. In her hands she carried a great bunch of brilliant manzanita berries.
Just as the boat was starting, a small boy entered the cabin and took a seat opposite mine. He was evidently an errand boy, and carried a covered basket, which he placed at his feet. His suit was worn and too small for him, his shoes were parting company, and at his wrists showed the sleeves of a ragged shirt.
The child, for he was little more, was tired out; the cabin was warm, the boat rocked softly, and presently his head fell back against the seat and he was asleep.
There was a sudden silence in the laughing group of girls; some one said, “Poor little chap!” in a low voice, and then the girl with the manzanita berries crossed the deck and sat down softly at his side. She had an open box of bonbons in her hand, and she began deftly slipping caramels and creams in their paper covers into the boy’s ragged pockets.
The lad roused once at the sound of the steamer’s whistle signaling, and looked sleepily around him; but the girl swiftly hid the box beneath her berries and gazed calmly out at the lights on the water, and he never connected the smiles on the faces around with himself, nor dreamed that the elegant creature beside him was even conscious of his existence.
When he fell asleep again the girl quietly finished, then bent and gently lifted the cover of the basket at his feet. It was empty, and after a moment’s thought she laid the red bunches of manzanita in it. Then she returned to her companions. I heard her say, “Girls, you don’t need that second box,” and she went back with an unopened case of French candy. By this time all the passengers in that end of the boat were interested, and when the girl rose to her feet, after placing the box with the berries, a man came softly forward with a package in his hand.
“It’s skates,” he said, as he gave it to her. “I’ll tell my boy about it, and he won’t mind waiting.”
Then a motherly-looking woman at the end of my seat passed a book, and from somewhere behind me came a wonderful Chinese top. One of the college students took a knife from his pocket, another a whistle, and presented them with low bows to the girl.
The girl passed again behind the sleeping boy, and placed the bundles one by one in the basket. As she softly closed the lid, the lonely lady beckoned to her with a sudden eager light in her eyes.
“I have no toys to give,” she said in a low tone, “nothing but this.” There was a sound of money, and a shining gold piece made its way to the girl’s outstretched hand. “From Santa Claus,” she said, softly, and the girl wrapped it carefully in a bit of paper and tucked it in the messenger’s inner pocket.
The boy woke again at the steamer’s warning signal as she entered her slip, and felt mechanically for his receipt book. He drew out his hand suddenly staring in amazement at the bonbons.
His surprised face was the target of many eyes, but without noticing them he searched one pocket after another, his bewilderment deepening at every moment. Then, as the boat struck against the swinging piles and was made fast, he crammed the candy hastily back and took up his basket—and as hastily sat down again to investigate the reason of its unexpected weight. Then the surging crowd hid him from my view.
Later, as I came through the nave and down the stairs of the depot, the boy passed me, whistling gaily through his teeth, the basket on his arm and a broad grin upon his face. And farther on, outside the colonnade, I saw the lonely lady and the girl standing together. I could not hear what they said, but I saw the woman bend forward and take the slender figure in her arms.
Then the girl went, with a quick, light step, in the direction of a whirling turn-table and the older lady turned to get in a carriage which drew up beside me. The sadness and the lonely look were all gone from her face, and in their stead there shone a tender light in her eyes and a soft smile on her lips.—Anon.