MELINDY'S CHRISTMAS GIFT.
By Helping Hand
“All life aims are vain that aim at anything less than heaven.” Miss Peck was called “queer.” Nevertheless, she was acknowledged by all to be good, and many of her “queers” were excellent in results. Sameness, ruts, a stereotyped way of doing things, her soul abhorred. This trait of character amounted almost to a weakness. It explained, however, many of her odd and out-of-the-common-course doings. Christmas, ’92, was not a happy one for Miss Peck. Her conscience troubled her. For days she had been restive. In the midst of doing up Christmas presents to be sent away, she sat down to think—“cogitate,” she called it. “Melindy Peck,” she said to herself, “you know just as well as you want to know that you’d never sent Sarah Perkitt that sunflower tidy if sunflowers had been in fashion, and these in particular had not looked more like crooked-necked squashes than flowers. That isn’t honest. “Then you’ve gone and given rich Cousin Patty a two-dollar cup and saucer. You don’t like Patty, but she has money to leave. That’s cheating—her and yourself. “There’s the minister’s wife. She has money in her own right. She don’t need or want your things. But the truth is you don’t like to have your neighbor, Sarah Jane Bemis, get ahead of you at the parsonage.” The first waking moment, it has been said, is the rudder by which the whole day is steered. Miss Peck’s rudder was decidedly awry. When she opened her eyes on the new day, her mind was full of the presents she “must give and didn’t want to, and those she’d like to give and couldn’t.” When the various packages were ready for shipment, Miss Peck using up quite a quantity of paper, patience, and time, she wondered who there was left on earth she would take solid comfort in giving to. Father, mother, Katie, dear little Joe, all gone. Only far-away cousins and a few friends left. “What is there in this life for me, anyway?” she said wearily. She was alone, and her head ached, which facts were, no doubt, the keynote to some of her mental misery. A brisk walk to the post office with the parcels cleared the fog in a degree. “I’ll give next year not a thing that ain’t honest, and I can’t put heart into—see ’f I do. Melindy Peck is going to turn over a bran’-new leaf.” This was said in the evening, as she sat over her kitchen fire. “I s’pose we will have to give an account of the money we spend in making Christmas presents—wish ’twan’t the fashion—just the same as anything else. If we do it to be seen of men and wimmen, verily we’ll have our reward. Whatsoever we do must be to the glory of God.” The stars came out, and still Melindy sat by the fire. Her hands were clasped as they lay in her lap, her head bent, as if in prayer. Softly, reverently, she repeated the passage, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me”—unto Me. As the weeks went on, the people at Clifton Corners noticed a change in Melindy Peck. She seemed what they called “exty chirk,” although there were no signs of “exty luck.” In fact, it began to be whispered about that Melinda was living “near.” She sold her chickens—although chicken meat was her favorite meat—and bought shin bones for soup oftener than was her wont. Neighbors who dropped in to tea reported, “Not a sign of cake was to be seen.” One female detective remarked, “No pies are to be found at Miss Peck’s.” “Who could she be a-hoarding for?”937One really interested friend kindly inquired if any of her small investments failed to pay. Melindy assured him that her income was the same as it had been, and more than she required for actual wants. “Mother Baker,” who liked to think everybody was on the very verge of a good time, hoped “Melindy was thinking of taking a trip, although she saw no symptoms [indications], in the shape of a new gound and bunnit.” In all things, throughout the world, the persons who look for the crooked will see the crooked. Clifton Corners was in the world, therefore not exempt. A few, having the restraining grace of common sense, let Melindy and her affairs alone. Others were uneasy, for the sole reason that they couldn’t “see what Melindy Peck can mean by being so saving.” The blows which wound most often are those which never are aimed. Melindy received no blows, was only a little avoided, a little overlooked. Christmas week, 1892, finds a fierce snowstorm at Clifton Corners. Melindy is in her warm kitchen, seated at a spotless table. Around her are elaborate preparations for letter writing. Her school dictionary is in her hand, “The Art of Polite Letter Writing” open before her. Painstaking and anxious she looks, as she bends over her paper, head much on one side, and her mouth following the strokes of her pen. One letter is at last done, quite to Melindy’s satisfaction. It reads:— DEAR COUSIN PATTY: I send you a little card, to show you are not out of mind. I am not making presents to folks this year. It came over me last year that I ought to do different. I determined to give this year to the One I love best all I could spare and save. That is Jesus. Jesus is to have a Christmas present from me, Melindy Peck. I send you my best love. Your cousin, MELINDY. Various societies received a singular letter, with money inclosed. They were all alike, and read:— “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me.” My Christmas present to Jesus.
MELINDY PECK. In time the people of Clifton Corners found out what Melindy did with her savings. In the presence of this knowledge, her oddities paled and faded—not until they had learned the lesson that one may be queer yet good, saving to be generous, and that God looks at the heart when he judges.