A Servant of All

A SERVANT OF ALL By Kathleen Bagley Nelson Mrs. Betts stood in the low doorway of her poineer shack and looked anxiously out across the almost unbroken line of crusted snow. The stars were still shining, but in the east a steadily deepening crim- son proclaimed the dawn. Behind her was the crackle of a fire start- ing and the warm glow of a coal-oil lamp. In sharp relief her figure was silhouetted in the doorway. The morning breeze wrapped her calico skirt closely around her angular limbs and her breath rose like clouds into the frosty air. The pose suggested strength and endurance but the wavering sigh that escaped her, seemed to voice an unnamed dread. There was a sound of bare feet running across the floor and almost before Mrs. Betts could turn, a girl of thirteen was also at the door, making her eager scrutiny. "Is it a fine day?" her teeth chattered. "Get your clothes on, Minnie. Get your clothes on," her mother scolded, pushing her back and closing the door. "But it is fine, isn't it?" Minnie hugged herself to keep warm. "It looks all right, but I don't know." "Oh, but I can take Annabel to school with me. What does Pa say?" "He's out doing the chores. Call Jason. It's getting late." Minnie ran to a ladder in the corner and called, "Jason, Jason. Get up!" Then she danced back to her mother, giving her a clumsy hug. "Oh, please say, yes, Ma. They're going to have a valentine box and everything. Teacher said I could bring her. And I've kept telling her she could go. Why last night when she said her prayers, she said, An' b'ess Minnie an' take me to school'." "Ah, she don't know what it means 'ceptin' a ride, but she is sure cute." The mother's face softened at the thought of her dimpled baby. She turned abruptly to see Minnie still shivering in her short, flannelette gown. "For pity's sake. Ain't you dressed yet. Here I've stirred the mush and got the bacon cut and you've never moved." Minnie made a bolt for her clothes in the corner and struggled into them. She was not a pretty child. She was over-grown and awkward, with stooping shoulders. Her hair was long and straight and mouse-colored. Her nose was flat. But kindliness was written all over the little flattened face and the gray eyes were very wide and tender. Every day she and Jason, who was a year her senior, drove five miles to the settlement to school. It was a one-room affair with all the

A SERVANT OF ALL 219 children under the same teacher. There were twenty-one children, ranging from six to sixteen. Jason shone at school. His physical strength made him leader among the boys and Minnie followed his mental prowess in open-mouthed wonder. At school Minnie was slow and prodding but always so willing to help at any menial labor, clean- ing out desk, washing windows, dusting erasers. Unconsciously, the teacher had grown to expect these things of her. At home she was the willing servant of father, mother, brother, grandmother — the abject slave of the confident little tyrant, Annabel, aged three. Ten minutes later there was such a bustle and excitement in the little house that it was hard to imagine the starlit silence that had pre- vailed an hour before. Jason was lacing up his high-top boots. Pa, who had come in, was splashing and grunting in the wash basin. Ma was putting up the lunches, while Minnie was trying to dress Anna- bel, who was dancing and singing with all her might. "I'm doin' to stool. I want my wed mittens. I want my new dwess. I want my wed mittens. I want my new dwess." As she settled down to the serious business of dressing she repeated this like a choral chant. "I'm putting on her best clothes, Ma. She can go, can't she?" "Ask your Pa." Pa emerged sputtering from the basin. He seldom said "No" to his children. "Sure. Let 'er go. Minnie kin tend 'er and Jason's right smart with the team." "But how's the weather. Are you sure — " "This ain't blizzard weather if that's what y' mean. You wim- men folk hatch up worries. Now, Ma, if you've got a blizzard in the back of yer head, jest fergit it." "Who said blizzard?" a shrill voice quavered from the adjoin- ing room. It was Grandmother Spence, who was bed-ridden and past eighty. "Who said blizzard? In 1872 there was a blizzard — " Her voice died away into indistinguishable mutterings. "Minnie, go and see what you can do for Ma, while I get her coffee ready. If she gets started on that blizzard we'll never get her quiet today." And so it was settled that Annabel should go. She was sweeter than April sunshine in her childish gayety. After a hastily eaten breakfast, a bundling into wraps and hunting up of books and valen- tines, they were off. Mrs. Betts was alone in the kitchen gathering up the dishes. "Marty. Oh, Marty!" came the querulous voice from the bed. "What makes it so still? Why ain't Annabel come in to sing for mc. Where is she?" Mrs. Betts called over her shoulder. "Why she went to school with 'em, Ma." "What! Annabel growed up so soon. Coming and going.

220 IMPROVEMENT ERA Coming and going. Just like that. Why can't I die? Must I live to see you all go?" At school Minnie was very popular today, especially among the girls. They were all clamoring for a share in Annabel's glory and all the unkind things they had said and done to Minnie, because she was such a dunce, were today forgotten. "Minnie, let her sit with me 'til recess." "Oh, Minnie, I've got a valentine for you." "I'll give you an apple if you'll let her march by me." "I'm going to change the names on some of my valentines so I'll have one for Annabel. Ain't she cute. Get 'er to sing Minnie." But Annabel raised her own voice to settle these disputes: "I'm doin' to set wif Minnie, and I'll mawch whe'e I wants to." But oh, the excitement over those valentines! The desks were literally jammed with home-made ones, while once used Christmas cards, birthday greetings, Easter rabbits, and scenic post cards vied with one another in popularity. There were very few lace-trimmed hearts or other store varieties and naturally these were the most coveted. Na- turally, too, teacher, who hated valentines, but appreciated the honor done her, was the recipient of most of these. How many times her name had been written and erased 'til the inscription was barely legible: To the dearest teacher in the earth. From Fred Bit. The valentine box was on the teacher's desk and only you who have known, can understand the thrill from toes to finger tips, as eac/j one mingled his precious missives with the growing mystery. Does every school, however small, have its bully? I hope not. Dyke Virt was the proverbial incorrigble. He was sixteen and loved to tease the little girls. For the most part he had fallen quite an easy victim to the teacher's charming assurance that he would do his best. She had managed him wonderfully. But her announcement that no ugly valentines should be put in the box was too much for Dyke. "What wuz valentines fur if not to have a little fun?" So Dyke had procured a most disreputable assortment of these fun-makers. At recess he displayed them at certain dramatic moments and little girls ran to tell teacher. Altogether it was a very exciting day. The climax came after the last recess, while teacher was hearing the little ones read. Most of the others were diligent at their spelling. Dyke pulled forth proudly a gayly colored sheet of cheap paper. After much laborious effort he succeeded in inscribing on its back, some- thing that seemed to afford him immense satisfaction. Just then some- one opened the door and the draught caught up the paper and carried it right on to Jason's desk, two aisles over. Even Dyke's writing was unable to hide the blattant message: this is fer Minnie, the biggest fool whut ever went to this here skool.

A SERVANT OF ALL 221 Several eager little girls saw the picture of a fat girl on a stool with a dunce cap on her head. "Tell the teacher, Jason." "Let me see it!" "Show it to teacher!" they whispered, but Jason fought his own battles. His face went scarlet, then white with suppressed rage. The valentine was a mass of torn bits in his hand and as he walked to the stove with it he leaned over to hiss in Dyke's grinning face, "Wait 'til school's out. I'll mash your head!" Another wave of excitement was set vibrating. There was to be a fight after school. And then spelling was over and the moment to open the Valentine box was at hand. The teacher was smiling happily as she officiated as high priestess at the sacred altar. She had sent "back East" for the laciest, frilliest valentines she could find and she knew the children would not be disappointed. As she read out the names on the valentines the children came forward with quickened pulses and soon most of the desks were piled high with tokens of love. The "Ohs" and "Ahs" of breathless delight as teacher's valentines appeared along with the others. Even Annabel was not forgotten. Dyke shambled forward very sheepishly to receive a lacy heart, bedecked with red ribbon. The teacher had very easily upset his well-laid plans. As the ugly valentines appeared she very quietly and almost unnoticed threw them into the waste paper basket. And Dyke was very relieved that she did. But the greatest surprise teacher had reserved for the last. She had watched with hurt eyes the pain in Minnie's face when she could not accomplish some assigned task. She knew how the cruel jibes of the children added to her misery. Teacher gave unstintingly the praise she could, but she wanted Minnie to know, in some other way, how much she appreciated her for the place she filled. The children were breathless as she drew the big envelope from the box and read in a clear voice: For Minnie — little servant of all. For a minute Minnie sat very still. She could not believe that it was hers. Then urged on by the children near her, she advanced slowly and took the big, white envelope from the teacher's hand. Another moment of breathlessness as she opened it, and then, "Ah — " What a beauty! Such a creation of celluloid and lace in pink and green and gold. The children fairly gasped but Minnie hugged it to her breast and two big salt tears rolled down her cheeks. It was the hap- piest moment of her life. No words came to express her feelings. Annabel caught sight of the tears and pushed through the crowd. "Det away. It's my Minnie and my valentine." "You are dismissed," called the teacher above the din. As she looked out of the window she felt alarmed. This was her first winter in Dakota and she knew very little about weather signs, but anyone could tell it had grown unusually dark in the last few minutes. Earlier in the day there had been a chinook feel in the air, but now the wind had changed and it was colder.

222 IMPROVEMENT ERA "We must hurry home," she cried excitedly to the lingering chil- dren. "Hurry. Hurry everyone, before it storms!" This scattered them quickly. "Oh, yes, Jason, we must hurry," said Minnie, coming back to earth. "Get the team, quick. Annabel, come here. Mother will worry so." Jason hesitated, looked around for Dyke, but he had already gone. "He'll get it tomorrow then," he said between his teeth as he hustled into his mackinaw. Darker and more ominous grew the sky as the horses swung from the settlement road onto the long homeward stretch, unmarked by any house on either side. They were packed snugly in the old cutter, but the wind was like a knife in their faces. "Was it a good school, Annabel?" Minnie laughed. But Anna- bel did not answer. She was already dozing after the day's excitement. "Oh, I do hope we can make it before dark, Jason. I was going to get supper, while mother finished them socks." "Ah, Minnie, don't worry about getting supper. You're the queen bee tonight. Wasn't that valentine a hummer, though?" "Oh, my! But say, Jason. What did that servant mean? A servant ain't near so grand as a princess?" "Oh, Minnie, don't you understand? Why, that's the best part — " And just then the storm struck them. Like a vulture it swooped, its great wings slapped their faces. First it was hail lashing in a great gust that left them panting. "Hold on," gasped Jason. The wind tore his words from his throat. For a minute they seemed to fly under the beating, lashing fury. Then a chance to breathe but no chance to see. They were fine, white needles now, stinging; cutting, blinding. The horses staggered; Jason urged them on. One lunge forward and a sudden stop. A horse rolled over in the snow. Some- thing had broken. Jason was out on the runner before Minnie knew what he was about. "Going for help, don't get out," and he disap- peared into the wall of snow. There was a moment's lull in the storm, and Jason made the most of it. He did not try to run, for he knew that endurance would win the race. They could not be far from home, but the snow was coming too thick to tell which way he was going. He knew he was in the road by the feel of the snow under his feet and he was sure he was headed the right way. The storm tore him with a thousand hands. O, God! he must get there or what of those helpless ones behind? "I'll do it — I'll do it — I'll do it," was the refrain drumming against his brain. When a gust came he turned his back to it, bracing himself until it had passed. Then he had all his strength left for the onslought. His efforts against the storm were almost superhuman, but

A SERVANT OF ALL 223 the odds were too great. The strain was telling on his fine young strength. "Ah — a light!" — or was it something cracking in his brain? "One — two — three — four — " He was counting his steps like a drunken man. He stopped thinking. His movements were purely mechanical now, and futile against the next onset of the storm. It left him spent and groveling in the snow. A sudden light in his face brought him staggering to his feet. It was his father's lantern. "Jason, Is it you?" His presence here trebled the father's anxiety for the others. "Where are the girls?" Jason motioned with his head. His hands were helpless. "Horse down, tongue broke," he managed to say. "Hurry, get back." He turned to go back over the road he had just come and fell headlong. The agony of indecision that swept the father in that instant! He knew that if he left Jason he would never find him alive, and his other two were out there crying for help. It was a quarter of a mile to the house. What to do? but even while thinking this he was half dragging Jason to the house. He shouted in his ear. If only he could keep him awake, he could cling to the blizzard line — a rope running form the fence to the house — and he would be able to help himself. He was successful in getting Jason to rally a little. Gradually the fury of the storm was spent. It was still snowing heavily but it was not so cold now, and the storm was dying down. When they reached the blizzard line the mother was there. "My babies?" she whispered from a dry throat. It was she who helped Jason to the house and the father returned alone. It had nearly stopped snowing and the lantern cast a wide circle of light. About a half mile from the house he found them. The horses were nearly covered with snow. He stopped not daring to throw the light into the sleigh: When he did so the lantern revealed Minnie lying coatless in the bottom of the sleigh. Under the seat wrapped in Minnie's coat, snug and oblivious to the night's terrors, slept Anna- bel, safe and warm. She cried out when the lantern flashed in her face. But Minnie's sleep could not be troubled. Her work for the day was done. Bcigham City, Utah. "Whosoever, therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven." "And whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your ser- vant: even as the Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many." — Matt. 18:4; 20:27, 28.

WHAT IS CHRISTMAS ■ By Clara Farnsworth Christmas? — What is Christmas? — It is the reputed anniversary of the birth of Jesus Christ, and as such, one of the greatest festivals among all Christians. It is essentially a day of thanksgiving and re- joicing,— a day of good cheer and good will to all men. The message of Christmas morning is as universal as it is per- sonal and present. It is addressed to each man; it is addressed to all men. It is destined to shape private conduct and to impress and mould the life of society. Divine in its content, it has an earthly relation and significance. While holding out a promise of the greater things which shall be revealed in us hereafter, it is not without action, in time of influence, upon the world around us. Though Christians celebrate it as a Christian festival, though to them it is the anniversary of the most solemn event in all history, the festivities that mark the epoch are part of the universal history of the race. Christmas brings before us the relation of the Christian religion to the religions which went before; for the birth, at Bethlehem, was itself a link with the past. The Pagan nations had a tendency to worship the sun; accord- ingly, their festivals in its honor, took place near the winter solstice, the shortest day in the year, when the sun in December began its up- ward course, thrilling men with the first distant promise of spring. This holiday, among Romans, was marked by great merriment. There were feastings and gifts, and the houses were hung with ever- greens; even the church man, who was shocked to see flowers deco- rating the sanctuaries at Easter, would miss the scarlet berries that hung there at Christmas, and the austerest lovers of the plain-song would welcome "quips and cranks and wreathed smiles" in their Christ- mas carols. Joviality and merry-making were the order of the day, made glorious by good will to all men. "Merrie Old England" was the soil in which "Merry Christmas" took its firmest root. Even in Anglo-Saxon days we hear of Alfred holding high revelry in December 878, so that the Danes surprised him, cut his army to pieces, and sent him a fugitive. There are many superstitions connected with Christmas itself. The bees are said to sing, the cattle to kneel, in honor of the manger, and the sheep to go in procession in commemoration of the visit of the Angel to the shepherds. Howison, in his Sketches of Upper Canada, relates that one moonlit Christmas Eve, he saw an Indian creeping cautiously through the woods. In response to an inquiry he said,

WHAT IS CHRISTMAS? 225 "Me watch deer kneel. Christmas night all deer kneel and look up to Great Spirit." No other holiday has so rich an heritage of old customs and ob- servances as does Christmas. The Yule-log has, from time immemorial, been hauled to the open fire-place on Christmas Eve, and lighted with the embers of its predecessors to sanctify the roof- tree and protect it against those evil spirits, over whom the season is in every way a triumph. The wassail bowl, full of swimming red apples goes its merry round. The gift-laden Chrismas tree sheds its divine brilliancy down the path of the coming year; stockings are hung for "Santa Claus" to fill during the night. Then, the mistletoe becomes a peculiar shelter for maids; and the Waits go from door to door, singing their carols, while masquerades and "Merry Christmas" games are not for- gotten. Even the Christmas dinner has its special observance. The mince pie, sacred to the occasion, is supposed to commemorate, in its mixture of oriental ingredients, the offerings made by the Wise Men of the East. As for turkey and plum pudding, they have a deep sig- nificance, which is nearer to the palate than to the brain. There is a beautiful legend of the Christ-child who, on Christmas Eve, wanders all over the world bearing on his shoulder a bundle of evergreens. Through city streets and country lanes, to the proudest castle and lowliest hovel, through cold and storm, this holy Christ- child travels, to be welcomed or rejected at the doors at which he pleads for succor. Those who would invite him in and who long for his coming, set a lighted candle in the window to guide him on his way. Many believe he comes as an alms-craving person, who knocks humbly for sustenance, thus testing their benevolence. This legend embodies the true Christian spirit, which realizes with a rush of love to the heart, the divinity of every one of "the least of these" our brethren. Amidst the call for happiness, the bustle and stir of affection, which prevails at this period, what bosom can remain insusceptible? It is, indeed, the season of regenerated feelings — the season for kind- ling, not mearly the fire of hospitality in the hall, but the genial flame of charity in the heart. Surely happiness is reflective, like the light of heaven; and every countenance bright with smiles and glowing with innocent en- joyment, is a mirror transmitting, to others, the rays of supreme and everlasting benevolence. Who can turn churlishly away, and sit down repining in his lone- liness, when all around is joyful? "At Christmas time the open hand Scatters its bounty o'er sea and land; And none are left to grieve alone, For love is heaven and claims its own." Cedar City, Utah.