CHAPTER V
THE REAL MEANING OF CHRISTMAS
IT seemed now as if this second camp, where Zephyr lived, had new attractions for Edwy. He would spend the days happily with his friends.
Here was that teasable aunt Aida, and his friend, “Mo-ma”; his own little conceit to avoid the longer name, but then he had as many pet names for her, as there were months in the year. She never held up other boys to them as examples, for she always seemed to think that he and Willard were the “best ever.”
But it was drawing near the time that one branch of the family of campers would have to say good-bye to summer fields and woods, and go back to the city and school. Edwy felt a little blue about leaving his pets and had a quiet talk with this special friend of his, after the rest had gone out on the lake to have a last chance at the trout fishing, before leaving the lake.
He was in the reminiscent mood that precedes sleep, and was telling his friend how much he wished they would always stay in the country.
“But, after all, you would miss the bright, happy Christmas, in the city home, you know.”
“Oh yes, to be sure, and we’ll have the lovely snowflakes coming down from the sky, and a lot of good times.”
She had asked him then, when they were talking about Christmas, and about all the delights of that time, if he knew the real meaning of Christmas.
“Why yes,” he had answered. “It is to keep in mind a very great event in the world, the greatest that ever happened. But then, you know, it wouldn’t be Christmas to us boys, if we didn’t get some gifts of our very own, for we can’t always be thinking ‘big thoughts.’
“So many things,” he continued, “were impossible until he was older. He had wanted a dog, but he couldn’t have that. He had asked for a cat, but, of course, he couldn’t have that. He could only have kids’ things.
“If he was only a shepherd he could have some lambs. He had once had a tame weasel and it was the dearest thing, but you couldn’t pet a weasel, although you could get to love it, and feel as if the world had come to an end when it died.
“But there was always one Christmas that he remembered. He had got a lot of things that day, but when night came he was so tired, that he had a fight with his brother. Oh, not a real fight, you know; only the kind that brothers always have. People may think you awful, and send you off to bed, but half the time you don’t know what’s the matter. Why, that was only last Christmas? Do you remember that night, Mo-ma?”
“Perfectly.”
“We were at home in the city,” he continued. “You had come up to my room and sat by me. I was all covered up with the quilt, so you wouldn’t see my red eyes. All at once we heard some one singing. It was only Mamma and Aida. Mamma was playing the air on the dear violin, Aida accompanying her on the piano and singing, and she always gives one a chance to hear the words.”
“Yes, Edwy, I remember. You flew out of bed and leaned over the banisters to hear. It was from The Oratorio of the ‘Messiah.’ You wished they would play and sing it all night. You had forgotten all your troubles in a moment.”
“Oh, I can hear it now, even after all these months, as the remembrance of it comes through the still evening air. ‘He shall feed his flock ... feed his flock ... like a shepherd. He shall carry the lambs in his bosom, and shall gently lead those that are with young.’ Then you told me the story about His life, after I came back to bed, and I fell asleep, saying it over and over. He shall feed his flock ... feed his flock ... like a shepherd ... and carry the lambs in his bosom ... the little ... little ... lambs!”