Christmas story: Candle in the Forest

This is my traditional Christmas story to read every year. I always try to share it with folks online, too, as it’s just a little short story, and so lovely. No barbed sting in its tail to make you cry, unless you cry at happy endings.

Candle in the Forest
by Temple Bailey

The small girl’s mother was saying, “The onions will be silver,
and the carrots will be gold–”
“And the potatoes will be ivory,” said the small girl, and they
laughed together. The small girl’s mother had a big white bowl in her
lap, and she was cutting up vegetables. The onions were the hardest,
because she cried over them.
“But our tears will be pearls,” said the small girl’s mother,
and they laughed at that and dried their eyes, and found the carrots
much easier, and the potatoes the easiest of all.
Then the next-door-neighbor came in and said, “What are you doing?”

“We are making a vegetable pie for our Christmas dinner,” said the
small girl’s mother.
“And the onions are silver, and the carrots are gold, and the
potatoes are ivory,” said the small girl.
“I am sure I don’t know what you are talking about,” said the
next-door-neighbor. “We are going to have turkey for dinner, and
cranberries and celery.”
The small girl laughed and clapped her hands. “But we are going to
have a Christmas pie–and the onions will be silver and the carrots
gold–”
“You said that once,” said the next-door-neighbor, “and I should
think you’d know they weren’t anything of the kind.”
“But they are,” said the small girl, all shining eyes and rosy
cheeks.
“Run along, darling,” said the small girl’s mother, “and find poor
Pussy-purr-up. He’s out in the cold. And you can put on your red
sweater and red cap.”
So the small girl hopped away like a happy robin, and the next-
door-neighbor said, “She’s old enough to know that onions aren’t
silver.”
“But they are,” said the small girl’s mother. “And carrots are
gold and the potatoes are–”
The next-door-neighbor’s face was flaming. “If you say that
again, I’ll scream. It sounds silly to me.”
“But it isn’t in the least silly,” said the small girl’s mother,
and her eyes were blue as sapphires, and as clear as the sea; “it is
sensible. When people are poor, they have to make the most of little
things. And we’ll only have inexpensive things in our pie, but the
onions will be silver–”
The lips of the next-door-neighbor were folded in a thin line.
“If you had acted like a sensible creature, I shouldn’t have asked
you for the rent.”
The small girl’s mother was silent for a moment; then she said,
“I am sorry–it ought to be sensible to make the best of things.”
“Well,” said the next-door neighbor, sitting down in a chair
with a very stiff back, “a pie is a pie. And I wouldn’t want to teach
a child to call it anything else.”
“I haven’t taught her to call it anything else. I was only
trying to make her feel that it was something fine and splendid for
Christmas Day, so I said that the onions were silver–”
“Don’t say that again,” snapped the next-door-neighbor, “and I
want the rent as soon as possible.”
With that, she flung up her head and marched out the front door,
and slammed it behind her and made wild echoes in the little home.
And the small girl’s mother stood there alone in the middle of
the floor, and her eyes were like the sea in a storm.
But presently the door opened, and the small girl, looking like
a red-breast robin, hopped in, and after her came a great black cat
with his tail in the air, and he said, “Purr-up,” which gave him his
name.
And the small girl said, out of the things she had been thinking,
“Mother, why don’t we have turkey?”
The clear look came back into the eyes of the small girl’s mother,
and she said, “Because we are content.”
And the small girl said, “What is content?”
And her mother said, “It is making the best of what God gives us.
And our best for Christmas Day, my darling, is our Christmas pie.”
So she kissed the small girl, and they finished peeling the
vegetables, and then they put them to simmer on the back of the stove.

After that, the small girl had her supper of bread and milk, and
Pussy-purr-up had milk in a saucer on the hearth, and the small girl
climbed up on her mother’s lap and said, “Tell me a story.”
But the small girl’s mother said, “Won’t it be nicer to talk
about Christmas presents?”
And the small girl sat up and said, “Let’s.”
And the mother said, “Let’s tell each other what we’d rather have
in the whole wide world.”
“Oh, let’s,” said the small girl. “And I’ll tell you first that I
want a doll–and I want it to have a pink dress–and I want it to have
eyes that open and shut–and I want it to have shoes and stockings–and
I want it to have curly hair–” She had to stop, because she didn’t
have any breath left in her body, and when she got her breath back, she
said, “Now what do you want, Mother, more than anything else in the
whole wide world?”
“Well,” said the mother, “I want a chocolate mouse.”
“Oh,” said the small girl scornfully, “I shouldn’t think you’d
want that.”
“Why not?”
“Because a chocolate mouse isn’t anything.”
“Oh yes, it is,” said the small girl’s mother. “A chocolate mouse
is Dickory-Dock, and Pussy-Cat-Pussy-Cat-where-have-you-been-was-
frightened-under-a-chair, and the mice in Three-Blind-Mice ran after
the farmer’s wife, and the mouse in A-Frog-Would-A-Wooing-Go went down
the throat of the crow–”
And the small girl said, “Could a chocolate mouse do all that?”
“Well,” said the small girl’s mother, “we could put him on the
clock, and under a chair, and cut his tail with a carving knife, and
at the very last we could eat him like a crow–”
The small girl said, shivering deliciously, “And he wouldn’t be
a real mouse?”
“No, just a chocolate one, with cream inside.”
“Do you think I’ll get one for Christmas?”
“I’m not sure,” said the mother.
“Would he be nicer than a doll?”
The small girl’s mother hesitated, then told her the truth. “My
darling, Mother saved up money for a doll, but the next-door-neighbor
wants the rent.”
“Hasn’t Daddy any more money?”
“Poor Daddy has been sick so long.”
“But he’s well now.”
“I know. But he has to pay for the doctors, and money for
medicine, and money for your red sweater, and money for milk for Pussy-
purr-up, and money for our pie.”
“The boy-next-door says we’re poor, Mother.”
“We are rich, my darling. We have love, each other, and Pussy-
purr-up–”
“His mother won’t let him have a cat,” said the small girl, with
her mind still on the boy-next-door. “But he’s going to have a radio.”
“Would you rather have a radio than Pussy-purr-up?”
The small girl gave a crow of derision. “I’d rather have Pussy-
purr-up than anything else in the whole wide world.”
At that, the great cat, who had been sitting on the hearth with
his paws tucked under him and his eyes like moons, stretched out his
satin-shining length and jumped up on the arm of the chair beside the
small girl and her mother, and began to sing a song that was like a
mill-wheel away off. He purred to them so loud and so long that at last
the small girl grew drowsy.
“Tell me some more about the chocolate mouse,” she said, and
nodded, and slept.
The small girl’s mother carried her into another room, put her to
bed, and came back to the kitchen, and it was full of shadows.

But she did not let herself sit among them. She wrapped herself in
a great cape and went out into the cold dusk. There was a sweep of wind,
heavy clouds overhead, and a band of dull orange showing back of the
trees, where the sun had burned down.
She went straight from her little house to the big house of the
next-door-neighbor and rang the bell at the back entrance. A maid let
her into the kitchen, and there was the next-door-neighbor, and the two
women who worked for her, and a daughter-in-law who had come to spend
Christmas. The great range was glowing, and things were simmering, and
things were stewing, and things were steaming, and things were baking,
and things were boiling, and things were broiling, and there were the
fragrances of a thousand delicious dishes in the air.
And the next-door-neighbor said: “We are trying to get as much
done as possible tonight. We have plans for 12 people for Christmas
dinner tomorrow.”
And the daughter-in-law, who was all dressed up and had an apron
tied about her, said in a sharp voice, “I can’t see why you don’t let
your maids work for you.”
And the next-door-neighbor said: “I have always worked. There is
no excuse for laziness.”
And the daughter-in-law said, “I’m not lazy, if that’s what you
mean. And we’ll never have any dinner if I have to cook it.” And she
went out of the kitchen with tears of rage in her eyes.
And the next-door-neighbor said, “If she hadn’t gone when she
did, I should have told her to go,” and there was rage in her eyes
but no tears.
She took her hands out of the pan of bread crumbs and sage, which
was being mixed for the stuffing, and said to the small girl’s mother,
“Did you come to pay the rent?”
The small girl’s mother handed her the money, and the next-door-
neighbor went upstairs to write a receipt. Nobody asked the small
girl’s mother to sit down, so she stood in the middle of the floor and
sniffed the entrancing fragrances, and looked at the mountain of food
that would have served her small family for a month.
While she waited, the boy-next-door came in and said, “Are you
the small girl’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to have a tree?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to see mine?”
“It would be wonderful.”
So he led her down a long passage to a great room, and there was
a tree that touched the ceiling, and on the very top branches and on
all the other branches were myriads of little lights that shone like
stars, and there were gold balls and silver ones, and red and blue and
green balls, and under the tree and on it were toys for boys and toys
for girls, and one of the toys was a doll in a pink dress! At that,
the heart of the small girl’s mother tightened, and she was glad she
wasn’t a thief, or she would have snatched at the pink doll when the
boy wasn’t looking, and hidden it under her cape, and run away with it.

The next-door-neighbor-boy was saying, “It’s the finest tree
anybody has around here. But Dad and Mother don’t know that I’ve seen
it.”
“Oh, don’t they?” said the small girl’s mother.
“No,” said the boy-next-door, with a wide grin, “and it’s fun to
fool ’em.”
“Is it?” said the small girl’s mother. “Now, do you know, I
should think that the very nicest thing in the whole world would be
not to have seen the tree.”
“Because,” said the small girl’s mother, “the nicest thing in the
world would be to have somebody tie a handkerchief around your eyes,
so tight, and then to have somebody take your hand and lead you in and
out, and in and out, and in and out, until you didn’t know where you
were, and then to have them untie the handkerchief–and there would be
the tree, all shining and splendid!” She stopped, but her singing
voice seemed to echo and re-echo in the great room.
The boy’s staring eyes had a new look in them. “Did anybody ever
tie a handkerchief over your eyes?”
“Oh yes–”
“And lead you in and out, and in and out?”
“Yes.”
“Well, nobody does things like that in our house. They think it’s
silly.”
The small girl’s mother laughed, and her laugh tinkled like a
bell. “Do you think it’s silly?”
He was eager. “No, I don’t.”
She held out her hand to him. “Will you come and see our tree?”
“Tonight?”
“No, tomorrow morning–early.”
“Before breakfast?”
She nodded.
“I’d like it!”

So that was a bargain, and with a quick squeeze of their hands on
it. And the small girl’s mother went back to the kitchen, and the next-
door-neighbor came down with the receipt, and the small girl’s mother
went out the back door and found that the orange band that had burned
on the horizon was gone, and that there was just the wind and the
singing of the trees.
Two men passed her on the brick walk that led to the house, and
one of the men was saying, “If you’d only be fair to me, Father.”
And the other man said, “All you want of me is money.”
“You taught me that, Father.”
“Blame it on me–”
“You are to blame. You and mother–did you ever show me the finer
things?”
Their angry voices seemed to beat against the noise of the wind
and singing trees, so that the small girl’s mother shivered, and drew
her cape around her, and ran as fast as she could to her little house.
There were all the shadows to meet her, but she did not sit
among them. She made coffee and a dish of milk toast, and set the
toast in the oven to keep hot, and then she stood at the window
watching. At last she saw through the darkness what looked like a star
low down, and she knew that that star was a lantern, and she ran out
and opened the door wide.
And her young husband set the lantern down on the threshold, and
took her in his arms, and said, “The sight of you is more than food
and drink.”
When he said that, she knew he had had a hard day, but her heart
leaped because she knew that what he said of her was true.
Then they went into the house together, and she set the food
before him. And that he might forget his hard day, she told him of her
own. And when she came to the part about the next-door-neighbor and
the rent, she said, “I’m telling you this because it has a happy
ending.”
And he put his hands over hers and said, “Everything with you
has a happy ending.”
“Well, this is a happy ending,” said the small girl’s mother,
with all the sapphires in her eyes emphasizing it. “Because when I went
over there to pay the rent, I was feeling how poor we were and wishing
that I had a pink doll for Baby, and books for you, and, and–and a
magic carpet to carry us away from work and worry. And then I went
into the parlor and saw the tree–with everything hanging on it that
was glittering and gorgeous, and then I came home.” Her breath was
quick and her lips smiling. “I came home–and I was glad I lived in
my little home.”
“What made you glad, dearest?”
“Oh, love is here; and hate is there, and a boy’s deceit, and a
man’s injustice. They were saying sharp things to each other–and–
and–their dinner will be a stalled ox–and in my little house is the
faith of a child in the goodness of God, and the bravery of a man who
fought for his country–”
She was in his arms now.
“And the blessing of a woman who has never known defeat.” His
voice broke on the words.
In that moment it seemed as if the trees stopped sighing, as
if there was the sound of heavenly singing.
The small girl’s mother and the small girl’s father sat up
very late that night. They popped a great bowlful of crisp snow corn
and made it into balls; they boiled sugar and molasses, and cracked
nuts, and made candy of them. They cut funny little Christmas fairies
out of paper and painted their jackets bright red, with round silver
buttons of the tinfoil that came on cream cheese. And then they put
the balls and the candy and the painted fairies and a long red candle
in a big basket, and set it away. And the small girl’s mother brought
out the chocolate mouse.
“We will put this on the clock,” she said, “where her eyes
will rest on it the first thing in the morning.”
So they put it there, and it seemed as natural as life, so that
Pussy-purr-up positively licked his chops and sat in front of the
clock to keep his eye on the chocolate mouse. The small girl’s mother
said, “She was lovely about giving up the doll, and she will love the
tree.”
“We’ll have to get up very early,” said the small girl’s father.
“And you’ll have to run ahead to light the candle.”

* * *

Well, they got up before dawn the next morning, and so did the
boy-next-door. He was there on the step, waiting, blowing on his hands
and beating them quite like the poor little boys do in a Christmas
story, who haven’t any mittens. But he wasn’t a poor little boy, and he
had so many pairs of fur-trimmed gloves that he didn’t know what to do
with them, but he had left the house in such a hurry that he had
forgotten to put them on. So there he stood on the front step of the
little house, blowing on his hands and beating them. And it was dark,
with a sort of pale shine in the heavens, which didn’t seem to come
from the stars or the herald of the dawn; it was just a mystical silver
glow that set the boy’s heart to beating.
He had never been out alone like this. He had always stayed in
his warm bed until somebody called him, and then he had waited until
they called again, and then he had dressed and gone to breakfast,
where his father scolded because he was late, and his mother scolded
because he ate too fast. But this day had begun with adventure, and
for the first time, under that silvery sky, he felt the thrill of it.
Then suddenly someone came around the house–someone tall and
thin, with a cap on his head and an empty basket in his hands.
“Hello,” he said. “A merry Christmas!”
He was the small girl’s father, and he put the key in the lock
and went in, and turned on a light, and there was the table set for
four.
And the small girl’s father said, “You see, we have set a place
for you. We must eat something before we go out.”
And the boy said, “Are we going out? I came to see the tree.”
“We are going out to see the tree.”
Before the boy could ask any questions, the small girl’s mother
appeared with fingers on her lips and said, “Sh-sh,” and then began to
recite in a hushed voice, “Hickory-Dickory-Dock–”
Then there was a little cry and the sound of dancing feet, and
the small girl in a red dressing gown came flying in.
“Oh Mother, Mother, the mouse is on the clock–the mouse is on
the clock!”
Well, it seemed to the little boy that he had never seen
anything so exciting as the things that followed. The chocolate mouse
went up the clock and under the chair and would have had its tail cut
off except that the small girl begged to save it.
“I want to keep it as it is, Mother.”
And playing this game as if it were the most important thing in
the whole wide world were the small girl’s mother and the small girl’s
father, all laughing and flushed, and chanting the quaint old words to
the quaint old music. The boy-next-door held his breath for fear he
would wake up from this entrancing dream and find himself in his own
big house, alone in his puffy bed, or eating breakfast with his stodgy
parents who never played with him in his life. He found himself
laughing too, and flushed and happy, and trying to sing in his funny
boy’s voice.
The small girl absolutely refused to eat the mouse. “He’s my
darling Christmas mouse, Mother.”
So her mother said, “Well, I’ll put him on the clock again,
where Pussy-purr-up can’t get him while we are out.”
“Oh, are we going out?” said the small girl, round-eyed.
“Yes.”
“Where are we going?”
“To find Christmas.”

That was all the small girl’s mother would tell. So they had
breakfast, and everything tasted perfectly delicious to the boy-next-
door. But first they bowed their heads, and the small girl’s father
said, “Dear Christ-Child, on this Christmas morning, bless these
children, and keep our hearts young and full of love for Thee.”
The boy-next-door, when he lifted his head, had a funny feeling
as if he wanted to cry, and yet it was a lovely feeling, all warm and
comfortable.
For breakfast they each had a great baked apple, and great
slices of sweet bread and butter, and great glasses of milk, and as
soon as they had finished, away they went out of the door and down
into the woods back of the house, and when they were deep into the
woods, the small girl’s father took out of his pocket a little flute
and began to play; he played thin piping tunes that went flitting
around among the trees, and the small girl and her mother hummed the
tunes until it sounded like singing bees, and their feet fairly
danced and the boy found himself humming and dancing with them.
Then suddenly the piping ceased, and a hush fell over the wood.
It was so still they could almost hear each other breathe–so still
that when a light flamed suddenly in that open space, it burned
without a flicker.
The light came from a red candle that was set in the top of a
small living tree. It was the only light on the tree, but it showed
the snowy balls, and the small red fairies whose coats had silver
buttons.
“It’s our tree, my darling,” he heard the small girl’s mother
saying.
Suddenly it seemed to the boy that his heart would burst in his
breast. He wanted someone to speak to him like that. The small girl
sat high on her father’s shoulder, and her father held her mother’s
hand. It was like a chain of gold, their holding hands like that,
their loving each other.

The boy reached out and touched the woman’s hand. She looked down at
him and drew him close. He felt warm and comforted. Their candle
burning there in the darkness was like some sacred fire of friendship.
He wished that it would never go out, that he might stand there
watching it, with his small cold hand in the clasp of the small girl’s
mother’s hand.
It was late when the boy-next-door got back to his own big house.
But he had not been missed. Everybody was up, and everything was upset.
The daughter-in-law had declared the night before that she would not
stay another day beneath that roof, and off she had gone with her
young husband, and her little girl, who was to have had the pink doll
on the tree.
“And good riddance,” said the next-door-neighbor. But she ate no
breakfast, and she went to the kitchen and worked with her maids to get
to the dinner ready, and there were covers laid for nine instead of 12.
And the next-door-neighbor kept saying, “Good riddance–good
riddance,” and not once did she say, “A merry Christmas.”
But the boy-next-door had something in his heart that was warm
and glowing like the candle in the forest, and he came to his mother
and said, “May I have the pink dolly?”
She spoke frowningly. “What does a boy want of a doll?”
“I’d like to give it to the little girl next door.”
“Do you think I can buy dolls to give away in charity?”
“Well, they gave me a Christmas present.”
“What did they give you?”
He opened his hand and showed a little flute tied with a gay red
ribbon. He lifted it to his lips and blew on it, a thin piping tune.
“Oh, that,” said his mother scornfully. “Why, that’s nothing
but a reed from the pond.”
But the boy knew it was more than that. It was a magic pipe that
made you dance, and made your heart warm and happy.
So he said again, “I’d like to give her the doll.” And he
reached out his little hand and touched his mother’s–and his eyes
were wistful.
His mother’s own eyes softened–she had lost one son that day–
and she said, “Oh well, do as you please,” and went back to the kitchen.
The boy-next-door ran into the great room and took the doll from
the tree, and wrapped her in paper, and flew out the door and down the
brick walk and straight to the little house. When the door was opened,
he saw that his friends were just sitting down to dinner–and there
was the pie, all brown and piping hot, with a wreath of holly, and the
small girl was saying, “And the onions were silver, and the carrots
were gold–”
The boy-next-door went up to the small girl and said, “I’ve
brought you a present.”
With his eyes all lighted up, he took off the paper in which it
was wrapped, and there was the doll, in rosy frills, with eyes that
opened and shut, and shoes and stockings, and curly hair that was
bobbed and beautiful.
And the small girl, in a whirlwind of happiness, said, “Is it
really my doll?” And the boy-next-door felt very shy and happy, and
he said, “Yes.”
And the small girl’s mother said, “It was a beautiful thing to
do,” and she bent and kissed him. Again that bursting feeling came
into the boy’s heart and he lifted his face to hers and said, “May I
come sometimes and be your boy?”
And she said, “Yes.”
And when at last he went away, she stood in the door and watched
him, such a little lad, who knew so little of loving. And because she
knew so much of love, her eyes filled to overflowing.
But presently she wiped the tears away and went back to the
table; and she smiled at the small girl and at the small girl’s
father.
“And the potatoes were ivory,” she said. “Oh, who would ask for
turkey, when they can have pie like this?”

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4 thoughts on “Christmas story: Candle in the Forest

  1. Awww. Thanks for taking the time to type this story up and share it, Net-san. It’s a good message. We seem to hear this theme a lot during the holidays, in carols and traditional stories… Love is the reason for the season. We say it so much in our culture that we don’t even hear ourselves sometimes, I think. Wouldn’t it be nice if the idea actually sank in and reached some people?

    Anyway. Here’s hoping that you and yours have a season of warmth, health and happiness!

    Like

  2. That was beautiful. I’ve found myself getting caught up in the things around me, what I lack and such, but God is good and He provides. I hope to be able emulate what that mother did and just love on my babies and my hubby no matter what the circumstances. Thanks for sharing!

    Like

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