The Boy with the Box – A Classic Christmas Story by Mary Griggs Van Voorhis

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Here is The Boy with the Box by Mary Griggs Van Voorhis. It was an ideal Christmas day. The sun shone brightly, but the air was crisp and cold, and snow and ice lay sparkling everywhere. A light wind the night before had swept the blue icebound river clean of scattering snow, and by two o'clock in the afternoon, the broad bend near Creighton's Mill was fairly alive with skaters, the girls in gay caps and scarves, the boys in sweaters and mackinaws of every conceivable hue. With here and there, a plump matronly figure in a plush coat or a tiny fellow in scarlet made a picture of life and brilliancy worthy of an artist's finest skill. Tom Reynolds moved in and out among the happy throng with swift, easy strokes, his cap on the back of his curly head, and his brown eyes shining with excitement. Now and again, he glanced down with pardonable pride at the brand new skates that twinkled beneath his feet. Jolly ramblers, sure enough, jolly ramblers they were. Ever since Ralph Evans had remarked with a tantalizing toss of his handsome head that no game fellow would try to skate on anything but jolly ramblers, Tom had yearned with an inexpressible longing for a pair of these wonderful skates. And now they were his, and the ice was fine, and the Christmas sun was shining. Tom was rounding the big bend for the 50th time when he saw skimming gracefully toward him through the merry crowd, a tall boy in a fur-trimmed coat, his handsome head proudly erect. That's Ralph Evans now, said Tom to himself. Just wait till you see these skates, old boy, and maybe you won't feel so smart. And with slow, conscious strokes, he made his way through the laughing boys and girls to a place just in front of the tall skater, coming toward him down the broad white way. When Ralph was almost upon him, Tom paused and in conspicuous silence looked down at his shining skates. Hello, said Ralph good-naturedly, seizing Tom's arm and swinging around. Then, taking in the situation with a careless glance, he added, Get a new pair of skates for Christmas? Jolly Ramblers, said Tom impressively. The best Jolly Ramblers in the market. Ralph was a full head the taller, but as Tom delivered himself of his speech with his head held high, he felt every inch as tall as the boy before him. If Ralph was deeply impressed, he failed to show it as he answered carelessly, Huh, that's so. Pretty good little skates they are, the jolly ramblers. You said no game fellow would use any other make, said Tom hotly. Oh, but that was nearly a year ago, said Ralph. I got a new pair of skates for Christmas, too. He added, as if it had just occurred to him. Clubhouse skates. Something new in the market just this season. Just look at the curve of that skate, will you? He added, lifting a foot for inspection. And that clamp you couldn't shake off if you had to. They're guaranteed for a year, too, and if anything gives out, you get a new pair for nothing. Three and a half they cost at Mr. Harrison's hardware store. I gave my jolly ramblers to a kid about your size. A mighty good little skate they are. And with a long graceful stroke Ralph Evans skated away And it seemed to Tom Reynolds that all his Christmas joy went skimming away behind him The sun still shone the ice still gleamed the skaters laughed and sang but Tom moved slowly on with listless heavy strokes. The Jolly Ramblers still twinkled beneath his feet, but he looked down at them no more. What was the use of Jolly Ramblers when Ralph Evans had a pair of clubhouse skates that cost a dollar more, had a graceful curve, and a faultless clamp, and were guaranteed for a year. It was only four o'clock when Tom slipped his new skates carelessly over his shoulder and started up the bank for home. He was slouching down the main street, head down, hands thrust deep into his pockets, when, on turning a corner, he ran plump into a full moon. Now, I know it is rather unusual for full moons to be walking down the streets by daylight, but that is the only adequate description of the round, freckled face that beamed at Tom from behind a great box held by two sturdy arms. That came pretty near to being a collision, said the owner of the full moon, still beaming as he set down the box and leaned against a building to rest for a moment. Nobody heard, I guess, said Tom. Been down to the ice? asked the boy eagerly. I could see the skaters from Patton's store. Oh, I see you got some new skates for Christmas. Ain't they beauties now? And he beamed on the despised jolly ramblers with his heart in his little blue eyes. A pretty good little pair of skates, said Tom in Ralph's condescending tone. Good, well, I should guess yes, and Christmas ice just made a purpose. In spite of his ill humor, Tom could not help responding to the warm interest of the shabby boy at his side. He knew him to be Harvey McGinnis, the son of a poor Irish widow who worked at Patton's department store out of school hours. Looking at the great box with an awakening interest, he remarked kindly, What you been doing with yourself on Christmas Day? Want to know, sure enough, said Harvey mysteriously, his round face beaming more brightly than ever. Well, I've been doing the Santa Claus act down at Patton's store. About a week ago, he went on, leaning back easily against the tall building and thrusting his hands down deep into his well-worn pockets, About a week ago, as I was cleaning out the storeroom, I came on three big boxes with broken dolls in them. beauties they were, I can tell you the Lady Jane in the blue silk dress the Lady Clarabelle in pink and the Lady Matilda in shimmering white nothing wrong with them either only broken rubbers that put their gents out of whack and set their heads a-rolling this way and that they could be fixed in no time, I says to myself and what a prize they'd be for the kids to be sure for Mom and me had racked our brains considerable how we'd scrape together the money for Christmas things for the girls So I went to the boss and I asked him right out what he charged me for the three ladies just as they was. And he says, Jimmy, he says. I've told him my name a dozen times, but he always calls me Jimmy. Jimmy, he says. If you'll come down on Christmas Day and help me take down the fixings and fix up the store for regular trade, I'll give you the dolls for nothing, he says. So I explained to the kids that said he'd be late to our house this year, with so many to see after it wouldn't be strange, and went down to the store early this morning and finished me work and fixed up the ladies as good as new. Would you like to be seeing them now? He added, turning to the great box with a look of pride. Sure, I'd like to see them, said Tom. With careful, almost reverent touch, Harvey untied the string and opened the large box, disclosing three smaller boxes one above the other. Opening the first box, he revealed a really handsome doll in a blue silk dress with large dark eyes that opened and shut and dark curling locks of real hair. This is Lady Jane, he said, smoothing her gay frock with gentle fingers. We're going to give her to Kitty. Kitty's hair is pretty and curly, but she hates it because it's red, and she thinks black hair is the prettiest kind in the world. Ain't it funny how all of us be wanting what we don't have ourselves? Tom did not reply to this bit of philosophy, but he laid a repentant hand on the jolly ramblers, as if he knew he had wronged them in his heart. That's as handsome a doll as I ever saw, and no mistake, he said. Pleased with this praise, Harvey opened the second box and disclosed the Lady Matilda with fair golden curls and a dress of shimmering white. "'The Lady Matilda goes to Josephine,' said Harvey. "'Josephine has black hair, straight as a string, "'and won't she laugh, though, to see them fetching yellow curls?' "'She surely ought to be glad,' said Tom. Lady Clarabelle was another fair lady in a gown of the brightest pink here beauty for the baby said Harvey his eyes glowing She don care if the hair black or yellow but won that stunning dress make her eyes pop out They'll surely believe in Santee when they see those beauties, said Tom. That's just what I was saying to Mom this morning, said Harvey. Kitty's had some doubts. She's almost nine, but when she sees those fine ladies, she'll be dead sure Mom and I didn't buy them. If I had a Santa Claus suit, I'd dress up and hand them out myself. Tom's face lighted with a bright idea. My brother Bob's got a Santa Claus suit that he used in a show last Christmas, he said. Say, let me dress up and play Santa for you. The girls would never guess who I was. Wouldn't they stare, though, said Harvey delightedly. But do you think you'd want to take time? he asked apologetically. And you with a new pair of skates in the ice like this? Of course I want to if you'll let me, said Tom. I'll skate down the river and meet you anywhere you say. Out in our backyard, then, at seven o'clock. All right, I'll be there. And with head up and skates clinking, Tom hurried away. It was a flushed, excited boy who burst into the Reynolds quiet sitting room a few minutes later, with his skates still hanging on his shoulder and his cap in his hand. Say, Mother, he cried, can I have Bob's Santa Claus suit this evening, please? I'm going to play Santa Claus for Harvey McGinnis. Play Santa Claus for Harvey McGinnis? What do you mean, child? You know Mrs. McGinnis, mother, that poor woman who lives in the little house down by the river? Her husband got killed on the railroad last winter, you know. Well, Harvey, her boy has fixed up some grand-looking dolls for his sisters, and he wants me to come out and play Santa tonight. And Tom launched out into a long story about Harvey and his good fortune. He must be a splendid boy, said Mrs. Reynolds heartily, and I am sure I shall be glad to have you go. And another thing, mother, do you think Grandma would care if I spent part of that five dollars she gave me for a pair of skates for Harvey? He hasn't any skates at all, and I know he'd just love to have some. It is generous of you to think of it, said his mother, much pleased, and you would still have two and a half for that little trip down to Grandma's. But I'd like to get him some clubhouse skates, said Tom. They're a new kind that costs three dollars and a half. But I thought you said the Jolly Ramblers were the best skates made. Mrs. Reynolds looked somewhat hurt as she glanced from Tom to the skates on his shoulder and back to Tom again. They are, Mother. They're just dandies, said Tom, blushing with shame that he could ever have despised his mother's gift. But these clubhouse skates are just the kind for Harvey. You see, Harvey's shoes are old and worn, and these clubhouse skates have clamps that you can't shake loose if you have to. Then, if anything happens to them before the year's up, you get a new pair free. And Harvey, you know, wouldn't have any money to be fixing skates. Well, do as you like, said Mrs. Reynolds, pleased with Tom's eagerness, for such a spell of generosity was something new in her selfish younger son. But remember, you will have to wait a while for your visit to Grandma. All right, and thank you, Mother, said Tom. You can buy the skates down at Harrison's, and I'm going over to ask Mr. Harrison if he won't open up the store and get a pair for me for a special time like this. I'm most sure he will. And away he flew. That evening at seven, as the moon was rising over the eastern hills, a short, portly Santa Claus stepped out of the dry reeds by the riverbank and walked with wonderfully nimble feet right into the McGinnis's little backyard. As he neared the small back porch, a dark figure rose to greet him. One hand held up in warning, the other holding at arm's length a bulky grain sack full to the brim. Here's your pack, Santee, he whispered gleefully. They're all waiting in the front room yonder. I'll slip in the back way whilst you go around and give a good thump at the front door and Mom will let you in. Trembling with eagerness, Tom tiptoed round the house, managing to slip an oblong package into the capacious depths of the big sack as he did so. Thump, thump, how the knock re-echoed in the frosty air. The door swung wide, and Mrs. McGinnis' gaunt figure stood before him. "'Good evening, Santee. Come right in,' she said. Tom had always thought what a homely woman Harvey's mother was when he happened to meet her in the grocery, with her thin red hair drawn severely back from her gaunt face and a black shawl over her head. But as he looked up into her big, kind face, so full of Christmas sunshine, he wondered he could ever have thought of her anything but lovely The room was small and bare but wonderfully gay with pine and bits of red and green crepe paper saved from the fixins at the store And on a large bed in the corner sat the three little girls, Kitty with her bright curls bobbing, Josephine with her black braid sticking straight out, and the baby with tiny blue eyes that twinkled and shone like Harvey's. The fine speech that Tom had been saying over to himself for the past two hours seemed to vanish into thin air before this excited little audience. But in faltering, stammering tones which everyone was too excited to notice, he managed to say something about Merry Christmas and Good Children, and then proceeded to open the magic sack. Miss Kitty McGinnis, he called in deep, gruff tones. Kitty took the box he offered with shy embarrassment, slowly drew back the lid, and gave a cry of amazement and delight. A doll! Oh, the loveliest doll that ever was! she cried. Then turning to her brother, she whispered as softly as excitement would permit. Oh, Harvey, I have feared you paid too much. Ah, go on, said Harvey, his face more like a full moon than ever. Don't you know that Sandy can do whatever he wants to? The other dolls were received with raptures, Josephine stroking the golden curls of Lady Matilda with wondering fingers, and the baby dancing round and round, waving the pink-robed Lady Clarabelle above her head. Mr. Harvey McGinnis, came the gruff tones of Santa Claus, and Harvey smiled over to his mother as he drew out a pair of stout cloth gloves. Mrs. McGinnis! And that good lady smiled back as she shook out a dainty white apron with a coarse embroidery ruffle. I reckon Santa wanted you to wear that of a Sunday afternoon, said Harvey awkwardly. And I'll be proud to do it, said his mother. Little sacks of candy were next produced, and everyone settled down to enjoy it, thinking that the bottom of the big sack must be reached, when Santa called out in tones that trembled beneath the gruffness. another package for mr harvey mcginnis for me why what said harvey taking the heavy oblong bundle then as the sparkling clubhouse skates met his view his face lit up with a glory that tom never forgot the glory lasted but a moment then he turned a troubled face toward the bulky old saint You never ought to have done it, he said. These must have cost a lot. Ah, go on, was the reply in a distinctly boyish tone. Don't you know that Santa can do whatever he wants to? And, with a prodigious bow, old Santa was gone. A few minutes later, a slender boy with a bundle under his arm was skating swiftly down the shining river in the moonlight. As he rounded the bend, a tall figure in a fur-trimmed coat came skimming slowly toward him, and a voice called out in Ralph Evans' condescending tones, Well, how are the jolly ramblers doing tonight? But the answer, this time, was clear and glad and triumphant. The best in the world, said Tom, and isn't this a glorious night for skating? I hope you enjoyed The Boy with the Box by Mary Griggs Van Voorhis. Van Voorhis was an American writer best known in the early 20th century for her short stories of family life, childhood, and quiet moral moments. Stories that trusted small choices to carry great meaning. If you like what you heard, please tell a friend or two about these stories and the other stories that are part of our Short Story Versus podcast. Check them out at shortstoryversus.com. And also, if you really like the story, please give it five stars on Apple Podcasts or on Spotify. Thanks for listening. I'm Don McDonald. Thanks for listening. I hope you enjoyed the story. If you like being accompanied by short stories now and then, I invite you to check out my many universes of classic and original short stories at shortstoryverses.com. And if you get a chance, please share Season's Readings with a friend, either personally or through social media. And while you're here, I'd really appreciate a five-star rating or review. If you celebrate Christmas, Merry Christmas and warm wishes for the season. I'm Don McDonald.