A Step Child's Stocking

This is a story that was told to me by a Sunday school teacher when I was about 10 years old.

It has remained one of my favorite Christmas stories. I hope you enjoy it and get the same feelings of warmth that I still get when I read it. Share it with your family this Christmas time.

Johnny played on the floor with his last year's spinner.

"Gee, I hope Santa brings me a brand new one with a striped wheel this year." He said as he struggled with his broken toy.

"I hope he brings me a doll with brown curls and a lace dress," piped in Nell as she put old Raggedy Ann to sleep in the rocker.

"Come on Ned," called Johnny, "come on and play. If she does anything to you I'll spill the whole thing to Daddy."

"Oh, no, you mustn't do that," cried out a little fellow on a chair in the corner. He knew that telling meant bringing that old sad look into his father's eyes. Ned could stand punishment, but he couldn't stand the look of pain on his Daddy's face.

Just than a heavy step sounded at the doorway, and in came Daddy Tom, as the children called him. Tom tossed up little Sue, and said, "Well, well, almost time for Santa, isn't it? Just a few more hours."

Then noticing the quiet little chap in the corner he asked, "Sick Ned?"

The answer was a very humble, "No Sir,"

"No Daddy, Ned ain't sick," chimed in little Johnny. "In was chasing him and he forgot and ran across the porch with muddy feet, and Mother said he'd have to sit there till bed time and not have any supper."

"Well, I'm sorry Ned," said his father. "But I'm sure it won't happen again. In don't think Mother will mind if you jump down now and play awhile with Johnny."

He lifted the frightened little chap in his arms and said, "Now let's see how the spinner works."

Assured the boys were busy with the spinner, Tom went into the kitchen where Ann was putting the supper dishes in the cupboard.

"Ned had supper?" he asked.

"No, and what's more he's not going to have any. I'm sick and tired of drudging to keep things cleaned up after him."

"Ann," Tom said in a tender voice, "This is Christmas Eve. Don't spoil it for the youngsters. Christmas is really for the children, you know."

"You mean for HIM," she replied bitterly. "What are you doing with that plate?"

"I'm getting supper for Ned. He's been running errands for me all day, and you remember, he had only a cold sandwich at noon."

"That's because he wasn't here. I'm not going to keep a meal waiting. No, not even for him, and that's that, Tom Jones."

"But Ann, he wasn't here because In sent him on an errand to the blacksmith's and he had to wait. I didn't hear him complain about the cold sandwich, but he is going to have a warm supper."

Daddy Tom proceeded to warm the left overs, and then called Ned to eat. When the boy was through, Tom called Johnny and taking each lad by the hand he led them to the snow hill out behind the barn where all three tried to forget everything except that it was Christmas Eve.

Nellie and Susie were fast asleep when they returned and both boys began again with the spinner. Out in the kitchen, Ann was finishing the dressing for the turkey, for Tom always managed to raise at least two big ones for the Holidays each year.

"That's a dandy fat fellow, he said slipping an arm around Ann. But his wife didn't respond to the caress. Instead she turned bitterly upon Tom.

"I suppose you think you did a smart thing tonight, Tom Jones. How do you think I'll ever be able to manage that child with you butting in like that?"

"Why Ann," said Tom, attempting to draw her to him, "The Master said that it were better to have a mill stone around one's neck than to offend a little child. Ned's only a little chap, just the same age as Johnny. Let's make them both happy, especially for Christmas."

"Oh, I know well enough where your thoughts are," she said harshly, as she pushed him away. "You always think of her on days like this, yes and of him."

"Ann," he said again as tenderly as he could, "If you don't care for me, don't take your spite out on Ned. I can stand it, but he's only a little chap yet."

"Spite?" she cried, "Spite? Tom Jones, before you're through with this, I'll show you what spite is."

In the sitting room, Johnny and Ned arranged two chairs side by side, on which to hang their stockings. They talked excitedly of the joy they expected with tomorrow and the coming of Santa. Then they arranged chairs for Nellie and Susie, and dashed upstairs to get their stockings.

"Get one without holes," said Johnny, but Ned's drawer contained only one pair. They were striped brown and tan, a gift from Aunt Mary on his last birthday.

Johnny, seeing Ned's predicament, offered to lend him one of his, but Ned declined, took one of his own, placed it on his chair and went off to bed.

"Need anything from the store?" Tom asked of Ann when they were alone. "It keeps open late tonight, and I can soon be back."

"No, I have everything," she said sullenly.

"Plenty of candy and nuts?" he questioned.

"Yes, plenty."

"Want me to help any?'

She turned fiercely toward him. "No! No!" she almost screamed. "The biggest help you can give me is to keep away. I guess this isn't the first time I've filled Christmas stockings."

Tom looked at her sadly, and without a word went upstairs.

Cries of delight reached the little upstairs room about daylight next morning. Little Sue and Nellie hugged the new dolls they had received from Santa, and they scattered popcorn about the room in their glee.

Tom dropped off to sleep again. He failed to hear the footsteps which passed by the bedroom door, but he awoke in time to hear Johnny way, "Oh! Never mind Ned. 'Twas a dirty Irish trick, I'd call it. But don't go out, it's too cold."

A moment later Tom stumbled across Johnny's new spinner by the bedroom door. It had a note tied to it, written in Johnny's boyish scrawl: "Keep your old spinner Mrs. Santa Claus. If Ned can't have one, In don't want none neither."

Tom continued on down stairs. Johnny was sitting in the big rocker with tears streaming down his face, and as Tom entered the room he pointed to the chair where Ned had hung his stocking the evening before.

"See, Daddy, just see what she did to him! Just see!" And what Tom saw chilled his soul. There on the back of Ned's chair hung a little tan and brown stocking, limp and empty. "Ned didn't get a thing, not a single thing, and if Ned can't have anything for Christmas, I don't want anything either."

Tom's voice was gone. He put on his boots, coat and hat and went out to the barn just in time to see Ned affectionately caressing his pet calf.

"I'm so sorry about things, my boy," he said, and slipped some money into Ned's hand. "Tomorrow, we'll go to town and you can spend it for anything you'd like."

Ned pressed his father's big hand in both his own as he whispered: "I know how 'tis Daddy, only I don't want you to feel bad, cause anyway it don't matter; I mean it don't matter much. Let's play we forget all about it."

But to big Tom it did matter much, very much and something went out of home that morning. He knew from now on life would be very different between him and Ann. There would never be a Christmas again that he wouldn't remember a little boy with his arm round a calf's neck and a little brown and tan stocking hanging, limp and empty, on the back of a chair. He forgot everything but the sad little heart and Johnny's loyalty. He paced up and down in the little alleyway between the barn and he house.

Tom turned and wandered to the hay stack where Bridle mooed for her breakfast. If Ann wondered why there was no milk to strain that morning, she did not mention it; if she noticed that Ned was not hungry or that Johnny pushed his bowl of cracked wheat away without touching it, she said nothing.

Out in the kitchen, Tom worked with some tiny evergreen branches, tying them to wreaths. He had done this every Christmas since the epidemic had robbed Ann's home of a husband and father and Tom's of a wife and mother. At first, Ann had gone with him to the small cemetery where both loved-ones slept, and together she and Tom had talked of the past and laid on the two graves their emblems of love. But the spirit of jealousy had crept into Ann's soul until it had poisoned all that was fine. Tom had promised his old friend and school mate on his death bed to see that Ann and Johnny did not suffer. The next day Alice had died of the dread disease, and they laid them side by side on Christmas day. After three years of lonely struggle, Ann and Tom were married.

Today Tom went alone with the wreaths. He saw not the snow covered mounds with the weather-worn names on the plain wooden head boards. All he saw that day was a small tan and brown stocking, hanging limp and empty on the back of a chair and a little, timid boy telling his sorrows to an orphan calf.

Returning home, he heard the clatter of knives and forks as Ann set the dinner table, and Johnny's voice, shrill and hard explaining, "I tell you I won't eat a bite until Daddy Tom feels like he can eat."

Tom's heart stood almost still again as he saw  Ann slap Johnny across the face with a wet towel. He stepped in between them, and with a rough hand pushed Ann away.

"I promised this boy's father I'd look after him, and I'm going to do it, " he almost shouted at her. Then collecting himself, he said firmly, "Ann, understand once and for all time, you are never to strike one of these children again."

Dinner was mostly a farce. The big turkey, plump and brown, left the table in much the same shape in which it was placed steaming hot in front of Tom's plate. Sometime later Johnny rushed into the room with - "Daddy! Daddy! They're having a program at the church and Miss Dix is going to tell a Christmas story. Can't we all go?"

Tom trying to restore calm, said," Yes, I think that would be fine. We'll all go."

But a raging blizzard changed their plans, and Johnny pleaded, "Daddy, can't you tell us a story, a real for sure, honest-to-goodness Christmas story?"

By George, I believe I can," Daddy Tom answered, and with a boy on each knee he began where the life of Johnny's father and his own life had become intermingled on the school grounds when they played marbles together. As he unfolded the tale, the boys thrilled to some events, were saddened by others, and leaped to their toes in eager expectancy at still others. Gradually Tom led on and on, one Christmas following another with every toy mentioned, and even the first red apples that Santa cunningly gathered and put in each of the boy's stockings. And then he brought the story up to date. There were tears in his eyes and lump in his throat as he said: "And that morning, Ned's little stocking, so pretty with brown and tan stripes, hung limp and empty on the back of his chair."

Ann, carefully listening in the next room, inwardly declared revenge.

The years dragged slowly by for Daddy Tom, but the childhood days at last ended as Ned and Johnny finished high school. It as May, and the street rang with happy call of -- "school is out; come and play."

As Daddy Tom worked busily cutting weeds near the small white garden fence, Ned, with a neatly-tied bundle in his hand, approached. Placed very carefully in the bundle was the little brown and tan sock containing the Christmas money his father had given him years before. Where the sock's mate was Ned never knew. On that sad Christmas morning Ann had opened the heater door to burn the thing that had made her feel so guilty, but when little Nell screamed out: "Don't burn Ned's stocking. Don't! Don't!" Ann had fled to her own room, wrapped the sock in a piece of Christmas paper, and pushed it into the bottom of her trunk, hoping she would be able to forget it.

This morning Ned came slowly toward his father. His voice was husky as he said, "Dad, the boys are going to the mine to work this summer. Would you mind if I went with them?"

Tom's eyes filled. This step was the beginning of what would eventually take Ned away from him.

"I will be pretty lonesome for you when you're gone Ned, but if you really want to try it, I can't refuse you."

He took Ned's hand and looked into the very depths of the boy's soul as he solemnly said:

"Ned, I want you to write to me often. Understand, no matter what comes, I want you to let me know about it; you may need help, and remember, Dad's always ready to his last cent. Keep your mind and your soul clean. Your mother would want you to do that, and so would Dad." Tom looked at the pitifully small bundle in Ned's hand. "Wait here a moment."

Ned looked across the garden and felt a tingle of sorrow at leaving. But a glance at the house where Ann ruled supreme erased any sorrow at leaving. His thoughts were working fast when his father returned and placed a ten dollar bill in his hand.

A shout from the boys at the end of the street told father and son it was time to say good-bye. Tom watched the boys until they were out of sight. Silently he prayed, "Dear God, take care of Ned."

At the gate of one of the miners' homes, a motherly looking woman was tenderly caring for a plant in a tub. When Ned inquired about room and board, she told him her husband, Mr. Walter, was foreman for the mine. In a short time, Ned was placed in a good position, and living with the family and was soon enjoying the privileges of a real home.

One evening as Ned washed the dust and grime of the mine from his hands and face, Mr. Walters said kindly, "Mind if I wash with you Ned?" He told Ned of a new mine and its prospects. Ned confided to him his plan for the coming year was to go to college, and he was saving money to that end. Then he thought of the Christmas money in the toe of that little striped stocking and he told his friend the story -- "I would really like to invest that money," he added. "Dad will need it when he is old."

Mr. Walters took the money from Ned and said, "My boy, I'll see to it that your money is not lost. I believe it will grow until it fills your little stocking to overflowing."

When the leaves began to turn and the weather at the mine grew cold and damp, Ned bade his kind friends, the Walters, farewell. The little juggling train rumbled back down the mountain side, carrying him to a small college town a few miles from his old home. He obtained work in the evening and on Saturdays. He wrote his father about his plan and plunged heart and soul into his work.

Daddy Tom wrote back, "I'm so proud of you, Ned, and will call to see you as soon as the farm work lets up a little."

While crossing the street one evening to the stationary store, Ned saw the old brown horse he and Johnny had enjoyed so much, coming down the street. He waited until he came near enough to hear Johnny call out, "Dad's very sick, Ned... Doctor says there's no hope... He sent me to tell you."

When Ned entered the sick room, Ann left with a scowling sneer, but Tom reached a feeble hand to the boy, and drew him tenderly to him.

"Daddy Tom won't be with you long," he said finally. And before the sun rose the next morning he died with Ned's arms around him.

When Ned left the new mound in that little country cemetery, he knew all ties between him and the old home were broken forever.

After a long hard struggle, the coveted sheepskin diploma was won. Then Ned left the college, classmates, football glory and the beloved campus behind him. He faced life as an ambitious man.

At the post office the morning before he left the little college town, Ned found a letter from Mr. Walters congratulating him on his success and among other things, Ned read, "I sold part of your interest in the mine yesterday for $200. I suggest you use it as a foundation for a permanent home. A man need's to plant his feet if he expects to sprout high branches.

Two miles along the highway, Ned passed a "For Sale" sign. It was a corner lot which had been part of an old estate. A large evergreen like the one at his old home attracted him. Before the week was over, Ned placed the deed to the place with his beloved diploma in a safety deposit box and began to look for work.

Two years later Mr. Walters wrote again: "Sold a little more of your interest in the mine. Enclosed find $400. I suggest you begin to build a little home on that lot. Later Ned built that home and took to it the girl he had chosen as his life's companion.

Once each year, Ned stood at the graves of Father and Mother, with bared head, and also paid homage at the tomb of dear Aunt Mary.

Again Christmas came, he watched Santa fill stockings in his own comfortable home. Next morning, his own little child, Ned Junior, displayed his new watch with pride. Alice had gone with Christmas cheer to a neighbor. The phone rang. It was long distance, and voice at the other end of the line said: "Ned, this is John. I'm at Junction; was on my way to Mother's but had to buck a snow drift and broke my car; wish you'd let her know I can't make it there before tomorrow. I guess she's pretty lonesome and miserable." John paused for Ned's answer and then said, "You will? Thanks, old boy. See you tomorrow."

Ned hurried from the phone with the words ringing in his ears. "Guess she's pretty lonesome and miserable." The unpleasantness of the past dropped away from Ned. All he saw was a lonely old woman, on Christmas, too. He was going to talk in the church tonight on, "It's more blessed to give than to receive." Was it true? He's put it to the test. He took a large Christmas basket Alice had purchased with pride, interwoven with bits of holly and mistletoe, filled the basket with dainties from their overloaded shelves - mince pies, a small plum pudding, oranges, apples, cakes, and cookies.

Just then Ned Junior appeared at the door to say, "Mr. Nelson's at the door, dad, wants to see you."

"All right, Ned you finish packing the basket. It's for a very lonely old lady. Wrap it up in the very best way."

Ned looked the basket over. No candy, no nuts, no popcorn, no mouth organ! What a basket!

He proceeded at once to supply those treasures of boyhood, and dashing upstairs three steps at a time, soon came filled with the choicest candies from his own box. Little did he know the sock he had taken out of the dresser drawer would bring such results. He wrapped the basket in bright tissue, tied it with festive ribbons, and handed it to his father with," Never mind about bringing the sock back, it hasn't got a mate."

On his way, Ned met Joe, the Dainty-Shop keeper, persuaded him to unlock the door of the store and bought a dainty shoulder shawl in lavender and white, one that would be lovely on any dear old lady. Then he added some warm woolen gloves, bedroom slippers, and a pink and white house dress, each wrapped in holiday colors. Then he went on his way.

In a tiny room with the blinds drawn, Ann sat, her face hard and wrinkled. The neighbors had learned, long since, to keep away. Their Christmas cheer and gifts had been repulsed until they had left her alone in her misery. The girls had written letters and sent gifts only from a sense of duty. Ann sat huddled over the old lounge when Ned rapped at the door. She opened it partly and said curtly as she spied the package under Ned's arm, "Well, someone imagined I'm starving or freezing and sent charity to me?"

"I came to say John has broken his car and is at the Junction... He will not be able to reach here until tomorrow. I hope you will have a very Merry Christmas."

He passed her in the doorway, sat the parcels and basket on the table, and was about to extend his hand and tell her who he was, but thinking it would arouse the old unpleasantness in her soul, he left, wishing her once more a very Merry Christmas.

As he opened his car door, a familiar voice spoke. "Well, Of people, Ned Jones," and turning, he met an old college pal. They had feasted and starved together, studied and played on the football team. The sun was sending it's way to the west before they parted. Just then a shrill voice called, "Ned Jones, come here. Come here this instant, I say."

It brought back all memories of years gone by. He almost felt the smack of her hands on his ears as he went back to the house.

Ann pointed to the table where lay the brown and tan sock, filled with candies. "Ned Jones, would you do this to me? Me, a sorrowful old woman? And you a young healthy man in you prime? Would you hurt me like this, Ned?"

"I hope you'll believe me when I say I didn't know it was in the basket," Ned returned. He then described the packing and wrapping and then he remembered Ned Jr.'s words: "Don't bother to bring the sock back. It hasn't any mate."

She looked at him, coldly and steadily, "I believe you, Ned, I don't believe you ever lied in your life, so I believe you now." Something inside of her seemed to melt. All the hostility and hatred began to vanish as she began to unwrap the packages. "You brought them to me, Ned after --what-- after- well, never mind... Come over here, Ned. Let me talk a little."

He sat beside her on the lounge.. She wept bitterly. Then raising her tearful eyes said, "Ned I want you to believe me when I say if I could only live my years over, you would not find a little empty stocking on your chair Christmas morning. I've had long, lonely years to think it all out. Instead of growing mellow, I made myself grow more and more hateful until I persuaded myself the world was against me. But I know and you know, it was my own fault.

"I can hardly ask you to forgive me now, Ned, but I can ask you to think about it, and maybe in time, it will come; you know the Master said is his agony; "Forgive them, Father, they know not what they do." Ned, I didn't know either, I didn't know"

"I'll tell you what we'll do," he said, and lifting her carefully by the arm, he half carried and half led her to the half-sized coal stove. Lifting the lid, he said, "We'll burn the little stocking with all it's memories."

"Don't Ned, Don't burn it," she said, gently pushing his hand aside, "Don't burn it." Then she told him of the time she was intending to burn the other little stocking, when Nell said, "Don't burn it Mama. Maybe some other time Santa Claus will fill it."

"So let me have it Ned, and - Ned, is there a little child in your home, a little child about the age you were then?"

"Yes, a little boy about that size and we named him John."

"Then let me fill this stocking next Christmas for him. I've got it's mate in the same paper I put it away in that Christmas morning. I haven't touched it since.

After promising to come next Christmas at 10"00 a.m., Ned left, and when he delivered his sermon at church that night, he knew in his soul it was more blessed to give than to receive.

The next year sped swiftly for busy Ned. Ann spent sleepless nights, planning just what would go into that pair of brown and tan stockings. Finally, she decided on little gingerbread men with white frosting for jackets, currents for buttons, sweet spice cookies and pink popcorn balls. All these she could make herself. It was a pleasure to save to buy the wool to knit bright small stockings, and mittens, a cap and best of all a thick warm jacket.

It seemed to Ann as she knit and stitched that her heart grew lighter; the world looked good once more. When the frosty days of autumn came, the coal merchant delivered to Ann a great deal of coal, all the coal bin would hold. The merchant at the Dainty shop delivered a warm pair of blankets. Neither knew who paid for them. But Ann intuitively knew. It was Ned.

While Ann planned and worked, Ned took note of conditions as he remembered them on that visit last Christmas. Marks on the ceiling showed the roof leaked. The carpet was threadbare. The curtains were old and ragged. It was plain to see, Ann had only a few of life's necessities and none of it's comforts. Daddy Tom's Christmas money had returned to Ned many-fold. It would be a Christ-like thing to spend some of it on Ann. So he drove with little John at his side, that crisp Christmas morning, and in his inside pocket was a bank note made out to Ann Jones for $600.

Ann was up before daylight to be sure that heat from the little stove would warm the room by ten o'clock. She patted each gift in it's separate wrapping with tender affection. In her shaky hand, she had managed to write on each; "From Grandma Jones to dear little John." Two tiny stockings striped brown and tan were filled with gingerbread men and cookies.

A group of children singing Christmas carols passed the lonely little house, where Ann waited anxiously for ten o'clock. She wrapped the little lavender and white shawl about her head and taking a plate of gingerbread men, left from the tan and brown stocking, offered them to the happy youngsters, wishing each of them a warm, Merry Christmas.

"Gee, did you notice old Crab Lady Ann?" Len Jensen exclaimed. "Who'd ever have looked for that?" And he nibbled away at his gingerbread man.

"Sure a surprise," piped Joe Yates. "Wonder what has happened?"

When Ned reached the door with little John, he heard Ann singing. It was a very different voice and face that greeted Ned this morning, when Ann appeared on the porch. She drew Ned's face to her own and kissed him tenderly. "Ned, dear, it's so good to see you. I've been so happy all year, thinking and working for you today."

Lovingly, she watched little John as he unwrapped the gifts and tried them on. And laughed with delight as he said, "Now I can skate and sleigh ride and not take cold, can't I daddy?"

Then Ned drew the old lady to his side and placed the bank note in her hand, and for the first time she learned of Tom's gift.

"We'll have a new roof on the house and a good little heater and a new carpet, and then you spend the rest for any comfort you may need," he said.

As Ned's car sped toward home that day, Ann looked curiously at the bank note, the first she had ever held.

"It was good of Ned. So good," she whispered, half aloud. "I wonder if it made him as happy to do this for me, as I have been all through the year planning for him today?' Then she dropped on her knees beside the little old lounge and prayed:

"Dear Lord, I'm so happy. I thank Thee for all that has happened. But above all I thank Thee that the Spirit of Christ sent Ned to soften my hard nature and to teach me love instead of hate. And Dear Lord, I have filled the little striped stockings at last. Truly it is more blessed to give than to receive."