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The Fourth Door
A Christmas Cale for Children.

(By Nellie E. Donovan.)

Brenda was very, excited because it would be Christmas in three days’ time and that was something to be excited about, for Christmas did not come every day and she wanted such a lot of things! She had not as yet asked Father Christmas, for it took ever so long to print a note, and one had to be so particular that there were no smudges on the paper for such an important person.

And because Brenda was excited she opened the garden gate and skipped gaily down the street, her little brown curls bobbing up and down. And she skipped in a sort of a pattern like you and I would. The pattern went something like this—two skips to the left and hop, two skips to the right and hop, then three skips forward, and Brenda went down the street singing, “Skippity, skippity, hop! Skippity, skippity, hop! Skippity, skippity, skip!” until she came to a green field where there were buttercups and daisies, and a stream which also seemed to be singing, “Skippity, skippity, hop!” so Brenda gaily skipped up to it and knelt down beside it. “Do you know, dear little stream,” she whispered,” that Christmas is nearly here.” But the stream did not reply; instead, it just sang, “Skippity, skippity, hop!” as if it had not heard.

“Wouldn't it be lovely,” whispered Brenda to herself as she sat with her knees tucked up under her chin, “if I wished for all the things I wanted instead of writing to Father Christmas —or, better still, I could say my prayers, like I do every night. Mummie says if you pray hard enough you are sure to get what you want. I'll try it.”

So Brenda untucked her knees and knelt amongst the buttercups and daisies. She shut her eyes and clasped her hands before her.

“Dear God,” she said in a voice just above a whisper, “I want such a lot of things for Christmas, so you'll have to listen ever so carefully—I want a doll's pram, an’ a doll that goes to sleep, a scooter, a box of paints, an’ a drawing book with tissue paper, so as I can make funny noises with it over a comb, an’ a picture book, an’ a bat an’ ball—a red one but if you haven't got a red one a white one will do, an’ that's all, I think, but dear God, you needn't give me any of those things if you will give me a darling little puppy—a white one—I would so love to have one. Yours sincerely, Brenda Carson.”

Brenda opened her eyes, then very quickly closed them again, “Dear God, I forgot to give you my address, it's, No. 12, Greenlane. Thank you very much.”

“I did pray awfully hard,” said Brenda to herself as she sat down again.

Suddenly a fish put its head out of the stream, it looked at Brenda for a second, then said in a squeaky voice, “The fourth door! The fourth door!” and it disappeared into the stream.

Brenda looked at the stream in amazement. Had she heard aright! A fish speaking! What did it mean by saying the fourth door? She stood up and began to walk across the field. She came to a little pond. On a stone sat a large frog. It gave Brenda a glassy stare then croaked, “The fourth door! The fourth door!” and it dived into the pond with a splash.

Brenda began skipping, “Skippity, skippity, hop!” and a bird overhead twittered, “The fourth door! The fourth door!” And the breeze heard it and whispered it to the leaves on the trees and they nodded together and said, “The fourth door! The fourth door!”

Brenda skipped down a strange street. “The fourth door,” she whispered to herself, “I wonder what it means?” She stopped skipping and considered for a moment. “Pra'ps it means the fourth door in the street—in this street.” She looked up and down the street which was lined with cottages on either side and they all had doors. Which was the fourth door? Pra'ps it meant the fourth door from the end. I'll try this end, thought Brenda. She skipped up the street again and carefully counted the doors. “One—two—three—four!” She walked up the garden path of the fourth cottage and knocked timidly on the door. For a minute nothing happened, then the door opened suddenly and on the doorstep stood an old man with long white whiskers and spectacles perched on a thin nose.

“Well, what do you want?” he asked in a gruff voice, his small green eyes peering at Brenda.

“Please — p - p - please,” stuttered Brenda, “n-n-nothing.”

“Nothing!” exclaimed the old man, and his whiskers moved up and down as he talked. “Nothing! What do page 53 you mean knocking at my door and disturbing my afternoon nap when you want nothing! Begone you—you little rascal!” and he looked so fiercely at poor Brenda that she fled down the path.

“Oh, dear!” she whispered as she stood outside the gate, “I don't think I'll try any more doors!” But the little breeze must have heard her whisper, for it became a strong breeze and it ruffled her hair and pushed her not too roughly across the street to a little yellow cottage opposite, and it said to her, “The fourth door! The fourth door!” and it opened the gate and pushed her inside. “Oh, dear!” said Brenda again, but she walked up the path and knocked very, very, timidly on the little green poor. Instantly the door opened, and a little gray-haired lady with kindly eyes and smiling lips looked out, “Hullo, little girl. What do you want?” she asked in a silvery voice.

“Please,” said Brenda, and strange to say she was not so nervous, “I've come to visit you.”

“Visit me!” exclaimed the little lady, “No little girl or boy has come to visit me for years. But come inside, dear, and I'll give you a piece of iced cake which I have made myself.”

Brenda entered a dainty sitting-room and she sat on a little stool while the little lady cut a large slice of iced cake. “Why don't little boys and girls come to visit you?” asked Brenda between bites of cake.

“Because, my dear, I'm an old woman and don't interest little boys and girls. What lovely brown curls you have, dear, just like a little girl I used to know.” And the little lady's eyes looked into the distance.

“Was she your little girl?” asked Brenda.

“Yes, my little girl, my very own, and she was very like you, but one day she left the cottage and she never came back.”

“Where did she go?” asked Brenda.

But before the little lady could reply there came a joyous barking from the back of the cottage.

“Oh, exclaimed Brenda, jumping up, “That's a dog!”

“Yes, my dear, I've got three.”

“Three!” exclaimed Brenda in an ecstasy of delight, “Oh, do let me see them!” And she quickly ate the last of her cake.

So the little lady led the way to the back of the cottage and on to the back lawn, and there in three green kennels, were three white fluffy puppies. “Oh! Oh! aren't they lovely!” Brenda rushed over and picked one up, “Oh, I wish I had one!”

“My little girl used to be fond of animals like you are—especially of dogs,” said the little lady.

“Can I play with them?” asked Brenda excitedly.

“Play with them as long as you like,” answered the little lady. And Brenda stayed and played with the puppies, and the little lady brought out a chair into the sunshine and knitted while she listened to Brenda's joyous chatter, and time passed all too quickly.

“You must come again soon, Brenda,” said the little lady as she said good-bye.

“I will! Oh, I will!” said Brenda, “I've had a lovely time!” and she skipped gaily out of the cottage and down the street.

But Brenda did not see the little lady before Christmas, and when Brenda awoke on Christmas morning she looked excitedly at the foot of her bed. There were several stockings simply overflowing with toys. But there was one stocking at which Brenda looked with joy from the top of which peeped a white fluffy head with two white fluffy paws, and it whined with pleasure as it saw Brenda.

“Oh! Oh!” shouted Brenda, and she jumped out of bed and picked the little cuddlesome bundle out of the stocking.

“You lovely, darling, darling, puppy!” she whispered in its ear.

Then her mother opened the door. “Mummie! Look! Look!” Brenda held up the fluffy ball.

“There's a little note pinned to the stocking,” said her mother, “I'll read it to you.” She unpinned, the note from the stocking lying on the bed and read, “To a dear little brown-haired girl who brought sunshine into my life the other afternoon, I give Jerry, the puppy, with lots of love and good wishes for a happy Christmas, from the lady at the cottage.”

“Oh, oh, isn't it lovely!” shouted Brenda joyously jogging the puppy up and down in her arms. “It's the fourth door. That did it! The fourth door!”

“The fourth door!” exclaimed her mother, “What do you mean?”

But Brenda did not answer for, clad in her pyjamas, she had skipped out of the room and down the stairs with the puppy in her arms.

But we know what Brenda meant, don't we?—just you and I.