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“The Gift of the Magi”
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but cry. So Della did it.
Della finished her cry. She stood by the window and looked out at a grey cat walking on a grey fence in a grey yard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the mirror. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Quickly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the Dillinghams in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a coat for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. For a minute she stood still while a tear or two fell on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat, and she hurried out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: "M-me Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." Della ran up to the second floor.
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take your hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, the next two hours she was ransacking the stores for Jim's present. She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum chain simple and nice in design. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value – the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents.
When Della reached home she got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a mischievous schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do – oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?"
At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della took the chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two – and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stepped inside the door. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her with that strange expression on his face.
Della jumped off the table and went to him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again – you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice – what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, as if he had not yet realized the fact.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he repeated.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you – sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"
Jim seemed quickly to wake out of his trance. He embraced his Della. Eight dollars a week or a million a year – what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that one was not among them. This dark assertion will be clear later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you unwrap that package you may see why I behaved so at first."
White fingers tore the string and paper. And then a scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick change to hysterical tears, so that the master of the flat had to use all the comforting powers he could.
For there lay The Combs – the set of combs, side and back, that Della had admired long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims – just the shade to wear in her beautiful brown hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and she had not the least hope of possessing them. And now, they were hers, but the hair that they should have adorned was gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And then Della jumped up like a little cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm.
"Isn't it charming, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim lay down on the sofa and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now it’s time to put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men – wonderfully wise men – who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have related to you the simple story of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
COMPREHENSION AND DISCUSSION:
A penny saved is a penny earned.
Christmas is a difficult time of the year for many people.
If you don’t have money, you should not try to buy gifts.
Gifts are the most important part of Christmas.
All poor people are miserable at Christmas.
Doing things on the spur of the moment is always a bad idea; people should always think before doing something.
Only rich people are really happy at Christmas.
The way a person looks is an important part of a relationship.
Writing option:
Plot a new ending for the story. Imagine that Della tries to buy back Jim's watch. How will she raise the money? What will Jim's reaction be?
“A SERVICE OF LOVE”
Joe Larrabee dreamed of becoming a great artist. Even when he was six, people in the little western town where he lived used to say, "Joe has great talent, he will become a famous artist." At twenty, he left his home town and went to New York. He had his dreams – but very little money.
Delia had her dreams too. She played the piano so well in the little southern village where she lived that her family said, "She must finish her musical training in New York." With great difficulty they collected enough money to send her north "to finish".
Joe and Delia got acquainted at a friend's house where some art and music students had gathered to discuss art, music and the newest plays. They fell in love with each other, and in a short time they married.
Mr. and Mrs. Larrabee began their married life in a little room. But they were happy, for they had their Art, and they had each other. Joe was painting in, he class of the great Magister. Mr. Magister got a lot of money for his pictures – and he took a lot of money for his lessons. Delia was taking piano lessons from the great Rosenstock, and he was taking a lot of money from Delia.
The two young dreamers were very, very happy while their money lasted. But it didn't last very long. Soon, they didn't have enough to pay for their lessons and eat three times a day. When one loves one's Art, no service seems too hard. So Delia decided she must stop taking lessons and give lessons herself. She began to look for pupils. One evening, she came home very excited, with shining eyes.
"Joe, dear," she announced happily, "I've got a pupil. General Pinkney – I mean – his daughter, Clementina. He's very rich, and they have a wonderful house. She's so beautiful – she dresses in white; and she's so nice and pleasant! I'm going to give her three lessons a week; and just think, Joe! Five dollars a lesson. Now, dear, don't look so worried, and let's have supper. I've bought some very nice fish."
But Joe refused to listen to her. "That's all right for you, Dellie, but all wrong for me," he protested. "Do you suppose I'm going to let you work while I continue to study Art? No! Never! I can get a job as a mechanic or clean windows. I'll get some kind of work."
Delia threw her arms around him. "Joe, dear, you mustn't think of leaving Mr. Magister and your Art. I am not giving up music. The lessons won't interfere with my music. While I teach, I learn, and I can go back to Rosenstock when I get a few more pupils."
"All right," said Joe. "But giving lessons isn't Art."
"When one loves one's Art, no service seems too hard," said Delia.
During the next week, Mr. and Mrs. Larrabee had breakfast very early. Joe was painting some pictures in Central Park, and he needed the morning light especially, he said. Time flies when you love Art, and it was usually seven o'clock in the evening when Joe returned home. At the end of the week, Delia, very proud but a little tired, put fifteen dollars on the table. "Sometimes," she said, "Clementina is a very difficult pupil. And she always wears white. I'm tired of seeing the same colour."
And then Joe, with the manner of Monte Cristo, pulled eighteen dollars out of his pocket and put it on the table too. "I sold one of my pictures to a man from Washington," he said. "And now, he wants a picture of the East River to take with him to Washington."
"I'm so glad you haven't given up your Art, dear," Delia said. "You are sure to win! Thirty-three dollars! We have never had so much money to spend."
The next Saturday evening, Joe came home first. He put his money on the table and then washed what seemed to look like a lot of paint from his hands. Half an hour later, Delia arrived. There was a big bandage[8] on her right hand. "Dellie, dear, what has happened? What is the matter with your hand?" Joe asked.
Delia laughed, but not very happily. "Clementina," she explained, "asked me to have lunch with her and the General after our lesson. She's not very strong, you know, and when she was giving me some tea, her hand shook and she spilled a lot of very hot water over my hand. But General Pinkney bandaged my hand himself. They were both so sorry. Oh, Joe, did you sell another picture?" She had seen the money on the table.
"Yes," said Joe. "To the man from Washington. What time this afternoon did you burn your hand, Dellie?"
"Five o'clock, I think," said Delia. "The iron – the water was very hot. And Clementina cried, and General Pinkney..."
Joe put his arms round Delia. "Where are you working, Dellie? Tell me," he asked in a serious voice.
Delia was about to say something, but-suddenly tears appeared in her eyes and she began to cry. "I couldn't get any pupils," she said. "And I didn't want you to stop taking lessons, so I got a job ironing shirts in the big laundry[9] on Twenty-Fourth Street. This afternoon, I burned my hand with a hot iron. Don't be angry with me, Joe. I did it for your Art. And now, you have painted those pictures for the man from Washington..."
"He isn't from Washington," said Joe slowly.
"It makes no difference where he is from," said Delia. "How clever you are, Joe! How did you guess that I wasn't giving music lessons?"
“I guessed”, Joe said, "because about five o'clock this afternoon, I sent some oil up to the ironing-room. They said a girl had burned her hand. You see, dear, I work as a mechanic in that same laundry on Twenty-Fourth Street."
“And the man from Washington…?”
“Yes, dear”, Joe said. “The man from Washington and General Pinkney are both creations of the same art, but you cannot call it painting or music”. And they both began to laugh.
“You know, dear”, Joe said. “When one loves one’s Art, no service seems…”
But Delia stopped him with her hand on his mouth. “No”, she said, “just – “when one loves”.”
COMPREHENSION AND DISCUSSION:
I. Say if these statements are true or false. Correct the false statements.
1. Joe and Delia came to New York from the same town.
2. After they married, both of them stopped taking lessons.
3. Delia soon found a pupil, named Clementina.
4. Joe had not enough courage to tell Delia the truth about his job.
5. The moment Joe saw Delia’s bandaged hand, he understood everything.
6. Delia got angry when she learned about Joe’s job.
II. Answer the following questions:
1. Why did Joe Larrabee and Delia come to New York?
2. Where did the young men get acquainted?
3. In what way did they continue their education after marriage?
4. What made Delia give up her music lessons?
5. Why was Joe disappointed when he learnt about Delia's plan?
6. What was Joe's plan? Did Delia know about it?
7. Every week Joe brought some money. How did he explain it to Delia?
8. What happened one day?
9. How did Joe guess the truth?
10. Explain the meaning of the phrase "When one loves one's Art, no service seems too hard." Do you agree with it? Give your grounds.
11. Why do you think Delia shortened this phrase and said, "just – when one loves"?
12. Why did the author name the story "A Service of Love"?
13. What kind of people, to your mind, can sacrifice something for the good of others?
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