Bertie's New Year

"Bertie's New Year" is a charming short story by Lucy Maud Montgomery that captures the essence of youthful hope and the bittersweet joy of new beginnings. The narrative follows Bertie, a young boy navigating the wonders and challenges that come with the turn of the year. Through heartwarming interactions and introspective moments, the story explores themes of friendship, family, and the promise of change. Montgomery's lyrical prose evokes a sense of nostalgia and the universal desire for renewal, making it a delightful read for those who appreciate the magic of storytelling.

• Short story

								
He stood on the sagging doorstep and looked out on the snowy world.
His hands were clasped behind him, and his thin face wore a
thoughtful, puzzled look. The door behind him opened jerkingly, and a
scowling woman came out with a pan of dishwater in her hand.

"Ain't you gone yet, Bert?" she said sharply. "What in the world are
you hanging round for?"

"It's early yet," said Bertie cheerfully. "I thought maybe George
Fraser'd be along and I'd get a lift as far as the store."

"Well, I never saw such laziness! No wonder old Sampson won't keep you
longer than the holidays if you're no smarter than that. Goodness, if
I don't settle that boy!"--as the sound of fretful crying came from
the kitchen behind her.

"What is wrong with William John?" asked Bertie.

"Why, he wants to go out coasting with those Robinson boys, but he
can't. He hasn't got any mittens and he would catch his death of cold
again."

Her voice seemed to imply that William John had died of cold several
times already.

Bertie looked soberly down at his old, well-darned mittens. It was
very cold, and he would have a great many errands to run. He shivered,
and looked up at his aunt's hard face as she stood wiping her dish-pan
with a grim frown which boded no good to the discontented William
John. Then he suddenly pulled off his mittens and held them out.

"Here--he can have mine. I'll get on without them well enough."

"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Ross, but less unkindly. "The fingers would
freeze off you. Don't be a goose."

"It's all right," persisted Bertie. "I don't need them--much. And
William John doesn't hardly ever get out."

He thrust them into her hand and ran quickly down the street, as
though he feared that the keen air might make him change his mind in
spite of himself. He had to stop a great many times that day to
breathe on his purple hands. Still, he did not regret having lent his
mittens to William John--poor, pale, sickly little William John, who
had so few pleasures.

It was sunset when Bertie laid an armful of parcels down on the steps
of Doctor Forbes's handsome house. His back was turned towards the big
bay window at one side, and he was busy trying to warm his hands, so
he did not see the two small faces looking at him through the frosty
panes.

"Just look at that poor little boy, Amy," said the taller of the two.
"He is almost frozen, I believe. Why doesn't Caroline hurry and open
the door?"

"There she goes now," said Amy. "Edie, couldn't we coax her to let him
come in and get warm? He looks so cold." And she drew her sister out
into the hall, where the housekeeper was taking Bertie's parcels.

"Caroline," whispered Edith timidly, "please tell that poor little
fellow to come in and get warm--he looks very cold."

"He's used to the cold, I warrant you," said the housekeeper rather
impatiently. "It won't hurt him."

"But it is Christmas week," said Edith gravely, "and you know,
Caroline, when Mamma was here she used to say that we ought to be
particularly thoughtful of others who were not so happy or well-off as
we were at this time."

Perhaps Edith's reference to her mother softened Caroline, for she
turned to Bertie and said cordially enough, "Come in, and warm
yourself before you go. It's a cold day."

Bertie shyly followed her to the kitchen.

"Sit up to the fire," said Caroline, placing a chair for him, while
Edith and Amy came round to the other side of the stove and watched
him with friendly interest.

"What's your name?" asked Caroline.

"Robert Ross, ma'am."

"Oh, you're Mrs. Ross's nephew then," said Caroline, breaking eggs
into her cake-bowl, and whisking them deftly round. "And you're
Sampson's errand boy just now? My goodness," as the boy spread his
blue hands over the fire, "where are your mittens, child? You're never
out without mittens a day like this!"

"I lent them to William John--he hadn't any," faltered Bertie. He did
not know but that the lady might consider it a grave crime to be
mittenless.

"No mittens!" exclaimed Amy in dismay. "Why, I have three pairs. And
who is William John?"

"He is my cousin," said Bertie. "And he's awful sickly. He wanted to
go out to play, and he hadn't any mittens, so I lent him mine. I
didn't miss them--much."

"What kind of a Christmas did you have?"

"We didn't have any."

"No Christmas!" said Amy, quite overcome. "Oh, well, I suppose you are
going to have a good time on New Year's instead."

Bertie shook his head.

"No'm, I guess not. We never have it different from other times."

Amy was silent from sheer amazement. Edith understood better, and she
changed the subject.

"Have you any brothers or sisters, Bertie?"

"No'm," returned Bertie cheerfully. "I guess there's enough of us
without that. I must be going now. I'm very much obliged to you."

Edith slipped from the room as he spoke, and met him again at the
door. She held out a pair of warm-looking mittens.

"These are for William John," she said simply, "so that you can have
your own. They are a pair of mine which are too big for me. I know
Papa will say it is all right. Goodbye, Bertie."

"Goodbye--and thank you," stammered Bertie, as the door closed. Then
he hastened home to William John.

That evening Doctor Forbes noticed a peculiarly thoughtful look on
Edith's face as she sat gazing into the glowing coal fire after
dinner. He laid his hand on her dark curls inquiringly.

"What are you musing over?"

"There was a little boy here today," began Edith.

"Oh, such a dear little boy," broke in Amy eagerly from the corner,
where she was playing with her kitten. "His name was Bertie Ross. He
brought up the parcels, and we asked him in to get warm. He had no
mittens, and his hands were almost frozen. And, oh, Papa, just
think!--he said he never had any Christmas or New Year at all."

"Poor little fellow!" said the doctor. "I've heard of him; a pretty
hard time he has of it, I think."

"He was so pretty, Papa. And Edie gave him her blue mittens for
William John."

"The plot deepens. Who is William John?"

"Oh, a cousin or something, didn't he say Edie? Anyway, he is sick,
and he wanted to go coasting, and Bertie gave him his mittens. And I
suppose he never had any Christmas either."

"There are plenty who haven't," said the doctor, taking up his paper
with a sigh. "Well, girlies, you seem interested in this little fellow
so, if you like, you may invite him and his cousin to take dinner with
you on New Year's night."

"Oh, Papa!" said Edith, her eyes shining like stars.

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