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Mandeep Mehta

Microsoft Excel Functions Quick

Reference
For High-Quality Data Analysis, Dashboards, and
More
1st ed.
Mandeep Mehta
Mumbai, India

Any source code or other supplementary material referenced by the

author in this book is available to readers on GitHub via the book’s
product page, located at www.​apress.​com/​978-1-4842-6612-0. For
more detailed information, please visit http://​www.​apress.​com/​
source-code.

ISBN 978-1-4842-6612-0 e-ISBN 978-1-4842-6613-7

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-6613-7

© Mandeep Mehta 2021

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively
licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is
concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of
illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in
any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and
retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or
dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed.

The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks,

service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the
absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the
relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general
use.

The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the
advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate
at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the
editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the
material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have
been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional
claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.

Distributed to the book trade worldwide by Springer Science+Business

Media LLC, 1 New York Plaza, Suite 4600, New York, NY 10004. Phone
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Science+Business Media Finance Inc (SSBM Finance Inc). SSBM Finance
Inc is a Delaware corporation.
Dedicated to God and my family
Introduction
Having knowledge of Excel functions gives you an edge in your
corporate life. The various Excel functions allow Excel users to create
informational reports, useful dashboard models, and much more. Excel
contains a lot of functions, and you could spend quite some time
learning which functions work best for certain tasks and when to
combine functions with other functions.
This is where this book comes in. This book will help you
understand the different categories of Excel functions and how to
use them; and
how to combine functions to accomplish the tasks on hand.
As you gain proficiency in Excel functions, not only will you become
more productive, but you will also be able to do tasks that you didn’t
know could be handled with Excel formulas.
Book Audience
This is not a book for beginners in Excel. It is for somebody who knows
how to do the following:
Create a workbook
Add/delete worksheets
Navigate within a workbook
Use the ribbon and the dialog boxes that pop up in Excel
Perform basic Windows activities like file management and copy-
paste
This book will help you understand the various functions in Excel.
For advanced users, this book can act as a reference book.
How Is the Book Organized?
The book is divided into chapters as follows:
Chapter 1 introduces you to Excel functions.
Chapter 2 shows you the TEXT functions in Excel.
Chapters 3 and 4 show you the DATE and TIME functions in Excel.
Chapter 5 introduces you named ranges and Excel tables.
Chapter 6 focuses on LOOKUPS and REFERENCE functions in Excel.
Chapter 7 brings in the AGGREGATE functions of Excel.
Chapter 8 explores the LOGICAL functions in Excel.
Chapter 9 visits some of the MATH functions in Excel.
Chapter 10 explores the INFORMATION functions available in Excel.
Chapter 11 gives an overview of the FINANCE functions of Excel.
Chapter 12 talks about handling errors that arise while using Excel
functions.
Chapter 13 looks into megaformulas.
Chapter 14 talks about ARRAY formulas in Excel.
I wish you good luck in using Excel functions, and I sincerely hope
that you have as much fun with it as I did in writing this book.
Acknowledgments
I would like to begin by thanking God and my family. I would also like to
the Apress team: Smriti Srivastava (acquisitions editor), Shrikant
Vishwakarma (coordinating editor), Matthew Moodie (development
editor), and everyone at Apress who has helped in this book.
I would also like to thank Mark Proctor, who has been helpful with
his invaluable technical reviews and comments. Your feedback was very
helpful.
My thanks also go out to my managers and colleagues at my
workplaces, who encouraged me to share my Excel knowledge and
enabled me to take trainings to share my Excel knowledge. This book is
a result of your encouragement.
Last but not least, I would like to thank you, my readers.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1:​What Is an Excel Function?​
What Is an Excel Function?​
How to Use Excel Functions
Types of Excel Functions
Categories of Excel Functions
Summary
Chapter 2:​Text Functions
LEFT Function
Syntax
Example
RIGHT Function
Syntax
Example
MID Function
Syntax
Example
UPPER Function
Syntax
Example
LOWER Function
Syntax
Example
PROPER Function
Syntax
Example
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TRIM Function
Syntax
Example
LEN Function
Syntax
Example
FIND Function
Syntax
Example
SEARCH Function
Syntax
Example
CONCATENATE/​&​Function
Syntax
Example
VALUE Function
Syntax
Example
TEXT Function
Syntax
Example
EXACT Function
Syntax
Example
REPLACE Function
Syntax
 Example
SUBSTITUTE Function
Syntax
Examples
REPT Function
Syntax
Example
T Function
Syntax
Example
TEXTJOIN Function
Syntax
Example
Summary
Chapter 3:​Date Functions
TODAY Function
Syntax
Example
DAY Function
Syntax
Example
MONTH Function
Syntax
Example
YEAR Function
Syntax
 Example
EDATE Function
Syntax
Example
EOMONTH Function
Syntax
Example
WEEKDAY Function
Syntax
Example
WEEKNUM Function
Syntax
Example
DATE Function
Syntax
Example
DATEVALUE Function
Syntax
Example
WORKDAY Function
Syntax
Example
NETWORKDAYS Function
Syntax
Example
DATEDIF Function
 Syntax
Example
Summary
Chapter 4:​Time Functions
NOW Function
Syntax
Example
HOUR Function
Syntax
Example
MINUTE Function
Syntax
Example
SECOND Function
Syntax
Example
TIME Function
Syntax
Example
TIMEVALUE Function
Syntax
Example
Summary
Chapter 5:​Named Ranges and Excel Tables
Named Ranges
Advantages of Named Ranges
 Create a Named Range
Rules for Creating Names
Benefits of Named Ranges
Excel Tables
Benefits of Using Excel Tables
Creating a Table
Styling a Table
Renaming a Table
Adding a Reference to Another Table
Adding a Total Row to the Table
Summary
Chapter 6:​Lookup &​Reference Functions
VLOOKUP Function
Limitations of VLOOKUP
Syntax
Example
HLOOKUP Function
Syntax
Example
MATCH Function
Syntax
Example
INDEX Function
Syntax
Example
CHOOSE Function
 Syntax
Example
FORMULATEXT Function
Syntax
Example
ADDRESS Function
Syntax
Example
COLUMN Function
Syntax
Example
COLUMNS Function
Syntax
Example
ROW Function
Syntax
Example
ROWS Function
Syntax
Example
INDIRECT Function
Syntax
Example
Why Use the INDIRECT Function?​
Possible Issues with INDIRECT Function
OFFSET Function
 Syntax
Example
Summary
Chapter 7:​Aggregate Functions
SUM Function
Syntax
Example
SUMIF Function
Syntax
Example
SUMIFS Function
Syntax
Example
SUMPRODUCT Function
Syntax
Example
COUNT Function
Syntax
Example
COUNTA Function
Syntax
Example
COUNTBLANK Function
Syntax
Example
COUNTIF Function
 Syntax
Example
COUNTIFS Function
Syntax
Example
AVERAGE Function
Syntax
Example
AVERAGEIF Function
Syntax
Example
AVERAGEIFS Function
Syntax
Example
SUBTOTAL Function
Syntax
Example
AGGREGATE Function
Syntax
Example
MAX Function
Syntax
Example
MIN Function
Syntax
Example
 MAXIFS Function
Syntax
Example
MINIFS Function
Syntax
Example
Summary
Chapter 8:​Logical Functions
IF Function
Syntax
Example
AND Function
Syntax
Example
OR Function
Syntax
Example
NOT Function
Syntax
Example
XOR Function
Syntax
Example
IFS Function
Syntax
Example
 SWITCH Function
Syntax
Example
Summary
Chapter 9:​Math Functions
ABS Function
Syntax
Example
INT Function
SYNTAX
Example
TRUNC Function
Syntax
Example
ROUND Function
Syntax
Example
CEILING Function
Syntax
Example
FLOOR Function
Syntax
Example
RAND Function
Syntax
Example
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 RANDBETWEEN Function
Syntax
Example
Summary
Chapter 10:​Information Functions
CELL Function
Syntax
Example
INFO Function
Syntax
Example
ISBLANK Function
Syntax
Example
ISERROR Function
Syntax
Example
ISEVEN Function
Syntax
Example
ISODD Function
Syntax
Example
ISFORMULA Function
Syntax
Example
ISLOGICAL Function
Syntax
Example
ISNA Function
Syntax
Example
ISNONTEXT Function
Syntax
Example
ISNUMBER Function
Syntax
Example
ISREF Function
Syntax
Example
ISTEXT Function
Syntax
Example
N Function
Syntax
Example
NA Function
Syntax
Example
SHEET Function
Syntax
 Example
SHEETS Function
Syntax
Example
TYPE Function
Syntax
Example
Summary
Chapter 11:​Finance Functions
FV Function
Syntax
Example
PV Function
Syntax
Example
PMT Function
Syntax
Example
IPMT Function
Syntax
Example
PPMT Function
Syntax
Example
RATE Function
Syntax
 Example
NPER Function
Syntax
Example
NPV Function
Syntax
Example
IRR Function
Syntax
Example
XIRR Function
Syntax
Example
XNPV Function
Syntax
Example
Summary
Chapter 12:​Error Handling
Why Do Errors Occur While Using Excel Functions?​
Different Types of Error Codes
Functions Used to Handle Errors
IFERROR Function
Debugging Excel Formulas
Using the F9 Key
Formula Tab
Summary
Chapter 13:​Megaformulas
What Is a Megaformula?​
Advantages of Megaformulas
Disadvantages of Megaformulas
Examples of Megaformulas
Dynamic Lookup Using INDEX MATCH Functions
Create a Name Using the First Letter of the First Name and
the Last Name
Create a Name Consisting of Only First and Last Name
Reverse a Text String
Summary
Chapter 14:​Array Formulas
What Is an Array Formula?​
Advantages of Array Formulas
Disadvantages of Array Formulas
Examples of Array Formulas
Count the Number of Characters in a Cell Range
Find the Three Largest Numbers
Sum the Three Largest Numbers
Find Unique Values
Multiplication Table in Excel Created Using Array Formulas
EXCEL 365 Functions
SORT Function
SORTBY Function
SEQUENCE Function
Summary
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Christmas Holly
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The Christmas Holly

Author: Marion Harland

Release date: December 23, 2020 [eBook #64117]

Language: English

Credits: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHRISTMAS

HOLLY ***
 THE
CHRISTMAS
 HOLLY
BY
MARION HARLAND

New York:
SHELDON & Co., PUBLISHERS,
498 & 500 BROADWAY.
1867.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by

SHELDON & Co.,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, for the
Southern District of New York.

Stereotyped by Smith & McDougal, 84 Beckman St.

 N a Christmas Eve, many years ago, before I had learned to
accept Life as it is,—as it must ever be while Man needs the
discipline of reverses, and while the ways of God are known but
to Himself,—a checquered scene, always; often grey and
lowering; sometimes black with midnight and chill with storm—
on a certain Christmas Eve, then, when I was young, unreasonable and
rebellious, I took a long, lonely walk into the country. The afternoon suited
my temper, and both were gloomy. Low heavens of clouded steel that yet
seemed, now and then, to shiver with the still, biting air, and with each
shudder, to let down a few wandering flakes of snow; a bleak landscape of
commons, blasted by invisible frost; of sterile hills, that must have been
stony and bare in the sunniest springtime,—and for a horizon, a girdle of
leafless woods, stretching up motionless boughs against the pitiless sky; in
the hollow formed by the amphitheatre of hills, an artificial pond—too
intensely tame in form and surroundings to deserve the name of lake, or be
mistaken for aught but what it was, viz., a pool dug and filled with a single
eye to the production of ice for the next summer’s use,—this was the
picture that greeted my outlooking sight. Within was the dull, icy calm of
stoical misanthropy; distrust of my fellows, which stubbornly refused to ask
of heavenly wisdom the solution of the human enigma that had baffled, in
disgusting me.
Into the midst of this sunless mood came a surprise Right before me, in
my steady but aimless track across the waste, was a clump of dwarf trees,
poor, puny things that must have had a hard coming-up. I marvelled, in
surveying them, that the germs from which they had struggled had had the
courage to sprout in such a barren spot. In the centre of the coppice, head
and shoulders above his fellows, arose a holly sapling, brave with leaves of
glossy green and scarlet berries. The only smile in the drear expanse, it was
in itself a whole fountain of cheer. The soil about the trunk might be frozen
to stone-like hardness, but below, the great heart of Mother Earth pulsed
warmly still; throwing up, at each beat, sap into the hardy frame of her
winter-child; strength to the lusty limbs; verdure to the spiky leaves;
blushes to the coral beads. And while I looked, a bevy of brown-coated
plump-breasted snow-birds whirled noisily across the plain, and alighted,
with much twittering and a deal of happy, useless fluttering, among the
inviting branches.
I had conned my lesson, and I turned my face homewards with changed
spirits and a changed purpose. As one measure towards the fulfilment of the
latter, I send this Christmas greeting into the waste we know as the common
life of this working-day world. We make it too common, dear reader. We
choose for ourselves a path across a dead level, and then perversely adapt
our feelings to what we are pleased to call our circumstances. I pray you,
for this one holiday season, learn with me of my holly-tree. Seek out
present brightness, and in it read the promise of happy days to come. Sigh
not that

—“All hope of Spring-time

Has perished with the year,”

while the same Love that nourishes the tiny greenling of the forest into
brightness and beauty, despite wintry blast and wintry sleet, will keep alive
in your heart, if not the tender shoots of youthful joys, the stronger, braver,
worthier growth of love for your brother man; helpful charity for all things
weak and lowly and sorrowing; hope and faith in the wise and tender Father
of us all.
MARION HARLAND.
 RS. DRYDEN was cross!
She would have been at a loss to specify what especial grounds
she had for the discontent that possessed her on this particular
night. If interrogated, she would probably have returned an
evasive reply to the effect that it was none of the questioner’s
business how she felt or looked, so long as she did not obtrude her
unhappiness upon other people. Everybody had his and her own troubles
with which others had no right to intermeddle. She was responsible to no
one for her behavior; nobody should hinder her from being low-spirited, if
she pleased to be so. She was out of humor with the whole world, herself
included. The children were troublesome; the servants heedless; her
husband indifferent to her grievances—and it was Christmas eve.
“Really,” she said, peevishly, at tea-time, “one would suppose that
Christmas came but once in a century, instead of once a year! Everybody is
as crazy to-night as if there were never to be another 25th of December.”
“By the way,” said her husband, looking up from his paper, “I suppose
you have baked some mince-pies and fried some dough-nuts—haven’t
you?”
“I have mince-pies and turkey for to-morrow!” was the curt reply. “I
knew you would not be satisfied unless you had as good a dinner as your
neighbors. But as for dough-nuts—they are oily, rank, indigestible
abominations, fit only for an ostrich’s stomach, and one doesn’t get the
smell of the hot fat out of the house in two weeks after they have been
cooked. I never mean to make another while I live.”
Two pairs of sorrowful eyes stole a glance of mutual pity at one another,
when this announcement was made; two pairs of cherry lips took a piteous
curl, for a second; two curly heads bent lower over the plates set before
their owners.
 Not that there was any dearth of sweet things in the Dryden larder, or
that Ally and Nettie, the proprietors of the eyes, lips, and heads aforesaid,
were gormandizers. But this matter of frying doughnuts was great fun to
them, as it is to most other small people who have ever been permitted to
stand by and see the rings, leaves, birds, circles, triangles, and the endless
variety of nondescript figures leave the kneading-board pale, flat surfaces of
soft dough, and, upon being thrown into the bubbling fat, sinking, like
leaden shapes, with a tremendous splutter and “fizz,” arise slowly and
majestically to the top of the caldron, as Mr. Weller has it, “swelling
wisibly” before the enraptured eye into puffy, crisp, toothsome morsels, fit,
in the estimation of the juvenile partakers thereof, for a queen’s luncheon.
Last year, the brother and sister had spent Christmas week with an aunt in
another town. This lady being the indulgent mamma of half a dozen boys
and girls, enjoyed nothing so much as making them merry and happy. The
six days passed in her abode lived in the memory of nephew and niece as a
dream of Paradisaical delight. But, this season, the holidays were to be kept
at home, and the prospect was, to say the least, not eminently flattering.
Mr. and Mrs. Dryden were estimable people in their way, but they had
studied to render themselves intensely and purely matter-of-fact. They
prided themselves secretly upon growing wiser and more practical—less
poetical—each revolving cycle. Each year, life assumed a more positive and
less romantic aspect; their own duties seemed more momentous and
imperative; the things which others call recreation and innocent
amusements were puerile and unworthy. Mr. Dryden was making money;
Mrs. Dryden was a notable housekeeper, and, so far as the physical needs of
the children were concerned, a careful mother. Four little ones, three boys
and a girl, claimed her love and maternal offices. Allison, the eldest, was
eight years old; Nettie, six; and a pair of twin babies were in their third
winter. The mother’s hands were certainly full, however admirable might be
her faculty of accomplishing with speed the work set for her to do. It was
not surprising that she should sometimes wear a haggard, anxious look, or
that, now and then, she should be, as she now expressed it, “worried out of
her senses.”
“I don’t see, for my part,” she broke forth, impatiently, presently, “how
people find time or have the heart to frolic and observe holidays and the
like frivolous carryings-on! With me, it is work, work, work! from morning
until night, and from one year’s end to another. It frets me to see grown-up
men and women, who ought to know something about the cares and solemn
responsibilities of life, acting like silly children. What is Christmas more
than any other time—when one takes a sober, common-sense view of the
matter?”
“That is what nobody does in this age of nonsense and dissipation,”
returned her husband. “I don’t know what the world is coming to!”
“Wasn’t our Saviour born on Christmas-day, Mamma?” asked Nettie’s
timid voice.
“That is not certain, by any means, child. And if it were true, there is all
the more scandal in making a frolic of it. If there were to be prayer-
meetings held all over the world to celebrate the event, it would be far more
appropriate.”
The polysyllable staggered Nettie a little, but she retained sufficient
courage to reply: “Our teacher told us, last Sabbath, that everybody ought to
be very happy upon the Saviour’s birthday.”
Before Mrs. Dryden could answer, Ally put in his oar.
“Mamma! why doesn’t Santa Claus ever come down our chimney?”
“There is no such creature, Allison! You are too old to believe in that
ridiculous fable.”
“But, Mamma, he came to Aunt Mary’s last year!” cried both children, in
a breath.
“And we all hung up our stockings in the parlor!” added Nettie.
“And Aunt Mary let the fire go down on purpose, so that the old chap
might not be scorched!” shouted Ally, excitedly. “We wanted her to have
the chimney swept, but she said he wouldn’t mind a little dirt.”
“For you know—

‘His clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot!’ ”

quoted Nettie, “and yet he was in a good humor

—‘and filled all the stockings’ ”—

 “ ‘Then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger alongside his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!’ ”

chanted Ally. “Oh! what times we had repeating that, after we went to bed
that night.

‘His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
He had a broad face and a little round—’ ”

“You children will be the death of me!” cried Mrs. Dryden, distractedly,
putting her hands to her ears. “I shall certainly never let you spend another
Christmas at your Aunt Mary’s! Your heads were so crammed with
nonsense last year, that I am afraid you will never get rid of it. Finish your
suppers and be off to bed! You are as Christmas-mad as if you had never
been trained to more sensible things!”
“I can not imagine,” said Mr. Dryden, severely, “how they have
contrived to remember the senseless doggerel your sister was so injudicious
as to teach them.”
“That is the depravity of human nature!” sighed the wife.
Very sober little faces were uplifted to father and mother for a “good-
night” kiss, and very slow footsteps went up the stairs to the chamber which
the brother and sister shared in common. There was a pathos in the sound,
so unlike was it to the brisk patter of other small feet upon other floors and
staircases on that jubilee eve.
The father, albeit he was not an imaginative man, noticed this, and went
off to the parlor with a pained and yearning heart—saddened, he knew not
by what—longing for something he could not name. The children had
interrupted his evening reading, at supper, by their chatter, and he bestowed
himself in his armchair by the centre-table, to finish the perusal of his
newspaper. His seat was comfortable; the light clear and soft; the evening
news interesting; the room still; yet he could not fix his mind upon his
occupation. Through the quiet apartment came and went the echoes of the
four little feet, in slow dejection, going on up to the repose that was to be
visited by no happy dreams of the glories of Christmas morning. He saw,
between him and the printed column, the sadly-serious countenances, that
were, by this time, laid upon their pillows. He wondered if the pair would
cry themselves to sleep. He purposely waxed angry with his sister-in-law
for putting these silly notions into the children’s heads. They were
contented enough until that unfortunate visit. Now, there was no telling
where this mischief would stop. It was too provoking to have two such fine
natures soured by repinings and foolish longings; two minds so intelligent
filled with superstitious fancies. Yes! they were fine children! if he did say
it—and dutiful as handsome and intelligent. His wife had an excellent
method of discipline, and deserved much credit for her success in training
her offspring. She was a good woman—industrious and conscientious—but
he could have wished that her spirits were more equable. He did not relish
the idea that his blooming Nettie might, one day, become a toil-worn, pains-
taking wife and mother; her smooth forehead be ploughed in two deep
furrows, like those that crossed her mother’s, from temple to temple; her
pouting lips grow colorless and drawn down at the corners; her bird-like
voice sharpen into the shrill peevishness of the tones that had ordered the
bairns off to bed. He would like to keep life fresh and bright for his darling
so long as he could. She would find out, soon enough, what a dry, dusty,
detestable cheat the world was. If he might have his wish, she should be a
child always; a merry, laughing, singing fairy, to gladden his old age; a
simple-hearted, trusting child, in whose love and purity he could find
refreshment, when disheartened by the faithlessness of his fellow-men. She
was very fond of him—grave and undemonstrative as he was. With the
unerring perception of childhood, she had discovered that she was his
favorite, and repaid his partiality in the coin he liked best. The sound of his
latch-key in the door was the signal, noon and night, for her to bound down
stairs to meet him; to kiss him, and offer, in her pretty, womanly way, to
relieve him of his overcoat; to hang up his hat and bring him his slippers.
Such nimble feet as hers were! Blithe, willing little feet, how they twinkled
to and fro, to perform whatever errands he would suffer her to undertake for
his comfort! Merry, dancing little feet!
But the echoes persisted in contradicting his recollection of their lively
music. Up and down—sad and slow—they wandered; never drowned for a
moment, while their monotonous beat was rendered more mournful by the
hurried, ceaseless tramp of pleasure-seekers upon the pavement without. He
wished that he had spoken a kindly word to the downcast innocents, instead
of the silent salute he had vouchsafed to their mutely-offered lips. Perhaps
they were not asleep yet! His wife was still with the twins, in the bedroom
overhead, for he heard her walking about the floor, preparing, as he knew,
to leave them for the night. He could slip up noiselessly to the small
chamber adjoining, and solace his uneasy spirit by a loving “good-night,”
that should dry Nettie’s eyes, if they were wet, and comfort Ally’s
disappointed soul, while the partner of his bosom would be none the wiser
for it.
Mrs. Dryden did not allow the attendance of a nursery-maid to her elder
children in the evening. For more than a year they had undressed
themselves and retired to their respective cots, without noise or complaint,
leaving nothing for mother or servant to do, but to look in, a few minutes
later, and extinguish the gas. This had been done by Ellen, the chamber-
maid, before she went down to her own tea; but the moonlight, streaming
through the window-curtain, showed to the father, as he stood without the
partly-open door, the two white beds in opposite corners of the room, and
the forms that ought to have been snugly laid under the blankets. Instead of
this, they were raised upon their elbows to a half-sitting posture, and the
low hum of their earnest voices arrested the spectator upon the threshold.
“I wonder if Papa and Mamma ever were a little boy and girl!” said
Master Ally, in a doleful key. “If they were, I guess they have forgotten how
they used to feel. I could have cried right out, to-day, at school, when the
boys were all talking about Christmas gifts and what they expected to get.
You ought to have seen them stare at me when they asked me what I
thought I should have, and I said that we didn’t keep Christmas at our
house, and that I had never hung up my stockings but once, and that was
when I was at my aunt’s! And one boy asked me if my father and mother
were dead. And when I said ‘No,’ another fellow called out, as rude as
could be—‘I guess they don’t care much about you!’ I tell you, Nettie, it
makes a fellow feel real bad!”
“I know it!” said the miniature woman, tenderly. “But, Ally, dear, Papa
and Mamma do love us! Only they don’t know how much we think of
Christmas, and how children love to hang up their stockings, and all that.
But that was a very naughty boy that told you they didn’t care for you. Papa
works ever so hard to get clothes and food for us, so Mamma says; and
Mamma sews for us, and takes care of us when we are sick, and—and—a
great many other kind things.”
 “Maybe so; but she was awful cross to-night, and scolded like every
thing, just for nothing at all, and I am very miserable! Just hear the boys
shouting out-doors, and the people laughing and talking, as they go along!
It’s downright mean in them, when they might know that there isn’t to be
any Christmas in our house. I wish they would be still! I wish I was dead!”
“Ally, Ally, that is wicked!” expostulated the gentle tones of the sister.
“I don’t care! where is the sense of living, if a fellow is never to have
any fun? Where is the use of being good? If I was the wickedest boy in
town, I could not be treated worse than I am now. How I hate this stupid old
house! When I am a man, and have boys and girls of my own, I mean that
Santa Claus shall come every week and bring them—oh, such lots of nice
things! and you shall live with me, Nettie, and we will fry doughnuts and
have New Year’s cake every day!”
“Ally!” said Nettie, thoughtfully, “do you suppose there is such a man as
Santa Claus? Mamma says there isn’t!”
“I know there is!” returned the boy, confidently. “But he doesn’t come to
a house unless the father and mother of the children that live there send him
an invitation. One of the big boys told me so, to-day. And good fathers and
mothers always tell him what to bring.”
“I was just thinking,” resumed Nettie’s liquid treble, “if Our Heavenly
Father knew how very badly we wanted to have a Christmas, whether He
wouldn’t send him to us. Suppose I pray to Him and tell Him all about it!”
“You may try it!” was the conclusion of the embryo skeptic. “But I don’t
believe it will do any good.”
In a trice, Nettie had slipped to the floor, and was fumbling among a
heap of clothes laid upon a chair. Mr. Dryden watched her curiously.
“Now, Ally!” he heard her say, presently, “Here are the clean stockings
that Ellen got out for us to put on to-morrow. Mamma wouldn’t like it if we
hung them up ourselves, so I will just lay them on the foot of the bed. If
Santa Claus should come, maybe he can pin them up for us.”
Then, sinking to her knees, she put her hands together and raised her
pure face—angelic in the father’s sight—as the moonbeams revealed its
expression of meek devotion.
“Our Father who art in Heaven! please make us good and happy, and let
us have a merry Christmas. If there is any Santa Claus, please let him come
to our house to-night, for he has never been here in all our lives, and this
makes us very sorry. Bless dear Papa and Mamma, and don’t let us think
hard of them, or say naughty things about them, only because they don’t
know how little children feel. Amen!”
Ally gave a grunt that might mean acquiescence, or doubt, when his
sister arose and leaned over to kiss him; but Mr. Dryden could play the
eavesdropper no longer.
Feeling that he must inevitably discover himself if he remained another
minute in his present position, he hurried down-stairs and into the parlor,
where he behaved more like a crazy man than the sober, self-possessed head
of a staid and decent household. Kicking off his slippers, he thrust his feet
violently into
his boots, stamping, with unnecessary force, to get these fairly on; blew his
nose repeatedly and loudly, afterwards passing his handkerchief over his
eyes, as though the sudden catarrh from which he appeared to be suffering
had affected them also. Going into the hall, he snatched his greatcoat from
the rack and put it on—still in desperate haste, pulled his hat over his
brows, and rushed into the street.
He found himself plunged directly into a rapid, buzzing crowd. Every
step was quick and light; every face wore a smile, and the air was full of the
pleasant confusion of happy voices. Bless the children! how they ran under
his feet, and trod upon his toes, and kicked against his heels, and jostled
him on the right and on the left! And not one of them was empty-handed.
Parcels of all sizes, shapes, and descriptions, filled small fingers; were
hugged by small arms; laid upon small shoulders and slung upon small
backs. Brown paper bundles; bundles tied in frailer white paper, which,
bursting, showed the wheel of a toy-wagon, or the head of a toy-horse, or
the arm of a doll; funnel-shaped bundles, fresh from the hands of the
confectioner; bundles, wrapped hastily in newspaper by an economical
shopkeeper, or one whose stock of wrapping material had proved
inadequate to the rush of custom; boxes, square, oblong, and many-sided;
mimic guns and drums, with gayly-painted sides, upon whose heads the
delighted owners could not refrain from beating stirring Christmas marches,
as they carried them home; here and there a huge hobby-horse, with dilated
eye and streaming mane, borne aloft by the stalwart porter of some toy
warehouse; these were but a few features in the pageant that streamed past
Mr. Dryden—a varied and joyous torrent of life. He caught the infection of
this atmosphere of gladness before he had gone a dozen yards. He had come
forth with the intention of purchasing something with which to make his
children happy; to answer Nettie’s prayer so far as lay in his power.
Awakened conscience and remorseful affection for those he felt he had
wronged, had driven him on to the duty of making restitution. He soon
began to understand that there might be enjoyment, active and new, in the
task.
“How I wish I had brought them with me!” he said to himself, as he felt
his features relax into a smile at sight of the general hilarity. “It was hard to
send them to bed so early on Christmas eve. But, what would their mother
have said if I had asked her permission to take them out after dark?”
 He stayed his rapid progress, as another query presented itself. What
would this very prudent and sedate help-meet say and think of another bold
innovation upon established rules, to wit, this expedition and its probable
results? How should he meet the stare of mingled astonishment and rebuke
that would rest upon his freight of “useless” playthings, upon his return
home? She disapproved of toys, except when great moderation was
displayed in their bestowal. Nettie had but one doll in the world, and,
careful as she was of this treasure, her loving arts could not conceal the
ravages of time; said manikin having been Aunt Mary’s gift to her niece,
upon her third birthday. Ally had never owned a hobby-horse. His mother
had a dread of “rough plays.” Our hero was quite aware that on this
occasion he was not inclined to moderation. He would cheerfully have
bought the entire contents of any one of the illuminated windows whose
splendors drew around them a swarm of admiring juveniles, as a hive of
honey would tempt hungry bees. The difficulty was to know what would
best please the unsuspecting twain at home.
“This sort of thing is not in my line!” he soliloquized. “I suppose there is
a difference between girls’ and boys’ playthings. I have it! These people
ought to know their business! I will state my dilemma, and take whatever
they advise.”
Thus resolving, he entered the largest and most brilliant toy emporium
he had yet seen, and making his way, with considerable labor, through the
throng of eager buyers, presented himself at the counter. Luckily, the
saleswoman nearest him had just dismissed a customer, and turned to him
with an engaging smile. She looked tired—as well she might, poor thing!
having been on her feet for twelve hours, and hard at work all the time—but
it was not in a kind-hearted tradeswoman’s nature to be cross on Christmas
eve.
“What can I show you, sir?” she asked, politely.
“That is what you must tell me, madam! I want some toys for my little
girl, aged six, and my boy, who is two years older. If you can inform me
what will suit them, you will oblige me, and please them.”
His fluent, pleasant speech amazed himself. Certainly, the witchery of
the festal eve was working upon him fast.
“Has your daughter a tea or dinner set?” inquired the shop-woman,
taking down two wooden boxes; pulling back the sliding tops, and
rummaging among the shred paper used for packing the fragile contents.
“Here is something very handsome.”
“Just the thing!” ejaculated the father, upon beholding the wee tureen;
covered and shallow dishes, gravy-boat, saltcellars, casters, and a dozen
plates, white, with a rim of gold; all so graceful in design, so dainty in
material, as to elicit his unqualified admiration. Already he saw, in
imagination, Nettie’s eyes glisten at sight of them; her deft fingers
arranging them—cunning little housewife that she was.
“Then you don’t care for the tea-set?” making a movement to close the
box.
“I—don’t—know!” hesitatingly. “I suppose she will want to spread a
supper and breakfast table, as well as play dinner, won’t she?”
“If she has not cups and saucers already, I would certainly recommend
you to take these,” and the artful tempter made a tea-tray of the lid of the
case, setting out the service so attractively, that her inexperienced customer
speedily regarded the second array of china as a “must have.”
“Now, perhaps, you will look at a table!” pursued the woman, leading
the way to the back of the store. “We have a novelty in that line—an
extension-table.”
“Of course! how stupid in me not to remember that the china would be
useless unless she had something upon which to arrange it!”
Mr. Dryden had entered thoroughly into the spirit of the enterprise, and
was highly diverted at his oversight; very grateful to her who had corrected
his blunder. The table was a neat affair, with turned legs and polished top,
and constructed, as had been said, upon the extension principle. Mr. Dryden
took it on the spot.
“Chairs?” he said, interrogatively.
It was now the lady’s turn to be ashamed of her forgetfulness. Half a
dozen cane-seat chairs were added to the pile, which betokened Mr. Dryden
to be a valuable customer. Then followed a case of knives, a knife-box, and
an assortment of silver (?) ware, and both parties came to a momentary halt.
The gentleman recovered himself first.
“Now, a doll—for which she can keep house!”
“Wax finish, porcelain, biscuit, or rubber?” said the other, glibly.
“Dressed, or undressed?”
 “Dressed—I suppose, since to-morrow is so near. As to the rest, I am no
judge. But I want the prettiest doll in the establishment.”
His experience in this species of merchandise was so limited that he
might well be excused for starting at the wonderfully life-like lady paraded
for his inspection. Her hair waved in natural ringlets; she rolled her eyes, as
the shopwoman moved her to and fro. She was dressed in the height of the
mode—neither gloves, nor hat, nor parasol being wanting to complete her
toilet; and when, in obedience to a dexterous pull of a wire upon her left
side, she squeaked “Mamma!” and, responding to a similar twitch of the
corresponding muscle under the right arm, she cried “Papa!” Mr. Dryden
was overwhelmed.
“What will toy makers do next?” he articulated.
“The art of manufacturing dolls is carried to great perfection,” quietly
replied the woman. “Did you say that you would take this, sir?”
Take it! what could have bribed him to forego the treat of witnessing
Nettie’s rapture in the survey of this resplendent and accomplished
demoiselle?
“We have some very pretty doll-carriages, in which the lady can take the
air,” was the next attack, and Mr. Dryden fell a willing sacrifice to this new
snare.
In very compassion for her victim, the woman directed his thoughts to
the boy’s gifts. A velocipede; a wheelbarrow, with spade, rake, and hoe; a
set of jackstraws, for winter evenings; a football and a sled made up the
complement that was to transport the semi-infidel to the seventh heaven of
ecstacy.
Truth obliges me to mention that the lavish parent sustained a slight
shock when the obliging saleswoman figured up and presented the amount
of his indebtedness; but he rallied bravely.
“Christmas comes but once a year!” he said, manfully, and paid his bill
with a good grace.
“You could not purchase the same quantity of happiness so cheaply in
any other manner,” remarked the bland merchant, oracularly.
The tit-bit of wisdom was assuredly not original with her, but it
impressed the hearer as a profound and truthful observation—one well
worth remembering. He was getting on very swiftly, indeed, in the
acquisition of Christmas lore.
“You have but two children, then, sir?” remarked the lady, casually, in
handing him his change.
“Bless my life! I forgot the twins!” exclaimed the father, aghast. “But I
suppose they are too young to appreciate Christmas presents.”
“What age?” queried the other, sweetly.
“Two and a half.”
“My dear sir! they would be disconsolate if they were overlooked!
Children understand these matters astonishingly soon.”
And having ascertained the sex of the twins, she selected two rubber
balls, and two sets of building blocks for their delectation.
“Our porter will take them for you,” she said, amused at Mr. Dryden’s
amazed contemplation of the dimensions of the pyramid she constructed of
his purchases. “Please favor us with your address!”
“Really, a little more practice will render me an adept in toy shopping!”
thought Mr. Dryden, complacently, when he was beyond the enchanted
ground, the seductions of which had lightened both heart and pocket. “It is
not a disagreeable or difficult operation, after all.”
As he neared his own door on his return, his pockets crammed with
conical packages of sugar-plums, nuts, and crystallized fruits, he overtook
the porter with his barrow.
“Quietly, my man!” he said, inserting his latch-key in the lock with
secret trepidation of spirit. “It would never do to awaken the children. Or to
attract my wife’s attention,” he added, inly.
The porter’s load was transferred to the hall so silently that even Mrs.
Dryden’s cat-like ears did not hear any bustle. Mr. Dryden sent the man off
with a gratuity, and proceeded to dispose of the presents in the following
style: the table bestraddled the right arm, and upon it were the boxes of
crockery, surmounted by the chairs; the case of jackstraws and several other
light articles. The velocipede was borne in like manner upon the left coat
sleeve; then came the wheelbarrow; the boxes of building-blocks, the balls,
and on the top, held firmly in its place by Mr. Dryden’s chin, was the doll,
In the right hand he carried the sled; in the other Dolly’s carriage. This
staid, prosaic pater-familias would have made no bad representation of the
patron saint of the anniversary, the suggestion of whose existence he had
scouted, a few hours previously, as he slowly ascended the stairs on tiptoe,
his face radiant with arch delight, despite the cowardly fear tugging at his
heart-strings, as to the reception in store for him at the hands of his better
half. Treading yet more delicately, in passing his sleeping-room, wherein,
he had no doubt, Mrs. Dryden was soundly reposing, it being ten o’clock,
her invariable bedtime, he pushed open the door of the smaller chamber
beyond, and entered. The gas was burning—not brightly—but it enabled
him to see with terrible distinctness the figure that started up in the aisle
between the beds and confronted him with an excited air. It was his wife!
Dropping the curtain upon a tableau which the reader can picture to
himself better than I can describe, we will take a step or two backward in
our story.
“And it’s sorry for the children I am, this blessed night!” said Ellen, to
the cook, over their dish of tea. “Sorra a bit of a merry-making will they
have to-morrow—and they such good, peaceful little things, too! I was
asking Miss Nettie, just now, if I shouldn’t hang up her stockings, at a
venture-like; ‘for,’ sez I, ‘there’s no knowing but the saint might pop down
the chimney, unbeknownst to you, and ’twould be a pity not to be ready for
him.’ For, you see, my heart was that tinder towards the lonesome craturs,
that I thought I would step out myself, presently, and buy some candies and
apples to put into their poor, empty, desolate little stockings. But, ‘No,’ says
she, kinder pitiful, ‘I am afraid Mamma might not like it, Ellen. She doesn’t
believe in keeping Christmas.’ And wid that she give a sigh, like a
sorrowful woman, and Master Ally growled over something cross to
himself.”
“It’s ra’al hard—that’s what it is!” responded Biddy. “They begged their
Mamma, to-day, to let me fry some doughnuts—‘Just this once, Mamma,’
says they, ‘because to-morrow’s Christmas’—and she wouldn’t hear a word
to it. Ah! no good ever came of ch’ating childer out of the fun the Lord
meant they should have.”
“There’s the parlor bell!” said Ellen, jumping up. “What’s wanted now, I
wonder?”
Her mistress stood upon the rug before the fire in the parlor, hat and
cloak on.
 “Ellen, if you have finished your supper, I want you to get your bonnet
and shawl and go out with me. Take a basket along. I am going to buy some
things for the children.”
Her voice shook in uttering these few sentences; and, although her face
was averted, the girl was positive that she had been weeping. Brimful of
curiosity and excitement, she dashed up-stairs for her wrappings, then down
to the kitchen to ask Biddy to listen for sounds from the nursery while she
was out.
“For we are going a-Christmassing—glory be to all the saints—St.
Nicholas, in particular! for he must have put it into her head to remember
the swate innocents.”
It is not our purpose to follow them in their tramp, as we have traced the
course of the lady’s husband. Suffice it to say, that Ellen’s basket was
heavily burdened when they re-entered the house, and her mistress bore
sundry parcels in her hands, all of which were carefully deposited upon the
carpet beside the cots of the calmly-sleeping children. Ellen was made
happy, on her own account, by the present of a bank-bill for her private
spending, and intrusted with another of the same value for Biddy; then
excused from further service. If the maid had been mistaken in her surmise
as to the tears she had seen in eyes which were generally dry and bright,
there was no doubt as to the melting mood that overtook the mother when
she removed the four stockings from the place where Nettie had laid them.
She even pressed them to her lips before fastening the tops of each pair
together with a stout pin, and hanging them over the footboards of the beds.
To unpack the basket and undo papers, with as little rustling as was
practicable, was her next act. She paused, when everything was uncovered,
to survey her acquisitions. Her expenditures had been on a scale far less
grand than her husband’s, but maternal tact had guided her in the selection
of acceptable gifts. There were a cooking-stove, with its assortment of pans,
griddles, and kettles; a work-box of satinwood, lined with red velvet, and
well stocked; a cradle with a baby-doll asleep under the muslin curtain, for
Nettie. For Ally, she had provided a bag of beautiful agate marbles; a fine
humming-top; a paint-box, and a set—fourteen in number—of Abbott’s
inimitable “Rollo” books for boys. She had not forgotten the twins, as was
evidenced by a couple of whips; two picture-books, and two tin horses
mounted upon wheels; one attached to an express wagon, the other to a
baker’s cart. Nor had she disdained to call upon the confectioner. Her
conical bundles contained “Christmas mixture;” plain sugar candy;
peppermint lozenges and oranges; more wholesome, or, rather, less hurtful
sweets than the richer and costly delicacies that had captivated her lord’s
fancy. Altogether, the sight was a pleasant one, and a satisfactory, if one
might judge by the gleam of comfort that overspread the tear-stained visage.
She had just dropped a handful of the “mixture” into the foot of Ally’s sock,
when a soft tap at the door startled her. It was Ellen, and she bore a plate,
covered with a napkin, in her hand.
“If you plaze, mem—Biddy hopes you won’t be offended, mem—but the
children were so disappointed to-day, mem; and when I told her you were
going to give them a Christmas, she made so bold as to fry them a few
doughnuts. She wouldn’t have taken the privilege, only, seeing Christmas
comes but once a year, and it’s good children they are, mem!”
“They are, Ellen! Tell Biddy that I am much obliged to her. These are
very nice, indeed!”
Yet she cried over them when the girl was gone. Her very servants pitied
the cruelly-oppressed little ones!
“I have been a hard, unsympathizing mother!” she thought, sobbingly.
“God forgive me this, my sin!” She wiped away the tears, and resumed her
task. “William will think I have lost my senses!” she ruminated, cramming
an orange into the leg of the tightly-stuffed sock. “But I can’t help it, if he
does!”
And, as if invoked by her unspoken thought, her husband, accoutred as I
have described, stood before her.
“William!”
“Emily!”
The two detected culprits stared at one another for an instant, in
unuttered, because unutterable amazement; then, as the truth dawned upon
their minds, they burst into a fit of laughter that threatened to awake the
dreamers.
“Hush-sh-sh!” said Mrs. Dryden, wiping away the tears of mirth that
now hung where bitterer drops had trickled awhile ago, and pointing to the
beds, “Let me see what you have been doing?”
The prudent economist could not repress a single exclamation of gentle
reproof, as she examined the store. “William Dryden! And in these hard
times, my dear!”
“Christmas comes but once a year, wifie! and then I had to make up for
lost time, you know. I’ll tell you how it happened, and then you won’t
blame me. I felt badly after tea, and came up to say a kind word to them”—
nodding towards the brother and sister—“before they went to sleep, and,
that door being ajar, I heard them talking”—
“And listened, as I did at that one!” cried Mrs. Dryden, throwing her
arms around his neck, and beginning to cry afresh. “O husband! I have been
so miserable ever since! have felt so guilty! Only to think, that I was
teaching my children to hate me and to hate their home—making their lives
wretched!”
“Don’t think of it, dear! After this, there will be peace and good-will
among us!” soothed the husband, his own eyes shining suspiciously. “If we
have made a mistake, we are ready to correct it. Now, let us see what
disposition can be made of this cargo of valuables. And I left a lot of
gimcracks—sweet things, you know—down stairs.”
Christmas morning came, clear and brilliant, with frosty sunlight, and
Mrs. Dryden, as was her custom, tapped at the children’s door, having
beforehand stealthily unclosed it far enough to allow herself and her
accomplice a view of the interior of the dormitory.
“Come, little birds, it is time you were out of your nests!”
The cheery, loving voice aroused the sleepers more thoroughly than
sterner accents would have done. The mother was spared the pain of
knowing that the novelty of the address made it so efficacious.
“Yes, Mamma!” answered Nettie, starting up in bed.
“All right!” responded Ally, and he turned over.
Thus it happened that the eyes of both rested simultaneously upon an
object in the centre of the apartment, and a ringing cry of joy escaped them.
“Nettie, Santa Claus did come!”
“Ally, don’t you know what I prayed for?”
They were upon the floor before the words had left their lips. The next
few minutes were passed in speechless admiration of the miraculous edifice
that had arisen during their hours of unconsciousness. Mr. Dryden had made
a second trip to the street, the night before, to buy a Christmas tree. A broad,
flat box, covered with a white cloth, formed the base upon which this was