Pappy
was a pleasant-looking old fellow. He had the whitest hair which he kept
neatly cut and combed. His eyes were blue, though faded with age, and they
seemed to emit a warmth from within. His face was quite drawn, but when he
smiled, even his wrinkles seemed to soften and smile with him. He had a
talent for whistling and did so happily each day as he dusted and swept
his pawnshop; even so, he had a secret sadness, but everyone who knew him
respected and adored him.
Most of Pappy's customers returned for
their good, and he did not do much business, but he did not mind. To him,
the shop was not a livelihood as much as a welcome pastime.
There
was a room in the back of his shop where he spent time tinkering with a
menagerie of his own precious items. He referred to this back room as
"memory hall." In it were pocket watches, clocks, and electric trains.
There were miniature steam engines and antique toys made of wood, tin, or
cast iron, and there were various other obsolete trinkets as well.
Spending time in his memory hall delighted him as he recalled many
treasured moments from his past. He handled each item with care, and
sometimes he would close his eyes and pause to relive a sweet, simple
childhood memory.
One day, Pappy was working to his heart's content
reassembling an old railroad lantern. As he worked, he whistled the melody
of a railroad tune and reminisced about his own past as a switchman. It
was a typical day at the shop. Outside, the sun illuminated the clear sky,
and a slight wind passed through the front screen door. Whenever the
weather was this nice, Pappy kept the inner door open. He enjoyed the
fresh air, almost as much as the distinctive smell of antiques and old
engine oil.
As he was polishing his newly restored lantern, he
heard the tinkling of his bell on the shop door. The bell, which produced
a uniquely charming resound, had been in Pappy's family for over a hundred
years. He cherished it dearly and enjoyed sharing its song with all who
came to his shop. Although the bell hung on the inside of the main door,
Pappy had strung a wire to the screen door so that it would ring whether
the inner door was open or not. Prompted by the bell, he left memory hall
to greet his customer.
At first, he did not see her. Her shiny,
soft curls barely topped the counter. "And how can I help you, little
lady?" Pappy's voice was jovial
"Hello, sir." The little girl said in a
whisper. She was dainty. Bashful. Innocent. She looked at Pappy with her
big brown eyes, then slowly scanned the room in search of something
special. Shyly she told him, "I'd like to buy a present, sir."
"Well, let's see," Pappy said, "who is this present for?"
"My grandpa. It's for my grandpa. But I don't know what to get."
Pappy began
to make suggestions. "How about a pocket watch? It's in good condition. I
fixed it myself," he said proudly.
The little girl didn't answer.
She had walked to the doorway and put her small hand on the door. She
wiggled the door gently to ring the bell. Pappy's face seemed to glow as
he saw her smiling with excitement.
"This is just right," the
little girl bubbled. "Momma says Grandpa loves music."
Just then, Pappy's
expression changed. Fearful of breaking the little girl's heart, he told
her, "I'm sorry, missy. That's not for sale. Maybe your grandpa would like
this little radio."
The little girl looked at the radio, lowered her head,
and sadly sighed, "No, I don't think so."
In an effort to help her
understand, Pappy told her the story of how the bell had been in his
family for so many years, and that was why he didn't want to sell it.
The little girl looked up at him, and with a giant tear in her eye, and softly
said, "I guess I understand. Thank you, anyway."
Suddenly, Pappy
thought of how the rest of the family was all gone now, except for his
estranged daughter whom he had not seen in nearly a decade. "Why not," he
thought. "Why not pass it on to someone who will share it with a loved
one? God only knows where it will end up anyway."
"Wait...little
lady." Pappy spoke just as the little girl was going out the door, just as
he was hearing his bell ring for the last time. "I've decided to sell the
bell. Here's a hanky. Blow your nose."
The little girl began to
clap her hands. "Oh, thank you, sir! Grandpa will be so
happy!"
"Okay, little lady. Okay." Pappy felt good about helping
the child; he knew, however, he would miss the bell. "You must promise to
take good care of the bell for your grandpa and for me, too, okay?" He
carefully placed the bell in a brown paper bag.
"Oh, I promise,"
said the little girl. Then, she suddenly became very still and quiet.
There was something she had forgotten to ask. She looked up at Pappy with
great concern, and again almost in a whisper, asked, "How much will it
cost?"
"Well, let's see. How much have you got to spend?" Pappy
asked with a grin. The child pulled a small coin purse from her pocket
then reached up and emptied two dollars and forty-seven cents onto the
counter. After briefly questioning his own sanity, Pappy said, "Little
lady, this is your lucky day. That bell costs exactly two dollars and
forty-seven cents."
Later that evening as Pappy prepared to close
up shop, he found himself thinking about his bell. Already he had decided
not to put up another one. He thought about the child and wondered if her
grandpa like his gift. Surely he would cherish anything from such a
precious grandchild.
At that moment, just as he was going to turn
off the light in memory hall, Pappy thought he heard his bell. Again, he
questioned his sanity; he turned toward the door, and there stood the
little girl. She was ringing the bell and smiling sweetly.
Pappy
was puzzled as he strolled toward the small child. "What's this, little
lady? Have you changed your mind?"
"No," she grinned. "Momma says
it's for you."
Before Pappy had time to say another word, the
child's mother stepped into the doorway, and choking back a tear, she
gently said, "Hello, Dad, Merry Christmas!"
The little girl tugged on her grandpa's
shirttail. "Here, Grandpa. Here's your hanky. Blow your nose."
Author of this precious story unknown to me
