The evening found us
grouped around a huge sparkling Christmas tree, the near-by fireplace
crackling with logs of aromatic cypress.
Gift-time! Presents from the earth's far corners-Palestine, Egypt,
India, England, France, Italy. How laboriously had Mr. Wright
counted the trunks at each foreign junction, that no pilfering hand
receive the treasures intended for loved ones in America! Plaques
of the sacred olive tree from the Holy Land, delicate laces and
embroideries from Belgium and Holland, Persian carpets, finely
woven Kashmiri shawls, everlastingly fragrant sandalwood trays from
Mysore, Shiva "bull's eye" stones from Central Provinces, old Indian
coins of dynasties long fled, bejeweled vases and cups, miniatures,
tapestries, temple incense and perfumes, SWADESHI cotton prints,
lacquer work, Mysore ivory carvings, Persian slippers with their
inquisitive long toe, quaint old illuminated manuscripts, velvets,
brocades, Gandhi caps, potteries, tiles, brasswork, prayer rugs-booty
of three continents!
One by one I distributed the gaily wrapped packages from the immense
pile under the tree.
"Sister Gyanamata!" I handed a long box to the saintly American
lady of sweet visage and deep realization who, during my absence,
had been in charge at Mt. Washington. From the paper tissues she
lifted a SARI of golden Benares silk.
"Thank you, sir; it brings the pageant of India before my eyes."
"Mr.
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