by Diane Rayner
(adapted)
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Throughout December, Marty had been the most spirited, and busiest of us all. He was my youngest at eight; a cheerful boy with a quaint habit of looking up at you and cocking his head like a puppy when you talked to him. Actually, the reason for this was that Marty was deaf in his left ear, a condition he never complained about.

For weeks, I had been watching Marty. I knew something was going on that he was not telling me. I saw how eagerly he went about his chores and how he silently collected his tiny allowance and tucked it away, not spending a cent. I had no idea what this was about, but I suspected that it had something to do with Kenny. Kenny was Marty's friend, and ever since they found each other they were seldom apart. Their world was in a meadow; a pasture broken by a small winding stream, where they caught frogs and snakes and searched for arrowheads or hidden treasure.

Times were hard for our little family, and we had scrimped and saved to get by. With my job as a meat wrapper and a lot of ingenuity, we were much better off than Kenny's family. They were desperately poor, and his mother struggled to feed and clothe her two children. They were a good, solid family.

Ours was a handcrafted Christmas of gifts hidden away and ornaments strung about the place. Marty and Kenny would sometimes sit still at the table long enough to help make decorations for the tree. But then in a flash, they would be out the door and sliding cautiously under the electric fence into the horse pasture that separated our home from Kenny's.

One night, shortly before Christmas, Marty came to me and said in a tone mixed with pleasure and pride, "Mom, I've bought Kenny a Christmas present. Want to see it?" So that's what he's been up to, I said to myself. "It's something he's wanted for a long, long time, Mom. After wiping his hands he pulled from his pocket a small box. Lifting the lid, I gazed at the pocket compass that my son had been saving to buy, a compass to point an eight-year-old adventurer through the woods.

"It's a lovely gift, Martin," I said, but even as I spoke, a disturbing thought came to mind: I knew how Kenny's mother felt about their poverty. They could barely afford to exchange gifts among themselves; giving presents to others was out of the question. I was sure that Kenny's proud mother would not permit her son to receive something that he could not return in kind.

Gently, carefully, I talked over the problem with Marty. He understood what I was saying. "I know, Mom, I know! . . . But what if it was a secret? What if they never found out who gave it?" I didn't know how to answer him.

The day before Christmas was rainy, cold and gray. The kids and I all but fell over one another putting finishing touches on our Christmas secrets. Night came. The rain continued. I looked out the window and felt an odd sadness. How mundane the rain seemed for a Christmas Eve! Would wise men come riding on such a night? I doubted it. It seemed to me that strange and wonderful things happened only on clear nights, nights when one could at least see a star in the heavens.

I turned from the window, and as I checked the food in the oven, I saw Marty slip out the door. He wore his coat over his pajamas and clutched a tiny wrapped box in his hand. Down through the soggy pasture he went, then a quick slide under the electric fence and across the yard to Kenny's house.

Up the steps on tiptoe, he opened the screen door just a crack; placed the gift on the doorstep and reached for the doorbell, pressing on it hard. Quickly Marty turned, ran down the steps and crossed the yard in a wild effort to get away unnoticed. Then, suddenly, he banged into the electric fence. He lay stunned on the wet ground. His body quivered and he gasped for breath. Then slowly, weakly, confused and frightened, he began the grueling trip back home.

"Marty," we cried as he stumbled through the door, "what happened?!" His lower lip quivered, his eyes brimmed. "I forgot about the fence!" I hugged him to me. He was still dazed and there was a red mark blistering on his face from his mouth to his ear. Quickly I treated the blister and, with a warm cup of cocoa, brightened Marty's spirits. As I tucked him into bed he looked up at me and said seriously, "Mom, Kenny didn't see me. I'm sure he didn't."

That Christmas Eve I went to bed unhappy and puzzled. It seemed such a cruel thing to happen to a little boy on the purest kind of Christmas mission - doing what the Lord wants us to do - giving to others - and giving in secret at that. I did not sleep well. Somewhere deep inside I think I must have been feeling the disappointment that the night of Christmas had come and it had been just an ordinary, problem-filled night, no mysterious enchantment at all.

By morning the rain had stopped and the sun shone. The streak on Marty's face was very red, but I could tell the burn was not serious. Soon after we opened our presents, Kenny was knocking on the door, eager to show Marty his new compass and tell about the mystery of its arrival. It was plain that Kenny didn't suspect Marty, and while the two of them talked, Marty just smiled. Then I noticed Marty was not cocking his head. While Kenny was talking, Marty seemed to be listening with his deaf ear.

Weeks later, a report came from the school nurse, verifying what Marty and I already knew. "Marty now has complete hearing in both ears." The mystery of how Marty regained his hearing, and still has it, remains just that - a mystery. Doctors suspect, of course, that the shock from the electric fence was somehow responsible, perhaps so. Whatever the reason, I just remained thankful to God for the good exchange of gifts made that night.

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