Kismet

Along the Main Street in Homeville, no store-window was more alluring than that of Miss Tibben’s Fancy-work Store. The quaint little shopkeeper ordinarily selected her goods with such refinement and delicacy of taste, that everybody in town patronized her establishment. Toward Christmas, the little shop was always well stocked, and one might be sure of a crowd about the window, discussing the array of goods within.

Like the others, I, too, paused to look. Cushions and doilies to embroider; scarfs and collars to crochet; bags to weave; beads to string — all were enticingly displayed. And there, too, one could see gifts for everybody, from baby to grandmother, and suggestions for needlework gifts for father, brother, or lover.

As my eye glanced hastily from one thing to another, I discovered, crowded back in a corner, a crocheted hat. Its hideous combination of colors made it conspicuous. It seemed like a crude foreigner living in an exclusive neighborhood. As I looked, I wondered who on earth would wear such a hat, and, wondering, I passed on.

Three days before Christmas, I passed the window again. How changed it was! Stock had sold so well that the window-display had been robbed. The few remaining things had been spread out as much as possible. I looked for the hat. The ‘foreigner’ was still there, but now it occupied the place of honor in the centre of the window. Its colors fought desperately: there could never be peace between the purple of the hat, and the red and blue of the flowers decorating it. Why did any needlewoman ever create such a horror? And why spoil an otherwise pleasing window with such a distorted rainbow? The hat irritated me; I wanted to break in and steal it, and bury it somewhere. Fortunately, a myriad of Christmas duties crowded the hideous hat out of my mind, and I hurried on.

But late on Christmas eve, rushing out to mail some last greetings, I passed the store again. The hat was gone! I felt a sudden shock, as if a calamity were about to be revealed. Where had that hat gone? Who had bought it? And for whom? How would the woman who received the gift accept it? Had I enough love for anybody, I wondered, to wear a hat like that in appreciation of such a gift?

I just could not resist the temptation to find out where it went. So I stepped into the store and casually asked, ‘Miss Tibben, have you sold that crocheted hat?'

‘Yes, dear,’she said; ‘just a few moments ago I sold it to a group of boys for their Sunday-school teacher.’

Do you BELIEVE IN FATE?