One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing left to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the look-out for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name “Mr. James Dillingham Young.”

The “Dillingham”had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of “Dillingham”looked blurred, as though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called “Jim”and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a grey cat walking a grey fence in a grey backyard. To-morrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87. to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling—something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honour of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $ 8fl at. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its colour within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out of the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she cluttered out of the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: “Mme Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.”One Eight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the“Sofronie.”

“Will you buy my hair?” asked Della.

“I buy hair,” said Madame. “Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it.”

Down rippled the brown cascade.

“Twenty dollars,” said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

“Give it to me quick,” said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation—as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value—the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 78 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task dear friends—a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

“If Jim doesn't kill me,” she said to herself, “before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do—oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?”

At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit of saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: “Please, God, make him think I am still pretty.”

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two—and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was with out gloves.

Jim stepped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

“Jim, darling,” she cried, “don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold it because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again—you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say ‘Merry Christmas!’ Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice—what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you.”

“You've cut off your hair?” asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet, even after the hardest mental labour.

“Cut it off and sold it,” said Della. “Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?”

Jim looked about the room curiously.

“You say your hair is gone?” he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

“You needn't look for it,” said Della. “It's sold, I tell you—sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered,” she went on with a sudden serious sweetness, “but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?”

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year—what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

“Don't make any mistake, Dell,” he said, “about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first.”

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs—the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped for long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise-shell, with jewelled rims—just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: “My hair grows so fast, Jim!”

And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, “Oh, oh!”

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

“Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.”

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

“Dell,” said he, “let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on.”

The magi, as you know, were wise men—wonderfully wise men—who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

一塊八角七分。就這么多。其中六角還是一塊一塊的銅板。這些零錢是從雜貨店老板、菜販子和肉店老板那里軟磨硬泡一分兩分摳下來，直到自己滿臉通紅，深感這種斤斤計較的交易實在讓人難堪。黛拉數了三次，都是一塊八角七分。而第二天就是圣誕節了。

除了撲倒在破舊的小睡椅上大哭之外，顯然無可奈何。黛拉這樣做后，一種精神上的感慨油然而生；生活就是由哭泣、抽噎和微笑組成的，并以抽噎居多。

當這個家庭主婦的狀態逐漸平靜下來時，還是讓我們來看看她的家吧。一套帶家具的公寓房，每周租金八塊。盡管不能說是絕對難以形容，但其實和貧民窟差不多。

樓下門道里有個信箱，但從來沒有裝過信；還有一個電鈕，也從來沒有人按響過電鈴。那里還貼著一張名片，上面印著“詹姆斯·迪林漢姆·楊先生”。

“迪林漢姆”這個名號是主人先前春風得意時一時興起加上去的，那時他每星期能掙三十塊。如今，當收入縮減到每星期二十塊時，他們正在認真考慮著是否將其縮寫寫成樸實謙遜的“迪”為好。不過，每當回家，詹姆斯·迪林漢姆·楊走進樓上的房間時，他的太太——就是前面說到的黛拉——總是稱他為“吉姆”，再給他一個熱烈的擁抱。這都很好。

黛拉停止哭泣，往面頰上抹了些粉。她站在窗前，呆望著灰蒙蒙的后院里一只灰貓正在籬笆上行走。明天就是圣誕節，她只有一塊八角七分給吉姆買一份禮物。這些錢是她花了好幾個月，盡可能一分分攢下來的。一星期二十塊實在經不住花。支出總比預算多。總是如此。只有一塊八角七分給吉姆買禮物。她的吉姆。為了給他買一件像樣的東西，她興致勃勃地籌劃了好多天。一件精致珍奇、貨真價實的禮物——至少應該夠得上被吉姆擁有。

房間的兩扇窗之間有一面壁鏡。你也許見過每周租金八塊的公寓里的穿衣鏡吧。通過觀察一連串縱向的影象，一個瘦小靈巧的人就會對自己的容貌得出一個差不多精確的判斷。黛拉身材苗條，早已掌握了這門藝術。

突然，她旋風般從窗口轉過身，站到穿衣鏡前。她的眼睛晶瑩閃爍，但她在二十秒內花容失色，飛快地披頭散發，將它完全散落開來。

現在，詹姆斯·迪林漢姆·楊夫婦倆擁有兩樣特別引以自豪的東西。一件是吉姆家傳三代的金表，另一件就是黛拉的一頭秀發。要是示巴女王住在天井對面的公寓，總有一天黛拉會把頭發披散下來，露出窗外晾干，讓女王的珍珠和禮品黯然失色；要是所羅門王當了守門人，他所有的金銀財寶都堆在地下室，吉姆每次從那里走過，準會摸出金表看看，好讓所羅門王忌妒得要死。

此刻，黛拉的秀發散落在身上，像褐色瀑布一般閃著光亮，一直垂到膝蓋下，簡直像給她披上了一身長袍，接著又神經質般快速把頭發梳起來。她遲疑了一會兒，靜靜地站在那里，一兩滴眼淚濺落在破舊的紅地毯上。

她穿上那件褐色舊外衣，戴上那頂褐色舊帽子，眼睛里閃著晶瑩的淚花，裙子一擺走出房門，下樓來到了街上。

她來到一塊招牌前停下，只見上面寫著：“索弗羅妮夫人——專營各種頭發”。黛拉奔上一段樓梯，氣喘吁吁地定了定神。那位夫人身材高大，臉色蒼白，冷若冰霜，和“索弗羅妮”的名字幾乎不配。

“你要買我的頭發嗎？”黛拉問。

“我買頭發，”夫人說。“摘掉帽子，讓我看看樣子。”

褐色瀑布般的頭發飛瀉而下。

“二十塊，”夫人一邊說，一邊內行地抓起頭發。

“快給我錢，”黛拉說。

噢，接下來的兩個小時猶如長了玫瑰色翅膀一樣飛逝而過。請不要理會這胡亂的比喻。黛拉為了送給吉姆的禮物正逐家店鋪搜尋。

她終于找到了。那肯定是專為吉姆特制的，絕不是為別人。她把各家商店找了個遍，哪里也沒找到這樣的東西——一條并不花哨、刻有花紋的白金表鏈。優質的東西都是這樣，只以貨色見長，從不以裝飾來炫耀。它正配得上吉姆那只金表。黛拉一見到這條表鏈，就知道它一定是吉姆的。它就像吉姆的人一樣，文靜珍貴——這種形容對兩者都恰如其分。她花二十一塊把表鏈買下了，匆匆趕回家，手里只剩下八角七分錢。金表配這條鏈子，無論在任何場合，吉姆都可以大大方方地拿出來看時間了。盡管這只表華麗珍貴，但一直是用舊皮帶代替表鏈，吉姆有時只是偷偷地瞥上一眼。

到家后，黛拉的陶醉變得有點兒審慎和理智。她找出燙發鐵鉗，點燃煤氣，開始修補因愛情和慷慨而帶來的破壞。親愛的朋友們，這永遠是一項極其艱巨的任務——了不起的任務。

不到四十分鐘，她的頭上便布滿了緊貼頭皮的一綹綹小卷發，使她看上去活像一個逃學的小男孩。她在鏡子里久久地、仔細地、挑剔地盯著自己。

“假如吉姆看上一眼，不把我殺掉的話，”她自言自語說，“肯定就會說我看上去像康奈島合唱隊的賣唱姑娘。可我能怎么辦呢——噢！只有一塊八角七分，我能怎么辦呢？”

七點鐘，咖啡已經煮好，煎鍋放在爐子后面熱著，準備做肉排用。

吉姆回家一貫準時。黛拉將表鏈迭握在手里，坐在離吉姆進門最近的桌角上。隨后，她聽到樓下的樓梯上響起了吉姆的腳步聲，臉色一陣慘白。她有一個習慣，常常為了最簡單的日常事務而默默祈禱。此刻，她心里默念著：“求求上帝，讓他覺得我還漂亮吧。”

門開了，吉姆走進來，隨手關上門。看上去他瘦削嚴肅。可憐的人，他才二十二歲——就挑起了家庭重擔！他需要添件新大衣了，連手套也沒有。

吉姆在門口站住，像獵犬嗅到了鵪鶉的氣味一樣紋絲不動。他緊盯在黛拉身上，眼神讓她無法理解、大驚失色。那神情既不是憤怒，也不是驚訝，又不是不滿，更不是厭惡，是一種她無論如何都沒有料到的神情。他僅僅是面帶這種神情死死地盯著她。

黛拉扭腰從桌角上跳下來，向他走過去。

“吉姆，親愛的，”她喊道，“別那樣盯著我。我把頭發剪掉賣了，因為不送你一件禮物，我無法過圣誕節。頭發會再長起來的——你不會介意，是嗎？我非這么做不可。我的頭發長得快極了。吉姆，說‘圣誕快樂’，讓我們高高興興。你肯定猜不著我給你買了一件多么好——多么美麗精致的禮物！”

“你把頭發剪掉了？”吉姆吃力地問道，似乎他絞盡腦汁也沒弄明白眼前這明擺的事實。

“剪掉賣了，”黛拉說。“你還和從前一樣喜歡我，不是嗎？沒了長發，我還是我，對嗎？”

吉姆好奇地環顧了一下房間。

“你是說你的頭發沒有了？”他近乎白癡似的問道。

“你不必找了，”黛拉說。“告訴你吧，我已經賣了——賣掉了，沒有了。今天是圣誕前夜，親愛的。對我好點，這都是為了你呀。也許我的頭發數得清，”她突然帶著嚴肅的溫柔說下去，“可我對你的恩愛是沒人能數得清的呀。我該去做肉排了嗎，吉姆？”

吉姆好像從恍惚中醒來，把黛拉緊緊地摟在懷里。現在，別急，先讓我們花十秒鐘從另一角度審慎地思索一下某些無關緊要的事兒。每星期八塊或一年一百萬——那有什么區別呢？數學家或才子會給你錯誤的答案。麥琪帶來了寶貴的禮物，但就是缺少了那件東西。這句晦澀的話下文將有所交待。

吉姆從大衣口袋里掏出一個小包，扔在桌子上。

“黛爾，別誤會我的意思，”他說，“無論剪發、修面，還是洗頭，世上沒有任何東西能減少一點點我對你的愛。不過，你只要打開那包東西，就會明白剛才你為什么讓我無所適從。”

白皙的手指靈巧地解開繩子，打開紙包。緊接著是欣喜若狂的尖叫，隨后迅速變成了女性神經質的淚水和哭泣，急需男主人千方百計的慰藉。

擺在眼前的是發梳——全套的梳子，兩鬢用的，后面用的，樣樣俱全。那是很久以前黛拉在百老匯的一個櫥窗里見過、羨慕已久的東西。這些美妙的發梳是純玳瑁做的，邊上鑲著珠寶，顏色正好和她失去的頭發相配。她知道，這套發梳實在太貴了，她僅僅是羨慕渴望，從來沒有想到要擁有。現在，這一切竟然屬于她了，但那頭有資格佩戴這渴望已久的美麗飾品的長發已經無影無蹤了。

不過，她依然把發梳摟在胸前，過了好一陣子才抬起淚水模糊的眼睛，微笑著說：“我的頭發長得飛快，吉姆！”

隨后，黛拉活像一只被燙傷的小貓，跳了起來，嚷道：“噢！噢！”

吉姆還沒有瞧見她為他買的美麗的禮物呢。她迫不及待地把手攤開伸到他面前。那沒有知覺的貴重金屬似乎閃爍著她的歡快和熱忱的神采。

“漂亮嗎，吉姆？我找遍了全城才找到。現在，你每天可以看一百次時間了。把手表給我，我要看看它配在表上是什么樣子。”

吉姆沒有按她的吩咐辦，而是躺倒在睡椅上，兩手枕在頭下，微微發笑。

“黛爾，”他說，“讓我們把圣誕禮物放在一邊，保存一陣子吧。它們實在太好了，現在用了可惜。我把金表賣了，換錢給你買了發梳。現在，你該去做肉排了。”

大家知道，magi是麥琪——了不起的麥琪——他們把禮物帶來，送給出生在馬槽里的耶穌。他們首創了送圣誕禮物的技巧。因為他們有智慧，毫無疑問他們的禮物也是聰明的禮物，要是碰上收到的兩樣東西完全一樣，說不定還附有交換的權利。在這里，我已經蹩腳地給你們介紹了住在公寓的兩個傻孩子不足為奇的平淡故事，他們極不明智地為了對方而犧牲了家里最寶貴的東西。然而，讓我們對如今的聰明人說最后一句話，在一切饋贈禮物的人當中，那兩個人是最聰明的。在一切饋贈又接收禮物的人當中，像他們這樣的兩個人也是最聰明的。無論在任何地方，他們都是最聰明的人。他們就是麥琪。