WutYee/nicholas_sparks_series · Datasets at Hugging Face

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heathen, who came to his redemption only because he saw
ghosts, not angels-and who was to say whether they'd been
sent by God, anyway? And who was to say he wouldn't revert to
his sinful ways if they hadn't been sent directly from
heaven? The play didn't exactly tell you in the end-it sort
of plays into faith and all-but Hegbert didn't trust ghosts
if they weren't actually sent by God, which wasn't explained
in plain language, and this was his big problem with it. A
few years back he'd changed the end of the play-sort of
followed it up with his own version, complete with old man
Scrooge becoming a preacher and all, heading off to Jerusalem
to find the place where Jesus once taught the scribes. It
didn't fly too well-not even to the congregation, who sat in
the audience staring wide-eyed at the spectacle-and the
newspaper said things like "Though it was certainly
interesting, it wasn't exactly the play we've all come to
know and love. . . ."
So Hegbert decided to try his hand at writing his own
play. He'd written his own sermons his whole life, and some
of them, we had to admit, were actually interesting,
especially when he talked about the "wrath of God coming down
on the fornicators" and all that good stuff. That really got
his blood boiling, I'll tell you, when he talked about the
fornicators. That was his real hot spot. When we were
younger, my friends and I would hide behind the trees and
shout, "Hegbert is a fornicator!" when we saw him walking
down the street, and we'd giggle like idiots, like we were
the wittiest creatures ever to inhabit the planet.
Old Hegbert, he'd stop dead in his tracks and his ears
would perk up-I swear to God, they actually moved-and he'd
turn this bright shade of red, like he'd just drunk gasoline,
and the big green veins in his neck would start sticking out
all over, like those maps of the Amazon River that you see in
National Geographic. He'd peer from side to side, his eyes
narrowing into slits as he searched for us, and then, just as
suddenly, he'd start to go pale again, back to that fishy
skin, right before our eyes. Boy, it was something to watch,
that's for sure.
So we'd be hiding behind a tree and Hegbert (what kind of
parents name their kid Hegbert, anyway?) would stand there
waiting for us to give ourselves up, as if he thought we'd be
that stupid. We'd put our hands over our mouths to keep from
laughing out loud, but somehow he'd always zero in on us.
He'd be turning from side to side, and then he'd stop, those
beady eyes coming right at us, right through the tree. "I
know who you are, Landon Carter," he'd say, "and the Lord
knows, too." He'd let that sink in for a minute or so, and
then he'd finally head off again, and during the sermon that
weekend he'd stare right at us and say something like "God is
merciful to children, but the children must be worthy as
well." And we'd sort of lower ourselves in the seats, not
from embarrassment, but to hide a new round of giggles.
Hegbert didn't understand us at all, which was really sort of
strange, being that he had a kid and all. But then again, she
was a girl. More on that, though, later.
Anyway, like I said, Hegbert wrote The Christmas Angel one
year and decided to put on that play instead. The play itself
wasn't bad, actually, which surprised everyone the first year
it was performed. It's basically the story of a man who had
lost his wife a few years back. This guy, Tom Thornton, used
to be real religious, but he had a crisis of faith after his
wife died during childbirth. He's raising this little girl
all on his own, but he hasn't been the greatest father, and
what the little girl really wants for Christmas is a special
music box with an angel engraved on top, a picture of which
she'd cut out from an old catalog. The guy searches long and
hard to find the gift, but he can't find it anywhere. So it's
Christmas Eve and he's still searching, and while he's out
looking through the stores, he comes across a strange woman
he's never seen before, and she promises to help him find the
gift for his daughter. First, though, they help this homeless
person (back then they were called bums, by the way), then
they stop at an orphanage to see some kids, then visit a
lonely old woman who just wanted some company on Christmas
Eve. At this point the mysterious woman asks Tom Thornton
what he wants for Christmas, and he says that he wants his
wife back. She brings him to the city fountain and tells him
to look in the water and he'll find what he's looking for.
When he looks in the water, he sees the face of his little
girl, and he breaks down and cries right there. While he's
sobbing, the mysterious lady runs off, and Tom Thornton
searches but can't find her anywhere. Eventually he heads
home, the lessons from the evening playing in his mind. He
walks into his little girl's room, and her sleeping figure
makes him realize that she's all he has left of his wife, and
he starts to cry again because he knows he hasn't been a good
enough father to her. The next morning, magically, the music
box is underneath the tree, and the angel that's engraved on
it looks exactly like the woman he'd seen the night before.
So it wasn't that bad, really. If truth be told, people
cried buckets whenever they saw it. The play sold out every
year it was performed, and due to its popularity, Hegbert
eventually had to move it from the church to the Beaufort
Playhouse, which had a lot more seating. By the time I was a
senior in high school, the performances ran twice to packed
houses, which, considering who actually performed it, was a
story in and of itself.
You see, Hegbert wanted young people to perform the
play-seniors in high school, not the theater group. I reckon
he thought it would be a good learning experience before the

heathen, who came to his redemption only because he saw

ghosts, not angels-and who was to say whether they'd been

sent by God, anyway? And who was to say he wouldn't revert to

his sinful ways if they hadn't been sent directly from

heaven? The play didn't exactly tell you in the end-it sort

of plays into faith and all-but Hegbert didn't trust ghosts

if they weren't actually sent by God, which wasn't explained

in plain language, and this was his big problem with it. A

few years back he'd changed the end of the play-sort of

followed it up with his own version, complete with old man

Scrooge becoming a preacher and all, heading off to Jerusalem

to find the place where Jesus once taught the scribes. It

didn't fly too well-not even to the congregation, who sat in

the audience staring wide-eyed at the spectacle-and the

newspaper said things like "Though it was certainly

interesting, it wasn't exactly the play we've all come to

know and love. . . ."

So Hegbert decided to try his hand at writing his own

play. He'd written his own sermons his whole life, and some

of them, we had to admit, were actually interesting,

especially when he talked about the "wrath of God coming down

on the fornicators" and all that good stuff. That really got

his blood boiling, I'll tell you, when he talked about the

fornicators. That was his real hot spot. When we were

younger, my friends and I would hide behind the trees and

shout, "Hegbert is a fornicator!" when we saw him walking

down the street, and we'd giggle like idiots, like we were

the wittiest creatures ever to inhabit the planet.

Old Hegbert, he'd stop dead in his tracks and his ears

would perk up-I swear to God, they actually moved-and he'd

turn this bright shade of red, like he'd just drunk gasoline,

and the big green veins in his neck would start sticking out

all over, like those maps of the Amazon River that you see in

National Geographic. He'd peer from side to side, his eyes

narrowing into slits as he searched for us, and then, just as

suddenly, he'd start to go pale again, back to that fishy

skin, right before our eyes. Boy, it was something to watch,

that's for sure.

So we'd be hiding behind a tree and Hegbert (what kind of

parents name their kid Hegbert, anyway?) would stand there

waiting for us to give ourselves up, as if he thought we'd be

that stupid. We'd put our hands over our mouths to keep from

laughing out loud, but somehow he'd always zero in on us.

He'd be turning from side to side, and then he'd stop, those

beady eyes coming right at us, right through the tree. "I

know who you are, Landon Carter," he'd say, "and the Lord

knows, too." He'd let that sink in for a minute or so, and

then he'd finally head off again, and during the sermon that

weekend he'd stare right at us and say something like "God is

merciful to children, but the children must be worthy as

well." And we'd sort of lower ourselves in the seats, not

from embarrassment, but to hide a new round of giggles.

Hegbert didn't understand us at all, which was really sort of

strange, being that he had a kid and all. But then again, she

was a girl. More on that, though, later.

Anyway, like I said, Hegbert wrote The Christmas Angel one

year and decided to put on that play instead. The play itself

wasn't bad, actually, which surprised everyone the first year

it was performed. It's basically the story of a man who had

lost his wife a few years back. This guy, Tom Thornton, used

to be real religious, but he had a crisis of faith after his

wife died during childbirth. He's raising this little girl

all on his own, but he hasn't been the greatest father, and

what the little girl really wants for Christmas is a special

music box with an angel engraved on top, a picture of which

she'd cut out from an old catalog. The guy searches long and

hard to find the gift, but he can't find it anywhere. So it's

Christmas Eve and he's still searching, and while he's out

looking through the stores, he comes across a strange woman

he's never seen before, and she promises to help him find the

gift for his daughter. First, though, they help this homeless

person (back then they were called bums, by the way), then

they stop at an orphanage to see some kids, then visit a

lonely old woman who just wanted some company on Christmas

Eve. At this point the mysterious woman asks Tom Thornton

what he wants for Christmas, and he says that he wants his

wife back. She brings him to the city fountain and tells him

to look in the water and he'll find what he's looking for.

When he looks in the water, he sees the face of his little

girl, and he breaks down and cries right there. While he's

sobbing, the mysterious lady runs off, and Tom Thornton

searches but can't find her anywhere. Eventually he heads

home, the lessons from the evening playing in his mind. He

walks into his little girl's room, and her sleeping figure

makes him realize that she's all he has left of his wife, and

he starts to cry again because he knows he hasn't been a good

enough father to her. The next morning, magically, the music

box is underneath the tree, and the angel that's engraved on

it looks exactly like the woman he'd seen the night before.

So it wasn't that bad, really. If truth be told, people

cried buckets whenever they saw it. The play sold out every

year it was performed, and due to its popularity, Hegbert

eventually had to move it from the church to the Beaufort

Playhouse, which had a lot more seating. By the time I was a

senior in high school, the performances ran twice to packed

houses, which, considering who actually performed it, was a

story in and of itself.

You see, Hegbert wanted young people to perform the

play-seniors in high school, not the theater group. I reckon

he thought it would be a good learning experience before the