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diff --git a/20180-h/20180-h.htm b/20180-h/20180-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..605afeb --- /dev/null +++ b/20180-h/20180-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1266 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mr. Kris Kringle, by S. Weir Mitchell + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + a[name] { position:absolute; } + a:link {color:#0000ff; background-color:#FFFFFF; + text-decoration:none; } + a:visited {color:#0000ff; background-color:#FFFFFF; + text-decoration:none; } + a:hover { color:#ff0000; background-color:#FFFFFF; } + .img1 {border-color:#000000; border-style:solid; border-width:thin; } + .sig { margin-left:65%; } + .sig1 { margin-left:75%; } + + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style:normal; + } /* page numbers */ + + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + + .caption {font-weight: bold; + font-size: smaller; } + +.figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. Kris Kringle, by S. Weir Mitchell + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mr. Kris Kringle + A Christmas Tale + +Author: S. Weir Mitchell + +Release Date: December 25, 2006 [EBook #20180] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. KRIS KRINGLE *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Sankar Viswanathan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<div class="figcenter"><img class="img1" src="images/image_01.jpg" alt="Cover_Page" width="500" height="772" /></div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image_02.jpg" width="500" height="465" alt="A Silent Group About the Hearth." title="A Silent Group About the Hearth." /><br /> +<span class="caption">A Silent Group About the Hearth.</span> +</div> + + +<h1>MR. KRIS KRINGLE.</h1> + +<h4>A</h4> + +<h3>Christmas Tale.</h3> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span></h3> + +<h2><span class="smcap">S. WEIR MITCHELL, M. D., LL. D., Harvard.</span></h2> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center">SEVENTH THOUSAND.</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>PHILADELPHIA:</h3> +<h3><span class="smcap">George W. Jacobs & Co.,</span></h3> +<h3>103 South 15th Street,</h3> +<h3>1898.</h3> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1893,<br /> +BY S. WEIR MITCHELL.</span> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="blockquot">The following little Christmas story was written, and is published for +the benefit of the Home of the Merciful Saviour for Crippled Children, +Philadelphia.</p> + +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">S. Weir Mitchell.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="MR_KRIS_KRINGLE" id="MR_KRIS_KRINGLE"></a>MR. KRIS KRINGLE.</h2> + + +<p>It was Christmas Eve. The snow had clad the rolling hills in white, as +if in preparation for the sacred morrow. The winds, boisterous all day +long, at fall of night ceased to roar amidst the naked forest, and +now, the silent industry of the falling flakes made of pine and spruce +tall white tents. At last, as the darkness grew, a deepening stillness +came on hill and valley, and all nature seemed to wait expectant of +the coming of the Christmas time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<p>Above the broad river a long, gray stone house lay quiet; its vine and +roof heavy with the softly-falling snow, and showing no sign of light +or life except in a feeble, red glow through the Venetian blinds of +the many windows of one large room. Within, a huge fire of mighty logs +lit up with distinctness only the middle space, and fell with variable +illumination on a silent group about the hearth.</p> + +<p>On one side a mother sat with her cheek upon her hand, her elbow on +the table, gazing steadily into the fire; on the other side were two +children, a girl and a boy; he on a cushion, she in a low chair. Some +half-felt sadness repressed for these little ones the usual gay +Christmas humor of the hopeful hour, commonly so full for them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> of +that anticipative joy to which life brings shadowy sadness as the +years run on.</p> + +<p>Now and then the boy looked across the room, pleased when the leaping +flames sent flaring over floor and wall long shadows from the tall +brass andirons or claw-footed chair and table. Sometimes he glanced +shyly at the mother, but getting no answering smile kept silence. Once +or twice the girl whispered a word to him, as the logs fell and a +sheet of flame from the hickory and the quick-burning birch set free +the stored-up sunshine of many a summer day. A moment later, the girl +caught the boy's arm.</p> + +<p>"Oh! hear the ice, Hugh," she cried, for mysterious noises came up +from the river and died away.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is the ice, dear," said the mother.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> "I like to hear it." As +she spoke she struck a match and lit two candles which stood on the +table beside her.</p> + +<p>For a few minutes as she stood her gaze wandered along the walls over +the portraits of men and women once famous in Colonial days. The great +china bowls, set high for safety on top of the book-cases, tankards, +and tall candelabra troubled her with memories of more prosperous +times. Whatever emotions these relics of departed pride and joy +excited, they left neither on brow nor on cheek the unrelenting +signals of life's disasters. A glance distinctly tender and distinctly +proud made sweet her face for a moment as she turned to look upon the +children.</p> + +<p>The little fellow on the cushion at her feet looked up.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mamma, we do want to know why Christmas comes only once a year?"</p> + +<p>"Hush, dear, I cannot talk to you now; not to-night; not at all, +to-night."</p> + +<p>"But was not Christ always born?" he persisted.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," she replied. "But I cannot talk to you now. Be quiet a +little while. I have something to do," and so saying, she drew to her +side a basket of old letters.</p> + +<p>The children remained silent, or made little signs to one another as +they watched the fire. Meanwhile the mother considered the papers, now +with a gleam of anger in her eyes, as she read, and now with a +momentary blur of tear-dimmed vision. Most of the letters she threw at +once on the fire. They writhed a moment like living creatures,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> and of +a sudden blazed out as if tormented into sudden confession of the +passions of years gone by; then they fell away to black unmemoried +things, curling crumpled in the heat.</p> + +<p>The children saw them burn with simple interest in each new +conflagration. Something in the mother's ways quieted them, and they +became intuitively conscious of sadness in the hour and the task. At +last the boy grew uneasy at the long repose of tongue.</p> + +<p>"O Alice! see the red sparks going about," he said, looking at the +wandering points of light in the blackening scrolls of shrivelled +paper.</p> + +<p>"Nurse says those are people going to church," said his sister, +authoritatively.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p><p>Her mother looked up, smiling. "Ah, that is what they used to tell me +when I was little."</p> + +<p>"They're fire-flies," said the boy, "like in a vewy dark night." Now +and then his r's troubled him a little, and conscious of his +difficulty, he spoke at times with oddly serious deliberation.</p> + +<p>"You really must be quiet," said the mother. "Now, do keep still, or +you will have to go to bed," and so saying she turned anew to the +basket.</p> + +<p>Presently the girl exclaimed, "Why do you burn the letters?" She had +some of her mother's persistency, and was not readily controlled. This +time the mother made no reply. A sharp spasm of pain went over her +features. Looking into the fire, as if altogether unconscious of the +quick<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> spies at her side, she said aloud, "Oh! I can no more! Let them +wait. What a fool I was. What a fool!" and abruptly pushed the basket +aside.</p> + +<p>The little fellow leaped up and cast his arms about her while his +long, yellow hair fell on her neck and shoulder. "O Mamma!" he cried, +"don't read any more. Let <i>me</i> burn them. I hate them to hurt you."</p> + +<p>She smiled on him through tears—rare things for her. "Every one must +bear his own troubles, Hugh. You couldn't help me. You couldn't know, +dear, what to burn."</p> + +<p>"But I know," said the girl, decisively. "I know. I had a letter once; +but Hugh never had a letter. I wish Kris Kringle would take them away +this very, very night; and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>lessons, too, I do. What will he bring us +for Christmas, mamma? I know what. I want"—</p> + +<p>"A Kris Kringle to take away troubles would suit me well, Alice; I +could hang up a big stocking."</p> + +<p>"And I know what I want," said the boy. "Nurse says Kris has no money +this Christmas. I don't care." But the great blue eyes filled as he +spoke.</p> + +<p>The mother rose. "There will be no presents this year, Hugh. +Only—only more love from me, from one another; and you must be brave +and help me, because you know this is not the worst of it. We are to +go away next week, and must live in the town. You see, dears, it can't +be helped."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hugh, thoughtfully, "it can't be helped, Alice."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't want to go," said the girl.</p> + +<p>"Hush," said Hugh.</p> + +<p>"And I do want a doll."</p> + +<p>"I told you to be quiet, Alice," returned the mother, a rising note of +anger in her voice. In fact, she was close upon a burst of tears, but +the emotions are all near of kin and linked in mystery of +relationship. Pity and love for the moment became unreasoning wrath. +"You are disobedient," she continued.</p> + +<p>"O mamma! we are vewy sorry," said the lad, who had been the less +offending culprit.</p> + +<p>"Well, well. No matter. It is bed-time, children. Now to bed, and no +more nonsense. I can't have it, I can't bear it."</p> + +<p>The children rose submissively, and, kiss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>ing her, were just leaving +the room, when she said: "Oh! but we must not lose our manners. You +forget."</p> + +<p>The girl, pausing near the doorway, dropped a courtesy.</p> + +<p>"That wasn't very well done, Alice. Ah! that was better."</p> + +<p>The little fellow made a bow quite worthy of the days of minuet and +hoop, and then, running back, kissed the tall mother with a certain +passionate tenderness, saying, softly, "Now, don't you cry when we are +gone, dear, dear mamma," and then, in a whisper, "I will pway God not +to let you cwy," and so fled away, leaving her still perilously close +to tears. Very soon, up-stairs, the old nurse, troubled by the +children's disappointment, was assuring them with eager mendacity +that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> Kris would be certain to make his usual visit, while down-stairs +the mother walked slowly to and fro. She had that miserable gift, an +unfailing memory of anniversaries, and now, despite herself, the long +years rolled back upon her, so that under the sad power of their +recurrent memories she seemed a helpless prey.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/image_03.jpg" width="300" height="456" alt="And Opened the Case of A Miniature, Slowly and With +Deliberate Care." title="And Opened the Case of A Miniature, Slowly and With +Deliberate Care." /> +<span class="caption">And Opened the Case of A Miniature, Slowly and With +Deliberate Care.</span> +</div> + +<p>While the children were yet too young to recognize their loss the +great calamity of her life had come. Then by degrees the wreck of her +fortune had gone to pieces, and now at last the home of her own +people, deeply mortgaged, was about to pass from her forever. Much +that was humbling had fallen to her in life, but nothing as sore as +this final disaster. At length she rose, took a lighted candle from +the table, and walked <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>slowly around the great library room. The +sombre bindings of the books her childhood knew called back dim +recollections. The great china bowls, the tall silver tankards, the +shining sconces, and above, all the Stuart portraits or the Copleys of +the men who shone in Colonial days and helped to make a more than +imperial nation, each and all disturbed her as she gazed. At last, she +returned to the fireside, sat down and began anew her unfinished task. +With hasty hands she tumbled over the letters, and at length came upon +a package tied with a faded ribbon; one of those thin orange-colored +silk bands with which cigars are tied in bundles. She threw it aside +with a quick movement of disdain, and opened the case of a miniature, +slowly, and with deliberate care. A letter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> fell on to her lap as she +bent over the portrait of a young man. The day, the time, the need to +dispose of accumulated letters, had brought her to this which she +meant to be a final settlement of one of life's grim accounts. For +awhile, she steadily regarded the relics of happier hours. Then, +throwing herself back in her chair, she cried aloud, "How long I +hoped; how hopeless was my hope, and he said, he said, I was cruel and +hard. That I loved him no more. Oh! that was a lie! a bitter lie! But +a sot, a sot, and my children to grow up and see what I saw, and learn +to bear what I have borne. No! no! a thousand times no! I chose +between two duties, and I was right. I was the man of the two, and I +sent him away—forever. He said,—yes, I was right,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> but, my God! how +cruel is life! I would never have gone, never! never! There!" she +exclaimed, and threw back the miniature into the basket, closing it +with violence, as she did so, as one may shut an unpleasant book read +and done with.</p> + +<p>For a moment, and with firmer face, she considered the letter, reading +scraps of it aloud, as if testing her resolution to make an end of it +all. "Hard, was I? Yes. Would I had been sooner hard. My children +would have been better off. 'I went because you bid me.' Yes I did. +Will he ever know what that cost me? 'I shall never come again until +you bid me come.' Not in this world then?" she cried. "O Hugh! Hugh!" +And in a passion of tears that told of a too great trial, still +resolute despite her partial defeat, she tore the letter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> and cast it +on the fire. "There!" she cried, "would to God I loved him less." And +then, with strange firmness, she took up a book, and sternly set +herself to comprehend what she read.</p> + +<p>The hours went by and at last she rose wearily, put out one candle, +raked ashes over the embers, and taking the other light, went slowly +up to bed. She paused a moment at the nursery door where she heard +voices. "What! awake still?"</p> + +<p>"We was only talking about Khwis," said the small boy. "We won't any +more, will we, Alice? She thinks he won't come, but I think he will +come because we are both so good all to-day."</p> + +<p>"No, no, he will not come this Christmas, my darlings. Go to sleep. Go +to sleep," and with too full a heart she turned away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + +<p>But the usual tranquil slumber of childhood was not theirs. The +immense fact that they were soon to leave their home troubled the +imaginative little man. Then, too, a great wind began to sweep over +the hills and to shake the snow-laden pines. On its way, it carried +anew from the ice of the river wild sounds of disturbance and at last, +in the mid hours of night, an avalanche of snow slid from the roof. +Hugh sat up; he realized well enough what had happened. But presently +the quick ear of childhood was aware of other, and less familiar +sounds. Was it Kris Kringle? Oh! if he could only see him once! He +touched the sister asleep in her bed near by, and at last shook her +gently.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Hugh?" she said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I hear Khwis. I know it is Khwis!"</p> + +<p>"O Hugh! I hear too, but it might be a robber."</p> + +<p>"No, nevah on Chwistmas Eve. It couldn't be a wobber. It is Khwis. I +mean to go and see. I hear him outside. You know, Alice, there is +nevah, nevah any wickedness on Chwistmas Eve."</p> + +<p>"But if it is a robber he might take you away."</p> + +<p>"Oh! wobbers steal girls, but they nevah, nevah steal boys, and you +needn't go."</p> + +<p>"But are you sure? Oh! do listen," she added. Both heard the creaking +noise of footsteps in the dry snow.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image_04.jpg" width="400" height="531" alt=""Mr. Khwis Kwingle, Are You There? Or Is You A +Wobber?"" title=""Mr. Khwis Kwingle, Are You There? Or Is You A +Wobber?"" /> +<span class="caption">"Mr. Khwis Kwingle, Are You There? Or Is You A +Wobber?"</span> +</div> + +<p>"I will look—I must look," cried Hugh, slipping from his bed. In a +moment he had raised the sash and was looking out <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>into the night. +The sounds he had heard ceased. He could see no one. "He has gone, +Alice." Then he cried, "Mr. Khwis Kwingle, are you there? or is you a +wobber?" As he spoke a cloaked man came from behind a great pine and +stood amid the thickly-fallen flakes.</p> + +<p>"Why, that is Hugh," he said. "Hugh!"</p> + +<p>"He does know my name," whispered the lad to the small counsellor now +at his side.</p> + +<p>"And, of course, I am Kris Kringle. And I have a bag full of presents. +But come softly down and let me in, and don't make a noise or away I +go; and bring Alice."</p> + +<p>The girl was still in doubt, but her desire for the promised gifts was +strong, and in the very blood of the boy was the spirit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> of daring +adventure. There was a moment of whispered indecision, resulting in +two bits of conclusive wisdom.</p> + +<p>Said Alice, "If we go together, Hugh, and he takes one, the other can +squeal. Oh! very loud like a bear—a <i>big</i> bear."</p> + +<p>"And," said Hugh, "I will get my gweat gwandpapa's sword." And with +this he got upon a chair and by the failing light of the nursery fire +carefully took down from over the chimney the dress rapier which had +figured at peaceful levees of other days. "Now," he said, "if you are +afwaid I will go all alone myself."</p> + +<p>"I am dreadfully afraid," said she, "but I will go, too." So she +hastily slipped on a little white wrapper and he his well-worn brown +velvet knickerbocker trousers. Neither<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> had ever known a being they +had reason to fear, and so, with beating hearts, but brave enough, +they stole quietly out in their sweet innocence and hand in hand went +down the dark staircase, still hearing faint noises as they felt their +way. They crossed the great warm library and entered the hall, where, +with much effort, they unlocked the door and lifted the old-fashioned +bar which guarded it. The cold air swept in, and before them was a +tall man in a cloak half white with snow. He said at once, "Oh! Hugh! +Alice! Pleasant Christmas to you. Let us get in out of the cold; but +carefully—carefully, no sound!" As he spoke he shut the door behind +him. "Come," he said, and seeming to know the way, went before them +into the library.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh! I'm so frightened," said Alice to Hugh in a whisper. "I wish I +was in bed."</p> + +<p>Not so the boy. The man pushed away the ashes from the smouldering +logs, and took from the wood basket a quantity of birch bark and great +cones of the pine. As he cast them on the quick embers a fierce red +blaze went up, and the room was all alight. And now he turned quickly, +for Hugh, of a mind to settle the matter, was standing on guard +between him and the door to the stairway, which they had left open +when they came down. The man smiled as he saw the lad push his sister +back and come a step or two forward. He made a pretty picture in his +white shirt, brown knee-breeches, and little bare legs, the yellow +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>locks about his shoulders, the rapier in his hand, alert and quite +fearless.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image_05.jpg" width="400" height="516" alt="He Made A Pretty Picture—Alert and Quite Fearless." title="He Made A Pretty Picture—Alert and Quite Fearless." /> +<span class="caption">He Made A Pretty Picture—Alert and Quite Fearless.</span> +</div> + +<p>"My sister thinks perhaps you are a wobber, sir; but I think you are +Mr. Khwis Kwingle."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am Kris Kringle to-night, and you see I know your +names—Alice, Hugh." His cloak fell from him, and he stood smiling, a +handsome Chris. "Do not be afraid. Be sure I love little children. +Come, let us talk a bit."</p> + +<p>"It's all wite, Alice," said the boy. "I said he wasn't a wobber."</p> + +<p>And they went hand in hand toward the fire, now a brilliant blaze. The +man leaned heavily upon a chair back, his lips moving, a great stir of +emotion shaking him as he gazed on the little ones. But he said again, +quickly:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I'm Kris Kringle," and then, with much amusement, "and what +do you mean to do with your sword, my little man?"</p> + +<p>"It was to kill the wobber, sir; but you mustn't be afraid, because +you're not a wobber."</p> + +<p>"And he really won't hurt you," added Alice.</p> + +<p>"Good gracious!" exclaimed Kris, smiling, "you're a gallant little +gentleman. And you have been—are you always a good boy to—your +mother?"</p> + +<p>"I has been a vewy good boy." Then his conscience entered a protest, +and he added: "for two whole days. I'll go and ask mamma to come and +tell you."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p><p>"No, no," said Kris. "It is only children can see me. Old folks +couldn't see me."</p> + +<p>"My mother is vewy young."</p> + +<p>"Oh! but not like a child; not like you."</p> + +<p>"Please, sir, do let us see the presents," said Alice, much at her +ease. For now he pushed a great chair to the fire, and seated them +both in it, saying: "Ah! the poor little cold toes." Then he carefully +closed the door they had left open, and said, smiling as he sat down +opposite them: "I have come far—very far—to see you."</p> + +<p>"Has you come far to-night?" said the little host, with rising +courage.</p> + +<p>"No, not far to-night." Then he paused. "Is—is your mother—well?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hugh, "she is vewy well, and we are much obliged."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + +<p>"May we soon see the presents?" said Alice. "They did say you would +not come to-night because we are poor now."</p> + +<p>"And," added Hugh, "my pony is sold to a man, and his tail is vewy +long, and he loves sugar—the pony, I mean; and mamma says we must go +away and live in the town."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Kris. "I know."</p> + +<p>"He knows," said Hugh.</p> + +<p>"Oh! they know everything in fairyland," said Alice.</p> + +<p>"Was you evah in faywyland, sir?" asked Hugh.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Where 'bouts is it, sir, and please how is it bounded on the north? +And what are the pwincipal wivers? We might look for it on the map."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is in the Black Hills."</p> + +<p>"Oh! the Black Hills," said Alice. "I know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but you're not sleepy? Not a bit sleepy?"</p> + +<p>"No, no."</p> + +<p>"Then before the pretty things hop out of my bag let me tell you a +story," and he smiled at his desire to lengthen a delicious hour.</p> + +<p>"I would like that."</p> + +<p>"And I hope it won't be very, very long," said Alice, on more sordid +things intent.</p> + +<p>"That's the way with girls, Mr. Kwingle; they can't wait."</p> + +<p>"Ah, well, well. Once on a time there was a bad boy, and he was very +naughty,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> and no one loved him because he spent love like money till +it was all gone. When he found he had no more love given him, he went +away, and away, to a far country."</p> + +<p>"Like the man in the Bible," said Hugh, promptly. "The—the—what's +his name, Alice?"</p> + +<p>"The prodigal son," said Kris, "you mean—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. The pwodigal son."</p> + +<p>"Yes, like the prodigal son."</p> + +<p>"Well, at last he came to the Black Hills, and there he lived with +other rough men."</p> + +<p>"But you did say he was a boy," said Alice, accurately critical.</p> + +<p>"He was gwowed up, Alice. Don't you int—inter—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Interrupt, you goosey," said Alice.</p> + +<p>"One Christmas Eve these men fell to talking of their homes, and made +up their minds to have a good dinner. But Hugh—"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" exclaimed the lad, "Hugh!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Chris nodded and continued. "But Hugh felt very weak because he +was just getting well of a fever, yet they persuaded him to come to +table with the rest. One man, a German, stood up and said, 'This is +the eve of Christmas. I will say our grace what we say at home.' One +man laughed, but the others were still. Then the German said,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Come, Lord Christ, and be our guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take with us what Thou hast blest.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>When Hugh heard the words the German said he began to think of home +and of many Christmas eves, and because he felt a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> strangeness in his +head, he said, 'I'm not well; I will go into the air.' As he moved, he +saw before him a man in the doorway. The face of the man was sad, and +his garment was white as snow. He said, 'Follow me.' But no others, +except Hugh, saw or heard. Now, when Hugh went outside, the man he had +seen was gone; but being still confused, Hugh went over the hard snow +and among trees, not knowing what he did; and at last after wandering +a long time he came to a steep hillside. Here he slipped and rolling +down fell over a high place. Down, down, down he fell, and he fell."</p> + +<p>"Oh! make him stop," cried little Hugh.</p> + +<p>"He fell on to a deep bed of soft snow and was not hurt, but soon got +up, and thought he was buried in a white tomb.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> But soon he +understood, and his head grew clearer, and he beat the snow away and +got out. Then, first he said a prayer, and that was the only prayer he +had said in a long time."</p> + +<p>"Oh my!" cried little Hugh. "I did think people could nevah sleep +unless they say their prayers. That's what nurse says. Doesn't she, +Alice?"</p> + +<p>And just here Kris had to wipe his eyes, but he took the little +fellow's hand in his and went on.</p> + +<p>"Soon he found shelter under a cliff, where no snow was, and with his +flint and steel struck a light, and made with sticks and logs a big +fire. After this he felt warm and better all over and fell asleep. +When he woke up it was early morning, and look<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>ing about, he saw in +the rock little yellow streaks and small lumps, and then he knew he +had found a great mine of gold no man had ever seen before. By and by +he got out of the valley and found his companions, and in the spring +he went to his mine, which, because he had found it, was all his own, +and he got people to work there and dig out the gold. After that he +was no longer poor, but very, very rich."</p> + +<p>"And was he good then?" said Hugh.</p> + +<p>"And did he go home," said Alice, "and buy things?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he went. One day he went home and at night saw his house and +little children, and—but he will not stay, because there is no love +waiting in his house, and all the money in the world is no good unless +there is some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> love too. You see, dear, a house is just a house of +brick and mortar, but when it is full of love, then it is a home."</p> + +<p>"I like that man," said Hugh. "Tell me more."</p> + +<p>"But first," said Alice, "oh! we do want to see all our presents."</p> + +<p>"Ah, well. That is all, I think; and the presents. Now for the +presents." Then he opened a bag and took out first a string of great +pearls, and said, as he hung them around Alice's neck, "There, these +the oysters made for you years ago under the deep blue sea. They are +for a wedding gift from Chris. They are too fine for a little maid. No +Queen has prettier pearls. But when you are married and some one you +love vexes you or is unkind, look at these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> pearls, and forgive, oh! a +hundred times over; twice, thrice, for every pearl, because Kris said +it. You won't understand now, but some day you will."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Alice, puzzled, and playing with the pearls.</p> + +<p>Said Hugh, "You said, Mr. Khwis, that the oysters make pearls. Why do +the oysters make pearls?"</p> + +<p>"I will tell you," replied Kris. "If a bit of something rough or sharp +gets inside the oyster's house, and it can't be got rid of, the oyster +begins to make a pearl of it, and covers it over and over until the +rough, rude thing is one of these beautiful pearls."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Hugh.</p> + +<p>"That is a little fairy tale I made for myself; I often make stories +for myself."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That must be very nice, Mr. Khwis. How nice it must be for your +little children every night when you tell them stories."</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes"—and here Kris had to wipe his eyes with his handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"Isn't that a doll?" said Alice, looking at the bag.</p> + +<p>"Yes; a doll from Japan."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Alice.</p> + +<p>"And boxes of sugar-plums for Christmas," he added. "And, Hugh, here +are skates for you and this bundle of books."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>"And these—and these for my—for Alice," and Kris drew forth a +half-dozen delicate Eastern scarves and cast them, laughing, around +the girl's neck as she stood delighted.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And now I want to trust you. This is for—for your mother; only an +envelope from Kris to her. Inside is a fairy paper, and whenever she +pleases it will turn to gold—oh! much gold, and she will be able then +to keep her old home and you need never go away, and the pony will +stay."</p> + +<p>"Oh! that will be nice. We do sank you, sir; don't we, Alice?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But now I must go. Kiss me. You <i>will</i> kiss me?" He seemed to +doubt it.</p> + +<p>"Oh! yes," they cried, and cast their little arms about him while he +held them in a long embrace, loath to let them go.</p> + +<p>"O Alice!" said Hugh, "Mr. Khwis is cwying. What's the matter, Mr. +Khwis?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," he said. "Once I had two little children, and you see you +look like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> them, and—and I have not seen them this long while."</p> + +<p>Alice silently reflected on the amount of presents which Kris's +children must have, but Hugh said:</p> + +<p>"We are bofe wewy sorry for you, Mr. Khwis."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he returned, "I shall remember that, and now be still a +little, I must write to your mother, and you must give her my letter +after she has my present."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Alice, "we will."</p> + +<p>Then Kris lit a candle and took paper and pen from the table, and as +they sat quietly waiting, full of the marvel of this famous adventure, +he wrote busily, now and then pausing to smile on them, until he +closed and gave the letter to the boy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Be careful of these things," he said, "for now I must go."</p> + +<p>"And will you nevah, nevah come back?"</p> + +<p>"My God!" cried the man. "Never—perhaps never. Don't forget me, +Alice, Hugh." And this time he kissed them again and went by and +opened the door to the stairway.</p> + +<p>"We thank you ever so much," said Hugh, and standing aside he waited +for Alice to pass, having in his child-like ways something of the +grave courtesy of the ancestors who looked down on him from the walls. +Alice courtesied and the small cavalier, still with the old rapier in +hand, bowed low. Kris stood at the door and listened to the patter of +little feet upon the stair; then he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>closed it with noiseless care. In +a few minutes he had put out the candles, resumed his cloak, and left +the house. The snow no longer fell. The waning night was clearer, and +to eastward a faint rosy gleam foretold the coming of the sun of +Christmas. Kris glanced up at the long-windowed house and turning went +slowly down the garden path.</p> + +<p>Long before their usual hour of rising, the children burst into the +mother's room. "You monkeys," she cried, smiling; "Merry Christmas to +you! What is the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! he was here! he did come!" cried Alice.</p> + +<p>"Khwis was here," said Hugh. "I did hear him in the night, and I told +Alice it was Khwis, and she said it was a wobber, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>and I said it +wasn't a wobber. And we went to see, and it was a man. It was Khwis. +He did say so."</p> + +<p>"What! a man at night in the house! Are you crazy, children?"</p> + +<p>"And Hugh took grandpapa's sword, and—"</p> + +<p>"Gweat-gwanpapa's," said Hugh, with strict accuracy.</p> + +<p>"You brave boy!" cried the woman, proudly. "And he stole nothing, and, +oh! what a silly tale."</p> + +<p>"But it <i>was</i> Khwis, mamma. He did give us things. I do tell you it +was Khwis Kwingle."</p> + +<p>"Oh! he gave us things for you, and for me, and for Hugh, and he gave +me this," cried Alice, who had kept her hand behind her, and now threw +the royal pearls on the bed amid a glory of Eastern scarves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Are we all bewitched?" cried the mother.</p> + +<p>"Oh! and skates, and sugar-plums, and books, and a doll, and this for +you. Oh! Khwis didn't forget nobody, mamma."</p> + +<p>The mother seized and hastily opened the blank envelope which the boy +gave her.</p> + +<p>"What! what!" she cried, as she stared at the inclosure; "is this a +jest?"</p> + +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">Union Trust Co., New York.</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Madame:</span>—We have the honor to hold at your disposal the +following registered United States bonds, in all amounting +to ——.</p></div> + +<p>The sum was a great fortune. The Trust Company was known to her, even +its president's signature.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, mamma," cried Alice, amazed at the unusual look +the calm mother's face wore as she arose from the bed, while<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> the +great pearls tumbled over and lay on the sunlit floor, and the fairy +letter fell unheeded. Her thoughts were away in the desert of her past +life.</p> + +<p>"And here, I forgot," said Hugh, "Mr. Khwis did write you a letter."</p> + +<p>"Quick," she cried. "Give it to me." She opened it with fierce +eagerness. Then she said, "Go away, leave me alone. Yes, yes, I will +talk to you by and by. Go now." And she drove the astonished children +from the room and sat down with her letter.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Alice:</span>—Shall I say wife? I promised to come no more +until you asked me to come. I can stand it no longer. I came +only meaning to see the dear home, and to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> send you and my +dear children a remembrance, but I—You know the rest. If in +those dark days the mother care and fear instinctively set +aside what little love was left for me I do not now wonder. +Was it well, or ill, what you did when you bid me go? In +God's time I have learned to think it well. That hour is to +me now like a blurred dream. To-day I can bless the anger +and the sense of duty to our children which drove me +forth—too debased a thing to realize my loss. I have won +again my self-control, thank God! am a man once more. You +have, have always had, my love. You have to-day again a +dozen times the fortune I meanly squandered. I shall never +touch it; it is yours and your children's. And now, Alice, +is all love dead for me?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> And is it Yes or No? And shall I +be always to my little ones Kris, and to-night a mysterious +memory, or shall I be once more</p></div> + +<p class="sig1"><span class="smcap">Your Hugh</span>?</p> + +<p class="blockquot">"A letter to the bank will find me."</p> + +<p>As she read, the quick tears came aflood. She turned to her desk and +wrote in tremulous haste, "Come, come at once," and ringing for the +maid, sent it off to the address he gave. The next morning she dressed +with unusual care. At the sound of the whistle of the train she went +down to the door. Presently, a strong, erect, eager man came swiftly +up the pathway. She was in his arms a minute after, little Hugh +exclaiming, "O Alice! Mr. Khwis is kissing mamma!"</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. Kris Kringle, by S. Weir Mitchell + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. 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