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diff --git a/5061.txt b/5061.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f2019a6 --- /dev/null +++ b/5061.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9456 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Children's Book of Christmas Stories, by Various + +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: The Children's Book of Christmas Stories + +Author: Various + +Editor: Asa Don Dickinson and Ada M. Skinner + +Release Date: February, 2004 [EBook #5061] +Posting Date: March 25, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTMAS STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by Dianne Bean + + + + + +THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF CHRISTMAS STORIES + +By Various + +Edited by Asa Don Dickinson and Ada M. Skinner + + + + +PREFACE + +Many librarians have felt the need and expressed the desire for a select +collection of children's Christmas stories in one volume. This books +claims to be just that and nothing more. + +Each of the stories has already won the approval of thousands of +children, and each is fraught with the true Christmas spirit. + +It is hoped that the collection will prove equally acceptable to +parents, teachers, and librarians. + +Asa Don Dickinson. + + + + +CONTENTS + +(Note.--The stories marked with a star (*) will be most enjoyed by +younger children; those marked with a two stars (**) are better suited +to older children.) + + Christmas at Fezziwig's Warehouse. By Charles Dickens + * The Fir-Tree. By Hans Christian Andersen + The Christmas Masquerade. By Mary E. Wilkins Freeman + * The Shepherds and the Angels. Adapted from the Bills + ** The Telltale Tile. By Olive Thorne Miller + * Little Girl's Christmas. By Winnifred E. Lincoln + ** A Christmas Matinee. By M.A.L. Lane + * Toinette and the Elves. By Susan Coolidge + The Voyage of the Wee Red Cap. By Ruth Sawyer Durand + * A Story of the Christ-Child (a German Legend for Christmas Eve). As + told by + Elizabeth Harrison + * Jimmy Scarecrow's Christmas. By Mary E. Wilkins Freeman + Why the Chimes Rang. By Raymond McAlden + The Birds' Christmas (founded on fact). By F.E. Mann + ** The Little Sister's Vacation. By Winifred M. Kirkland + * Little Wolff's Wooden Shoes. By Francois Coppee, adapted and + translated by + Alma J. Foster + ** Christmas in the Alley. By Olive Thorne Miller + * A Christmas Star. By Katherine Pyle + ** The Queerest Christmas. By Grace Margaret Gallaher + Old Father Christmas. By J.H. Ewing + A Christmas Carol. By Charles Dickens + How Christmas Came to the Santa Maria Flats. By Elia W. Peattie + The Legend of Babouscka. From the Russian Folk Tale + * Christmas in the Barn. By F. Arnstein + The Philanthropist's Christmas. By James Weber Linn + * The First Christmas-Tree. By Lucy Wheelock + The First New England Christmas. By G.L. Stone and M.G. Fickett + The Cratchits' Christmas Dinner. By Charles Dickens + Christmas in Seventeen Seventy-Six. By Anne Hollingsworth Wharton + * Christmas Under the Snow. By Olive Thorne Miller + Mr. Bluff's Experience of Holidays. By Oliver Bell Bunce + ** Master Sandy's Snapdragon. By Elbridge S. Brooks + A Christmas Fairy. By John Strange Winter + The Greatest of These. By Joseph Mills Hanson + * Little Gretchen and the Wooden Shoe. By Elizabeth Harrison + ** Big Rattle. By Theodore Goodridge Roberts + + + + +I. CHRISTMAS AT FEZZIWIG'S WAREHOUSE + +CHARLES DICKENS + +"Yo Ho! my boys," said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night! Christmas +Eve, Dick! Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up!" cried old +Fezziwig with a sharp clap of his hands, "before a man can say Jack +Robinson...." + +"Hilli-ho!" cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk with +wonderful agility. "Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room +here! Hilli-ho, Dick! Cheer-up, Ebenezer!" + +Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or +couldn't have cleared away with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done +in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from +public life forevermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were +trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug, +and warm, and dry, and bright a ballroom as you would desire to see on a +winter's night. + +In came a fiddler with a music book, and went up to the lofty desk and +made an orchestra of it and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. +Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Misses Fezziwig, +beaming and lovable. In came the six followers whose hearts they broke. +In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In came +the housemaid with her cousin the baker. In came the cook with her +brother's particular friend the milkman. In came the boy from over +the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from his master, +trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but one who was +proved to have had her ears pulled by her mistress; in they all came, +anyhow and everyhow. Away they all went, twenty couple at once; hands +half round and back again the other way; down the middle and up again; +round and round in various stages of affectionate grouping, old top +couple always turning up in the wrong place; new top couple starting +off again, as soon as they got there; all top couples at last, and not a +bottom one to help them. + +When this result was brought about the fiddler struck up "Sir Roger de +Coverley." Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top +couple, too, with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three +or four and twenty pairs of partners; people who were not to be trifled +with; people who would dance and had no notion of walking. + +But if they had been thrice as many--oh, four times as many--old +Fezziwig would have been a match for them, and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. +As to her, she was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. +If that's not high praise, tell me higher and I'll use it. A positive +light appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part +of the dance like moons. You couldn't have predicted at any given time +what would become of them next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig +had gone all through the dance, advance and retire; both hands to your +partner, bow and courtesy, corkscrew, thread the needle, and back again +to your place; Fezziwig "cut"--cut so deftly that he appeared to wink +with his legs, and came upon his feet again with a stagger. + +When the clock struck eleven the domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. +Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and +shaking hands with every person individually, as he or she went out, +wished him or her a Merry Christmas! + + + + +II. THE FIR-TREE* + +*Reprinted by permission of the Houghton-Mifflin Company. + +HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN + +Out in the woods stood a nice little Fir-tree. The place he had was a +very good one; the sun shone on him; as to fresh air, there was enough +of that, and round him grew many large-sized comrades, pines as well as +firs. But the little Fir wanted so very much to be a grown-up tree. + +He did not think of the warm sun and of the fresh air; he did not care +for the little cottage children that ran about and prattled when they +were in the woods looking for wild strawberries. The children often came +with a whole pitcher full of berries, or a long row of them threaded on +a straw, and sat down near the young tree and said, "Oh, how pretty he +is! what a nice little fir!" But this was what the Tree could not bear +to hear. + +At the end of a year he had shot up a good deal, and after another year +he was another long bit taller; for with fir-trees one can always tell +by the shoots how many years old they are. + +"Oh, were I but such a high tree as the others are!" sighed he. "Then I +should be able to spread out my branches, and with the tops to look into +the wide world! Then would the birds build nests among my branches; and +when there was a breeze, I could bend with as much stateliness as the +others!" + +Neither the sunbeams, nor the birds, nor the red clouds, which morning +and evening sailed above them, gave the little Tree any pleasure. + +In winter, when the snow lay glittering on the ground, a hare would +often come leaping along, and jump right over the little Tree. Oh, that +made him so angry! But two winters were past, and in the third the tree +was so large that the hare was obliged to go round it. "To grow and +grow, to get older and be tall," thought the Tree--"that, after all, is +the most delightful thing in the world!" + +In autumn the wood-cutters always came and felled some of the largest +trees. This happened every year; and the young Fir-tree, that had now +grown to a very comely size, trembled at the sight; for the magnificent +great trees fell to the earth with noise and cracking, the branches were +lopped off, and the trees looked long and bare; they were hardly to be +recognized; and then they were laid in carts, and the horses dragged +them out of the woods. + +Where did they go to? What became of them? + +In spring, when the Swallows and the Storks came, the Tree asked them, +"Don't you know where they have been taken? Have you not met them +anywhere?" + +The Swallows did not know anything about it; but the Stork looked +musing, nodded his head, and said: "Yes, I think I know; I met many +ships as I was flying hither from Egypt; on the ships were magnificent +masts, and I venture to assert that it was they that smelt so of fir. +I may congratulate you, for they lifted themselves on high most +majestically!" + +"Oh, were I but old enough to fly across the sea! But how does the sea +look in reality? What is it like?" + +"That would take a long time to explain," said the Stork, and with these +words off he went. + +"Rejoice in thy growth!" said the Sunbeams, "rejoice in thy vigorous +growth, and in the fresh life that moveth within thee!" + +And the Wind kissed the Tree, and the Dew wept tears over him; but the +Fir understood it not. + +When Christmas came, quite young trees were cut down; trees which often +were not even as large or of the same age as this Fir-tree, who could +never rest, but always wanted to be off. These young trees, and they +were always the finest looking, retained their branches; they were laid +on carts, and the horses drew them out of the woods. + +"Where are they going to?" asked the Fir. "They are not taller than +I; there was one indeed that was considerably shorter; and why do they +retain all their branches? Whither are they taken?" + +"We know! we know!" chirped the Sparrows. "We have peeped in at the +windows in the town below! We know whither they are taken! The greatest +splendour and the greatest magnificence one can imagine await them. We +peeped through the windows, and saw them planted in the middle of the +warm room, and ornamented with the most splendid things--with gilded +apples, with gingerbread, with toys, and many hundred lights!" + +"And then?" asked the Fir-tree, trembling in every bough. "And then? +What happens then?" + +"We did not see anything more: it was incomparably beautiful." + +"I would fain know if I am destined for so glorious a career," cried +the Tree, rejoicing. "That is still better than to cross the sea! What +a longing do I suffer! Were Christmas but come! I am now tall, and my +branches spread like the others that were carried off last year! Oh, +were I but already on the cart. Were I in the warm room with all the +splendour and magnificence! Yes; then something better, something still +grander, will surely follow, or wherefore should they thus ornament me? +Something better, something still grander, MUST follow--but what? Oh, +how I long, how I suffer! I do not know myself what is the matter with +me!" + +"Rejoice in our presence!" said the Air and the Sunlight; "rejoice in +thy own fresh youth!" + +But the Tree did not rejoice at all; he grew and grew, and was green +both winter and summer. People that saw him said, "What a fine tree!" +and toward Christmas he was one of the first that was cut down. The axe +struck deep into the very pith; the tree fell to the earth with a sigh: +he felt a pang--it was like a swoon; he could not think of happiness, +for he was sorrowful at being separated from his home, from the place +where he had sprung up. He knew well that he should never see his +dear old comrades, the little bushes and flowers around him, any more; +perhaps not even the birds! The departure was not at all agreeable. + +The Tree only came to himself when he was unloaded in a courtyard with +the other trees, and heard a man say, "That one is splendid! we don't +want the others." Then two servants came in rich livery and carried the +Fir-tree into a large and splendid drawing-room. Portraits were hanging +on the walls, and near the white porcelain stove stood two large Chinese +vases with lions on the covers. There, too, were large easy chairs, +silken sofas, large tables full of picture-books, and full of toys worth +hundreds and hundreds of crowns--at least the children said so. And the +Fir-tree was stuck upright in a cask that was filled with sand: but no +one could see that it was a cask, for green cloth was hung all around +it, and it stood on a large gayly coloured carpet. Oh, how the Tree +quivered! What was to happen? The servants, as well as the young ladies, +decorated it. On one branch there hung little nets cut out of coloured +paper, and each net was filled with sugar-plums; and among the other +boughs gilded apples and walnuts were suspended, looking as though they +had grown there, and little blue and white tapers were placed among the +leaves. Dolls that looked for all the world like men--the Tree had never +beheld such before--were seen among the foliage, and at the very top +a large star of gold tinsel was fixed. It was really splendid--beyond +description splendid. + +"This evening!" said they all; "how it will shine this evening!" + +"Oh," thought the Tree, "if the evening were but come! If the tapers +were but lighted! And then I wonder what will happen! Perhaps the other +trees from the forest will come to look at me! Perhaps the sparrows will +beat against the window-panes! I wonder if I shall take root here, and +winter and summer stand covered with ornaments!" + +He knew very much about the matter! but he was so impatient that for +sheer longing he got a pain in his back, and this with trees is the same +thing as a headache with us. + +The candles were now lighted. What brightness! What splendour! The +Tree trembled so in every bough that one of the tapers set fire to the +foliage. It blazed up splendidly. + +"Help! Help!" cried the young ladies, and they quickly put out the fire. + +Now the Tree did not even dare tremble. What a state he was in! He was +so uneasy lest he should lose something of his splendour, that he was +quite bewildered amidst the glare and brightness; when suddenly both +folding-doors opened, and a troop of children rushed in as if they would +upset the Tree. The older persons followed quietly; the little ones +stood quite still. But it was only for a moment; then they shouted so +that the whole place reechoed with their rejoicing; they danced round +the tree, and one present after the other was pulled off. + +"What are they about?" thought the Tree. "What is to happen now?" And +the lights burned down to the very branches, and as they burned down +they were put out, one after the other, and then the children had +permission to plunder the tree. So they fell upon it with such violence +that all its branches cracked; if it had not been fixed firmly in the +cask, it would certainly have tumbled down. + +The children danced about with their beautiful playthings: no one looked +at the Tree except the old nurse, who peeped between the branches; but +it was only to see if there was a fig or an apple left that had been +forgotten. + +"A story! a story!" cried the children, drawing a little fat man toward +the tree. He seated himself under it, and said: "Now we are in the +shade, and the Tree can listen, too. But I shall tell only one story. +Now which will you have: that about Ivedy-Avedy, or about Klumpy-Dumpy +who tumbled downstairs, and yet after all came to the throne and married +the princess?" + +"Ivedy-Avedy!" cried some; "Klumpy-Dumpy" cried the others. There was +such a bawling and screaming--the Fir-tree alone was silent, and he +thought to himself, "Am I not to bawl with the rest?--am I to do nothing +whatever?" for he was one of the company, and had done what he had to +do. + +And the man told about Klumpy-Dumpy that tumbled down, who +notwithstanding came to the throne, and at last married the princess. +And the children clapped their hands, and cried out, "Oh, go on! Do go +on!" They wanted to hear about Ivedy-Avedy, too, but the little man +only told them about Klumpy-Dumpy. The Fir-tree stood quite still and +absorbed in thought; the birds in the woods had never related the like +of this. "Klumpy-Dumpy fell downstairs, and yet he married the princess! +Yes! Yes! that's the way of the world!" thought the Fir-tree, and +believed it all, because the man who told the story was so good-looking. +"Well, well! who knows, perhaps I may fall downstairs, too, and get a +princess as wife!" And he looked forward with joy to the morrow, when +he hoped to be decked out again with lights, playthings, fruits, and +tinsel. + +"I won't tremble to-morrow," thought the Fir-tree. "I will enjoy to +the full all my splendour. To-morrow I shall hear again the story of +Klumpy-Dumpy, and perhaps that of Ivedy-Avedy, too." And the whole night +the Tree stood still and in deep thought. + +In the morning the servant and the housemaid came in. + +"Now, then, the splendour will begin again," thought the Fir. But they +dragged him out of the room, and up the stairs into the loft; and here +in a dark corner, where no daylight could enter, they left him. "What's +the meaning of this?" thought the Tree. "What am I to do here? What +shall I hear now, I wonder?" And he leaned against the wall, lost in +reverie. Time enough had he, too, for his reflections; for days and +nights passed on, and nobody came up; and when at last somebody did +come, it was only to put some great trunks in a corner out of the way. +There stood the Tree quite hidden; it seemed as if he had been entirely +forgotten. + +"'Tis now winter out of doors!" thought the Tree. "The earth is hard and +covered with snow; men cannot plant me now, and therefore I have been +put up here under shelter till the springtime comes! How thoughtful that +is! How kind man is, after all! If it only were not so dark here, and +so terribly lonely! Not even a hare. And out in the woods it was so +pleasant, when the snow was on the ground, and the hare leaped by; +yes--even when he jumped over me; but I did not like it then. It is +really terribly lonely here!" + +"Squeak! squeak!" said a little Mouse at the same moment, peeping out +of his hole. And then another little one came. They sniffed about the +Fir-tree, and rustled among the branches. + +"It is dreadfully cold," said the Mouse. "But for that, it would be +delightful here, old Fir, wouldn't it?" + +"I am by no means old," said the Fir-tree. "There's many a one +considerably older than I am." + +"Where do you come from," asked the Mice; "and what can you do?" They +were so extremely curious. "Tell us about the most beautiful spot on the +earth. Have you never been there? Were you never in the larder, where +cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from above; where one dances +about on tallow-candles; that place where one enters lean, and comes out +again fat and portly?" + +"I know no such place," said the Tree, "but I know the woods, where the +sun shines, and where the little birds sing." And then he told all about +his youth; and the little Mice had never heard the like before; and they +listened and said: + +"Well, to be sure! How much you have seen! How happy you must have +been!" + +"I?" said the Fir-tree, thinking over what he had himself related. "Yes, +in reality those were happy times." And then he told about Christmas +Eve, when he was decked out with cakes and candles. + +"Oh," said the little Mice, "how fortunate you have been, old Fir-tree!" + +"I am by no means old," said he. "I came from the woods this winter; I +am in my prime, and am only rather short for my age." + +"What delightful stories you know!" said the Mice: and the next night +they came with four other little Mice, who were to hear what the tree +recounted; and the more he related, the more plainly he remembered all +himself; and it appeared as if those times had really been happy +times. "But they may still come--they may still come. Klumpy-Dumpy fell +downstairs and yet he got a princess," and he thought at the moment of a +nice little Birch-tree growing out in the woods; to the Fir, that would +be a real charming princess. + +"Who is Klumpy-Dumpy?" asked the Mice. So then the Fir-tree told the +whole fairy tale, for he could remember every single word of it; and the +little Mice jumped for joy up to the very top of the Tree. Next night +two more Mice came, and on Sunday two Rats, even; but they said the +stories were not interesting, which vexed the little Mice; and they, +too, now began to think them not so very amusing either. + +"Do you know only one story?" asked the Rats. + +"Only that one," answered the Tree. "I heard it on my happiest evening; +but I did not then know how happy I was." + +"It is a very stupid story. Don't you know one about bacon and tallow +candles? Can't you tell any larder stories?" + +"No," said the Tree. + +"Then good-bye," said the Rats; and they went home. + +At last the little Mice stayed away also; and the Tree sighed: "After +all, it was very pleasant when the sleek little Mice sat around me and +listened to what I told them. Now that too is over. But I will take good +care to enjoy myself when I am brought out again." + +But when was that to be? Why, one morning there came a quantity of +people and set to work in the loft. The trunks were moved, the Tree was +pulled out and thrown--rather hard, it is true--down on the floor, but a +man drew him toward the stairs, where the daylight shone. + +"Now a merry life will begin again," thought the Tree. He felt the fresh +air, the first sunbeam--and now he was out in the courtyard. All passed +so quickly, there was so much going on around him, that the Tree quite +forgot to look to himself. The court adjoined a garden, and all was in +flower; the roses hung so fresh and odorous over the balustrade, the +lindens were in blossom, the Swallows flew by, and said, "Quirre-vit! my +husband is come!" but it was not the Fir-tree that they meant. + +"Now, then, I shall really enjoy life," said he, exultingly, and spread +out his branches; but, alas! they were all withered and yellow. It was +in a corner that he lay, among weeds and nettles. The golden star of +tinsel was still on the top of the Tree, and glittered in the sunshine. + +In the courtyard some of the merry children were playing who had danced +at Christmas round the Fir-tree, and were so glad at the sight of him. +One of the youngest ran and tore off the golden star. + +"Only look what is still on the ugly old Christmas tree!" said he, +trampling on the branches, so that they all cracked beneath his feet. +And the Tree beheld all the beauty of the flowers, and the freshness in +the garden; he beheld himself, and wished he had remained in his dark +corner in the loft; he thought of his first youth in the woods, of the +merry Christmas Eve, and of the little Mice who had listened with so +much pleasure to the story of Klumpy-Dumpy. + +"'Tis over--'tis past!" said the poor Tree. "Had I but rejoiced when I +had reason to do so! But now 'tis past, 'tis past!" + +And the gardener's boy chopped the Tree into small pieces; there was a +whole heap lying there. The wood flamed up splendidly under the large +brewing copper, and it sighed so deeply! Each sigh was like a shot. + +The boys played about in the court, and the youngest wore the gold star +on his breast which the Tree had had on the happiest evening of his +life. However, that was over now--the Tree gone, the story at an end. +All, all was over; every tale must end at last. + + + + +III. THE CHRISTMAS MASQUERADE* + +* From "The Pot of Gold", copyright by Lothrop, Lee & Shepherd Co. + +MARY E. WILKINS FREEMAN + +On Christmas Eve the Mayor's stately mansion presented a beautiful +appearance. There were rows of different coloured wax candles burning in +every window, and beyond them one could see the chandeliers of gold +and crystal blazing with light. The fiddles were squeaking merrily, and +lovely little forms flew past the windows in time to the music. + +There were gorgeous carpets laid from the door to the street, and +carriages were constantly arriving and fresh guests tripping over them. +They were all children. The Mayor was giving a Christmas Masquerade +tonight to all the children in the city, the poor as well as the rich. +The preparation for this ball had been making an immense sensation for +the last three months. Placards had been up in the most conspicuous +points in the city, and all the daily newspapers had at least a column +devoted to it, headed with "THE MAYOR'S CHRISTMAS MASQUERADE," in very +large letters. + +The Mayor had promised to defray the expenses of all the poor children +whose parents were unable to do so, and the bills for their costumes +were directed to be sent in to him. + +Of course there was great excitement among the regular costumers of the +city, and they all resolved to vie with one another in being the most +popular, and the best patronized on this gala occasion. But the placards +and the notices had not been out a week before a new Costumer appeared +who cast all the others into the shade directly. He set up his shop on +the corner of one of the principal streets, and hung up his beautiful +costumes in the windows. He was a little fellow, not much bigger than +a boy of ten. His cheeks were as red as roses, and he had on a +long curling wig as white as snow. He wore a suit of crimson velvet +knee-breeches, and a little swallow-tailed coat with beautiful golden +buttons. Deep lace ruffles fell over his slender white hands, and he +wore elegant knee buckles of glittering stones. He sat on a high stool +behind his counter and served his customers himself; he kept no clerk. + +It did not take the children long to discover what beautiful things he +had, and how superior he was to the other costumers, and they begun to +flock to his shop immediately, from the Mayor's daughter to the poor +ragpicker's. The children were to select their own costumes; the Mayor +had stipulated that. It was to be a children's ball in every sense of +the word. + +So they decided to be fairies and shepherdesses, and princesses +according to their own fancies; and this new Costumer had charming +costumes to suit them. + +It was noticeable that, for the most part, the children of the rich, +who had always had everything they desired, would choose the parts of +goose-girls and peasants and such like; and the poor children jumped +eagerly at the chance of being princesses or fairies for a few hours in +their miserable lives. + +When Christmas Eve came and the children flocked into the Mayor's +mansion, whether it was owing to the Costumer's art, or their own +adaptation to the characters they had chosen, it was wonderful how +lifelike their representations were. Those little fairies in their short +skirts of silken gauze, in which golden sparkles appeared as they moved +with their little funny gossamer wings, like butterflies, looked like +real fairies. It did not seem possible, when they floated around to the +music, half supported on the tips of their dainty toes, half by their +filmy purple wings, their delicate bodies swaying in time, that they +could be anything but fairies. It seemed absurd to imagine that they +were Johnny Mullens, the washerwoman's son, and Polly Flinders, the +charwoman's little girl, and so on. + +The Mayor's daughter, who had chosen the character of a goose-girl, +looked so like a true one that one could hardly dream she ever was +anything else. She was, ordinarily, a slender, dainty little lady rather +tall for her age. She now looked very short and stubbed and brown, just +as if she had been accustomed to tend geese in all sorts of weather. It +was so with all the others--the Red Riding-hoods, the princesses, the +Bo-Peeps and with every one of the characters who came to the Mayor's +ball; Red Riding-hood looked round, with big, frightened eyes, all ready +to spy the wolf, and carried her little pat of butter and pot of honey +gingerly in her basket; Bo-Peep's eyes looked red with weeping for the +loss of her sheep; and the princesses swept about so grandly in their +splendid brocaded trains, and held their crowned heads so high that +people half-believed them to be true princesses. + +But there never was anything like the fun at the Mayor's Christmas ball. +The fiddlers fiddled and fiddled, and the children danced and danced on +the beautiful waxed floors. The Mayor, with his family and a few grand +guests, sat on a dais covered with blue velvet at one end of the dancing +hall, and watched the sport. They were all delighted. The Mayor's eldest +daughter sat in front and clapped her little soft white hands. She was +a tall, beautiful young maiden, and wore a white dress, and a little cap +woven of blue violets on her yellow hair. Her name was Violetta. + +The supper was served at midnight--and such a supper! The mountains of +pink and white ices, and the cakes with sugar castles and flower gardens +on the tops of them, and the charming shapes of gold and ruby-coloured +jellies. There were wonderful bonbons which even the Mayor's daughter +did not have every day; and all sorts of fruits, fresh and candied. They +had cowslip wine in green glasses, and elderberry wine in red, and +they drank each other's health. The glasses held a thimbleful each; the +Mayor's wife thought that was all the wine they ought to have. Under +each child's plate there was a pretty present and every one had a basket +of bonbons and cake to carry home. + +At four o'clock the fiddlers put up their fiddles and the children went +home; fairies and shepherdesses and pages and princesses all jabbering +gleefully about the splendid time they had had. + +But in a short time what consternation there was throughout the city. +When the proud and fond parents attempted to unbutton their children's +dresses, in order to prepare them for bed, not a single costume would +come off. The buttons buttoned again as fast as they were unbuttoned; +even if they pulled out a pin, in it would slip again in a twinkling; +and when a string was untied it tied itself up again into a bowknot. The +parents were dreadfully frightened. But the children were so tired out +they finally let them go to bed in their fancy costumes and thought +perhaps they would come off better in the morning. So Red Riding-hood +went to bed in her little red cloak holding fast to her basket full of +dainties for her grandmother, and Bo-Peep slept with her crook in her +hand. + +The children all went to bed readily enough, they were so very +tired, even though they had to go in this strange array. All but the +fairies--they danced and pirouetted and would not be still. + +"We want to swing on the blades of grass," they kept saying, "and play +hide and seek in the lily cups, and take a nap between the leaves of the +roses." + +The poor charwomen and coal-heavers, whose children the fairies were for +the most part, stared at them in great distress. They did not know +what to do with these radiant, frisky little creatures into which their +Johnnys and their Pollys and Betseys were so suddenly transformed. But +the fairies went to bed quietly enough when daylight came, and were soon +fast asleep. + +There was no further trouble till twelve o'clock, when all the children +woke up. Then a great wave of alarm spread over the city. Not one of the +costumes would come off then. The buttons buttoned as fast as they were +unbuttoned; the pins quilted themselves in as fast as they were pulled +out; and the strings flew round like lightning and twisted themselves +into bow-knots as fast as they were untied. + +And that was not the worst of it; every one of the children seemed to +have become, in reality, the character which he or she had assumed. + +The Mayor's daughter declared she was going to tend her geese out in the +pasture, and the shepherdesses sprang out of their little beds of down, +throwing aside their silken quilts, and cried that they must go out and +watch their sheep. The princesses jumped up from their straw pallets, +and wanted to go to court; and all the rest of them likewise. Poor +little Red Riding-hood sobbed and sobbed because she couldn't go +and carry her basket to her grandmother, and as she didn't have any +grandmother she couldn't go, of course, and her parents were very much +doubled. It was all so mysterious and dreadful. The news spread very +rapidly over the city, and soon a great crowd gathered around the new +Costumer's shop for every one thought he must be responsible for all +this mischief. + +The shop door was locked; but they soon battered it down with stones. +When they rushed in the Costumer was not there; he had disappeared with +all his wares. Then they did not know what to do. But it was evident +that they must do something before long for the state of affairs was +growing worse and worse. + +The Mayor's little daughter braced her back up against the tapestried +wall, and planted her two feet in their thick shoes firmly. "I will go +and tend my geese," she kept crying. "I won't eat my breakfast. I won't +go out in the park. I won't go to school. I'm going to tend my geese--I +will, I will, I will!" + +And the princesses trailed their rich trains over the rough unpainted +floors in their parents' poor little huts, and held their crowned heads +very high and demanded to be taken to court. The princesses were mostly +geese-girls when they were their proper selves, and their geese were +suffering, and their poor parents did not know what they were going to +do and they wrung their hands and wept as they gazed on their gorgeously +apparelled children. + +Finally the Mayor called a meeting of the Aldermen, and they all +assembled in the City Hall. Nearly every one of them had a son or +a daughter who was a chimney-sweep, or a little watch-girl, or a +shepherdess. They appointed a chairman and they took a great many votes +and contrary votes but they did not agree on anything, until every one +proposed that they consult the Wise Woman. Then they all held up their +hands, and voted to, unanimously. + +So the whole board of Aldermen set out, walking by twos, with the Mayor +at their head, to consult the Wise Woman. The Aldermen were all very +fleshy, and carried gold-headed canes which they swung very high at +every step. They held their heads well back, and their chins stiff, +and whenever they met common people they sniffed gently. They were very +imposing. + +The Wise Woman lived in a little hut on the outskirts of the city. She +kept a Black Cat, except for her, she was all alone. She was very +old, and had brought up a great many children, and she was considered +remarkably wise. + +But when the Aldermen reached her hut and found her seated by the fire, +holding her Black Cat, a new difficulty presented itself. She had always +been quite deaf and people had been obliged to scream as loud as they +could in order to make her hear; but lately she had grown much deafer, +and when the Aldermen attempted to lay the case before her she could +not hear a word. In fact, she was so very deaf that she could not +distinguish a tone below G-sharp. The Aldermen screamed till they were +quite red in the faces, but all to no purpose: none of them could get up +to G-sharp of course. + +So the Aldermen all went back, swinging their gold-headed canes, and +they had another meeting in the City Hall. Then they decided to send the +highest Soprano Singer in the church choir to the Wise Woman; she could +sing up to G-sharp just as easy as not. So the high Soprano Singer set +out for the Wise Woman's in the Mayor's coach, and the Aldermen marched +behind, swinging their gold-headed canes. + +The High Soprano Singer put her head down close to the Wise Woman's ear, +and sung all about the Christmas Masquerade and the dreadful dilemma +everybody was in, in G-sharp--she even went higher, sometimes, and the +Wise Woman heard every word. + +She nodded three times, and every time she nodded she looked wiser. + +"Go home, and give 'em a spoonful of castor-oil, all 'round," she piped +up; then she took a pinch of snuff, and wouldn't say any more. + +So the Aldermen went home, and every one took a district and marched +through it, with a servant carrying an immense bowl and spoon, and every +child had to take a dose of castor-oil. + +But it didn't do a bit of good. The children cried and struggled when +they were forced to take the castor-oil; but, two minutes afterward, +the chimney-sweeps were crying for their brooms, and the princesses +screaming because they couldn't go to court, and the Mayor's daughter, +who had been given a double dose, cried louder and more sturdily: "I +want to go and tend my geese. I will go and tend my geese." + +So the Aldermen took the high Soprano Singer, and they consulted the +Wise Woman again. She was taking a nap this time, and the Singer had to +sing up to B-flat before she could wake her. Then she was very cross and +the Black Cat put up his back and spit at the Aldermen. + +"Give 'em a spanking all 'round," she snapped out, "and if that don't +work put 'em to bed without their supper." + +Then the Aldermen marched back to try that; and all the children in the +city were spanked, and when that didn't do any good they were put to +bed without any supper. But the next morning when they woke up they were +worse than ever. + +The Mayor and Aldermen were very indignant, and considered that they +had been imposed upon and insulted. So they set out for the Wise Woman +again, with the high Soprano Singer. + +She sang in G-sharp how the Aldermen and the Mayor considered her an +impostor, and did not think she was wise at all, and they wished her to +take her Black Cat and move beyond the limits of the city. + +She sang it beautifully; it sounded like the very finest Italian opera +music. + +"Deary me," piped the Wise Woman, when she had finished, "how very grand +these gentlemen are." Her Black Cat put up his back and spit. + +"Five times one Black Cat are five Black Cats," said the Wise Woman. And +directly there were five Black Cats spitting and miauling. + +"Five times five Black Cats are twenty-five Black Cats." And then there +were twenty-five of the angry little beasts. + +"Five times twenty-five Black Cats are one hundred and twenty-five Black +Cats," added the Wise Woman with a chuckle. + +Then the Mayor and the Aldermen and the high Soprano Singer fled +precipitately out the door and back to the city. One hundred and +twenty-five Black Cats had seemed to fill the Wise Woman's hut full, and +when they all spit and miauled together it was dreadful. The visitors +could not wait for her to multiply Black Cats any longer. + +As winter wore on and spring came, the condition of things grew more +intolerable. Physicians had been consulted, who advised that the +children should be allowed to follow their own bents, for fear of injury +to their constitutions. So the rich Aldermen's daughters were actually +out in the fields herding sheep, and their sons sweeping chimneys or +carrying newspapers; and while the poor charwomen's and coal-heavers, +children spent their time like princesses and fairies. Such a +topsy-turvy state of society was shocking. While the Mayor's little +daughter was tending geese out in the meadow like any common goose-girl, +her pretty elder sister, Violetta, felt very sad about it and used often +to cast about in her mind for some way of relief. + +When cherries were ripe in spring, Violetta thought she would ask the +Cherry-man about it. She thought the Cherry-man quite wise. He was a +very pretty young fellow, and he brought cherries to sell in graceful +little straw baskets lined with moss. So she stood in the kitchen door +one morning and told him all about the great trouble that had come upon +the city. He listened in great astonishment; he had never heard of it +before. He lived several miles out in the country. + +"How did the Costumer look?" he asked respectfully; he thought Violetta +the most beautiful lady on earth. + +Then Violetta described the Costumer, and told him of the unavailing +attempts that had been made to find him. There were a great many +detectives out, constantly at work. + +"I know where he is!" said the Cherry-man. "He's up in one of my +cherry-trees. He's been living there ever since cherries were ripe, and +he won't come down." + +Then Violetta ran and told her father in great excitement, and he at +once called a meeting of the Aldermen, and in a few hours half the city +was on the road to the Cherry-man's. + +He had a beautiful orchard of cherry-trees all laden with fruit. And, +sure enough in one of the largest, way up amongst the topmost branches, +sat the Costumer in his red velvet and short clothes and his diamond +knee-buckles. He looked down between the green boughs. "Good-morning, +friends!" he shouted. + +The Aldermen shook their gold-headed canes at him, and the people danced +round the tree in a rage. Then they began to climb. But they soon found +that to be impossible. As fast as they touched a hand or foot to a tree, +back it flew with a jerk exactly as if the tree pushed it. They tried a +ladder, but the ladder fell back the moment it touched the tree, and lay +sprawling upon the ground. Finally, they brought axes and thought they +could chop the tree down, Costumer and all; but the wood resisted the +axes as if it were iron, and only dented them, receiving no impression +itself. + +Meanwhile, the Costumer sat up in the tree, eating cherries and throwing +the stones down. Finally he stood up on a stout branch, and, looking +down, addressed the people. + +"It's of no use, your trying to accomplish anything in this way," said +he; "you'd better parley. I'm willing to come to terms with you, and +make everything right on two conditions." + +The people grew quiet then, and the Mayor stepped forward as spokesman, +"Name your two conditions," said he rather testily. "You own, tacitly, +that you are the cause of all this trouble." + +"Well" said the Costumer, reaching out for a handful of cherries, "this +Christmas Masquerade of yours was a beautiful idea; but you wouldn't do +it every year, and your successors might not do it at all. I want those +poor children to have a Christmas every year. My first condition is that +every poor child in the city hangs its stocking for gifts in the +City Hall on every Christmas Eve, and gets it filled, too. I want the +resolution filed and put away in the city archives." + +"We agree to the first condition!" cried the people with one voice, +without waiting for the Mayor and Aldermen. + +"The second condition," said the Costumer, "is that this good young +Cherry-man here has the Mayor's daughter, Violetta, for his wife. He has +been kind to me, letting me live in his cherry-tree and eat his cherries +and I want to reward him." + +"We consent," cried all the people; but the Mayor, though he was so +generous, was a proud man. "I will not consent to the second condition," +he cried angrily. + +"Very well," replied the Costumer, picking some more cherries, "then +your youngest daughter tends geese the rest of her life, that's all." + +The Mayor was in great distress; but the thought of his youngest +daughter being a goose-girl all her life was too much for him. He gave +in at last. + +"Now go home and take the costumes off your children," said the +Costumer, "and leave me in peace to eat cherries." + +Then the people hastened back to the city, and found, to their great +delight, that the costumes would come off. The pins stayed out, the +buttons stayed unbuttoned, and the strings stayed untied. The children +were dressed in their own proper clothes and were their own proper +selves once more. The shepherdesses and the chimney-sweeps came +home, and were washed and dressed in silks and velvets, and went to +embroidering and playing lawn-tennis. And the princesses and the +fairies put on their own suitable dresses, and went about their useful +employments. There was great rejoicing in every home. Violetta thought +she had never been so happy, now that her dear little sister was no +longer a goose-girl, but her own dainty little lady-self. + +The resolution to provide every poor child in the city with a stocking +full of gifts on Christmas was solemnly filed, and deposited in the city +archives, and was never broken. + +Violetta was married to the Cherry-man, and all the children came to the +wedding, and strewed flowers in her path till her feet were quite hidden +in them. The Costumer had mysteriously disappeared from the cherry-tree +the night before, but he left at the foot some beautiful wedding +presents for the bride--a silver service with a pattern of cherries +engraved on it, and a set of china with cherries on it, in hand +painting, and a white satin robe, embroidered with cherries down the +front. + + + + +IV. THE SHEPHERDS AND THE ANGELS + +ADAPTED FROM THE BIBLE + +And there were shepherds in the same country abiding in the field, and +keeping watch by night over their flock. And an angel of the Lord stood +by them and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were +sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Be not afraid; for, behold, +I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all the people: +for there is born to you this day in the city of David a Saviour, which +is Christ the Lord. And this is the sign unto you; ye shall find a babe +wrapped in swaddling clothes, and lying in a manger. And suddenly there +was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and +saying: + + Glory to God in the highest, + And on earth peace, + Good will toward men. + +And it came to pass, when the angels went away from them into heaven, +the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, +and see this thing that is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known +unto us. And they came with haste, and found Mary and Joseph and +the babe lying in the manger. And when they saw it, they made known +concerning the saying which was spoken to them about this child. And all +that heard it wondered at the things which were spoken unto them by the +shepherds. But Mary kept all these sayings, pondering them in her heart. +And the shepherds returned glorifying and praising God for all the +things that they had heard and seen, even as it was spoken unto them. + +And when eight days were fulfilled his name was called + + JESUS + + + + +V. THE TELLTALE TILE* + +* From "Kristy's Queer Christmas," Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1904. + +OLIVE THORNE MILLER + +It begins with a bit of gossip of a neighbour who had come in to see +Miss Bennett, and was telling her about a family who had lately moved +into the place and were in serious trouble. "And they do say she'll have +to go to the poorhouse," she ended. + +"To the poorhouse! how dreadful! And the children, too?" and Miss +Bennett shuddered. + +"Yes; unless somebody'll adopt them, and that's not very likely. Well, I +must go," the visitor went on, rising. "I wish I could do something for +her, but, with my houseful of children, I've got use for every penny I +can rake and scrape." + +"I'm sure I have, with only myself," said Miss Bennett, as she closed +the door. "I'm sure I have," she repeated to herself as she resumed her +knitting; "it's as much as I can do to make ends meet, scrimping as I +do, not to speak of laying up a cent for sickness and old age." + +"But the poorhouse!" she said again. "I wish I could help her!" and the +needles flew in and out, in and out, faster than ever, as she turned +this over in her mind. "I might give up something," she said at last, +"though I don't know what, unless--unless," she said slowly, thinking +of her one luxury, "unless I give up my tea, and it don't seem as if I +COULD do that." + +Some time the thought worked in her mind, and finally she resolved to +make the sacrifice of her only indulgence for six months, and send the +money to her suffering neighbour, Mrs. Stanley, though she had never +seen her, and she had only heard she was in want. + +How much of a sacrifice that was you can hardly guess, you, Kristy, who +have so many luxuries. + +That evening Mrs. Stanley was surprised by a small gift of money "from a +friend," as was said on the envelope containing it. + +"Who sent it?" she asked, from the bed where she was lying. + +"Miss Bennett told me not to tell," said the boy, unconscious that he +had already told. + +The next day Miss Bennett sat at the window knitting, as usual--for +her constant contribution to the poor fund of the church was a certain +number of stockings and mittens--when she saw a young girl coming up to +the door of the cottage. + +"Who can that be?" she said to herself. "I never saw her before. Come +in!" she called; in answer to a knock. The girl entered, and walked up +to Miss Bennett. + +"Are you Miss Bennett?" she asked. + +"Yes," said Miss Bennett with an amused smile. + +"Well, I'm Hetty Stanley." + +Miss Bennett started, and her colour grew a little brighter. + +"I'm glad to see you, Hetty." she said, "won't you sit down?" + +"Yes, if you please," said Hetty, taking a chair near her. + +"I came to tell you how much we love you for--" + +"Oh, don't! don't say any more!" interrupted Miss Bennett; "never mind +that! Tell me about your mother and your baby brother." + +This was an interesting subject, and they talked earnestly about it. +The time passed so quickly that, before she knew it, she had been in the +house an hour. When she went away Miss Bennett asked her to come again, +a thing she had never been known to do before, for she was not fond of +young people in general. + +"But, then, Hetty's different," she said to herself, when wondering at +her own interest. + +"Did you thank kind Miss Bennett?" was her mother's question as Hetty +opened the door. + +Hetty stopped as if struck, "Why, no! I don't think I did." + +"And stayed so long, too? Whatever did you do? I've heard she isn't fond +of people generally." + +"We talked; and--I think she's ever so nice. She asked me to come again; +may I?" + +"Of course you may, if she cares to have you. I should be glad to do +something to please her." + +That visit of Hetty's was the first of a long series. Almost every day +she found her way to the lonely cottage, where a visitor rarely came, +and a strange intimacy grew up between the old and the young. Hetty +learned of her friend to knit, and many an hour they spent knitting +while Miss Bennett ransacked her memory for stories to tell. And then, +one day, she brought down from a big chest in the garret two of the +books she used to have when she was young, and let Hetty look at them. + +One was "Thaddeus of Warsaw," and the other "Scottish Chiefs." Poor +Hetty had not the dozens of books you have, and these were treasures +indeed. She read them to herself, and she read them aloud to Miss +Bennett, who, much to her own surprise, found her interest almost as +eager as Hetty's. + +All this time Christmas was drawing near, and strange, unusual feelings +began to stir in Miss Bennett's heart, though generally she did not +think much about that happy time. She wanted to make Hetty a happy day. +Money she had none, so she went into the garret, where her youthful +treasures had long been hidden. From the chest from which she had +taken the books she now took a small box of light-coloured wood, with +a transferred engraving on the cover. With a sigh--for the sight of it +brought up old memories--Miss Bennett lifted the cover by its loop of +ribbon, took out a package of old letters, and went downstairs with the +box, taking also a few bits of bright silk from a bundle in the chest. + +"I can fit it up for a workbox," she said, "and I'm sure Hetty will like +it." + +For many days after this Miss Bennett had her secret work, which she +carefully hid when she saw Hetty coming. Slowly, in this way, she made +a pretty needle-book, a tiny pincushion, and an emery bag like a big +strawberry. Then from her own scanty stock she added needles, pins, +thread, and her only pair of small scissors, scoured to the last extreme +of brightness. + +One thing only she had to buy--a thimble, and that she bought for a +penny, of brass so bright it was quite as handsome as gold. + +Very pretty the little box looked when full; in the bottom lay a quilted +lining, which had always been there, and upon this the fittings she +had made. Besides this, Miss Bennett knit a pair of mittens for each of +Hetty's brothers and sisters. + +The happiest girl in town on Christmas morning was Hetty Stanley. To +begin with, she had the delight of giving the mittens to the children, +and when she ran over to tell Miss Bennett how pleased they were, she +was surprised by the present of the odd little workbox and its pretty +contents. + +Christmas was over all too soon, and New Year's, and it was about the +middle of January that the time came which, all her life, Miss Bennett +had dreaded--the time when she should be helpless. She had not money +enough to hire a girl, and so the only thing she could imagine when that +day should come was her special horror--the poorhouse. + +But that good deed of hers had already borne fruit, and was still +bearing. When Hetty came over one day, and found her dear friend lying +on the floor as if dead, she was dreadfully frightened, of course, but +she ran after the neighbours and the doctor, and bustled about the house +as if she belonged to it. + +Miss Bennett was not dead--she had a slight stroke of paralysis; and +though she was soon better, and would be able to talk, and probably to +knit, and possibly to get about the house, she would never be able to +live alone and do everything for herself, as she had done. + +So the doctor told the neighbours who came in to help, and so Hetty +heard, as she listened eagerly for news. + +"Of course she can't live here any longer; she'll have to go to a +hospital," said one woman. + +"Or to the poorhouse, more likely," said another. + +"She'll hate that," said the first speaker. "I've heard her shudder over +the poorhouse." + +"She shall never go there!" declared Hetty, with blazing eyes. + +"Hoity-toity! who's to prevent?" asked the second speaker, turning a +look of disdain on Hetty. + +"I am," was the fearless answer. "I know all Miss Bennett's ways, and +I can take care of her, and I will," went on Hetty indignantly; and +turning suddenly, she was surprised to find Miss Bennett's eyes fixed on +her with an eager, questioning look. + +"There! she understands! she's better!" cried Hetty. "Mayn't I stay and +take care of you, dear Miss Bennett?" she asked, running up to the bed. + +"Yes, you may," interrupted the doctor, seeing the look in his patient's +face; "but you mustn't agitate her now. And now, my good women"--turning +to the others--"I think she can get along with her young friend here, +whom I happen to know is a womanly young girl, and will be attentive and +careful." + +They took the hint and went away, and the doctor gave directions to +Hetty what to do, telling her she must not leave Miss Bennett. So she +was now regularly installed as nurse and housekeeper. + +Days and weeks rolled by. Miss Bennett was able to be up in her chair, +to talk and knit, and to walk about the house, but was not able to be +left alone. Indeed, she had a horror of being left alone; she could +not bear Hetty out of her sight, and Hetty's mother was very willing to +spare her, for she had many mouths to fill. + +To provide food for two out of what had been scrimping for one was a +problem; but Miss Bennett ate very little, and she did not resume her +tea so they managed to get along and not really suffer. + +One day Hetty sat by the fire with her precious box on her knee, which +she was putting to rights for the twentieth time. The box was empty, and +her sharp young eyes noticed a little dust on the silk lining. + +"I think I'll take this out and dust it," she said to Miss Bennett, "if +you don't mind." + +"Do as you like with it," answered Miss Bennett; "it is yours." + +So she carefully lifted the silk, which stuck a little. + +"Why, here's something under it," she said--"an old paper, and it has +writing on." + +"Bring it to me," said Miss Bennett; "perhaps it's a letter I have +forgotten." + +Hetty brought it. + +"Why, it's father's writing!" said Miss Bennett, looking closely at +the faded paper; "and what can it mean? I never saw it before. It says, +'Look, and ye shall find'--that's a Bible text. And what is this under +it? 'A word to the wise is sufficient.' I don't understand--he must have +put it there himself, for I never took that lining out--I thought it was +fastened. What can it mean?" and she pondered over it long, and all day +seemed absent-minded. + +After tea, when they sat before the kitchen fire, as they always did, +with only the firelight flickering and dancing on the walls while they +knitted, or told stories, or talked, she told Hetty about her father: +that they had lived comfortably in this house, which he built, and that +everybody supposed that he had plenty of money, and would leave enough +to take care of his only child, but that when he died suddenly nothing +had been found, and nothing ever had been, from that day to this. + +"Part of the place I let to John Thompson, Hetty, and that rent is all +I have to live on. I don't know what makes me think of old times so +to-night." + +"I know," said Hetty; "it's that paper, and I know what it reminds me +of," she suddenly shouted, in a way very unusual with her. "It's +that tile over there," and she jumped up and ran to the side of the +fireplace, and put her hand on the tile she meant. + +On each side of the fireplace was a row of tiles. They were Bible +subjects, and Miss Bennett had often told Hetty the story of each one, +and also the stories she used to make up about them when she was young. +The one Hetty had her hand on now bore the picture of a woman standing +before a closed door, and below her the words of the yellow bit of +paper: "Look, and ye shall find." + +"I always felt there was something different about that," said Hetty +eagerly, "and you know you told me your father talked to you about +it--about what to seek in the world when he was gone away, and other +things." + +"Yes, so he did," said Miss Bennett thoughtfully; "come to think of it, +he said a great deal about it, and in a meaning way. I don't understand +it," she said slowly, turning it over in her mind. + +"I do!" cried Hetty, enthusiastically. "I believe you are to seek here! +I believe it's loose!" and she tried to shake it. "It IS loose!" she +cried excitedly. "Oh, Miss Bennett, may I take it out?" + +Miss Bennett had turned deadly pale. "Yes," she gasped, hardly knowing +what she expected, or dared to hope. + +A sudden push from Hetty's strong fingers, and the tile slipped out +at one side and fell to the floor. Behind it was an opening into the +brickwork. Hetty thrust in her hand. + +"There's something in there!" she said in an awed tone. + +"A light!" said Miss Bennett hoarsely. + +There was not a candle in the house, but Hetty seized a brand from the +fire, and held it up and looked in. + +"It looks like bags--tied up," she cried. "Oh, come here yourself!" + +The old woman hobbled over and thrust her hand into the hole, bringing +out what was once a bag, but which crumpled to pieces in her hands, and +with it--oh, wonder!--a handful of gold pieces, which fell with a jingle +on the hearth, and rolled every way. + +"My father's money! Oh, Hetty!" was all she could say, and she seized a +chair to keep from falling, while Hetty was nearly wild, and talked like +a crazy person. + +"Oh, goody! goody! now you can have things to eat! and we can have a +candle! and you won't have to go to the poorhouse!" + +"No, indeed, you dear child!" cried Miss Bennett who had found her +voice. "Thanks to you--you blessing!--I shall be comfortable now the +rest of my days. And you! oh! I shall never forget you! Through you has +everything good come to me." + +"Oh, but you have been so good to me, dear Miss Bennett!" + +"I should never have guessed it, you precious child! If it had not been +for your quickness I should have died and never found it." + +"And if you hadn't given me the box, it might have rusted away in that +chest." + +"Thank God for everything, child! Take money out of my purse and go buy +a candle. We need not save it for bread now. Oh, child!" she interrupted +herself, "do you know, we shall have everything we want to-morrow. Go! +Go! I want to see how much there is." + +The candle bought, the gold was taken out and counted, and proved to +be more than enough to give Miss Bennett a comfortable income without +touching the principal. It was put back, and the tile replaced, as the +safest place to keep it till morning, when Miss Bennett intended to put +it into a bank. + +But though they went to bed, there was not a wink of sleep for Miss +Bennett, for planning what she would do. There were a thousand things +she wanted to do first. To get clothes for Hetty, to brighten up the old +house, to hire a girl to relieve Hetty, so that the dear child should +go to school, to train her into a noble woman--all her old ambitions and +wishes for herself sprang into life for Hetty. For not a thought of her +future life was separate from Hetty. + +In a very short time everything was changed in Miss Bennett's cottage. +She had publicly adopted Hetty, and announced her as her heir. A girl +had been installed in the kitchen, and Hetty, in pretty new clothes, had +begun school. Fresh paint inside and out, with many new comforts, made +the old house charming and bright. But nothing could change the pleasant +and happy relations between the two friends, and a more contented and +cheerful household could not be found anywhere. + +Happiness is a wonderful doctor and Miss Bennett grew so much better, +that she could travel, and when Hetty had finished school days, they saw +a little of the world before they settled down to a quiet, useful life. + +"Every comfort on earth I owe to you," said Hetty, one day, when Miss +Bennett had proposed some new thing to add to her enjoyment. + +"Ah, dear Hetty! how much do I owe to you! But for you, I should, no +doubt, be at this moment a shivering pauper in that terrible poorhouse, +while some one else would be living in this dear old house. And it all +comes," she added softly, "of that one unselfish thought, of that one +self-denial for others." + + + + +VI. LITTLE GIRL'S CHRISTMAS + +WINNIFRED E. LINCOLN + +It was Christmas Eve, and Little Girl had just hung up her stocking +by the fireplace--right where it would be all ready for Santa when he +slipped down the chimney. She knew he was coming, because--well, because +it was Christmas Eve, and because he always had come to leave gifts for +her on all the other Christmas Eves that she could remember, and because +she had seen his pictures everywhere down town that afternoon when she +was out with Mother. + +Still, she wasn't JUST satisfied. 'Way down in her heart she was a +little uncertain--you see, when you have never really and truly seen +a person with your very own eyes, it's hard to feel as if you exactly +believed in him--even though that person always has left beautiful gifts +for you every time he has come. + +"Oh, he'll come," said Little Girl; "I just know he will be here before +morning, but somehow I wish--" + +"Well, what do you wish?" said a Tiny Voice close by her--so close that +Little Girl fairly jumped when she heard it. + +"Why, I wish I could SEE Santa myself. I'd just like to go and see +his house and his workshop, and ride in his sleigh, and know Mrs. +Santa--'twould be such fun, and then I'd KNOW for sure." + +"Why don't you go, then?" said Tiny Voice. "It's easy enough. Just try +on these Shoes, and take this Light in your hand, and you'll find your +way all right." + +So Little Girl looked down on the hearth, and there were two cunning +little Shoes side by side, and a little Spark of a Light close to +them--just as if they were all made out of one of the glowing coals of +the wood-fire. Such cunning Shoes as they were--Little Girl could hardly +wait to pull off her slippers and try them on. They looked as if they +were too small, but they weren't--they fitted exactly right, and just +as Little Girl had put them both on and had taken the Light in her hand, +along came a little Breath of Wind, and away she went up the chimney, +along with ever so many other little Sparks, past the Soot Fairies, and +out into the Open Air, where Jack Frost and the Star Beams were all busy +at work making the world look pretty for Christmas. + +Away went Little Girl--Two Shoes, Bright Light, and all--higher and +higher, until she looked like a wee bit of a star up in the sky. It was +the funniest thing, but she seemed to know the way perfectly, and didn't +have to stop to make inquiries anywhere. You see it was a straight road +all the way, and when one doesn't have to think about turning to the +right or the left, it makes things very much easier. Pretty soon Little +Girl noticed that there was a bright light all around her--oh, a very +bright light--and right away something down in her heart began to make +her feel very happy indeed. She didn't know that the Christmas spirits +and little Christmas fairies were all around her and even right inside +her, because she couldn't see a single one of them, even though her eyes +were very bright and could usually see a great deal. + +But that was just it, and Little Girl felt as if she wanted to laugh and +sing and be glad. It made her remember the Sick Boy who lived next door, +and she said to herself that she would carry him one of her prettiest +picture-books in the morning, so that he could have something to make +him happy all day. By and by, when the bright light all around her had +grown very, very much brighter, Little Girl saw a path right in front of +her, all straight and trim, leading up a hill to a big, big house +with ever and ever so many windows in it. When she had gone just a bit +nearer, she saw candles in every window, red and green and yellow ones, +and every one burning brightly, so Little Girl knew right away that +these were Christmas candles to light her on her journey, and make the +way dear for her, and something told her that this was Santa's house, +and that pretty soon she would perhaps see Santa himself. + +Just as she neared the steps and before she could possibly have had time +to ring the bell, the door opened--opened of itself as wide as could +be--and there stood--not Santa himself--don't think it--but a funny +Little Man with slender little legs and a roly-poly stomach which shook +every now and then when he laughed. You would have known right away, +just as Little Girl knew, that he was a very happy little man, and you +would have guessed right away, too, that the reason he was so roly-poly +was because he laughed and chuckled and smiled all the time--for it's +only sour, cross folks who are thin and skimpy. Quick as a wink, he +pulled off his little peaked red cap, smiled the broadest kind of a +smile, and said, "Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! Come in! Come in!" + +So in went Little Girl, holding fast to Little Man's hand, and when she +was really inside there was the jolliest, reddest fire all glowing and +snapping, and there were Little Man and all his brothers and sisters, +who said their names were "Merry Christmas," and "Good Cheer," and ever +so many other jolly-sounding things, and there were such a lot of them +that Little Girl just knew she never could count them, no matter how +long she tried. + +All around her were bundles and boxes and piles of toys and games, and +Little Girl knew that these were all ready and waiting to be loaded into +Santa's big sleigh for his reindeer to whirl them away over cloudtops +and snowdrifts to the little people down below who had left their +stockings all ready for him. Pretty soon all the little Good Cheer +Brothers began to hurry and bustle and carry out the bundles as fast as +they could to the steps where Little Girl could hear the jingling bells +and the stamping of hoofs. So Little Girl picked up some bundles and +skipped along too, for she wanted to help a bit herself--it's no fun +whatever at Christmas unless you can help, you know--and there in the +yard stood the BIGGEST sleigh that Little Girl had ever seen, and the +reindeer were all stamping and prancing and jingling the bells on their +harnesses, because they were so eager to be on their way to the Earth +once more. + +She could hardly wait for Santa to come, and just as she had begun to +wonder where he was, the door opened again and out came a whole forest +of Christmas trees, at least it looked just as if a whole forest had +started out for a walk somewhere, but a second glance showed Little +Girl that there were thousands of Christmas sprites, and that each one +carried a tree or a big Christmas wreath on his back. Behind them all, +she could hear some one laughing loudly, and talking in a big, jovial +voice that sounded as if he were good friends with the whole world. + +And straightway she knew that Santa himself was coming. Little Girl's +heart went pit-a-pat for a minute while she wondered if Santa would +notice her, but she didn't have to wonder long, for he spied her at once +and said: + +"Bless my soul! who's this? and where did you come from?" + +Little Girl thought perhaps she might be afraid to answer him, but she +wasn't one bit afraid. You see he had such a kind little twinkle in +his eyes that she felt happy right away as she replied, "Oh, I'm Little +Girl, and I wanted so much to see Santa that I just came, and here I +am!" + +"Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho!" laughed Santa, "and here you are! Wanted to see +Santa, did you, and so you came! Now that's very nice, and it's too bad +I'm in such a hurry, for we should like nothing better than to show you +about and give you a real good time. But you see it is quarter of twelve +now, and I must be on my way at once, else I'll never reach that first +chimney-top by midnight. I'd call Mrs. Santa and ask her to get you +some supper, but she is busy finishing dolls' clothes which must be +done before morning, and I guess we'd better not bother her. Is there +anything that you would like, Little Girl?" and good old Santa put +his big warm hand on Little Girl's curls and she felt its warmth and +kindness clear down to her very heart. You see, my dears, that even +though Santa was in such a great hurry, he wasn't too busy to stop and +make some one happy for a minute, even if it was some one no bigger than +Little Girl. + +So she smiled back into Santa's face and said: "Oh, Santa, if I could +ONLY ride down to Earth with you behind those splendid reindeer! I'd +love to go; won't you PLEASE take me? I'm so small that I won't take up +much room on the seat, and I'll keep very still and not bother one bit!" + +Then Santa laughed, SUCH a laugh, big and loud and rollicking, and he +said, "Wants a ride, does she? Well, well, shall we take her, Little +Elves? Shall we take her, Little Fairies? Shall we take her, Good +Reindeer?" + +And all the Little Elves hopped and skipped and brought Little Girl a +sprig of holly; and all the Little Fairies bowed and smiled and brought +her a bit of mistletoe; and all the Good Reindeer jingled their bells +loudly, which meant, "Oh, yes! let's take her! She's a good Little +Girl! Let her ride!" And before Little Girl could even think, she found +herself all tucked up in the big fur robes beside Santa, and away they +went, right out into the air, over the clouds, through the Milky Way, +and right under the very handle of the Big Dipper, on, on, toward the +Earthland, whose lights Little Girl began to see twinkling away down +below her. Presently she felt the runners scrape upon something, and +she knew they must be on some one's roof, and that Santa would slip down +some one's chimney in a minute. + +How she wanted to go, too! You see if you had never been down a chimney +and seen Santa fill up the stockings, you would want to go quite as +much as Little Girl did, now, wouldn't you? So, just as Little Girl +was wishing as hard as ever she could wish, she heard a Tiny Voice say, +"Hold tight to his arm! Hold tight to his arm!" So she held Santa's arm +tight and close, and he shouldered his pack, never thinking that it +was heavier than usual, and with a bound and a slide, there they were, +Santa, Little Girl, pack and all, right in the middle of a room where +there was a fireplace and stockings all hung up for Santa to fill. + +Just then Santa noticed Little Girl. He had forgotten all about her for +a minute, and he was very much surprised to find that she had come, too. +"Bless my soul!" he said, "where did you come from, Little Girl? and +how in the world can we both get back up that chimney again? It's easy +enough to slide down, but it's quite another matter to climb up again!" +and Santa looked real worried. But Little Girl was beginning to feel +very tired by this time, for she had had a very exciting evening, so she +said, "Oh, never mind me, Santa. I've had such a good time, and I'd +just as soon stay here a while as not. I believe I'll curl up on his +hearth-rug a few minutes and have a little nap, for it looks as warm and +cozy as our own hearth-rug at home, and--why, it is our own hearth and +it's my own nursery, for there is Teddy Bear in his chair where I leave +him every night, and there's Bunny Cat curled up on his cushion in the +corner." + +And Little Girl turned to thank Santa and say goodbye to him, but +either he had gone very quickly, or else she had fallen asleep very +quickly--she never could tell which--for the next thing she knew, Daddy +was holding her in his arms and was saying, "What is my Little Girl +doing here? She must go to bed, for it's Christmas Eve, and old Santa +won't come if he thinks there are any little folks about." + +But Little Girl knew better than that, and when she began to tell him +all about it, and how the Christmas fairies had welcomed her, and how +Santa had given her such a fine ride, Daddy laughed and laughed, and +said, "You've been dreaming, Little Girl, you've been dreaming." + +But Little Girl knew better than that, too, for there on the hearth was +the little Black Coal, which had given her Two Shoes and Bright Light, +and tight in her hand she held a holly berry which one of the Christmas +Sprites had placed there. More than all that, there she was on the +hearth-rug herself, just as Santa had left her, and that was the best +proof of all. + +The trouble was, Daddy himself had never been a Little Girl, so he +couldn't tell anything about it, but we know she hadn't been dreaming, +now, don't we, my dears? + + + + +VII. "A CHRISTMAS MATINEE"* + +*This story was first published in the Youth's Companion, vol. 74. + +MRS. M.A.L. LANE + +It was the day before Christmas in the year 189-. Snow was falling +heavily in the streets of Boston, but the crowd of shoppers seemed +undiminished. As the storm increased, groups gathered at the corners and +in sheltering doorways to wait for belated cars; but the holiday cheer +was in the air, and there was no grumbling. Mothers dragging tired +children through the slush of the streets; pretty girls hurrying home +for the holidays; here and there a harassed-looking man with perhaps a +single package which he had taken a whole morning to select--all had the +same spirit of tolerant good-humor. + +"School Street! School Street!" called the conductor of an electric car. +A group of young people at the farther end of the car started to +their feet. One of them, a young man wearing a heavy fur-trimmed coat, +addressed the conductor angrily. + +"I said, 'Music Hall,' didn't I?" he demanded. "Now we've got to walk +back in the snow because of your stupidity!" + +"Oh, never mind, Frank!" one of the girls interposed. "We ought to have +been looking out ourselves! Six of us, and we went by without a +thought! It is all Mrs. Tirrell's fault! She shouldn't have been so +entertaining!" + +The young matron dimpled and blushed. "That's charming of you, Maidie," +she said, gathering up her silk skirts as she prepared to step down into +the pond before her. "The compliment makes up for the blame. But how it +snows!" + +"It doesn't matter. We all have gaiters on," returned Maidie Williams, +undisturbed. + +"Fares, please!" said the conductor stolidly. + +Frank Armstrong thrust his gloved hand deep into his pocket with angry +vehemence. "There's your money," he said, "and be quick about the +change, will you? We've lost time enough!" + +The man counted out the change with stiff, red fingers, closed his lips +firmly as if to keep back an obvious rejoinder, rang up the six fares +with careful accuracy, and gave the signal to go ahead. The car went on +into the drifting storm. + +Armstrong laughed shortly as he rapidly counted the bits of silver lying +in his open palm. He turned instinctively, but two or three cars were +already between him and the one he was looking for. + +"The fellow must be an imbecile," he said, rejoining the group on the +crossing. "He's given me back a dollar and twenty cents, and I handed +him a dollar bill." + +"Oh, can't you stop him?" cried Maidie Williams, with a backward step +into the wet street. + +The Harvard junior, who was carrying her umbrella, protested: "What's +the use. Miss Williams? He'll make it up before he gets to Scollay +Square, you may be sure. Those chaps don't lose anything. Why, the +other day, I gave one a quarter and he went off as cool as you please. +'Where's my change?' said I. 'You gave me a nickel,' said he. And +there wasn't anybody to swear that I didn't except myself, and I didn't +count." + +"But that doesn't make any difference," insisted the girl warmly. +"Because one conductor was dishonest, we needn't be. I beg your pardon, +Frank, but it does seem to me just stealing." + +"Oh, come along!" said her cousin, with an easy laugh. "I guess the West +End Corporation won't go without their dinners to-morrow. Here, Maidie, +here's the ill-gotten fifty cents. _I_ think you ought to treat us +all after the concert; still, I won't urge you. I wash my hands of all +responsibility. But I do wish you hadn't such an unpleasant conscience." + +Maidie flushed under the sting of his cousinly rudeness, but she went on +quietly with the rest. It was evident that any attempt to overtake the +car was out of the question. + +"Did you notice his number, Frank?" she asked, suddenly. + +"No, I never thought of it" said Frank, stopping short. "However, I +probably shouldn't make any complaint if I had. I shall forget all about +it tomorrow. I find it's never safe to let the sun go down on my wrath. +It's very likely not to be there the next day." + +"I wasn't thinking of making a complaint," said Maidie; but the two +young men were enjoying the small joke too much to notice what she said. + +The great doorway of Music Hall was just ahead. In a moment the party +were within its friendly shelter, stamping off the snow. The girls +were adjusting veils and hats with adroit feminine touches; the pretty +chaperon was beaming approval upon them, and the young men were taking +off their wet overcoats, when Maidie turned again in sudden desperation. + +"Mr. Harris," she said, rather faintly, for she did not like to make +herself disagreeable, "do you suppose that car comes right back from +Scollay Square?" + +"What car?" asked Walter Harris, blankly. "Oh, the one we came in? Yes, +I suppose it does. They're running all the time, anyway. Why, you are +not sick, are you, Miss Williams?" + +There was genuine concern in his tone. This girl, with her sweet, +vibrant voice, her clear gray eyes, seemed very charming to him. She +wasn't beautiful, perhaps, but she was the kind of girl he liked. There +was a steady earnestness in the gray eyes that made him think of his +mother. + +"No," said Maidie, slowly. "I'm all right, thank you. But I wish I could +find that man again. I know sometimes they have to make it up if their +accounts are wrong, and I couldn't--we couldn't feel very comfortable--" + +Frank Armstrong interrupted her. "Maidie," he said, with the studied +calmness with which one speaks to an unreasonable child, "you are +perfectly absurd. Here it is within five minutes of the tune for the +concert to begin. It is impossible to tell when that car is coming back. +You are making us all very uncomfortable. Mrs. Tirrell, won't you please +tell her not to spoil our afternoon?" + +"I think he's right, Maidie," said Mrs. Tirrell. "It's very nice of you +to feel so sorry for the poor man, but he really was very careless. It +was all his own fault. And just think how far he made us walk! My feet +are quite damp. We ought to go in directly or we shall all take cold, +and I'm sure you wouldn't like that, my dear." + +She led the way as she spoke, the two girls and young Armstrong +following. Maidie hesitated. It was so easy to go in, to forget +everything in the light and warmth and excitement. + +"No," said she, very firmly, and as much to herself as to the young man +who stood waiting for her. "I must go back and try to make it right. I'm +so sorry, Mr. Harris, but if you will tell them--" + +"Why, I'm going with you, of course" said the young fellow, impulsively. +"If I'd only looked once at the man I'd go alone, but I shouldn't know +him from Adam." + +Maidie laughed. "Oh, I don't want to lose the whole concert, Mr. Harris, +and Frank, has all the tickets. You must go after them and try to make +my peace. I'll come just as soon as I can. Don't wait for me, please. +If you'll come and look for me here the first number, and not let them +scold me too much--" She ended with an imploring little catch in her +breath that was almost a sob. + +"They sha'n't say a word, Miss Williams!" cried Walter Harris, with +honest admiration in his eyes. + +But she was gone already, and conscious that further delay was only +making matters worse, he went on into the hall. + +Meanwhile, the car swung heavily along the wet rails on its way to the +turning-point. It was nearly empty now. An old gentleman and his nurse +were the only occupants. Jim Stevens, the conductor, had stepped inside +the car. + +"Too bad I forgot those young people wanted to get off at Music Hall," +he was thinking to himself. "I don't see how I came to do it. That chap +looked as if he wanted to complain of me, and I don't know as I blame +him. I'd have said I was sorry if he hadn't been so sharp with his +tongue. I hope he won't complain just now. 'Twould be a pretty bad time +for me to get into trouble, with Mary and the baby both sick. I'm too +sleepy to be good for much, that's a fact. Sitting up three nights +running takes hold of a fellow somehow when he's at work all day. The +rent's paid, that's one thing, if it hasn't left me but half a dollar to +my name. Hullo!" He was struck by a sudden distinct recollection of the +coins he had returned. "Why, I gave him fifty cents too much!" + +He glanced up at the dial which indicated the fares and began to count +the change in his pocket. He knew exactly how much money he had had at +the beginning of the trip. He counted carefully. Then he plunged his +hand into the heavy canvas pocket of his coat. Perhaps he had half a +dollar there. No, it was empty! + +He faced the fact reluctantly. Fifty cents short, ten fares! Gone into +the pocket of the young gentleman with the fur collar! The conductor's +hand shook as he put the money back in his pocket. It meant--what did it +mean? He drew a long breath. + +Christmas Eve! A dark dreary little room upstairs in a noisy tenement +house. A pale, thin woman on a shabby lounge vainly trying to quiet a +fretful child. The child is thin and pale, too, with a hard, racking +cough. There is a small fire in the stove, a very small fire; coal is so +high. The medicine stands on the shelf. "Medicine won't do much good," +the doctor had said; "he needs beef and cream." + +Jim's heart sank at the thought. He could almost hear the baby asking; +"Isn't papa coming soon? Isn't he, mamma?" + +"Poor little kid!" Jim said, softly, under his breath. "And I shan't +have a thing to take home to him; nor Mary's violets, either. It'll be +the first Christmas that ever happened. I suppose that chap would think +it was ridiculous for me to be buying violets. He wouldn't understand +what the flowers mean to Mary. Perhaps he didn't notice I gave him too +much. That kind don't know how much they have. They just pull it out as +if it was newspaper." + +The conductor went out into the snow to help the nurse, who was +assisting the old gentleman to the ground. Then the car swung on again. +Jim turned up the collar of his coat about his ears and stamped his +feet. There was the florist's shop where he had meant to buy the +violets, and the toy-shop was just around the corner. + +A thought flashed across his tired brain. "Plenty of men would do it; +they do it every day. Nobody ever would be the poorer for it. This car +will be crowded going home. I needn't ring in every fare; nobody could +tell. But Mary! She wouldn't touch those violets if she knew. And she'd +know. I'd have to tell her. I couldn't keep it from her, she's that +quick." + +He jumped off to adjust the trolley with a curious sense of unreality. +It couldn't be that he was really going home this Christmas Eve with +empty hands. Well, they must all suffer together for his carelessness. +It was his own fault, but it was hard. And he was so tired! + +To his amazement he found his eyes were blurred as he watched the people +crowding into the car. What? Was he going to cry like a baby--he, a +great burly man of thirty years? + +"It's no use," he thought. "I couldn't do it. The first time I gave Mary +violets was the night she said she'd marry me. I told her then I'd do +my best to make her proud of me. I guess she wouldn't be very proud of a +man who could cheat. She'd rather starve than have a ribbon she couldn't +pay for." + +He rang up a dozen fares with a steady hand. The temptation was over. +Six more strokes--then nine without a falter. He even imagined the bell +rang more distinctly than usual, even encouragingly. The car stopped. +Jim flung the door open with a triumphant sweep of his arm. He felt +ready to face the world. But the baby--his arm dropped. It was hard. + +He turned to help the young girl who was waiting at the step. Through +the whirling snow he saw her eager face, with a quick recognition +lighting the steady eyes, and wondered dimly, as he stood with his hand +on the signal-strap, where he could have seen her before. + +He knew immediately. + +"There was a mistake," she said, with a shy tremor in her voice. "You +gave us too much change and here it is." She held out to Jim the piece +of silver which had given him such an unhappy quarter of an hour. + +He took it like one dazed. Would the young lady think he was crazy to +care so much about so small a coin? He must say something. "Thank you, +miss," he stammered as well as he could. "You see, I thought it was +gone--and there's the baby--and it's Christmas Eve--and my wife's +sick--and you can't understand--" + +It certainly was not remarkable that she couldn't. + +"But I do," she said, simply. "I was afraid of that. And I thought +perhaps there was a baby, so I brought my Christmas present for her," +and something else dropped into Jim's cold hand. + +"What you waiting for?" shouted the motorman from the front platform. +The girl had disappeared in the snow. + +Jim rang the bell to go ahead, and gazed again at the two shining half +dollars in his hand. + +"I didn't have a chance to tell her," he explained to his wife late in +the evening, as he sat in a tiny rocking-chair several sizes too small +for him, "that the baby wasn't a her at all, though if I thought he'd +grow up into such a lovely one as she is, I don't know but I almost wish +he was." + +"Poor Jim!" said Mary, with a little laugh as she put up her hand to +stroke his rough cheek. "I guess you're tired." + +"And I should say," he added, stretching out his long legs toward the +few red sparks in the bottom of the grate, "I should say she had tears +in her eyes, too, but I was that near crying myself I couldn't be sure." + +The little room was sweet with the odour of English violets. Asleep in +the bed lay the boy, a toy horse clasped close to his breast. + +"Bless her heart!" said Mary, softly. + +"Well, Miss Williams," said Walter Harris, as he sprang to meet a +snow-covered figure coming swiftly along the sidewalk. "I can see +that you found him. You've lost the first number, but they won't scold +you--not this time." + +The girl turned a radiant face upon him. "Thank you," she said, shaking +the snowy crystals from her skirt. "I don't care now if they do. I +should have lost more than that if I had stayed." + + + + +VIII. TOINETTE AND THE ELVES* + +* Published by arrangement with Little, Brown & Co. + +SUSAN COOLIDGE + +The winter's sun was nearing the horizon's edge. Each moment the tree +shadows grew longer in the forest; each moment the crimson light on the +upper boughs became more red and bright. It was Christmas Eve, or would +be in half an hour, when the sun should be fairly set; but it did not +feel like Christmas, for the afternoon was mild and sweet, and the wind +in the leafless boughs sang, as it moved about, as though to imitate +the vanished birds. Soft trills and whistles, odd little shakes and +twitters--it was astonishing what pretty noises the wind made, for it +was in good humor, as winds should be on the Blessed Night; all its +storm-tones and bass-notes were for the moment laid aside, and gently as +though hushing a baby to sleep, it cooed and rustled and brushed to and +fro in the leafless woods. + +Toinette stood, pitcher in hand, beside the well. "Wishing Well," the +people called it, for they believed that if any one standing there bowed +to the East, repeated a certain rhyme and wished a wish, the wish would +certainly come true. Unluckily, nobody knew exactly what the rhyme +should be. Toinette did not; she was wishing that she did, as she stood +with her eyes fixed on the bubbling water. How nice it would be! she +thought. What beautiful things should be hers, if it were only to +wish and to have. She would be beautiful, rich, good--oh, so good. +The children should love her dearly, and never be disagreeable. Mother +should not work so hard--they should all go back to France--which mother +said was si belle. Oh, dear, how nice it would be. Meantime, the sun +sank lower, and mother at home was waiting for the water, but Toinette +forgot that. + +Suddenly she started. A low sound of crying met her ear, and something +like a tiny moan. It seemed close by but she saw nothing. + +Hastily she filled her pitcher and turned to go. But again the sound +came, an unmistakable sob, right under her feet. Toinette stopped short. + +"What is the matter?" she called out bravely. "Is anybody there? and if +there is, why don't I see you?" + +A third sob--and all at once, down on the ground beside her, a tiny +figure became visible, so small that Toinette had to kneel and stoop +her head to see it plainly. The figure was that of an odd little man. He +wore a garb of green bright and glancing as the scales of a beetle. In +his mite of a hand was a cap, out of which stuck a long pointed feather. +Two specks of tears stood on his cheeks and he fixed on Toinette a +glance so sharp and so sad that it made her feel sorry and frightened +and confused all at once. + +"Why how funny this is!" she said, speaking to herself out loud. + +"Not at all," replied the little man, in a voice as dry and crisp as +the chirr of a grasshopper. "Anything but funny. I wish you wouldn't use +such words. It hurts my feelings, Toinette." + +"Do you know my name, then?" cried Toinette, astonished. "That's +strange. But what is the matter? Why are you crying so, little man?" + +"I'm not a little man. I'm an elf," responded the dry voice; "and I +think you'd cry if you had an engagement out to tea, and found yourself +spiked on a great bayonet, so that you couldn't move an inch. Look!" He +turned a little as he spoke and Toinette saw a long rose-thorn sticking +through the back of the green robe. The little man could by no means +reach the thorn, and it held him fast prisoner to the place. + +"Is that all? I'll take it out for you," she said. + +"Be careful--oh, be careful," entreated the little man. "This is my +new dress, you know--my Christmas suit, and it's got to last a year. If +there is a hole in it, Peascod will tickle me and Bean Blossom tease, +till I shall wish myself dead." He stamped with vexation at the thought. + +"Now, you mustn't do that," said Toinette, in a motherly tone, "else +you'll tear it yourself, you know." She broke off the thorn as she +spoke, and gently drew it out. The elf anxiously examined the stuff. A +tiny puncture only was visible and his face brightened. + +"You're a good child," he said. "I'll do as much for you some day, +perhaps." + +"I would have come before if I had seen you," remarked Toinette, +timidly. "But I didn't see you a bit." + +"No, because I had my cap on," cried the elf. He placed it on his head +as he spoke, and hey, presto! nobody was there, only a voice which +laughed and said: "Well--don't stare so. Lay your finger on me now." + +"Oh," said Toinette, with a gasp. "How wonderful. What fun it must be +to do that. The children wouldn't see me. I should steal in and surprise +them; they would go on talking, and never guess that I was there. I +should so like it. Do elves ever lend their caps to anybody? I wish +you'd lend me yours. It must be so nice to be invisible." + +"Ho," cried the elf, appearing suddenly again. "Lend my cap, indeed! +Why it wouldn't stay on the very tip of your ear, it's so small. As for +nice, that depends. Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't. No, the +only way for mortal people to be invisible is to gather the fern-seed +and put it in their shoes." + +"Gather it? Where? I never saw any seed to the ferns," said Toinette, +staring about her. + +"Of course not--we elves take care of that," replied the little man. +"Nobody finds the fern-seed but ourselves. I'll tell you what, though. +You were such a nice child to take out the thorn so cleverly, that +I'll give you a little of the seed. Then you can try the fun of being +invisible, to your heart's content." + +"Will you really? How delightful. May I have it now?" + +"Bless me. Do you think I carry my pockets stuffed with it?" said the +elf. "Not at all. Go home, say not a word to any one, but leave your +bedroom window open to night, and you'll see what you'll see." + +He laid his finger on his nose as he spoke, gave a jump like a +grasshopper, clapping on his cap as he went, and vanished. Toinette +lingered a moment, in hopes that he might come back, then took her +pitcher and hurried home. The woods were very dusky by this time; but +full of her strange adventures, she did not remember to feel afraid. + +"How long you have been," said her mother. "It's late for a little maid +like you to be up. You must make better speed another time, my child." + +Toinette pouted as she was apt to do when reproved. The children +clamoured to know what had kept her, and she spoke pettishly and +crossly; so that they too became cross, and presently went away into the +outer kitchen to play by themselves. The children were apt to creep away +when Toinette came. It made her angry and unhappy at times that they +should do so, but she did not realize that it was in great part her own +fault, and so did not set herself to mend it. + +"Tell me a 'tory," said baby Jeanneton, creeping to her knee a little +later. But Toinette's head was full of the elf; she had no time to spare +for Jeanneton. + +"Oh, not to-night," she replied. "Ask mother to tell you one." + +"Mother's busy," said Jeanneton wistfully. + +Toinette took no notice and the little one crept away disconsolately. + +Bedtime at last. Toinette set the casement open, and lay a long time +waiting and watching; then she fell asleep. She waked with a sneeze and +jump and sat up in bed. Behold, on the coverlet stood her elfin friend, +with a long train of other elves beside him, all clad in the beetle-wing +green, and wearing little pointed caps. More were coming in at the +window; outside a few were drifting about in the moon rays, which lit +their sparkling robes till they glittered like so many fireflies. The +odd thing was, that though the caps were on, Toinette could see the +elves distinctly and this surprised her so much, that again she thought +out loud and said, "How funny." + +"You mean about the caps," replied her special elf, who seemed to have +the power of reading thought. + +"Yes, you can see us to-night, caps and all. Spells lose their value on +Christmas Eve, always. Peascod, where is the box? Do you still wish to +try the experiment of being invisible, Toinette?" + +"Oh, yes--indeed I do." + +"Very well; so let it be." + +As he spoke he beckoned, and two elves puffing and panting like little +men with a heavy load, dragged forward a droll little box about the size +of a pumpkin-seed. + +One of them lifted the cover. + +"Pay the porter, please, ma'am," he said giving Toinette's ear a +mischievous tweak with his sharp fingers. + +"Hands off, you bad Peascod!" cried Toinette's elf. "This is my girl. +She shan't be pinched!" He dealt Peascod a blow with his tiny hand as +he spoke and looked so brave and warlike that he seemed at least an inch +taller than he had before. Toinette admired him very much; and Peascod +slunk away with an abashed giggle muttering that Thistle needn't be so +ready with his fist. + +Thistle--for thus, it seemed, Toinette's friend was named--dipped his +fingers in the box, which was full of fine brown seeds, and shook a +handful into each of Toinette's shoes, as they stood, toes together by +the bedside. + +"Now you have your wish," he said, "and can go about and do what you +like, no one seeing. The charm will end at sunset. Make the most of it +while you can; but if you want to end it sooner, shake the seeds from +the shoes and then you are just as usual." + +"Oh, I shan't want to," protested Toinette; "I'm sure I shan't." + +"Good-bye," said Thistle, with a mocking little laugh. + +"Good-bye, and thank you ever so much," replied Toinette. + +"Good-bye, good-bye," replied the other elves, in shrill chorus. They +clustered together, as if in consultation; then straight out of the +window they flew like a swarm of gauzy-winged bees, and melted into the +moonlight. Toinette jumped up and ran to watch them but the little men +were gone--not a trace of them was to be seen; so she shut the window, +went back to bed and presently in the midst of her amazed and excited +thoughts fell asleep. + +She waked in the morning, with a queer, doubtful feeling. Had she +dreamed, or had it really happened? She put on her best petticoat and +laced her blue bodice; for she thought the mother would perhaps take +them across the wood to the little chapel for the Christmas service. Her +long hair smoothed and tied, her shoes trimly fastened, downstairs she +ran. The mother was stirring porridge over the fire. Toinette went close +to her, but she did not move or turn her head. + +"How late the children are," she said at last, lifting the boiling +pot on the hob. Then she went to the stair-foot and called, "Marc, +Jeanneton, Pierre, Marie. Breakfast is ready, my children. Toinette--but +where, then, is Toinette? She is used to be down long before this." + +"Toinette isn't upstairs," said Marie from above. + +"Her door is wide open, and she isn't there." + +"That is strange," said the mother. "I have been here an hour, and she +has not passed this way since." She went to the outer door and called, +"Toinette! Toinette!" passing close to Toinette as she did so. And +looking straight at her with unseeing eyes. Toinette, half frightened, +half pleased, giggled low to herself. She really was invisible, then. +How strange it seemed and what fun it was going to be. + +The children sat down to breakfast, little Jeanneton, as the youngest, +saying grace. The mother distributed the porridge and gave each a spoon +but she looked anxious. + +"Where can Toinette have gone?" she said to herself. Toinette was +conscious-pricked. She was half inclined to dispel the charm on the +spot. But just then she caught a whisper from Pierre to Marc which so +surprised her as to put the idea out of her head. + +"Perhaps a wolf has eaten her up--a great big wolf like the 'Capuchon +Rouge,' you know." This was what Pierre said; and Marc answered +unfeelingly: + +"If he has, I shall ask mother to let me have her room for my own." + +Poor Toinette, her cheeks burned and her eyes filled with tears at this. +Didn't the boys love her a bit then? Next she grew angry, and longed to +box Marc's ears, only she recollected in time that she was invisible. +What a bad boy he was, she thought. + +The smoking porridge reminded her that she was hungry; so brushing away +the tears she slipped a spoon off the table and whenever she found the +chance, dipped it into the bowl for a mouthful. The porridge disappeared +rapidly. + +"I want some more," said Jeanneton. + +"Bless me, how fast you have eaten," said the mother, turning to the +bowl. + +This made Toinette laugh, which shook her spoon, and a drop of the hot +mixture fell right on the tip of Marie's nose as she sat with upturned +face waiting her turn for a second helping. Marie gave a little scream. + +"What is it?" said the mother. + +"Hot water! Right in my face!" sputtered Marie. + +"Water!" cried Marc. "It's porridge." + +"You spattered with your spoon. Eat more carefully, my child," said the +mother, and Toinette laughed again as she heard her. After all, there +was some fun in being invisible. + +The morning went by. Constantly the mother went to the door, and, +shading her eyes with her hand, looked out, in hopes of seeing a little +figure come down the wood-path, for she thought perhaps the child went +to the spring after water, and fell asleep there. The children played +happily, meanwhile. They were used to doing without Toinette and did not +seem to miss her, except that now and then baby Jeanneton said: "Poor +Toinette gone--not here--all gone." + +"Well, what if she has?" said Marc at last looking up from the wooden +cup he was carving for Marie's doll. "We can play all the better." + +Marc was a bold, outspoken boy, who always told his whole mind about +things. + +"If she were here," he went on," she'd only scold and interfere. +Toinette almost always scolds. I like to have her go away. It makes it +pleasanter." + +"It is rather pleasanter," admitted Marie, "only I'd like her to be +having a nice time somewhere else." + +"Bother about Toinette," cried Pierre. + +"Let's play 'My godmother has cabbage to sell.'" + +I don't think Toinette had ever felt so unhappy in her life, as when she +stood by unseen, and heard the children say these words. She had never +meant to be unkind to them, but she was quick-tempered, dreamy, wrapped +up in herself. She did not like being interrupted by them, it put her +out, and she spoke sharply and was cross. She had taken it for granted +that the others must love her, by a sort of right, and the knowledge +that they did not grieved over very much. Creeping away, she hid herself +in the woods. It was a sparkling day, but the sun did not look so bright +as usual. Cuddled down under a rosebush, Toinette sat sobbing as if her +heart would break at the recollection of the speeches she had overheard. + +By and by a little voice within her woke up and began to make itself +audible. All of us know this little voice. We call it conscience. + +"Jeanneton missed me," she thought. "And, oh, dear! I pushed her away +only last night and wouldn't tell her a story. And Marie hoped I was +having a pleasant time somewhere. I wish I hadn't slapped Marie last +Friday. And I wish I hadn't thrown Marc's ball into the fire that day I +was angry with him. How unkind he was to say that--but I wasn't always +kind to him. And once I said that I wished a bear would eat Pierre up. +That was because he broke my cup. Oh, dear, oh, dear. What a bad girl +I've been to them all." + +"But you could be better and kinder if you tried, couldn't you?" said +the inward voice. "I think you could." + +And Toinette clasped her hands tight and said out loud: "I could. +Yes--and I will." + +The first thing to be done was to get rid of the fern-seed which she now +regarded as a hateful thing. She untied her shoes and shook it out in +the grass. It dropped and seemed to melt into the air, for it instantly +vanished. A mischievous laugh sounded close behind, and a beetle-green +coat-tail was visible whisking under a tuft of rushes. But Toinette +had had enough of the elves, and, tying her shoes, took the road toward +home, running with all her might. + +"Where have you been all day, Toinette?" cried the children, as, +breathless and panting, she flew in at the gate. But Toinette could not +speak. She made slowly for her mother, who stood in the doorway, flung +herself into her arms and burst into a passion of tears. + +"Ma cherie, what is it, whence hast thou come?" asked the good mother +alarmed. She lifted Toinette into her arms as she spoke, and hastened +indoors. The other children followed, whispering and peeping, but the +mother sent them away, and sitting down by the fire with Toinette in her +lap, she rocked and hushed and comforted, as though Toinette had been +again a little baby. Gradually the sobs ceased. For a while Toinette +lay quiet, with her head on her mother's breast. Then she wiped her wet +eyes, put her arms around her mother's neck, and told her all from the +very beginning, keeping not a single thing back. The dame listened with +alarm. + +"Saints protect us," she muttered. Then feeling Toinette's hands and +head, "Thou hast a fever," she said. "I will make thee a tisane, my +darling, and thou must at once go to bed." Toinette vainly protested; +to bed she went and perhaps it was the wisest thing, for the warm drink +threw her into a long sound sleep and when she woke she was herself +again, bright and well, hungry for dinner, and ready to do her usual +tasks. + +Herself--but not quite the same Toinette that she had been before. +Nobody changes from bad to better in a minute. It takes time for that, +time and effort, and a long struggle with evil habits and tempers. But +there is sometimes a certain minute or day in which people begin to +change, and thus it was with Toinette. The fairy lesson was not lost +upon her. She began to fight with herself, to watch her faults and try +to conquer them. It was hard work; often she felt discouraged, but she +kept on. Week after week and month after month she grew less selfish, +kinder, more obliging than she used to be. When she failed and her old +fractious temper got the better of her, she was sorry and begged every +one's pardon so humbly that they could not but forgive. The mother +began to think that the elves really had bewitched her child. As for the +children they learned to love Toinette as never before, and came to her +with all their pains and pleasures, as children should to a kind older +sister. Each fresh proof of this, every kiss from Jeanneton, every +confidence from Marc, was a comfort to Toinette, for she never forgot +Christmas Day, and felt that no trouble was too much to wipe out that +unhappy recollection. "I think they like me better than they did then," +she would say; but then the thought came, "Perhaps if I were invisible +again, if they did not know I was there, I might hear something to make +me feel as badly as I did that morning." These sad thoughts were part of +the bitter fruit of the fairy fern-seed. + +So with doubts and fears the year went by, and again it was Christmas +Eve. Toinette had been asleep some hours when she was roused by a sharp +tapping at the window pane. Startled, and only half awake, she sat up in +bed and saw by the moonlight a tiny figure outside which she recognized. +It was Thistle drumming with his knuckles on the glass. + +"Let me in," cried the dry little voice. So Toinette opened the +casement, and Thistle flew in and perched as before on the coverlet. + +"Merry Christmas, my girl." he said, "and a Happy New Year when it +comes. I've brought you a present;" and, dipping into a pouch tied round +his waist, he pulled out a handful of something brown. Toinette knew +what it was in a moment. + +"Oh, no," she cried shrinking back. "Don't give me any fern-seeds. They +frighten me. I don't like them." + +"Don't be silly," said Thistle, his voice sounding kind this time, and +earnest. "It wasn't pleasant being invisible last year, but perhaps this +year it will be. Take my advice, and try it. You'll not be sorry." + +"Sha'n't I?" said Toinette, brightening. "Very well, then, I will." She +leaned out of bed, and watched Thistle strew the fine dustlike grains in +each shoe. + +"I'll drop in to-morrow night, and just see how you like it," he said. +Then, with a nod, he was gone. + +The old fear came back when she woke in the morning, and she tied on her +shoes with a tremble at her heart. Downstairs she stole. The first thing +she saw was a wooden ship standing on her plate. Marc had made the ship, +but Toinette had no idea it was for her. + +The little ones sat round the table with their eyes on the door, +watching till Toinette should come in and be surprised. + +"I wish she'd hurry," said Pierre, drumming on his bowl with a spoon. + +"We all want Toinette, don't we?" said the mother, smiling as she poured +the hot porridge. + +"It will be fun to see her stare," declared Marc. + +"Toinette is jolly when she stares. Her eyes look big and her cheeks +grow pink. Andre Brugen thinks his sister Aline is prettiest, but I +don't. Our Toinette is ever so pretty." + +"She is ever so nice, too," said Pierre. "She's as good to play with +as--as--a boy," finished triumphantly. + +"Oh, I wish my Toinette would come," said Jeanneton. + +Toinette waited no longer, but sped upstairs with glad tears in her +eyes. Two minutes, and down she came again visible this time. Her heart +was light as a feather. + +"Merry Christmas!" clamoured the children. The ship was presented, +Toinette was duly surprised, and so the happy day began. + +That night Toinette left the window open, and lay down in her clothes; +for she felt, as Thistle had been so kind, she ought to receive him +politely. He came at midnight, and with him all the other little men in +green. + +"Well, how was it?" asked Thistle. + +"Oh, I liked it this time," declared Toinette, with shining eyes, "and I +thank you so much." + +"I'm glad you did," said the elf. "And I'm glad you are thankful, for we +want you to do something for us." + +"What can it be?" inquired Toinette, wondering. + +"You must know," went on Thistle, "that there is no dainty in the world +which we elves enjoy like a bowl of fern-seed broth. But it has to be +cooked over a real fire, and we dare not go near fire, you know, lest +our wings scorch. So we seldom get any fern-seed broth. Now, Toinette, +will you make us some?" + +"Indeed, I will!" cried Toinette, "only you must tell me how." + +"It is very simple," said Peascod; "only seed and honey dew, stirred +from left to right with a sprig of fennel. Here's the seed and the +fennel, and here's the dew. Be sure and stir from the left; if you +don't, it curdles, and the flavour will be spoiled." + +Down into the kitchen they went, and Toinette, moving very softly, +quickened the fire, set on the smallest bowl she could find, and +spread the doll's table with the wooden saucers which Marc had made for +Jeanneton to play with. Then she mixed and stirred as the elves bade, +and when the soup was done, served it to them smoking hot. How they +feasted! No bumblebee, dipping into a flower-cup, ever sipped and +twinkled more rapturously than they. + +When the last drop was eaten, they made ready to go. Each in turn +kissed Toinette's hand, and said a word of farewell. Thistle brushed his +feathered cap over the doorpost as he passed. + +"Be lucky, house," he said, "for you have received and entertained the +luck-bringers. And be lucky, Toinette. Good temper is good luck, and +sweet words and kind looks and peace in the heart are the fairest of +fortunes. See that you never lose them again, my girl." With this, he, +too, kissed Toinette's hand, waved his feathered cap, and--whir! they +all were gone, while Toinette, covering the fire with ashes and putting +aside the little cups, stole up to her bed a happy child. + + + + +IX. THE VOYAGE OF THE WEE RED CAP + +*Published originally in the Outlook. Reprinted here by arrangement with +the author. + +RUTH SAWYER DURAND + +It was the night of St. Stephen, and Teig sat alone by his fire with +naught in his cupboard but a pinch of tea and a bare mixing of meal, and +a heart inside of him as soft and warm as the ice on the water-bucket +outside the door. The tuft was near burnt on the hearth--a handful of +golden cinders left, just; and Teig took to counting them greedily on +his fingers. + +"There's one, two, three, an' four an' five," he laughed. "Faith, there +be more bits o' real gold hid undther the loose clay in the corner." + +It was the truth; and it was the scraping and scrooching for the last +piece that had left Teig's cupboard bare of a Christmas dinner. + +"Gold is betther nor eatin' an' dthrinkin'. An' if ye have naught to +give, there'll be naught asked of ye;" and he laughed again. + +He was thinking of the neighbours, and the doles of food and piggins of +milk that would pass over their thresholds that night to the vagabonds +and paupers who were sure to come begging. And on the heels of that +thought followed another: who would be giving old Barney his dinner? +Barney lived a stone's throw from Teig, alone, in a wee tumbled-in +cabin; and for a score of years past Teig had stood on the doorstep +every Christmas Eve, and, making a hollow of his two hands, had called +across the road: + +"Hey, there, Barney, will ye come over for a sup?" + +And Barney had reached for his crutches--there being but one leg to +him--and had come. + +"Faith," said Teig, trying another laugh, "Barney can fast for the once; +'twill be all the same in a month's time." And he fell to thinking of +the gold again. A knock came at the door. Teig pulled himself down in +his chair where the shadow would cover him, and held his tongue. + +"Teig, Teig!" It was the widow O'Donnelly's voice. "If ye are there, +open your door. I have not got the pay for the spriggin' this month, an' +the childher are needin' food." + +But Teig put the leash on his tongue, and never stirred till he heard +the tramp of her feet going on to the next cabin. Then he saw to it that +the door was tight-barred. Another knock came, and it was a stranger's +voice this time: + +"The other cabins are filled; not one but has its hearth crowded; will +ye take us in--the two of us? The wind bites mortal sharp, not a morsel +o' food have ne tasted this day. Masther, will ye take us in?" + +But Teig sat on, a-holding his tongue; and the tramp of the strangers' +feet passed down the road. Others took their place--small feet, running. +It was the miller's wee Cassie, and she called out as she ran by. + +"Old Barney's watchin' for ye. Ye'll not be forgettin' him, will ye, +Teig?" + +And then the child broke into a song, sweet and clear, as she passed +down the road: + + "Listen all ye, 'tis the Feast o' St. Stephen, + Mind that ye keep it, this holy even. + Open your door an' greet ye the stranger-- + For ye mind that the wee Lord had naught but a manger. + Mhuire as truagh! + + "Feed ye the hungry an' rest ye the weary, + This ye must do for the sake of Our Mary. + 'Tis well that ye mind--ye who sit by the fire-- + That the Lord he was born in a dark and cold byre. + Mhuire as truagh!" + +Teig put his fingers deep in his ears. "A million murdthering curses on +them that won't let me be! Can't a man try to keep what is his without +bein' pesthered by them that has only idled an' wasted their days?" + +And then the strange thing happened: hundreds and hundreds of wee lights +began dancing outside the window, making the room bright; the hands of +the clock began chasing each other round the dial, and the bolt of the +door drew itself out. Slowly, without a creak or a cringe, the door +opened, and in there trooped a crowd of the Good People. Their wee green +cloaks were folded close about them, and each carried a rush candle. + +Teig was filled with a great wonderment, entirely, when he saw the +fairies, but when they saw him they laughed. + +"We are takin' the loan o' your cabin this night, Teig," said they. "Ye +are the only man hereabout with an empty hearth, an' we're needin' one." + +Without saying more, they bustled about the room making ready. They +lengthened out the table and spread and set it; more of the Good People +trooped in, bringing stools and food and drink. The pipers came last, +and they sat themselves around the chimney-piece a-blowing their +chanters and trying the drones. The feasting began and the pipers played +and never had Teig seen such a sight in his life. Suddenly a wee man +sang out: + +"Clip, clap, clip, clap, I wish I had my wee red cap!" And out of the +air there tumbled the neatest cap Teig ever laid his two eyes on. The +wee man clapped it on his head, crying: + +"I wish I was in Spain!" and--whist--up the chimney he went, and away +out of sight. + +It happened just as I am telling it. Another wee man called for his cap, +and away he went after the first. And then another and another until the +room was empty and Teig sat alone again. + +"By my soul," said Teig, "I'd like to thravel that way myself! It's a +grand savin' of tickets an' baggage; an' ye get to a place before ye've +had time to change your mind. Faith there is no harm done if I thry it." + +So he sang the fairies' rhyme and out of the air dropped a wee cap for +him. For a moment the wonder had him, but the next he was clapping the +cap on his head and crying: + +"Spain!" + +Then--whist--up the chimney he went after the fairies, and before he had +time to let out his breath he was standing in the middle of Spain, and +strangeness all about him. + +He was in a great city. The doorways of the houses were hung with +flowers and the air was warm and sweet with the smell of them. Torches +burned along the streets, sweetmeat-sellers went about crying their +wares, and on the steps of the cathedral crouched a crowd of beggars. + +"What's the meanin' o' that?" asked Teig of one of the fairies. "They +are waiting for those that are hearing mass. When they come out, they +give half of what they have to those that have nothing, so on this night +of all the year there shall be no hunger and no cold." + +And then far down the street came the sound of a child's voice, singing: + + "Listen all ye, 'tis the Feast o' St. Stephen, + Mind that ye keep it, this holy even". + +"Curse it!" said Teig; "can a song fly afther ye?" + +And then he heard the fairies cry "Holland!" and cried "Holland!" too. + +In one leap he was over France, and another over Belgium; and with the +third he was standing by long ditches of water frozen fast, and over +them glided hundreds upon hundreds of lads and maids. Outside each door +stood a wee wooden shoe empty. Teig saw scores of them as he looked down +the ditch of a street. + +"What is the meanin' o' those shoes? " he asked the fairies. + +"Ye poor lad!" answered the wee man next to him; "are ye not knowing +anything? This is the Gift Night of the year, when every man gives to +his neighbour." + +A child came to the window of one of the houses, and in her hand was a +lighted candle. She was singing as she put the light down close to the +glass, and Teig caught the words: + + "Open your door an' greet ye the stranger-- + For ye mind that the wee Lord had naught but a manger. + Mhuire as truagh!" + +"'Tis the de'il's work!" cried Teig, and he set the red cap more firmly +on his head. + +"I'm for another country." + +I cannot be telling you a half of the adventures Teig had that night, +nor half the sights that he saw. But he passed by fields that held +sheaves of grain for the birds and doorsteps that held bowls of porridge +for the wee creatures. He saw lighted trees, sparkling and heavy with +gifts; and he stood outside the churches and watched the crowds pass in, +bearing gifts to the Holy Mother and Child. + +At last the fairies straightened their caps and cried, "Now for the +great hall in the King of England's palace!" + +Whist--and away they went, and Teig after them; and the first thing he +knew he was in London, not an arm's length from the King's throne. It +was a grander sight than he had seen in any other country. The hall was +filled entirely with lords and ladies; and the great doors were open for +the poor and the homeless to come in and warm themselves by the King's +fire and feast from the King's table. And many a hungry soul did the +King serve with his own hands. + +Those that had anything to give gave it in return. It might be a bit of +music played on a harp or a pipe, or it might be a dance or a song; but +more often it was a wish, just, for good luck and safekeeping. + +Teig was so taken up with the watching that he never heard the fairies +when they wished themselves on; moreover, he never saw the wee girl that +was fed, and went laughing away. But he heard a bit of her song as she +passed through the door: + +"Feed ye the hungry an' rest ye the weary, This ye must do for the sake +of Our Mary." + +Then the anger had Teig. "I'll stop your pestherin' tongue, once an' for +all time!" and, catching the cap from his head, he threw it after her. +No sooner was the cap gone than every soul in the hall saw him. The next +moment they were about him, catching at his coat and crying: + +"Where is he from, what does he here? Bring him before the King!" And +Teig was dragged along by a hundred hands to the throne where the King +sat. + +"He was stealing food," cried one. + +"He was robbing the King's jewels," cried another. + +"He looks evil," cried a third. "Kill him!" + +And in a moment all the voices took it up and the hall rang with: "Aye, +kill him, kill him!" + +Teig's legs took to trembling, and fear put the leash on his tongue; but +after a long silence he managed to whisper: + +"I have done evil to no one--no one!" + +"Maybe," said the King; "but have ye done good? Come, tell us, have ye +given aught to any one this night? If ye have, we will pardon ye." + +Not a word could Teig say--fear tightened the leash--for he was knowing +full well there was no good to him that night. + +"Then ye must die," said the King. "Will ye try hanging or beheading?" + +"Hanging, please, your Majesty," said Teig. + +The guards came rushing up and carried him off. + +But as he was crossing the threshold of the hall a thought sprang at him +and held him. + +"Your Majesty," he called after him, "will ye grant me a last request?" + +"I will," said the King. + +"Thank ye. There's a wee red cap that I'm mortal fond of, and I lost +it a while ago; if I could be hung with it on, I would hang a deal more +comfortable." + +The cap was found and brought to Teig. + +"Clip, clap, clip, clap, for my wee red cap, I wish I was home," he +sang. + +Up and over the heads of the dumfounded guard he flew, and--whist--and +away out of sight. When he opened his eyes again, he was sitting dose +by his own hearth, with the fire burnt low. The hands of the clock were +still, the bolt was fixed firm in the door. The fairies' lights were +gone, and the only bright thing was the candle burning in old Barney's +cabin across the road. + +A running of feet sounded outside, and then the snatch of a song + + "'Tis well that ye mind--ye who sit by the fire-- + That the Lord he was born in a dark and cold byre. + Mhuire as traugh!" + +"Wait ye, whoever ye are!" and Teig was away to the corner, digging fast +at the loose clay, as a terrier digs at a bone. He filled his hands full +of the shining gold, then hurried to the door, unbarring it. + +The miller's wee Cassie stood there, peering at him out of the darkness. + +"Take those to the widow O'Donnelly, do ye hear? And take the rest to +the store. Ye tell Jamie to bring up all that he has that is eatable an' +dhrinkable; and to the neighbours ye say, 'Teig's keepin' the feast this +night.' Hurry now!" + +Teig stopped a moment on the threshold until the tramp of her feet had +died away; then he made a hollow of his two hands and called across the +road: + +"Hey there, Barney, will ye come over for a sup?" + + + + +X. A STORY OF THE CHRIST-CHILD* + +*Reprinted by permission of the author from her collection, +"Christmastide," published by the Chicago Kindergarten College. + +A German legend for Christmas Eve as told by + +ELIZABETH HARKISON + +Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, on the night before Christmas, +a little child was wandering all alone through the streets of a great +city. There were many people on the street, fathers and mothers, sisters +and brothers, uncles and aunts, and even gray-haired grandfathers and +grandmothers, all of whom were hurrying home with bundles of presents +for each other and for their little ones. Fine carriages rolled by, +express wagons rattled past, even old carts were pressed into service, +and all things seemed in a hurry and glad with expectation of the coming +Christmas morning. + +From some of the windows bright lights were already beginning to stream +until it was almost as bright as day. But the little child seemed to +have no home, and wandered about listlessly from street to street. No +one took any notice of him except perhaps Jack Frost, who bit his bare +toes and made the ends of his fingers tingle. The north wind, too, +seemed to notice the child, for it blew against him and pierced his +ragged garments through and through, causing him to shiver with cold. +Home after home he passed, looking with longing eyes through the +windows, in upon the glad, happy children, most of whom were helping to +trim the Christmas trees for the coming morrow. + +"Surely," said the child to himself, "where there is so must gladness +and happiness, some of it may be for me." So with timid steps he +approached a large and handsome house. Through the windows, he could see +a tall and stately Christmas tree already lighted. Many presents hung +upon it. Its green boughs were trimmed with gold and silver ornaments. +Slowly he climbed up the broad steps and gently rapped at the door. It +was opened by a large man-servant. He had a kindly face, although his +voice was deep and gruff. He looked at the little child for a moment, +then sadly shook his head and said, "Go down off the steps. There is +no room here for such as you." He looked sorry as he spoke; possibly he +remembered his own little ones at home, and was glad that they were not +out in this cold and bitter night. Through the open door a bright light +shone, and the warm air, filled with fragrance of the Christmas pine, +rushed out from the inner room and greeted the little wanderer with a +kiss. As the child turned back into the cold and darkness, he wondered +why the footman had spoken thus, for surely, thought he, those little +children would love to have another companion join them in their joyous +Christmas festival. But the little children inside did not even know +that he had knocked at the door. + +The street grew colder and darker as the child passed on. He went sadly +forward, saying to himself, "Is there no one in all this great city who +will share the Christmas with me?" Farther and farther down the street +he wandered, to where the homes were not so large and beautiful. There +seemed to be little children inside of nearly all the houses. They were +dancing and frolicking about. Christmas trees could be seen in nearly +every window, with beautiful dolls and trumpets and picture-books and +balls and tops and other dainty toys hung upon them. In one window the +child noticed a little lamb made of soft white wool. Around its neck was +tied a red ribbon. It had evidently been hung on the tree for one of the +children. The little stranger stopped before this window and looked long +and earnestly at the beautiful things inside, but most of all was he +drawn toward the white lamb. At last creeping up to the window-pane, he +gently tapped upon it. A little girl came to the window and looked out +into the dark street where the snow had now begun to fall. She saw the +child, but she only frowned and shook her head and said, "Go away and +come some other time. We are too busy to take care of you now." Back +into the dark, cold streets he turned again. The wind was whirling past +him and seemed to say, "Hurry on, hurry on, we have no time to stop. +'Tis Christmas Eve and everybody is in a hurry to-night." + +Again and again the little child rapped softly at door or window-pane. +At each place he was refused admission. One mother feared he might have +some ugly disease which her darlings would catch; another father said +he had only enough for his own children and none to spare for beggars. +Still another told him to go home where he belonged, and not to trouble +other folks. + +The hours passed; later grew the night, and colder grew the wind, and +darker seemed the street. Farther and farther the little one wandered. +There was scarcely any one left upon the street by this time, and the +few who remained did not seem to see the child, when suddenly ahead of +him there appeared a bright, single ray of light. It shone through the +darkness into the child's eyes. He looked up smilingly and said, "I +will go where the small light beckons, perhaps they will share their +Christmas with me." + +Hurrying past all the other houses, he soon reached the end of the +street and went straight up to the window from which the light was +streaming. It was a poor, little, low house, but the child cared not for +that. The light seemed still to call him in. From what do you suppose +the light came? Nothing but a tallow candle which had been placed in +an old cup with a broken handle, in the window, as a glad token of +Christmas Eve. There was neither curtain nor shade to the small, square +window and as the little child looked in he saw standing upon a +neat wooden table a branch of a Christmas tree. The room was plainly +furnished but it was very clean. Near the fireplace sat a lovely faced +mother with a little two-year-old on her knee and an older child +beside her. The two children were looking into their mother's face and +listening to a story. She must have been telling them a Christmas story, +I think. A few bright coals were burning in the fireplace, and all +seemed light and warm within. + +The little wanderer crept closer and closer to the window-pane. So sweet +was the mother's face, so loving seemed the little children, that at +last he took courage and tapped gently, very gently on the door. The +mother stopped talking, the little children looked up. "What was that, +mother?" asked the little girl at her side. "I think it was some one +tapping on the door," replied the mother. "Run as quickly as you can and +open it, dear, for it is a bitter cold night to keep any one waiting in +this storm." "Oh, mother, I think it was the bough of the tree tapping +against the window-pane," said the little girl. "Do please go on with +our story." Again the little wanderer tapped upon the door. "My child, +my child," exclaimed the mother, rising, "that certainly was a rap on +the door. Run quickly and open it. No one must be left out in the cold +on our beautiful Christmas Eve." + +The child ran to the door and threw it wide open. The mother saw the +ragged stranger standing without, cold and shivering, with bare head and +almost bare feet. She held out both hands and drew him into the warm, +bright room. "You poor, dear child," was all she said, and putting her +arms around him, she drew him close to her breast. "He is very cold, my +children," she exclaimed. "We must warm him." "And," added the little +girl, "we must love him and give him some of our Christmas, too." "Yes," +said the mother, "but first let us warm him--" + +The mother sat down by the fire with the little child on her lap, and +her own little ones warmed his half-frozen hands in theirs. The mother +smoothed his tangled curls, and, bending low over his head, kissed the +child's face. She gathered the three little ones in her arms and the +candle and the fire light shone over them. For a moment the room was +very still. By and by the little girl said softly, to her mother, +"May we not light the Christmas tree, and let him see how beautiful it +looks?" "Yes," said the mother. With that she seated the child on a +low stool beside the fire, and went herself to fetch the few simple +ornaments which from year to year she had saved for her children's +Christmas tree. They were soon so busy that they did not notice the room +had filled with a strange and brilliant light. They turned and looked at +the spot where the little wanderer sat. His ragged clothes had changed +to garments white and beautiful; his tangled curls seemed like a halo +of golden light about his head; but most glorious of all was his face, +which shone with a light so dazzling that they could scarcely look upon +it. + +In silent wonder they gazed at the child. Their little room seemed to +grow larger and larger, until it was as wide as the whole world, the +roof of their low house seemed to expand and rise, until it reached to +the sky. + +With a sweet and gentle smile the wonderful child looked upon them for +a moment, and then slowly rose and floated through the air, above +the treetops, beyond the church spire, higher even than the clouds +themselves, until he appeared to them to be a shining star in the sky +above. At last he disappeared from sight. The astonished children turned +in hushed awe to their mother, and said in a whisper, "Oh, mother, it +was the Christ-Child, was it not?" And the mother answered in a low +tone, "Yes." + +And it is said, dear children, that each Christmas Eve the little +Christ-Child wanders through some town or village, and those who receive +him and take him into their homes and hearts have given to them this +marvellous vision which is denied to others. + + + + +XI. JIMMY SCARECROW'S CHRISTMAS + +MARY E. WILKINS FREEMAN + +Jimmy Scarecrow led a sad life in the winter. Jimmy's greatest grief +was his lack of occupation. He liked to be useful, and in winter he was +absolutely of no use at all. + +He wondered how many such miserable winters he would have to endure. He +was a young Scarecrow, and this was his first one. He was strongly made, +and although his wooden joints creaked a little when the wind blew he +did not grow in the least rickety. Every morning, when the wintry sun +peered like a hard yellow eye across the dry corn-stubble, Jimmy felt +sad, but at Christmas time his heart nearly broke. + +On Christmas Eve Santa Claus came in his sledge heaped high with +presents, urging his team of reindeer across the field. He was on his +way to the farmhouse where Betsey lived with her Aunt Hannah. + +Betsey was a very good little girl with very smooth yellow curls, and +she had a great many presents. Santa Claus had a large wax doll-baby +for her on his arm, tucked up against the fur collar of his coat. He was +afraid to trust it in the pack, lest it get broken. + +When poor Jimmy Scarecrow saw Santa Claus his heart gave a great leap. +"Santa Claus! Here I am!" he cried out, but Santa Claus did not hear +him. + +"Santa Claus, please give me a little present. I was good all summer +and kept the crows out of the corn," pleaded the poor Scarecrow in his +choking voice, but Santa Claus passed by with a merry halloo and a great +clamour of bells. + +Then Jimmy Scarecrow stood in the corn-stubble and shook with sobs until +his joints creaked. "I am of no use in the world, and everybody has +forgotten me," he moaned. But he was mistaken. + +The next morning Betsey sat at the window holding her Christmas +doll-baby, and she looked out at Jimmy Scarecrow standing alone in the +field amidst the corn-stubble. + +"Aunt Hannah?" said she. Aunt Hannah was making a crazy patchwork quilt, +and she frowned hard at a triangular piece of red silk and circular +piece of pink, wondering how to fit them together. "Well?" said she. + +"Did Santa Claus bring the Scarecrow any Christmas present?" + +"No, of course he didn't." + +"Why not?" + +"Because he's a Scarecrow. Don't ask silly questions." + +"I wouldn't like to be treated so, if I was a Scarecrow," said Betsey, +but her Aunt Hannah did not hear her. She was busy cutting a triangular +snip out of the round piece of pink silk so the piece of red silk could +be feather-stitched into it. + +It was snowing hard out of doors, and the north wind blew. The +Scarecrow's poor old coat got whiter and whiter with snow. Sometimes he +almost vanished in the thick white storm. Aunt Hannah worked until the +middle of the afternoon on her crazy quilt. Then she got up and spread +it out over the sofa with an air of pride. + +"There," said she, "that's done, and that makes the eighth. I've got one +for every bed in the house, and I've given four away. I'd give this away +if I knew of anybody that wanted it." + +Aunt Hannah put on her hood and shawl, and drew some blue yarn stockings +on over her shoes, and set out through the snow to carry a slice of +plum-pudding to her sister Susan, who lived down the road. Half an hour +after Aunt Hannah had gone Betsey put her little red plaid shawl over +her head, and ran across the field to Jimmy Scarecrow. She carried her +new doll-baby smuggled up under her shawl. + +"Wish you Merry Christmas!" she said to Jimmy Scarecrow. + +"Wish you the same," said Jimmy, but his voice was choked with sobs, and +was also muffled, for his old hat had slipped down to his chin. Betsey +looked pitifully at the old hat fringed with icicles, like frozen tears, +and the old snow-laden coat. "I've brought you a Christmas present," +said she, and with that she tucked her doll-baby inside Jimmy +Scarecrow's coat, sticking its tiny feet into a pocket. + +"Thank you," said Jimmy Scarecrow faintly. + +"You're welcome," said she. "Keep her under your overcoat, so the snow +won't wet her, and she won't catch cold, she's delicate." + +"Yes, I will," said Jimmy Scarecrow, and he tried hard to bring one of +his stiff, outstretched arms around to clasp the doll-baby. + +"Don't you feel cold in that old summer coat?" asked Betsey. + +"If I bad a little exercise, I should be warm," he replied. But he +shivered, and the wind whistled through his rags. + +"You wait a minute," said Betsey, and was off across the field. + +Jimmy Scarecrow stood in the corn-stubble, with the doll-baby under his +coat and waited, and soon Betsey was back again with Aunt Hannah's crazy +quilt trailing in the snow behind her. + +"Here," said she, "here is something to keep you warm," and she folded +the crazy quilt around the Scarecrow and pinned it. + +"Aunt Hannah wants to give it away if anybody wants it," she explained. +"She's got so many crazy quilts in the house now she doesn't know what +to do with them. Good-bye--be sure you keep the doll-baby covered up." +And with that she ran cross the field, and left Jimmy Scarecrow alone +with the crazy quilt and the doll-baby. + +The bright flash of colours under Jimmy's hat-brim dazzled his eyes, +and he felt a little alarmed. "I hope this quilt is harmless if it IS +crazy," he said. But the quilt was warm, and he dismissed his fears. +Soon the doll-baby whimpered, but he creaked his joints a little, and +that amused it, and he heard it cooing inside his coat. + +Jimmy Scarecrow had never felt so happy in his life as he did for an +hour or so. But after that the snow began to turn to rain, and the crazy +quilt was soaked through and through: and not only that, but his coat +and the poor doll-baby. It cried pitifully for a while, and then it was +still, and he was afraid it was dead. + +It grew very dark, and the rain fell in sheets, the snow melted, and +Jimmy Scarecrow stood halfway up his old boots in water. He was saying +to himself that the saddest hour of his life had come, when suddenly he +again heard Santa Claus' sleigh-bells and his merry voice talking to +his reindeer. It was after midnight, Christmas was over, and Santa was +hastening home to the North Pole. + +"Santa Claus! dear Santa Claus!" cried Jimmy Scarecrow with a great sob, +and that time Santa Claus heard him and drew rein. + +"Who's there?" he shouted out of the darkness. + +"It's only me," replied the Scarecrow. + +"Who's me?" shouted Santa Claus. + +"Jimmy Scarecrow!" + +Santa got out of his sledge and waded up. "Have you been standing here +ever since corn was ripe?" he asked pityingly, and Jimmy replied that he +had. + +"What's that over your shoulders?" Santa Claus continued, holding up his +lantern. + +"It's a crazy quilt." + +"And what are you holding under your coat?" + +"The doll-baby that Betsey gave me, and I'm afraid it's dead," poor +Jimmy Scarecrow sobbed. + +"Nonsense!" cried Santa Claus. "Let me see it!" And with that he pulled +the doll-baby out from under the Scarecrow's coat, and patted its back, +and shook it a little, and it began to cry, and then to crow. "It's all +right," said Santa Claus. "This is the doll-baby I gave Betsey, and +it is not at all delicate. It went through the measles, and the +chicken-pox, and the mumps, and the whooping-cough, before it left the +North Pole. Now get into the sledge, Jimmy Scarecrow, and bring the +doll-baby and the crazy quilt. I have never had any quilts that weren't +in their right minds at the North Pole, but maybe I can cure this one. +Get in!" Santa chirruped to his reindeer, and they drew the sledge up +close in a beautiful curve. + +"Get in, Jimmy Scarecrow, and come with me to the North Pole!" he cried. + +"Please, how long shall I stay?" asked Jimmy Scarecrow. + +"Why, you are going to live with me," replied Santa Claus. "I've been +looking for a person like you for a long time." + +"Are there any crows to scare away at the North Pole? I want to be +useful," Jimmy Scarecrow said, anxiously. + +"No," answered Santa Claus, "but I don't want you to scare away crows. +I want you to scare away Arctic Explorers. I can keep you in work for a +thousand years, and scaring away Arctic Explorers from the North Pole +is much more important than scaring away crows from corn. Why, if they +found the Pole, there wouldn't be a piece an inch long left in a week's +time, and the earth would cave in like an apple without a core! They +would whittle it all to pieces, and carry it away in their pockets for +souvenirs. Come along; I am in a hurry." + +"I will go on two conditions," said Jimmy. "First, I want to make a +present to Aunt Hannah and Betsey, next Christmas." + +"You shall make them any present you choose. What else?" + +"I want some way provided to scare the crows out of the corn next +summer, while I am away," said Jimmy. + +"That is easily managed," said Santa Claus. "Just wait a minute." + +Santa took his stylographic pen out of his pocket, went with his lantern +close to one of the fence-posts, and wrote these words upon it: + + NOTICE TO CROWS + +Whichever crow shall hereafter hop, fly, or flop into this field +during the absence of Jimmy Scarecrow, and therefrom purloin, steal, or +abstract corn, shall be instantly, in a twinkling and a trice, turned +snow-white, and be ever after a disgrace, a byword and a reproach to his +whole race. + + Per order of Santa Claus. + +"The corn will be safe now," said Santa Claus, "get in." Jimmy got into +the sledge and they flew away over the fields, out of sight, with merry +halloos and a great clamour of bells. + +The next morning there was much surprise at the farmhouse, when Aunt +Hannah and Betsey looked out of the window and the Scarecrow was not in +the field holding out his stiff arms over the corn stubble. Betsey had +told Aunt Hannah she had given away the crazy quilt and the doll-baby, +but had been scolded very little. + +"You must not give away anything of yours again without asking +permission," said Aunt Hannah. "And you have no right to give anything +of mine, even if you know I don't want it. Now both my pretty quilt and +your beautiful doll-baby are spoiled." + +That was all Aunt Hannah had said. She thought she would send John after +the quilt and the doll-baby next morning as soon as it was light. + +But Jimmy Scarecrow was gone, and the crazy quilt and the doll-baby with +him. John, the servant-man, searched everywhere, but not a trace of them +could he find. "They must have all blown away, mum," he said to Aunt +Hannah. + +"We shall have to have another scarecrow next summer," said she. + +But the next summer there was no need of a scarecrow, for not a crow +came past the fence-post on which Santa Claus had written his notice to +crows. The cornfield was never so beautiful, and not a single grain was +stolen by a crow, and everybody wondered at it, for they could not read +the crow-language in which Santa had written. + +"It is a great mystery to me why the crows don't come into our +cornfield, when there is no scarecrow," said Aunt Hannah. + +But she had a still greater mystery to solve when Christmas came round +again. Then she and Betsey had each a strange present. They found them +in the sitting-room on Christmas morning. Aunt Hannah's present was her +old crazy quilt, remodelled, with every piece cut square and true, and +matched exactly to its neighbour. + +"Why, it's my old crazy quilt, but it isn't crazy now!" cried Aunt +Hannah, and her very spectacles seemed to glisten with amazement. + +Betsey's present was her doll-baby of the Christmas before; but the +doll was a year older. She had grown an inch, and could walk and say, +"mamma," and "how do?" She was changed a good deal, but Betsey knew her +at once. "It's my doll-baby!" she cried, and snatched her up and kissed +her. + +But neither Aunt Hannah nor Betsey ever knew that the quilt and the doll +were Jimmy Scarecrow's Christmas presents to them. + + + + +XII. WHY THE CHIMES RANG* + +* Copyright, 1906. Used by special permission of the publishers, the +Bobbs-Merrill Company. + +RAYMOND MC ALDEN + +There was once in a faraway country where few people have ever +travelled, a wonderful church. It stood on a high hill in the midst of a +great city; and every Sunday, as well as on sacred days like Christmas, +thousands of people climbed the hill to its great archways, looking like +lines of ants all moving in the same direction. + +When you came to the building itself, you found stone columns and dark +passages, and a grand entrance leading to the main room of the church. +This room was so long that one standing at the doorway could scarcely +see to the other end, where the choir stood by the marble altar. In +the farthest corner was the organ; and this organ was so loud, that +sometimes when it played, the people for miles around would close their +shutters and prepare for a great thunderstorm. Altogether, no such +church as this was ever seen before, especially when it was lighted +up for some festival, and crowded with people, young and old. But the +strangest thing about the whole building was the wonderful chime of +bells. + +At one corner of the church was a great gray tower, with ivy growing +over it as far up as one could see. I say as far as one could see, +because the tower was quite great enough to fit the great church, and it +rose so far into the sky that it was only in very fair weather that +any one claimed to be able to see the top. Even then one could not be +certain that it was in sight. Up, and up, and up climbed the stones and +the ivy; and as the men who built the church had been dead for hundreds +of years, every one had forgotten how high the tower was supposed to be. + +Now all the people knew that at the top of the tower was a chime of +Christmas bells. They had hung there ever since the church had been +built, and were the most beautiful bells in the world. Some thought it +was because a great musician had cast them and arranged them in their +place; others said it was because of the great height, which reached up +where the air was clearest and purest; however that might be no one +who had ever heard the chimes denied that they were the sweetest in the +world. Some described them as sounding like angels far up in the sky; +others as sounding like strange winds singing through the trees. + +But the fact was that no one had heard them for years and years. There +was an old man living not far from the church who said that his mother +had spoken of hearing them when she was a little girl, and he was the +only one who was sure of as much as that. They were Christmas chimes, +you see, and were not meant to be played by men or on common days. +It was the custom on Christmas Eve for all the people to bring to the +church their offerings to the Christ-Child; and when the greatest and +best offering was laid on the altar there used to come sounding through +the music of the choir the Christmas chimes far up in the tower. Some +said that the wind rang them, and others, that they were so high that +the angels could set them swinging. But for many long years they had +never been heard. It was said that people had been growing less careful +of their gifts for the Christ-Child, and that no offering was brought +great enough to deserve the music of the chimes. + +Every Christmas Eve the rich people still crowded to the altar, each one +trying to bring some better gift than any other, without giving anything +that he wanted for himself, and the church was crowded with those who +thought that perhaps the wonderful bells might be heard again. But +although the service was splendid, and the offerings plenty, only the +roar of the wind could be heard, far up in the stone tower. + +Now, a number of miles from the city, in a little country village, where +nothing could be seen of the great church but glimpses of the tower when +the weather was fine, lived a boy named Pedro, and his little brother. +They knew very little about the Christmas chimes, but they had heard of +the service in the church on Christmas Eve, and had a secret plan +which they had often talked over when by themselves, to go to see the +beautiful celebration. + +"Nobody can guess, Little Brother," Pedro would say; "all the fine +things there are to see and hear; and I have even heard it said that the +Christ-Child sometimes comes down to bless the service. What if we could +see Him?" + +The day before Christmas was bitterly cold, with a few lonely snowflakes +flying in the air, and a hard white crust on the ground. Sure enough +Pedro and Little Brother were able to slip quietly away early in the +afternoon; and although the walking was hard in the frosty air, before +nightfall they had trudged so far, hand in hand, that they saw the +lights of the big city just ahead of them. Indeed they were about to +enter one of the great gates in the wall that surrounded it, when they +saw something dark on the snow near their path, and stepped aside to +look at it. + +It was a poor woman, who had fallen just outside the city, too sick and +tired to get in where she might have found shelter. The soft snow made +of a drift a sort of pillow for her, and she would soon be so sound +asleep, in the wintry air, that no one could ever waken her again. All +this Pedro saw in a moment and he knelt down beside her and tried to +rouse her, even tugging at her arm a little, as though he would have +tried to carry her away. He turned her face toward him, so that he could +rub some of the snow on it, and when he had looked at her silently a +moment he stood up again, and said: + +"It's no use, Little Brother. You will have to go on alone." + +"Alone?" cried Little Brother. "And you not see the Christmas festival?" + +"No," said Pedro, and he could not keep back a bit of a choking sound in +his throat. "See this poor woman. Her face looks like the Madonna in +the chapel window, and she will freeze to death if nobody cares for her. +Every one has gone to the church now, but when you come back you can +bring some one to help her. I will rub her to keep her from freezing, +and perhaps get her to eat the bun that is left in my pocket." + +"But I cannot bear to leave you, and go on alone," said Little Brother. + +"Both of us need not miss the service," said Pedro, "and it had better +be I than you. You can easily find your way to church; and you must see +and hear everything twice, Little Brother--once for you and once for me. +I am sure the Christ-Child must know how I should love to come with you +and worship Him; and oh! if you get a chance, Little Brother, to slip up +to the altar without getting in any one's way, take this little silver +piece of mine, and lay it down for my offering, when no one is looking. +Do not forget where you have left me, and forgive me for not going with +you." + +In this way he hurried Little Brother off to the city and winked hard +to keep back the tears, as he heard the crunching footsteps sounding +farther and farther away in the twilight. It was pretty hard to lose +the music and splendour of the Christmas celebration that he had been +planning for so long, and spend the time instead in that lonely place in +the snow. + +The great church was a wonderful place that night. Every one said that +it had never looked so bright and beautiful before. When the organ +played and the thousands of people sang, the walls shook with the sound, +and little Pedro, away outside the city wall, felt the earth tremble +around them. + +At the close of the service came the procession with the offerings to be +laid on the altar. Rich men and great men marched proudly up to lay down +their gifts to the Christ-Child. Some brought wonderful jewels, some +baskets of gold so heavy that they could scarcely carry them down the +aisle. A great writer laid down a book that he had been making for years +and years. And last of all walked the king of the country, hoping with +all the rest to win for himself the chime of the Christmas bells. There +went a great murmur through the church as the people saw the king take +from his head the royal crown, all set with precious stones, and lay +it gleaming on the altar, as his offering to the Holy Child. "Surely," +every one said, "we shall hear the bells now, for nothing like this has +ever happened before." + +But still only the cold old wind was heard in the tower and the people +shook their heads; and some of them said, as they had before, that they +never really believed the story of the chimes, and doubted if they ever +rang at all. + +The procession was over, and the choir began the closing hymn. Suddenly +the organist stopped playing; and every one looked at the old minister, +who was standing by the altar, holding up his hand for silence. Not a +sound could be heard from any one in the church, but as all the people +strained their ears to listen, there came softly, but distinctly, +swinging through the air, the sound of the chimes in the tower. So far +away, and yet so clear the music seemed--so much sweeter were the notes +than anything that had been heard before, rising and falling away up +there in the sky, that the people in the church sat for a moment as +still as though something held each of them by the shoulders. Then they +all stood up together and stared straight at the altar, to see what +great gift had awakened the long silent bells. + +But all that the nearest of them saw was the childish figure of Little +Brother, who had crept softly down the aisle when no one was looking, +and had laid Pedro's little piece of silver on the altar. + + + + +XIII. THE BIRDS' CHRISTMAS + +From "In the Child's World," by Emilie Poulssen, Milton Bradley Co. +Publishers. Used by permission. + +F. E. MANN + +Founded on fact. + +"Chickadee-dee-dee-dee! Chickadee-dee-dee-dee! Chicka--" "Cheerup, +cheerup, chee-chee! Cheerup, cheerup, chee-chee!" "Ter-ra-lee, +ter-ra-lee, ter-ra-lee!" + +"Rap-atap-atap-atap!" went the woodpecker; "Mrs. Chickadee may speak +first." + +"Friends," began Mrs. Chickadee, "why do you suppose I called you +together?" + +"Because it's the day before Christmas," twittered Snow Bunting. "And +you're going to give a Christmas party," chirped the Robin. "And you +want us all to come!" said Downy Woodpecker. "Hurrah! Three cheers for +Mrs. Chickadee!" + +"Hush!" said Mrs. Chickadee, "and I'll tell you all about it. To-morrow +IS Christmas Day, but I don't want to give a party." + +"Chee, chee, chee!" cried Robin Rusty-breast; "chee, chee, chee!" + +"Just listen to my little plan," said Mrs. Chickadee, "for, indeed, I +want you all to help. How many remember Thistle Goldfinch--the happy +little fellow who floated over the meadows through the summer and fall?" + +"Cheerup, chee-chee, cheerup, chee-chee, I do," sang the Robin; "how he +loved to sway on thistletops!" + +"Yes," said Downy Woodpecker, "and didn't he sing? All about blue skies, +and sunshine and happy days, with his 'Swee-e-et sweet-sweet-sweet-a- +twitter-witter-witter-witter-wee-twea!'" + +"Ter-ra-lee, ter-ra-lee," said Snow Bunting. "We've all heard of Thistle +Goldfinch, but what can he have to do with your Christmas party? He's +away down South now, and wouldn't care if you gave a dozen parties." + +"Oh, but he isn't; he's right in these very woods!" + +"Why, you don't mean--" + +"Indeed I do mean it, every single word. Yesterday I was flitting about +among the trees, peeking at a dead branch here, and a bit of moss there, +and before I knew it I found myself away over at the other side of the +woods! 'Chickadee-dee-dee, chickadee-dee-dee!' I sang, as I turned my +bill toward home. Just then I heard the saddest little voice pipe +out: 'Dear-ie me! Dear-ie me!' and there on the sunny side of a branch +perched a lonesome bit of yellowish down. I went up to see what it was, +and found dear little Thistle Goldfinch! He was very glad to see me, and +soon told his short story. Through the summer Papa and Mamma Goldfinch +and all the brothers and sisters had a fine time, singing together, +fluttering over thistletops, or floating through the balmy air. But when +'little Jack Frost walked through the trees,' Papa Goldfinch said: 'It +is high time we went South!' All were ready but Thistle; he wanted to +stay through the winter, and begged so hard that Papa Goldfinch soberly +said: 'Try it, my son, but do find a warm place to stay in at night.' +Then off they flew, and Thistle was alone. For a while he was happy. The +sun shone warm through the middle of the day, and there were fields and +meadows full of seeds. You all remember how sweetly he sang for us then. +But by and by the cold North Wind came whistling through the trees, and +chilly Thistle woke up one gray morning to find the air full of whirling +snowflakes He didn't mind the light snows, golden-rod and some high +grasses were too tall to be easily covered, and he got seeds from them. +But now that the heavy snows have come, the poor little fellow is almost +starved, and if he doesn't have a warm place to sleep in these cold +nights, he'll surely die!" + +Mrs. Chickadee paused a minute. The birds were so still one could hear +the pine trees whisper. Then she went on: "I comforted the poor little +fellow as best I could, and showed him where to find a few seeds; then I +flew home, for it was bedtime. I tucked my head under my wing to keep it +warm, and thought, and thought, and thought; and here's my plan: + +"We Chickadees have a nice warm home here in the spruce trees, with +their thick, heavy boughs to shut out the snow and cold. There is plenty +of room, so Thistle could sleep here all winter. We would let him perch +on a branch, when we Chickadees would nestle around him until he was as +warm as in the lovely summer tine. These cones are so full of seeds that +we could spare him a good many; and I think that you Robins might +let him come over to your pines some day and share your seeds. Downy +Woodpecker must keep his eyes open as he hammers the trees, and if he +spies a supply of seeds he will let us know at once. Snow Bunting is +only a visitor, so I don't expect him to help, but I wanted him to hear +my plan with the rest of you. Now you WILL try, won't you, EVERY ONE?" + +"Cheerup, cheerup, ter-ra-lee! Indeed we'll try; let's begin right away! +Don't wait until to-morrow; who'll go and find Thistle?" + +"I will," chirped Robin Rusty-breast, and off he flew to the place which +Mrs. Chickadee had told of, at the other side of the wood. There, sure +enough, he found Thistle Goldfinch sighing: "Dear-ie me! dear-ie me! The +winter is so cold and I'm here all alone!" "Cheerup, chee-chee!" piped +the Robin: + + "Cheerup, cheerup, I'm here! + I'm here and I mean to stay. + What if the winter is drear-- + Cheerup, cheerup, anyway!" + +"But the snow is so deep," said Thistle, and the Robin replied: + + "Soon the snows'll be over and gone, + Run and rippled away; + What's the use of looking forlorn? + Cheerup, cheerup, I say!" + +Then he told Thistle all their plans, and wasn't Thistle surprised? Why, +he just couldn't believe a word of it till they reached Mrs. Chickadee's +and she said it was all true. They fed him and warmed him, then settled +themselves for a good night's rest. + +Christmas morning they were chirping gaily, and Thistle was trying to +remember the happy song he sang in the summer time, when there came a +whirr of wings as Snow Bunting flew down. + +"Ter-ra-lee, ter-ra-lee, ter-ra-lee," said he, "can you fly a little +way?" + +"Oh, yes," replied Thistle. "I THINK I could fly a LONG way." + +"Come on, then," said Snow Bunting. "Every one who wants a Christmas +dinner, follow me!" That was every word he would say, so what could they +do but follow? + +Soon they came to the edge of the wood, and then to a farmhouse. Snow +Bunting flew straight up to the piazza, and there stood a dear little +girl in a warm hood and cloak, with a pail of bird-seed on her arm, and +a dish of bread crumbs in her hand. As they flew down, she said: + +"And here are some more birdies who have come for a Christmas dinner. +Of course you shall have some, you dear little things!" and she laughed +merrily to see them dive for the crumbs. + +After they had finished eating, Elsie (that was the little girl's name) +said: "Now, little birds, it is going to be a cold winter, you would +better come here every day to get your dinner. I'll always be glad to +see you." + +"Cheerup chee-chee, cheerup chee-chee! thank you, thank you," cried +the Robins. "Ter-ra-lee, ter-ra-lee, ter-ra-lee! thank you, thank you!" +twittered Snow Bunting. + +"Chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee, +chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee! how kind you are!" sang the Chickadees. + +And Thistle Goldfinch? Yes, he remembered his summer song, for he sang +as they flew away: + +"Swee-e-et-sweet-sweet-sweet-a-twitter-witter-witter-witter--wee-twea!" + +notes.--l. The Robin's song is from "Bird Talks," by Mrs. A.D.T. +Whitney. 2. The fact upon which this story is based--that is of the +other birds adopting and warming the solitary Thistle Goldfinch--was +observed near Northampton, Mass., where robins and other migratory birds +sometimes spend the winter in the thick pine woods. + + + + +XIV. THE LITTLE SISTER'S VACATION* + +* This story was first published in the Youth's Companion, vol. 77. + +WINIFRED M. KIRKLAND + +It was to be a glorious Christmas at Doctor Brower's. All "the +children"--little Peggy and her mother always spoke of the grown-up ones +as "the children"--were coming home. Mabel was coming from Ohio with +her big husband and her two babies, Minna and little Robin, the year-old +grandson whom the home family had never seen; Hazen was coming all the +way from the Johns Hopkins Medical School, and Arna was coming home from +her teaching in New York. It was a trial to Peggy that vacation did not +begin until the very day before Christmas, and then continued only one +niggardly week. After school hours she had helped her mother in the +Christmas preparations every day until she crept into bed at night with +aching arms and tired feet, to lie there tossing about, whether from +weariness or glad excitement she did not know. + +"Not so hard, daughter," the doctor said to her once. + +"Oh, papa," protested her mother, "when we're so busy, and Peggy is so +handy!" + +"Not so hard," he repeated, with his eyes on fifteen-year-old Peggy's +delicate face, as, wearing her braids pinned up on her head and a +pinafore down to her toes, she stoned raisins and blanched almonds, +rolled bread crumbs and beat eggs, dusted and polished and made ready +for the children. + +Finally, after a day of flying about, helping with the many last thing, +Peggy let down her braids and put on her new crimson shirtwaist, and +stood with her mother in the front doorway, for it was Christmas Eve at +last, and the station 'bus was rattling up with the first homecomers, +Arna and Hazen. + +Then there were voices ringing up and down the dark street, and there +were happy tears in the mother's eyes, and Arna had taken Peggy's face +in her two soft-gloved hands and lifted it up and kissed it, and Hazen +had swung his little sister up in the air just as of old. Peggy's tired +feet were dancing for joy. She was helping Arna take off her things, was +carrying her bag upstairs--would have carried Hazen's heavy grip, too, +only her father took it from her. + +"Set the kettle to boil, Peggy," directed her mother; "then run upstairs +and see if Arna wants anything. We'll wait supper till the rest come." + +The rest came on the nine o'clock train, such a load of them--the big, +bluff brother-in-law, Mabel, plump and laughing, as always, Minna, elfin +and bright-eyed, and sleepy Baby Robin. Such hugging, such a hubbub of +baby talk! How many things there seemed to be to do for those precious +babies right away! + +Peggy was here and there and everywhere. Everything was in joyous +confusion. Supper was to be set on, too. While the rest ate, Peggy sat +by, holding Robin, her own little nephew, and managing at the same +time to pick up the things--napkin, knife, spoon, bread--that Minna, +hilarious with the late hour, flung from her high chair. + +It seemed as if they would never be all stowed away for the night. Some +of them wanted pitchers of warm water, some of them pitchers of cold, +and the alcohol stove must be brought up for heating the baby's milk at +night. The house was crowded, too. Peggy had given up her room to Hazen, +and slept on a cot in the sewing room with Minna. + +The cot had been enlarged by having three chairs piled with pillows, set +along the side. But Minna preferred to sleep in the middle of the cot, +or else across it, her restless little feet pounding at Peggy's ribs; +and Peggy was unused to any bedfellow. + +She lay long awake thinking proudly of the children; of Hazen, the +tall brother, with his twinkling eyes, his drolleries, his teasing; of +graceful Arna who dressed so daintily, talked so cleverly, and had been +to college. Arna was going to send Peggy to college, too--it was so +good of Arna! But for all Peggy's admiration for Arna, it was Mabel, the +eldest sister, who was the more approachable. Mabel did not pretend even +to as much learning as Peggy had herself; she was happy-go-lucky and +sweet-tempered. Then her husband was a great jolly fellow, with whom it +was impossible to be shy, and the babies--there never were such cunning +babies, Peggy thought. Just here her niece gave her a particularly +vicious kick, and Peggy opposed to her train of admiring thoughts, "But +I'm so tired." + +It did not seem to Peggy that she had been asleep at all when she was +waked with a vigorous pounding on her chest and a shrill little voice in +her ear: + +"Ch'is'mus, Ch'is'mus, Ch'is'mus! It's mornin'! It's Ch'is'mus!" + +"Oh, no, it isn't, Minna!" pleaded Peggy, struggling with sleepiness. +"It's all dark still." + +"Ch'is'mus, Ch'is'mus, Ch'is'mus!" reiterated Minna continuing to pound. + +"Hush, dear! You'll wake Aunt Arna, and she's feed after being all day +on the chou-chou cars." + +"Merry Ch'is'mus, Aunty Arna!" shouted the irrepressible Minna. + +"Oh, darling, be quiet! We'll play little pig goes to market. I'll tell +you a story, only be quiet a little while." + +It took Peggy's utmost effort to keep the little wriggler still for the +hour from five to six. Then, however, her shrill, "Merry Ch'is'mus!" +roused the household. Protests were of no avail. Minna was the only +granddaughter. Dark as it was, people must get up. + +Peggy must dress Minna and then hurry down to help get breakfast--not +so easy a task with Minna ever at one's heels. The quick-moving sprite +seemed to be everywhere--into the sugar-bowl, the cooky jar, the +steaming teakettle--before one could turn about. Urged on by the +impatient little girl, the grown-ups made short work of breakfast. + +After the meal, according to time-honoured Brower custom, they formed +in procession, single file, Minna first, then Ben with Baby Robin. They +each held aloft a sprig of holly, and they all kept time as they sang, +"God rest you, merry gentlemen," in their march from the dining-room to +the office. And there they must form in circle about the tree, and dance +three times round, singing "The Christmas-tree is an evergreen," before +they could touch a single present. + +The presents are done up according to custom, packages of every shape +and size, but all in white paper and tied with red ribbon, and all +marked for somebody with somebody else's best love. They all fall to +opening, and the babies' shouts are not the only ones to be heard. + +Passers-by smile indulgently at the racket, remembering that all the +Browers are home for Christmas, and the Browers were ever a jovial +company. + +Peggy gazes at her gifts quietly, but with shining eyes--little gold +cuff pins from Hazen, just like Arna's; a set of furs from Mabel and +Ben; but she likes Arna's gift best of all, a complete set of her +favourite author. + +But much as they would like to linger about the Christmas tree, Peggy +and her mother, at least, must remember that the dishes must be washed +and the beds made, and that the family must get ready for church. Peggy +does not go to church, and nobody dreams how much she wants to go. She +loves the Christmas music. No hymn rings so with joy as: + +Jerusalem triumphs, Messiah is king. + +The choir sings it only once a year, on the Christmas morning. Besides, +her chum Esther will be at church, and Peggy has been too busy to go to +see her since she came home from boarding-school for the holidays. But +somebody must stay at home, and that somebody who but Peggy? Somebody +must baste the turkey and prepare the vegetables and take care of the +babies. + +Peggy is surprised to find how difficult it is to combine dinner-getting +with baby-tending. When she opens the oven-door, there is Minna's head +thrust up under her arm, the inquisitive little nose in great danger by +reason of sputtering gravy. + +"Minna," protests Peggy, "you mustn't eat another bit of candy!" and +Minna opens her mouth in a howl, prolonged, but without tears and +without change of colour. Robin joins in, he does not know why. Peggy is +a doting aunt, but an honest one. She is vexed by a growing conviction +that Mabel's babies are sadly spoiled. Peggy is ashamed of herself; +surely she ought to be perfectly happy playing with Minna and Robin. +Instead, she finds that the thing she would like best of all to be doing +at this moment, next to going to church, would be to be lying on her +father's couch in the office, all by herself, reading. + +The dinner is a savoury triumph for Peggy and her mother. The gravy and +the mashed potato are entirely of Peggy's workmanship, and Peggy has had +a hand in most of the other dishes, too, as the mother proudly tells. +How that merry party can eat! Peggy is waitress, and it is long before +the passing is over, and she can sit down in her own place. She is +just as fond of the unusual Christmas good things as are the rest, +but somehow, before she is well started at her turkey, it is time for +changing plates for dessert, and before she has tasted her nuts and +raisins the babies have succumbed to sleepiness, and it is Peggy who +must carry them upstairs for their nap--just in the middle of one of +Hazen's funniest stories, too. + +And all the time the little sister is so ready, so quickly serviceable, +that somehow nobody notices--nobody but the doctor. It is he who finds +Peggy, half as hour later, all alone in the kitchen. The mother and the +older daughters are gathered about the sitting-room hearth, engaged in +the dear, delicious talk about the little things that are always left +out of letters. + +The doctor interrupts them. + +"Peggy is all alone," he says. + +"But we're having such a good talk," the mother pleads, "and Peggy will +be done in no time! Peggy is so handy!" + +"Well, girls?" is all the doctor says, with quiet command in his eyes, +and Peggy is not left to wash the Christmas dishes all alone. Because +she is smiling and her cheeks are bright, her sisters do not notice that +her eyes are wet, for Peggy is hotly ashamed of certain thoughts and +feelings that she cannot down. She forgets them for a while, however, +sitting on the hearth-rug, snuggled against her father's knee in the +Christmas twilight. + +Yet the troublesome thoughts came back in the evening, when Peggy sat +upstairs in the dark with Minna, vainly trying to induce the excited +little girl to go to sleep, while bursts of merriment from the family +below were always breaking in upon the two in their banishment. + +There was another restless night of it with the little niece, and +another too early waking. Everybody but Minna was sleepy enough, and +breakfast was a protracted meal, to which the "children" came down +slowly one by one. Arna did not appear at all, and Peggy carried up to +her the daintiest of trays, all of her own preparing. Arna's kiss of +thanks was great reward. It was dinner-time before Peggy realized it, +and she had hoped to find a quiet hour for her Latin. + +The dreadful regent's examination was to come the next week, and Peggy +wanted to study for it. She had once thought of asking Arna to help her, +but Arna seemed so tired. + +In the afternoon Esther came to see her chum, and to take her +home with her to spend the night. The babies, fretful with +after-Christmas-crossness, were tumbling over their aunt, and sadly +interrupting confidences, while Peggy explained that she could not go +out that evening. All the family were going to the church sociable, and +she must put the babies to bed. + +"I think it's mean," Esther broke in. "Isn't it your vacation as well as +theirs? Do make that child stop pulling your hair!" + +If Esther's words had only not echoed through Peggy's head as they did +that night! "But it is so mean of me, so mean of me, to want my own +vacation!" sobbed Peggy in the darkness. "I ought just to be glad +they're all at home." + +Her self-reproach made her readier than ever to wait on them all the +next morning. Nobody could make such buckwheat cakes as could Mrs. +Brower; nobody could turn them as could Peggy. They were worth coming +from New York and Baltimore and Ohio to eat. Peggy stood at the griddle +half an hour, an hour, two hours. Her head was aching. Hazen, the latest +riser, was joyously calling for more. + +At eleven o'clock Peggy realized that she had had no breakfast herself, +and that her mother was hurrying her off to investigate the lateness of +the butcher. Her head ached more and more, and she seemed strangely slow +in her dinner-getting and dish-washing. Her father was away, and there +was no one to help in the clearing-up. It was three before she had +finished. + +Outside the sleigh-bells sounded enticing. It was the first sleighing of +the season. Mabel and Ben had been off for a ride, and Arna and Hazen, +too. How Peggy longed to be skimming over the snow instead of polishing +knives all alone in the kitchen. Sue Cummings came that afternoon to +invite Peggy to her party, given in Esther's honour. Sue enumerated six +other gatherings that were being given that week in honour of Esther's +visit home. Sue seemed to dwell much on the subject. Presently Peggy, +with hot cheeks, understood why. Everybody was giving Esther a party, +everybody but Peggy herself. Esther's own chum, and all the other girls, +were talking about it. + +Peggy stood at the door to see Sue out, and watched the sleighs fly by. +Out in the sitting-room she heard her mother saying, "Yes, of course we +can have waffles for supper. Where's Peggy?" Then Peggy ran away. + +In the wintry dusk the doctor came stamping in, shaking the snow from +his bearskins. As always, "Where's Peggy?" was his first question. + +Peggy was not to be found, they told him. They had been all over the +house, calling her. They thought she must have gone out with Sue. The +doctor seemed to doubt this. He went through the upstairs rooms, calling +her softly. But Peggy was not in any of the bedrooms, or in any of the +closets, either. There was still the kitchen attic to be tried. + +There came a husky little moan out of its depths, as he whispered, +"Daughter!" He groped his way to her, and sitting down on a trunk, +folded her into his bearskin coat. + +"Now tell father all about it," he said. And it all came out with +many sobs--the nights and dawns with Minna, the Latin, the sleighing, +Esther's party, breakfast, the weariness, the headache; and last the +waffles, which had moved the one unbearable thing. + +"And it is so mean of me, so mean of me!" sobbed Peggy. "But, oh, daddy, +I do want a vacation!" + +"And you shall have one," he answered. + +He carried her straight into her own room, laid her down on her own bed, +and tumbled Hazen's things into the hall. Then he went downstairs and +talked to his family. + +Presently the mother came stealing in, bearing a glass of medicine the +doctor-father had sent. Then she undressed Peggy and put her to bed as +if she had been a baby, and sat by, smoothing her hair, until she fell +asleep. + +It seemed to Peggy that she had slept a long, long time. The sun was +shining bright. Her door opened a crack and Arna peeped in, and seeing +her awake, came to the bed and kissed her good morning. + +"I'm so sorry, little sister!" she said. + +"Sorry for what?" asked the wondering Peggy. + +"Because I didn't see," said Arna. "But now I'm going to bring up your +breakfast." + +"Oh, no!" cried Peggy, sitting up. + +"Oh, yes!" said Arna, with quiet authority. It was as dainty cooking as +Peggy's own, and Arna sat by to watch her eat. + +"You're so good to me, Arna!" said Peggy. + +"Not very," answered Arna, dryly. "When you've finished this you must +lie up here away from the children and read." + +"But who will take care of Minna?" questioned Peggy. + +"Minna's mamma," answered a voice from the next room, where Mabel was +pounding pillows. She came to the door to look in on Peggy in all her +luxury of orange marmalade to eat, Christmas books to read, and Arna to +wait upon her. + +"I think mothers, not aunts, were meant to look after babies," said +Mabel. "I'm so sorry, dear!" + +"Oh, I wish you two wouldn't talk like that!" cried Peggy. "I'm so +ashamed." + +"All right, we'll stop talking," said Mabel quickly, "but we'll +remember." + +They would not let Peggy lift her hand to any of the work that day. +Mabel managed the babies masterfully. Arna moved quietly about, +accomplishing wonders. + +"But aren't you tired, Arna?" queried Peggy. + +"Not a bit of it, and I'll have time to help you with your Caesar +before--" + +"Before what?" asked Peggy, but got no answer. They had been translating +famously, when, in the late afternoon, there came a ring of the +doorbell. Peggy found Hazen bowing low, and craving "Mistress Peggy's +company." A sleigh and two prancing horses stood at the gate. + +It was a glorious drive. Peggy's eyes danced and her laugh rang out at +Hazen's drolleries. The world stretched white all about them, and their +horses flew on and on like the wind. They rode till dark, then turned +back to the village, twinkling with lights. + +The Brower house was alight in every window, and there was the sound +of many voices in the hall. The door flew open upon a laughing crowd of +boys and girls. Peggy, all glowing and rosy with the wind, stood utterly +bewildered until Esther rushed forward and hugged and shook her. + +"It's a party!" she exclaimed. "One of your mother's waffle suppers! +We're all here! Isn't it splendid?" + +"But, but, but--" stammered Peggy. + +"'But, but, but,'" mimicked Esther. "But this is your vacation, don't +you see?" + + + + +XV. LITTLE WOLFF'S WOODEN SHOES + +A CHRISTMAS STORY BY FRANCOIS COPPEE; ADAPTED AND TRANSLATED BY ALMA J. +FOSTER + +Once upon a time--so long ago that everybody has forgotten the date--in +a city in the north of Europe--with such a hard name that nobody can +ever remember it--there was a little seven-year-old boy named Wolff, +whose parents were dead, who lived with a cross and stingy old aunt, who +never thought of kissing him more than once a year and who sighed deeply +whenever she gave him a bowlful of soup. + +But the poor little fellow had such a sweet nature that in spite of +everything, he loved the old woman, although he was terribly afraid of +her and could never look at her ugly old face without shivering. + +As this aunt of little Wolff was known to have a house of her own and an +old woollen stocking full of gold, she had not dared to send the boy to +a charity school; but, in order to get a reduction in the price, she had +so wrangled with the master of the school, to which little Wolff finally +went, that this bad man, vexed at having a pupil so poorly dressed and +paying so little, often punished him unjustly, and even prejudiced +his companions against him, so that the three boys, all sons of rich +parents, made a drudge and laughing stock of the little fellow. + +The poor little one was thus as wretched as a child could be and used to +hide himself in corners to weep whenever Christmas time came. + +It was the schoolmaster's custom to take all his pupils to the midnight +mass on Christmas Eve, and to bring them home again afterward. + +Now, as the winter this year was very bitter, and as heavy snow had +been falling for several days, all the boys came well bundled up in warm +clothes, with fur caps pulled over their ears, padded jackets, gloves +and knitted mittens, and strong, thick-soled boots. Only little Wolff +presented himself shivering in the poor clothes he used to wear both +weekdays and Sundays and having on his feet only thin socks in heavy +wooden shoes. + +His naughty companions noticing his sad face and awkward appearance, +made many jokes at his expense; but the little fellow was so busy +blowing on his fingers, and was suffering so much with chilblains, that +he took no notice of them. So the band of youngsters, walking two and +two behind the master, started for the church. + +It was pleasant in the church which was brilliant with lighted candles; +and the boys excited by the warmth took advantage of the music of the +choir and the organ to chatter among themselves in low tones. They +bragged about the fun that was awaiting them at home. The mayor's son +had seen, just before starting off, an immense goose ready stuffed and +dressed for cooking. At the alderman's home there was a little pine-tree +with branches laden down with oranges, sweets, and toys. And the +lawyer's cook had put on her cap with such care as she never thought of +taking unless she was expecting something very good! + +Then they talked, too, of all that the Christ-Child was going to bring +them, of all he was going to put in their shoes which, you might be +sure, they would take good care to leave in the chimney place before +going to bed; and the eyes of these little urchins, as lively as a cage +of mice, were sparkling in advance over the joy they would have when +they awoke in the morning and saw the pink bag full of sugar-plums, the +little lead soldiers ranged in companies in their boxes, the menageries +smelling of varnished wood, and the magnificent jumping-jacks in purple +and tinsel. + +Alas! Little Wolff knew by experience that his old miser of an aunt +would send him to bed supperless, but, with childlike faith and certain +of having been, all the year, as good and industrious as possible, +he hoped that the Christ-Child would not forget him, and so he, too, +planned to place his wooden shoes in good time in the fireplace. + +Midnight mass over, the worshippers departed, eager for their fun, +and the band of pupils always walking two and two, and following the +teacher, left the church. + +Now, in the porch and seated on a stone bench set in the niche of a +painted arch, a child was sleeping--a child in a white woollen garment, +but with his little feet bare, in spite of the cold. He was not a +beggar, for his garment was white and new, and near him on the floor was +a bundle of carpenter's tools. + +In the clear light of the stars, his face, with its closed eyes, shone +with an expression of divine sweetness, and his long, curling, blond +locks seemed to form a halo about his brow. But his little child's feet, +made blue by the cold of this bitter December night, were pitiful to +see! + +The boys so well clothed for the winter weather passed by quite +indifferent to the unknown child; several of them, sons of the notables +of the town, however, cast on the vagabond looks in which could be read +all the scorn of the rich for the poor, of the well-fed for the hungry. + +But little Wolff, coming last out of the church, stopped, deeply +touched, before the beautiful sleeping child. + +"Oh, dear!" said the little fellow to himself, "this is frightful! This +poor little one has no shoes and stockings in this bad weather--and, +what is still worse, he has not even a wooden shoe to leave near him +to-night while he sleeps, into which the little Christ-Child can put +something good to soothe his misery." + +And carried away by his loving heart, Wolff drew the wooden shoe from +his right foot, laid it down before the sleeping child, and, as best +he could, sometimes hopping, sometimes limping with his sock wet by the +snow, he went home to his aunt. + +"Look at the good-for-nothing!" cried the old woman, full of wrath at +the sight of the shoeless boy. "What have you done with your shoe, you +little villain?" + +Little Wolff did not know how to lie, so, although trembling with terror +when he saw the rage of the old shrew, he tried to relate his adventure. + +But the miserly old creature only burst into a frightful fit of +laughter. + +"Aha! So my young gentleman strips himself for the beggars. Aha! My +young gentleman breaks his pair of shoes for a bare-foot! Here is +something new, forsooth. Very well, since it is this way, I shall put +the only shoe that is left into the chimney-place, and I'll answer for +it that the Christ-Child will put in something to-night to beat you +with in the morning! And you will have only a crust of bread and water +to-morrow. And we shall see if the next time, you will be giving your +shoes to the first vagabond that happens along." + +And the wicked woman having boxed the ears of the poor little fellow, +made him climb up into the loft where he had his wretched cubbyhole. + +Desolate, the child went to bed in the dark and soon fell asleep, but +his pillow was wet with tears. + +But behold! the next morning when the old woman, awakened early by the +cold, went downstairs--oh, wonder of wonders--she saw the big chimney +filled with shining toys, bags of magnificent bonbons, and riches of +every sort, and standing out in front of all this treasure, was the +right wooden shoe which the boy had given to the little vagabond, yes, +and beside it, the one which she had placed in the chimney to hold the +bunch of switches. + +As little Wolff, attracted by the cries of his aunt, stood in an ecstasy +of childish delight before the splendid Christmas gifts, shouts of +laughter were heard outside. The woman and child ran out to see what all +this meant, and behold! all the gossips of the town were standing around +the public fountain. What could have happened? Oh, a most ridiculous and +extraordinary thing! The children of the richest men in the town, whom +their parents had planned to surprise with the most beautiful presents +had found only switches in their shoes! + +Then the old woman and the child thinking of all the riches in their +chimney were filled with fear. But suddenly they saw the priest appear, +his countenance full of astonishment. Just above the bench placed near +the door of the church, in the very spot where, the night before, a +child in a white garment and with bare feet, in spite of the cold, had +rested his lovely head, the priest had found a circlet of gold imbedded +in the old stones. + +Then, they all crossed themselves devoutly, perceiving that this +beautiful sleeping child with the carpenter's tools had been Jesus of +Nazareth himself, who had come back for one hour just as he had been +when he used to work in the home of his parents; and reverently they +bowed before this miracle, which the good God had done to reward the +faith and the love of a little child. + + + + +XVI. CHRISTMAS IN THE ALLEY* + +* From "Kristy's Queer Christmas," Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1904. + +OLIVE THORNE MILLER + +"I declare for 't, to-morrow is Christmas Day an' I clean forgot all +about it," said old Ann, the washerwoman, pausing in her work and +holding the flatiron suspended in the air. + +"Much good it'll do us," growled a discontented voice from the coarse +bed in the corner. + +"We haven't much extra, to be sure," answered Ann cheerfully, bringing +the iron down onto the shirt-bosom before her, "but at least we've +enough to eat, and a good fire, and that's more'n some have, not a +thousand miles from here either." + +"We might have plenty more," said the fretful voice, "if you didn't +think so much more of strangers than you do of your own folk's comfort, +keeping a houseful of beggars, as if you was a lady!" + +"Now, John," replied Ann, taking another iron from the fire, "you're +not half so bad as you pretend. You wouldn't have me turn them poor +creatures into the streets to freeze, now, would you?" + +"It's none of our business to pay rent for them," grumbled John. "Every +one for himself, I say, these hard times. If they can't pay you'd ought +to send 'em off; there's plenty as can." + +"They'd pay quick enough if they could get work," said Ann. "They're +good honest fellows, every one, and paid me regular as long as they had +a cent. But when hundreds are out o' work in the city, what can they +do?" + +"That's none o' your business, you can turn 'em out!" growled John. + +"And leave the poor children to freeze as well as starve?" said Ann. +"Who'd ever take 'em in without money, I'd like to know? No, John," +bringing her iron down as though she meant it, "I'm glad I'm well enough +to wash and iron, and pay my rent, and so long as I can do that, and +keep the hunger away from you and the child, I'll never turn the poor +souls out, leastways, not in this freezing winter weather." + +"An' here's Christmas," the old man went on whiningly, "an' not a penny +to spend, an' I needin' another blanket so bad, with my rhumatiz, an' +haven't had a drop of tea for I don't know how long!" + +"I know it," said Ann, never mentioning that she too had been without +tea, and not only that, but with small allowance of food of any kind, +"and I'm desperate sorry I can't get a bit of something for Katey. The +child never missed a little something in her stocking before." + +"Yes," John struck in, "much you care for your flesh an' blood. The +child ha'n't had a thing this winter." + +"That's true enough," said Ann, with a sigh, "an' it's the hardest thing +of all that I've had to keep her out o' school when she was doing so +beautiful." + +"An' her feet all on the ground," growled John. + +"I know her shoes is bad," said Ann, hanging the shirt up on a line that +stretched across the room, and was already nearly full of freshly ironed +clothes, "but they're better than the Parker children's." + +"What's that to us?" almost shouted the weak old man, shaking his fist +at her in his rage. + +"Well, keep your temper, old man," said Ann. "I'm sorry it goes so hard +with you, but as long as I can stand on my feet, I sha'n't turn anybody +out to freeze, that's certain." + +"How much'll you get for them?" said the miserable old man, after a few +moments' silence, indicating by his hand the clean clothes on the line. + +"Two dollars," said Ann, "and half of it must go to help make up next +month's rent. I've got a good bit to make up yet, and only a week to do +it in, and I sha'n't have another cent till day after to-morrow." + +"Well, I wish you'd manage to buy me a little tea," whined the old man; +"seems as if that would go right to the spot, and warm up my old bones a +bit." + +"I'll try," said Ann, revolving in her mind how she could save a few +pennies from her indispensable purchases to get tea and sugar, for +without sugar he would not touch it. + +Wearied with his unusual exertion, the old man now dropped off to sleep, +and Ann went softly about, folding and piling the clothes into a big +basket already half full. When they were all packed in, and nicely +covered with a piece of clean muslin, she took an old shawl and hood +from a nail in the corner, put them on, blew out the candle, for it must +not burn one moment unnecessarily, and, taking up her basket, went out +into the cold winter night, softly closing the door behind her. + +The house was on an alley, but as soon as she turned the corner she was +in the bright streets, glittering with lamps and gay people. The shop +windows were brilliant with Christmas displays, and thousands of warmly +dressed buyers were lingering before them, laughing and chatting, and +selecting their purchases. Surely it seemed as if there could be no want +here. + +As quickly as her burden would let her, the old washerwoman passed +through the crowd into a broad street and rang the basement bell of a +large, showy house. + +"Oh, it's the washerwoman!" said a flashy-looking servant who answered +the bell; "set the basket right m here. Mrs. Keithe can't look them over +to-night. There's company in the parlour--Miss Carry's Christmas party." + +"Ask her to please pay me--at least a part," said old Ann hastily. "I +don't see how I can do without the money. I counted on it." + +"I'll ask her," said the pert young woman, turning to go upstairs; "but +it's no use." + +Returning in a moment, she delivered the message. "She has no change +to-night; you're to come in the morning." + +"Dear me!" thought Ann, as she plodded back through the streets, "it'll +be even worse than I expected, for there's not a morsel to eat in +the house, and not a penny to buy one with. Well--well--the Lord will +provide, the Good Book says, but it's mighty dark days, and it's hard to +believe." + +Entering the house, Ann sat down silently before the expiring fire. She +was tired, her bones ached, and she was faint for want of food. + +Wearily she rested her head on her hands, and tried to think of some way +to get a few cents. She had nothing she could sell or pawn, everything +she could do without had gone before, in similar emergencies. After +sitting there some time, and revolving plan after plan, only to find +them all impossible, she was forced to conclude that they must go +supperless to bed. + +Her husband grumbled, and Katey--who came in from a neighbour's--cried +with hunger, and after they were asleep old Ann crept into bed to keep +warm, more disheartened than she had been all winter. + +If we could only see a little way ahead! All this time--the darkest the +house on the alley had seen--help was on the way to them. A kind-hearted +city missionary, visiting one of the unfortunate families living in +the upper rooms of old Ann's house, had learned from them of the +noble charity of the humble old washerwoman. It was more than princely +charity, for she not only denied herself nearly every comfort, but she +endured the reproaches of her husband, and the tears of her child. + +Telling the story to a party of his friends this Christmas Eve, their +hearts were troubled, and they at once emptied their purses into his +hands for her. And the gift was at that very moment in the pocket of the +missionary, waiting for morning to make her Christmas happy. Christmas +morning broke clear and cold. Ann was up early, as usual, made her fire, +with the last of her coal, cleared up her two rooms, and, leaving her +husband and Katey in bed, was about starting out to try and get +her money to provide a breakfast for them. At the door she met the +missionary. + +"Good-morning, Ann," said he. "I wish you a Merry Christmas." + +"Thank you, sir," said Ann cheerfully; "the same to yourself." + +"Have you been to breakfast already?" asked the missionary. + +"No, sir," said Ann. "I was just going out for it." + +"I haven't either," said he, "but I couldn't bear to wait until I had +eaten breakfast before I brought you your Christmas present--I suspect +you haven't had any yet." + +Ann smiled. "Indeed, sir, I haven't had one since I can remember." + +"Well, I have one for you. Come in, and I'll tell you about it." + +Too much amazed for words, Ann led him into the room. The missionary +opened his purse, and handed her a roll of bills. + +"Why--what!" she gasped, taking it mechanically. + +"Some friends of mine heard of your generous treatment of the poor +families upstairs," he went on, "and they send you this, with their +respects and best wishes for Christmas. Do just what you please with +it--it is wholly yours. No thanks," he went on, as she struggled to +speak. "It's not from me. Just enjoy it--that's all. It has done them +more good to give than it can you to receive," and before she could +speak a word he was gone. + +What did the old washerwoman do? + +Well, first she fell on her knees and buried her agitated face in the +bedclothes. After a while she became aware of a storm of words from her +husband, and she got up, subdued as much as possible her agitation, and +tried to answer his frantic questions. + +"How much did he give you, old stupid?" he screamed; "can't you speak, +or are you struck dumb? Wake up! I just wish I could reach you! I'd +shake you till your teeth rattled!" + +His vicious looks were a sign, it was evident that he only lacked the +strength to be as good as his word. Ann roused herself from her stupour +and spoke at last. + +"I don't know. I'll count it." She unrolled the bills and began. + +"O Lord!" she exclaimed excitedly, "here's ten-dollar bills! One, +two, three, and a twenty-that makes five--and five are +fifty-five--sixty--seventy--eighty--eighty-five--ninety--one +hundred--and two and five are seven, and two and one are ten, +twenty--twenty-five--one hundred and twenty-five! Why, I'm rich!" she +shouted. "Bless the Lord! Oh, this is the glorious Christmas Day! I knew +He'd provide. Katey! Katey!" she screamed at the door of the other room, +where the child lay asleep. "Merry Christmas to you, darlin'! Now you +can have some shoes! and a new dress! and--and--breakfast, and a regular +Christmas dinner! Oh! I believe I shall go crazy!" + +But she did not. Joy seldom hurts people, and she was brought back to +everyday affairs by the querulous voice of her husband. + +"Now I will have my tea, an' a new blanket, an' some tobacco--how I have +wanted a pipe!" and he went on enumerating his wants while Ann bustled +about, putting away most of her money, and once more getting ready to go +out. + +"I'll run out and get some breakfast," she said, "but don't you tell a +soul about the money." + +"No! they'll rob us!" shrieked the old man. + +"Nonsense! I'll hide it well, but I want to keep it a secret for another +reason. Mind, Katey, don't you tell?" + +"No!" said Katey, with wide eyes. "But can I truly have a new frock, +Mammy, and new shoes--and is it really Christmas?" + +"It's really Christmas, darlin'," said Ann, "and you'll see what +mammy'll bring home to you, after breakfast." + +The luxurious meal of sausages, potatoes, and hot tea was soon smoking +on the table, and was eagerly devoured by Katey and her father. But Ann +could not eat much. She was absent-minded, and only drank a cup of tea. +As soon as breakfast was over, she left Katey to wash the dishes, and +started out again. + +She walked slowly down the street, revolving a great plan in her mind. + +"Let me see," she said to herself. "They shall have a happy day for +once. I suppose John'll grumble, but the Lord has sent me this money, +and I mean to use part of it to make one good day for them." + +Having settled this in her mind, she walked on more quickly, and visited +various shops in the neighbourhood. When at last she went home, her big +basket was stuffed as full as it could hold, and she carried a bundle +besides. + +"Here's your tea, John," she said cheerfully, as she unpacked the +basket, "a whole pound of it, and sugar, and tobacco, and a new pipe." + +"Give me some now," said the old man eagerly; "don't wait to take out +the rest of the things." + +"And here's a new frock for you, Katey," old Ann went on, after making +John happy with his treasures, "a real bright one, and a pair of shoes, +and some real woollen stockings; oh! how warm you'll be!" + +"Oh, how nice, Mammy!" cried Katey, jumping about. "When will you make +my frock?" + +"To-morrow," answered the mother, "and you can go to school again." + +"Oh, goody!" she began, but her face fell. "If only Molly Parker could +go too!" + +"You wait and see," answered Ann, with a knowing look. "Who knows what +Christmas will bring to Molly Parker?" + +"Now here's a nice big roast," the happy woman went on, still unpacking, +"and potatoes and turnips and cabbage and bread and butter and coffee +and--" + +"What in the world! You goin' to give a party?" asked the old man +between the puffs, staring at her in wonder. + +"I'll tell you just what I am going to do," said Ann firmly, bracing +herself for opposition, "and it's as good as done, so you needn't say +a word about it. I'm going to have a Christmas dinner, and I'm going to +invite every blessed soul in this house to come. They shall be warm +and full for once in their lives, please God! And, Katey," she went on +breathlessly, before the old man had sufficiently recovered from his +astonishment to speak, "go right upstairs now, and invite every one of +'em from the fathers down to Mrs. Parker's baby to come to dinner at +three o'clock; we'll have to keep fashionable hours, it's so late now; +and mind, Katey, not a word about the money. And hurry back, child, I +want you to help me." + +To her surprise, the opposition from her husband was less than she +expected. The genial tobacco seemed to have quieted his nerves, and even +opened his heart. Grateful for this, Ann resolved that his pipe should +never lack tobacco while she could work. + +But now the cares of dinner absorbed her. The meat and vegetables were +prepared, the pudding made, and the long table spread, though she had +to borrow every table in the house, and every dish to have enough to go +around. + +At three o'clock when the guests came in, it was really a very pleasant +sight. The bright warm fire, the long table, covered with a substantial, +and, to them, a luxurious meal, all smoking hot. John, in his neatly +brushed suit, in an armchair at the foot of the table, Ann in a bustle +of hurry and welcome, and a plate and a seat for every one. + +How the half-starved creatures enjoyed it; how the children stuffed and +the parents looked on with a happiness that was very near to tears; how +old John actually smiled and urged them to send back their plates again +and again, and how Ann, the washerwoman, was the life and soul of it +all, I can't half tell. + +After dinner, when the poor women lodgers insisted on clearing up, and +the poor men sat down by the fire to smoke, for old John actually passed +around his beloved tobacco, Ann quietly slipped out for a few minutes, +took four large bundles from a closet under the stairs, and disappeared +upstairs. She was scarcely missed before she was back again. + +Well, of course it was a great day in the house on the alley, and the +guests sat long into the twilight before the warm fire, talking of their +old homes in the fatherland, the hard winter, and prospects for work in +the spring. + +When at last they returned to the chilly discomfort of their own rooms, +each family found a package containing a new warm dress and pair of +shoes for every woman and child in the family. + +"And I have enough left,"' said Ann the washerwoman, to herself, when +she was reckoning up the expenses of the day, "to buy my coal and pay my +rent till spring, so I can save my old bones a bit. And sure John can't +grumble at their staying now, for it's all along of keeping them that I +had such a blessed Christmas day at all." + + + + +XVII. A CHRISTMAS STAR* + +* Published by permission of the American Book Co. + +KATHERINE PYLE + +"Come now, my dear little stars," said Mother Moon, "and I will tell you +the Christmas story." + +Every morning for a week before Christmas, Mother Moon used to call all +the little stars around her and tell them a story. + +It was always the same story, but the stars never wearied of it. It was +the story of the Christmas star--the Star of Bethlehem. + +When Mother Moon had finished the story the little stars always said: +"And the star is shining still, isn't it, Mother Moon, even if we can't +see it?" + +And Mother Moon would answer: "Yes, my dears, only now it shines for +men's hearts instead of their eyes." + +Then the stars would bid the Mother Moon good-night and put on their +little blue nightcaps and go to bed in the sky chamber; for the stars' +bedtime is when people down on the earth are beginning to waken and see +that it is morning. + +But that particular morning when the little stars said good-night and +went quietly away, one golden star still lingered beside Mother Moon. + +"What is the matter, my little star?" asked the Mother Moon. "Why don't +you go with your little sisters?" + +"Oh, Mother Moon," said the golden star. "I am so sad! I wish I could +shine for some one's heart like that star of wonder that you tell us +about." + +"Why, aren't you happy up here in the sky country?" asked Mother Moon. + +"Yes, I have been very happy," said the star; "but to-night it seems +just as if I must find some heart to shine for." + +"Then if that is so," said Mother Moon, "the time has come, my little +star, for you to go through the Wonder Entry." + +"The Wonder Entry? What is that?" asked the star. But the Mother Moon +made no answer. + +Rising, she took the little star by the hand and led it to a door that +it had never seen before. + +The Mother Moon opened the door, and there was a long dark entry; at the +far end was shining a little speck of light. + +"What is this?" asked the star. + +"It is the Wonder Entry; and it is through this that you must go to find +the heart where you belong," said the Mother Moon. + +Then the little star was afraid. + +It longed to go through the entry as it had never longed for anything +before; and yet it was afraid and clung to the Mother Moon. + +But very gently, almost sadly, the Mother Moon drew her hand away. "Go, +my child," she said. + +Then, wondering and trembling, the little star stepped into the Wonder +Entry, and the door of the sky house closed behind it. + +The next thing the star knew it was hanging in a toy shop with a whole +row of other stars blue and red and silver. It itself was gold. The shop +smelled of evergreen, and was full of Christmas shoppers, men and women +and children; but of them all, the star looked at no one but a little +boy standing in front of the counter; for as soon as the star saw the +child it knew that he was the one to whom it belonged. + +The little boy was standing beside a sweet-faced woman in a long black +veil and he was not looking at anything in particular. + +The star shook and trembled on the string that held it, because it was +afraid lest the child would not see it, or lest, if he did, he would not +know it as his star. + +The lady had a number of toys on the counter before her, and she was +saying: "Now I think we have presents for every one: There's the doll +for Lou, and the game for Ned, and the music box for May; and then the +rocking horse and the sled." + +Suddenly the little boy caught her by the arm. "Oh, mother," he said. He +had seen the star. + +"Well, what is it, darling?" asked the lady. + +"Oh, mother, just see that star up there! I wish--oh, I do wish I had +it." + +"Oh, my dear, we have so many things for the Christmas-tree," said the +mother. + +"Yes, I know, but I do want the star," said the child. + +"Very well," said the mother, smiling; "then we will take that, too." + +So the star was taken down from the place where it hung and wrapped up +in a piece of paper, and all the while it thrilled with joy, for now it +belonged to the little boy. + +It was not until the afternoon before Christmas, when the tree was being +decorated, that the golden star was unwrapped and taken out from the +paper. + +"Here is something else," said the sweet-faced lady. "We must hang this +on the tree. Paul took such a fancy to it that I had to get it for him. +He will never be satisfied unless we hang it on too." + +"Oh, yes," said some one else who was helping to decorate the tree; "we +will hang it here on the very top." + +So the little star hung on the highest branch of the Christmas-tree. + +That evening all the candles were lighted on the Christmas-tree, and +there were so many that they fairly dazzled the eyes; and the gold and +silver balls, the fairies and the glass fruits, shone and twinkled in +the light; and high above them all shone the golden star. + +At seven o'clock a bell was rung, and then the folding doors of the room +where the Christmas-tree stood were thrown open, and a crowd of children +came trooping in. + +They laughed and shouted and pointed, and all talked together, and after +a while there was music, and presents were taken from the tree and given +to the children. + +How different it all was from the great wide, still sky house! + +But the star had never been so happy in all its life; for the little boy +was there. + +He stood apart from the other children, looking up at the star, with his +hands clasped behind him, and he did not seem to care for the toys and +the games. + +At last it was all over. The lights were put out, the children went +home, and the house grew still. + +Then the ornaments on the tree began to talk among themselves. + +"So that is all over," said a silver ball. "It was very gay this +evening--the gayest Christmas I remember." + +"Yes," said a glass bunch of grapes; "the best of it is over. Of course +people will come to look at us for several days yet, but it won't be +like this evening." + +"And then I suppose we'll be laid away for another year," said a paper +fairy. "Really it seems hardly worth while. Such a few days out of the +year and then to be shut up in the dark box again. I almost wish I were +a paper doll." + +The bunch of grapes was wrong in saying that people would come to look +at the Christmas-tree the next few days, for it stood neglected in the +library and nobody came near it. Everybody in the house went about very +quietly, with anxious faces; for the little boy was ill. + +At last, one evening, a woman came into the room with a servant. The +woman wore the cap and apron of a nurse. + +"That is it," she said, pointing to the golden star. The servant climbed +up on some steps and took down the star and put it in the nurse's hand, +and she carried it out into the hall and upstairs to a room where the +little boy lay. + +The sweet-faced lady was sitting by the bed, and as the nurse came in +she held out her hand for the star. + +"Is this what you wanted, my darling?" she asked, bending over the +little boy. + +The child nodded and held out his hands for the star; and as he clasped +it a wonderful, shining smile came over his face. + +The next morning the little boy's room was very still and dark. + +The golden piece of paper that had been the star lay on a table beside +the bed, its five points very sharp and bright. + +But it was not the real star, any more than a person's body is the real +person. + +The real star was living and shining now in the little boy's heart, and +it had gone out with him into a new and more beautiful sky country than +it had ever known before--the sky country where the little child angels +live, each one carrying in its heart its own particular star. + + + + +XVIII. THE QUEEREST CHRISTMAS* + +* This story was first published in the Youth's Companion, vol. 83. + +GRACE MARGARET GALLAHER + +Betty stood at her door, gazing drearily down the long, empty corridor +in which the breakfast gong echoed mournfully. All the usual brisk +scenes of that hour, groups of girls in Peter Thomson suits or starched +shirt-waists, or a pair of energetic ones, red-cheeked and shining-eyed +from a run in the snow, had vanished as by the hand of some evil +magician. Silent and lonely was the corridor. + +"And it's the day before Christmas!" groaned Betty. Two chill little +tears hung on her eyelashes. + +The night before, in the excitement of getting the girls off with all +their trunks and packages intact, she had not realized the homesickness +of the deserted school. Now it seemed to pierce her very bones. + +"Oh, dear, why did father have to lose his money? 'Twas easy enough last +September to decide I wouldn't take the expensive journey home these +holidays, and for all of us to promise we wouldn't give each other as +much as a Christmas card. But now!" The two chill tears slipped over the +edge of her eyelashes. "Well, I know how I'll spend this whole day; I'll +come right up here after breakfast and cry and cry and cry!" Somewhat +fortified by this cheering resolve, Betty went to breakfast. + +Whatever the material joys of that meal might be, it certainly was not +"a feast of reason and a flow of soul." Betty, whose sense of humour +never perished, even in such a frost, looked round the table at the +eight grim-faced girls doomed to a Christmas in school, and quoted +mischievously to herself: "On with the dance, let joy be unconfined." + +Breakfast bolted, she lagged back to her room, stopping to stare out of +the corridor windows. + +She saw nothing of the snowy landscape, however. Instead, a picture, +the gayest medley of many colours and figures, danced before her +eyes: Christmas-trees thumping in through the door, mysterious bundles +scurried into dark corners, little brothers and sisters flying about +with festoons of mistletoe, scarlet ribbon and holly, everywhere sound +and laughter and excitement. The motto of Betty's family was: "Never do +to-day what you can put off till to-morrow"; therefore the preparations +of a fortnight were always crowded into a day. + +The year before, Betty had rushed till her nerves were taut and her +temper snapped, had shaken the twins, raged at the housemaid, and had +gone to bed at midnight weeping with weariness. But in memory only the +joy of the day remained. + +"I think I could endure this jail of a school, and not getting one +single present, but it breaks my heart not to give one least little +thing to any one! Why, who ever heard of such a Christmas!" + +"Won't you hunt for that blue--" + +"Broken my thread again!" + +"Give me those scissors!" + +Betty jumped out of her day-dream. She had wandered into "Cork" and the +three O'Neills surrounded her, staring. + +"I beg your pardon--I heard you--and it was so like home the day before +Christmas--" + +"Did you hear the heathen rage?" cried Katherine. + +"Dolls for Aunt Anne's mission," explained Constance. + +"You're so forehanded that all your presents went a week ago, I +suppose," Eleanor swept clear a chair. "The clan O'Neill is never +forehanded." + +"You'd think I was from the number of thumbs I've grown this morning. +Oh, misery!" Eleanor jerked a snarl of thread out on the floor. + +Betty had never cared for "Cork" but now the hot worried faces of its +girls appealed to her. "Let me help. I'm a regular silkworm." + +The O'Neills assented with eagerness, and Betty began to sew in a +capable, swift way that made the others stare and sigh with relief. + +The dolls were many, the O'Neills slow. Betty worked till her feet +twitched on the floor; yet she enjoyed the morning, for it held an +entirely new sensation, that of helping some one else get ready for +Christmas. + +"Done!" + +"We never should have finished if you hadn't helped! Thank you, Betty +Luther, very, VERY much! You're a duck! Let's run to luncheon together, +quick." + +Somehow the big corridors did not seem half so bleak echoing to those +warm O'Neill voices. + +"This morning's just spun by, but, oh, this long, dreary afternoon!" +sighed Betty, as she wandered into the library. "Oh, me, there goes +Alice Johns with her arms loaded with presents to mail, and I can't give +a single soul anything!" + +"Do you know where 'Quotations for Occasions' has gone?" Betty turned to +face pretty Rosamond Howitt, the only senior left behind. + +"Gone to be rebound. I heard Miss Dyce say so." + +"Oh, dear, I needed it so." + +"Could I help? I know a lot of rhymes and tags of proverbs and things +like that." + +"Oh, if you would help me, I'd be so grateful! Won't you come to my +room? You see, I promised a friend in town, who is to have a Christmas +dinner, and who's been very kind to me, that I'd paint the place cards +and write some quotation appropriate to each guest. I'm shamefully late +over it, my own gifts took such a time; but the painting, at least, is +done." + +Rosamond led the way to her room, and there displayed the cards which +she had painted. + +"You can't think of my helplessness! If it were a Greek verb now, or a +lost and strayed angle--but poetry!" + +Betty trotted back and forth between the room and the library, delved +into books, and even evolved a verse which she audaciously tagged "old +play," in imitation of Sir Walter Scott. + +"I think they are really and truly very bright, and I know Mrs. Fernell +will be delighted." Rosamond wrapped up the cards carefully. "I can't +begin to tell you how you've helped me. It was sweet in you to give me +your whole afternoon." + +The dinner-bell rang at that moment, and the two went down together. + +"Come for a little run; I haven't been out all day," whispered Rosamond, +slipping her hand into Betty's as they left the table. + +A great round moon swung cold and bright over the pines by the lodge. + +"Down the road a bit--just a little way--to the church," suggested +Betty. + +They stepped out into the silent country road. + +"Why, the little mission is as gay as--as Christmas! I wonder why?" + +Betty glanced at the bright windows of the small plain church. "Oh, some +Christmas-eve doings," she answered. + +Some one stepped quickly out from the church door. + +"Oh, Miss Vernon, I am relieved! I had begun to fear you could not +come." + +The girls saw it was the tall old rector, his white hair shining silver +bright in the moonbeams. + +"We're just two girls from the school, sir," said Rosamond. + +"Dear, dear!" His voice was both impatient and distressed. "I hoped you +were my organist. We are all ready for our Christmas-eve service, but we +can do nothing without the music." + +"I can play the organ a little," said Betty. "I'd be glad to help." + +"You can? My dear child, how fortunate! But--do you know the service?" + +"Yes, sir, it's my church." + +No vested choir stood ready to march triumphantly chanting into the +choir stalls. Only a few boys and girls waited in the dim old choir +loft, where Rosamond seated herself quietly. + +Betty's fingers trembled so at first that the music sounded dull and far +away; but her courage crept back to her in the silence of the church, +and the organ seemed to help her with a brave power of its own. In the +dark church only the altar and a great gold star above it shone bright. +Through an open window somewhere behind her she could hear the winter +wind rattling the ivy leaves and bending the trees. Yet, somehow, she +did not feel lonesome and forsaken this Christmas eve, far away from +home, but safe and comforted and sheltered. The voice of the old rector +reached her faintly in pauses; habit led her along the service, and the +star at the altar held her eyes. + +Strange new ideas and emotions flowed in upon her brain. Tears stole +softly into her eyes, yet she felt in her heart a sweet glow. Slowly the +Christmas picture that had flamed and danced before her all day, painted +in the glory of holly and mistletoe and tinsel, faded out, and another +shaped itself, solemn and beautiful in the altar light. + +"My dear child, I thank you very much!" The old rector held Betty's hand +in both his. "I cannot have a Christmas morning service--our people +have too much to do to come then--but I was especially anxious that our +evening service should have some message, some inspiration for them, +and your music has made it so. You have given me great aid. May your +Christmas be a blessed one." + +"I was glad to play, sir. Thank you!" answered Betty, simply. + +"Let's run!" she cried to Rosamond, and they raced back to school. + +She fell asleep that night without one smallest tear. + +The next morning Betty dressed hastily, and catching up her mandolin, +set out into the corridor. + +Something swung against her hand as she opened the door. It was a great +bunch of holly, glossy green leaves and glowing berries, and hidden in +the leaves a card: "Betty, Merry Christmas," was all, but only one girl +wrote that dainty hand. + +"A winter rose," whispered Betty, happily, and stuck the bunch into the +ribbon of her mandolin. + +Down the corridor she ran until she faced a closed door. Then, twanging +her mandolin, she burst out with all her power into a gay Christmas +carol. High and sweet sang her voice in the silent corridor all through +the gay carol. Then, sweeter still, it changed into a Christmas hymn. +Then from behind the closed doors sounded voices: + +"Merry Christmas, Betty Luther!" + +Then Constance O'Neill's deep, smooth alto flowed into Betty's soprano; +and at the last all nine girls joined in "Adeste Fideles." Christmas +morning began with music and laughter. + +"This is your place, Betty. You are lord of Christmas morning." + +Betty stood, blushing, red as the holly in her hand, before the +breakfast table. Miss Hyle, the teacher at the head of the table, had +given up her place. + +The breakfast was a merry one. After it somebody suggested that they all +go skating on the pond. + +Betty hesitated and glanced at Miss Hyle and Miss Thrasher, the two +sad-looking teachers. + +She approached them and said, "Won't you come skating, too?" + +Miss Thrasher, hardly older than Betty herself, and pretty in a white +frightened way, refused, but almost cheerfully. "I have a Christmas box +to open and Christmas letters to write. Thank you very much." + +Betty's heart sank as she saw Miss Hyle's face. "Goodness, she's +coming!" + +Miss Hyle was the most unpopular teacher in school. Neither ill-tempered +nor harsh, she was so cold, remote and rigid in face, voice, and manner +that the warmest blooded shivered away from her, the least sensitive +shrank. + +"I have no skates, but I should like to borrow a pair to learn, if I +may. I have never tried," she said. + +The tragedies of a beginner on skates are to the observers, especially +if such be school-girls, subjects for unalloyed mirth. The nine girls +choked and turned their backs and even giggled aloud as Miss Hyle went +prone, now backward with a whack, now forward in a limp crumple. + +But amusement became admiration. Miss Hyle stumbled, fell, laughed +merrily, scrambled up, struck out, and skated. Presently she was +swinging up the pond in stroke with Betty and Eleanor O'Neill. + +"Miss Hyle, you're great!" cried Betty, at the end of the morning. "I've +taught dozens and scores to skate, but never anybody like you. You've a +genius for skating." + +Miss Hyle's blue eyes shot a sudden flash at Betty that made her whole +severe face light up. "I've never had a chance to learn--at home there +never is any ice--but I have always been athletic." + +"Where is your home, Miss Hyle?" asked Betty. + +"Cawnpore, India." + +"India?" gasped Eleanor. "How delightful! Oh, won't you tell us about +it, Miss Hyle?" + +So it was that Miss Hyle found herself talking about something besides +triangles to girls who really wanted to hear, and so it was that the +flash came often into her eyes. + +"I have had a happy morning, thank you, Betty--and all." She said it +very simply, yet a quick throb of pity and liking beat in Betty's heart. + +"How stupid we are about judging people!" she thought. Yet Betty had +always prided herself on her character-reading. + +"Hurrah, the mail and express are in!" The girls ran excitedly to their +rooms. + +Betty alone went to hers without interest. "Why, Hilma, what's +happened?" + +The little round-faced Swedish maid mopped the big tears with her +duster, and choked out: + +"Nothings, ma'am!" + +"Of course there is! You're crying like everything." + +Hilma wept aloud. "Christmas Day it is, and mine family and mine friends +have party, now, all day." + +"Where?" + +Hilma jerked her head toward the window. + +"Oh, you mean in town? Why can't you go?" + +"I work. And never before am I from home Christmas day." + +Betty shivered. "Never before am _I_ from home Christmas day," she +whispered. + +She went close to the girl, very tall and slim and bright beside the +dumpy, flaxen Hilma. + +"What work do you do?" + +"The cook, he cooks the dinner and the supper; I put it on and wait it +on the young ladies and wash the dishes. The others all are gone." + +Betty laughed suddenly. "Hilma, go put on your best clothes, quick, and +go down to your party. I'm going to do your work." + +Hilma's eyes rounded with amazement. "The cook, he be mad." + +"No, he won't. He won't care whether it's Hilma or Betty, if things get +done all right. I know how to wait on table and wash dishes. There's +no housekeeper here to object. Run along, Hilma; be back by nine +o'clock--and--Merry Christmas!" + +Hilma's face beamed through her tears. She was speechless with joy, but +she seized Betty's slim brown hand and kissed it loudly. + +"What larks!" "Is it a joke?" "Betty, you're the handsomest butler!" + +Betty, in a white shirt-waist suit, a jolly red bow pinned on her white +apron, and a little cap cocked on her dark hair, waved them to their +seats at the holly-decked table. + +"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" + +"Nobody is ill, Betty?" Rosamond asked, anxiously. + +"If I had three guesses, I should use every one that our maid wanted to +go into town for the day, and Betty took her place." It was Miss Hyle's +calm voice. + +Betty blushed. It was her turn now to flash back a glance; and those two +sparks kindled the fire of friendship. + +It was a jolly Christmas dinner, with the "butler" eating with the +family. + +"And now the dishes!" thought Betty. It must be admitted the "washing +up" after a Christmas dinner of twelve is not a subject for much joy. + +"I propose we all help Betty wash the dishes!" cried Rosamond Howitt. + +Out in the kitchen every one laughed and talked and got in the way, and +had a good time; and if the milk pitcher was knocked on the floor +and the pudding bowl emptied in Betty's lap--why, it was all "Merry +Christmas." + +After that they all skated again. When they came in, little Miss +Thrasher, looking almost gay in a rose-red gown, met them in the +corridor. + +"I thought it would be fun," she said, shyly, "to have supper in my +room. I have a big box from home. I couldn't possible eat all the things +myself, and if you'll bring chafing-dishes and spoons, and those things, +I'll cook it, and we can sit round my open fire." + +Miss Thrasher's room was homelike, with its fire of white-birch and its +easy chairs, and Miss Thrasher herself proved to be a pleasant hostess. + +After supper Miss Hyle told a tale of India, Miss Thrasher gave a Rocky +Mountain adventure, and the girls contributed ghost and burglar stories +till each guest was in a thrill of delightful horror. + +"We've had really a fine day!" + +"I expected to die of homesickness, but it's been jolly!" + +"So did I, but I have actually been happy." + +Thus the girls commented as they started for bed. + +"I have enjoyed my day," said little Miss Thrasher, "very much." + +"Yes, indeed, it's been a merry Christmas." Miss Hyle spoke almost +eagerly. + +Betty gave a little jump; she realized each one of them was holding her +hand and pressing it a little. "Thank you, it's been a lovely evening. +Goodnight." + +Rosamond had invited Betty to share her roommate's bed, but both girls +were too tired and sleepy for any confidence. + +"It's been the queerest Christmas!" thought Betty, as she drifted toward +sleep. "Why, I haven't given one single soul one single present!" + +Yet she smiled, drowsily happy, and then the room seemed to fill with +a bright, warm light, and round the bed there danced a great Christmas +wreath, made up of the faces of the three O'Neills, and the thin old +rector, with his white hair, and pretty Rosamond, and frightened Miss +Thrasher and the homesick girls, and lonely Miss Hyle, and tear-dimmed +Hilma. + +And all the faces smiled and nodded, and called, "Merry Christmas, +Betty, Merry Christmas!" + + + + +XIX. OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS + +J.H. EWING + +"The custom of Christmas-trees came from Germany. I can remember when +they were first introduced into England, and what wonderful things we +thought them. Now, every village school has its tree, and the scholars +openly discuss whether the presents have been 'good,' or 'mean,' as +compared with other trees in former years. The first one that I ever saw +I believed to have come from Good Father Christmas himself; but little +boys have grown too wise now to be taken in for their own amusement. +They are not excited by secret and mysterious preparations in the back +drawing-room; they hardly confess to the thrill--which I feel to this +day--when the folding doors are thrown open, and amid the blaze of +tapers, mamma, like a Fate, advances with her scissors to give every one +what falls to his lot. + +"Well, young people, when I was eight years old I had not seen a +Christmas-tree, and the first picture of one I ever saw was the picture +of that held by Old Father Christmas in my godmother's picture-book." + +'"What are those things on the tree?' I asked. + +"'Candles,' said my father. + +"'No, father, not the candles; the other things?' + +"'Those are toys, my son.' + +"'Are they ever taken off?' + +"'Yes, they are taken off, and given to the children who stand around +the tree.' + +"Patty and I grasped each other by the hand, and with one voice +murmured; 'How kind of Old Father Christmas!' + +"By and by I asked, 'How old is Father Christmas?' + +"My father laughed, and said, 'One thousand eight hundred and thirty +years, child,' which was then the year of our Lord, and thus one +thousand eight hundred and thirty years since the first great Christmas +Day. + +"'He LOOKS very old,' whispered Patty. + +"And I, who was, for my age, what Kitty called 'Bible-learned,' said +thoughtfully, and with some puzzledness of mind, 'Then he's older than +Methuselah.' + +"But my father had left the room, and did not hear my difficulty. + +"November and December went by, and still the picture-book kept all +its charm for Patty and me; and we pondered on and loved Old Father +Christmas as children can love and realize a fancy friend. To those who +remember the fancies of their childhood I need say no more. + +"Christmas week came, Christmas Eve came. My father and mother were +mysteriously and unaccountably busy in the parlour (we had only one +parlour), and Patty and I were not allowed to go in. We went into the +kitchen, but even here was no place of rest for us. Kitty was 'all over +the place,' as she phrased it, and cakes, mince pies, and puddings were +with her. As she justly observed, 'There was no place there for children +and books to sit with their toes in the fire, when a body wanted to be +at the oven all along. The cat was enough for HER temper,' she added. + +"As to puss, who obstinately refused to take a hint which drove her out +into the Christmas frost, she returned again and again with soft steps, +and a stupidity that was, I think, affected, to the warm hearth, only to +fly at intervals, like a football, before Kitty's hasty slipper. + +"We had more sense, or less courage. We bowed to Kitty's behests, and +went to the back door. + +"Patty and I were hardy children, and accustomed to 'run out' in all +weathers, without much extra wrapping up. We put Kitty's shawl over our +two heads, and went outside. I rather hoped to see something of Dick, +for it was holiday time; but no Dick passed. He was busy helping his +father to bore holes in the carved seats of the church, which were +to hold sprigs of holly for the morrow--that was the idea of church +decoration in my young days. You have improved on your elders there, +young people, and I am candid enough to allow it. Still, the sprigs of +red and green were better than nothing, and, like your lovely wreaths +and pious devices, they made one feel as if the old black wood were +bursting into life and leaf again for very Christmas joy; and, if only +one knelt carefully, they did not scratch his nose. + +"Well, Dick was busy, and not to be seen. We ran across the little yard +and looked over the wall at the end to see if we could see anything +or anybody. From this point there was a pleasant meadow field sloping +prettily away to a little hill about three quarters of a mile distant; +which, catching some fine breezes from the moors beyond, was held to +be a place of cure for whooping-cough, or kincough, as it was vulgarly +called. Up to the top of this Kitty had dragged me, and carried Patty, +when we were recovering from the complaint, as I well remember. It was +the only 'change of air' we could afford, and I dare say it did as well +as if we had gone into badly drained lodgings at the seaside. + +"This hill was now covered with snow and stood off against the gray sky. +The white fields looked vast and dreary in the dusk. The only gay +things to be seen were the berries on the holly hedge, in the little +lane--which, running by the end of our back-yard, led up to the +Hall--and the fat robin, that was staring at me. I was looking at the +robin, when Patty, who had been peering out of her corner of Kitty's +shawl, gave a great jump that dragged the shawl from our heads, and +cried: + +"'Look!' + +"I looked. An old man was coming along the lane. His hair and beard were +as white as cotton-wool. He had a face like the sort of apple that keeps +well in winter; his coat was old and brown. There was snow about him in +patches, and he carried a small fir-tree. + +"The same conviction seized upon us both. With one breath, we exclaimed, +'IT'S OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS!' + +"I know now that it was only an old man of the place, with whom we did +not happen to be acquainted and that he was taking a little fir-tree +up to the Hall, to be made into a Christmas-tree. He was a very +good-humoured old fellow, and rather deaf, for which he made up by +smiling and nodding his head a good deal, and saying, 'aye, aye, to be +sure!' at likely intervals. + +"As he passed us and met our earnest gaze, he smiled and nodded +so earnestly that I was bold enough to cry, 'Good-evening, Father +Christmas!' + +"'Same to you!' said he, in a high-pitched voice. + +"'Then you ARE Father Christmas?' said Patty. + +"'And a happy New Year,' was Father Christmas's reply, which rather put +me out. But he smiled in such a satisfactory manner that Patty went on, +'You're very old, aren't you?' + +"'So I be, miss, so I be,' said Father Christmas, nodding. + +"'Father says you're eighteen hundred and thirty years old,' I muttered. + +"'Aye, aye, to be sure,' said Father Christmas. 'I'm a long age.' + +"A VERY long age, thought I, and I added, 'You're nearly twice as old as +Methuselah, you know,' thinking that this might have struck him. + +"'Aye, aye,' said Father Christmas; but he did not seem to think +anything of it. After a pause he held up the tree, and cried, 'D'ye know +what this is, little miss?' + +"'A Christmas-tree,' said Patty. + +"And the old man smiled and nodded. + +"I leant over the wall, and shouted, 'But there are no candles.' + +"'By and by,' said Father Christmas, nodding as before. 'When it's dark +they'll all be lighted up. That'll be a fine sight!' + +"'Toys, too,there'll be, won't there?' said Patty. + +"Father Christmas nodded his head. 'And sweeties,' he added, +expressively. + +"I could feel Patty trembling, and my own heart beat fast. The thought +which agitated us both was this: 'Was Father Christmas bringing the tree +to us?' But very anxiety, and some modesty also, kept us from asking +outright. + +"Only when the old man shouldered his tree, and prepared to move on, I +cried in despair, 'Oh, are you going?' + +"'I'm coming back by and by,' said he. + +"'How soon?' cried Patty. + +"'About four o'clock,' said the old man smiling. 'I'm only going up +yonder.' + +"'Up yonder!' This puzzled us. Father Christmas had pointed, but so +indefinitely that he might have been pointing to the sky, or the fields, +or the little wood at the end of the Squire's grounds. I thought +the latter, and suggested to Patty that perhaps he had some place +underground like Aladdin's cave, where he got the candles, and all the +pretty things for the tree. This idea pleased us both, and we amused +ourselves by wondering what Old Father Christmas would choose for +us from his stores in that wonderful hole where he dressed his +Christmas-trees. + +"'I wonder, Patty,' said I, 'why there's no picture of Father +Christmas's dog in the book.' For at the old man's heels in the lane +there crept a little brown and white spaniel looking very dirty in the +snow. + +"'Perhaps it's a new dog that he's got to take care of his cave,' said +Patty. + +"When we went indoors we examined the picture afresh by the dim light +from the passage window, but there was no dog there. + +"My father passed us at this moment, and patted my head. 'Father,' said +I, 'I don't know, but I do think Old Father Christmas is going to bring +us a Christmas-tree to-night.' + +"'Who's been telling you that?' said my father. + +"But he passed on before I could explain that we had seen Father +Christmas himself, and had had his word for it that he would return at +four o'clock, and that the candles on his tree would be lighted as soon +as it was dark. + +"We hovered on the outskirts of the rooms till four o'clock came. We sat +on the stairs and watched the big clock, which I was just learning +to read; and Patty made herself giddy with constantly looking up and +counting the four strokes, toward which the hour hand slowly moved. We +put our noses into the kitchen now and then, to smell the cakes and get +warm, and anon we hung about the parlour door, and were most unjustly +accused of trying to peep. What did we care what our mother was doing +in the parlour?--we, who had seen Old Father Christmas himself, and were +expecting him back again every moment! + +"At last the church clock struck. The sounds boomed heavily through +the frost, and Patty thought there were four of them. Then, after due +choking and whirring, our own clock struck, and we counted the strokes +quite clearly--one! two! three! four! Then we got Kitty's shawl once +more, and stole out into the backyard. We ran to our old place, and +peeped, but could see nothing. + +"'We'd better get up on to the wall,' I said; and with some difficulty +and distress from rubbing her bare knees against the cold stone, and +getting the snow up her sleeves, Patty got on to the coping of the +little wall. I was just struggling after her, when something warm and +something cold coming suddenly against the bare calves of my legs made +me shriek with fright. I came down 'with a run' and bruised my knees, +my elbows, and my chin; and the snow that hadn't gone up Patty's sleeves +went down my neck. Then I found that the cold thing was a dog's nose +and the warm thing was his tongue; and Patty cried from her post of +observation, 'It's Father Christmas's dog and he's licking your legs.' + +"It really was the dirty little brown and white spaniel, and he +persisted in licking me, and jumping on me, and making curious little +noises, that must have meant something if one had known his language. +I was rather harassed at the moment. My legs were sore, I was a little +afraid of the dog, and Patty was very much afraid of sitting on the wall +without me. + +"'You won't fall,' I said to her. 'Get down, will you?' I said to the +dog. + +"'Humpty Dumpty fell off a wall,' said Patty. + +"'Bow! wow!' said the dog. + +"I pulled Patty down, and the dog tried to pull me down; but when +my little sister was on her feet, to my relief, he transferred his +attentions to her. When he had jumped at her, and licked her several +times, he turned around and ran away. + +"'He's gone,' said I; 'I'm so glad.' + +"But even as I spoke he was back again, crouching at Patty's feet, and +glaring at her with eyes the colour of his ears. + +"Now, Patty was very fond of animals, and when the dog looked at her +she looked at the dog, and then she said to me, 'He wants us to go with +him.' + +"On which (as if he understood our language, though we were ignorant +of his) the spaniel sprang away, and went off as hard as he could; and +Patty and I went after him, a dim hope crossing my mind--'Perhaps Father +Christmas has sent him for us.' + +"The idea was rather favoured by the fact he led us up the lane. Only +a little way; then he stopped by something lying in the ditch--and once +more we cried in the same breath, 'It's Old Father Christmas!' + +"Returning from the Hall, the old man had slipped upon a bit of ice, and +lay stunned in the snow. + +"Patty began to cry. 'I think he's dead!' she sobbed. + +"'He is so very old, I don't wonder,' I murmured; 'but perhaps he's not. +I'll fetch father.' + +"My father and Kitty were soon on the spot. Kitty was as strong as a +man; and they carried Father Christmas between them into the kitchen. +There he quickly revived. + +"I must do Kitty the justice to say that she did not utter a word of +complaint at the disturbance of her labours; and that she drew the old +man's chair close up to the oven with her own hand. She was so much +affected by the behaviour of his dog that she admitted him even to the +hearth; on which puss, being acute enough to see how matters stood, lay +down with her back so close to the spaniel's that Kitty could not expel +one without kicking both. + +"For our parts, we felt sadly anxious about the tree; otherwise we +could have wished for no better treat than to sit at Kitty's round table +taking tea with Father Christmas. Our usual fare of thick bread and +treacle was to-night exchanged for a delicious variety of cakes, which +were none the worse to us for being 'tasters and wasters'--that is, +little bits of dough, or shortbread, put in to try the state of the +oven, and certain cakes that had got broken or burnt in the baking. + +"Well, there we sat, helping Old Father Christmas to tea and cake, and +wondering in our hearts what could have become of the tree. + +"Patty and I felt a delicacy in asking Old Father Christmas about the +tree. It was not until we had had tea three times round, with tasters +and wasters to match, that Patty said very gently: 'It's quite dark +now.' And then she heaved a deep sigh. + +"Burning anxiety overcame me. I leaned toward Father Christmas, and +shouted--I had found out that it was needful to shout--"'I suppose the +candles are on the tree now?' + +"'Just about putting of 'em on,' said Father Christmas. + +"'And the presents, too?' said Patty. + +"'Aye, aye, TO be sure,' said Father Christmas, and he smiled +delightfully. + +"I was thinking what further questions I might venture upon, when he +pushed his cup toward Patty saying, 'Since you are so pressing, miss, +I'll take another dish.' + +"And Kitty, swooping on us from the oven, cried, 'Make yourself at home, +sir; there's more where these came from. Make a long arm, Miss Patty, +and hand them cakes.' + +"So we had to devote ourselves to the duties of the table; and Patty, +holding the lid with one hand and pouring with the other, supplied +Father Christmas's wants with a heavy heart. + +"At last he was satisfied. I said grace, during which he stood, and, +indeed, he stood for some time afterward with his eyes shut--I fancy +under the impression that I was still speaking. He had just said a +fervent 'amen,' and reseated himself, when my father put his head into +the kitchen, and made this remarkable statement: + +"'Old Father Christmas has sent a tree to the young people.' + +"Patty and I uttered a cry of delight, and we forthwith danced round +the old man, saying, 'How nice; Oh, how kind of you!' which I think must +have bewildered him, but he only smiled and nodded. + +"'Come along,' said my father. 'Come, children. Come, Reuben. Come, +Kitty.' + +"And he went into the parlour, and we all followed him. + +"My godmother's picture of a Christmas-tree was very pretty; and the +flames of the candles were so naturally done in red and yellow that I +always wondered that they did not shine at night. But the picture was +nothing to the reality. We had been sitting almost in the dark, for, as +Kitty said, 'Firelight was quite enough to burn at meal-times.' And when +the parlour door was thrown open, and the tree, with lighted tapers on +all the branches, burst upon our view, the blaze was dazzling, and threw +such a glory round the little gifts, and the bags of coloured muslin, +with acid drops and pink rose drops and comfits inside, as I shall never +forget. We all got something; and Patty and I, at any rate, believed +that the things came from the stores of Old Father Christmas. We were +not undeceived even by his gratefully accepting a bundle of old clothes +which had been hastily put together to form his present. + +"We were all very happy; even Kitty, I think, though she kept her +sleeves rolled up, and seemed rather to grudge enjoying herself (a weak +point in some energetic characters). She went back to her oven before +the lights were out and the angel on the top of the tree taken down. She +locked up her present (a little work-box) at once. She often showed it +off afterward, but it was kept in the same bit of tissue paper till she +died. Our presents certainly did not last so long! + +"The old man died about a week afterward, so we never made his +acquaintance as a common personage. When he was buried, his little dog +came to us. I suppose he remembered the hospitality he had received. +Patty adopted him, and he was very faithful. Puss always looked on him +with favour. I hoped during our rambles together in the following summer +that he would lead us at last to the cave where Christmas-trees are +dressed. But he never did. + +"Our parents often spoke of his late master as 'old Reuben,' but +children are not easily disabused of a favourite fancy, and in Patty's +thoughts and in mine the old man was long gratefully remembered as Old +Father Christmas." + + + + +XX. A CHRISTMAS CAROL + +CHARLES DICKENS + +Master Peter, and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the +goose, with which they soon returned in high procession. + +Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of +all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of +course--and in truth it was something very like it in that house. Mrs. +Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing +hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; Miss +Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob +took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young +Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and +mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest +they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At +last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by +a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the +carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, +and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of +delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the +two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and +feebly cried Hurrah! + +There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was +such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, +were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by the apple-sauce +and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; +indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small +atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet +every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular, were +steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, the plates being +changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone--too nervous +to bear witnesses--to take the pudding up and bring it in. + +Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turning +out. Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back-yard and +stolen it, while they were merry with the goose--a supposition at +which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of horrors were +supposed. + +Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell +like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and +a pastrycook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door +to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit +entered--flushed, but smiling proudly--with the pudding, like a speckled +cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of +ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top. + +Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he +regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since +their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind, +she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of flour. +Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it +was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been, +flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a +thing. + +At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth +swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and +considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a +shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew +round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a +one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glasses. +Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle. + +These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden +goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, +while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob +proposed: + +"A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!" + +Which all the family re-echoed. + +"God bless us every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all. + + + + +XXI. HOW CHRISTMAS CAME TO THE SANTA MARIA FLATS* + +* From "Ickery Ann and Other Girls and Boys," by Elia W. Peattie. +Copyright, 1898, by Herbert S. Stone & Co., Duffield & Co., successors. + +ELIA W. PEATTIE + +There were twenty-six flat children, and none of them had ever been flat +children until that year. Previously they had all been home children. +and as such had, of course, had beautiful Christmases, in which their +relations with Santa Claus had been of the most intimate and personal +nature. + +Now, owing to their residence in the Santa Maria flats, and the Lease, +all was changed. The Lease was a strange forbiddance, a ukase issued by +a tyrant, which took from children their natural liberties and rights. + +Though, to be sure--as every one of the flat children knew--they were in +the greatest kind of luck to be allowed to live at all, and especially +were they fortunate past the lot of children to be permitted to live in +a flat. There were many flats in the great city, so polished and carved +and burnished and be-lackeyed that children were not allowed to enter +within the portals, save on visits of ceremony in charge of parents +or governesses. And in one flat, where Cecil de Koven le Baron was +born--just by accident and without intending any harm--he was evicted, +along with his parents, by the time he reached the age where he seemed +likely to be graduated from the go-cart. And yet that flat had not +nearly so imposing a name as the Santa Maria. + +The twenty-six children of the Santa Maria flats belonged to twenty +families. All of these twenty families were peculiar, as you might learn +any day by interviewing the families concerning one another. But they +bore with each other's peculiarities quite cheerfully and spoke in +the hall when they met. Sometimes this tolerance would even extend to +conversation about the janitor, a thin creature who did the work of five +men. The ladies complained that he never smiled. + +"I wouldn't so much mind the hot water pipes leaking now and then," the +ladies would remark in the vestibule, rustling their skirts to show +that they wore silk petticoats, "if only the janitor would smile. But he +looks like a cemetery." + +"I know it," would be the response. "I told Mr. Wilberforce last night +that if he would only get a cheerful janitor I wouldn't mind our having +rubber instead of Axminster on the stairs." + +"You know we were promised Axminster when we moved in," would be the +plaintive response. The ladies would stand together for a moment wrapped +in gloomy reflection, and then part. + +The kitchen and nurse maids felt on the subject, too. + +"If Carl Carlsen would only smile," they used to exclaim in sibilant +whispers, as they passed on the way to the laundry. "If he'd come in an' +joke while we wus washin'!" + +Only Kara Johnson never said anything on the subject because she knew +why Carlsen didn't smile, and was sorry for it, and would have made it +all right--if it hadn't been for Lars Larsen. + +Dear, dear, but this is a digression from the subject of the Lease. +That terrible document was held over the heads of the children as the +Herodian pronunciamento concerning small boys was over the heads of the +Israelites. + +It was in the Lease not to run--not to jump--not to yell. It was in the +Lease not to sing in the halls, not to call from story to story, not to +slide down the banisters. And there were blocks of banisters so smooth +and wide and beautiful that the attraction between them and the seats +of the little boy's trousers was like the attraction of a magnet for a +nail. Yet not a leg, crooked or straight, fat or thin, was ever to be +thrown over these polished surfaces! + +It was in the Lease, too, that no peddler or agent, or suspicious +stranger was to enter the Santa Maria, neither by the front door nor the +back. The janitor stood in his uniform at the rear, and the lackey in +his uniform at the front, to prevent any such intrusion upon the privacy +of the aristocratic Santa Marias. The lackey, who politely directed +people, and summoned elevators, and whistled up tubes and rang bells, +thus conducting the complex social life of those favoured apartments, +was not one to make a mistake, and admit any person not calculated to +ornament the front parlours of the flatters. + +It was this that worried the children. + +For how could such a dear, disorderly, democratic rascal as the +children's saint ever hope to gain a pass to that exclusive entrance and +get up to the rooms of the flat children? + +"You can see for yourself," said Ernest, who lived on the first floor, +to Roderick who lived on the fourth, "that if Santa Claus can't get up +the front stairs, and can't get up the back stairs, that all he can +do is to come down the chimney. And he can't come down the chimney--at +least, he can't get out of the fireplace." + +"Why not?" asked Roderick, who was busy with an "all-day sucker" and not +inclined to take a gloomy view of anything. + +"Goosey!" cried Ernest, in great disdain. "I'll show you!" and he +led Roderick, with his sucker, right into the best parlour, where the +fireplace was, and showed him an awful thing. + +Of course, to the ordinary observer, there was nothing awful about the +fireplace. Everything in the way of bric-a-brac possessed by the Santa +Maria flatters was artistic. It may have been in the Lease that only +people with esthetic tastes were to be admitted to the apartments. +However that may be, the fireplace, with its vases and pictures and +trinkets, was something quite wonderful. Indian incense burned in a +mysterious little dish, pictures of purple ladies were hung in odd +corners, calendars in letters nobody could read, served to decorate, +if not to educate, and glass vases of strange colours and extraordinary +shapes stood about filled with roses. None of these things were awful. +At least no one would have dared say they were. But what was awful was +the formation of the grate. It was not a hospitable place with andirons, +where noble logs of wood could be laid for the burning, nor did it have +a generous iron basket where honest anthracite could glow away into the +nights. Not a bit of it. It held a vertical plate of stuff that looked +like dirty cotton wool, on which a tiny blue flame leaped when the gas +was turned on and ignited. + +"You can see for yourself!" said Ernest tragically. + +Roderick could see for himself. There was an inch-wide opening down +which the Friend of the Children could squeeze himself, and, as +everybody knows, he needs a good deal of room now, for he has grown +portly with age, and his pack every year becomes bigger, owing to the +ever-increasing number of girls and boys he has to supply + +"Gimini!" said Roderick, and dropped his all-day sucker on the +old Bokara rug that Ernest's mamma had bought the week before at a +fashionable furnishing shop, and which had given the sore throat to all +the family, owing to some cunning little germs that had come over with +the rug to see what American throats were like. + +Oh, me, yes! but Roderick could see! Anybody could see! And a boy could +see better than anybody. + +"Let's go see the Telephone Boy," said Roderick. This seemed the wisest +thing to do. When in doubt, all the children went to the Telephone +Boy, who was the most fascinating person, with knowledge of the most +wonderful kind and of a nature to throw that of Mrs. Scheherazade quite, +quite in the shade--which, considering how long that loquacious lady had +been a Shade, is perhaps not surprising. + +The Telephone Boy knew the answers to all the conundrums in the world, +and a way out of nearly all troubles such as are likely to overtake boys +and girls. But now he had no suggestions to offer and could speak no +comfortable words. + +"He can't git inter de front, an' he can't git inter de back, an' he +can't come down no chimney in dis here house, an' I tell yer dose," he +said, and shut his mouth grimly, while cold apprehension crept around +Ernest's heart and took the sweetness out of Roderick's sucker. + +Nevertheless, hope springs eternal, and the boys each and individually +asked their fathers--tremendously wise and good men--if they thought +there was any hope that Santa Claus would get into the Santa Maria +flats, and each of the fathers looked up from his paper and said he'd be +blessed if he did! + +And the words sunk deep and deep and drew the tears when the doors were +closed and the soft black was all about and nobody could laugh because +a boy was found crying! The girls cried too--for the awful news was +whistled up tubes and whistled down tubes, till all the twenty-six flat +children knew about it. The next day it was talked over in the brick +court, where the children used to go to shout and race. But on this day +there was neither shouting nor racing. There was, instead, a shaking of +heads, a surreptitious dropping of tears, a guessing and protesting and +lamenting. All the flat mothers congratulated themselves on the fact +that their children were becoming so quiet and orderly, and wondered +what could have come over them when they noted that they neglected to +run after the patrol wagon as it whizzed round the block. + +It was decided, after a solemn talk, that every child should go to its +own fireplace and investigate. In the event of any fireplace being found +with an opening big enough to admit Santa Claus, a note could be left +directing him along the halls to the other apartments. A spirit of +universal brotherhood had taken possession of the Santa Maria flatters. +Misery bound them together. But the investigation proved to be +disheartening. The cruel asbestos grates were everywhere. Hope lay +strangled! + +As time went on, melancholy settled upon the flat children. The parents +noted it, and wondered if there could be sewer gas in the apartments. +One over-anxious mother called in a physician, who gave the poor little +child some medicine which made it quite ill. No one suspected the truth, +though the children were often heard to say that it was evident that +there was to be no Christmas for them! But then, what more natural for a +child to say, thus hoping to win protestations--so the mothers reasoned, +and let the remark pass. + +The day before Christmas was gray and dismal. There was no wind--indeed, +there was a sort of tightness in the air, as if the supply of freshness +had given out. People had headaches--even the Telephone Boy was +cross--and none of the spirit of the time appeared to enliven the flat +children. There appeared to be no stir--no mystery. No whisperings went +on in the corners--or at least, so it seemed to the sad babies of the +Santa Maria. + +"It's as plain as a monkey on a hand-organ," said the Telephone Boy to +the attendants at his salon in the basement, "that there ain't to be no +Christmas for we--no, not for we!" + +Had not Dorothy produced, at this junction, from the folds of her fluffy +silken skirts several substantial sticks of gum, there is no saying to +what depths of discouragement the flat children would have fallen! + +About six o'clock it seemed as if the children would smother for lack of +air! It was very peculiar. Even the janitor noticed it. He spoke about +it to Kara at the head of the back stairs, and she held her hand so as +to let him see the new silver ring on her fourth finger, and he let go +of the rope on the elevator on which he was standing and dropped to the +bottom of the shaft, so that Kara sent up a wild hallo of alarm. But the +janitor emerged as melancholy and unruffled as ever, only looking at his +watch to see if it had been stopped by the concussion. + +The Telephone Boy, who usually got a bit of something hot sent down to +him from one of the tables, owing to the fact that he never ate any meal +save breakfast at home, was quite forgotten on this day, and dined +off two russet apples, and drew up his belt to stop the ache--for the +Telephone Boy was growing very fast indeed, in spite of his poverty, and +couldn't seem to stop growing somehow, although he said to himself every +day that it was perfectly brutal of him to keep on that way when his +mother had so many mouths to feed. + +Well, well, the tightness of the air got worse. Every one was cross at +dinner and complained of feeling tired afterward, and of wanting to go +to bed. For all of that it was not to get to sleep, and the children +tossed and tumbled for a long time before they put their little hands in +the big, soft shadowy clasp of the Sandman, and trooped away after him +to the happy town of sleep. + +It seemed to the flat children that they had been asleep but a few +moments when there came a terrible burst of wind that shook even that +great house to its foundations. Actually, as they sat up in bed and +called to their parents or their nurses, their voices seemed smothered +with roar. Could it be that the wind was a great wild beast with a +hundred tongues which licked at the roof of the building? And how many +voices must it have to bellow as it did? + +Sounds of falling glass, of breaking shutters, of crashing chimneys +greeted their ears--not that they knew what all these sounds meant. They +only knew that it seemed as if the end of the world had come. Ernest, +miserable as he was, wondered if the Telephone Boy had gotten safely +home, or if he were alone in the draughty room in the basement; and +Roderick hugged his big brother, who slept with him and said, "Now I lay +me," three times running, as fast as ever his tongue would say it. + +After a terrible time the wind settled down into a steady howl like a +hungry wolf, and the children went to sleep, worn out with fright and +conscious that the bedclothes could not keep out the cold. + +Dawn came. The children awoke, shivering. They sat up in bed and +looked about them--yes, they did, the whole twenty-six of them in their +different apartments and their different homes. And what do you suppose +they saw--what do you suppose the twenty-six flat children saw as they +looked about them? + +Why, stockings, stuffed full, and trees hung full, and boxes packed +full! Yes, they did! It was Christmas morning, and the bells were +ringing, and all the little flat children were laughing, for Santa Claus +had come! He had really come! In the wind and wild weather, while the +tongues of the wind licked hungrily at the roof, while the wind howled +like a hungry wolf, he had crept in somehow and laughing, no doubt, and +chuckling, without question, he had filled the stockings and the trees +and the boxes! Dear me, dear me, but it was a happy time! It makes me +out of breath to think what a happy time it was, and how surprised +the flat children were, and how they wondered how it could ever have +happened. + +But they found out, of course! It happened in the simplest way! Every +skylight in the place was blown off and away, and that was how the wind +howled so, and how the bedclothes would not keep the children warm, and +how Santa Claus got in. The wind corkscrewed down into these holes, and +the reckless children with their drums and dolls, their guns and toy +dishes, danced around in the maelstrom and sang: + + "Here's where Santa Claus came! + This is how he got in-- + We should count it a sin + Yes, count it a shame, + If it hurt when he fell on the floor." + +Roderick's sister, who was clever for a child of her age, and who had +read Monte Cristo ten times, though she was only eleven, wrote this +poem, which every one thought very fine. + +And of course all the parents thought and said that Santa Claus must +have jumped down the skylights. By noon there were other skylights put +in, and not a sign left of the way he made his entrance--not that the +way mattered a bit, no, not a bit. + +Perhaps you think the Telephone Boy didn't get anything! Maybe you +imagine that Santa Claus didn't get down that far. But you are mistaken. +The shaft below one of the skylights went away to the bottom of the +building, and it stands to reason that the old fellow must have fallen +way through. At any rate there was a copy of "Tom Sawyer," and a whole +plum pudding, and a number of other things, more useful but not so +interesting, found down in the chilly basement room. There were, indeed. + +In closing it is only proper to mention that Kara Johnson crocheted a +white silk four-in-hand necktie for Carl Carlsen, the janitor--and the +janitor smiled! + + + + +XXII. THE LEGEND OF BABOUSCKA* + +*From "The Children's Hour," published by the Milton Bradley Co. + +ADAPTED FROM THE RUSSIAN + +It was the night the dear Christ-Child came to Bethlehem. In a country +far away from Him, an old, old woman named Babouscka sat in her snug +little house by her warm fire. The wind was drifting the snow outside +and howling down the chimney, but it only made Babouscka's fire burn +more brightly. + +"How glad I am that I may stay indoors," said Babouscka, holding her +hands out to the bright blaze. + +But suddenly she heard a loud rap at her door. She opened it and her +candle shone on three old men standing outside in the snow. Their beards +were as white as the snow, and so long that they reached the ground. +Their eyes shone kindly in the light of Babouscka's candle, and their +arms were full of precious things--boxes of jewels, and sweet-smelling +oils, and ointments. + +"We have travelled far, Babouscka," they said, "and we stop to tell you +of the Baby Prince born this night in Bethlehem. He comes to rule the +world and teach all men to be loving and true. We carry Him gifts. Come +with us, Babouscka." + +But Babouscka looked at the drifting snow, and then inside at her cozy +room and the crackling fire. "It is too late for me to go with you, good +sirs," she said, "the weather is too cold." She went inside again and +shut the door, and the old men journeyed on to Bethlehem without her. +But as Babouscka sat by her fire, rocking, she began to think about the +Little Christ-Child, for she loved all babies. + +"To-morrow I will go to find Him," she said; "to-morrow, when it is +light, and I will carry Him some toys." + +So when it was morning Babouscka put on her long cloak and took her +staff, and filled her basket with the pretty things a baby would +like--gold balls, and wooden toys, and strings of silver cobwebs--and +she set out to find the Christ-Child. + +But, oh, Babouscka had forgotten to ask the three old men the road to +Bethlehem, and they travelled so far through the night that she could +not overtake them. Up and down the road she hurried, through woods +and fields and towns, saying to whomsoever she met: "I go to find the +Christ-Child. Where does He lie? I bring some pretty toys for His sake." + +But no one could tell her the way to go, and they all said: "Farther on, +Babouscka, farther on." So she travelled on and on and on for years and +years--but she never found the little Christ-Child. + +They say that old Babouscka is travelling still, looking for Him. +When it comes Christmas Eve, and the children are lying fast asleep, +Babouscka comes softly through the snowy fields and towns, wrapped in +her long cloak and carrying her basket on her arm. With her staff she +raps gently at the doors and goes inside and holds her candle close to +the little children's faces. + +"Is He here?" she asks. "Is the little Christ-Child here?" And then +she turns sorrowfully away again, crying: "Farther on, farther on!" But +before she leaves she takes a toy from her basket and lays it beside the +pillow for a Christmas gift. "For His sake," she says softly, and +then hurries on through the years and forever in search of the little +Christ-Child. + + + + +XXIII. CHRISTMAS IN THE BARN* + +* From "In the Child's World," by Emilie Poulssen, Milton Bradley Co., +Publishers. Used by permission. + +F. ARNSTEIN + +Only two more days and Christmas would be here! It had been snowing +hard, and Johnny was standing at the window, looking at the soft, white +snow which covered the ground half a foot deep. Presently he heard the +noise of wheels coming up the road, and a wagon turned in at the gate +and came past the window. Johnny was very curious to know what the wagon +could be bringing. He pressed his little nose close to the cold window +pane, and to his great surprise, saw two large Christmas-trees. Johnny +wondered why there were TWO trees, and turned quickly to run and tell +mamma all about it; but then remembered that mamma was not at home. She +had gone to the city to buy some Christmas presents and would not return +until quite late. Johnny began to feel that his toes and fingers had +grown quite cold from standing at the window so long; so he drew his +own little chair up to the cheerful grate fire and sat there quietly +thinking. Pussy, who had been curled up like a little bundle of wool, +in the very warmest corner, jumped up, and, going to Johnny, rubbed her +head against his knee to attract his attention. He patted her gently and +began to talk to her about what was in his thoughts. + +He had been puzzling over the TWO trees which had come, and at last had +made up his mind about them. "I know now, Pussy," said he, "why there +are two trees. This morning when I kissed Papa good-bye at the gate +he said he was going to buy one for me, and mamma, who was busy in the +house, did not hear him say so; and I am sure she must have bought the +other. But what shall we do with two Christmas-trees?" + +Pussy jumped into his lap and purred and purred. A plan suddenly flashed +into Johnny's mind. "Would you like to have one, Pussy?" Pussy purred +more loudly, and it seemed almost as though she had said yes. + +"Oh! I will, I will! if mamma will let me. I'll have a Christmas-tree +out in the bam for you, Pussy, and for all the pets; and then you'll all +be as happy as I shall be with my tree in the parlour." + +By this time it had grown quite late. There was a ring at the door-bell; +and quick as a flash Johnny ran, with happy, smiling face, to meet papa +and mamma and gave them each a loving kiss. During the evening he told +them all that he had done that day and also about the two big trees +which the man had brought. It was just as Johnny had thought. Papa and +mamma had each bought one, and as it was so near Christmas they thought +they would not send either of them back. Johnny was very glad of this, +and told them of the happy plan he had made and asked if he might have +the extra tree. Papa and mamma smiled a little as Johnny explained +his plan but they said he might have the tree, and Johnny went to bed +feeling very happy. + +That night his papa fastened the tree into a block of wood so that it +would stand firmly and then set it in the middle of the barn floor. The +next day when Johnny had finished his lessons he went to the kitchen, +and asked Annie, the cook, if she would save the bones and potato +parings and all other leavings from the day's meals and give them to him +the following morning. He also begged her to give him several cupfuls +of salt and cornmeal, which she did, putting them in paper bags for him. +Then she gave him the dishes he asked for--a few chipped ones not good +enough to be used at table--and an old wooden bowl. Annie wanted to +know what Johnny intended to do with all these things, but he only +said: "Wait until to-morrow, then you shall see." He gathered up all +the things which the cook had given him and carried them to the barn, +placing them on a shelf in one corner, where he was sure no one would +touch them and where they would be all ready for him to use the next +morning. + +Christmas morning came, and, as soon as he could, Johnny hurried out to +the barn, where stood the Christmas-tree which he was going to trim for +all his pets. The first thing he did was to get a paper bag of oats; +this he tied to one of the branches of the tree, for Brownie the mare. +Then he made up several bundles of hay and tied these on the other side +of the tree, not quite so high up, where White Face, the cow, could +reach them; and on the lowest branches some more hay for Spotty, the +calf. + +Next Johnny hurried to the kitchen to get the things Annie had promised +to save for him. She had plenty to give. With his arms and hands full he +went back to the barn. He found three "lovely" bones with plenty of +meat on them; these he tied together to another branch of the tree, for +Rover, his big black dog. Under the tree he placed the big wooden +bowl, and filled it well with potato parings, rice, and meat, left +from yesterday's dinner; this was the "full and tempting trough" for +Piggywig. Near this he placed a bowl of milk for Pussy, on one plate the +salt for the pet lamb, and on another the cornmeal for the dear little +chickens. On the top of the tree he tied a basket of nuts; these were +for his pet squirrel; and I had almost forgotten to tell you of the +bunch of carrots tied very low down where soft white Bunny could reach +them. + +When all was done, Johnny stood off a little way to look at this +wonderful Christmas-tree. Clapping his hands with delight, he ran to +call papa and mamma and Annie, and they laughed aloud when they saw what +he had done. It was the funniest Christmas-tree they had ever seen. They +were sure the pets would like the presents Johnny had chosen. + +Then there was a busy time in the barn. Papa and mamma and Annie helped +about bringing in the animals, and before long, Brownie, White Face, +Spotty, Rover, Piggywig, Pussy, Lambkin, the chickens, the squirrel and +Bunny, the rabbit, had been led each to his own Christmas breakfast on +and under the tree. What a funny sight it was to see them all standing +around looking happy and contented, eating and drinking with such an +appetite! + +While watching them Johnny had another thought, and he ran quickly to +the house, and brought out the new trumpet which papa had given him for +Christmas. By this time the animals had all finished their breakfast +and Johnny gave a little toot on his trumpet as a signal that the tree +festival was over. Brownie went, neighing and prancing, to her stall, +White Face walked demurely off with a bellow, which Spotty, the calf, +running at her heels, tried to imitate; the little lamb skipped bleating +away; Piggywig walked off with a grunt; Pussy jumped on the fence with +a mew; the squirrel still sat up in the tree cracking her nuts; Bunny +hopped to her snug little quarters; while Rover, barking loudly, chased +the chickens back to their coop. Such a hubbub of noises! Mamma said it +sounded as if they were trying to say "Merry Christmas to you, Johnny! +Merry Christmas to all." + + + + +XXIV. THE PHILANTHROPIST'S CHRISTMAS* + +This story was first published in the Youth's Companion, vol. 82. + +JAMES WEBER LINN + +"Did you see this committee yesterday, Mr. Mathews?" asked the +philanthropist. + +His secretary looked up. + +"Yes, sir." + +"You recommend them then?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"For fifty thousand?" + +"For fifty thousand--yes, sir." + +"Their corresponding subscriptions are guaranteed?" + +"I went over the list carefully, Mr. Carter. The money is promised, and +by responsible people." + +"Very well," said the philanthropist. "You may notify them, Mr. Mathews, +that my fifty thousand will be available as the bills come in." + +"Yes, sir." + +Old Mr. Carter laid down the letter he had been reading, and took up +another. As he perused it his white eyebrows rose in irritation. + +"Mr. Mathews!" he snapped. + +"Yes, sir?" + +"You are careless, sir!" + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Carter?" questioned the secretary, his face +flushing. + +The old gentleman tapped impatiently the letter he held in his hand. "Do +you pay no attention, Mr. Mathews, to my rule that NO personal letters +containing appeals for aid are to reach me? How do you account for this, +may I ask?" + +"I beg your pardon," said the secretary again. "You will see, Mr. +Carter, that that letter is dated three weeks ago. I have had the +woman's case carefully investigated. She is undoubtedly of good +reputation, and undoubtedly in need; and as she speaks of her father as +having associated with you, I thought perhaps you would care to see her +letter." + +"A thousand worthless fellows associated with me," said the old man, +harshly. "In a great factory, Mr. Mathews, a boy works alongside of the +men he is put with; he does not pick and choose. I dare say this woman +is telling the truth. What of it? You know that I regard my money as +a public trust. Were my energy, my concentration, to be wasted by +innumerable individual assaults, what would become of them? My fortune +would slip through my fingers as unprofitably as sand. You understand, +Mr. Mathews? Let me see no more individual letters. You know that Mr. +Whittemore has full authority to deal with them. May I trouble you to +ring? I am going out." + +A man appeared very promptly in answer to the bell. + +"Sniffen, my overcoat," said the philanthropist. + +"It is 'ere, sir," answered Sniffen, helping the thin old man into the +great fur folds. + +"There is no word of the dog, I suppose, Sniffen?" + +"None, sir. The police was here again yesterday sir, but they said as +'ow--" + +"The police!" The words were fierce with scorn. "Eight thousand +incompetents!" He turned abruptly and went toward the door, where he +halted a moment. + +"Mr. Mathews, since that woman's letter did reach me, I suppose I must +pay for my carelessness--or yours. Send her--what does she say--four +children?--send her a hundred dollars. But, for my sake, send it +anonymously. Write her that I pay no attention to such claims." He went +out, and Sniffen closed the door behind him. + +"Takes losin' the little dog 'ard, don't he?" remarked Sniffen, sadly, +to the secretary. "I'm afraid there ain't a chance of findin' 'im now. +'E ain't been stole, nor 'e ain't been found, or they'd 'ave brung him +back for the reward. 'E's been knocked on the 'ead, like as not. 'E +wasn't much of a dog to look at, you see--just a pup, I'd call 'im. An' +after 'e learned that trick of slippin' 'is collar off--well, I fancy +Mr. Carter's seen the last of 'im. I do, indeed." + +Mr. Carter meanwhile was making his way slowly down the snowy avenue, +upon his accustomed walk. The walk, however, was dull to-day, for +Skiddles, his little terrier, was not with him to add interest and +excitement. Mr. Carter had found Skiddles in the country a year and +a half before. Skiddles, then a puppy, was at the time in a most +undignified and undesirable position, stuck in a drain tile, and unable +either to advance or to retreat. Mr. Carter had shoved him forward, +after a heroic struggle, whereupon Skiddles had licked his hand. +Something in the little dog's eye, or his action, had induced the +rich philanthropist to bargain for him and buy him at a cost of half +a dollar. Thereafter Skiddles became his daily companion, his chief +distraction, and finally the apple of his eye. + +Skiddles was of no known parentage, hardly of any known breed, but +he suited Mr. Carter. What, the millionaire reflected with a proud +cynicism, were his own antecedents, if it came to that? But now Skiddles +had disappeared. + +As Sniffen said, he had learned the trick of slipping free from his +collar. One morning the great front doors had been left open for two +minutes while the hallway was aired. Skiddles must have slipped down the +marble steps unseen, and dodged round the corner. At all events, he +had vanished, and although the whole police force of the city had been +roused to secure his return, it was aroused in vain. And for three +weeks, therefore, a small, straight, white bearded man in a fur overcoat +had walked in mournful irritation alone. + +He stood upon a corner uncertainly. One way led to the park, and this he +usually took; but to-day he did not want to go to the park--it was too +reminiscent of Skiddles. He looked the other way. Down there, if one +went far enough, lay "slums," and Mr. Carter hated the sight of slums; +they always made him miserable and discontented. With all his money +and his philanthropy, was there still necessity for such misery in the +world? Worse still came the intrusive question at times: Had all his +money anything to do with the creation of this misery? He owned no +tenements; he paid good wages in every factory; he had given sums such +as few men have given in the history of philanthropy. Still--there +were the slums. However, the worst slums lay some distance off, and he +finally turned his back on the park and walked on. + +It was the day before Christmas. You saw it in people's faces; you saw +it in the holly wreaths that hung in windows; you saw it, even as you +passed the splendid, forbidding houses on the avenue, in the green that +here and there banked massive doors; but most of all, you saw it in the +shops. Up here the shops were smallish, and chiefly of the provision +variety, so there was no bewildering display of gifts; but there were +Christmas-trees everywhere, of all sizes. It was astonishing how many +people in that neighbourhood seemed to favour the old-fashioned idea of +a tree. + +Mr. Carter looked at them with his irritation softening. If they made +him feel a trifle more lonely, they allowed him to feel also a trifle +less responsible--for, after all, it was a fairly happy world. + +At this moment he perceived a curious phenomenon a short distance before +him--another Christmas-tree, but one which moved, apparently of its own +volition, along the sidewalk. As Mr. Carter overtook it, he saw that +it was borne, or dragged, rather by a small boy who wore a bright red +flannel cap and mittens of the same peculiar material. As Mr. Carter +looked down at him, he looked up at Mr. Carter, and spoke cheerfully: + +"Goin' my way, mister?" + +"Why," said the philanthropist, somewhat taken back, "I WAS!" + +"Mind draggin' this a little way?" asked the boy, confidently, "my hands +is cold." + +"Won't you enjoy it more if you manage to take it home by yourself?" + +"Oh, it ain't for me!" said the boy. + +"Your employer," said the philanthropist, severely, "is certainly +careless if he allows his trees to be delivered in this fashion." + +"I ain't deliverin' it, either," said the boy. "This is Bill's tree." + +"Who is Bill?" + +"He's a feller with a back that's no good." + +"Is he your brother?" + +"No. Take the tree a little way, will you, while I warm myself?" + +The philanthropist accepted the burden--he did not know why. The boy, +released, ran forward, jumped up and down, slapped his red flannel +mittens on his legs, and then ran back again. After repeating these +manoeuvres two or three times, he returned to where the old gentleman +stood holding the tree. + +"Thanks," he said. "Say, mister, you look like Santa Claus yourself, +standin' by the tree, with your fur cap and your coat. I bet you don't +have to run to keep warm, hey?" There was high admiration in his look. +Suddenly his eyes sparkled with an inspiration. + +"Say, mister," he cried, "will you do something for me? Come in to +Bill's--he lives only a block from here--and just let him see you. He's +only a kid, and he'll think he's seen Santa Claus, sure. We can tell him +you're so busy to-morrow you have to go to lots of places to-day. You +won't have to give him anything. We're looking out for all that. Bill +got hurt in the summer, and he's been in bed ever since. So we are +giving him a Christmas--tree and all. He gets a bunch of things--an air +gun, and a train that goes around when you wind her up. They're great!" + +"You boys are doing this?" + +"Well, it's our club at the settlement, and of course Miss Gray thought +of it, and she's givin' Bill the train. Come along, mister." + +But Mr. Carter declined. + +"All right," said the boy. "I guess, what with Pete and all, Bill will +have Christmas enough." + +"Who is Pete?" + +"Bill's dog. He's had him three weeks now--best little pup you ever +saw!" + +A dog which Bill had had three weeks--and in a neighbourhood not a +quarter of a mile from the avenue. It was three weeks since Skiddles had +disappeared. That this dog was Skiddles was of course most improbable, +and yet the philanthropist was ready to grasp at any clue which might +lead to the lost terrier. + +"How did Bill get this dog?" he demanded. + +"I found him myself. Some kids had tin-canned him, and he came into our +entry. He licked my hand, and then sat up on his hind legs. Somebody'd +taught him that, you know. I thought right away, 'Here's a dog for +Bill!' And I took him over there and fed him, and they kept him in +Bill's room two or three days, so he shouldn't get scared again and run +off; and now he wouldn't leave Bill for anybody. Of course, he ain't +much of a dog, Pete ain't," he added "he's just a pup, but he's mighty +friendly!" + +"Boy," said Mr. Carter, "I guess I'll just go round and"--he was about +to add, "have a look at that dog," but fearful of raising suspicion, he +ended--"and see Bill." + +The tenements to which the boy led him were of brick, and reasonably +clean. Nearly every window showed some sign of Christmas. + +The tree-bearer led the way into a dark hall, up one flight--Mr. Carter +assisting with the tree--and down another dark hall, to a door, on which +he knocked. A woman opened it. + +"Here's the tree!" said the boy, in a loud whisper. "Is Bill's door +shut?" + +Mr. Carter stepped forward out of the darkness. "I beg your pardon, +madam," he said. "I met this young man in the street, and he asked me +to come here and see a playmate of his who is, I understand, an invalid. +But if I am intruding--" + +"Come in," said the woman, heartily, throwing the door open. "Bill will +be glad to see you, sir." + +The philanthropist stepped inside. + +The room was decently furnished and clean. There was a sewing machine in +the corner, and in both the windows hung wreaths of holly. Between the +windows was a cleared space, where evidently the tree, when decorated, +was to stand. + +"Are all the things here?" eagerly demanded the tree-bearer. + +"They're all here, Jimmy," answered Mrs. Bailey. "The candy just came." + +"Say," cried the boy, pulling off his red flannel mittens to blow on his +fingers, "won't it be great? But now Bill's got to see Santa Claus. I'll +just go in and tell him, an' then, when I holler, mister, you come on, +and pretend you're Santa Claus." And with incredible celerity the boy +opened the door at the opposite end of the room and disappeared. + +"Madam," said Mr. Carter, in considerable embarrassment, "I must say one +word. I am Mr. Carter, Mr. Allan Carter. You may have heard my name?" + +She shook her head. "No, sir." + +"I live not far from here on the avenue. Three weeks ago I lost a little +dog that I valued very much I have had all the city searched since then, +in vain. To-day I met the boy who has just left us. He informed me that +three weeks ago he found a dog, which is at present in the possession of +your son. I wonder--is it not just possible that this dog may be mine?" + +Mrs. Bailey smiled. "I guess not, Mr. Carter. The dog Jimmy found hadn't +come off the avenue--not from the look of him. You know there's hundreds +and hundreds of dogs without homes, sir. But I will say for this one, he +has a kind of a way with him." + +"Hark!" said Mr. Carter. + +There was a rustling and a snuffing at the door at the far end of the +room, a quick scratching of feet. Then: + +"Woof! woof! woof!" sharp and clear came happy impatient little barks. +The philanthropist's eyes brightened. "Yes," he said, "that is the dog." + +"I doubt if it can be, sir," said Mrs. Bailey, deprecatingly. + +"Open the door, please," commanded the philanthropist, "and let us +see." Mrs. Bailey complied. There was a quick jump, a tumbling rush, +and Skiddles, the lost Skiddles, was in the philanthropist's arms. Mrs. +Bailey shut the door with a troubled face. + +"I see it's your dog, sir," she said, "but I hope you won't be thinking +that Jimmy or I--" + +"Madam," interrupted Mr. Carter, "I could not be so foolish. On the +contrary, I owe you a thousand thanks." + +Mrs. Bailey looked more cheerful. "Poor little Billy!" she said. "It'll +come hard on him, losing Pete just at Christmas time. But the boys are +so good to him, I dare say he'll forget it." + +"Who are these boys?" inquired the philanthropist. "Isn't their +action--somewhat unusual?" + +"It's Miss Gray's club at the settlement, sir," explained Mrs. Bailey. +"Every Christmas they do this for somebody. It's not charity; Billy and +I don't need charity, or take it. It's just friendliness. They're good +boys." + +"I see," said the philanthropist. He was still wondering about it, +though, when the door opened again, and Jimmy thrust out a face shining +with anticipation. + +"All ready, mister!" he said. "Bill's waitin' for you!" + +"Jimmy," began Mrs. Bailey, about to explain, "the gentleman--" + +But the philanthropist held up his hand, interrupting her. "You'll let +me see your son, Mrs. Bailey?" he asked, gently. + +"Why, certainly, sir." + +Mr. Carter put Skiddles down and walked slowly into the inner room. +The bed stood with its side toward him. On it lay a small boy of seven, +rigid of body, but with his arms free and his face lighted with joy. +"Hello, Santa Claus!" he piped, in a voice shrill with excitement. + +"Hello, Bill!" answered the philanthropist, sedately. + +The boy turned his eyes on Jimmy. + +"He knows my name," he said, with glee. + +"He knows everybody's name," said Jimmy. "Now you tell him what you +want, Bill, and he'll bring it to-morrow. + +"How would you like," said the philanthropist, reflectively, "an--an--" +he hesitated, it seemed so incongruous with that stiff figure on the +bed--"an airgun?" + +"I guess yes," said Bill, happily. + +"And a train of cars," broke in the impatient Jimmy, "that goes like +sixty when you wind her?" + +"Hi!" said Bill. + +The philanthropist solemnly made notes of this. + +"How about," he remarked, inquiringly, "a tree?" + +"Honest?" said Bill. + +"I think it can be managed," said Santa Claus. He advanced to the +bedside. + +"I'm glad to have seen you, Bill. You know how busy I am, but I hope--I +hope to see you again." + +"Not till next year, of course," warned Jimmy. + +"Not till then, of course," assented Santa Claus. "And now, good-bye." + +"You forgot to ask him if he'd been a good boy," suggested Jimmy. + +"I have," said Bill. "I've been fine. You ask mother." + +"She gives you--she gives you both a high character," said Santa Claus. +"Good-bye again," and so saying he withdrew. Skiddles followed him out. +The philanthropist closed the door of the bedroom, and then turned to +Mrs. Bailey. + +She was regarding him with awestruck eyes. + +"Oh, sir," she said, "I know now who you are--the Mr. Carter that gives +so much away to people!" + +The philanthropist nodded, deprecatingly. + +"Just so, Mrs. Bailey," he said. "And there is one gift--or loan +rather--which I should like to make to you. I should like to leave the +little dog with you till after the holidays. I'm afraid I'll have to +claim him then; but if you'll keep him till after Christmas--and let me +find, perhaps, another dog for Billy--I shall be much obliged." + +Again the door of the bedroom opened, and Jimmy emerged quietly. + +"Bill wants the pup," he explained. + +"Pete! Pete!" came the piping but happy voice from the inner room. + +Skiddles hesitated. Mr. Carter made no sign. + +"Pete! Pete!" shrilled the voice again. + +Slowly, very slowly, Skiddles turned and went back into the bedroom. + +"You see," said Mr. Carter, smiling, "he won't be too unhappy away from +me, Mrs. Bailey." + +On his way home the philanthropist saw even more evidences of Christmas +gaiety along the streets than before. He stepped out briskly, in spite +of his sixty-eight years; he even hummed a little tune. + +When he reached the house on the avenue he found his secretary still at +work. + +"Oh, by the way, Mr. Mathews," he said, "did you send that letter to the +woman, saying I never paid attention to personal appeals? No? Then write +her, please, enclosing my check for two hundred dollars, and wish her a +very Merry Christmas in my name, will you? And hereafter will you +always let me see such letters as that one--of course after careful +investigation? I fancy perhaps I may have been too rigid in the past." + +"Certainly, sir," answered the bewildered secretary. He began fumbling +excitedly for his note-book. + +"I found the little dog," continued the philanthropist. "You will be +glad to know that." + +"You have found him?" cried the secretary. "Have you got him back, Mr. +Carter? Where was he?" + +"He was--detained--on Oak Street, I believe," said the philanthropist. +"No, I have not got him back yet. I have left him with a young boy till +after the holidays." + +He settled himself to his papers, for philanthropists must toil even +on the twenty-fourth of December, but the secretary shook his head in a +daze. "I wonder what's happened?" he said to himself. + + + + +XXV. THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TREE + +BY LUCY WHEELOCK + +Two little children were sitting by the fire one cold winter's night. +All at once they heard a timid knock at the door and one ran to open it. + +There, outside in the cold and darkness, stood a child with no shoes +upon his feet and clad in thin, ragged garments. He was shivering with +cold, and he asked to come in and warm himself. + +"Yes, come in," cried both the children. "You shall have our place by +the fire. Come in." + +They drew the little stranger to their warm seat and shared their supper +with him, and gave him their bed, while they slept on a hard bench. + +In the night they were awakened by strains of sweet music, and looking +out, they saw a band of children in shining garments, approaching the +house. They were playing on golden harps and the air was full of melody. + +Suddenly the Strange Child stood before them: no longer cold and ragged, +but clad in silvery light. + +His soft voice said: "I was cold and you took Me in. I was hungry and +you fed Me. I was tired and you gave Me your bed. I am the Christ-Child, +wandering through the world to bring peace and happiness to all good +children. As you have given to Me, so may this tree every year give rich +fruit to you." + +So saying, He broke a branch from the fir-tree that grew near the door, +and He planted it in the ground and disappeared. And the branch grew +into a great tree, and every year it bore wonderful fruit for the kind +children. + + + + +XXVI. THE FIRST NEW ENGLAND CHRISTMAS* + +From Stone and Fickett's "Every Day Life in the Colonies;" copyrighted +1905, by D. C. Heath & Co. Used by permission. + +G. L. STONE AND M. G. FICKETT + +It was a warm and pleasant Saturday--that twenty-third of December, +1620. The winter wind had blown itself away in the storm of the day +before, and the air was clear and balmy. The people on board the +Mayflower were glad of the pleasant day. It was three long months since +they had started from Plymouth, in England, to seek a home across the +ocean. Now they had come into a harbour that they named New Plymouth, in +the country of New England. + +Other people called these voyagers Pilgrims, which means wanderers. A +long while before, the Pilgrims had lived in England; later they made +their home with the Dutch in Holland; finally they had said goodbye to +their friends in Holland and in England, and had sailed away to America. + +There were only one hundred and two of the Pilgrims on the Mayflower, +but they were brave and strong and full of hope. Now the Mayflower was +the only home they had; yet if this weather lasted they might soon have +warm log-cabins to live in. This very afternoon the men had gone ashore +to cut down the large trees. + +The women of the Mayflower were busy, too. Some were spinning, some +knitting, some sewing. It was so bright and pleasant that Mistress Rose +Standish had taken out her knitting and had gone to sit a little while +on deck. She was too weak to face rough weather, and she wanted to +enjoy the warm sunshine and the clear salt air. By her side was Mistress +Brewster, the minister's wife. Everybody loved Mistress Standish and +Mistress Brewster, for neither of them ever spoke unkindly. + +The air on deck would have been warm even on a colder day, for in one +corner a bright fire was burning. It would seem strange now, would it +not, to see a fire on the deck of a vessel? But in those days, when the +weather was pleasant, people on shipboard did their cooking on deck. + +The Pilgrims had no stoves, and Mistress Carver's maid had built this +fire on a large hearth covered with sand. She had hung a great kettle +on the crane over the fire, where the onion soup for supper was now +simmering slowly. + +Near the fire sat a little girl, busily playing and singing to herself. +Little Remember Allerton was only six years old, but she liked to be +with Hannah, Mistress Carver's maid. This afternoon Remember had been +watching Hannah build the fire and make the soup. Now the little girl +was playing with the Indian arrowheads her father had brought her the +night before. She was singing the words of the old psalm: + +"Shout to Jehovah, all the earth, Serve ye Jehovah with gladness; before +Him bow with singing mirth." + +"Ah, child, methinks the children of Old England are singing different +words from those to-day," spoke Hannah at length, with a faraway look in +her eyes. + +"Why, Hannah? What songs are the little English children singing now?" +questioned Remember in surprise. + +"It lacks but two days of Christmas, child, and in my old home everybody +is singing Merry Christmas songs." + +"But thou hast not told me what is Christmas!' persisted the child. + +"Ah, me! Thou dost not know, 'tis true. Christmas, Remember, is the +birthday of the Christ-Child, of Jesus, whom thou hast learned to love," +Hannah answered softly. + +"But what makes the English children so happy then? And we are English, +thou hast told me, Hannah. Why don't we keep Christmas, too?" + +"In sooth we are English, child. But the reason why we do not sing the +Christmas carols or play the Christmas games makes a long, long story, +Remember. Hannah cannot tell it so that little children will understand. +Thou must ask some other, child." + +Hannah and the little girl were just then near the two women on the +deck, and Remember said: + +"Mistress Brewster, Hannah sayeth she knoweth not how to tell why Love +and Wrestling and Constance and the others do not sing the Christmas +songs or play the Christmas games. But thou wilt tell me wilt thou not?" +she added coaxingly. + +A sad look came into Mistress Brewster's eyes, and Mistress Standish +looked grave, too. No one spoke for a few seconds, until Hannah said +almost sharply: + +"Why could we not burn a Yule log Monday, and make some meal into little +cakes for the children?" + +"Nay, Hannah," answered the gentle voice of Mistress Brewster. "Such +are but vain shows and not for those of us who believe in holier things. +But," she added, with a kind glance at little Remember, "wouldst thou +like to know why we have left Old England and do not keep the Christmas +Day? Thou canst not understand it all, child, and yet it may do thee no +harm to hear the story. It may help thee to be a brave and happy little +girl in the midst of our hard life." + +"Surely it can do no harm, Mistress Brewster," spoke Rose Standish, +gently. "Remember is a little Pilgrim now, and she ought, methinks, to +know something of the reason for our wandering. Come here, child, and +sit by me, while good Mistress Brewster tells thee how cruel men have +made us suffer. Then will I sing thee one of the Christmas carols." + +With these words she held out her hands to little Remember, who ran +quickly to the side of Mistress Standish, and eagerly waited for the +story to begin. + +"We have not always lived in Holland, Remember. Most of us were born in +England, and England is the best country in the world. 'Tis a land to +be proud of, Remember, though some of its rulers have been wicked and +cruel. + +"Long before you were born, when your mother was a little girl, the +English king said that everybody in the land ought to think as he +thought, and go to a church like his. He said he would send us away from +England if we did not do as he ordered. Now, we could not think as +he did on holy matters, and it seemed wrong to us to obey him. So we +decided to go to a country where we might worship as we pleased." + +"What became of that cruel king, Mistress Brewster?" + +"He ruleth England now. But thou must not think too hardly of him. He +doth not understand, perhaps. Right will win some day, Remember, though +there may be bloody war before peace cometh. And I thank God that we, at +least, shall not be called on to live in the midst of the strife," she +went on, speaking more to herself than to the little girl. + +"We decided to go to Holland, out of the reach of the king. We were +not sure whether it was best to move or not, but our hearts were set on +God's ways. We trusted Him in whom we believed. Yes," she went on, "and +shall we not keep on trusting Him?" + +And Rose Standish, remembering the little stock of food that was nearly +gone, the disease that had come upon many of their number, and the five +who had died that month, answered firmly: "Yes. He who has led us thus +far will not leave us now." + +They were all silent a few seconds. Presently Remember said: "Then did +ye go to Holland, Mistress Brewster?" + +"Yes," she said. "Our people all went over to Holland, where the Dutch +folk live and the little Dutch children clatter about with their wooden +shoes. There thou wast born, Remember, and my own children, and there we +lived in love and peace." + +"And yet, we were not wholly happy. We could not talk well with the +Dutch, and so we could not set right what was wrong among them. 'Twas +so hard to earn money that many had to go back to England. And worst of +all, Remember, we were afraid that you and little Bartholomew and Mary +and Love and Wrestling and all the rest would not grow to be good girls +and boys. And so we have come to this new country to teach our children +to be pure and noble." + +After another silence Remember spoke again: "I thank thee, Mistress +Brewster. And I will try to be a good girl. But thou didst not tell me +about Christmas after all." + +"Nay, child, but now I will. There are long services on that day in +every church where the king's friends go. But there are parts of these +services which we cannot approve; and so we think it best not to follow +the other customs that the king's friends observe on Christmas. + +"They trim their houses with mistletoe and holly so that everything +looks gay and cheerful. Their other name for the Christmas time is the +Yuletide, and the big log that is burned then is called the Yule log. +The children like to sit around the hearth in front of the great, +blazing Yule log, and listen to stories of long, long ago. + +"At Christmas there are great feasts in England, too. No one is allowed +to go hungry, for the rich people on the day always send meat and cakes +to the poor folk round about. + +"But we like to make all our days Christmas days, Remember. We try never +to forget God's gifts to us, and they remind us always to be good to +other people." + +"And the Christmas carols, Mistress Standish? What are they?" + +"On Christmas Eve and early on Christmas morning," Rose Standish +answered, "little children go about from house to house, singing +Christmas songs. 'Tis what I like best in all the Christmas cheer. And I +promised to sing thee one, did I not?" + +Then Mistress Standish sang in her dear, sweet voice the quaint old +English words: + + As Joseph was a-walking, + He heard an angel sing: + "This night shall be the birth-time + Of Christ, the heavenly King. + + "He neither shall be born + In housen nor in hall, + Nor in the place of Paradise, + But in an ox's stall. + + "He neither shall be clothed + In purple nor in pall, + But in the fair white linen + That usen babies all. + + "He neither shall be rocked + In silver nor in gold, + But in a wooden manger + That resteth in the mould." + + As Joseph was a-walking + There did an angel sing, + And Mary's child at midnight + Was born to be our King. + + Then be ye glad, good people, + This night of all the year, + And light ye up your candles, + For His star it shineth clear. + +Before the song was over, Hannah had come on deck again, and was +listening eagerly. "I thank thee, Mistress Standish," she said, the +tears filling her blue eyes. "'Tis long, indeed, since I have heard that +song." + +"Would it be wrong for me to learn to sing those words, Mistress +Standish?" gently questioned the little girl. + +"Nay, Remember, I trow not. The song shall be thy Christmas gift." + +Then Mistress Standish taught the little girl one verse after another +of the sweet old carol, and it was not long before Remember could say it +all. + +The next day was dull and cold, and on Monday, the twenty-fifth, the sky +was still overcast. There was no bright Yule log in the Mayflower, and +no holly trimmed the little cabin. + +The Pilgrims were true to the faith they loved. They held no special +service. They made no gifts. + +Instead, they went again to the work of cutting the trees, and no one +murmured at his hard lot. + +"We went on shore," one man wrote in his diary, "some to fell timber, +some to saw, some to rive, and some to carry; so no man rested all that +day." + +As for little Remember, she spent the day on board the Mayflower. She +heard no one speak of England or sigh for the English home across the +sea. But she did not forget Mistress Brewster's story; and more than +once that day, as she was playing by herself, she fancied that she was +in front of some English home, helping the English children sing their +Christmas songs. And both Mistress Allerton and Mistress Standish, whom +God was soon to call away from their earthly home, felt happier and +stronger as they heard the little girl singing: + + He neither shall be born + In housen nor in hall, + Nor in the place of Paradise, + But in an ox's stall. + + + + +XXVII. THE CRATCHITS' CHRISTMAS DINNER + +(Adapted) + +CHARLES DICKENS + +Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Present stood in the city streets on +Christmas morning, where (for the weather was severe) the people made a +rough but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow +from the pavement in front of their dwellings, and from the tops of +their houses, whence it was mad delight to the boys to see it come +plumping down into the road below, and splitting into artificial little +snowstorms. + +The house fronts looked black enough, and the windows blacker, +contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs, and with +the dirtier snow upon the ground, which last deposit had been ploughed +up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and wagons; furrows +that crossed and recrossed each other hundreds of times where the great +streets branched off, and made intricate channels, hard to trace, in +the thick yellow mud and icy water. The sky was gloomy, and the shortest +streets were choked up with a dingy mist, half thawed, half frozen, +whose heavier particles descended in a shower of sooty atoms, as if all +the chimneys in Great Britain had, by one consent, caught fire, and +were blazing away to their dear heart's content. There was nothing +very cheerful in the climate or the town, and yet was there an air of +cheerfulness abroad that the dearest summer air and brightest summer sun +might have endeavoured to diffuse in vain. + +For the people who were shovelling away on the housetops were jovial and +full of glee, calling out to one another from the parapets, and now and +then exchanging a facetious snowball--better-natured missile far than +many a wordy jest--laughing heartily if it went right, and not less +heartily if it went wrong. The poulterers' shops were still half open, +and the fruiterers' were radiant in their glory. There were great, +round, potbellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of +jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the +street in their apoplectic opulence. + +There were ruddy, brown-faced, broad-girthed Spanish onions, shining in +the fatness of their growth like Spanish friars, and winking, from their +shelves, in wanton slyness at the girls as they went by, and glanced +demurely at the hung-up mistletoe. There were pears and apples, +clustering high in blooming pyramids; there were bunches of grapes, +made, in the shop-keeper's benevolence, to dangle from conspicuous +hooks, that people's mouths might water gratis as they passed; there +were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, in their fragrance, +ancient walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep +through withered leaves; there were Norfolk biffins, squab and swarthy, +setting off the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great +compactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseeching +to be carried home in paper bags and eaten after dinner. The very gold +and silver fish, set forth among these choice fruits in a bowl, though +members of a dull and stagnant-blooded race, appeared to know that there +was something going on; and, to a fish, went gasping round and round +their little world in slow and passionless excitement. + +The grocers'! oh, the grocers'! nearly closed, with perhaps two shutters +down, or one; but through those gaps such glimpses! It was not alone +that the scales descending on the counter made a merry sound, or that +the twine and roller parted company so briskly, or that the canisters +were rattled up and down like juggling tricks, or even that the blended +scents of tea and coffee were so grateful to the nose, or even that the +raisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely white, the +sticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so delicious, +the candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten sugar as to make the +coldest lookers-on feel faint, and subsequently bilious. Nor was it +that the figs were moist and pulpy, or that the French plums blushed in +modest tartness from their highly decorated boxes, or that everything +was good to eat and in its Christmas dress; but the customers were all +so hurried and so eager in the hopeful promise of the day that they +tumbled up against each other at the door, crashing their wicker baskets +wildly, and left their purchases upon the counter, and came running back +to fetch them, and committed hundreds of the like mistakes, in the best +humour possible; while the grocer and his people were so frank and fresh +that the polished hearts with which they fastened their aprons behind +might have been their own, worn outside for general inspection, and for +Christmas daws to peck at, if they chose. + +But soon the steeples called good people all to church and chapel, and +away they came, flocking through the streets in their best clothes, and +with their gayest faces. And at the same time there emerged from +scores of by-streets, lanes, and nameless turnings, innumerable people, +carrying their dinners to the bakers' shops. The sight of these poor +revellers appeared to interest the Spirit very much, for he stood, with +Scrooge beside him, in a baker's doorway, and, taking off the covers as +their bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from his torch. +And it was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when there +were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each +other, he shed a few drops of water on them from it, and their +good-humour was restored directly. For they said it was a shame to +quarrel upon Christmas Day. And so it was! God love it, so it was! + +In time the bells ceased, and the bakers were shut up; and yet there was +a genial shadowing forth of all these dinners, and the progress of their +cooking, in the thawed blotch of wet above each baker's oven, where the +pavement smoked as if its stones were cooking too. + +"Is there a peculiar flavour in what you sprinkle from your torch?" +asked Scrooge. + +"There is. My own." + +"Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?" asked Scrooge. + +"To any kindly given. To a poor one most." + +"Why to a poor one most?" asked Scrooge. + +"Because it needs it most." + +They went on, invisible, as they had been before, into the suburbs of +the town. It was a remarkable quality of the Ghost (which Scrooge had +observed at the baker's) that, notwithstanding his gigantic size, he +could accommodate himself to any place with ease; and that he stood +beneath a low roof quite as gracefully, and like a supernatural +creature, as it was possible he could have done in any lofty hall. + +And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing off this +power of his, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature, +and his sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge's +clerk's; for there he went, and took Scrooge with him, holding to his +robe; and on the threshold of the door the Spirit smiled, and stopped to +bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling with the sprinklings of his torch. Think +of that! Bob had but fifteen "bob" a week himself; he pocketed on +Saturdays but fifteen copies of his Christian name; and yet the Ghost of +Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed house! + +Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in +a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a +goodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda +Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while Master +Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and getting +the corners of his monstrous shirt-collar (Bob's private property, +conferred upon his son and heir in honour of the day) into his mouth, +rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his +linen in the fashionable parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and +girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they had +smelt the goose, and known it for their own, and, basking in luxurious +thoughts of sage and onion, these young Cratchits danced about the +table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he (not +proud, although his collar nearly choked him) blew the fire, until the +slow potatoes, bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan lid to be let +out and peeled. + +"What has ever got your precious father, then?" said Mrs. Cratchit. "And +your brother, Tiny Tim? And Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by +half an hour!" + +"Here's Martha, mother!" said a girl, appearing as she spoke. + +"Here's Martha, mother!" cried the two young Cratchits. "Hurrah! There's +such a goose, Martha!" + +"Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!" said Mrs. +Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet +for her with officious zeal. + +"We'd a deal of work to finish up last night," replied the girl, "and +had to clear away this morning, mother!" + +"Well, never mind so long as you are come," said Mrs. Cratchit. "Sit ye +down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!" + +"No, no! There's father coming!" cried the two young Cratchits, who were +everywhere at once. + +"Hide, Martha, hide!" + +So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at least +three feet of comforter, exclusive of the fringe, hanging down +before him, and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look +seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a +little crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame! + +"Why, where's our Martha?" cried Bob Cratchit, looking around. + +"Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit. + +"Not coming?" said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high spirits; +for he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from the church, and had +come home rampant. "Not coming upon Christmas Day?" + +Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so +she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into his +arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him +off into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the +copper. + +"And how did little Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had +rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his +heart's content. + +"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, +sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever +heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the +church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to +remember, upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk, and blind men +see." + +Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when +he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty. + +His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny +Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister +to his stool beside the fire; and while Bob, turning up his cuffs--as +if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby--compounded +some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round +and round, and put it on the hob to simmer, Master Peter and the two +ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon +returned in high procession. + +Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of +all birds--a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of +course--and in truth it was something very like it in that house. Mrs. +Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing +hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; Miss +Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob +took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young +Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and, +mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest +they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At +last the dishes were set on and grace was said. It was succeeded by a +breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving +knife, prepared to plunge it into the breast; but when she did, and when +the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight +arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young +Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly +cried, "Hurrah!" + +There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was +such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, +were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and +mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; +indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small +atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet +every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular were +steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, the plates being +changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone--too nervous +to bear witnesses--to take the pudding up, and bring it in. + +Suppose it should not be done enough? Suppose it should break in turning +out? Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the backyard and +stolen it, while they were merry with the goose--a supposition at +which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of horrors were +supposed. + +Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell +like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating house and +a pastry-cook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door +to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit +entered--flushed, but smiling proudly--with the pudding, like a speckled +cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of +ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top. + +Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly, too, that he +regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since +their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that, now the weight was off her +mind, she would confess she had her doubts about the quantity of flour. +Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody thought or said it +was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat +heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a +thing. + +At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth +swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and +considered perfect, tipples and oranges were put upon the table, and a +shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew +round the hearth in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a +one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass--two +tumblers and a custard-cup without a handle. + +These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden +goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, +while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob +proposed: + +"A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!" + +Which all the family reechoed. + +"God bless us every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all. + + + + +XXVIII. CHRISTMAS IN SEVENTEEN SEVENTY-SIX* + +*From "A Last Century Maid and Other Stories for Children," by A.H.W. +Lippincott, 1895. + +ANNE HOLLINGSWORTH WHARTON + + "On Christmas day in Seventy-six, + Our gallant troops with bayonets fixed, + To Trenton marched away." + +Children, have any of you ever thought of what little people like you +were doing in this country more than a hundred years ago, when the +cruel tide of war swept over its bosom? From many homes the fathers were +absent, fighting bravely for the liberty which we now enjoy, while the +mothers no less valiantly struggled against hardships and discomforts +in order to keep a home for their children, whom you only know as your +great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers, dignified gentlemen and +beautiful ladies, whose painted portraits hang upon the walls in some +of your homes. Merry, romping children they were in those far-off times, +yet their bright faces must have looked grave sometimes, when they heard +the grown people talk of the great things that were happening around +them. Some of these little people never forgot the wonderful events +of which they heard, and afterward related them to their children and +grandchildren, which accounts for some of the interesting stories which +you may still hear, if you are good children. + +The Christmas story that I have to tell you is about a boy and girl +who lived in Bordentown, New Jersey. The father of these children was +a soldier in General Washington's army, which was encamped a few miles +north of Trenton, on the Pennsylvania side of the Delaware River. +Bordentown, as you can see by looking on your map, if you have not +hidden them all away for the holidays, is about seven miles south of +Trenton, where fifteen hundred Hessians and a troop of British light +horse were holding the town. Thus you see that the British, in force, +were between Washington's army and Bordentown, besides which there were +some British and Hessian troops in the very town. All this seriously +interfered with Captain Tracy's going home to eat his Christmas dinner +with his wife and children. Kitty and Harry Tracy, who had not lived +long enough to see many wars, could not imagine such a thing as +Christmas without their father, and had busied themselves for weeks in +making everything ready to have a merry time with him. Kitty, who loved +to play quite as much as any frolicsome Kitty of to-day, had spent all +her spare time in knitting a pair of thick woollen stockings, which +seems a wonderful feat for a little girl only eight years old to +perform! Can you not see her sitting by the great chimney-place, filled +with its roaring, crackling logs, in her quaint, short-waisted dress, +knitting away steadily, and puckering up her rosy, dimpled face over the +strange twists and turns of that old stocking? I can see her, and I can +also hear her sweet voice as she chatters away to her mother about +"how 'sprised papa will be to find that his little girl can knit like a +grown-up woman," while Harry spreads out on the hearth a goodly store +of shellbarks that he has gathered and is keeping for his share of the +'sprise. + +"What if he shouldn't come?" asks Harry, suddenly. + +"Oh, he'll come! Papa never stays away on Christmas," says Kitty, +looking up into her mother's face for an echo to her words. Instead she +sees something very like tears in her mother's eyes. + +"Oh, mamma, don't you think he'll come?" + +"He will come if he possibly can," says Mrs. Tracy; "and if he cannot, +we will keep Christmas whenever dear papa does come home." + +"It won't be half so nice," said Kitty, "nothing's so nice as REALLY +Christmas, and how's Kriss Kringle going to know about it if we change +the day?" + +"We'll let him come just the same, and if he brings anything for papa we +can put it away for him." + +This plan, still, seemed a poor one to Miss Kitty, who went to her +bed in a sober mood that night, and was heard telling her dear dollie, +Martha Washington, that "wars were mis'able, and that when she married +she should have a man who kept a candy-shop for a husband, and not a +soldier--no, Martha, not even if he's as nice as papa!" As Martha made +no objection to this little arrangement, being an obedient child, they +were both soon fast asleep. The days of that cold winter of 1776 wore +on; so cold it was that the sufferings of the soldiers were great, their +bleeding feet often leaving marks on the pure white snow over which they +marched. As Christmas drew near there was a feeling among the patriots +that some blow was about to be struck; but what it was, and from whence +they knew not; and, better than all, the British had no idea that any +strong blow could come from Washington's army, weak and out of heart, as +they thought, after being chased through Jersey by Cornwallis. + +Mrs. Tracy looked anxiously each day for news of the husband and father +only a few miles away, yet so separated by the river and the enemy's +troops that they seemed like a hundred. Christmas Eve came, but brought +with it few rejoicings. The hearts of the people were too sad to be +taken up with merrymaking, although the Hessian soldiers in the town, +good-natured Germans, who only fought the Americans because they were +paid for it, gave themselves up to the feasting and revelry. + +"Shall we hang up our stockings?" asked Kitty, in rather a doleful +voice. + +"Yes," said her mother, "Santa Claus won't forget you, I am sure, +although he has been kept pretty busy looking after the soldiers this +winter." + +"Which side is he on?" asked Harry. + +"The right side, of course," said Mrs. Tracy, which was the most +sensible answer she could possibly have given. So: + +"The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. +Nicholas soon would be there." + +Two little rosy faces lay fast asleep upon the pillow when the good old +soul came dashing over the roof about one o'clock, and after filling +each stocking with red apples, and leaving a cornucopia of sugar-plums +for each child, he turned for a moment to look at the sleeping faces, +for St. Nicholas has a tender spot in his great big heart for a +soldier's children. Then, remembering many other small folks waiting for +him all over the land, he sprang up the chimney and was away in a trice. + +Santa Claus, in the form of Mrs. Tracy's farmer brother, brought her +a splendid turkey; but because the Hessians were uncommonly fond of +turkey, it came hidden under a load of wood. Harry was very fond of +turkey, too, as well as of all other good things; but when his mother +said, "It's such a fine bird, it seems too bad to eat it without +father," Harry cried out, "Yes, keep it for papa!" and Kitty, joining +in the chorus, the vote was unanimous, and the turkey was hung away to +await the return of the good soldier, although it seemed strange, +as Kitty told Martha Washington, "to have no papa and no turkey on +Christmas Day." + +The day passed and night came, cold with a steady fall of rain and +sleet. Kitty prayed that her "dear papa might not be out in the storm, +and that he might come home and wear his beautiful blue stockings"; "And +eat his turkey," said Harry's sleepy voice; after which they were soon +in the land of dreams. Toward morning the good people in Bordentown were +suddenly aroused by firing in the distance, which became more and more +distinct as the day wore on. There was great excitement in the town; men +and women gathered together in little groups in the streets to wonder +what it was all about, and neighbours came dropping into Mrs. Tracy's +parlour, all day long, one after the other, to say what they thought of +the firing. In the evening there came a body of Hessians flying into +the town, to say that General Washington had surprised the British +at Trenton, early that morning, and completely routed them, which +so frightened the Hessians in Bordentown that they left without the +slightest ceremony. + +It was a joyful hour to the good town people when the red-jackets turned +their backs on them, thinking every moment that the patriot army would +be after them. Indeed, it seemed as if wonders would never cease that +day, for while rejoicings were still loud, over the departure of the +enemy, there came a knock at Mrs. Tracy's door, and while she was +wondering whether she dared open it, it was pushed ajar, and a tall +soldier entered. What a scream of delight greeted that soldier, and +how Kitty and Harry danced about him and clung to his knees, while Mrs. +Tracy drew him toward the warm blaze, and helped him off with his damp +cloak! + +Cold and tired Captain Tracy was, after a night's march in the streets +and a day's fighting; but he was not too weary to smile at the dear +faces around him, or to pat Kitty's head when she brought his warm +stockings and would put them on the tired feet, herself. + +Suddenly there was a sharp, quick bark outside the door. "What's that?" +cried Harry. + +"Oh, I forgot. Open the door. Here, Fido, Fido!" + +Into the room there sprang a beautiful little King Charles spaniel, +white, with tan spots, and ears of the longest, softest, and silkiest. + +"What a little dear!" exclaimed Kitty; "where did it come from?" + +"From the battle of Trenton," said her father. "His poor master was +shot. After the red-coats had turned their backs, and I was hurrying +along one of the streets where the fight had been the fiercest, I heard +a low groan, and, turning, saw a British officer lying among a number of +slain. I raised his head; he begged for some water, which I brought him, +and bending down my ear I heard him whisper, 'Dying--last battle--say +a prayer.' He tried to follow me in the words of a prayer, and then, +taking my hand, laid it on something soft and warm, nestling close up +to his breast--it was this little dog. The gentleman--for he was a real +gentleman--gasped out, 'Take care of my poor Fido; good-night,' and was +gone. It was as much as I could do to get the little creature away from +his dead master; he clung to him as if he loved him better than life. +You'll take care of him, won't you, children? I brought him home to you, +for a Christmas present." + +"Pretty little Fido," said Kitty, taking the soft, curly creature in her +arms; "I think it's the best present in the world, and to-morrow is to +be real Christmas, because you are home, papa." + +"And we'll eat the turkey," said Harry, "and shellbarks, lots of them, +that I saved for you. What a good time we'll have! And oh, papa, don't +go to war any more, but stay at home, with mother and Kitty and Fido and +me." + +"What would become of our country if we should all do that, my little +man? It was a good day's work that we did this Christmas, getting the +army all across the river so quickly and quietly that we surprised the +enemy, and gained a victory, with the loss of few men." + +Thus it was that some of the good people of 1776 spent their Christmas, +that their children and grandchildren might spend many of them as +citizens of a free nation. + + + + +XXIX. CHRISTMAS UNDER THE SNOW* + +*From "Kristy's Queer Christmas," Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1904. + +OLIVE THORNE MILLER + +It was just before Christmas, and Mr. Barnes was starting for the +nearest village. The family were out at the door to see him start, and +give him the last charges. + +"Don't forget the Christmas dinner, papa," said Willie. + +'"Specially the chickens for the pie!" put in Nora. + +"An' the waisins," piped up little Tot, standing on tiptoe to give papa +a good-bye kiss. + +"I hate to have you go, George," said Mrs. Barnes anxiously. "It looks +to me like a storm." + +"Oh, I guess it won't be much," said Mr. Barnes lightly; "and the +youngsters must have their Christmas dinner, you know." + +"Well," said Mrs. Barnes, "remember this, George: if there is a bad +storm don't try to come back. Stay in the village till it is over. We +can get along alone for a few days, can't we, Willie?" turning to the +boy who was giving the last touches to the harness of old Tim, the +horse. + +"Oh, yes! Papa, I can take care of mamma," said Willie earnestly. + +"And get up the Christmas dinner out of nothing?" asked papa, smiling. + +"I don't know," said Willie, hesitating, as he remembered the proposed +dinner, in which he felt a deep interest. + +"What could you do for the chicken pie?" went on papa with a roguish +look in his eye, "or the plum-pudding?" + +"Or the waisins?" broke in Tot anxiously. + +"Tot has set her heart on the raisins," said papa, tossing the small +maiden up higher than his head, and dropping her all laughing on the +door-step, "and Tot shall have them sure, if papa can find them in S--. +Now good-bye, all! Willie, remember to take care of mamma, and I depend +on you to get up a Christmas dinner if I don't get back. Now, wife, +don't worry!" were his last words as the faithful old horse started down +the road. + +Mrs. Barnes turned one more glance to the west, where a low, heavy bank +of clouds was slowly rising, and went into the little house to attend to +her morning duties. + +"Willie," she said, when they were all in the snug little log-cabin in +which they lived, "I'm sure there's going to be a storm, and it may be +snow. You had better prepare enough wood for two or three days; Nora +will help bring it in." + +"Me, too!" said grave little Tot. + +"Yes, Tot may help too," said mamma. + +This simple little home was a busy place, and soon every one was hard +at work. It was late in the afternoon before the pile of wood, which had +been steadily growing all day, was high enough to satisfy Willie, for +now there was no doubt about the coming storm, and it would probably +bring snow; no one could guess how much, in that country of heavy +storms. + +"I wish the village was not so far off, so that papa could get back +to-night," said Willie, as he came in with his last load. + +Mrs. Barnes glanced out of the window. Broad scattering snowflakes were +silently falling; the advance guard, she felt them to be, of a numerous +host. + +"So do I," she replied anxiously, "or that he did not have to come over +that dreadful prairie, where it is so easy to get lost." + +"But old Tim knows the way, even in the dark," said Willie proudly. "I +believe Tim knows more'n some folks." + +"No doubt he does, about the way home," said mamma, "and we won't worry +about papa, but have our supper and go to bed. That'll make the time +seem short." + +The meal was soon eaten and cleared away, the fire carefully covered +up on the hearth, and the whole little family quietly in bed. Then +the storm, which had been making ready all day, came down upon them in +earnest. + +The bleak wind howled around the corners, the white flakes by millions +and millions came with it, and hurled themselves upon that house. In +fact, that poor little cabin alone on the wide prairie seemed to be +the object of their sport. They sifted through the cracks in the walls, +around the windows, and under the door, and made pretty little drifts on +the floor. They piled up against it outside, covered the steps, and then +the door, and then the windows, and then the roof, and at last buried it +completely out of sight under the soft, white mass. + +And all the time the mother and her three children lay snugly covered up +in their beds fast asleep, and knew nothing about it. + +The night passed away and morning came, but no light broke through the +windows of the cabin. Mrs. Barnes woke at the usual time, but finding it +still dark and perfectly quiet outside, she concluded that the storm was +over, and with a sigh of relief turned over to sleep again. About eight +o'clock, however, she could sleep no more, and became wide awake enough +to think the darkness strange. At that moment the clock struck, and the +truth flashed over her. + +Being buried under snow is no uncommon thing on the wide prairies, and +since they had wood and cornmeal in plenty, she would not have been much +alarmed if her husband had been home. But snow deep enough to bury them +must cover up all landmarks, and she knew her husband would not rest +till he had found them. To get lost on the trackless prairie was +fearfully easy, and to suffer and die almost in sight of home was no +unusual thing, and was her one dread in living there. + +A few moments she lay quiet in bed, to calm herself and get control of +her own anxieties before she spoke to the children. + +"Willie," she said at last, "are you awake?" + +"Yes, mamma," said Willie; "I've been awake ever so long; isn't it most +morning?" + +"Willie," said the mother quietly, "we mustn't be frightened, but I +think--I'm afraid--we are snowed in." + +Willie bounded to his feet and ran to the door. "Don't open it!" said +mamma hastily; "the snow may fall in. Light a candle and look out the +window." + +In a moment the flickering rays of the candle fell upon the window. +Willie drew back the curtain. Snow was tightly banked up against it to +the top. + +"Why, mamma," he exclaimed, "so we are! and how can papa find us? and +what shall we do?" + +"We must do the best we can," said mamma, in a voice which she tried to +make steady, "and trust that it isn't very deep, and that Tim and papa +will find us, and dig us out." + +By this time the little girls were awake and inclined to be very much +frightened, but mamma was calm now, and Willie was brave and hopeful. +They all dressed, and Willie started the fire. The smoke refused to +rise, but puffed out into the room, and Mrs. Barnes knew that if the +chimney were closed they would probably suffocate, if they did not +starve or freeze. + +The smoke in a few minutes choked them, and, seeing that something must +be done, she put the two girls, well wrapped in blankets, into the shed +outside the back door, closed the door to keep out the smoke, and then +went with Willie to the low attic, where a scuttle door opened onto the +roof. + +"We must try," she said, "to get it open without letting in too much +snow, and see if we can manage to clear the chimney." + +"I can reach the chimney from the scuttle with a shovel," said Willie. +"I often have with a stick." + +After much labour, and several small avalanches of snow, the scuttle +was opened far enough for Willie to stand on the top round of the short +ladder, and beat a hole through to the light, which was only a +foot above. He then shovelled off the top of the chimney, which was +ornamented with a big round cushion of snow, and then by beating and +shovelling he was able to clear the door, which he opened wide, and Mrs. +Barnes came up on the ladder to look out. Dreary indeed was the scene! +Nothing but snow as far as the eye could reach, and flakes still +falling, though lightly. + +The storm was evidently almost over, but the sky was gray and overcast. + +They closed the door, went down, and soon had a fire, hoping that the +smoke would guide somebody to them. + +Breakfast was taken by candle-light, dinner--in time--in the same way, +and supper passed with no sound from the outside world. + +Many times Willie and mamma went to the scuttle door to see if any one +was in sight, but not a shadow broke the broad expanse of white over +which toward night the sun shone. Of course there were no signs of the +roads, for through so deep snow none could be broken, and until the +sun and frost should form a crust on top there was little hope of their +being reached. + +The second morning broke, and Willie hurried up to his post of lookout +the first thing. No person was in sight, but he found a light crust on +the snow, and the first thing he noticed was a few half-starved birds +trying in vain to pick up something to eat. They looked weak and almost +exhausted, and a thought struck Willie. + +It was hard to keep up the courage of the little household. Nora had +openly lamented that to-night was Christmas Eve, and no Christmas dinner +to be had. Tot had grown very tearful about her "waisins," and Mrs. +Barnes, though she tried to keep up heart, had become very pale and +silent. + +Willie, though he felt unbounded faith in papa, and especially in Tim, +found it hard to suppress his own complaints when he remembered that +Christmas would probably be passed in the same dismal way, with fears +for papa added to their own misery. + +The wood, too, was getting low, and mamma dared not let the fire go out, +as that was the only sign of their existence to anybody; and though she +did not speak of it, Willie knew, too, that they had not many candles, +and in two days at farthest they would be left in the dark. + +The thought that struck Willie pleased him greatly, and he was sure it +would cheer up the rest. He made his plans, and went to work to carry +them out without saying anything about it. + +He brought out of a corner of the attic an old boxtrap he had used in +the summer to catch birds and small animals, set it carefully on the +snow, and scattered crumbs of corn-bread to attract the birds. + +In half an hour he went up again, and found to his delight he had caught +bigger game--a poor rabbit which had come from no one knows where over +the crust to find food. + +This gave Willie a new idea; they could save their Christmas dinner +after all; rabbits made very nice pies. + +Poor Bunny was quietly laid to rest, and the trap set again. This time +another rabbit was caught, perhaps the mate of the first. This was the +last of the rabbits, but the next catch was a couple of snowbirds. These +Willie carefully placed in a corner of the attic, using the trap for a +cage, and giving them plenty of food and water. + +When the girls were fast asleep, with tears on their cheeks for the +dreadful Christmas they were going to have, Willie told mamma about his +plans. Mamma was pale and weak with anxiety, and his news first made her +laugh and then cry. But after a few moments given to her long pent-up +tears, she felt much better and entered into his plans heartily. + +The two captives up in the attic were to be Christmas presents to the +girls, and the rabbits were to make the long anticipated pie. As for +plum-pudding, of course that couldn't be thought of. + +"But don't you think, mamma," said Willie eagerly, "that you could make +some sort of a cake out of meal, and wouldn't hickory nuts be good in +it? You know I have some left up in the attic, and I might crack them +softly up there, and don't you think they would be good?" he concluded +anxiously. + +"Well, perhaps so," said mamma, anxious to please him and help him in +his generous plans. "I can try. If I only had some eggs--but seems to me +I have heard that snow beaten into cake would make it light--and there's +snow enough, I'm sure," she added with a faint smile, the first Willie +had seen for three days. + +The smile alone he felt to be a great achievement, and he crept +carefully up the ladder, cracked the nuts to the last one, brought them +down, and mamma picked the meats out, while he dressed the two rabbits +which had come so opportunely to be their Christmas dinner. "Wish you +Merry Christmas!" he called out to Nora and Tot when they waked. "See +what Santa Claus has brought you!" + +Before they had time to remember what a sorry Christmas it was to be, +they received their presents, a live bird, for each, a bird that was +never to be kept in a cage, but fly about the house till summer came, +and then to go away if it wished. + +Pets were scarce on the prairie, and the girls were delighted. Nothing +papa could have brought them would have given them so much happiness. + +They thought no more of the dinner, but hurried to dress themselves and +feed the birds, which were quite tame from hunger and weariness. But +after a while they saw preparations for dinner, too. Mamma made a crust +and lined a deep dish--the chicken pie dish--and then she brought a +mysterious something out of the cupboard, all cut up so that it looked +as if it might be chicken, and put it in the dish with other things, and +then she tucked them all under a thick crust, and set it down in a tin +oven before the fire to bake. And that was not all. She got out some +more cornmeal, and made a batter, and put in some sugar and something +else which she slipped in from a bowl, and which looked in the batter +something like raisins; and at the last moment Willie brought her a cup +of snow and she hastily beat it into the cake, or pudding, whichever you +might call it, while the children laughed at the idea of making a cake +out of snow. This went into the same oven and pretty soon it rose up +light and showed a beautiful brown crust, while the pie was steaming +through little fork holes on top, and sending out most delicious odours. + +At the last minute, when the table was set and everything ready to come +up, Willie ran up to look out of the scuttle, as he had every hour of +daylight since they were buried. In a moment came a wild shout down the +ladder. + +"They're coming! Hurrah for old Tim!" + +Mamma rushed up and looked out, and saw--to be sure--old Tim slowly +coming along over the crust, drawing after him a wood sled on which were +two men. + +"It's papa!" shouted Willie, waving his arms to attract their attention. + +"Willie!" came back over the snow in tones of agony. "Is that you? Are +all well?" + +"All well!" shouted Willie, "and just going to have our Christmas +dinner." + +"Dinner?" echoed papa, who was now nearer. + +"Where is the house, then?" + +"Oh, down here!" said Willie, "under the snow; but we're all right, only +we mustn't let the plum-pudding spoil." + +Looking into the attic, Willie found that mamma had fainted away, and +this news brought to her aid papa and the other man, who proved to be a +good friend who had come to help. + +Tim was tied to the chimney, whose thread of smoke had guided them home, +and all went down into the dark room. Mrs. Barnes soon recovered, and +while Willie dished up the smoking dinner, stories were told on both +sides. + +Mr. Barnes had been trying to get through the snow and to find them all +the time, but until the last night had made a stiff crust he had been +unable to do so. Then Mrs. Barnes told her story, winding up with the +account of Willie's Christmas dinner. "And if it hadn't been for his +keeping up our hearts I don't know what would have become of us," she +said at last. + +"Well, my son," said papa, "you did take care of mamma, and get up a +dinner out of nothing, sure enough; and now we'll eat the dinner, which +I am sure is delicious." + +So it proved to be; even the cake, or pudding, which Tot christened snow +pudding, was voted very nice, and the hickory nuts as good as raisins. +When they had finished, Mr. Barnes brought in his packages, gave Tot and +the rest some "sure-enough waisins," and added his Christmas presents +to Willie's; but though all were overjoyed, nothing was quite so nice in +their eyes as the two live birds. + +After dinner the two men and Willie dug out passages from the doors, +through the snow, which had wasted a good deal, uncovered the windows, +and made a slanting way to his shed for old Tim. Then for two or three +days Willie made tunnels and little rooms under the snow, and for two +weeks, while the snow lasted, Nora and Tot had fine times in the little +snow playhouses. + + + + +XXX. MR. BLUFF'S EXPERIENCES OF HOLIDAYS* + +* Reprinted by permission of Moffat, Yird & Co., from Christmas. R.H. +Schauffler, Editor. + +OLIVER BELL BUNCE + +"I hate holidays," said Bachelor Bluff to me, with some little +irritation, on a Christmas a few years ago. Then he paused an instant, +after which he resumed: "I don't mean to say that I hate to see people +enjoying themselves. But I hate holidays, nevertheless, because to me +they are always the saddest and dreariest days of the year. I shudder at +the name of holiday. I dread the approach of one, and thank heaven when +it is over. I pass through, on a holiday, the most horrible sensations, +the bitterest feelings, the most oppressive melancholy; in fact, I am +not myself at holiday-times." + +"Very strange," I ventured to interpose. + +"A plague on it!" said he, almost with violence. "I'm not inhuman. I +don't wish anybody harm. I'm glad people can enjoy themselves. But +I hate holidays all the same. You see, this is the reason: I am a +bachelor; I am without kin; I am in a place that did not know me at +birth. And so, when holidays come around, there is no place anywhere +for me. I have friends, of course; I don't think I've been a very sulky, +shut-in, reticent fellow; and there is many a board that has a place +for me--but not at Christmastime. At Christmas, the dinner is a family +gathering; and I've no family. There is such a gathering of kindred on +this occasion, such a reunion of family folk, that there is no place +for a friend, even if the friend be liked. Christmas, with all its +kindliness and charity and good-will, is, after all, deuced selfish. +Each little set gathers within its own circle; and people like me, with +no particular circle, are left in the lurch. So you see, on the day of +all the days in the year that my heart pines for good cheer, I'm without +an invitation. + +"Oh, it's because I pine for good cheer," said the bachelor, sharply, +interrupting my attempt to speak, "that I hate holidays. If I were an +infernally selfish fellow, I wouldn't hate holidays. I'd go off and have +some fun all to myself, somewhere or somehow. But, you see, I hate to be +in the dark when all the rest of the world is in light. I hate holidays +because I ought to be merry and happy on holidays and can't. + +"Don't tell me," he cried, stopping the word that was on my lips; "I +tell you, I hate holidays. The shops look merry, do they, with their +bright toys and their green branches? The pantomime is crowded with +merry hearts, is it? The circus and the show are brimful of fun and +laughter, are they? Well, they all make me miserable. I haven't any +pretty-faced girls or bright-eyed boys to take to the circus or the +show, and all the nice girls and fine boys of my acquaintance have +their uncles or their grand-dads or their cousins to take them to those +places; so, if I go, I must go alone. But I don't go. I can't bear +the chill of seeing everybody happy, and knowing myself so lonely and +desolate. Confound it, sir, I've too much heart to be happy under such +circumstances! I'm too humane, sir! And the result is, I hate holidays. +It's miserable to be out, and yet I can't stay at home, for I get +thinking of Christmases past. I can't read--the shadow of my heart makes +it impossible. I can't walk--for I see nothing but pictures through the +bright windows, and happy groups of pleasure-seekers. The fact is, I've +nothing to do but to hate holidays. But will you not dine with me?" + +Of course, I had to plead engagement with my own family circle, and I +couldn't quite invite Mr. Bluff home that day, when Cousin Charles and +his wife, and Sister Susan and her daughter, and three of my wife's kin +had come in from the country, all to make a merry Christmas with us. I +felt sorry, but it was quite impossible, so I wished Mr. Bluff a "Merry +Christmas," and hurried homeward through the cold and nipping air. + +I did not meet Bachelor Bluff again until a week after Christmas of the +next year, when I learned some strange particulars of what occurred +to him after our parting on the occasion just described. I will let +Bachelor Bluff tell his adventure for himself. + +"I went to church," said he, "and was as sad there as everywhere else. +Of course, the evergreens were pretty, and the music fine; but all +around me were happy groups of people, who could scarcely keep down +merry Christmas long enough to do reverence to sacred Christmas. And +nobody was alone but me. Every happy paterfamilias in his pew tantalized +me, and the whole atmosphere of the place seemed so much better suited +to every one else than me that I came away hating holidays worse than +ever. Then I went to the play, and sat down in a box all alone by +myself. Everybody seemed on the best of terms with everybody else, and +jokes and banter passed from one to another with the most good-natured +freedom. Everybody but me was in a little group of friends. I was the +only person in the whole theatre that was alone. And then there was such +clapping of hands, and roars of laughter, and shouts of delight at +all the fun going on upon the stage, all of which was rendered +doubly enjoyable by everybody having somebody with whom to share and +interchange the pleasure, that my loneliness got simply unbearable, and +I hated holidays infinitely worse than ever. + +"By five o'clock the holiday became so intolerable that I said I'd go +and get a dinner. The best dinner the town could provide. A sumptuous +dinner for one. A dinner with many courses, with wines of the finest +brands, with bright lights, with a cheerful fire, with every condition +of comfort--and I'd see if I couldn't for once extract a little pleasure +out of a holiday! + +"The handsome dining-room at the club looked bright, but it was empty. +Who dines at this club on Christmas but lonely bachelors? There was +a flutter of surprise when I ordered a dinner, and the few attendants +were, no doubt, glad of something to break the monotony of the hours. + +"My dinner was well served. The spacious room looked lonely; but the +white, snowy cloths, the rich window hangings, the warm tints of the +walls, the sparkle of the fire in the steel grate, gave the room an air +of elegance and cheerfulness; and then the table at which I dined was +close to the window, and through the partly drawn curtains were visible +centres of lonely, cold streets, with bright lights from many a window, +it is true, but there was a storm, and snow began whirling through the +street. I let my imagination paint the streets as cold and dreary as +it would, just to extract a little pleasure by way of contrast from the +brilliant room of which I was apparently sole master. + +"I dined well, and recalled in fancy old, youthful Christmases, and +pledged mentally many an old friend, and my melancholy was mellowing +into a low, sad undertone, when, just as I was raising a glass of wine +to my lips, I was startled by a picture at the windowpane. It was +a pale, wild, haggard face, in a great cloud of black hair, pressed +against the glass. As I looked it vanished. With a strange thrill at my +heart, which my lips mocked with a derisive sneer, I finished the wine +and set down the glass. It was, of course, only a beggar-girl that had +crept up to the window and stole a glance at the bright scene within; +but still the pale face troubled me a little, and threw a fresh shadow +on my heart. I filled my glass once more with wine, and was again about +to drink, when the face reappeared at the window. It was so white, +so thin, with eyes so large, wild, and hungry-looking, and the black, +unkempt hair, into which the snow had drifted, formed so strange and +weird a frame to the picture, that I was fairly startled. Replacing, +untasted, the liquor on the table, I rose and went close to the pane. +The face had vanished, and I could see no object within many feet of the +window. The storm had increased, and the snow was driving in wild gusts +through the streets, which were empty, save here and there a hurrying +wayfarer. The whole scene was cold, wild, and desolate, and I could not +repress a keen thrill of sympathy for the child, whoever it was, +whose only Christmas was to watch, in cold and storm, the rich banquet +ungratefully enjoyed by the lonely bachelor. I resumed my place at the +table; but the dinner was finished, and the wine had no further +relish. I was haunted by the vision at the window, and began, with an +unreasonable irritation at the interruption, to repeat with fresh warmth +my detestation of holidays. One couldn't even dine alone on a holiday +with any sort of comfort, I declared. On holidays one was tormented by +too much pleasure on one side, and too much misery on the other. And +then, I said, hunting for justification of my dislike of the day, 'How +many other people are, like me, made miserable by seeing the fullness of +enjoyment others possess!' + +"Oh, yes, I know," sarcastically replied the bachelor to a comment of +mine; "of course, all magnanimous, generous, and noble-souled people +delight in seeing other people made happy, and are quite content to +accept this vicarious felicity. But I, you see, and this dear little +girl--" + +"Dear little girl?" + +"Oh, I forgot," said Bachelor Bluff, blushing a little, in spite of +a desperate effort not to do so. "I didn't tell you. Well, it was so +absurd! I kept thinking, thinking of the pale, haggard, lonely little +girl on the cold and desolate side of the window-pane, and the +over-fed, discontented, lonely old bachelor on the splendid side of +the window-pane, and I didn't get much happier thinking about it, I can +assure you. I drank glass after glass of the wine--not that I enjoyed +its flavour any more, but mechanically, as it were, and with a sort +of hope thereby to drown unpleasant reminders. I tried to attribute +my annoyance in the matter to holidays, and so denounced them more +vehemently than ever. I rose once in a while and went to the window, but +could see no one to whom the pale face could have belonged. + +"At last, in no very amiable mood, I got up, put on my wrappers, and +went out; and the first thing I did was to run against a small figure +crouching in the doorway. A face looked up quickly at the rough +encounter, and I saw the pale features of the window-pane. I was very +irritated and angry, and spoke harshly; and then, all at once, I am sure +I don't know how it happened, but it flashed upon me that I, of all men, +had no right to utter a harsh word to one oppressed with so wretched a +Christmas as this poor creature was. I couldn't say another word, but +began feeling in my pocket for some money, and then I asked a question +or two, and then I don't quite know how it came about--isn't it very +warm here?" exclaimed Bachelor Bluff, rising and walking about, and +wiping the perspiration from his brow. + +"Well, you see," he resumed nervously, "it was very absurd, but I did +believe the girl's story--the old story, you know, of privation and +suffering, and just thought I'd go home with the brat and see if what +she said was all true. And then I remembered that all the shops were +closed, and not a purchase could be made. I went back and persuaded the +steward to put up for me a hamper of provisions, which the half-wild +little youngster helped me carry through the snow, dancing with delight +all the way. And isn't this enough?" + +"Not a bit, Mr. Bluff. I must have the whole story." + +"I declare," said Bachelor Bluff, "there's no whole story to tell. A +widow with children in great need, that was what I found; and they had +a feast that night, and a little money to buy them a load of wood and a +garment or two the next day; and they were all so bright, and so merry, +and so thankful, and so good, that, when I got home that night, I was +mightily amazed that, instead of going to bed sour at holidays, I was +in a state of great contentment in regard to holidays. In fact, I was +really merry. I whistled. I sang. I do believe I cut a caper. The poor +wretches I had left had been so merry over their unlooked-for Christmas +banquet that their spirits infected mine. + +"And then I got thinking again. Of course, holidays had been miserable +to me, I said. What right had a well-to-do, lonely old bachelor hovering +wistfully in the vicinity of happy circles, when all about there were +so many people as lonely as he, and yet oppressed with want? 'Good +gracious!' I exclaimed, 'to think of a man complaining of loneliness +with thousands of wretches yearning for his help and comfort, with +endless opportunities for work and company, with hundreds of pleasant +and delightful things to do. Just to think of it! It put me in a great +fury at myself to think of it. I tried pretty hard to escape from myself +and began inventing excuses and all that sort of thing, but I rigidly +forced myself to look squarely at my own conduct. And then I reconciled +my confidence by declaring that, if ever after that day I hated a +holiday again, might my holidays end at once and forever! + +"Did I go and see my proteges again? What a question! Why--well, no +matter. If the widow is comfortable now, it is because she has found a +way to earn without difficulty enough for her few wants. That's no fault +of mine. I would have done more for her, but she wouldn't let me. But +just let me tell you about New Year's--the New-Year's day that followed +the Christmas I've been describing. It was lucky for me there was +another holiday only a week off. Bless you! I had so much to do that day +I was completely bewildered, and the hours weren't half long enough. +I did make a few social calls, but then I hurried them over; and then +hastened to my little girl, whose face had already caught a touch +of colour; and she, looking quite handsome in her new frock and her +ribbons, took me to other poor folk, and,--well, that's about the whole +story. + +"Oh, as to the next Christmas. Well, I didn't dine alone, as you may +guess. It was up three stairs, that's true, and there was none of that +elegance that marked the dinner of the year before; but it was merry, +and happy, and bright; it was a generous, honest, hearty Christmas +dinner, that it was, although I do wish the widow hadn't talked so much +about the mysterious way a turkey had been left at her door the night +before. And Molly--that's the little girl--and I had a rousing appetite. +We went to church early; then we had been down to the Five Points to +carry the poor outcasts there something for their Christmas dinner; in +fact, we had done wonders of work, and Molly was in high spirits, and so +the Christmas dinner was a great success. + +"Dear me, sir, no! Just as you say. Holidays are not in the least +wearisome any more. Plague on it! When a man tells me now that he hates +holidays, I find myself getting very wroth. I pin him by the buttonhole +at once, and tell him my experience. The fact is, if I were at dinner on +a holiday, and anybody should ask me for a sentiment, I should say, 'God +bless all holidays!'" + + + + +XXXI. MASTER SANDY'S SNAPDRAGON* + +* This story was first published in Wide Awake, vol. 26. + +ELDRIDGE S. BROOKS + +There was just enough of December in the air and of May in the sky +to make the Yuletide of the year of grace 1611 a time of pleasure and +delight to every boy and girl in "Merrie England" from the princely +children in stately Whitehall to the humblest pot-boy and scullery-girl +in the hall of the country squire. + +And in the palace at Whitehall even the cares of state gave place to +the sports of this happy season. For that "Most High and Mighty +Prince James, by the Grace of God King of Great Britain, France, and +Ireland"--as you will find him styled in your copy of the Old +Version, or what is known as "King James' Bible"--loved the Christmas +festivities, cranky, crabbed, and crusty though he was. And this year +he felt especially gracious. For now, first since the terror of the Guy +Fawkes plot which had come to naught full seven years before, did the +timid king feel secure on his throne; the translation of the Bible, +on which so many learned men had been for years engaged, had just been +issued from the press of Master Robert Baker; and, lastly, much profit +was coming into the royal treasury from the new lands in the Indies and +across the sea. + +So it was to be a Merry Christmas in the palace at Whitehall. Great were +the preparations for its celebration, and the Lord Henry, the handsome, +wise and popular young Prince of Wales, whom men hoped some day to hail +as King Henry of England, was to take part in a jolly Christmas mask, +in which, too, even the little Prince Charles was to perform for the +edification of the court when the mask should be shown in the new and +gorgeous banqueting hall of the palace. + +And to-night it was Christmas Eve. The Little Prince Charles and the +Princess Elizabeth could scarcely wait for the morrow, so impatient were +they to see all the grand devisings that were in store for them. So +good Master Sandy, under-tutor to the Prince, proposed to wise Archie +Armstrong, the King's jester, that they play at snapdragon for the +children in the royal nursery. + +The Prince and Princess clamoured for the promised game at once, and +soon the flicker from the flaming bow lighted up the darkened nursery +as, around the witchlike caldron, they watched their opportunity to +snatch the lucky raisin. The room rang so loudly with fun and laughter +that even the King himself, big of head and rickety of legs, shambled in +good-humouredly to join in the sport that was giving so much pleasure +to the royal boy he so dearly loved, and whom he always called "Baby +Charles." + +But what was snapdragon, you ask? A simple enough game, but dear for +many and many a year to English children. A broad and shallow bowl +or dish half-filled with blazing brandy, at the bottom of which lay +numerous toothsome raisins--a rare tidbit in those days--and one of +these, pierced with a gold button, was known as the "lucky raisin." +Then, as the flaming brandy flickered and darted from the yawning bowl, +even as did the flaming poison tongues of the cruel dragon that St. +George of England conquered so valiantly, each one of the revellers +sought to snatch a raisin from the burning bowl without singe or scar. +And he who drew out the lucky raisin was winner and champion, and could +claim a boon or reward for his superior skill. Rather a dangerous game, +perhaps it seems, but folks were rough players in those old days and +laughed at a burn or a bruise, taking them as part of the fun. + +So around Master Sandy's Snapdragon danced the royal children, and even +the King himself condescended to dip his royal hands in the flames, +while Archie Armstrong the jester cried out: "Now fair and softly, +brother Jamie, fair and softly, man. There's ne'er a plum in all +that plucking so worth the burning as there was in Signer Guy Fawkes' +snapdragon when ye proved not to be his lucky raisin." For King's +jesters were privileged characters in the old days, and jolly Archie +Armstrong could joke with the King on this Guy Fawkes scare as none +other dared. + +And still no one brought out the lucky raisin, though the Princess +Elizabeth's fair arm was scotched and good Master Sandy's peaked beard +was singed, and my Lord Montacute had dropped his signet ring in the +fiery dragon's mouth, and even His Gracious Majesty the King was nursing +one of his royal fingers. + +But just as through the parted arras came young Henry, Prince of Wales, +little Prince Charles gave a boyish shout of triumph. + +"Hey, huzzoy!" he cried, "'tis mine, 'tis mine! Look, Archie; see, dear +dad; I have the lucky raisin! A boon, good folk; a boon for me!" And +the excited lad held aloft the lucky raisin in which gleamed the golden +button. + +"Rarely caught, young York," cried Prince Henry, clapping his hands in +applause. "I came in right in good time, did I not, to give you luck, +little brother? And now, lad, what is the boon to be?" + +And King James, greatly pleased at whatever his dear "Baby Charles" said +or did, echoed his eldest son's question. "Ay lad, 'twas a rare good +dip; so crave your boon. What does my bonny boy desire?" + +But the boy hesitated. What was there that a royal prince, indulged as +was he, could wish for or desire? He really could think of nothing, and +crossing quickly to his elder brother, whom, boy-fashion, he adored, he +whispered, "Ud's fish, Hal, what DO I want?" + +Prince Henry placed his hand upon his brother's shoulder and looked +smilingly into his questioning eyes, and all within the room glanced for +a moment at the two lads standing thus. + +And they were well worth looking at. Prince Henry of Wales, tall, +comely, open-faced, and well-built, a noble lad of eighteen who called +to men's minds, so "rare Ben Jonson" says, the memory of the hero of +Agincourt, that other + + thunderbolt of war, + Harry the Fifth, to whom in face you are + So like, as Fate would have you so in worth; + +Prince Charles, royal Duke of York, Knight of the Garter and of the +Bath, fair in face and form, an active, manly, daring boy of eleven--the +princely brothers made so fair a sight that the King, jealous and +suspicious of Prince Henry's popularity though he was, looked now upon +them both with loving eyes. But how those loving eyes would have grown +dim with tears could this fickle, selfish, yet indulgent father have +foreseen the sad and bitter fates of both his handsome boys. + +But, fortunately, such foreknowledge is not for fathers or mothers, +whatever their rank or station, and King James's only thought was one +of pride in the two brave lads now whispering together in secret +confidence. And into this he speedily broke. + +"Come, come, Baby Charles," he cried, "stand no more parleying, but out +and over with the boon ye crave as guerdon for your lucky plum. Ud's +fish, lad, out with it; we'd get it for ye though it did rain jeddert +staves here in Whitehall." + +"So please your Grace," said the little Prince, bowing low with true +courtier-like grace and suavity, "I will, with your permission, crave my +boon as a Christmas favor at wassail time in to-morrow's revels." + +And then he passed from the chamber arm-in-arm with his elder brother, +while the King, chuckling greatly over the lad's show of courtliness and +ceremony, went into a learned discussion with my lord of Montacute and +Master Sandy as to the origin of the snapdragon, which he, with his +customary assumption of deep learning, declared was "but a modern +paraphrase, my lord, of the fable which telleth how Dan Hercules did +kill the flaming dragon of Hesperia and did then, with the apple of that +famous orchard, make a fiery dish of burning apple brandy which he did +name 'snapdragon.'" + +For King James VI of Scotland and I of England was, you see, something +too much of what men call a pendant. + +Christmas morning rose bright and glorious. A light hoarfrost whitened +the ground and the keen December air nipped the noses as it hurried +the song-notes of the score of little waifs who, gathered beneath the +windows of the big palace, sung for the happy awaking of the young +Prince Charles their Christmas carol and their Christmas noel: + + A child this day is born, + A child of great renown; + Most worthy of a sceptre, + A sceptre and a crown. + + Noel, noel, noel, + Noel sing we may + Because the King of all Kings + Was born this blessed day. + + These tidings shepherds heard + In field watching their fold, + Were by an angel unto them + At night revealed and told. + + Noel, noel, noel, + Noel sing we may + Because the King of all Kings + Was born this blessed day. + + He brought unto them tidings + Of gladness and of mirth, + Which cometh to all people by + This holy infant's birth. + + Noel, noel, noel, + Noel sing we may + Because the King of all Kings + Was born this blessed day. + +The "blessed day" wore on. Gifts and sports filled the happy hours. +In the royal banqueting hall the Christmas dinner was royally set +and served, and King and Queen and Princes, with attendant nobles and +holiday guests, partook of the strong dishes of those old days of hearty +appetites. + +"A shield of brawn with mustard, boyl'd capon, a chine of beef roasted, +a neat's tongue roasted, a pig roasted, chewets baked, goose, swan and +turkey roasted, a haunch of venison roasted, a pasty of venison, a kid +stuffed with pudding, an olive-pye, capons and dowsets, sallats and +fricases"--all these and much more, with strong beer and spiced ale to +wash the dinner down, crowned the royal board, while the great boar's +head and the Christmas pie, borne in with great parade, were placed +on the table joyously decked with holly and rosemary and bay. It was +a great ceremony--this bringing in of the boar's head. First came an +attendant, so the old record tells us, + +"attyr'd in a horseman's coat with a Boares-speare in his hande; next to +him another huntsman in greene, with a bloody faulchion drawne; next to +him two pages in tafatye sarcenet, each of them with a messe of mustard; +next to whom came hee that carried the Boareshead, crosst with a greene +silk scarfe, by which hunge the empty scabbard of the faulchion which +was carried before him." + +After the dinner--the boar's head having been wrestled for by some of +the royal yeomen--came the wassail or health-drinking. Then the King +said: + +"And now, Baby Charles, let us hear the boon ye were to crave of us +at wassail as the guerdon for the holder of the lucky raisin in Master +Sandy's snapdragon." + +And the little eleven-year-old Prince stood up before the company in all +his brave attire, glanced at his brother Prince Henry, and then facing +the King said boldly: + +"I pray you, my father and my Hege, grant me as the boon I ask--the +freeing of Walter Raleigh." + +At this altogether startling and unlooked-for request, amazement and +consternation appeared on the faces around the royal banqueting +board, and the King put down his untasted tankard of spiced ale, while +surprise, doubt and anger quickly crossed the royal face. For Sir Walter +Raleigh, the favourite of Queen Elizabeth, the lord-proprietor and +colonizer of the American colonies, and the sworn foe to Spain, had been +now close prisoner in the Tower for more than nine years, hated and yet +dreaded by this fickle King James, who dared not put him to death for +fear of the people to whom the name and valour of Raleigh were dear. + +"Hoot, chiel!" cried the King at length, spluttering wrathfully in +the broadest of his native Scotch, as was his habit when angered or +surprised. "Ye reckless fou, wha hae put ye to sic a jackanape trick? +Dinna ye ken that sic a boon is nae for a laddie like you to meddle wi'? +Wha hae put ye to't, I say?" + +But ere the young Prince could reply, the stately and solemn-faced +ambassador of Spain, the Count of Gondemar, arose in the place of honour +he filled as a guest of the King. + +"My Lord King," he said, "I beg your majesty to bear in memory your +pledge to my gracious master King Philip of Spain, that naught save +grave cause should lead you to liberate from just durance that arch +enemy of Spain, the Lord Raleigh." + +"But you did promise me, my lord," said Prince Charles, hastily, "and +you have told me that the royal pledge is not to be lightly broken." + +"Ma certie, lad," said King James, "ye maunay learn that there is nae +rule wi'out its aicciptions." And then he added, "A pledge to a boy in +play, like to ours of yester-eve, Baby Charles, is not to be kept when +matters of state conflict." Then turning to the Spanish ambassador, he +said: "Rest content, my lord count. This recreant Raleigh shall not yet +be loosed." + +"But, my liege," still persisted the boy prince, "my brother Hal did +say--" + +The wrath of the King burst out afresh. + +"Ay, said you so? Brother Hal, indeed!" he cried. + +"I thought the wind blew from that quarter," and he angrily faced his +eldest son. "So, sirrah; 'twas you that did urge this foolish boy to +work your traitorous purpose in such coward guise!" + +"My liege," said Prince Henry, rising in his place, "traitor and coward +are words I may not calmly hear even from my father and my king. You +wrong me foully when you use them thus. For though I do bethink me that +the Tower is but a sorry cage in which to keep so grandly plumed a bird +as my Lord of Raleigh, I did but seek--" + +"Ay, you did but seek to curry favour with the craven crowd," burst out +the now thoroughly angry King, always jealous of the popularity of +this brave young Prince of Wales. "And am I, sirrah, to be badgered and +browbeaten in my own palace by such a thriftless ne'er-do-weel as you, +ungrateful boy, who seekest to gain preference with the people in this +realm before your liege lord the King? Quit my presence, sirrah, and +that instanter, ere that I do send you to spend your Christmas where +your great-grandfather, King Henry, bade his astrologer spend his--in +the Tower, there to keep company with your fitting comrade, Raleigh, the +traitor!" + +Without a word in reply to this outburst, with a son's submission, but +with a royal dignity, Prince Henry bent his head before his father's +decree and withdrew from the table, followed by the gentlemen of his +household. + +But ere he could reach the arrased doorway, Prince Charles sprang to his +side and cried, valiantly: "Nay then, if he goes so do I! 'Twas surely +but a Christmas joke and of my own devising. Spoil not our revel, my +gracious liege and father, on this of all the year's red-letter days, +by turning my thoughtless frolic into such bitter threatening. I did but +seek to test the worth of Master Sandy's lucky raisin by asking for as +wildly great a boon as might be thought upon. Brother Hal too, did but +give me his advising in joke even as I did seek it. None here, my royal +father, would brave your sovereign displeasure by any unknightly or +unloyal scheme." + +The gentle and dignified words of the young prince--for Charles Stuart, +though despicable as a king, was ever loving and loyal as a friend--were +as oil upon the troubled waters. The ruffled temper of the ambassador +of Spain--who in after years really did work Raleigh's downfall and +death--gave place to courtly bows, and the King's quick anger melted +away before the dearly loved voice of his favourite son. + +"Nay, resume your place, son Hal," he said, "and you, gentlemen all, +resume your seats, I pray. I too did but jest as did Baby Charles +here--a sad young wag, I fear me, is this same young Prince." + +But as, after the wassail, came the Christmas mask, in which both +Princes bore their parts, Prince Charles said to Archie Armstrong, the +King's jester: + +"Faith, good Archie; now is Master Sandy's snapdragon but a false beast +withal, and his lucky raisin is but an evil fruit that pays not for the +plucking." + +And wise old Archie only wagged his head and answered, "Odd zooks, +Cousin Charlie, Christmas raisins are not the only fruit that burns +the fingers in the plucking, and mayhap you too may live to know that a +mettlesome horse never stumbleth but when he is reined." + +Poor "Cousin Charlie" did not then understand the full meaning of the +wise old jester's words, but he did live to learn their full intent. +For when, in after years, his people sought to curb his tyrannies with +a revolt that ended only with his death upon the scaffold, outside this +very banqueting house at Whitehall, Charles Stuart learned all too late +that a "mettlesome horse" needed sometimes to be "reined," and heard, +too late as well, the stern declaration of the Commons of England that +"no chief officer might presume for the future to contrive the enslaving +and destruction of the nation with impunity." + +But though many a merry and many a happy day had the young Prince +Charles before the dark tragedy of his sad and sorry manhood, he +lost all faith in lucky raisins. Not for three years did Sir Walter +Raleigh--whom both the Princes secretly admired--obtain release from the +Tower, and ere three more years were past his head fell as a forfeit +to the stern demands of Spain. And Prince Charles often declared that +naught indeed could come from meddling with luck saving burnt fingers, +"even," he said, "as came to me that profitless night when I sought a +boon for snatching the lucky raisin from good Master Sandy's Christmas +snapdragon." + + + + +XXXII. A CHRISTMAS FAIRY* + +* Reprinted with the permission of the Henry Altemus Company. + +JOHN STRANGE WINTER + +It was getting very near to Christmas time, and all the boys at Miss +Ware's school were talking about going home for the holidays. + +"I shall go to the Christmas festival," said Bertie Fellows, "and my +mother will have a party, and my Aunt will give another. Oh! I shall +have a splendid time at home." + +"My Uncle Bob is going to give me a pair of skates," remarked Harry +Wadham. + +"My father is going to give me a bicycle," put in George Alderson. + +"Will you bring it back to school with you?" asked Harry. + +"Oh! yes, if Miss Ware doesn't say no." + +"Well, Tom," cried Bertie, "where are you going to spend your holidays?" + +"I am going to stay here," answered Tom in a very forlorn voice. + +"Here--at school--oh, dear! Why can't you go home?" + +"I can't go home to India," answered Tom. + +"Nobody said you could. But haven't you any relatives anywhere?" + +Tom shook his head. "Only in India," he said sadly. + +"Poor fellow! That's hard luck for you. I'll tell you what it is, boys, +if I couldn't go home for the holidays, especially at Christmas--I think +I would just sit down and die." + +"Oh, no, you wouldn't," said Tom. "You would get ever so homesick, but +you wouldn't die. You would just get through somehow, and hope something +would happen before next year, or that some kind fairy would--" + +"There are no fairies nowadays," said Bertie. + +"See here, Tom, I'll write and ask my mother to invite you to go home +with me for the holidays." + +"Will you really?" + +"Yes, I will. And if she says yes, we shall have such a splendid time. +We live in London, you know, and have lots of parties and fun." + +"Perhaps she will say no?" suggested poor little Tom. + +"My mother isn't the kind that says no," Bertie declared loudly. + +In a few days' time a letter arrived from Bertie's mother. The boy +opened it eagerly. It said: + +My own dear Bertie: + +I am very sorry to tell you that little Alice is ill with scarlet fever. +And so you cannot come for your holidays. I would have been glad to have +you bring your little friend with you if all had been well here. + +Your father and I have decided that the best thing that you can do is to +stay at Miss Ware's. We shall send your Christmas present to you as well +as we can. + +It will not be like coming home, but I am sure you will try to be happy, +and make me feel that you are helping me in this sad time. + +Dear little Alice is very ill, very ill indeed. Tell Tom that I am +sending you a box for both of you, with two of everything. And tell him +that it makes me so much happier to know that you will not be alone. + + Your own mother. + +When Bertie Fellows received this letter, which ended all his Christmas +hopes and joys, he hid his face upon his desk and sobbed aloud. The +lonely boy from India, who sat next to him, tried to comfort his friend +in every way he could think of. He patted his shoulder and whispered +many kind words to him. + +At last Bertie put the letter into Tom's hands. "Read it," he sobbed. + +So then Tom understood the cause of Bertie's grief. "Don't fret over +it," he said at last. "It might be worse. Why, your father and mother +might be thousands of miles away, like mine are. When Alice is better, +you will be able to go home. And it will help your mother if she thinks +you are almost as happy as if you could go now." + +Soon Miss Ware came to tell Bertie how sorry she was for him. + +"After all," said she, smiling down on the two boys, "it is an ill +wind that blows nobody good. Poor Tom has been expecting to spend his +holidays alone, and now he will have a friend with him--Try to look on +the bright side, Bertie, and to remember how much worse it would have +been if there had been no boy to stay with you." + +"I can't help being disappointed, Miss Ware," said Bertie, his eyes +filling with tears. + +"No; you would be a strange boy if you were not. But I want you to try +to think of your poor mother, and write her as cheerfully as you can." + +"Yes," answered Bertie; but his heart was too full to say more. + +The last day of the term came, and one by one, or two by two, the boys +went away, until only Bertie and Tom were left in the great house. It +had never seemed so large to either of them before. + +"It's miserable," groaned poor Bertie, as they strolled into the +schoolroom. "Just think if we were on our way home now--how different." + +"Just think if I had been left here by myself," said Tom. + +"Yes," said Bertie, "but you know when one wants to go home he never +thinks of the boys that have no home to go to." + +The evening passed, and the two boys went to bed. They told stories to +each other for a long time before they could go to sleep. That night +they dreamed of their homes, and felt very lonely. Yet each tried to be +brave, and so another day began. + +This was the day before Christmas. Quite early in the morning came the +great box of which Bertie's mother had spoken in her letter. Then, just +as dinner had come to an end, there was a peal of the bell, and a voice +was heard asking for Tom Egerton. + +Tom sprang to his feet, and flew to greet a tall, handsome lady, crying, +"Aunt Laura! Aunt Laura!" + +And Laura explained that she and her husband had arrived in London only +the day before. "I was so afraid, Tom," she said, "that we should +not get here until Christmas Day was over and that you would be +disappointed. So I would not let your mother write you that we were on +our way home. You must get your things packed up at once, and go back +with me to London. Then uncle and I will give you a splendid time." + +For a minute or two Tom's face shone with delight. Then he caught sight +of Bertie and turned to his aunt. + +"Dear Aunt Laura," he said, "I am very sorry, but I can't go." + +"Can't go? and why not?" + +"Because I can't go and leave Bertie here all alone," he said stoutly. +"When I was going to be alone he wrote and asked his mother to let me go +home with him. She could not have either of us because Bertie's sister +has scarlet fever. He has to stay here, and he has never been away from +home at Christmas time before, and I can't go away and leave him by +himself, Aunt Laura." + +For a minute Aunt Laura looked at the boy as if she could not believe +him. Then she caught him in her arms and kissed him. + +"You dear little boy, you shall not leave him. You shall bring him +along, and we shall all enjoy ourselves together. Bertie, my boy, you +are not very old yet, but I am going to teach you a lesson as well as I +can. It is that kindness is never wasted in this world." + +And so Bertie and Tom found that there was such a thing as a fairy after +all. + + + + +XXXIII. THE GREATEST OF THESE* + +*This story was first printed in the Youth's Companion, vol. 76. + +JOSEPH MILLS HANSON + +The outside door swung open suddenly, letting a cloud of steam into the +small, hot kitchen. Charlie Moore, a milk pail in one hand, a lantern in +the other, closed the door behind him with a bang, set the pail on the +table and stamped the snow from his feet. + +"There's the milk, and I near froze gettin' it," said he, addressing his +partner, who was chopping potatoes in a pan on the stove. + +"Dose vried bodadoes vas burnt," said the other, wielding his knife +vigorously. + +"Are, eh? Why didn't you watch 'em instead of readin' your old +Scandinavian paper?" answered Charlie, hanging his overcoat and cap +behind the door and laying his mittens under the stove to dry. Then he +drew up a chair and with much exertion pulled off his heavy felt boots +and stood them beside his mittens. + +"Why didn't you shut the gate after you came in from town? The cows +got out and went up to Roney's an' I had to chase 'em; 'tain't any joke +runnin' round after cows such a night as this." Having relieved his mind +of its grievance, Charlie sat down before the oven door, and, opening +it, laid a stick of wood along its outer edge and thrust his feet into +the hot interior, propping his heels against the stick. + +"Look oud for dese har biscuits!" exclaimed his partner, anxiously. + +"Oh, hang the biscuits!" was Charlie's hasty answer. "I'll watch 'em. +Why didn't you?" + +"Ay tank Ay fergit hem." + +"Well, you don't want to forget. A feller forgot his clothes once, an' +he got froze." + +"Ay gass dose taller vas ketch in a sbring snowstorm. Vas dose biscuits +done, Sharlie?" + +"You bet they are, Nels," replied Charlie, looking into the pan. + +"Dan subbar vas ready. Yom on!" + +Nels picked up the frying-pan and Charlie the biscuits, and set them +on the oilcloth-covered table, where a plate of butter, a jar of plum +jelly, and a coffee-pot were already standing. + +Outside the frozen kitchen window the snow-covered fields and meadows +stretched, glistening and silent, away to the dark belt of timber by the +river. Along the deep-rutted road in front a belated lumber-wagon passed +slowly, the wheels crunching through the packed snow with a wavering, +incessant shriek. + +The two men hitched their chairs up to the table, and without ceremony +helped themselves liberally to the steaming food. For a few moments they +seemed oblivious to everything but the demands of hunger. The potatoes +and biscuits disappeared with surprising rapidity, washed down by +large drafts of coffee. These men, labouring steadily through the short +daylight hours in the dry, cold air of the Dakota winter, were like +engines whose fires had burned low--they were taking fuel. Presently, +the first keen edge of appetite satisfied, they ate more slowly, and +Nels, straightening up with a sigh, spoke: + +"Ay seen Seigert in town ta-day. Ha vants von hundred fifty fer dose +team." + +"Come down, eh?" commented Charlie. "Well, they're worth that. We'd +better take 'em, Nels. We'll need 'em in the spring if we break the +north forty." + +"Yas, et's a nice team," agreed Nels. "Ha vas driven ham ta-day." + +"Is he haulin' corn?" + +"Na; he had his kids oop gettin' Christmas bresents." + +"Chris--By gracious! to-morrow's Christmas!" + +Nels nodded solemnly, as one possessing superior knowledge. Charlie +became thoughtful. + +"We'll come in sort of slim on it here, I reckon, Nels. Christmas ain't +right, somehow, out here. Back in Wisconsin, where I came from, there's +where you get your Christmas!" Charlie spoke with the unswerving +prejudice of mankind for the land of his birth. + +"Yas, dose been right. En da ol' kontry dey havin' gret times +Christmas." + +Their thoughts were all bent now upon the holiday scenes of the past. +As they finished the meal and cleared away and washed the dishes they +related incidents of their boyhood's time, compared, reiterated, and +embellished. As they talked they grew jovial, and laughed often. + +"The skee broke an' you went over kerplunk, hey? Haw, haw! That reminds +me of one time in Wisconsin--" + +Something of the joyous spirit of the Christmastide seemed to have +entered into this little farmhouse set in the midst of the lonely, white +fields. In the hearts of these men, moving about in their dim-lighted +room, was reechoed the joyous murmur of the great world without: the +gayety of the throngs in city streets, where the brilliant shop-windows, +rich with holiday spoils, smile out upon the passing crowd, and the +clang of street-cars and roar of traffic mingle with the cries of +street-venders. The work finished, they drew their chairs to the stove, +and filled their pipes, still talking. + +"Well, well," said Charlie, after the laugh occasioned by one of Nels' +droll stories had subsided. "It's nice to think of those old times. I'd +hate to have been one of these kids that can't have any fun. Christmas +or any other time." + +"Ay gass dere ain't anybody much dot don'd have someding dis tams a +year." + +"Oh, yes, there are, Nels! You bet there are!" + +Charlie nodded at his partner with serious conviction. + +"Now, there's the Roneys," he waved his pipe over his shoulder. "The old +man told me to-night when I was up after the cows that he's sold all +the crops except what they need for feedin'--wheat, and corn, and +everything, and some hogs besides--and ain't got hardly enough now for +feed and clothes for all that family. The rent and the lumber he had to +buy to build the new barn after the old one burnt ate up the money like +fury. He kind of laughed, and said he guessed the children wouldn't get +much Christmas this year. I didn't think about it's being so close when +he told me." + +"No Christmas!" Nels' round eyes widened with astonishment. "Ay tank +dose been pooty bad!" He studied the subject for a few moments, his +stolid face suddenly grown thoughtful. Charlie stared at the stove. Far +away by the river a lonely coyote set up his quick, howling yelp. + +"Dere's been seven kids oop dere," said Nels at last, glancing up as it +for corroboration. + +"Yes, seven," agreed Charlie. + +"Say, do ve need Seigert's team very pad?" + +"Well, now that depends," said Charlie. "Why not?" + +"Nothin', only Ay vas tankin' ve might tak' some a das veat we vas goin' +to sell and--and--" + +"Yep, what?" + +"And dumb it on Roney's granary floor to-night after dere been asleeb." + +Charlie stared at his companion for a moment in silence. Then he rose, +and, approaching Nels, examined his partner's face with solemn scrutiny. + +"By the great horn spoon," he announced, finally, "you've got a head on +you like a balloon, my boy! Keep on gettin' ideas like that, and you'll +land in Congress or the poor-farm before many years!" + +Then, abandoning his pretense of gravity, he slapped the other on the +back. + +"Why didn't I think of that? It's the best yet. Seigert's team? Oh, hang +Seigert's team. We don't need it. We'll have a little merry Christmas +out of this yet. Only they mustn't know where it came from. I'll write +a note and stick it under the door, 'You'll find some merry wheat--'No, +that ain't it. 'You'll find some wheat in the granary to give the kids a +merry Christmas with,' signed, 'Santa Claus.'" + +He wrote out the message in the air with a pointing forefinger. He had +entered into the spirit of the thing eagerly. + +"It's half-past nine now," he went on, looking at the clock. "It'll be +eleven time we get the stuff loaded and hauled up there. Let's go out +and get at it. Lucky the bobs are on the wagon; they don't make such a +racket as wheels." + +He took the lantern from its nail behind the door and lighted it, after +which he put on his boots, cap, and mittens, and flung his overcoat +across his shoulders. Nels, meanwhile, had put on his outer garments, +also. + +"Shut up the stove, Nels." Charlie blew out the light and opened the +door. "There, hang it!" he exclaimed, turning back. "I forgot the note. +Ought to be in ink, I suppose. Well, never mind now; we won't put on any +style about it." + +He took down a pencil from the shelf, and, extracting a bit of wrapping +paper from a bundle behind the woodbox, wrote the note by the light of +the lantern. + +"There, I guess that will do," he said, finally. "Come on!" + +Outside, the night air was cold and bracing, and in the black vault of +the sky the winter constellations flashed and throbbed. The shadows of +the two men, thrown by the lantern, bobbed huge and grotesque across +the snow and among the bare branches of the cottonwoods, as they moved +toward the barn. + +"Ay tank ve put on dose extra side poards and make her an even fifty +pushel," said Nels, after they had backed the wagon up to the granary +door. "Ve might as vell do it oop right, skence ve're at it." + +Having carried out this suggestion, the two shovelled steadily, with +short intervals of rest, for three quarters of an hour, the dark pile +of grain in the wagon-box rising gradually until it stood flush with the +top. + +Good it was to look upon, cold and soft and yielding to the touch, this +heaped-up wealth from the inexhaustible treasure-house of the mighty +West. Charlie and Nels felt something of this as they viewed the results +of their labours for a moment before hitching up the team. + +"It's A number one hard," said Charlie, picking up a handful and sifting +it slowly through his fingers, "and it'll fetch seventy-four cents. +But you can't raise any worse on this old farm of ours if you try," he +added, a little proudly. "Nor anywhere else in the Jim River Valley, for +that matter." + +As they approached the Roney place, looking dim and indistinct in the +darkness, their voices hushed apprehensively, and the noise of the +sled-runners slipping through the snow seemed to them to increase from a +purr to a roar. + +"Here, stob a minute!" whispered Nels, in agony of discovery. "Ve're +magin' an awful noise. Ay'll go und take a beek." + +He slipped away and cautiously approached the house. "Et's all right," +he whispered, hoarsely, returning after a moment; "dere all asleeb. But +go easy; Ay tank ve pest go easy." They seemed burdened all at once +with the consciences of criminals, and went forward with almost guilty +timidity. + +"Thunder, dere's a bump! Vy don'd you drive garefuller, Sharlie?" + +"Drive yourself, if you think you can do any better!" As they came +into the yard a dog suddenly ran out from the barn, barking furiously. +Charlie reined up with an ejaculation of despair; "Look there, the dog! +We're done for now, sure! Stop him, Nels! Throw somethin' at 'im!" + +The noise seemed to their excited ears louder than the crash of +artillery. Nels threw a piece of snow crust. The dog ran back a few +steps, but his barking did not diminish. + +"Here, hold the lines. I'll try to catch 'im." Charlie jumped from the +wagon and approached the dog with coaxing words: "Come, doggie, good +doggie, nice boy, come!" + +His manoeuvre, however, merely served to increase the animal's frenzy. +As Charlie approached the dog retired slowly toward the house, his head +thrown back, and his rapid barking increased to a long-drawn howl. + +"Good boy, come! Bother the brute! He'll wake up the whole household! +Nice doggie! Phe-e--" + +The noise, however, had no apparent effect upon the occupants of the +house. All remained as dark and silent as ever. + +"Sharlie, Sharlie, let him go!" cried Nels, in a voice smothered with +laughter. "Ay go in dose parn; maype ha'll chase me." + +His hope was well founded. The dog, observing this treacherous +occupation by the enemy of his last harbour of refuge, gave pursuit and +disappeared within the door, which Charlie, hard behind him, closed +with a bang. There was the sound of a hurried scuffle within. The dog's +barking gave place to terrified whinings, which in turn were suddenly +quenched to a choking murmur. + +"Gome in, Sharlie, kvick!" + +"You got him?" queried Charlie, opening the door cautiously. "Did he +bite you?" + +"Na, yust ma mitten. Gat a sack or someding da die him oop in." + +A sack was procured from somewhere, into which the dog, now silenced +from sheer exhaustion and fright, was unceremoniously thrust, after +which the sack was tied and flung into the wagon. This formidable +obstacle overcome and the Roneys still slumbering peacefully, the +rest was easy. The granary door was pried open and the wheat shovelled +hurriedly in upon the empty floor. Charlie then crept up to the house +and slipped his note under the door. + +The sack was lifted from the now empty wagon and opened before the barn, +whereupon its occupant slipped meekly out and retreated at once to a far +corner, seemingly too much incensed at his discourteous treatment even +to fling a volley of farewell barks at his departing captors. + +"Vell," remarked Nels, with a sigh of relief as they gained the road, +"Ay tank dose Roneys pelieve en Santa Claus now. Dose peen funny vay fer +Santa Claus to coom." + +Charlie's laugh was good to hear. "He didn't exactly come down the +chimney, that's a fact, but it'll do at a pinch. We ought to have +told them to get a present for the dog--collar and chain. I reckon he +wouldn't hardly be thankful for it, though, eh?" + +"Ay gass not. Ha liges ta haf hes nights ta hemself." + +"Well, we had our fun, anyway. Sort of puts me in mind of old Wisconsin, +somehow." + +From far off over the valley, with its dismantled cornfields and +snow-covered haystacks, beyond the ice-bound river, floated slow, and +sonorous, the mellow clanging of church bells. They were ushering in +the Christmas morn. Overhead the starlit heavens glistened, brooding and +mysterious, looking down with luminous, loving eyes upon these humble +sons of men doing a good deed, from the impulse of simple, generous +hearts, as upon that other Christmas morning, long ago, when the Jewish +shepherds, guarding their flocks by night, read in their shining depths +that in Bethlehem of Judea the Christ-Child was born. + +The rising sun was touching the higher hilltops with a faint rush of +crimson the next morning when the back door of the Roney house opened +with a creak, and Mr. Roney, still heavy-eyed with sleep, stumbled out +upon the porch, stretched his arms above his head, yawned, blinked +at the dazzling snow, and then shambled off toward the barn. As he +approached, the dog ran eagerly out, gambolled meekly around his feet +and caressed his boots. The man patted him kindly. + +"Hello, old boy! What were you yappin' around so for last night, huh? +Grain-thieves? You needn't worry about them. There ain't nothin' left +for them to steal. No, sir! If they got into that granary they'd have +to take a lantern along to find a pint of wheat. I don't suppose," he +added, reflectively, "that I could scrape up enough to feed the chickens +this mornin', but I guess I might's well see." + +He passed over to the little building. What he saw when he looked within +seemed for a moment to produce no impression upon him whatever. He +stared at the hillock of grain in motionless silence. Finally Mr. Roney +gave utterance to a single word, "Geewhilikins!" and started for the +house on a run. Into the kitchen, where his wife was just starting the +fire, the excited man burst like a whirlwind. + +"Come out here, Mary!" he cried. "Come out here, quick!" + +The worthy woman, unaccustomed to such demonstrations, looked at him in +amazement. + +"For goodness sake, what's come over you, Peter Roney?" she exclaimed. +"Are you daft? Don't make such a noise! You'll wake the young ones, and +I don't want them waked till need be, with no Christmas for 'em, poor +little things!" + +"Never mind the young 'uns," he replied. "Come on!" + +As they passed out he noticed the slip of paper under the door and +picked it up, but without comment. + +He charged down upon the granary, his wife, with a shawl over her head, +close behind. + +She peered in, apprehensively at first, then with eyes of widening +wonder. + +"Why, Peter!" she said, turning to him. "Why, Peter! What does--I +thought--" + +"You thought!" he broke in. "Me, too. But it ain't so. It means that +we've got some of the best neighbours that ever was, a thinkin' of our +young 'uns this way! Read that!" and he thrust the paper into her hand. + +"Why, Peter!" she ejaculated again, weakly. Then suddenly she turned, +and laying her head on his shoulder, began to sob softly. + +"There, there," he said, patting her arm awkwardly. + +"Don't you go and cry now. Let's just be thankful to the good Lord for +puttin' such fellers into the world as them fellers down the road. And +now you run in and hurry up breakfast while I do up the chores. Then +we'll hitch up and get into town 'fore the stores close. Tell the young +'uns Santy didn't get round last night with their things, but we've got +word to meet him in town. Hey? Yes, I saw just the kind of sled Pete +wants when I was up yesterday, and that china doll for Mollie. Yes, +tell 'em anything you want. Twon't be too big. Santy Claus has come to +Roney's ranch this year, sure!" + + + + +XXXIV. LITTLE GRETCHEN AND THE WOODEN SHOE* + +* From "Christmastide," published by the Chicago Kindergarten College, +copyright 1902. + +ELIZABETH HARRISON + +The following story is one of many which has drifted down to us from the +story-loving nurseries and hearthstones of Germany. I cannot recall when +I first had it told to me as a child, varied, of course, by different +tellers, but always leaving that sweet, tender impression of God's +loving care for the least of his children. I have since read different +versions of it in at least a half-dozen story books for children. + +Once upon a time, a long time ago, far away across the great ocean, in a +country called Germany, there could be seen a small log hut on the edge +of a great forest, whose fir-trees extended for miles and miles to the +north. This little house, made of heavy hewn logs, had but one room in +it. A rough pine door gave entrance to this room, and a small square +window admitted the light. At the back of the house was built an +old-fashioned stone chimney, out of which in winter usually curled a +thin, blue smoke, showing that there was not very much fire within. + +Small as the house was, it was large enough for the two people who lived +in it. I want to tell you a story to-day about these two people. One +was an old, gray-haired woman, so old that the little children of the +village, nearly half a mile away, often wondered whether she had come +into the world with the huge mountains, and the great fir-trees, which +stood like giants back of her small hut. Her face was wrinkled all over +with deep lines, which, if the children could only have read aright, +would have told them of many years of cheerful, happy, self-sacrifice, +of loving, anxious watching beside sick-beds, of quiet endurance of +pain, of many a day of hunger and cold, and of a thousand deeds of +unselfish love for other people; but, of course, they could not read +this strange handwriting. They only knew that she was old and wrinkled, +and that she stooped as she walked. None of them seemed to fear her, +for her smile was always cheerful, and she had a kindly word for each +of them if they chanced to meet her on her way to and from the village. +With this old, old woman lived a very little girl. So bright and happy +was she that the travellers who passed by the lonesome little house on +the edge of the forest often thought of a sunbeam as they saw her. +These two people were known in the village as Granny Goodyear and Little +Gretchen. + +The winter had come and the frost had snapped off many of the smaller +branches from the pine-trees in the forest. Gretchen and her Granny were +up by daybreak each morning. After their simple breakfast of oatmeal, +Gretchen would run to the little closet and fetch Granny's old woollen +shawl, which seemed almost as old as Granny herself. Gretchen always +claimed the right to put the shawl over her Granny's head, even though +she had to climb onto the wooden bench to do it. After carefully pinning +it under Granny's chin, she gave her a good-bye kiss, and Granny started +out for her morning's work in the forest. This work was nothing more nor +less than the gathering up of the twigs and branches which the autumn +winds and winter frosts had thrown upon the ground. These were carefully +gathered into a large bundle which Granny tied together with a strong +linen band. She then managed to lift the bundle to her shoulder and +trudged off to the village with it. Here she sold the fagots for +kindling wood to the people of the village. Sometimes she would get only +a few pence each day, and sometimes a dozen or more, but on this money +little Gretchen and she managed to live; they had their home, and the +forest kindly furnished the wood for the fire which kept them warm in +cold weather. + +In the summer time Granny had a little garden at the back of the hut +where she raised, with little Gretchen's help, a few potatoes and +turnips and onions. These she carefully stored away for winter use. To +this meagre supply, the pennies, gained by selling the twigs from the +forest, added the oatmeal for Gretchen and a little black coffee for +Granny. Meat was a thing they never thought of having. It cost too much +money. Still, Granny and Gretchen were very happy, because they loved +each other dearly. Sometimes Gretchen would be left alone all day long +in the hut, because Granny would have some work to do in the village +after selling her bundle of sticks and twigs. It was during these long +days that little Gretchen had taught herself to sing the song which the +wind sang to the pine branches. In the summer time she learned the chirp +and twitter of the birds, until her voice might almost be mistaken for a +bird's voice; she learned to dance as the swaying shadows did, and even +to talk to the stars which shone through the little square window when +Granny came home too late or too tired to talk. + +Sometimes, when the weather was fine, or her Granny had an extra bundle +of newly knitted stockings to take to the village, she would let little +Gretchen go along with her. It chanced that one of these trips to the +town came just the week before Christmas, and Gretchen's eyes were +delighted by the sight of the lovely Christmas-trees which stood in the +window of the village store. It seemed to her that she would never tire +of looking at the knit dolls, the woolly lambs, the little wooden shops +with their queer, painted men and women in them, and all the other fine +things. She had never owned a plaything in her whole life; therefore, +toys which you and I would not think much of, seemed to her to be very +beautiful. + +That night, after their supper of baked potatoes was over, and little +Gretchen had cleared away the dishes and swept up the hearth, because +Granny dear was so tired, she brought her own small wooden stool and +placed it very near Granny's feet and sat down upon it, folding her +hands on her lap. Granny knew that this meant she wanted to talk about +something, so she smilingly laid away the large Bible which she had been +reading, and took up her knitting, which was as much as to say: "Well, +Gretchen, dear, Granny is ready to listen." + +"Granny," said Gretchen slowly, "it's almost Christmas time, isn't it?" + +"Yes, dearie," said Granny, "only five more days now," and then she +sighed, but little Gretchen was so happy that she did not notice +Granny's sigh. + +"What do you think, Granny, I'll get this Christmas?" said she, looking +up eagerly into Granny's face. + +"Ah, child, child," said Granny, shaking her head, "you'll have no +Christmas this year. We are too poor for that." + +"Oh, but, Granny," interrupted little Gretchen, "think of all the +beautiful toys we saw in the village to-day. Surely Santa Claus has sent +enough for every little child." + +"Ah, dearie," said Granny, "those toys are for people who can pay money +for them, and we have no money to spend for Christmas toys." + +"Well, Granny," said Gretchen, "perhaps some of the little children who +live in the great house on the hill at the other end of the village will +be willing to share some of their toys with me. They will be so glad to +give some to a little girl who has none." + +"Dear child, dear child," said Granny, leaning forward and stroking the +soft, shiny hair of the little girl, "your heart is full of love. You +would be glad to bring a Christmas to every child; but their heads are +so full of what they are going to get that they forget all about anybody +else but themselves." Then she sighed and shook her head. + +"Well, Granny," said Gretchen, her bright, happy tone of voice growing a +little less joyous, "perhaps the dear Santa Claus will show some of the +village children how to make presents that do not cost money, and some +of them may surprise me Christmas morning with a present. And, Granny, +dear," added she, springing up from her low stool, "can't I gather some +of the pine branches and take them to the old sick man who lives in +the house by the mill, so that he can have the sweet smell of our pine +forest in his room all Christmas day?" + +"Yes, dearie," said Granny, "you may do what you can to make the +Christmas bright and happy, but you must not expect any present +yourself." + +"Oh, but, Granny," said little Gretchen, her face brightening, "you +forget all about the shining Christmas angels, who came down to earth +and sang their wonderful song the night the beautiful Christ-Child was +born! They are so loving and good that they will not forget any little +child. I shall ask my dear stars to-night to tell them of us. You know," +she added, with a look of relief, "the stars are so very high that they +must know the angels quite well, as they come and go with their messages +from the loving God." + +Granny sighed, as she half whispered, "Poor child, poor child!" but +Gretchen threw her arm around Granny's neck and gave her a hearty kiss, +saying as she did so: "Oh, Granny, Granny, you don't talk to the stars +often enough, else you wouldn't be sad at Christmas time." Then she +danced all around the room, whirling her little skirts about her to +show Granny how the wind had made the snow dance that day. She looked +so droll and funny that Granny forgot her cares and worries and laughed +with little Gretchen over her new snow-dance. The days passed on, and +the morning before Christmas Eve came. Gretchen having tidied up +the little room--for Granny had taught her to be a careful little +housewife--was off to the forest, singing a birdlike song, almost as +happy and free as the birds themselves. She was very busy that day, +preparing a surprise for Granny. First, however, she gathered the most +beautiful of the fir branches within her reach to take the next morning +to the old sick man who lived by the mill. The day was all too short +for the happy little girl. When Granny came trudging wearily home +that night, she found the frame of the doorway covered with green pine +branches. + +"It's to welcome you, Granny! It's to welcome you!" cried Gretchen; "our +old dear home wanted to give you a Christmas welcome. Don't you see, the +branches of evergreen make it look as if it were smiling all over, and +it is trying to say, 'A happy Christmas' to you, Granny!" + +Granny laughed and kissed the little girl, as they opened the door and +went in together. Here was a new surprise for Granny. The four posts of +the wooden bed, which stood in one corner of the room, had been trimmed +by the busy little fingers, with smaller and more flexible branches of +the pine-trees. A small bouquet of red mountain-ash berries stood at +each side of the fireplace, and these, together with the trimmed posts +of the bed, gave the plain old room quite a festival look. Gretchen +laughed and clapped her hands and danced about until the house seemed +full of music to poor, tired Granny, whose heart had been sad as she +turned toward their home that night, thinking of the disappointment +which must come to loving little Gretchen the next morning. + +After supper was over little Gretchen drew her stool up to Granny's +side, and laying her soft, little hands on Granny's knee, asked to be +told once again the story of the coming of the Christ-Child; how the +night that he was born the beautiful angels had sung their wonderful +song, and how the whole sky had become bright with a strange and +glorious light, never seen by the people of earth before. Gretchen had +heard the story many, many times before, but she never grew tired of it, +and now that Christmas Eve had come again, the happy little child wanted +to hear it once more. + +When Granny had finished telling it the two sat quiet and silent for +a little while thinking it over; then Granny rose and said that it was +time for them to go to bed. She slowly took off her heavy wooden shoes, +such as are worn in that country, and placed them beside the hearth. +Gretchen looked thoughtfully at them for a minute or two, and then she +said, "Granny, don't you think that somebody in all this wide world will +think of us to-night?" + +"Nay, Gretchen," said Granny, "I don't think any one will." + +"Well, then, Granny," said Gretchen, "the Christmas angels will, I +know; so I am going to take one of your wooden shoes, and put it on the +windowsill outside, so that they may see it as they pass by. I am sure +the stars will tell the Christmas angels where the shoe is." + +"Ah, you foolish, foolish child," said Granny, "you are only getting +ready for a disappointment To-morrow morning there will be nothing +whatever in the shoe. I can tell you that now." + +But little Gretchen would not listen. She only shook her head and cried +out: "Ah, Granny, you don't talk enough to the stars." With this she +seized the shoe, and, opening the door, hurried out to place it on the +windowsill. It was very dark without, and something soft and cold seemed +to gently kiss her hair and face. Gretchen knew by this that it was +snowing, and she looked up to the sky, anxious to see if the stars were +in sight, but a strong wind was tumbling the dark, heavy snow-clouds +about and had shut away all else. + +"Never mind," said Gretchen softly to herself, "the stars are up +there, even if I can't see them, and the Christmas angels do not mind +snowstorms." + +Just then a rough wind went sweeping by the little girl, whispering +something to her which she could not understand, and then it made a +sudden rush up to the snow-clouds and parted them, so that the deep, +mysterious sky appeared beyond, and shining down out of the midst of it +was Gretchen's favourite star. + +"Ah, little star, little star!" said the child, laughing aloud, "I +knew you were there, though I couldn't see you. Will you whisper to the +Christmas angels as they come by that little Gretchen wants so very much +to have a Christmas gift to-morrow morning, if they have one to spare, +and that she has put one of Granny's shoes upon the windowsill ready for +it?" + +A moment more and the little girl, standing on tiptoe, had reached the +windowsill and placed the shoe upon it, and was back again in the house +beside Granny and the warm fire. + +The two went quietly to bed, and that night as little Gretchen knelt +to pray to the Heavenly Father, she thanked him for having sent the +Christ-Child into the world to teach all mankind how to be loving and +unselfish, and in a few moments she was quietly sleeping, dreaming of +the Christmas angels. + +The next morning, very early, even before the sun was up, little +Gretchen was awakened by the sound of sweet music coming from the +village. She listened for a moment and then she knew that the choir-boys +were singing the Christmas carols in the open air of the village street. +She sprang up out of bed and began to dress herself as quickly as +possible, singing as she dressed. While Granny was slowly putting on her +clothes, little Gretchen, having finished dressing herself, unfastened +the door and hurried out to see what the Christmas angels had left in +the old wooden shoe. + +The white snow covered everything--trees, stumps, roads, and +pastures--until the whole world looked like fairyland. Gretchen climbed +up on a large stone which was beneath the window and carefully lifted +down the wooden shoe. The snow tumbled off of it in a shower over the +little girl's hands, but she did not heed that; she ran hurriedly back +into the house, putting her hand into the toe of the shoe as she ran. + +"Oh, Granny! Oh, Granny!" she exclaimed, "you didn't believe the +Christmas angels would think about us, but see, they have, they have! +Here is a dear little bird nestled down in the toe of your shoe! Oh, +isn't he beautiful?" + +Granny came forward and looked at what the child was holding lovingly +in her hand. There she saw a tiny chick-a-dee, whose wing was evidently +broken by the rough and boisterous winds of the night before, and who +had taken shelter in the safe, dry toe of the old wooden shoe. She +gently took the little bird out of Gretchen's hands, and skilfully bound +his broken wing to his side, so that he need not hurt himself by trying +to fly with it. Then she showed Gretchen how to make a nice warm nest +for the little stranger, close beside the fire, and when their breakfast +was ready she let Gretchen feed the little bird with a few moist crumbs. + +Later in the day Gretchen carried the fresh, green boughs to the old +sick man by the mill, and on her way home stopped to see and enjoy the +Christmas toys of some other children whom she knew, never once wishing +that they were hers. When she reached home she found that the little +bird had gone to sleep. Soon, however, he opened his eyes and stretched +his head up, saying just as plain as a bird could say, "Now, my new +friends, I want you to give me something more to eat." Gretchen gladly +fed him again, and then, holding him in her lap, she softly and gently +stroked his gray feathers until the little creature seemed to lose all +fear of her. That evening Granny taught her a Christmas hymn and told +her another beautiful Christmas story. Then Gretchen made up a funny +little story to tell to the birdie. He winked his eyes and turned his +head from side to side in such a droll fashion that Gretchen laughed +until the tears came. + +As Granny and she got ready for bed that night, Gretchen put her arms +softly around Granny's neck, and whispered: "What a beautiful Christmas +we have had to-day, Granny! Is there anything in the world more lovely +than Christmas?" + +"Nay, child, nay," said Granny, "not to such loving hearts as yours." + + + + +XXXV. CHRISTMAS ON BIG RATTLE* + +* This story was first printed in the Youth's Companion, Dec. 14, 1905. + +THEODORE GOODRIDGE ROBERTS + +Archer sat by the rude hearth of his Big Rattle camp, brooding in a sort +of tired contentment over the spitting fagots of var and glowing coals +of birch. + +It was Christmas Eve. He had been out on his snowshoes all that day, and +all the day before, springing his traps along the streams and putting +his deadfalls out of commission--rather queer work for a trapper to be +about. + +But Archer, despite all his gloomy manner, was really a sentimentalist, +who practised what he felt. + +"Christmas is a season of peace on earth," he had told himself, while +demolishing the logs of a sinister deadfall with his axe; and now the +remembrance of his quixotic deed added a brightness to the fire and to +the rough, undecorated walls of the camp. + +Outside, the wind ran high in the forest, breaking and sweeping tidelike +over the reefs of treetops. The air was bitterly cold. Another voice, +almost as fitful as the sough of the wind, sounded across the night. It +was the waters of Stone Arrow Falls, above Big Rattle. + +The frosts had drawn their bonds of ice and blankets of silencing snow +over all the rest of the stream, but the white and black face of the +falls still flashed from a window in the great house of crystal, and +threw out a voice of desolation. + +Sacobie Bear, a full-blooded Micmac, uttered a grunt of relief when his +ears caught the bellow of Stone Arrow Falls. He stood still, and turned +his head from side to side, questioningly. + +"Good!" he said. "Big Rattle off there, Archer's camp over there. I go +there. Good 'nough!" + +He hitched his old smooth-bore rifle higher under his arm and +continued his journey. Sacobie had tramped many miles--all the way from +ice-imprisoned Fox Harbor. His papoose was sick. His squaw was hungry. +Sacobie's belt was drawn tight. + +During all that weary journey his old rifle had not banged once, +although few eyes save those of timberwolf and lynx were sharper in the +hunt than Sacobie's. The Indian was reeling with hunger and weakness, +but he held bravely on. + +A white man, no matter how courageous and sinewy, would have been prone +in the snow by that time. + +But Sacobie, with his head down and his round snowshoes padding! +padding! like the feet of a frightened duck, raced with death toward the +haven of Archer's cabin. + +Archer was dreaming of a Christmas-time in a great faraway city when +he was startled by a rattle of snowshoes at his threshold and a soft +beating on his door, like weak blows from mittened hands. He sprang +across the cabin and pulled open the door. + +A short, stooping figure shuffled in and reeled against him. A rifle in +a woollen case clattered at his feet. + +"Mer' Christmas! How-do?" said a weary voice. + +"Merry Christmas, brother!" replied Archer. Then, "Bless me, but it's +Sacobie Bear! Why, what's the matter, Sacobie?" + +"Heap tired! Heap hungry!" replied the Micmac, sinking to the floor. + +Archer lifted the Indian and carried him over to the bunk at the farther +end of the room. He filled his iron-pot spoon with brandy, and inserted +the point of it between Sacobie's unresisting jaws. Then he loosened the +Micmac's coat and shirt and belt. + +He removed his moccasins and stockings and rubbed the straight thin feet +with brandy. + +After a while Sacobie Bear opened his eyes and gazed up at Archer. + +"Good!" he said. "John Archer, he heap fine man, anyhow. Mighty good to +poor Injun Sacobie, too. Plenty tobac, I s'pose. Plenty rum, too." + +"No more rum, my son," replied Archer, tossing what was left in the mug +against the log wall, and corking the bottle, "and no smoke until you +have had a feed. What do you say to bacon and tea! Or would tinned beef +suit you better?" + +"Bacum," replied Sacobie. + +He hoisted himself to his elbow, and wistfully sniffed the fumes of +brandy that came from the direction of his bare feet. "Heap waste of +good rum, me t'ink," he said. + +"You ungratefu' little beggar!" laughed Archer, as he pulled a frying +pan from under the bunk. + +By the time the bacon was fried and the tea steeped, Sacobie was +sufficiently revived to leave the bunk and take a seat by the fire. + +He ate as all hungry Indians do; and Archer looked on in wonder and +whimsical regret, remembering the miles and miles he had tramped with +that bacon on his back. + +"Sacobie, you will kill yourself!" he protested. + +"Sacobie no kill himself now," replied the Micmac, as he bolted a brown +slice and a mouthful of hard bread. "Sacobie more like to kill himself +when he empty. Want to live when he chock-full. Good fun. T'ank you for +more tea." + +Archer filled the extended mug and poured in the molasses--"long +sweet'nin'" they call it in that region. + +"What brings you so far from Fox Harbor this time of year?" inquired +Archer. + +"Squaw sick. Papoose sick. Bote empty. Wan' good bacum to eat." + +Archer smiled at the fire. "Any luck trapping?" he asked. + +His guest shook his head and hid his face behind the upturned mug. + +"Not much," he replied, presently. + +He drew his sleeve across his mouth, and then produced a clay pipe from +a pocket in his shirt. + +"Tobac?" he inquired. + +Archer passed him a dark and heavy plug of tobacco. + +"Knife?" queried Sacobie. + +"Try your own knife on it," answered Archer, grinning. + +With a sigh Sacobie produced his sheath-knife. + +"You t'ink Sacobie heap big t'ief," he said, accusingly. + +"Knives are easily lost--in people's pockets," replied Archer. + +The two men talked for hours. Sacobie Bear was a great gossip for one +of his race. In fact, he had a Micmac nickname which, translated, meant +"the man who deafens his friends with much talk." Archer, however, was +pleased with his ready chatter and unforced humour. + +But at last they both began to nod. The white man made up a bed on the +floor for Sacobie with a couple of caribou skins and a heavy blanket. +Then he gathered together a few plugs of tobacco, some tea, flour, and +dried fish. + +Sacobie watched him with freshly aroused interest. + +"More tobac, please," he said. "Squaw, he smoke, too." + +Archer added a couple of sticks of the black leaf to the pile. + +"Bacum, too," said the Micmac. "Bacum better nor fish, anyhow." + +Archer shook his head. + +"You'll have to do with the fish," he replied; "but I'll give you a tin +of condensed milk for the papoose." + +"Ah, ah! Him good stuff!" exclaimed Sacobie. + +Archer considered the provisions for a second or two. Then, going over +to a dunnage bag near his bunk, he pulled its contents about until he +found a bright red silk handkerchief and a red flannel shirt. Their +colour was too gaudy for his taste. "These things are for your squaw," +he said. + +Sacobie was delighted. Archer tied the articles into a neat pack and +stood it in the corner, beside his guest's rifle. + +"Now you had better turn in," he said, and blew out the light. + +In ten minutes both men slept the sleep of the weary. The fire, a great +mass of red coals, faded and flushed like some fabulous jewel. The wind +washed over the cabin and fingered the eaves, and brushed furtive hands +against the door. + +It was dawn when Archer awoke. He sat up in his bunk and looked about +the quiet, gray-lighted room. Sacobie Bear was nowhere to be seen. + +He glanced at the corner by the door. Rifle and pack were both gone. +He looked up at the rafter where his slab of bacon was always hung. It, +too, was gone. + +He jumped out of his bunk and ran to the door. Opening it, he looked +out. Not a breath of air stirred. In the east, saffron and scarlet, +broke the Christmas morning, and blue on the white surface of the world +lay the imprints of Sacobie's round snowshoes. + +For a long time the trapper stood in the doorway in silence, looking out +at the stillness and beauty. + +"Poor Sacobie!" he said, after a while. "Well, he's welcome to the +bacon, even if it is all I had." + +He turned to light the fire and prepare breakfast. Something at the foot +of his bunk caught his eye. He went over and took it up. It was a cured +skin--a beautiful specimen of fox. He turned it over, and on the white +hide an uncultured hand had written, with a charred stick, "Archer." + +"Well, bless that old red-skin!" exclaimed the trapper, huskily. "Bless +his puckered eyes! Who'd have thought that I should get a Christmas +present?" + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Children's Book of Christmas +Stories, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTMAS STORIES *** + +***** This file should be named 5061.txt or 5061.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/6/5061/ + +Produced by Dianne Bean + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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