Part 6

The wind was whistling through the branches and blowing the snow in cloudy rings under the tall black trees. But no little Santa Claus’ house with a green door and red chimney was standing there. Bunny Face couldn’t see a house anywhere. Then he knew how cold he was, and his feet didn’t _feel_ at all. He rubbed his eyes, for this was the place. Those were the very trees surely. Then he tried to think of all the other tall pine trees that he knew. Of course, maybe he had made a mistake; he would look at Mrs. Hampton’s picture again tomorrow. There was nothing to do now but to go back across the cold, white fields. He tried not to think about eating supper with Santa Claus and choosing a present for himself.

It seemed a thousand times farther going back than it had coming; indeed he thought that he never, _never_ would get there. But at last, just as the street lights were coming on, he opened the door of Katie Duckworth’s store and dragged himself over to the stove.

But my, how his heart jumped! For there, stretching out and looking very long, was Agnes fast asleep under the stove. He’d somehow forgotten about Agnes today, but he pulled her out and held her tight. How soft and warm and gentle she was!

Katie Duckworth was selling red mittens to a woman who said they were for Christmas, and she bought hair ribbons and handkerchiefs and a lot more presents before she left. Bunny Face saw that his aunt had been putting Christmas trimmings around the store while he was away. It looked quite fine. But it seemed queer, too, that she’d never talked about Christmas.

It seemed to Bunny Face that every single child had money to spend--for presents for other folks, mind you. This was all new to Bunny Face, for he had supposed that Santa Claus brought all the presents to everybody.

So Bunny Face concluded that he must have some Christmas secrets too. He’d give presents to people himself and have surprises and whisper like other folks. But how about the presents--what were they to be? That puzzled him. He sat by the stove and thought and thought. The next day he went for a walk. And after a while he found himself on the last street of the town just where the fields began. Ahead were the snowy woods and the frozen creek.

“Guess I’ll look for the pine trees,” said Bunny Face. This had been in his head all the time, and he only said that to surprise himself. If he could only really find Santa Claus he’d be all right. Then he’d explain that all he had was Agnes, and she wasn’t a Christmas present to be given away. And he knew that there was no other way out of it; he must find him. So that day he visited all the pine trees that were anywhere about. But not under one of them did he find a house, let alone Santa Claus’ house.

He knew that it must be getting late, for the sun was big and red and low down behind things. He was coming to the dump, which was mostly covered with snow, but the janitor’s shanty looked black and gloomy and only a little thin blue smoke was coming out of the chimney.

Suddenly a snowball whizzed past his head, and he saw the biggest dump child duck behind the corner; then snowballs began coming from every way, for the other dump children had come out. After a while they got tired and began to talk. Bunny Face started it by asking if they knew where Santa Claus’ house was. The real little dump children stared, but the big ones looked ugly.

“Santy Claus your granny!” they said. “Who put that in your head? Anyway if there was one, our old man would take his shotgun to him.”

As Bunny Face trudged on, it came to him that there would be other folks beside himself who would not get presents on Christmas. It made him feel a little better to count them.

“First,” he said, “there’s me; second, Agnes; next, the dump children. Let’s see--fourth, the janitor, of course. And fifth?” He might as well use up all his fingers. “Fifth--Madam Iceberg. Yes, that was a good one, for she wouldn’t get presents or give them.”

But you don’t know who Madam Iceberg was. She was the most-wondered-about person anywhere around. Long ago she used to go traveling, and have visitors from away off come to see her. At those times the big house would be lighted from top to bottom, with all sorts of things going on. Then she was really beautiful to look at. But mercy me, how she’d gone off these last years! Now her hair was far too yellow and her cheeks far too pink and her eyes were--uneasy.

There were No Trespassing signs all over her place; and rather than buy at any of our stores, she used to drive every day in her high carriage over to the next town and do all of her shopping there. So you can see that she wasn’t at all friendly with any of us thereabout.

Of course little Bunny Face had never talked to her, but he felt sure Santa Claus wouldn’t risk bothering much around her chimneys.

So with his head filled with these thoughts he went on till he came to the Parson’s little white house. Bunny Face decided to knock on the door and ask how the dog was. And the door was quickly opened by the Parson himself, who invited him right in.

And the Parson’s sister got him some supper, and he sat on a little stool by the fire and ate it while he told them about hunting for Santa Claus’ house. Then Bunny Face said that he knew five folks that wouldn’t have any Christmas, yes, sir. “Me,” he said, “Agnes, the dump children, the janitor, and Madam Iceberg.”

“Well, maybe not,” said the Parson.

Then he talked about something else, and asked Bunny Face if he had ever heard the Christmas Story. As Bunny Face didn’t know that there was one, he shook his head. So the Parson opened a book and turned pages, then read: “‘And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night.’”

When it was finished the Parson closed the book, saying: “It’s the Spirit of Christmas, sonny--the Spirit of Christmas that the world needs.”

Bunny Face liked the idea. Spirits were a sort of ghosts or goblins; he knew that much. Not like Santa Claus at all--fat and pink, but different. He’d rather think that the Spirit was like a beautiful lady, a sort of fairy. So that’s what he was thinking about one day coming home from school, when he heard the sound of sleigh bells behind him. He turned around and waited, for hopping bobs in those days was a great sport with the children. But it wasn’t a bobsled at all, but Madam Iceberg’s fine green sleigh, fur rugs and all.

“Who’s afraid?” said Bunny Face to himself as the sleigh glided past him, and he hopped lightly on behind, to the surprise of all the people in the street.

On they went, Bunny Face, holding on for dear life, and Madam Iceberg in all her furs sitting there as grim as an image. They went very fast and soon all the shops were left behind, and the houses, and they started to climb the hill toward the big gate.

Then something made her look around suddenly and their eyes met. “Well,” she said, surprised, “who are you?”

“Bunny Face,” he answered promptly.

For a minute she looked as if she might laugh; but she didn’t. Then she said, “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes,” said Bunny Face; “they all call you Madam Iceberg.”

“Possibly,” was all she said.

Bunny Face was about to let go when she turned around again and said, “Now hold on tight.” They were turning in through the big iron gates which stood open.

Then the sleigh stopped in front of the house, and Madam Iceberg handed Bunny Face one of her bundles to carry, saying, “Here, boy, take this.” The driver looked surprised, and so did the maid who opened the door; but nobody said a word--just followed her inside.

It was big and dark and quiet in the house. Then suddenly Bunny Face saw something that made him stop short and drop the bundle.

“_There’s_ the Spirit of Christmas,” he shouted as loud as he could shout.

“Where--what?” asked the lady, ever so surprised.

“There on the wall,” cried Bunny Face, running quickly past the amazed group and stopping in front of the portrait of a beautiful person in white with flowers in her hair.

“You silly boy!” said Madam Iceberg. “That’s only my portrait--when I was married.”

“Oh, it’s not you,” said Bunny Face, giving her a long look and shaking his head. “It’s the Spirit of Christmas. I’ve found her, I’ve found her!” he cried, jumping about and clapping his hands.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about at all, Mr. Bunny Face, but come over here and sit down, and we’ll hear all about it.”

“Well, there’s lots about it,” said Bunny Face; “and you’re in it, too, for you aren’t going to have any Christmas--you, and the school janitor, and the dump children, and Agnes, and me--none of us are going to get presents.”

Then Bunny Face told her about Agnes, and the Parson, and the dump children who didn’t believe in Santa Claus or anything. “That’s about all,” he said, “except Santa Claus’ house, and I couldn’t find that.”

So Bunny Face stood up and said he must go, and when he looked back Madam Iceberg had sunk down deep in her chair, so that he could hardly see her. But the Spirit of Christmas on the wall looked like a white angel.

Something exciting and most surprising happened the next day. The school janitor, Old Crab, was in jail. Yes, sir; and the big boys were down there trying to see him through the bars. He had been caught in Madam Iceberg’s house the night before, stealing. The servants found him as he was getting away with a big roast under his arm.

Everybody was wondering what she would do about it. Would she have him let off maybe, because it was so near Christmas? But nobody really expected her to do that. And just then the Parson came walking along with his sister, and this one and that one told him that he was the very person to go up and talk to the madam about letting the janitor go. It was his duty. But he shook his head and said that “it wouldn’t do a bit of good, not a bit!” But his sister said, “Oh, Archibald, do!” So he went, the poor man.

When he rang the bell he told himself that he was a fool for coming; but the door opened just then, so he couldn’t run; and the maid was saying, “Come in, please.” And after a while Madam Iceberg came walking in.

“Oh, you’ve come to talk about little Bunny Face, I know,” she said, smiling and holding out her hand. “He has the most fantastic ideas,” she said, “and he calls my portrait in the hall the Spirit of Christmas, though I can’t see why.”

You can guess how surprised the Parson was; but he asked to see the picture, and said he quite agreed with Bunny Face. And Madam Iceberg looked pleased. Then they talked on and on, but not a word was said about the janitor until the Parson was about to leave. Then he told her. But he didn’t seem at all astonished when she said to let him go--by all means. Yes, certainly, considering the season and all that sort of thing.

A few minutes later the Reverend Mr. Brisbane was seen walking out through the big gates quite smartly and smiling most pleasantly.

Then one day Madam Iceberg’s big green sleigh stopped right in front of Katie Duckworth’s store, which was the first time that that had ever happened. And she got out herself and walked in. All the customers in the store turned around and stared.

“Ah, here you are, Mr. Bunny Face. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I want you to help me--that is, I want you to join me in some secrets and surprises.”

Just then Katie Duckworth came over to see what was wanted, and Madam Iceberg explained very politely that she would like to borrow her nephew for a little while to help with some Christmas plans.

Katie Duckworth said, “All right, ma’am.”

So Bunny Face got his cap and muffler and followed Madam Iceberg out to the big green sleigh. Then she told the driver to drive around a bit, because she and the young man must have a talk.

“Now, Mr. Bunny Face, please begin and name over that list of folks who won’t have any Christmas this year,” said the lady.

“Well,” said Bunny Face, “there’s me, of course, and Agnes, then the dump children, and the janitor and--and you.”

“All right,” said Madam Iceberg; “and I want you to help me make plans. Will you?”

“Sure,” chirped Bunny Face. “Toys?”

“Yes, indeed, toys,” she said. “But where do we get them?”

“Why, old Mrs. Hampton’s Toy Shop, of course,” said Bunny Face.

So the lady bent forward and said, “Mrs. Hampton’s Toy Shop, driver.”

When old Mrs. Hampton saw them and knew who it was, she took off her thick glasses, then put them back on again quickly. But she didn’t say “Run along,” today, but “What can I do for you?”

And before Madam Iceberg could answer Mrs. Hampton, Bunny Face grabbed her skirt and, pulling her along, pointed to a picture of Santa Claus coming out of a funny little house under some tall pine trees.

“That’s it,” he said; “Santa Claus’ house.”

“So it is,” said Madam Iceberg; “Sure enough; that’s the house that you were hunting, isn’t it?”

But Bunny Face didn’t answer. He had his head on one side and was staring with all his eyes.

The lady puckered her lips and pointed and sort of blinked; so old Mrs. Hampton wrote in her order book: “1 framed picture, entitled The House of Santa Claus.”

“Now,” said Madam Iceberg in a business-like tone, “let’s begin to buy toys.”

“Who for?” asked Bunny Face.

“For your dump children,” answered Madam Iceberg.

So Bunny Face began. “That and that and that,” he said, pointing at fire engines and kites and hobbyhorses. And they bought dolls and dishes and sewing baskets for girls.

Then Madam Iceberg paid for the things out of her purse, and told Mrs. Hampton to send them up to her house, and said “Good-day.”

The other customers looked too surprised to speak when the lady and the little boy closed the door behind them.

When they were back in the sleigh and all covered up, she said, “Now how about Agnes’ present?”

“She hasn’t any place to sleep,” said Bunny Face, “but under the stove.”

“All right,” said Madam Iceberg; “then probably a basket with a red cushion in it would please her; don’t you think it might?”

Yes, Bunny Face thought that it might.

So the lady said that she would make the red cushion herself; then she told the driver to go to the hardware store, and they went in and she bought several baskets.

“But,” said Bunny Face, “Agnes only needs one.”

“I’m thinking of the janitor and some others on your list,” said Madam Iceberg.

“Are we going to give him a present?” asked Bunny Face.

“Certainly,” said Madam Iceberg, “for he’s on your list.” So at the next store she bought good things to fill baskets. Bunny Face thought she’d never stop.

“And now,” she said, “we’re finished.”

“There are two more names yet,” said Bunny Face.

“What?” said Madam Iceberg, with the twinkle look. “Two more?”

“Sure,” said Bunny Face. “Yours and mine.”

“Oh, that is so,” she said; “but I’ll have to talk to Santa Claus about your present, so that you’ll be surprised. That’s one of my secrets, you know.”

Of course that sounded pretty pleasant to Bunny Face--talking to Santa Claus about secrets and surprises. But something worried him at the same time: What was Madam Iceberg to get? And he grew so quiet that finally she bent over and looked at him.

“I don’t know what you are going to get for Christmas,” said Bunny Face slowly.

“Well, I know what I want,” said the lady gayly.

“Oh, what?” asked Bunny Face, sitting up straight.

“Why, a little guest on Christmas day,” she answered.

“A little what?” asked Bunny Face, for that wasn’t a present at all.

“Yes, a little guest, one Mr. Bunny Face, to come early on Christmas morning and stay all day. And to go around with me and help with all the secrets and surprises.”

When Bunny Face got out of the sleigh in front of Katie Duckworth’s store he not only felt that he had found Santa Claus’ house on Clark’s road, but that he had been talking with the Spirit of Christmas as well. But it was true, all of it, and the driver was to come for him early on Christmas morning; and Agnes could go too.

Now, Bunny Face had never had a secret before in his whole life, and he found that keeping one was not as easy as he had expected. But he did enjoy sing-songing to the rest of us children “I have a secret I won’t tell,” as we all walked to school. But nobody really believed it, for who could have a secret with Katie Duckworth?

As you might know, Bunny Face was up pretty early on Christmas morning, all ready, holding Agnes and watching out the front window. You could hear sleigh bells everywhere and people’s voices calling, “Same to you,” and “Merry Christmas.”

Then came a sleigh, around the corner, and stopped in front of Katie Duckworth’s store. The driver jumped out and ran in with a basket with red ribbons flying and a letter tied to the handle. The letter said “A happy Christmas to Miss Duckworth,” and please to allow her nephew to come and spend the day.

Katie untied the ribbons and looked inside, and there were oranges and nuts that they could see; and so she said “All right” to Bunny Face, who picked up Agnes and said good-by. As they went through the gate, Bunny Face saw wreaths in all the windows and over the big door, and Madam Iceberg was standing there, waving her hand.

“Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas!” she said.

And then it really began. First there were all the wreaths, and pine branches over the fireplace, and candles, and right under the Spirit of Christmas there was a trimmed Christmas tree. My, my, such a tree! You never saw the like. But under the tree--toys, toys! toys! Beginning with a velocipede--there was a sled, games, books, skates, a dark lantern. Oh, goodness me! I can’t tell you all the things that there were. And if you’ll believe it, there was the picture of Santa Claus’ house--the very one!

For a minute Bunny Face just couldn’t talk; then he jumped up and down and ran back and forth, pulling Madam Iceberg around by the hand, showing her this one and that one, and how it worked. My, how they laughed at everything. “For Miss Agnes from Bunny Face and Madam Iceberg” was what it said on the letter tied to one Christmas present. And beside the basket and the red cushion was a ball for her to play with. Bunny Face put her in and held her down with both hands till she went to sleep.

“And now, Mr. Bunny Face,” said the lady, “we must go and take care of those other surprises.”

“To the dump?” asked Bunny Face.

“Yes, and on the way back we’ll stop at your Parson’s,” said Madam Iceberg.

Well, right then the sleigh came jingling around the house and stopped at the door, and what do you suppose? Well, all those toys from Mrs. Hampton’s Toy Shop were packed in that sleigh, which made it look exactly like Santa Claus’. It was a strange sight, that sleigh full of toys stopping in front of the janitor’s shanty. The dump children heard the bells and came tumbling out pellmell to see what there was to see.

“Merry Christmas, everybody!” said Madam Iceberg, beginning to hand them toys. Then came the big basket with the Christmas dinner for the janitor and all the children.

“Next to the Parson’s; then home again, Mr. Bunny Face, and you will please hand him this?” said Madam Iceberg as she put a letter into his pocket.

But the Parson and his sister heard the sleigh bells coming, and the door was open before they got there, and everyone was saying “Merry Christmas!” and “The same to you!” as fast and loud as he could.

Then Bunny Face said to the Parson, taking out the letter, “I am to hand you this.”

And the Parson took it and read, “With every good wish from your friends, Bunny Face and Madam Iceberg.” And he seemed greatly pleased, and said: “Well, I guess we all know something about the Spirit of Christmas now.”

“It’s her, it’s her,” shouted Bunny Face, pointing at Madam Iceberg, and he flew over and shook her by the coat, saying, “Now I know what those words mean.”

And she looked very happy as they started toward home.

“Fe, fi, fo, fum! I smell a turkey,” said the lady as the door was opened, and they went into the hall. “Let’s be quick.”

So taking off their things--and a-hold of hands--they went out where a table was set with two chairs, one for Bunny Face and one for her. And in the center there were red candles burning, and a Santa Claus with a pack on his back. Then they sat down and Madam Iceberg leaned over and said, “Merry Christmas, _Sunny_ Face--for that is what I am going to call you.”

And he said, “Same to you!” and a big smile started and ran clear across his face and both ears wiggled pleasantly.

Then the dinner began to come in. First a turkey on a big platter, all trimmed up and so brown and shiny that it looked varnished. Next were all sorts of dishes of different things with covers over them to keep them hot, and you couldn’t begin to guess what was in them all. “A little more gravy over everything” or “Do have another drumstick,” Madam Iceberg would say.

Then finally they both leaned back in their chairs and didn’t eat any more. They talked about all sorts of things and asked each other questions, back and forth--and he asked her if she knew any stories!

She said: “You’re right I do, Mr. Sunny Face. Come, let’s go in by the fire and tell them there.”

So they took hold of hands and went.

[9] By special permission of Gertrude A. Kay and the “Ladies’ Home Journal.”

THE CHRISTMAS TREE[10]

_Mary Austin_

Eastward from the Sierras rises a strong red hill known as Pine Mountain, though the Indians call it The Hill of Summer Snow. At its foot stands a town of a hundred board houses, given over wholly to the business of mining. The noise of it goes on by day and night,--the creak of the windlasses, the growl of the stamps in the mill, the clank of the cars running down to the dump, and from the open doors of the drinking saloons, great gusts of laughter and the sound of singing. Billows of smoke roll up from the tall stacks and by night are lit ruddily by the smelter fires all going at a roaring blast.

Whenever the charcoal-burner’s son looked down on the red smoke, the glare, and the hot breath of the furnaces, it seemed to him like an exhalation from the wickedness that went on continually in the town; though all he knew of wickedness was the word, a rumor from passers-by, and a kind of childish fear. The charcoal-burner’s cabin stood on a spur of Pine Mountain two thousand feet above the town, and sometimes the boy went down to it on the back of the laden burros when his father carried charcoal to the furnaces. All else that he knew were the wild creatures of the mountain, the trees, the storms, the small flowering things, and away at the back of his heart a pale memory of his mother like the faint forest odor that clung to the black embers of the pine. They had lived in the town when the mother was alive and the father worked in the mines. There were not many women or children in the town at that time, but mining men jostling with rude quick ways; and the young mother was not happy.

“Never let my boy grow up in such a place,” she said as she lay dying; and when they had buried her in the coarse shallow soil, her husband looked for comfort up toward The Hill of Summer Snow shining purely, clear white and quiet in the sun. It swam in the upper air above the sooty rock of the town and seemed as if it called. Then he took the young child up to the mountain, built a cabin under the tamarack pines, and a pit for burning charcoal for the furnace fires.