Part 8

It had been a wonderful evening for him. He had unwrapped and seen at close range all the pretty things that well-to-do people give one another at Christmas-time; books, games, pictures, ornaments, articles of dress, confections, and even gems. He had arranged and rearranged, and with a natural eye for the beautiful had placed the things as showily as most people could have done, and with great thought of their safety. When he was through at last he stood back to admire his work. Then all at once he remembered that Tommy’s train was still hidden in the wood-shed. He had forgotten it entirely.

He brought in the engine and cars, and then the track, in sections, and soon had it all arranged under the tree, so that it would travel around and around, though he had to move some books and other things to do it. Then he tried the train a little, to see that it would run as well as ever. He hated to leave it all; but he blew out the lamp at last and went to bed, wondering if by any chance he would oversleep next morning, and so fail to light up, and have everything in order when Tom and Nellie and the others were ready to come down.

“Whoop! Merry Christmas!”

Eb sat straight up in bed. He had overslept, then, after all. No; for it was still dark. He did not believe it could be five o’clock.

“Merry Christmas, Eb! Say, get up and light the tree! I want to see my things.”

It was Tommy, of course, and the whole house would be roused and ready to come down presently. Eb leaped into his clothes, made a hasty toilet, and slipped down the back stairs, leaving Tommy still shouting Merry Christmas through the halls to arouse older people from their slumbers.

Within a few minutes everybody had concluded that it was no use to hold out against Tommy, and in five minutes more everybody had dragged on something that resembled clothes and a pleasant smile, and came straggling down the stairs, calling greetings to one another. Tommy, at the head, was already pounding at the sitting-room door, while Eb, inside, was lighting the last tapers, and putting on a few finishing-touches, such as starting and setting a new clock for Aunt Maria, and winding up Tommy’s train. Then, when he heard them all outside, he unlocked the door, and, stepping back, pulled it wide, so that all might get a sudden and full view of the beautiful Christmas tree.

For a moment they stood quite still, blinking from the brightness of it. Then there came a chorus of “Oh! oh!” “Well! well!” and, “How beautiful!” with another wild whoop from Tommy, ending up with, “Oh, gee! see my train!”

A second later he had bounded forward toward the precious train, and was ducking down under the tree for a closer view.

“Tommy!” “Oh, Tom!” “Thomas! Look out. The candles!”

There was a regular chorus of warnings,--but all too late. A second later a taper that had been fixed to a branch, struck by Tommy’s head, had fallen, and the loose cotton about the tree was afire, the blaze darting up into the branches.

Tommy rolled out from under the tree like an armadillo. Nellie clasped her hands and shut her eyes to keep out the terrible sight and began to moan and wail. Uncle Robert and Aunt Maria both started somewhere for pails of water, while papa and mamma began tugging at a piece of carpet to smother the blaze.

And then, all at once, there was somebody else at work, and there came a hissing sound, as if water was being put on the flames, and right among them stood Eb, with something over his shoulder and under his arm, and in his hand there was a sort of a tube that sent a stream of water just where it was needed, and that put out the burning cotton in just about the time it has taken me to tell about it. When Aunt Maria and Uncle Robert came hurrying back with pails of water, there was no use for them. Papa and mamma and Nellie and Tom were gathered about Eb, more interested in what he had under his arm and over his shoulder than in the Christmas tree, which was scarcely damaged at all, for the flames had not reached the presents, and there was only a little water on Tommy’s train, which hadn’t even stopped running, being the kind of train, Tommy said, that didn’t mind a little thing like lightning and rain.

“Why, it’s Eb’s fire-extinguisher!” said Uncle Robert. “I forgot all about that!”

“But Eb didn’t!” said Tommy. “He put it in here last night, because he knew there’d be a fire with all that cotton of yours, sis.”

“He knew you’d knock over a candle, I guess,” retorted Nell.

Then the wet cotton was taken away, and the presents rearranged about the tree, and Tommy’s train wound up again, and everything was as fine as if nothing had happened, though they didn’t any of them forget what might have happened if it hadn’t been for Eb with his fire-extinguisher.

And that was one of the finest Christmases that ever was! And at dinner-time Eb was there, with his bright new tie on, and sat right by Nellie, and was almost like the hero of the day. And after the turkey was carved, Mr. William Whittaker said, all at once, to Eben Lessing, as if he’d just happened to think of it:

“By-the-way, Eb, how would you like to take a course in a mechanical school? We’ve a good deal of room in our house, and now and then I need somebody to help me. You can come home with us and go to school, if you like.”

And would you believe it, Eb couldn’t say a word! He was like the others when he had flung open the door of the sitting-room and blinded them with the wonderful tree--he just sat there and blinked.

Nellie answered: “Of course, papa, Eb would like it. Wouldn’t you, Eb?”

And then, somehow, Eb nodded, and somehow said something that was taken for yes, and then everybody began talking at once about the things Eb had made, and what he would do by-and-by, while Tommy, who, just at that moment, found out what it all meant, broke out with a great rejoicing, “Whoop! Eb’s going home with us! Eb’s going home with us to live!”

And Nellie whispered, “Oh, Eb, didn’t I tell you it was lucky you were living with Uncle Bob when we came to visit him?”

[11] By permission of the author and Harper and Brothers.

A NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS[12]

_Temple Bailey_

It was the night before Christmas--and stormy.

“Sqush--sqush,” went the wheels of the carriage in the mud.

“Whew--ew--ew,” whistled the wind, and it blew Peter’s hat into the middle of the road.

“Whoa,” said Peter, and climbed down from his high seat.

The “Princess” poked her head out of the window. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

“My hat blew off,” Peter told her, “and the wheel is stuck in the mud, Miss.”

“Oh, Peter, Peter,” the Princess chided, “you must get that wheel out of the mud at once.”

“Which is easier said than done,” Peter grumbled; “it’s that dark that I can’t see my hand before me.”

“There’s a light back there among the trees,” the Princess informed him; “perhaps you could get some one to help you.”

“I’ll go and see, Miss, if you ain’t afraid to stay alone,” and Peter, after some effort, succeeded in quieting the plunging horses.

“I am dreadfully afraid,” came shiveringly, “but I suppose you will have to go.”

Now in the middle of the pine grove was set a little cottage. Peter knocked at the door.

“Who’s there?” asked a childish voice, and a little girl poked her head out of the square window.

“Our wheel is stuck in the mud,” Peter answered, from the dark, “and I want to get a man to help me.”

“There isn’t any man here,” Jenny informed him. “There is only me and Jinny; and our mother has gone to nurse a sick neighbor, and she won’t be home until morning.”

So Peter went back to the carriage and reported to the Princess.

“I shall freeze out here,” said the Princess. “I will go up to the house and sit by the fire while you look for some one to help you with the carriage.”

She climbed out of the carriage, and with Peter in the lead, she plodded through the woods, and the wind blew her long coat this way and that, and at last, wet and panting, she came to the little house.

And once more Peter knocked, and once more Jenny came to the window. Then she flung the door wide open, and so tall was the Princess that she had to stoop to enter it. It was a dingy little room, and there was a dumpy black stove in the corner, with a bubbling iron pot that gave forth a most appetizing odor.

“Oh, oh, how nice and warm it is,” said the Princess, as she held out her hands to the fire.

In all their lives the little girls had never beheld such a wonderful person, for the Princess wore a long red coat and a black velvet hat with a waving plume, and her muff was big and round and soft, and she had a scarf of the same soft fur about her neck. Her hair was pale gold, and she had the bluest eyes and the reddest lips, and her smile was so sweet and tender, that Jenny ran right up to her and cried: “Oh, I am so glad you came!”

Jinny, from her little chair, echoed her sister’s words. But she did not run, for there was a tiny crutch beside Jinny’s chair in the square window.

“And I am glad to be here,” said the Princess, whose quick eyes were taking in the details of the shabby room. “It’s so nice and warm and cozy.”

“Isn’t it?” said Jenny, happily, “and we are getting ready for to-morrow.”

On a small round table beside Jinny’s chair was a tiny cedar bush, and Jinny’s fingers had been busy with bits of gold and blue and scarlet paper.

“We are going to pop some popcorn,” Jenny explained, “and string it, and hang it on the tree.”

“Oh, may I help?” the Princess asked. “I haven’t popped any corn since I was a little girl.”

Jinny clasped her thin little hands. “I think it would be the loveliest thing in the world,” she said, “if you would stay.”

“Peter is going to find some one to help with the carriage, and I will stay until he comes back.”

And when Peter had gone, the Princess slipped off the long red coat, and underneath it she wore a shining silken gown and around her neck was a collar of pearls.

“And now, if you could lend me an apron,” she said, “we will pop the corn.”

But Jinny and Jenny were gazing at her speechless.

“Oh, you must be a fairy Princess,” gasped little Jinny at last.

The beautiful lady laughed joyously. “Peter calls me the Princess,” she said; “he has lived with me ever since I was a little girl. But really I am just an every-day young woman, who is going to spend Christmas with some friends in the next town.”

She dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand.

“And now to our popcorn,” she said.

Jenny brought a green gingham apron, and the Princess tied it on, making a big butterfly bow of the strings in the back, and then she danced over to the dumpy little stove and peeped into the bubbling pot.

“Did you ever smell anything so good?” she asked. “I am as hungry as hungry.”

The little girls laughed joyously. “It’s bean soup,” Jenny said, “and we are going to have it for supper with some little dumplings in it. I was afraid it wasn’t nice enough for you.”

“Nice enough?” the delightful lady demanded. “I think bean soup and little dumplings are--um--um!” and she flung out her hands expressively.

“I thought,” Jinny remarked quaintly, “that fairy princesses only ate honey and dew.”

“Which shows that I am not a true Princess,” said the beautiful lady, “for honey and dew would never satisfy me.”

Jenny got out three little blue bowls and set them on a table that was spread with a coarse but spotless cloth. There was a crusty loaf and clover-sweet butter, and last and best of all there was the bean soup and the bobbing little dumplings served together in an old mulberry tureen.

It was perfectly wonderful to see the Princess in her shining gown at the head of the table, and little lame Jinny said, “You were just sent to us for Christmas. Why, it’s just like

“The night before Christmas, when all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads--”

“But our stockings weren’t hung yet, and _we_ weren’t in bed!” said Jenny.

“It was too early for that,” said the Princess; “but let’s go on with the rhyme, just for fun. I see you know it all through, so you mustn’t mind my changing it a little:

“When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter, Jenny sprang from her chair to see what was the matter. Away to the window she flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. When, what to her wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer--

“Oh, no, I forgot! I mean

“When what to her wondering eyes should appear But a carriage stuck in the mud, right out here-- And a little old driver, so lively and quick, You must have thought Peter was dear old St. Nick!”

The children laughed gleefully, and Jenny said: “We _would_ have thought that, only we aren’t going to hang up our stockings this Christmas at all. Jenny and I aren’t going to get any presents, for mother hasn’t been well, and she couldn’t get any sewing. But she said we could make our Christmas merry, and we were to pretend that we had been to the big stores in the city, and had bought things for the tree, and dolls and everything.”

“That’s a lovely way,” said the Princess gently, and she laid her flashing rings over Jinny’s thin one.

“And we are going to pretend,” Jenny contributed, “that our chicken is a turkey. But we won’t have to pretend about the mince pie, for mother has made a lovely one.”

“I wish I could help you eat the chicken,” said the Princess wistfully, “and I should like to meet your mother. I know she is home-y. And I haven’t any mother, you know.”

“Oh,” said the little girls, round-eyed with sympathy, and then the Princess told them that all her life she had lived in a big, lonely house, and she had always yearned for a cozy home and for a sister.

After supper they popped the corn, and just as they finished in came Peter.

“I can’t find any one to help, Miss,” he announced, “and it’s snowing. I’ll have to unhitch the horses and go back to town, and get something to take you over in.”

“No,” the Princess demurred, as she stood in the middle of the room with a heaped-up dish of snowy kernels in her hand. “No, Peter, I am going to stay here all night.”

Peter stared, and the little girls cried, “Oh, will you?”

And the Princess said, “I really will. And, Peter, you can bring up the steamer trunk and my bag.”

“Won’t your friends expect you, Miss?” Peter inquired, as if awaiting orders.

“I will send a note by you,” was the calm response, and as the man went out she followed him and shut the door behind her. “Oh, Peter, Peter,” she whispered confidentially, “I am going to give them such a Christmas!”

“The little girls, Miss?”

“Yes. They are so sweet and brave. And I have the presents in my trunk that I was going to carry to the other children. But they will have so much that they won’t miss them, and I shall spend my Christmas in a plain little house, but it will be a joyful house, Peter.”

“Yes, Miss,” Peter agreed, understandingly.

“I wish we had a big tree!” said the Princess, regretfully.

“Well, leave that to me, Miss,” Peter told her, eagerly; “you just get them little things to sleep early, and I’ll be here with a tree.”

“Oh, Peter, Peter Santa Claus!” exclaimed the Princess, gleefully, “it will be the nicest Christmas that I have had since I was a wee bit of a girl.”

So Peter went away, and the Princess, with her eyes shining like stars, danced back into the room and said, “Oh, let’s play ‘Mariners.’”

Jinny and Jenny had never heard of such a game, but the Princess told them that she was a ship on the high seas, and they were to tell from her cargo what country she hailed from.

“I carry tea,” she began; “where do I hail from?”

“China,” guessed Jenny.

“No.”

“Japan,” cried Jinny, with her little face glowing.

“No.”

Then the little girls pondered. “It might be India,” ventured Jenny, but the Princess shook her head. Then Jinny cried: “It’s Ceylon!” and that was right.

And after that Jinny brought a cargo of oranges from Florida and Jenny brought a cargo of rugs from Persia, and there were cargoes of spices and of coal and of coffee and of fish and of grain and of lumber, and the Princess finished triumphantly by carrying a cargo of oysters from the Chesapeake Bay.

“One more,” begged Jinny.

“I carry a cargo of castles,” said the sparkling Princess; “where do I hail from?”

The little girls guessed and guessed, and at last the Princess said:

“That wasn’t a fair one, really, for my castles are castles in Spain.”

Then, with Jinny in her arms, she told them of her own castle-building, and when she had finished, she said: “And so your mother shall have all of my sewing, and that will keep her busy until Spring.”

“Oh, you are going to be married, and live happy ever after,” sighed Jinny, rapturously; “it’s just what a fairy Princess should do.”

“And what you should do,” said the Princess, looking at the clock, “is to go to bed, bed, bed, so that you can wake up early in the morning.”

She tucked them in, and came back later in a fascinating pink kimono with her hair in a thick yellow braid, and she kissed them both. But it was little lame Jinny that she kissed last. And then she went away, like a glorious vision, and the little girls sank into slumber.

In the next room the Princess opened the door cautiously, and there was Peter with snow all over him, and his arms were full of holly and mistletoe, and a great tree was propped against the door-post.

“Quietly, quietly, Peter,” warned the Princess. And Peter tiptoed in and set the tree up in the corner, and its top reached to the ceiling.

The Princess opened the steamer trunk and took out two white Teddy-bears, one with a flaring blue bow and the other with a flaring pink one, and then she took out a green and yellow and a red and a blue fairy book, and a beautiful square basket of candy, tied with holly ribbon, and then from the very bottom of the trunk she drew string after string of shining little silver bells, fastened on red and pale green ribbons.

“I was going to get up a cotillion figure for the children at the other house,” the Princess explained to Peter, “but these little folks need it so much more.”

The little bells went “tinkle, tinkle,” as Peter hung them, and Jinny, dreaming in her little bed, heard the sound and thought it a part of her dream.

And while Peter and the Princess trimmed and whispered and laughed, some one rattled the doorknob.

Peter opened the door, and there stood a white-faced, shivering little woman.

“Oh, what has happened to my little girls,” she panted. “I saw the light and it is so late--” then as she beheld the golden-haired vision in pink, and the gay tree, and Peter in his trim livery, she gasped, “Why, I believe it is fairies--” and she sat down very suddenly in Jinny’s chair.

“You are the little mother,” said the Princess, and she knelt beside her, and put her arms around her, and told her how she came to be there; and when she had finished, she said, simply, “and I have wanted my own mother so much this Christmas, and the little girls were so sweet, that I knew I should love you.”

“You poor little thing,” cried the little mother to the tall Princess; and the beautiful lady put her head down on the other’s shabby shoulder and wept, because in spite of her riches she had been very, very lonely in her big house.

And after Peter had gone, they talked until midnight of Jinny and Jenny; and then they concocted great plans about the pretty things that the little mother was to make for the Princess.

And in the morning, Jinny and Jenny, waking in the early dawn, saw, sitting on the foot-board of the bed, two Teddy-bears, one with a flaring pink bow and one with a flaring blue bow, and the Teddy-bears held out their arms saucily and gazed at the happy little girls with twinkling eyes.

“Oo-oh,” cried the little girls, who had never seen a Teddy-bear before; and that was the beginning of the most wonderful day of their lives, for all day the tree went “tinkle, tinkle” as they foraged in its branches for bon-bons, and the chicken dinner was a delicious success, and in the afternoon they all took a ride in the Princess’ sleigh, with Peter driving on the box, and when at last he set them down on their own humble door-step, and lifted little Jinny in his arms, the Princess smiled at them radiantly from under her plumy hat.

“Remember, Peter will come for you every Saturday, and you are to stay at my house all day,” she said.

“Oh, yes,” Jenny sighed with rapture.

“And you are to come to my wedding in the spring--all of you!” said the Princess, gaily.

“And see the Prince!” said Jinny, over Peter’s shoulder.

“And you are going to let me share a third of your mother?”

“Yes, oh, yes,” from both of the little girls.

“Then you shall share a third of Peter,” the Princess called back, as the smiling coachman drove her away through the glistening snow.

[12] Reprinted by permission of the author and “St. Nicholas Magazine.”

DAME QUIMP’S QUEST[13]

_Ellen Manly_

Farmer Jones was standing at his front gate one bright December morning when a quaint figure came hurrying along the road--a bent old woman in a long blue cloak, with the ruffles of a big cap flopping about her wrinkled face.

“Good day!” said she, as soon as she was near enough to be heard. “You’re Farmer Jones, I believe. I think you will do nicely to head the procession--just step right behind me and we’ll move on!”

“And, pray, who are you and what should I be doing in a procession?” cried the astonished man. “I’m quite too busy to leave home to-day!”

“Never mind!” answered the old crone, “I know all about _you_, for I’ve heard you grumbling over the weather many a time. As I came down the hill just now you were complaining at the cold and wishing it were June--you’re a regular ‘weather fretter!’ I’m the Grumble Collector, and you’d better do just as you’re told or there’ll be trouble. My name is Dame Quimp, and my work is to hunt up grumblers and bring them to my old friend Santa Claus before Christmas. If there’s anything he hates, it is grumbling, and he says he is going to teach some folks a lesson this year.

“It’s no use to say a word--just follow me, and be quick about it, too!” So off started Dame Quimp with Farmer Jones behind her, grumbling as he went.

She soon stopped short before a little house by the roadside and listened a moment. There was a sound of violent stamping, and an angry voice cried out: “I hate that old dress and I won’t wear the ugly thing! I never have any pretty clothes!” and out on the porch rushed the milliner’s little daughter, in a fine temper.

“Hoity-toity!” cried the dame. “You’re a pleasant little girl, to be sure! Just the one I’m looking for! Never mind asking ‘Why?’ but stop scolding at once and fall in line behind Farmer Jones.”

The child looked crosser than ever and began to cry, but she couldn’t help herself, and away went Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, and the milliner’s little daughter.

As they neared the first corner, loud voices were heard and angry tones, and there stood the baker’s boy and the grocer’s clerk having a hot discussion. “It’s too far!” cried the first. “I can’t tramp way over on the hill for _anybody_! I hate to be sent on errands from morning till night from one end of town to the other!”

“So do I!” exclaimed the grocer’s clerk. “I’m always being told to take something somewhere for somebody just when I want a little time to myself. The skating’s fine to-day and I ought to get off early, but I shan’t be allowed to. It’s a shame to have to carry bundles instead of being on the pond!”

“Very well, young men!” cried Dame Quimp, “you shall have a nice long walk. I’m very pleased to meet you! Just step next in line to the little girl and we’ll hurry along! No questions, please!”