Part 9

Yes, it was Mrs. Dumpty, wheeling a great chair in front of her and smiling as she used to smile in the days when Humpty was well. When he saw her, Humpty almost jumped out of his rocker with delight, and indeed that reunion between the Dumpties was such a one as to make Mrs. Claus, who was there, sniffle and clear her throat.

“Well, where on earth have you been?” was Mrs. Claus’s question.

“We’ve been in Banbury Cross,” answered Mrs. Dumpty. “Where else?”

“But why did you stay so long?” persisted Mrs. Claus. “We have been so alarmed about you.”

“Oh,” replied Humpty’s mother, “we had to wait for the sick boy, who had this chair, to get well. It was the only chair in Banbury Cross, you see.”

Mrs. Dumpty’s home-coming was a happy one, but what do you think the feelings of the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe must have been when she found out what had happened?

The Old Woman had had a good time in Banbury Cross. In fact, she had never had quite such a good time in all her life, she told Mrs. Dumpty. But just the same, she was most eager to get home to her dear children, and she was anxious to live in a shoe again after those days in the Threepenny Inn. And so as she rode the cockhorse up Pinafore Pike and turned into Pudding Lane, she was indeed a happy woman.

And then her eyes fell on the poor old overturned Shoe, and she thought she should faint with terror. Up she dashed to inspect the ruins. The Shoe was twisted and bent and lying on its side deep in the mud. How horrible to come home from a journey and find your home a wreck!

But where were the children? Had they all been carried off by the storm? With a cry the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe ran down Pudding Lane. Soon she learned the truth. She was indeed relieved to find her children, every single one of them, safe and happy with Old Mother Hubbard. But it was a sorrow to have no home, and the Old Woman, for the first time in her life, had not the heart to spank the children all around before putting them to bed.

The next morning King Cole sent for the Old Woman to come to the palace, and it was suspected that the merry old soul had some plan for new quarters for her and all her children. Mother Hubbard’s cupboard was barer than ever now, and they really could not stay there another day longer. It turned out to be just as the two women had thought. Old King Cole, after considering the matter carefully, handsomely offered the Old Woman the use of The House-that-Jack-Built, rent free, until another shoe could be found. Shoes were so scarce, you know, that she might never find one again. And so it was considered that the King’s offer was a very fine one, and that the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe and her children ought to be thankful and happy to be given such a beautiful home.

But somehow the Old Woman was not happy one single bit, for although The House-that-Jack-Built was a much more elegant affair than the old Shoe, still the Old Woman didn’t like houses, however elegant, and had always said, you know, that she would never live in one.

She thought and thought before she accepted the King’s offer. The old slipper she had gone to housekeeping in so many years ago was empty, but it was far too small for the innumerable children and therefore would not do. The laced shoe she had moved into next was unfit for habitation now. It had never been repaired or blackened since it was first made, and, of course, no shoe can last with that kind of treatment. So finally she had to accept Old King Cole’s offer, simply because there wasn’t anything else to do. And that afternoon they moved in, the Old Woman and all those children.

The House-that-Jack-Built was really a very beautiful house, with porches and steps and fine furniture; for Jack had expected to live there himself and had put a good deal of work on it, as you know. Moreover, nobody had ever lived in it at all, for Jack had suddenly lost interest in the house and had gone back to the city, after selling the house to King Cole. It was understood that the lady for whom Jack was building the house had changed her mind about marrying him.

Yes, it was a beautiful house, but somehow the Old Woman and even the children did not appreciate it at all. It was hard for them to live in a house, you see, after spending their lives in a shoe, and it really isn’t any wonder that they all cried a little bit into their pillows that night before going off to sleep.

The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe had really expected that she and her children would get over their homesickness but it seemed that every day they longed for their old home a little more, until they really were not happy at all, but quite miserable. They were ashamed of themselves, for King Cole had been so good to them they felt almost wicked to be ungrateful, and they tried hard not to let anybody know how wretched they were in their grand new house. But the truth was that they all wanted only one thing in the world, and that was their old buttoned Shoe again, where they could go on living as before.

And then one day it all came out. The Old Woman was calling on Mrs. Claus when somebody mentioned the Shoe. Before she knew what she was doing, the Old Woman was crying--yes, crying as hard as she could cry--and though she was furious with herself for doing it, she couldn’t stop at all.

Mrs. Claus was amazed at this. “Why, Old Woman,” she said kindly, “I didn’t know you felt that way about the Shoe.”

The Old Woman nodded her head, as she continued to sob and rock. And right then Mrs. Claus made a promise to herself. She promised herself that Mr. Claus, who was a very influential citizen, should go to the King and tell him just how the Old Woman felt, for surely their good, kind King could do something about the Shoe, if only he knew how important it was.

Mrs. Claus kept that promise to herself, and the next day the baker went off to interview the King, who was most surprised to hear this news and extremely worried over it. He was such a merry old soul he could not bear to have anybody in the kingdom in the least troubled or unhappy.

“But there’s no other shoe,” he told Mr. Claus. “What can I do to help the poor Old Woman?”

“Could this one not be set up again?” inquired Mr. Claus helpfully. “Mended, perhaps, and fastened firmly against future storms?”

“I’ll see; I’ll see,” said the King. “I’ll send for the carpenter and let him look it over.”

That same afternoon the carpenter made a careful inspection of the Shoe. He looked at the buttons. They seemed sound and good. He investigated the buttonholes, and they were found to be satisfactory. The sole had not a single hole in it, and the toe could be patched to be as good as new. But there was that heel, a run-over affair that made the whole Shoe stand crooked. And even if that were made even again, he doubted whether it would not slip in the mud as it had before, when the rains came again.

The carpenter was about to give an unfavorable report to King Cole, when he had a sudden and brilliant idea. They could put a rubber heel on the Shoe, and it would then stand firm and true and never again be blown by the wind and pushed around in the mud. It was the very thing!

Old King Cole hailed this as a most excellent idea and straightway sent for the Old Woman.

“Dear me, what next?” said the Old Woman, when she got the message to appear again at the royal palace, for she did not know that Mr. Claus had taken up her case with the King, you see.

But up to the palace she went, and when old King Cole told her that she could live in her Shoe again, after it had been repaired with a patch on the toe and a rubber heel, the elated woman just danced a jig right there in the throne room, until King Cole laughed to see her, and even the Queen was amused. She could hardly stop to thank the King, but she did manage to make a bow, after which she ran home to the children, kicking up her heels and waving her arms in hilarious delight. Such a furor as she created when she told those children that they were going back to live in the Shoe again. They had never been such a happy family before.

Old King Cole had said that they might move into the Shoe in exactly one week, during which time the carpenter was to make the Shoe as good as new, even to polishing it with fine new polish. But the King did not know, when he made that promise, that there was going to be more trouble.

The trouble arose when the cobbler heard that the carpenter was going to London to buy a rubber heel for the Old Woman’s Shoe.

“Shoes are a cobbler’s business,” he said, and with that he went in great indignation to Old King Cole.

“What is this you are saying?” asked the King, who did not always listen very carefully to what people said.

“I’m saying, sir,” repeated the cobbler, “that shoes are a cobbler’s business.”

“I agree with you,” replied the King. “But why have you come here to tell me what I already know?”

“Because, sir, you have put the carpenter to work mending a shoe here in Pudding Lane,” said the cobbler.

“Nonsense, of course I haven’t,” began King Cole. “Oh, I see, you mean the Old Woman’s Shoe?” he asked.

“That, and no other, sir,” said the cobbler.

The King looked embarrassed. “Oh--er--well, let’s call the carpenter in,” he said, for he saw that the cobbler was determined to stay it out.

But when the carpenter came in, and old King Cole told him that the cobbler had objected to their previous arrangement, then it was the carpenter’s turn to be offended.

“But, sir,” said he, “the Shoe is the Old Woman’s house, isn’t it? Then why isn’t it a carpenter’s business to make the necessary repairs?”

The King sighed. It was a problem. Whose business was it to mend the Old Woman’s Shoe, the cobbler’s or the carpenter’s? It was a shoe, and it was a house. He was frank to say he couldn’t settle it. He turned to the queen, but she, as usual, was asleep, her crown on her nose. The poor King didn’t know which way to turn.

There was nothing to do except send for the whole town to come up to the palace to consider the weighty problem. So the Town Crier was sent out in a great hurry to summon all the people to the palace. And for once in his life the Town Crier managed to get through the job without making a single mistake.

The people of Pudding Lane were indeed surprised that King Cole should send for them in that hasty manner.

“It must be very serious,” they told each other.

“Maybe the Queen is sick,” suggested Mr. Horner.

“She might even be dead!” Mrs. Grundy added hopefully.

“Well, come along, let’s hurry,” urged the piper, and so they all rushed into the street and hurried pell-mell to answer the summons of the King.

The King shook hands with everybody and then tried to awaken the Queen, but that lady must have been exceedingly tired and sleepy, for though he shook her and shook her, she wouldn’t wake up at all.

“Let her sleep,” said the butcher in a kindly manner. “We all know what it is to be sleepy.”

The King, looking relieved, cleared his throat and told them all just what the trouble was. When he mentioned the Shoe the Old Woman almost fell over with astonishment, for she had no idea that it was on account of her that the meeting had been called. And when he related how the cobbler and the carpenter were quarreling, the Old Woman felt a terrible fear in her heart. Supposing the matter never could be settled, and she would have to stay in The House-that-Jack-Built all the rest of her life.

“And now,” the King ended, “I leave it to the people to decide.”

Everybody looked scared. It was such a knotty problem, and there was so much to be said for the standpoint of both the cobbler and the carpenter, that they just stood there and didn’t say anything.

“Come,” said King Cole. “What do you say, candlestick-maker?”

The candlestick-maker started and then tried to look wise. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly know what to say, sir,” he said importantly.

“What about you, Mr. Horner?” The King turned to Jack Horner’s father. “What advice have you to offer?”

Mr. Horner shook his head. “It’s too much for me, sir,” he admitted.

Then the Old Woman herself was asked for an opinion.

“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know, King Cole!” she cried out. “But do let’s settle it somehow. I feel as if I should die if I couldn’t go back to live in the old Shoe once more.”

At this outburst of grief the King’s distress increased. He looked at the cobbler and at the carpenter, but neither one of them would give in an inch; he could tell that by the set look of their faces. King Cole sighed loudly, and then opened his mouth to speak. He was going to tell the Old Woman that, after all, she could not live in the Shoe again, but would have to put up with the House-that-Jack-Built as best she could.

And just at that moment Mother Goose was ushered in. She was on her way for a visit to the Clauses, and she said she thought she’d just run in to say hello to the King.

“But, mercy on us!” she exclaimed, looking around at the assembled people. “What is it--a coronation?”

Old King Cole explained affairs to his friend. He told her how sad the Old Woman was and pointed out the cobbler and the carpenter, who were standing there, glaring at each other, the cause of the whole trouble.

“Now isn’t that a hard one?” he asked the old lady, looking at her anxiously to see what she thought of the matter.

“Hard one, nothing!” replied Mother Goose, looking sharply at the cobbler and the carpenter. “Give the business to Jack-of-All-Trades and let those fellows go.”

What a happy solution that was. How glad they all were. The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe was too overjoyed for words, but the rest of the people just chattered and buzzed and fluttered around in their pleased excitement.

And so it was decided that Jack-of-All-Trades should mend the shoe, and the cobbler and the carpenter, feeling very cheap, were dismissed from the presence of the King.

It was exactly one week later that the Old Woman took all her children and moved back into the Shoe, which now stood up proudly on its rubber heel, mended and polished until it looked like new. In fact, it looked so fine that the Old Woman and her children hardly recognized it as the same old Shoe and were almost afraid the King had fooled them and had got a new shoe somewhere.

But, sure enough, when they climbed inside, there were the same old spots and stains on the wall, the same old beds, and the same old pots and pans. And then they all settled down and knew they would be happy forever after, because they were back in their dear Shoe, never to leave it again.

XII

SANTA CLAUS HANGS UP HIS STOCKING

1

Pudding Lane was creaking and cracking with snow. Snow, snow, snow! It ground under the heel of Old Mother Hubbard as she went to the butcher’s to buy an especially juicy bone for the poor dog; it crunched under the tread of Mr. Horner as he walked to the baker’s to order Jack’s Christmas pie; it squeaked under the tread of the Town Crier as he trudged up and down Pudding Lane, calling, “Christmas is coming, Christmas is coming, Christmas, Christmas, Christmas!”

For Christmas was coming, and although such an announcement was not exactly news to the people of Pudding Lane, still it was pleasant just to hear the Town Crier say it. There’s something about the very word “Christmas” that makes you feel happy and jolly.

And so, since Christmas was so close, everybody in Pudding Lane was as busy as busy could be. The candlestick-maker sat day and night working his copper and brass. The Clauses were up to their eyes in pies and cakes. Even the children had no time for play, but spent all their spare moments gathering holly and mistletoe to deck the windows and fireplaces with. And as for little Santa Claus, nobody saw him these days, for Christmas was his busy season, and many weeks before he had retired to the woodshed and emerged now only for meals and bed.

But this Christmas there was something else going on in Pudding Lane, something exciting and mysterious and very important. It was a tremendous secret. And it was this: the people of Pudding Lane were going to surprise Santa Claus himself; they were going to hang up his stocking and put gifts in it, just as if he were not Santa Claus at all, but a regular little boy like all the others.

It was strange that nobody had ever thought of this before, for Santa Claus was just a regular little boy, after all, and surely all little boys, even Santa Claus, should have a Christmas stocking. But somehow nobody had thought of it, and although Santa Claus, all these years, had been giving Christmas gifts to everybody else, he never had got one himself. He had never hung up his stocking; he had never been surprised on Christmas morning; he had never had any Christmas fun except the fun of surprising other people. The funny part of it was, too, that he had never even thought of such a thing.

But this year, although Santa Claus had not thought of such a thing, the rest of Pudding Lane had, and so the secret had been hatched, and the plans were going merrily on, the plans for surprising Santa Claus on Christmas morning.

It was a good thing that Santa Claus was so occupied, or he surely would have guessed that something unusual was going on. He would have guessed it from the way Simple Simon sniggered every time he came near Santa, or by the way Judy kept asking him over and over what he wanted for Christmas, or by the way everybody nudged everybody else whenever he appeared in public. But luckily for them, he paid no attention to all these hints, being far too engrossed in his own Christmas affairs to notice anything at all.

Indeed, he was so abstracted as to call forth a comment from that plain-spoken woman, his mother.

“Dear me, Santa Claus,” she said one day at dinner, as he sat staring at the wall, “I really think that if a bear should walk in on you, you’d sit there staring just the same,--or indeed, if fifty bears should walk in on you.”

This flight of imagination brought Santa to.

“I was thinking about that little red wagon,” he explained. “Simple Simon wants a little red wagon for Christmas, you see, and it seems like such a queer gift for him.”

“Queer gifts to queer people,” replied Mrs. Claus. “But eat your dinner now, Santa Claus. I don’t intend to cook my life away and have my children starve to death.”

There was a reason why Mrs. Claus wanted Santa Claus to hurry and finish his dinner. The reason was that all the grown-ups of Pudding Lane were coming to the Clauses’ that evening to discuss the final plans for Santa Claus’s surprise. Consequently, Mrs. Claus had a great deal of work to do, and she wanted Santa Claus well out of the way. It was with a great sigh of relief, therefore, that she saw Santa finish his dinner and depart again for the woodshed.

“Well,” said she to Mr. Claus and the twins, “he like to never went!”

“Yes, he did,” replied the baker, meaning, I suppose, that Santa Claus did like to never went, whatever that meant. “Do you think, Nellie, that he guesses the least tiny bit that we’re planning this Christmas surprise?”

“No, he doesn’t guess a thing,” replied Mrs. Claus. “He’s thinking only of little red wagons.”

“Won’t he be surprised, though?” Mr. Claus grinned at the prospect.

“No little boy was ever so surprised in the whole world as Santa Claus will be this Christmas morning,” said Mrs. Claus with conviction. “But look here, baker, this is no time to sit idly in the kitchen. What about Jack Horner’s pie, sir? And the animal crackers. Mr. Claus, I am surprised that you would neglect the animal crackers like this!”

Whereupon, Mr. Claus, much ashamed of himself, departed for the bakeshop and Mrs. Claus began to tear things up in the front parlor for the company that was coming that night.

Santa Claus and the twins and the baby were all in bed and sound asleep that night when Mrs. Claus, attired in her best, and Mr. Claus, attired in his best, sat awaiting their guests. But in spite of their fine clothes, and in spite of the fact that the Clauses’ front parlor was brilliantly lighted with as many as eight or ten candles, in spite of the fact that this was perhaps the most important event that ever was to take place in the humble home of the Clauses, the host and hostess at that moment were a far from lively couple.

For as Mrs. Claus sat there stiffly, she kept opening and closing her mouth in such tremendous yawns that it was a wonder she didn’t swallow herself. And as Mr. Claus stood at attention by the door, he dozed and came to with such lurches and pitches that it seemed as if he must fall down on the floor just any moment, plunged into the deepest of slumbers. Indeed, he would have, I do believe, if Mrs. Claus, between yawns, hadn’t called out: “Look out there, Mr. Claus! Look out!” At which he then would look out from his heavy, half-shut eyes and stop lurching for the briefest while.

The truth was that the Clauses were already so terribly, fearfully, awfully sleepy that it didn’t seem at all possible that they would get through the evening, inasmuch as the evening hadn’t even started yet. Night life in Pudding Lane was not what it might have been and late hours were extremely rare.

Well, there they were, Mrs. Claus one great enormous yawn, and Mr. Claus reeling like a sleepy wooden soldier, when thumpety, thump, came a noise down Pudding Lane. Mrs. Claus heard the thumpety-thump first and sat up straighter than ever.

“Look out there, Mr. Claus, look out!” she warned him, for Mr. Claus by that time was swaying in a most terrifying fashion. Mr. Claus opened his eyes.

“They’re coming!” she told him.

“Who’s coming?” asked Mr. Claus stupidly. He _was_ far gone, wasn’t he?

“They!” cried Mrs. Claus, exasperated. “The company!”

Just at that minute there came a great bang at the door. Mr. Claus jumped a foot high.

“Who in the world can that be?” he cried. “Who are you?” he demanded fiercely. “Who are you?”

“Mr. Claus,” screamed his wife frantically, “will you open that door or won’t you? It’s the company come.”

But Mr. Claus, determined to be a hero at whatever cost, continued to grow more and more heroic, as the banging at the door went on, and striking a warlike pose he thundered, “Who are you, I say, coming to disturb good honest people at such an hour of the night?”

“Oh!” yelled poor Mrs. Claus at this. “What a man!” She flew from the sofa and flung open the door for the crowd of people that was waiting.

Mrs. Grundy, as usual, came strutting in first, ahead even of Old King Cole, which was not exactly according to court procedure.

“Well, I must say, baker!” she said haughtily, though what she thought she must say, she didn’t say, somehow.

“What’s this, Claus?” asked the butcher jovially. “Did you think we were come to steal the silver?”

The Queen of Hearts gave Mr. Claus a playful dig with her elbow.

“Such a man as you are, baker,” she tittered, “to joke with us like that.”

But Mr. Claus, still blinking, did not in the least know what it was all about, and as he looked from one to the other of that vast company of his neighbors and friends, he showed such complete bewilderment and perplexity that they all burst out laughing. All but Mrs. Claus, that is. If looks could kill, Mr. Claus would have been dead on the spot. For Mrs. Claus was a hospitable soul and to have her husband treat company that way was more than she could bear.

It was the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe who finally took pity on him, as the rest of the company just stood there and laughed at his funny puzzled countenance.

“Wake up, Mr. Claus,” she said.

“Wake up and stay awake!” added Mrs. Claus, as the Old Woman continued, “Wake up! We’ve come to talk about the Christmas surprise for Santa Claus. Don’t you remember?”