Chapter V: Part I: Stories Children Can Read (2)

“Oh, I hope not,” spoke up the most beautiful doll of all. “If you were one of a large collection I’m sure you wouldn’t be loved very much, because collections are kept chiefly for show.”

“You haven’t told us yet where you would like to go,” said the doll in white lace. “No doubt some very rich person will buy you. I heard the shopkeeper say that you are the costliest doll of all. We are all wondering where you would like to go.”

“I am longing to go to some little girl who will love me with all her heart,” said the most beautiful doll. “I don’t care how humble the home is where I live, but I want to be loved.”

“How strange!” was the answer.

“I hope we shall all be satisfied,” said Kewpie, yawning.

“We shall soon know,” sighed the soldier boy. “Good night to all!”

“Good night! Good night!”

A hard snowstorm did not keep the people away from the doll shop the next morning.

Among those that crowded the store was an old gentleman with a fine, generous face.

“Show me a pretty doll,” he said.

“There are some beauties in the window, sir,” answered the shopkeeper. “Come and look at them.”

“I’ll take the large one dressed in pink,” said the gentleman. “I’m going to send it to a dear little girl who did me a great kindness. My little dog strayed a long distance from home. She found him, and carried him to me. I’m sure her kind heart will love a doll.”

In the afternoon an old gentleman knocked at the door of a very humble home and said, “I have brought a gift to the little girl who took the trouble to carry my lost dog home to me. Please give it to her on Christmas Day.”

And so the most beautiful doll’s wish came true.

THE CHRISTMAS SPRUCE TREE

(Norwegian Legend)

ANNA VON RYDINGSVÄRD

Among the tall trees in the forest grew a little spruce tree. It was no taller than a man, and that is very short for a tree.

The other trees near it grew so tall and had such large branches that the poor little tree could not grow at all.

She liked to listen when the other trees were talking, but it often made her sad.

“I am king of the forest,” said the oak. “Look at my huge trunk and my branches. How they reach up toward heaven! I furnish planks for men from which they build their ships. Then I defy the storm on the ocean as I do the thunder in the forest.”

“And I go with you over the foaming waves,” said the tall straight pine. “I hold up the flapping sails when the ships fly over the ocean.”

“And we warm the houses when winter comes and the cold north wind drives the snow before him,” said the birches.

“We have the same work to do,” said a tall fir tree, and she bowed gracefully, drooping her branches toward the ground.

The little spruce tree heard the other trees talking about their work in the world. This made her sad, and she thought, “What work can I do? What will become of me?”

But she could not think of any way in which she could be useful. She decided to ask the other trees in the forest.

So she asked the oak, the pine, and the fir, but they were so proud and stately they did not even hear her.

Then she asked the beautiful white birch that stood near by. “You have no work to do,” said the birch, “because you can never grow large enough. Perhaps you might be a Christmas tree, but that is all.”

“What is a Christmas tree?” asked the little spruce.

“I do not know exactly,” replied the birch. “Sometimes when the days are short and cold, and the ground is covered with snow, men come out here into the forest. They look at all the little spruce trees and choose the prettiest, saying, ‘This will do for a Christmas tree.’ Then they chop it down and carry it away. What they do with it I cannot tell.”

The little spruce asked the rabbit that hopped over the snow, and the owls that slept in the pines, and the squirrels that came to find nuts and acorns.

But no one knew more than the birch tree. No one could tell what men did with the Christmas trees.

Then the little spruce tree wept because she had no work to do and could not be of any use in the world.

The tears hardened into clear, round drops, which we call gum.

At last a boy came into the forest with an ax in his hand. He looked the little tree all over. “Perhaps this will do for a Christmas tree,” he said. So he chopped it down, laid it on a sled, and dragged it home.

The next day the boy sold the tree, and it was taken into a large room and dressed up with popcorn and gilded nuts and candles. Packages of all sizes and shapes, and tiny bags filled with candy, were tied on its branches.

The tree was trembling with the excitement, but she stood as still as she could. “What if I should drop some of this fruit,” she thought.

When it began to grow dark, every one left the room and the tree was alone. It began to feel lonely and to think sad thoughts.

Soon the door opened and a lady came in. She lighted all the candles.

How light and glowing it was then!

The tree had never even dreamed of anything so beautiful!

Then the children came and danced about the tree, singing a Christmas song. The father played on his violin, and the baby sat in her mother’s arms, smiling and cooing.

“Now I know what I was made for,” thought the spruce tree; “I was intended to give joy to the little ones, because I, myself, am so small and humble.”

A LITTLE ROMAN SHEPHERD[5]

CAROLINE SHERWIN BAILEY

His name was Bruno and he lived a long, long way from here on the Roman Campagna. His house was a pointed hut thatched with straw, and back of it was the fold where the sheep lived, and then, for miles and miles, there was no other living thing for a little boy to see. There was no one to play with; there was nothing for a little boy to do but tend the sheep and milk the goats and wish, oh, so hard, that he might go on that long Appian Way to the gate of St. Sebastian and to Rome, on the other side.

Piccola had told him about Rome. Piccola’s father bought wool and sold it to the traders at Rome. Twice a year Piccola and her father came out to the Campagna at shearing time. The father haggled over the _lira_ he must pay Bruno’s father. Piccola and Bruno sat under an olive tree, their hands tightly clasped, as Piccola told Bruno of Rome.

“You should see it at the _festa_ of Christmas,” she exclaimed. “Every shop is full of lights in the evening and the flower carts stand at all the corners. There is a manger and Babe in the chapel and,” Piccola’s voice was rich with wonder, “there is a _box that talks_ in a shop on the Corso.”

“I don’t believe you; how could it talk? What makes it talk?” Bruno asked; but this Piccola could not tell.

“It _talks_--that is all I know,” she said, “and it _sings_,” and she might have told more but her father came and she must say good-by to Bruno. In a moment he could see nothing of Piccola but the flash of her little scarlet and green skirt and the blue cornflower she wore in her black braids. Then there was only a cloud of dust to hide the yellow cart wheels, and Piccola was gone--to Rome where there was a box that would talk and sing.

There came long, sweet, all-alike days for Bruno and the sheep. The wheat grew yellow and heavy to breaking with sweetness and Bruno watched the harvesters. The olives ripened, and the grapes, and the figs. Then the sun set earlier, and the nights were chilly with frost, and Bruno and his father put warm cloaks made of skin over their blue smocks.

“It is near the _festa_ of Christmas,” said Bruno one day. “I have never been to Rome. Will you take me there to hear the talking box on the Corso, father? It both speaks and sings.”

“No,” Bruno’s father was quick in his reply, being a hard man after many lonely years. “The ewe lambs are ailing, and I cannot leave them. And there are no singing boxes in Rome.”

So Bruno followed the old sheep and the lambs to their grassy hill and helped to drive them home at night until it was the eve of the Christmas _festa_. On this eve, he locked the gate of the fold and turned to go into the hut. His father would be dozing, perhaps, for the cold dusk had crept over the great Campagna and one star shone out in the purple sky. It hung, pointing, over Rome. As Bruno looked up at it, he heard a sound of far-away bells. They might be the bells of Rome. Oh, beautiful Rome, with its gay, bright streets, and its flower carts, and its magic box that could sing and turn loneliness into music!

Bruno pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. His bare feet flashed over the fields of dry grass and wheat stubble. He found the old Appian Road and raced along it in the path of starlight. He was running away. He was going to Rome. For an hour he ran.

He had gone so far and so fast, and his ears rang so with the singing Christmas bells that, at first, he did not hear it--the bleating of a foolish little ewe lamb. Then it came again, and Bruno stopped. The lamb lay under a bunch of dried brown stalks, its flesh torn by thistles and its eyes dull with fear because it had lost its mother.

“Stupid! Why did you run away? I can’t take you home!” Bruno stamped one little brown foot, “I’m going to Rome for Christmas, do you hear? I won’t take you home--” but as he spoke, he stooped down and lifted the trembling, fearful little creature in his arms and turned back toward the fold.

The star path stretched at Bruno’s back now. Ahead were black shadows, and a biting wind whirled small stones that cut his face and made mocking sounds as it scurried through the ruined arches of the aqueduct. He lost the road, and stiff cactus thorns cut his slim ankles. The lamb was heavier with each step. He wouldn’t cry; no Roman lad cries, his father had told him; but he couldn’t find his way. The little shepherd boy dropped to the ground. He could hear the Christmas bells; no, it was a clear, sweet voice coming from a polished wood box that sang him to sleep.

When he opened his heavy eyelids, Piccola’s dancing eyes met his. What a gay little Christmas sprite she looked in her warm crimson hood and cloak! Bruno, himself, lay in his father’s arms and Piccola’s father was lifting the strayed lamb into the two-wheeled yellow cart, a lantern in one hand.

“We had to go to Albano with wool, and on the way back I begged father to stop for you, Bruno, to go back to Rome for Christmas. We couldn’t find you. Your father came with us to look for you, and the lamb told us where you were.”

“My brave little Roman lad!” It was Bruno’s father who stroked his head with long, thin fingers. “We will return with the lamb to the fold and find warm milk for you. Then you may go to Rome for the _festa_ with the little _signorina_.”

“And we’re going to _buy_ a box that talks,” added Piccola, happily.

“And sings!” smiled back Bruno as he looked toward the Christmas star and the gate of St. Sebastian.

THE CHRISTMAS TREE IN THE NURSERY[6]

RICHARD WATSON GILDER

With wild surprise
Four great eyes
In two small heads
From neighboring beds
Looked out--and winkt
And glittered and blinkt
At a very queer sight
In the dim dawn-light.

As plain as can be
A fairy tree
Flashes and glimmers
And shakes and shimmers.
Red, green, and blue
Meet their view;
Silver and gold
Sharp eyes behold;
Small moons, big stars;

And jams in jars,
And cakes and honey
And thimbles and money;
Pink dogs, blue cats,
Little squeaking rats,
And candles and dolls
And crackers and polls,
A real bird that sings,
And tokens and favors,
And all sorts of things,
For the little shavers.

Four black eyes
Grow big with surprise,
And then grow bigger,
When a tiny little figure,
Jaunty and airy,
A fairy, a fairy!
From the treetop cries,
“Open wide, Black Eyes!
Come, children, wake now!
Your joys you may take now.”

Quick as you can think
Twenty small toes
In four pretty rows,
Like little piggies pink,
All kick in the air--
And before you can wink
The tree stands bare!

THE STARS AND THE CHILD

ANDREA HOFER PROUDFOOT

Long, long ago--so long that even the old gray hills have forgotten--the beautiful stars in the sky used to sing together very early every morning, before any of the little people of the world were up. Their songs were made of light, and were so clear and strong that the whole heaven would shine when they sang.

One morning, as the stars sang and listened to each other, they heard beautiful music coming swiftly toward them. It was so much louder and sweeter than their own that they all stopped and listened and wondered. It came from far above them, from out the very deepest blue of the sky. It was a new star, and it sang an entirely new song that no one had ever heard before.

“Hark, hark!” the stars cried. “Let us hear what it is saying.”

And the beautiful star sang it over and over again, and its song told of a lovely Babe that had come on earth--a Babe so beautiful that it was the joy of the whole world. Yes, so beautiful that when you looked at it you saw real light streaming from its face.

Every little child in the world has light in its face if we but know how to see it; but this little one had so very much that its mother wondered as she looked down upon her lap and saw it there. And there were shepherds there to look at the Babe, and many other people saw it and could not understand.

But the one beautiful star knew--yes, it knew all about it; and what do you think it knew? Why, that this Child was God’s own Child, and was so good and loving that the whole world when it heard of it would want to know how to be so, too.

This one beautiful star traveled on and on, telling all the way what it knew of the Child, and its light fairly danced through the sky, and hung over the very place where the little one lay.

THE STRANGER CHILD[7]

FRIEDRICH RÜCKERT

(Translated from the German by Frances Jenkins Olcott)

’Twas Christmas Eve and, birdlike over the snow, flew a little stranger child. It ran along the sparkling ground. Its face beamed with gladness. It listened to the merry chimes of the Christmas bells and clapped its hands for joy.

It frolicked in the bright beams of light that fell from a cottage window, and, peeping in, saw the Christmas tree hung full of shining light and glittering gifts, and it watched the little children play about the tree.

“Oh, where,” cried the little stranger child, “where is my candles’ light? And why is there no tree for me, nor pretty toys? Once in my house my dear mother decked my tree! Oh, little children, may I not come in to see your tree and play with you?”

Then with frail hand the stranger child knocked on the window and the door, but no one heard the sound. Then down in the cold, white snow the little one sat, and wept.

“O Christ Child, the children’s Friend, I have no one to love me! Oh, why hast thou forgotten to send me a little tree with lights on every bough?”

And the little stranger child, with cold hands, drew its white cloak closer around its silken hair and pretty eyes so clear and blue.

Then came another pilgrim child. He held in His hand a shining light, and in a sweet, mild voice, like gentle music, he soothed the little stranger child.

“I am the Christmas Friend. Once I was a little child. Just now I heard your pleadings, and have come to deck a tree for you more beautiful than any tree ever before seen. Here in the open air is your Christmas tree, my little flower.” And the little stranger child looked up--far up--into the deep, deep sky, and saw there a glorious tree. Stars hung among its branches, and angels sang songs of joy around it.

And the little child smiled with joy, and troops of radiant beings descended and lifted the little one in their arms. They bore him to the Christ Child’s house, which is sweeter far than any home that earth can give.

THE STAR SONG

ROBERT HERRICK

I

Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue,
Where is the Babe that lately sprung?
Lies he the lily banks among?

II

Or say, if this new Birth of ours
Sleeps, laid within some ark of flowers,
Spangled with dew-light, thou can’st clear
All doubts, and manifest the where.

III

Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek
Him in the morning’s blushing cheek,
Or search the beds of spices through,
To find Him out?

STAR

No, this ye need not do;
But only come and see Him rest,
A Princely Babe, in’s mother’s breast.

THE VISIT OF THE WISHING MAN[8]

JAY T. STOCKING

It was Christmas night at Castle Havenough in the Land of Nothing Strange. It had been a day of gifts and guests, and now the king and queen had gone to a great dinner in the banquet hall, and the young prince and princess were left alone to spend the rest of the day as they chose. A great fire blazed in the fireplace. It cracked and roared and chuckled as the young prince and princess threw in pitchy sprays of evergreen. The Christmas tree across the room, bespangled with tinsel and tassels and sheen, now glowed in the light of the fireplace and gleamed and twinkled and sparkled as if every twig were set with rubies and diamonds. The floor, the chairs, the table--everything--were heaped high with gifts, for this young prince and princess had received everything that they had wished for. And it was almost always so,--whatever they wished for, they received. It seems strange to us, indeed, that this young prince and princess were not always or altogether happy. But it was not strange at all in the Land of Nothing Strange.

Before the king went out to the great banquet, he called the prince and princess to his side and putting his arms about their slender shoulders, said, “My children, I hope you have had a happy day and have received everything that you desire. If not, I promise you that if you can agree exactly on what you wish, and will tell me, if money can purchase it, it shall be yours.”

“But cannot money purchase everything, father?”

“No, my son, not quite everything.”

“But if money cannot purchase it, father?”

“Then, princess, I will try and get it for you in some other way.”

“And if you cannot?”

“Well--then I will tell the Wishing Man.”

And with that he was off. But not until he had told them that since this was Christmas Day they might stay up just as late as they wished.

Just as late as they wished! Why, this was the very best Christmas gift of all! Because not even princes and princesses, you know, can sit up always, or often, just as late as they wish.

Just as late as they wished! What in the world would they do? Why, everything, of course, in all that time. But first of all they must decide whether there was anything more that they wished and whether they could agree upon their wish.

So they threw themselves upon the floor at full length before the fire, upon the great white bearskin with the head that snarled and showed his long, gleaming, harmless teeth as if he would eat just one more thing. With their chins resting upon their hands, and their elbows on the floor, and the fire throwing lights and shadows on their faces, they lay and talked.

“You wish first,” said the prince, who had not quite made up his mind what he wished, and wanted time to think. “You are the younger, and you are a girl. What do you wish?”

“Well, I wish that all the snow were sugar and all the mud were chocolate. Don’t you?”

“No, of course not. Why, you couldn’t coast! The runners would stick, and if you ran and fell upon your sled you would go heels over head, and like as not you would break your neck. Besides, there wouldn’t be any sugar in summer, and there would be no chocolate except when it rained.”

“I never thought of that,” said the princess. “What do _you_ wish?”

“I wish that--that--my Christmas stocking were as tall as this house and I had to take a ladder to get up to it and another ladder to get down into it. Don’t you?”

“Why, no, of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Why, because the Christmas stocking is just the same size as all your other stockings, and if your Christmas stocking were as big as the house, all your other stockings would be as big as the house, and you never could get one on; and if you did get it on it would go clear over your head.”

“That’s so,” said the prince; “I never thought of that. Well, what _do_ you wish?”

“Well, I wish--that every day was Christmas, and there wasn’t any school. Don’t you?”

“No! If there wasn’t any school, you’d be a dunce. And who wants to be a dunce? I’ll tell you what _I_ wish.”

“What?”

“I wish that every day was just as nice as Christmas, but different. Different, you know, but just as nice. That’s what I wish.”

“So do I.”

And so they agreed upon their wish,--that every day should be like Christmas--different, but just as nice. And they would tell that wish to their father in the morning.

“But do you suppose that money can purchase it, prince?”

“I don’t know. I--I’m afraid it can’t. But father said he would tell the Wishing Man. I wonder what he looks like; I should like to see him.”

“So should I.”

Just then there was a commotion in the fireplace. It sounded as if the wood had fallen forward on the andirons. And so it had. But something else had happened. On the backlog, which was blazing fiercely, there sat a funnier little man than you would see in going around the world. He was red from the top of his cap to the tip of his boot; his coat, which was flung over his little red wings, was red. His face was red, but perhaps that was just a reflection from the coals of the fire. You would think that he would have burned up or that he would have jumped out of the fireplace in a hurry. But he didn’t do anything of the sort. It seems very strange, but it was not strange at all in the Land of Nothing Strange. As he sat there upon that blazing backlog, his hands upon his knees, with the flames leaping around him, and his feet resting down in the red-hot coals, you would have said that this was the most comfortable seat that he had ever found in all his life.

“Well?” the little man drawled.

“Well?” drawled the prince and princess, as they drew back on their elbows and sat up in amazement.

“Well? I’m here.”

“Who’s here?” asked the prince.

“Why, _I_ am here. You said you would like to see what I looked like, and so I have come. _I’m_ here.”

“Are you the Wishing Man?” asked the princess.

“That’s my name.” And then he broke into a snatch of a song:

“I have wishbones on my fingers,
I have myst’ry in my eyes;
My clothes are lined with four-leaf clovers
And are stained with magic dyes.

“I have pockets full of rabbits’ feet,
And amulets and charms;
Just for luck I pick up horseshoes;
I have tattoos on my arms.

“I know a world of wonders,
And if you would believe,
I have fortunes in my wallet
And surprises up my sleeve.

“I come from a distant country,
Away up near the sky,
From the golden palace, Overhead,
In the land of Wonder Why.

“I’m the best of friends of children,
And I’ll help _you_ if I can;
Now tell me what your wishes are,
For I’m the Wishing Man.”

They told him that they had decided to wish that every day should be just as nice as Christmas--different, but, then, just as nice.

“That is a good wish,” said the Wishing Man. “I hope that you will get it, but you never can tell.”

“You never can tell! Arn’t you the Wishing Man? Don’t you know? Don’t you give folks their wishes?”

“Oh, no! I am not wise enough for that. The Angel of Blessings does that. I merely go through the world and carry to him all the wishes that I hear people make.”

“How do you carry them?” asked the prince.

“Oh, right here,” and he pointed to a little jeweled box that he had at his belt. “Right here. You see I have a padlock on it and I never lose a wish.”

“Are you the only wishing man in the world?” asked the princess.

“Oh, bless my soul, no! If I were, do you think I would have time to sit here on this nice cool seat and chat with you? There are a great many of us, but we all look just alike, we are all dressed just alike, and we are all twins.”

That seems strange, but it was not strange at all in the Land of Nothing Strange.

“My country is the country of Wonder Why. I come here every morning, and I stay till I have my little box full of wishes, and then I take it back. By the way, I see that it is full now, and your wish is right on top. Would you like to go with me to see the Angel of Blessings? Those who talk with him are most apt to have their wishes granted. Many folks do not get their wishes just because they do not seem to understand how to get them. Would you like to go with me?”

“Is it very far?” asked the prince. “Could we get back before bedtime?”

“Oh, yes, with time to spare.”

“Shouldn’t we be cold?” asked the princess.

“No, we would fly very fast, and we shouldn’t have time to shiver more than once before we got there. Come, then, get on my back,” and he tucked his red coat between his little red wings, which he shook out, and made ready to fly.

“Now part your hair in the middle so you won’t be any heavier on one side than on the other. Step right in here; the fire won’t hurt you. Now, prince, put your right arm around my neck like this, and hold on to my left wing with your left hand,--so, and princess, put your left arm around my neck and hold on to my right wing with your right hand,--so. Now, ready.”

Up they went, and off they went, through the frosty air, faster than the fastest aëroplane. Below them lay the beautiful white snow; above them hung the beautiful white stars. They had just shivered once and were nearly ready to shiver again when the Wishing Man folded his red wings and they landed upon the doorstep of the golden palace, Overhead, in the Land of Wonder Why.

The Wishing Man took them by the hand, one on either side, walked up the white marble steps, opened the great doors, which swung at a touch, and stepped inside. This was the palace, Overhead. Anybody could see that this was the House of Wishes. Why, there was everything here that anybody had ever wished for or ever could wish for. Down the side here at the right there were great possessions. There were carloads of gold heaped up, and carloads of silver heaped up, and there were houses--every kind of house--and there were farms that reached away just as far as the sun shone, and there were gardens in which there was every kind of flower that anybody had ever seen grow in any place in the world. Over on the other side were things to wear and things to eat; there were gowns and furs and hats and suits, and beyond these there were bricks of ice cream as big as ice cakes,--just for one! And plum puddings as big as your head,--just for one! And whole mince pies that you could eat and never see anything afterward. Before them, across the room, were the very best things of life, the very best of all, just plain something to eat, happy days and sleepy nights, and good friends,--just the things that men like most. These things that I have mentioned were simply what you could see right in the first rows, but behind these things at the right and left and over in front,--there is nobody who ever lived who could tell you all that was there, because, as I have told you, there was everything that anybody had ever wished for, and everything that anybody _could_ ever wish for.

Now, right in the center of the hall, to which a golden carpet ran, there was a platform, and upon the platform a great white desk, bright as the moon, and at the desk, clothed in white, sat the Angel of Blessings. At the right of the Angel of Blessings stood his messengers. He called them pages. The line was sometimes short and sometimes long. They wore no uniform. Some were rich and some were poor, some had beautiful clothes and some had ragged clothes, but the face of every one shone like a star, and it was their duty to carry blessings and wishes to people who had got their wish.

Upon that golden carpet, that ran from the door to the platform, the little red Wishing Men were continually passing each other as they came up to the desk to leave their wishes and went out again to listen for more. All day, all night, they came and went, came and went, and all day and all night the Angel of Blessings, clad in white, at the great white desk, opened the wishes and read them. Sometimes he shook his head sorrowfully, and even frowned; sometimes he smiled and nodded! When he frowned or looked sorrowful it meant that the wish was lost, and he dropped it into the huge waste-basket at his left and it fell to the bottom of the earth. But when he smiled and nodded, it meant that the wish was granted, and he handed it to one of his pages waiting at the right, who fell upon one knee, took the wish, and carried it to the wisher.

The Wishing Man took the prince and the princess by the hand, walked along the golden carpet to the great white desk upon the platform, and announced the visitors to the Angel of Blessings: “Prince and Princess Havenough from the Land of Nothing Strange.” Then the prince and princess, who, of course, had been trained in court, made their most beautiful bow, but spoke no word until the Angel of Blessings had spoken to them. The Wishing Man laid upon the desk the wish which they had made and which he had carried in his little golden casket, and then he retired with many a bow until the Angel should summon him again.

“Prince and Princess Havenough,” said the Angel as he read the wish and smiled, “it is a good wish. It will be granted, on _one_ condition--that you will be my pages, carry my blessings, and take the wishes which I send to those who have their wishes granted. Will you be my pages?”

“Must one go very far, Mr. Angel?” asked the prince, “because we are small; we have never traveled far; we don’t know where many places are.”

“Oh, not at all, prince,” said the Angel; “merely to the Land of Nothing Strange--to your home, to your friends, to your acquaintances. Will you be my pages?”

“We will, Mr. Angel,” and they bowed.

“Then stand here at my right. I may have some commissions for you now. Let me look at these wishes which have just been brought to me. Here is a wish from a little boy in the Land of Nothing Strange, not far from Castle Havenough. He wishes that he had a pair of skates; he hasn’t any; all his friends have some.”

“He may have a pair of mine,” said the prince. “I will take them to him.”

“Good!” said the Angel; “his wish is granted.” And he handed the wish to the prince with the name and the address of the wisher.

“Let me see; here is a wish from a little girl in the Land of Nothing Strange, not far from Castle Havenough. She wishes that she had a doll. She asked Santa Claus for one last night and he didn’t bring it to-day. He must have forgotten it. She wants one very much.”

“She may have one of mine! I have very many,” said the princess.

“Good!” said the Angel; “it is granted.”

And he handed the wish to the princess, with the name and the address of the wisher.

“Here is another,” said the Angel. “It is from the teachers and the servants of Castle Havenough. They wish that they were happier,--that the prince and the princess were somewhat more thoughtful and kind. Shall their wish be granted?”

“We will try, Mr. Angel.”

“Good! And here is one from the royal house. I see the seal. Why, it is from the King and Queen of the Land of Nothing Strange. ‘We wish that our son and daughter were more dutiful, thoughtful, loving, and kind.’ Shall the wish be granted, pages?”

“We will try, Mr. Angel.”

“Good! That is enough for to-night. To-morrow I shall have some more blessings for you to carry. Every day I will send you some, so long as you are in my service. And I promise you that every day will be as happy as Christmas,--different, but just as nice. Wait a minute.” And then he wrote something on a card and handed it to them,--he called it their

COMMISSION

“Be it known to all those who may read this short line,
That the prince and the princess are pages of mine;
They carry my blessings, will seek what you wish,
Will be kind and regardful, polite, unselfish.
For wages, I now and hereafter decree,
Their days shall be happy as happy can be.”

Then he pressed a little golden button, and the Wishing Man came and took the prince and princess by the hand and led them down the golden carpet to the great door, and in less time than it takes to tell you they were back again, and down again upon the skin of the great white bear, which still lay snarling and showing his teeth at the flickering fire.

The Wishing Man wanted to be off, but the prince and princess asked him so eagerly to sing again that he finally consented to sing what he had sung before,--“Just by way of encore,” he said:

“I have wishbones on my fingers,
I have myst’ry in my eyes;
My clothes are lined with four-leaf clovers
And are stained with magic dyes.

“I have pockets full of rabbits’ feet,
And amulets and charms;
Just for luck I pick up horseshoes,
I have tattoos on my arms.

“I know a world of wonders,
And if you would believe,
I have fortunes in my wallet
And surprises up my sleeve.

“I come from a distant country,
Away up near the sky,
From the golden palace, Overhead,
In the land of Wonder Why.

“I’m the best of friends of children,
And I’ll help _you_ if I can;
Now tell me what your wishes are,
For I’m the Wishing Man.”

And then he was gone.

It may be that it was a very long, tiresome journey to the palace; it may be that the cold had made the prince and princess very sleepy; it may have been due to something else. At any rate, when the servants came at ten o’clock and opened the door softly, the prince and princess lay fast asleep before the fire, which was burning very low, and the clock was tick-tock, tick-tocking very loud indeed.

What the prince and princess told the king in the morning, how long they were pages of the Angel of Blessings, how many people they carried blessings to, I cannot tell; I never heard. But this I know: that night, and for many days after, the servants and the teachers said that it seemed to them the prince and princess were kinder than usual, and the king and the queen not long after were heard to say they never in their lives _had_ seen the prince and princess so loving and so happy.

KRISS KRINGLE[9]

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH

Just as the moon was fading
Amid her misty rings,
And every stocking was stuffed
With childhood’s precious things,

Old Kriss Kringle looked around,
And saw on the elm-tree bough,
High hung, an oriole’s nest,
Silent and empty now.

“Quite like a stocking,” he laughed,
“Pinned up there on the tree!
Little I thought the birds
Expected a present from me!”

Then old Kriss Kringle, who loves
A joke as well as the best,
Dropped a handful of flakes
In the oriole’s empty nest.

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM

ELEANOR L. SKINNER

The radiant star in the East had done its work. It had guided the shepherds and the Wise Men to the manger where the heavenly Child lay in Mary’s arms. The people, who had watched its light with solemn wonder, and had whispered to each other about its beauty and meaning, had gone to rest. Suddenly in the eastern sky there was a breaking up of the glorious light into millions of shining points. A shower of silver and gold fell to the earth.

An old man with a long white beard saw the wonder. “The star in the East has gone!” he sighed. “The glory of the skies has vanished!”

Morning dawned. Happy little children ran to the fields to gather flowers. The sunny meadows glistened with hundreds of little star-like blossoms.

“How beautiful!” cried the children, clapping their little hands for joy. “Let us gather some flowers, and take a gift to the Mother and little Babe.”

They filled their arms with the starry blossoms and started to the manger. On their way they met the old man with the long white beard. He stopped for a moment and looked at the happy children. A strange light came into his eyes; he bowed his head and whispered, “The star of Bethlehem has burst into blossoms! The glory of the skies has come to abide on earth!”

NUTCRACKER AND MOUSE KING

EDWARD THEODOR WILLIAM HOFFMANN

It was Christmas Eve. Marie and Fritz sat cuddled together in a corner of the back parlor, for they had not been permitted during the whole day to go even into the small drawing room, much less into the best drawing room into which it opened. The deep evening twilight had come and they began to feel almost afraid. Seeing that no Christmas candles were brought in, Fritz whispered to his sister Marie, who was just seven, that he had heard rattlings and rustlings going on all day in the closed room, as well as distant hammerings, and that not long before, a little dark looking man with a big box under his arm had gone slipping and creeping across the floor. He well knew that this little man was no other than Godpapa Drosselmeier. At this news Marie clapped her little hands for gladness and cried:

“Oh, I do wonder what pretty things Godpapa Drosselmeier has been making for us this time!”

Godpapa Drosselmeier was anything but a nice looking man. He was little and lean, with a great many wrinkles on his face, a big patch of black plaster over his right eye, and not a hair on his head. He wore a fine white wig, made of glass. But he was a very, very clever man, for he knew and understood all about clocks and watches, and could make them himself. So when one of the beautiful clocks in Fritz and Marie’s home was out of sorts and couldn’t sing, Godpapa Drosselmeier would come, take off his glass periwig and his little yellow coat, put on a blue apron, and begin to stick sharp-pointed instruments into the inside of the clock. Of course, whenever he came he always brought something delightful in his pockets for Marie and Fritz--perhaps a little man who could roll his eyes and make bows and scrapes, most comic to behold, or a box out of which a little bird would jump. But for Christmas time he had invariably prepared some especially wonderful invention.

“Oh! what can Godpapa Drosselmeier have been making for us this time!” Marie said again.

“I’m sure this time,” said Fritz, “it must be a great castle, a fortress, where all sorts of pretty soldiers are drilling and marching about, then other soldiers come to try and get into the fortress, upon which the soldiers inside fire away at them with cannon until everything bangs and thunders like anything.”

“No, no,” said Marie. “Godpapa Drosselmeier once told me about a beautiful garden with a lake in it, and beautiful swans swimming about with great gold collars, singing lovely music. And then a lovely little girl comes down through the garden to the lake, and calls the swans and feeds them with shortbread and cake.”

“Swans don’t eat cake and shortbread,” Fritz cried, “and Godpapa Drosselmeier couldn’t make a whole garden.”

The children went on trying to guess what he might have in store for them this time. Marie told Fritz that her biggest doll had altered very much. She was more clumsy and awkward than ever, for she tumbled on to the floor every two or three minutes. Fritz said that a good fox was lacking in his collection of animals, and that his army of soldiers was quite without a cavalry, as his papa well knew. But the children knew that their elders had all sorts of charming things ready for them. They remembered, too, that the Christ Child at Christmas time took special care of their wants and knew best what gift would bring them true happiness.

Marie sat in thoughtful silence; but Fritz murmured quietly to himself: “But for all that, I do want a fox and some hussars.”

It was now quite dark. Fritz and Marie, sitting close together, did not dare to utter another word. They felt as if there were a fluttering of gentle, unseen wings around them, while a very far-away music could be heard. Then a bright gleam of light passed quickly across the wall and the children knew that the Christ Child was being borne away on shining clouds to other happy children. At this moment a silvery bell rang out “Kling-ling! Kling-ling!” the doors flew open, and a brilliant light came streaming from the drawing room.

“Oh! Oh!” cried the children, clapping their hands.

But papa and mamma came and took their hands, saying, “Come, now, darlings, and see what the blessed Christ Child has brought for you.”

The two children stood speechless, with brilliant glances fixed on all the beautiful things before them. After a while Marie, with a sigh, cried, “Oh! How lovely! How lovely!” and Fritz gave several jumps of delight. The children had certainly been very, very good, for never had so many beautiful and delightful things been provided for them as at this Christmas. The great Christmas tree on the table bore many apples of silver and gold, and all its branches were heavy with bud and blossom, consisting of sugar almonds, many tinted bon-bons, and all sorts of charming things to eat. In all the recesses of its branches hundreds of little tapers glittered like stars! How many beautiful things there were! Marie gazed at the loveliest dolls, and all kinds of toys, and a little silk dress, with many tinted ribbons, hung from a projecting branch. “Oh, the lovely, lovely dress,” she cried. Fritz, in the meantime, had had two or three trials around the table to see how his new fox could gallop. “I believe it’s a wild beast,” he said, “but that’s no matter. I can frighten him already.” He set to work to muster his new hussars, well equipped in red and gold uniforms with real silver swords and mounted on such shining white horses that you would have thought them of pure silver.

When the children had become a little quieter there came another tinkling of a bell, and they knew that Godpapa Drosselmeier would show them his Christmas presents, which were on another table, against the wall, concealed by a curtain. When this curtain was drawn, what did the children behold?

On a green lawn, bright with flowers, stood a beautiful castle with a great many shining windows and golden towers. A chime of bells was going on inside it, doors and windows opened, and you saw very small ladies and gentlemen with plumed hats and long robes, walking up and down in the rooms.

Fritz stood looking at the beautiful castle, his arms leaning upon the table. In a little while he said, “Godpapa Drosselmeier, let me go into your castle.”

“That can’t be done, little Fritz,” was his answer. “The castle is not as tall as yourself, golden towers and all.”

“Well, then, make the man with the green cloak, who is always looking from the window, walk about with the others.”

“And that can’t be done, either,” said his godpapa once more; “it can’t be altered, you know.”

“Oh,” said Fritz, “it can’t be done? Very well, if your little creatures in the castle can only always do the same thing, they’re not very much!” So he went back to his Christmas table to play with his hussars.

Marie, too, was soon tired of the little castle people, though she did not like to show it as her brother did. At last, however, she also crept back to the table where the Christmas presents were laid out, for she had just noticed there among Fritz’s soldiers an excellent little man, standing still and modest as if he were waiting patiently until some one should notice him. In regard to his appearance, there was much that was objectionable, for his body was rather too tall and stout for his little thin legs, and his head was a great deal too large. But the elegance of the little gentleman’s costume showed him to be a person of taste and cultivation. He had on a very pretty violet hussar’s jacket, and the loveliest little boots ever seen. It was certainly funny that, dressed in such style as he was, he wore a rather absurd short cloak on his shoulders which looked as if it were made of wood and on his head he wore a miner’s cap. Nevertheless, as Marie kept looking at this little man she saw more and more clearly what a sweet disposition was legible on his countenance. His green eyes spoke only kindness, and the nicely curled white cotton beard on his chin drew attention to the sweet smile which his bright lips always expressed.

“Oh, papa, dear,” cried Marie at last, “whose is that most darling little man beside the tree?”

“That little fellow, my dear, will work hard for you all; he’s going to crack nuts for you.” With that, Marie’s father took him from the table, and when he raised the wooden cloak the little man opened his mouth. Marie put in a nut, and with a crack the little man bit it in pieces. He had to crack a great many nuts. Marie picked out the smallest ones, but Fritz gave him all the biggest and hardest nuts he could find. But all at once there was a crack! crack! and three little teeth fell out of Nutcracker’s mouth; and his chin became loose and shaky.

“Ah! my poor Nutcracker!” Marie cried as she gathered up the lost teeth, bound a pretty white ribbon about his poor chin, and wrapped the poor little fellow tenderly in her handkerchief. In this way she held him, rocking him like a child in her arms, as she looked at her picture books.

Marie and Fritz were allowed to keep their playthings in the glass cupboard in the sitting room. Fritz soon tired of playing with his hussars and placed them on the upper shelf, and Marie put her dolls in the beautiful doll’s room on the lower shelf. It had become almost midnight, and their mother had aroused the children to go to bed. Fritz obeyed, but Marie begged for just a little while longer, saying she had such a number of things to see to and promising that as soon as ever she had got them all settled she would go to bed at once. Marie was a good girl and her mother allowed her to remain a little longer with her toys, but fearing lest Marie should be too much occupied with her new doll and other playthings to think of the lights, her mother put all of them out, leaving only the lamp which hung from the ceiling and which shed a soft light over everything.

As soon as Marie was alone she carefully unbound the ribbon around Nutcracker’s head and examined his wounds.

“Oh, my darling Nutcracker,” she said, “I’ll take the best care of you, for I am really fond of you. Your teeth shall be put back and your shoulder made right again.” She took him in her arms again, went to the cupboard, and said to her new doll:

“Clara, you will give up your bed to this poor, sick, wounded Nutcracker, I’m sure.” Miss Clara in her Christmas dress looked very disdainful, but Marie took the bed and moved it forward, laid Nutcracker carefully upon it, and placed them on the upper shelf near the village in which Fritz’s hussars were resting. She was about to close the cupboard door when--hark! there began a low, soft rustling and rattling all around, behind the stove, under the chairs, behind the cupboards. The clock on the wall warned louder and louder, but it could not strike. Marie looked at it, and saw that the big gilt owl which was on the top had drooped its wings so that they covered the whole of the clock. And the warning of the clock kept growing louder and louder, with distinct words: “Clocks, stop ticking. Mousey king’s ears are fine. Prr-prr! Only sing ‘poom, poom.’ Bells go chime! Soon rings out the fated time!”

Marie grew terribly frightened and was going to rush away as quickly as she could when she noticed that Godpapa Drosselmeier was up on top of the clock instead of the owl.

“Godpapa Drosselmeier,” she called out as soon as she composed herself. “What are you doing up there, you naughty, naughty godpapa?”

But then there began a strange scampering and squeaking everywhere, all about, and presently there was a sound of running and trotting as of thousands of little feet behind the walls, and at the same time thousands of little lights began to glitter out between the chinks of the woodwork. But they were not lights, no, no,--little glittering eyes; and Marie said that everywhere mice were peeping and squeezing themselves out through every chink. Presently they were trotting and galloping in all directions all over the room.