Chapter II: Part 2

One night--it was a hot night in June--after a long journey, while our keepers were away at supper the serpent broke open his box. Presently his head went slowly gliding up to one of the windows, and moved all over the inside shutter. It had not been properly locked, and it opened a little way. Upon this, the serpent raised himself upwards by his mouth, opening the shutter gradually as he rose, till he had coiled about half his body up against the window-frame, and then, with a slow pressure--he burst it open. The next moment he dropped silently through the opening--and was gone!

In an instant the thought of liberty flashed through my mind! I grasped the wooden bars of my cell, with both arms, and crushed three of them together. I jumped down upon the floor of the caravan, and scrambled up to the window. It was too small to let my body through, but I tore away the framework and out I got, and leaped down upon fresh, cool grass in the fresh, cool, night air! Oh, what delight after that steaming hot caravan! I ran off as fast as I could. A few stars were shining. Luckily there was no moon. Our caravan had fortunately been fixed outside the town, so that I had no gates to pass through. I scampered along, dodging between the trees of the avenue just as if I had been pursued, though not a soul was to be seen at that hour; then I cut across some fields and reached a vineyard. Scrambling on through garden and orchard and wood, I came to the highroad which led to a large city. Again I plunged into some vineyards till suddenly I came to a great river which I swam quickly across and landed a little above a village. Again I lost myself in the vineyards, but I did the best I could to avoid villages and pathways leading to towns, for I feared I might meet a party of travelers who would make it known where they had seen me. I knew there would be a wide search for me. So I made my way upward towards some distant mountains. At last I came to a forest where the trees were very large. Up one of them I slowly climbed, being careful not to scrape or leave any marks upon the bark of the tree. Choosing a snug place where several large boughs crossed each other, I bent some of the smaller ones round about, so that I was carefully hidden from all eyes below.

The next morning, as I was sure would be the case, I heard all sorts of noises of hunters and dogs all over the country. Several parties passed directly beneath the tree where I was seated. I heard one of the dogs give such a sniff. Oh! how closely I hugged the trunk of that tree, with my nose pointing up the stem, and not once venturing to look down! I hoped with all my heart not to be seen. This search continued for several days round about me. I never descended and I had nothing to eat. Once it rained in the night, and I drank the water off the leaves, taking whole bunches at a time into my mouth. This quite refreshed me. Nobody ever found me out, except that one morning an old crow with a bright, black eye, came and peeped at me, but as soon as he saw who it was he flew away, crying out, ‘_Lawk! Lawk!_’

At length the search after me was continued in other parts of the country, and one night I came down to stretch my legs, and sniff about a bit, and see what the world was made of--ahem! I had not walked far before I came to a spot where the hunters had paused to rest and refresh themselves. Here I found two things which had been dropped by some accident--namely, a purse with some money in it and a very large pork pie! The purse I placed in a thicket under a stone, but I had immediate need of the pie. I ate half of it that night; I was so very hungry. The remainder I carried with me up the tree, and made it last five days.

Though I never stopped watching or forgot my caution, the fear I at first had of being discovered and recaptured was very much lessened, so that my mind was free to follow its own course of self-improvement. I continued to practice speaking with the greatest care, repeating all the sentences I knew, and every word I could recollect. I did this so often in order to master the pronunciation that sometimes when I ceased I had a pain in my lower jaw, which lasted for half an hour. However, I continually persevered. I had now practised speaking a human language for nearly twelve years. I spoke very badly I knew; still, I had sometimes found what I said in the dark when I was in the menagerie, had been understood and I was full of hope. How and in what manner to make my first appearance among mankind, was quite a puzzle to me. One preparation as to my personal appearance I knew I must make. I grieved at it. I objected to the narrowness of mind which I knew made it necessary,--yet I knew also that it must be done.

In the early morning of the world, everything was new and wonderful beyond all doubt; but not more new and wonderful than useful and necessary to carry out the future business of creation. Who can deny the high origin of tails? The first animal who was active and well-formed must have had a tail. Of its great importance it would take too much time at present to speak. But even in these modern times how much use and ornament it possesses must be seen by everybody when they think of the lion, the dog, the eagle, the swallow, the monkey, the squirrel, and the fish. Running, leaping, flying, swimming are all helped very much indeed by the tail. Of its use as a fan in sultry weather, as a whisker-away of gnats and flies, I will make no mention. Then, what a tail the beaver has and who is more skilful than he? I will stop. You see I have no tail. Since I had made up my mind to live with mankind it was necessary to accept most of their customs. In short, I found I must give up my tail. This I did at the sacrifice of some private feelings, I assure you.

You must be curious, I think, to hear how I made my first appearance among the circles of mankind, and I will hasten to tell you. Most fortunately, I had a little money, the value of which I knew pretty well. I made my way cautiously across the country into a town one dark evening of a market-day, and with my money I managed to purchase a large pair of shoes, a pair of cow-skin gloves, a piece of gingerbread, and a sheet of white paper. With these materials I made my way to a large city where a great fair was being held.

I chose a dark corner on the outskirts of the fair and spread my sheet of white paper upon the ground. On this white paper I placed a score of gingerbread pills, and, with beating heart and shaking limbs, I addressed the human race on the subject of pills, for I had heard people were very much interested in this subject. I was so alarmed at speaking to a group of such wise beings that even at the time I did not well know what I was saying. However, the moment I began to speak, a number of persons came round me and laughed loudly. I thought I was found out, and stopped.

‘Go on, Doctor! Go on!’ cried they. So I went on. A crowd soon collected, all of whom laughed very much, saying, ‘What a voice! Look at his nose! Did you ever hear such language! What a figure!’

They bought all my gingerbread pills in a very short time, and I was only able to make my escape by telling them I must go to my lodgings for some more.

Oh, how shall I describe the joy and exultation I felt at the great success of my experiment upon the wise and generous human race! I was obliged to double the price of my gingerbread pills in order to prevent them from going so fast. Everything I said produced immense laughter, even when I myself knew I had said no witty or sensible thing at all, while any ordinary reply was received with shouts of applause. They believed that my strange voice, dialect, face, figure, and behaviour were all a part of my make-up, and that I was acting a part! In fact, they thought I could speak and appear very differently, if I liked. I did not feel altogether pleased at this discovery; but I was obliged to take what came and make the most of it. I, therefore, spoke as well as I could, and when I made some shocking blunder, I allowed the people to suppose that I knew better.

I now took my position in society. I had lodgings in a house, and I slept in a bed! I shall never forget the first night I slept in a bed. How I stood looking at the snow-white luxury! and walked round it softly, holding my breath. I touched it very gently, but at last I did muster courage and actually got between the sheets!

I visited other large fairs with increased success, so that in the course of a year or two I had gained a great sum of money.

I soon became famous at all the great fairs where, by some, I was called the Whimsical Doctor, on account of my odd dress, face, and voice, all of which people regarded as my make-up. Several wealthy people whom I met at these fairs offered to go into partnership with me. At last I consented. I took as my partner a clever man named Tobias, who was a jeweller. He sold all his jewels, or rather, he turned all his jewels into gingerbread, and we made wagon-loads of gingerbread pills. In making the large quantities of these, however, Tobias talked to me in a way which caused me to feel, for the first time, that this method of dealing with the human race was not honourable. I began to see that human beings were not so wise as I had imagined, and that nobody ought to cheat them. The more my partner talked over our success the more I felt we were rogues. So one morning I told him that I wished to dissolve our partnership. ‘Ah,’ said he, ‘then, as you leave me, of course you will leave with me all the stock in trade, and all the money, too.’ ‘No,’ said I, ‘not all the money. Take all the pills, and welcome; but give me back half the money.’ He refused. We spoke sharply to each other and suddenly he said to me, angrily, ‘You shall have nothing. If you say anything more I will tell what I have found out about you. I know what you are. You are not a man--but a _bear_!’

I was thunderstruck! I fell back into my infant years as if I had fallen over a cliff. I felt I was a bear! But the next moment I seized Tobias in my arms, and lifted him up in the air, saying in a loud voice: ‘Wicked fellow! what shall I do to you?’ At this moment, however, I recollected my mother’s words. I set him down upon the ground, where he stood quite breathless with fright. Then I said to him, ‘Ungrateful man--dishonest partner,--take my money and go thy ways in peace.’

Not knowing what to do, and certainly not knowing what to think, I wandered about the country. Sometimes I sat under hedges and puzzled my brains to understand what sort of thing human reason was. I never could make it out. However, I knew that I was an imposter,--though an innocent imposter, since I could not help wearing a fur coat and a long nose.

One day when I was seated under a tree, eating a turnip, who should pass by but Tobias, all in rags, and looking very ill. Suddenly, he saw me, uttered a cry, and fell down in a fit. I went to him and placed the cool wet leaves of my turnip across his temples. This seemed to revive him and do him good. When he saw that I had no intention to hurt him he asked me to carry him to the nearest peasant’s cottage. I did so and was going away when he called me back and said, ‘I behaved very badly to you, but I was punished. When you left me nobody would buy the pills. The people called loudly for the Wonderful Doctor with the fur coat and the large nose who talked so oddly. As you were not to be found, they said I was a rascal, and an impostor, and they drove me out of the town. I was quite ruined. They seized all our pills and flung them about and the boys pelted each other with pill-boxes in the streets for at least three hours. The very same wonderful pills the world had just before been running after.’

In a few months after this Tobias had a fortune left him by a relation. He sent for me, begged my pardon for his previous behaviour, set me up in business as a merchant, and took great pains to instruct me. In the winter I dealt in pickles and preserves; and in the summer I carried on a wholesale trade in silks and velvets. He wanted me to sell furs also, but I declined that. These occupations I have followed ever since, with great industry and good success. Meantime, however, at all leisure hours I have tried to improve my mind by various studies, and, among others, I even managed to make some progress in mathematics.”

As Mr. Bear said this, all the children thought directly of Uncle Abraham, the mathematician, and were so sorry he was not present to hear about these studies.

“I should now,” continued the stout gentleman, “consider myself very happy, but for one circumstance. I confess I do not like to mention it.

How can this small heart contain
So large a world of joy and pain;
And how can this small tongue declare
All that is felt so deeply there!
Alas, poor Bear!--Alas, poor Bear!

You will all readily understand that to have raised myself by my own efforts so much above the rest of my species, I must have had a nature open to many thoughts and feelings; and that the peculiar tenderness instilled by my mother had grown with my growth, and made me open to all the softer emotions.”

Mr. Bear here paused and gave a deep sigh. Several of the younger children sighed too. Gretchen fixed her eyes upon the floor.

“I was not aware for some time,” said the sorrowful gentleman in the rough coat, “of what kind of feelings had begun to possess me. I felt I was alone in the world. I had long felt that,--but I had so much to do, so much to learn and struggle with, and work at, and so much travelling about and business to attend to, that I did not feel this being alone as any great grief. Besides, as I had been successful in the various difficult things I had attempted, and had for a long time been very fortunate in all my affairs of business, I was in the habit of regarding myself as a happy person. And I _was_ happy, until I began to think that others were more so, and then I saw it was because others, who were happy, could share it with those they loved and also give happiness to the dear object. But I was alone in the world. I had nobody to love. Nobody would ever love me,--except another bear. And you know that the love of another bear was out of the question to one in my advanced state of refinement. What was I to do? I could have loved a dear object--a great many, I am sure--I was going to say--I beg pardon--I do not quite well know _what_ I say at this exciting moment. But--let me try to tell you, that I felt it impossible to live all my life without some tender acquaintance with the little god of love, and as I was by this time long past the season of youth, I was resolved to let my heart be lost with the first object that should present herself to my fancy.

But, strange to relate, no sooner had I made up my mind to fall in love with the first amiable and lovely person I saw than I ceased to meet with any such as I often used to see before. So I began to think the wish had left me, and I determined to study something very difficult in order to occupy my mind, and perhaps cure myself of these lovely fancies. I, therefore, decided to take a course of studies under Mr. Professor Abraham Littlepump, and with that view I first came to this village. I arrived in the evening as you know, but did not intend to have made my visit till next morning, had I not been attracted by the loud merriment of our young friends here. It has always happened that Mr. Professor Abraham Littlepump has been absent when I paid you a visit; but this does not concern me in regard to the mathematics. I have seen one here in this room--who has put all the mathematics clean out of my head. And now comes the end of my story.”

As Mr. Bear uttered those words everybody began to look all round the room and then at each other and then all round the room again.

“Who can Mr. Good-Natured Bear mean?” said Nancy in a whisper to one of the older boys.

“Margaret dear,” said little Valentine, “your ears are as red as my scarlet-runner.”

“Silence!” said Dr. Littlepump.

“Pity an unfortunate creature,” said the stout gentleman. “I have at length seen the object of my devout wishes. Yes, in this very room in this house--have I seen just exactly what I have been speaking of. You understand me?” There was no answer.

“Oh, that I could have had the honour and happiness of being your brother Abraham! I would have devoted my mind to far more beautiful thoughts. Seated in his arm-chair and thinking about mathematical problems he never dreamed of the charming object that was continually before him, sometimes singing to the children, sometimes teaching them to read, and to dance, sometimes working with her delightful needle. Oh, let me change places with him--the cold, insensible, stick of a slate pencil! Now I know what I am saying--or rather I do not very well know what I am saying.”

Poor Mr. Bear here began to cry, and several of the children cried too. But he went on with his strange speech all the same.

“Let Mr. Professor Uncle Abraham stay where he is, with his problems and dumps, and let me be allowed to remain in his place and sit in his chair, so that I may enjoy the happy society of the sweet-voiced Margaret, nursery-governess in the amiable family of Mr. Dr. Littlepump.”

As he concluded the last sentence the unhappy gentleman sank back in his chair, and Gretchen covered her face entirely with both hands.

“I only dare to speak of my affection for this sweet creature. I know I am old for her, too ugly, besides being a Bear. I know I have no hope, but what can I do? How can I help this beating heart? What is to become of me?”

By this time all the children had tears in their eyes. Nancy and little Valentine, however, got close to Gretchen, holding her fast on each side, for fear that perhaps poor Mr. Bear might want to carry her away. Everybody was silent.

At last Nancy ventured to say in a trembling voice, “Perhaps, dear Mr. Bear, you might find somebody else?”

“Oh, that I had eloquence!” exclaimed the Bear. “Oh, that the best words would come of themselves in the best places, while other best words were getting themselves ready to be poured out! Then I should be able to touch the human heart. But, as it is, all my hopes are vanity,--are in fact nothing at all. I must leave this busy scene and go to some quiet place where I am not known. I will again visit the haunts of my childhood and stay there. Oh! my native woods! Ye silent nights, ye small bright stars playing bo-peep through the boughs into hollow caves! I will go back among you, and in the cool, green grass will I lay my head. Farewell! Farewell!”

“But can nothing be done for you, sir?” said Mrs. Littlepump in a soft voice.

“My dear Margaret,” said Doctor Littlepump, “you hear what Mrs. Littlepump asks. It is for you to make some kind of an answer. I wish my brother Abraham were here!”

“I can never love the gentleman in the rough coat,” said Margaret, still holding one hand before her face. “I do not mind his being much older than myself, nor do I think him so very, very ugly--only, he is a Bear!”

“I am a devoted Bear!” declared the stout gentleman with enthusiasm, “and I will be anything else I can, that the dear object may command.”

“I have had a dream!” said Margaret timidly looking up and waiting. “I have had a dream!”

“So have I,” said Dr. Littlepump sternly. “Come, come, I begin to feel uncomfortable.”

“Do not feel so!” exclaimed Mr. Bear, clasping his paws together.

“Make haste!” continued the Doctor, fixing his eyes upon Margaret. “Make haste! Let us hear your dream.”

“I dreamed,” said Margaret, trembling, “that Mr. Bear must go into that closet, and be locked in. Then, all the children were to form a magic circle in the middle of the room, and move slowly round, hand in hand, nine times, saying:

‘Oh, Mr. Bear!
Cupid hears your fond prayer!
Remember your mother’s words,--never despair!’

After this, a glass of lemonade and a slice of cake were to be placed ready for each to take the moment the door was opened, and they saw that the charm was complete. I dreamed this would cause Mr. Bear to be made happy somehow. And then----”

“And then?” said Dr. Littlepump, “what then? I repeat I am beginning to feel very uncomfortable. I smell a plot!”

“Oh, we shall soon see what the dream will do,” said Mrs. Littlepump. “Mr. Bear, will you run all risks of what may happen, and go into the closet?”

“I will do anything, dear Mrs. Littlepump!” exclaimed Mr. Bear. Saying this, he ran towards the closet headforemost. The door was open. The children all peeped in and looked round cautiously to see if anybody was there, but it was quite empty. A large mirror hung on the wall, at the further end. Mr. Bear stepped in, and waited for what might happen to him.

“All in the dark!” said little Valentine, “and the door locked!”

The children now formed a circle in the middle of the room, and while Margaret was pouring out glasses of lemonade, and Lydia and Dorothea were cutting slices of cake, and Wallis was cleaning his spectacles, and Dr. and Mrs. Littlepump were standing silently holding each other by both hands--the children turned in a circle nine times, repeating the words of the charm:

“Oh, Mr. Bear!
Cupid hears your fond prayer!
Remember your mother’s words--never despair.”

When they had finished Mrs. Littlepump unlocked the closet door. Everybody was so silent.

“Margaret,” whispered Mrs. Littlepump, “go and tap at the door.”

Margaret did so, and then the door slowly began to open. It stopped opening, and a voice inside said, “You must take my hand, or I cannot come out.”

And then a well-formed hand was put forth. With a face all scarlet with blushes Margaret gently took it. And then--who should come out of the closet but dear Uncle Abraham!

“Here is dear Uncle Abraham!” shouted all the children, “but where is the Bear?”

The children all ran right into the closet, scrambling, squeaking, and searching all about, but finding nothing! Soon they came crowding, and began to run round Uncle Abraham.

“Where is the fascinating rough gentleman?” cried everybody in the room.

“_Here I am!_” exclaimed a soft hoarse voice, as if from a great distance.

They all looked round and round. Nobody like Mr. Bear was to be seen.

“_I am become a happy Shadow!_” continued the voice, “_and I have left my dear friend and mathematical tutor in my place!_”

The voice seemed still as distant as before; and yet, somehow, it appeared to come from the closet. Into the closet, therefore, all the children again rushed pell mell. They were no sooner in than they suddenly gave a great shout;--and then became quite silent as with some new wonder.

The rest of the party hastened to the closet. The children were all looking in the mirror which hung at the other end, and in it were distinctly seen the reflection in miniature of Mr. Bear, very nicely shaved round the chin, and dressed as a nobleman in a court dress. He was dancing a polka on the lawn of a castle made of clouds, with another Shadow dressed exactly like Margaret, only still prettier, while the figure of Cupid sat on the tip-top of one of the turrets, holding his quiver like a violin, and playing delightfully upon it with his bow.

Presently the whole vanished. There was nothing to be seen in the mirror except the wondering faces of those who went close up to it.

Out came all the children, one by one, with looks of equal pleasure and bewilderment.

“I was not altogether prepared for this,” said Dr. Littlepump.

“Oh,” said Mrs. Littlepump, “the Land of Shadows is full of delights of all kinds; and as to your brother’s affair of the heart, it is not the first time that a grave man fell in love with a merry girl. It was, at least, as natural in him as in Mr. Bear--not to speak unkindly or disrespectfully of our dear departed friend.”

“But it certainly is the first time,” said Dr. Littlepump, “that a Bear, however good-natured, was so lucky as to become a Happy Shadow, such as you describe, and to be able to bequeath a young bride to his tutor. In fact, my brain is confused upon several points. And the more I reflect, the more my head goes round. Brother! I always used to consider you a strong-minded man--but now----”

“You will dance at my wedding!” said Abraham Littlepump.

“I will,” said Dr. Littlepump. “God bless you, brother Abraham. Good-natured Bear, indeed! Poor gentleman! I do not mean to say anything at all unkind--but I _do_ say, bless my soul!”

“My good brother,” said Abraham Littlepump, “as for Mr. Bear, we shall ever retain the tenderest recollections of him. He was thrown upon an unfeeling world, and was unhappy. But he is very happy now, somewhere else. For has he not vanished into the Land of Shadows, there to dance forever on a green lawn, with the image of his adorations!”

“I rejoice extremely to hear it!” cried Dr. Littlepump, catching up his flute; “and I feel persuaded that I am at this moment inspired to play the very same polka which Cupid has just played to Mr. Bear and his bride!”

At this the children all set up a long hearty shout of applause; and when they were quite done Dr. Littlepump applauded himself--at which they all began again. Then the children, still laughing, formed a circle, hand in hand, round Dr. and Mrs. Littlepump, and Abraham Littlepump and Margaret, and danced round and round them. And they sang the following rhyme, in which the Bear was lovingly included, just as if he had been present, because his memory was so dear to them all. The Doctor accompanied them on his flute.

“Oh, Doctor! Oh, Bear!
Oh, new-married pair!
Of good luck and good friends
Oh, never despair!”

Abraham Littlepump now became so overjoyed, that he was unable to contain himself. He hugged them all round, and finally catching the Doctor in his arms, made him get up behind him pick-a-back. Then Mrs. Littlepump and Margaret joined hands with the circle of children, and they all danced round the two brothers, singing the rhyme again, while the Doctor flourished his flute in the air, like the conductor of some great band of music.

CHRISTMAS WISHES

LOUISE CHOLLET

King Nutcracker prepared for the Christmas feast with uncommon splendour, for on that day Santa Claus had promised his three sons--what do you suppose? A pony or a boat apiece? Of what use to bring such things to Prince Nutcracker and Prince Buttons, who were men, while for the little Prince Pepin, he had everything that he wanted since he first learned to cry for it! No, Santa Claus had promised them each a wish! What would the princes wish? Nobody knew. For though the Court Journal declared that of course their wishes would insure the happiness of their subjects, the Court Journal _knew_ no more of the matter than you or I; and as all this happened before we were born, that is just nothing. Nevertheless, for weeks beforehand, the entire court was in a state of preparation. The Duke of the Powder Closet powdered the comb wigs at such a rate that they were obliged to station a line of pages from the Powder closet to the pantry, who passed up refreshments continually to keep his strength up. The Queen wore her hair in curl-papers for a week, and spent the most of her time in the kitchen where the pies and plum-pudding were in making; and his Majesty grumbled that he could not stir without stumbling over a trumpeter, practising his bit of the Christmas chorus in a corner. For himself, the king ordered a new blue-velvet coat, and sent his crown and sceptre to be mended and rubbed up at a goldsmith’s. All the pink pages had new green slippers. Ten of these pages were to help Santa Claus out of his sleigh and ten were to hold the reindeer; and all the time they were to sing a song of welcome, and to step all together. So they practised five hours a day with the Lord High Fiddlesticks; and the Lord High Fiddle-stick bawled himself hoarse, while the pages lost flesh and temper in trying to learn.

What a pity, after all this pains, that Santa Claus left his reindeer behind him, and, slipping in just when nobody was looking for him, stood among them, not with his Christmas face, but looking sad and surly! “If you were my boys,” said he gruffly, “catch me giving you a wish. I would shut you up in an iceberg first! However, a promise is a promise. Let us hear what you have to say.”

All the courtiers stood on tiptoe, and you might have heard a pin drop, they were so anxious to know what the princes wished.

Pepin, though the youngest, being a saucy, spoiled boy, spoke first. “A prince should always have his own way,” said Pepin. “Now there are a great many things that vex me. Sometimes, when I am flying my kite, there is no wind. Now I think that a prince should always be able to fly his kite: if not, I might as well be any other boy. In the same way, it rains when I am going to drive, and the sun sets before I am ready; and my ball will tumble down when I want it to stay up, and sometimes it is too warm, and sometimes it is too cold; in short, there is no end to my annoyances, and I want to regulate these things myself.”

Santa Claus looked hard at Pepin to see if he was quite in earnest. Pepin looked back at Santa Claus with a serious face. “Have your wish while you remain a prince,” said Santa Claus.

The courtiers stared, but no one had time to make any remarks; for Prince Nutcracker, in a violent hurry lest Buttons should get ahead of him, wished for the luck-penny. Now you know whoever has a luck-penny will make money, more money, much money, and will never lose any.

“But there is one objection,” remarked Santa Claus. “By continual use, the luck-penny by and by will look larger to you than anything else.”

“That is nothing,” said Nutcracker, slipping the luck-penny into his pocket.

Prince Buttons, blushing to the tips of his ears, wished “to marry the shoemaker’s sweet daughter, and that the spirit of Christmas might live in their house the year round.”

“Give us your hand!” cried Santa Claus, pulling out the holly-sprig from his cap, and giving it to Buttons, but the King jumped up, fuming and spluttering: “You idiot! You ninny! The daughter of the shoemaker and the Christmas spirit, indeed. Christmas fiddlestick and fol-de-rol! Out of my sight!”

His Royal Highness was in such a rage that he actually lifted his royal foot to kick the prince. The Queen fainted; the courtiers cried, “Oh!” Prince Buttons ran away in the midst of the hubbub; Santa Claus disappeared; and, to make matters better, the court suddenly found itself in darkness. It was high noon, but the sun had popped out of the sky like a snuffed-out candle. Nobody could find candles or matches, and if the confusion was great in the palace, it was worse in the city. People were left standing in darkness at the shops and ferries and depots. People who were eating dinners, and people who were getting them, and people who had just come out to see Christmas, were all served alike. Everybody was in a fright; some screamed one thing and some another; and all the time there was nothing the matter, only Prince Pepin, who was in a hurry to see the arch of Chinese lanterns, had ordered the sun to set.

“See here, Pepin,” cried the King in a passion, “order the sun up again, and if I catch you doing such a thing----”

Pepin, who was afraid of his father, did not wait for the rest of the sentence; so, just as everybody had lighted candles, or turned on the gas, there was the sun again.

“Seems to me,” said Pepin, sulkily, “I am not having my own way after all,” and he went in a wretched humour to play battle-door and shuttlecock. He made bad strokes, and the shuttlecock tumbled on the ground. “Hateful thing, forever coming down!” cried Pepin.

“It only obeys the law of gravitation, my dear,” said the Queen.

“I wish there was no law of gravitation,” snapped Pepin.

Whisk! Pepin was flying through the air as if he had been shot from a gun. Kicking frantically, he saw the King, the Queen, everything, coming after him! Something hit him hard on the nose. He was in a perfect storm of great round apples, flying in all directions! Bang! bump! on his head, in his mouth, on his shoulders! How he wished they had stayed in the market! Pepin dodged and squalled; the air was full of stones and timbers; a horse was kicking just over his head; somebody had him by the hair, and somebody else by the legs, for, of course, everybody clutched in all directions to save himself.

“Oh!” screamed Pepin amidst the general uproar of barking, neighing, braying, clucking and shouting, “I wish the law of gravitation was back again.”

At once Pepin, the King, the Queen, and the people, were on their feet. Everything was in its accustomed place,--everybody a little rumpled, but nobody hurt. The King was disposed to be angry, but the Queen declared that Pepin was only a little thoughtless, the courtiers murmured, “Quite natural,” and the Court Journal pronounced the affair the best joke of the season; but the people looked very glum over it.

That made no difference to Pepin, who continued his jokes very much at his ease. Often, when he was lazy, the sun did not rise until noon; and people might twist and turn in bed, or go about their business by candle-light, as they chose; when, on the contrary, he found his play amusing, he sometimes kept the sun in the sky till nine o’clock at night, while all the children in the city were crying for sleepiness. Three nations declared war on King Nutcracker, because Pepin sometimes ordered a dead calm for weeks, and sometimes had the winds blowing from all quarters at once, and navigation was quite impossible. The doctors were almost worn out, and the people died on all sides from constant violent changes of weather, for, if my young master got heated in his play, he made nothing of ordering the thermometer down to sixty degrees. The farmers were all in despair, for Pepin hardly allowed a drop of rain to fall; and having a fancy for skating in summer, he ruined what harvest there was by a week of ice and snow in July.

Remonstrance was quite useless, for Pepin was no longer afraid of his father, since he could leave him at any time in total darkness. So one night there was heard a loud knocking at the palace gate, and, though the pages and the guards and the watchmen turned over on the other side, and tried very hard to go to sleep again, the knocking grew so loud that they were obliged to get up and see what was the matter. There was a mob at the gates; the people, tired of Pepin’s jokes, had rebelled. Some ran one way and some another. Prince Nutcracker put his luck-penny in his pocket and walked out of the back door; no one stayed to look after the King and Queen, who were running about in nightcap and slippers, in a terrible fright; and if it had not been for Buttons, who, on the first alarm, ran to the palace, from which he had been kicked out six months before, they would have been in a sorry case, I think.

On the next day the Court Journal came out with a new heading. It was called now the People’s Journal, and it said that, on the night before, old Mr. and Mrs. Nutcracker and their boy Pepin had escaped, nobody knew how, and nobody cared; and that young Mr. Nutcracker, the former heir to the throne, had opened a fine new store on Main Street.

So, you perceive, there was no longer a royal family.

As Nutcracker had the luck-penny, of course he made money in his new store. Every day, and all day long, he looked straight at the penny. At first he used to see other things; but as he took no notice of them, by and by the penny grew so large that it covered them all, and then he had no more trouble. He made money all the year round and he gave none of it away. None to Pepin, because he had brought about their misfortunes. None to Buttons, because he might have wished for something better, if he liked, than a holly-bush and the shoemaker’s daughter. None to anybody, because why should not people work and earn money, as he had done, if they wanted it? And every day he grew more and more like his penny,--that is, of less and less use for anything that was not buying and selling. For Santa Claus, he had not seen him in ten years, till one Christmas eve, when hearing a sudden jingling of sleigh-bells, he looked up and saw Santa Claus just coming down on the hearth-rug.

“I stopped my sleigh,” said Santa Claus, “to see if you had anything to send your father and brothers.”

“Why should I send them anything?” answered Nutcracker, surlily.

Santa Claus put his hands down deep in his fur pockets, as if he was trying to hold himself. “What for! Aren’t you rich and they poor? Your own flesh and blood? Confound it, man! if you have not the instinct of a son and a brother, you must feel the Christmas spirit at least once a year in your heart, urging you to love and kindness towards your fellow-men.”

“Well, I don’t, then,” snarled Nutcracker. “Men need holidays to rest, I suppose, though I don’t; but for Christmas being any better, or having anything more in it than any other day, I say, bosh! Give me plenty of money, and I can buy all the love and kindness I want! And if other folks want it, let them work and earn money as I do, and----”

Nutcracker never finished this speech, because--he could not. A singular dumb, dry and hard feeling had taken possession of him. His legs were gone. At least he could see them nowhere; so were his arms. Something wrapped him around. He had a strange notion that he had grown round, and that--it sounds ridiculous--but Nutcracker was quite positive that he was in a table drawer among some coin, and that he was--a copper penny.

By and by he heard a shrill voice, “Mr. Nutcracker, Mr. Nutcracker!” That was his wife. Then he heard his children calling, “Papa, papa!” Then a running up and down stairs. They were searching for him. Then somebody declared that he had disappeared, somebody else said that he must be advertised for, and, taking a handful of money from the drawer, Nutcracker among the rest, carried him to a newspaper office, and paid him in at a window for an advertisement about his own disappearance. Two minutes after, the man at the window gave him in change to a gentleman, who paid him out to a newsboy, who bought an apple with him of a grocer, who gave him in change again to a shoemaker, who dropped him into his soiled and patched pocket, where Nutcracker found nothing else but a five-dollar gold-piece.

This shoemaker was Buttons. Was not this a charming way for two brothers to meet?

The pocket into which Nutcracker dropped was a very poor pocket,--soiled and patched, as I said; but Nutcracker had not been in it five minutes when he felt--how shall I tell you? It is not easy to describe feelings, but this shoemaker, who walked in the biting wind with no overcoat and his hands in his pockets, had warmth and sparkle in his heart that made Nutcracker feel brighter, though he could not tell why. There were Christmas trees on all corners, and Christmas wreaths piled on the stands, and at every tree and wreath Buttons warmed more and more. There were women going home from market, with a broad grin on their faces, and a drum or a little bedstead on the top of the cranberries and turkey and Buttons laughed back at them as he walked, whistling and looking around him; and splendid ladies came smiling out of the shops, and Buttons smiled at them; till between the signs of Christmas and the pleasant faces he got in such a glow that Nutcracker would hardly have said that he needed an overcoat.

All this time Buttons walked very fast and very straight till he came to a certain shop with a low door. Outside of this door was a clothes stand, and on this stand hung an overcoat, marked “Only Five Dollars.”

Buttons stopped. “Now,” said he to himself, “I need an overcoat. I have got five dollars in my pocket. Shall I buy this overcoat?”

Then Buttons imagined himself in the overcoat. His coat-tails would not fly out, and of course he could not put his hands in his pockets; and if not, where should he put them? Buttons took another look at the coat. It was certainly good for five dollars.

“But,” said Buttons, “if I buy it they will have no Christmas dinner, and Ma Nutcracker has set her heart on chicken and pudding. My little wife will never know the difference between Christmas and any other day. Poor Pepin, in his bed, will never know any difference. I shall come home in my brutal overcoat and that will be all.”

Then he began checking off on his fingers like this: “A dressing-gown for father, a shawl for mother, a new gown for the little wife, goodies for the children, a box of paints for Pepin, and the dinner.” Then he gave a little sigh, and, putting his hands again in his pockets, walked away as fast as he came. Do you suppose that he bought all these things with the five-dollar gold-piece? Nutcracker could not see, of course, but he thought not, for how could he?

Buttons lived upstairs, in a mean little house in a dirty street. His rooms were small, and they were crowded. There were old Mr. and Mrs. Nutcracker, who never forgot that they had been king and queen, and that Buttons’ wife was a shoemaker’s daughter, and never remembered that Buttons had returned their cruelty with kindness, and I think were not very nice people to live with. There was Pepin, who had been hurt, poor boy! in escaping from the palace, and who had never risen since from his bed. There was Buttons’ pleasant-faced wife; there were three fat children; there was the holly-bush, which had grown into a great tree; and there was--Nutcracker did not know what--but something, he was quite sure, for which he had been searching all his life.

The three fat children seized upon Buttons; one by each hand and one by his coat-tails.

“Ah!” said Buttons, pretending to groan. “I am so tired. Let the best child look outside of the door and see what he finds.”

The best child opened the door cautiously, half afraid, and set up a shout. “Ma, come quick! here’s a chicken, and cranberries, and a paper,--it’s raisins!”

“Raisins!” screamed the other children.

“A chicken!” cried old Mrs. Nutcracker.

“Christmas wreaths!” exclaimed his wife, peeping out into the little dark hall. “Why, surely, you never----”

“Made them? Yes, I did,” said Buttons, his eyes dancing. “In the woods. The cedars gave me boughs for nothing.”

“Christmas wreaths!” repeated Pepin from his bed. “Give me one,” and, seizing it in his thin fingers, “Ah! how nice it smells,--like the woods!” he said, laying his pale cheek on it. “I wish I could see a tree once more.”

Buttons jumped up and ran downstairs very fast, and they heard him coming back dragging something after him, bump, bump! The something rustled and cracked and filled the room with a strong, spicy scent of the woods. Buttons lifted it so that it stood just in front of Pepin’s bed. It was a spruce-tree. Its thick, strong branches spread out wide. Its top brushed the ceiling. Birds had built nests in its branches, mosses had lived about its roots. It knew all the secrets of the woods and the sky and the rains, and it told you about them, as well as it could, whenever you stirred its branches. The little wife hung the wreaths all about the room,--one on every nail, one over each window, one over Pepin, one each on the backs of grandpa’s and grandma’s chairs. It was getting dark, and the firelight came out and danced on the ceiling and on the white cover of the little table. Pepin lay looking at the tree. The children chattered like little birds; even Grandpa and Grandma Nutcracker were smiling. The room was like a spicy cosy little nest. What was it, Nutcracker wondered more and more, here in these people’s faces for which he had laboured all his life?

Suddenly Pepin cried out, “O, there is something here hanging on a branch of the tree!”

“Is it possible?” answered Buttons. “Then you had better take it down, Pepin.”

Pepin took it down. “Why, it is for me,” he said, looking at the name on the wrapper.

“Then you had better open it,” answered Buttons in just the same tone as before.

Pepin untied the string, but his hands shook. “It is square,” he said, feeling it. He took off one wrapper. “It is hard,” he said again, trembling all over. He took off the second wrapper, and it nearly dropped from his fingers.

“A box of paints!” screamed the children, dancing around.

Pepin tried to speak, but he could not get out a word. He kissed the box, he laughed, but you could see he was near crying. The little wife’s eyes were full of tears also.

“Come! come!” said Buttons. “Do people cry over Christmas gifts?” There were no tears in his eyes. He was ready to dance, though now he would have no overcoat. As for Nutcracker, he had a curious tingling sensation all over him, though he was only a copper penny; and, happening to look towards the hearth, he saw Santa Claus. The old fellow had tied up his reindeer and slipped down the chimney, and was winking hard, and wiping his eyes, while pretending to blow his nose.

“I have it! I have got it, and know what it is!” cried Nutcracker, at the top of his lungs. “The Christmas spirit lives here all the year round, and these people love one another, and are happy. That is what I never had at home--happiness; that is what my money could not buy. That is why I was every day trying to make more money--always hoping to make money enough to buy it.”

Should you not think that Buttons would have been very much frightened to hear such a voice coming out of his pocket? No doubt he would, only, in some mysterious way, Nutcracker found himself on his legs again, and he was walking as fast as he could with a pocketful of money, to buy a monstrous turkey, and the best overcoat in the city, and boots and a hat to match, and a new gown, and a dressing-gown, and a shawl and a set of paints, and a great bouquet, and a basket of toys, and candies--for whom? Why, for Buttons, and Grandpa and Grandma Nutcracker, and the pleasant little wife, and Pepin, and the children, of course!

THE MAN OF SNOW

HARRIET MYRTLE

When I was a little girl we lived entirely in the country for several years, and one winter there was a great fall of snow. The snow covered the roof of the house, the roofs of the stable and cow shed, and the branches of every tree were so thickly covered with the beautiful white snow that sometimes in the morning, when I looked out of the window, I could, at first, have fancied the trees were all apple and pear trees full of blossoms. You may, therefore, believe that the snow lay very deep in the fields.

We had three fields; one was adjoining our kitchen; and there was often a cow, or horse, or pony allowed to walk in it when the grass was good. This field sloped down into a second which was parted off by a gate; and then by a pathway along the side of a high hedge, we came to a stile, and on the other side of the stile was our largest field. No cattle were allowed to enter this field, as the grass was kept for hay-making. Here, then, the deep snow lay all broad and white and soft, without the marks of a single footstep all over the whole bright expanse, where all was whiteness and silence.

Now there lived in a pretty lane very near us an old parish clerk named Downes. He lived in his cottage with his little granddaughter, and a blackbird. He was a tall, thin old man with straight white hair. His name was Godfred, but we always called him Gaffer Downes.

One morning during this great snow time Mr. Gaffer Downes came to my father and asked permission to make something curious in his large field. He explained what it was and had leave given him directly, for everybody was fond of Gaffer Downes. He had been parish clerk in our village for nearly forty years.

Away went Mr. Downes to get assistants for what he wished to do, and he soon found two who were willing to help him. One was the coachman of Squire Turner’s family, who were neighbors and friends of ours; and the other was the parish sexton. Gaffer brought his spade with him; and the three went off together through the snow.