As Christmas drew near Tommy was full of expectancy. In the windows of
the village shops pictures of Santa Claus were now displayed. Santa
Claus was a tall old gentleman with flowing beard and long, white
hair; he wore a bright red cloak, and on his back was a sack almost
bursting with the pressure of the toys it held.
Like the other children of Draeth, Tommy flattened his turned-up nose
against the shop windows and looked at the treasures within; looked
until he could see no longer because of his breath upon the glass. A
vigorous rubbing with his coat sleeve set matters right once more, and
again his roving fancy pitched first on one then on another of the
toys beyond his reach.
It was about a week before Christmas, and Mrs. Tregennis was preparing
Tommy for his nightly wash in the zinc bath in front of the kitchen
fire.
"Mammy," he said, thoughtfully surveying his toes when the
home-knitted stockings had been pulled off inside out. "I be growin'
so that they stockin's be rather small for I, same as my vestises."
"Your vestises, Tommy Tregennis, do be run up in the wash, but I see
nothin' at all wrong with they stockin's; they'm good stockin's, 'n
'll do you my son for a month o' Sundays."
Tommy's diplomacy had failed. His lip trembled slightly. "Mammy, when
Santy Claus do come down the bedroom chimbley 'n finds this tiddely
stockin' hangin' on the rail, he'll not be able to slip in even 'n
orange, let 'lone a drum."
"That's so, ma handsome." Mrs. Tregennis knitted her brow in perplexed
thought.
"'ll tell you what, ma lovely," she said after a few moments' pause.
"We'll hang a big stocking of your Daddy's on the rail instead."
This suggestion brought no comfort to Tommy.
"Then he'll go 'n think as how 'tis Daddy's stockin'," he objected;
"'n he'll be puttin' in pipes, 'n baccy, 'n things; 'n I don't want
they--leastways, not yet," he added as an afterthought. "I wants a
drum."
Mammy understood the difficulty. "Well," she said, after another and a
longer pause, "we'll hang up your Daddy's stockin', but we'll write on
a bit of paper '_Little_ Tommy Tregennis', 'n pin it on the leg, 'n
the old gentleman'll never know no better."
Tommy was pleased with this plan. Before going to sleep, however, he
stipulated that Daddy's stocking should be well darned before it was
hung up, so that no little gift could escape either by way of the heel
or the toe.
Three days before Christmas the children were discussing Santa Claus
at school.
Jonathan Hex, who was bigger than the rest, scoffed openly: "There
warn't no Santy Claus," he said, "it was just fathers and mothers it
was, as came in when you were asleep 'n rammed the things in the
stockin' 'n crep' out again on tippety toes."
The other children were indignant at such unbelief, and Jonathan was
obliged to retract, otherwise he would have been excluded from the
circle gathered round the fire.
Jimmy Prynne had a grievance against the size of chimneys in Draeth.
Jimmy was six, and easily remembered previous Christmases. Last year,
for instance, he found only a tiny box of chocolates in his stocking,
and his mother had read him a letter that came along with it; in fact
he had the letter at home now:
"DEAR JIMMY PRYNNE (it ran)
"This is only a littel preasant because there ant no room in
your chimeney if you want something biger you must have your
chimeney widenered before next year.
"From
"SANTY CLAUS."
David Williams was also six. He was Jimmy Prynne's cousin and he, too,
remembered last Christmas. He had a note from Santy in his stockin',
too, and nothin' else. Santy had wrote as he couldn't possibly get
down the chimberley because it was such a tight squeeze. He cried, he
remembered, and he was cold because they had no fire. His Mammy had
said she expected Santy would be thinner next time, and slip down
right enough. However they'd gone into a new house now, and the hole
was wider for he'd poked up to see.
Tommy went home that evening greatly disturbed. There were so many
things he wanted, and he felt very doubtful indeed about their chimney
for the bedroom grate was small.
That night when Mrs. Tregennis kissed him and said "Good-night and
bless ee" to her surprise Tommy asked for the candle to be left "jus'
a minute or two, Mammy!" The voice was so pleading that she gave way.
Tommy listened to her footstep on the stair and for once was quite
glad when he heard her reach the bottom, pass into the kitchen and
close the door.
Very softly he then crept out of bed and tiptoed across the room.
Round the fireplace was a high old-fashioned fender. Tommy stretched
over this and tried to thrust one arm up the chimney. It seemed to be
rather wide but his arm was short, and did not reach very far.
In the corner was Mammy's best umbrella. Seizing this he returned to
the grate and poked the umbrella upwards. Almost at once it came in
contact with something soft. Tommy was distinctly alarmed. Could it be
some robber-man waiting there quietly, oh, so quietly, until he was
asleep; waiting to slip down the chimney quite noiselessly and carry
him silently off? He nearly screamed for Mammy in his fright.
After Christmas Tommy would be six, and at six a boy must be brave
like David 'n the giant. So Tommy summoned all his courage and again
thrust the umbrella upwards. The contact this time partially displaced
the obstruction in the chimney, and a piece of sacking slipped into
view. Then, indeed, Tommy's heart stood still. He realized at once
what had happened. Santy's rounds this year were evidently unusually
heavy, so he was secretly putting sacks of toys in chimneys
beforehand, so that when Christmas Eve came his work would be partly
done.
Tommy took hold of the free end of the sacking and pulled gently, but
the bag was wedged too firmly to move. He then stepped inside the
fender, and this time using both hands he really put his back into the
work. The third tug released the sack which burst open as it fell and
bits of screwed-up paper were littered in all directions.
"The packin' of the presents," Tommy had time to think before fate
overtook him.
Sitting there inside the fender he was pelted with bits of mortar and
loose stones, tickled with feathers and old starlings' nests,
suffocated with falling soot, as the accumulation of years, set free
by the fall of the stuffed sack, fell upon him with terrifying speed.
Then he lifted up his voice and wept, crying loudly for Mammy; a
frightened little boy upon whose face soot mingled with tears as he
sat there, utterly cowed, inside the high old-fashioned fender. At the
cry Mrs. Tregennis rushed upstairs and burst into the room, prepared
indeed for the worst, but not prepared for anything quite so bad as
that which she actually found.
"'Tis just mad I be with ee, Tommy Tregennis," and she spoke through
tight lips. "There's a horrid little sight you be and the room not fit
for a Christian to sleep in, what call had you to go pokin' up
chimneys, 'n where 'm I to put you now?"
Tommy's sobs were becoming more subdued. "Wanted to see how wide the
chimberly was," he spluttered, "'n I found Santy's sack here for me."
"Santy's sack, indeed," said an angry Mammy; "I'll Santy's sack you my
son if you go playin' they monkey tricks. That's a sack to keep my
grate clean, so as bits shan't fall down, and it's stuck there for
years before we came here to live; 'n you must go pryin' and meddlin',
you shammock, you!" Mrs. Tregennis shook Tommy as she lifted him out
of the grate and over the fender. "Here's a fine set to for your tired
Mammy. Downstairs you go! Clear!"
A clean night-shirt was aired for Tommy while he had his second bath.
He was then wrapped up in Daddy's winter coat and plumped into the
rocking-chair in the corner by the fire.
It took Mrs. Tregennis a good half-hour to make the bedroom fit for
use and when she came downstairs again Tommy was fast asleep. Tenderly
she raised him to carry him back to bed. As her arms enfolded him a
long, sobbing sigh escaped from quivering lips, while a tear rolled
slowly down his cheek.
"My lamb," she murmured, "my own precious lamb! This Christmas is
goin' to be a better time 'n last, 'n you'll have things in your
stockin', ma handsome, drum an' all!" Having well tucked in the
bed clothes Mrs. Tregennis took up the candle, and left her son to the
healing of the night.
[Illustration: "MY LAMB," SHE MURMURED, "MY OWN PRECIOUS
LAMB"!]