Produced by Stacy Brown Thellend, Barbara Tozier, Bill
Tozier and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
CHRISTMAS STORIES
AND LEGENDS
COMPILED BY
PHEBE A. CURTISS
Author of "White Gifts
for the King"
MEIGS PUBLISHING CO.
INDIANAPOLIS, IND.
Copyright 1916
BY
MEIGS PUBLISHING CO.
Indianapolis, Indiana
FOREWORD
No greater teaching force has ever been discovered than the story and
no one has ever lived who used that force so skillfully as did our
Great Teacher.
It is not strange, then, that among all the stories that have ever
been written or told none are so dear to us as the stories and legends
which center in His birth.
Young and old alike delight in them and never tire of hearing them.
Unusual care has been taken in compiling this little volume and each
story has its own sweet lesson. Each one is from the pen of one who
has imbibed the real spirit of Christmas. They were chosen as being
particularly well adapted to use in connection with the Christmas
Service "White Gifts for the King," but they will prove attractive and
helpful at any time during the year.
It is our earnest wish that this little book may find its way into
many homes and schools and Sunday Schools and that its contents may
help to give a deeper appreciation of the true Christmas spirit.
CONTENTS
Page
I. The Legend of the "White Gifts"--Phebe A. Curtiss 9
II. Her Birthday Dream--Nellie C. King 13
III. The Fir Tree--Hans Andersen--adapted by J. H. Stickney 25
IV. The Little Match Girl--Hans Andersen 37
V. Little Piccola--Nora A. Smith 41
VI. The Shepherd's Story--Dr. Washington 47
VII. The Story of Christmas--Nora A. Smith 63
VIII. The Legend of the Christmas Tree--Lucy Wheelock 69
IX. Little Jean--French of Francois Coppe. Translated by
Nannie Lee Frayser 71
X. How the Fir Tree Became the Christmas Tree--Aunt Hede
in Kindergarten Magazine 77
XI. The Magi in the West and Their Search for the
Christ--Frederick E. Dewhurst 79
XII. Little Gretchen and the Wooden Shoe--Elizabeth
Harrison 93
XIII. The Little Shepherd--Maud Lindsay 105
XIV. Babouscka--Carolyn S. Bailey 109
XV. The Boy with the Box--May Griggs Van Voorhis 113
XVI. The Worker in Sandal wood--Marjorie L. C. Pickthall 125
XVII. The Shepherd Who Didn't Go--Jay T. Stocking 135
XVIII. Paulina's Christmas--Adapted from Anna Robinson's
"Little Paulina" 145
XIX. Unto Us a Child Is Born--Phebe A. Curtiss 153
XX. The Star--Florence M. Kingsley 159
THE LEGEND OF THE "WHITE GIFTS"
As Told by Phebe A. Curtiss
A great many years ago in a land far away from us there was a certain
king who was dearly beloved by all of his people. Men admired him
because he was strong and just. In all of his dealings they knew they
could depend upon him. Every matter that came to his consideration was
carefully weighed in his mind and his decisions were always wise.
Women trusted him because he was pure and true, with lofty thoughts
and high ambitions, and the children loved him because of his
gentleness and tenderness toward them. He was never so burdened with
affairs of state that he could not stop to speak a pleasant word of
greeting to the tiniest child, and the very poorest of his subjects
knew they could count upon his interest in them.
This deep-seated love and reverence for their king made the people of
this country wish very much for a way in which to give expression to
it so that he would understand it. Many consultations were held and
one after another the plans suggested were rejected, but at last a
most happy solution was found. It was rapidly circulated here and
there and it met with the most hearty approval everywhere.
It was a plan for celebrating the King's birthday.
Of course, that had been done in many lands before, but there were
certain features about this celebration which differed materially from
anything that had ever been tried. They decided that on the King's
birthday the people should all bring him gifts, but they wanted in
some way to let him know that these gifts were the expression of a
love on the part of the giver which was pure and true and unselfish,
and in order to show that, it was decided that each gift should be a
"White Gift."
The King heard about this beautiful plan, and it touched his heart in
a wonderful way. He decided that he would do his part to carry out the
idea and let his loving subjects know how much he appreciated their
thoughtfulness.
You can just imagine the excitement there was all over the land as the
King's birthday drew near. All sorts of loving sacrifices had been
made and everyone was anxious to make his gift the very best he had to
offer. At last the day dawned, and eagerly the people came dressed in
white and carrying their white gifts. To their surprise they were
ushered into a great, big room--the largest one in the palace. They
stood in silence when they first entered it, for it was beautiful
beyond all expression. It was a _white_ room;--the floor was white
marble; the ceiling looked like a mass of soft, white fluffy clouds;
the walls were hung with beautiful white silken draperies, and all the
furnishings were white. In one end of the room stood a stately white
throne, and seated upon it was their beloved ruler and he was clad in
shining white robes, and his attendants--all dressed in white--were
grouped around him.
Then came the presentation of the gifts. What a wealth of them there
was--and how different they were in value. In those days it was just
as it is now--there were many people who had great wealth, and they
brought gifts which were generous in proportion to their wealth.
One brought a handful of pearls, another a number of carved ivories.
There were beautiful laces and silks and embroideries, all in pure
white, and even splendid white chargers were brought to his majesty.
But many of the people were poor--some of them very poor--and their
gifts were quite different from those I have been telling about. Some
of the women brought handfuls of white rice, some of the boys brought
their favorite white pigeons, and one dear little girl smilingly gave
him a pure white rose.
It was wonderful to watch the King as each one came and kneeled before
him as he presented his gift. He never seemed to notice whether the
gift was great or small; he regarded not one gift above another so
long as all were white. Never had the King been so happy as he was
that day and never had such real joy filled the hearts of the people.
They decided to use the same plan every year, and so it came to pass
that year after year on the King's birthday the people came from here
and there and everywhere and brought their white gifts--the gifts
which showed that their love was pure, strong, true and without stain,
and year after year the King sat in his white robes on the white
throne in the great white room and it was always the same--he regarded
not one gift above another so long as all were _white_.
HER BIRTHDAY DREAM[*]
By Nellie C. King
Marcia Brownlow came out of the church, and walked rapidly down the
street. She seemed perturbed; her gray eyes flashed, and on her cheeks
glowed two red spots. She was glad she was not going home, so she
wouldn't have to take a car, but could walk the short distance to Aunt
Sophy's, where she had been invited to dine and visit with her special
chum, Cousin Jack--who was home from college for the short
Thanksgiving vacation. She slowed up as she reached her destination,
and waited a little before going in--she wanted to get calmed down a
bit, for she didn't want her friend to see her when she felt so "riled
up." Back of it was a secret reluctance to meet Jack--he was so
different since the Gipsy Smith revival; of course, he was perfectly
lovely, and unchanged toward her, but--somehow, she felt uncomfortable
in his presence--and she didn't enjoy having her self-satisfaction
disturbed.
As she entered the dining-room, she was greeted with exclamations of
surprise and pleasure.
"Why, Marcia!" said Aunt Sophia; "we had given you up! I almost never
knew of your being late in keeping an appointment."
"You must excuse me, Auntie; and lay this offense to the charge of our
Sunday school superintendent," answered Marcia.
"I suppose Mr. Robinson is laying his plans for Christmas," remarked
Uncle John. "He believes in taking time by the forelock--and a very
commendable habit it is, too."
"Yes," answered Marcia laconically.
Jack glanced at her keenly. "Is there anything new in the Christmas
line?" he asked.
The gray eyes grew black, and the red spots burned again, as Marcia
replied: "Well, I should think so--he proposes to turn things
topsy-turvy!"
"My! What does he want to do?" inquired Cousin Augusta.
"Oh, he calls it the 'White Gift Christmas'; but the long and short of
the matter is, that he proposes to 'turn down' Santa Claus, and all
the old time-honored customs connected with Christmas that are so dear
to the hearts of the children, and have the school do the giving. He
has a big banner hung up in the Sunday school room bearing the words,
'Gifts for the Christ-Child'."
"An excellent idea," exclaimed Uncle John, "but I don't see much of an
innovation about that; you have always made the children's giving a
part of your Christmas celebration, have you not?"
"Certainly!" rejoined Marcia. "They have always brought their little
gifts for the poor, and that is all right; but this time there are no
gifts to the Sunday school at all."
"Not even to the Primary School?" asked Augusta.
"Well," admitted Marcia, "Mr. Robinson gave the children their choice
today, whether they would have the old Christmas or the 'White Gift
Christmas,' and they all voted for the new idea."
"Why then should the children be obliged to have gifts, if they don't
want them?" laughed Augusta.
"Oh, children are always taken with novelty, and Mr. Robinson told it
to them in such a way that fancy was captivated; but I don't think
they really understood what they were giving up."
"Marcia, it seems to me that your are emphasizing the wrong side of
the subject if I understand it aright," said Jack.
"Why, do you know about it?" asked Marcia, in surprise.
"Not much," replied Jack; "but I read the White Gift story in the
'Sunday School Times,' and the report of the Painesville experiment."
"Well, Jack, tell us what you know about this mysterious 'White
Gift'," commanded his father.
"I would rather Marcia should tell it, father; I know so little."
"Oh, go on, Jack," urged Marcia; "you can't possibly know less about
it than I do, for I confess I was so full of the disappointment of the
little ones that the other side of it didn't impress me very much."
"Well, as I remember it," said Jack, "the gist of the plan is
this--that Christmas is Christ's birthday, and we should make our
gifts to him, instead of to one another; and the idea of the White
Gift was suggested by the story of the Persian king named Kublah Khan,
who was a wise and good ruler, and greatly beloved. On his birthday
his subjects kept what they called the 'White Feast.' This was
celebrated in an immense great white banqueting-hall, and each one of
his subjects brought to their king a white gift to express that the
love and loyalty of their hearts was without stain. The rich brought
white chargers, ivory and alabaster; the poor brought white pigeons,
or even a measure of rice; and the great king regarded all gifts
alike, so long as they were white. Have I told it right, cousin?"
queried Jack.
"Yes, I think so. It is a beautiful thought, I must confess, and might
be all right in a large, rich Sunday school; but in a mission school
like ours I am sure it will be a failure. It will end in our losing
our scholars. I don't believe in taking up new ideas without
considering whether they are adapted to our needs or not. But please,
dear folkses, don't let us say anything more about it," pleaded
Marcia, and so the subject was dropped.
That evening as Jack Thornton bade his cousin good-bye, he placed in
her hand a little package, saying: "I am so sorry, Marcia, that I
can't be here for your birthday, but here is my remembrance. Now don't
you dare open it before Tuesday, and, dear, you may be sure it is a
'white gift,' and may you have a 'white birthday'." And before she
could say a word, he had opened the door, and was gone.
Touched by his thoughtful gift and his words, she said to herself: "A
'white birthday!' I always have perfectly beautiful birthdays." And so
she did; for she was always looking out for other people's birthdays,
and making much of them; and so she always got the gospel measure:
"Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and
shaken together, and running over, shall man give into your bosom."
But these thoughts were crowded out by the pressure of things to be
done--father and mother had gone into the country to visit a sick
friend, and the younger brothers and sisters surrounded her and
clamored for songs and Bible stories, and as she was a good older
sister she devoted herself to them until their bedtime. Then, turning
out the lights, she sat down in an easy chair before the library
grate, and yielded herself to the spell of the quiet hour. The
strained, irritated nerves relaxed, and a strange, sweet peace stole
over her. As she gazed dreamily into the fire, a star seemed to rise
out of the glowing coals, and beam at her with a beautiful soft
radiance, and the words of the Evangel came into her mind: "And when
they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding joy; and when they
were come into the house they saw the young child, with Mary his
mother, and they fell down and worshipped him; and when they had
opened their treasures they presented unto him gifts, gold,
frankincense and myrrh." She repeated the words over and over to
herself. How simple and restful they were; how direct and genuine and
satisfying was this old-time giving! There it was--Gifts for the
Christ-Child--"They presented unto him gifts, gold, frankincense and
myrrh." She remembered reading somewhere that the gold represented our
earthly possessions, the frankincense typified our service and the
myrrh our suffering for his sake.
As she gazed into the fire, and mused, she fell asleep, and all these
thoughts were woven into the fabric of a dream--and who shall say that
God does not speak to his children still in dreams?
She dreamed that it was the morning of her birthday. She heard cheery
voices in the hall calling out to one another: "This is Marcia's
birthday. Wish you many returns of the day!" There was an excited
running to and fro between the different rooms, and gleeful
exclamations--but no one came near her! She sat up in bed listening,
and wondering what it could mean! Why, mother always came into her
room, and folded her to her heart, and said those precious things that
only a mother can say; and the children always scrambled to see who
should be the first to give sister a birthday kiss. Were they playing
some joke on her? She would be quiet and watch, and so not be taken
unawares.
Presently they went trooping happily downstairs into the dining-room,
and she heard father's voice say: "Good morning, children; I wish you
many happy returns of Marcia's birthday."
What did it all mean? Was she going crazy? Or were they just going to
surprise her by some novel way of celebrating her birthday? She arose,
and with trembling fingers dressed herself hastily, and stole softly
down the stairs, and looked into the dining-room. Hush!--father was
asking a blessing. He returned thanks for dear Marcia's birthday, and
asked that it should be a happy day for them all. Beside each plate
save her own, were various packages; and these were opened amid
ejaculations of surprise and pleasure, and sundry hugs and kisses.
After the first burst of happiness had subsided, Marcia braced herself
and entered the dining-room, saying with forced gayety: "Good morning,
dear ones all." They looked up with blank, unanswering faces, and
said: "Good morning, Marcia"--that was all. But Marcia's heart leaped
at the recognition of her presence, for she had begun to fear that she
was dead, and that it was her spirit that was wandering about.
She stooped and kissed her mother, who murmured abstractedly, "Yes,
dear," never once looking up from the presents she was examining. With
a sinking heart she turned away from her mother and went and stood
behind her father's chair, and leaning over whispered in his ear:
"Dear father, have you forgotten that this is my birthday?" He
answered kindly but absent-mindedly: "Why, daughter, am I likely to
forget it with all these tokens around me?"--and he waved his hand
toward the gifts piled around his plate. This was almost more than
Marcia could bear, for father was always specially tender and
attentive to her on her birthday. She always sat on his knee a while;
and he told her what a joy and comfort she was to him, and he always
paid her some pretty compliment that made her girlish heart swell with
innocent pride, for every girl knows that compliments from one's
father are a little sweeter than any others.
In vain she hung around waiting for some clue to this mysterious,
unnatural conduct of the family. They were all absorbed in plans for
spending this birthday--Marcia's birthday, but no reference whatever
was made to what she liked; no one consulted her as to what she wanted
to do, or to have done. The boys were going skating in the forenoon;
the little girls were to invite four of their friends to help serve
the first dinner in the new doll's house, and in the afternoon father
would take them all for an automobile ride into the country to a dear
friend's--all but Marcia, who couldn't bear to get into an auto since
a terrible accident she had been in a few weeks ago. A troop of her
girl friends came in, and in a conventional way wished her "many happy
returns" of the day; and then proceeded to ignore her, and gave gifts
to other members of the family. "It is a wonder," thought Marcia,
bitterly, "that they didn't have a birthday party for Marcia with
Marcia left out."
And so it went on all through that strange, miserable day; while they
were all busy celebrating her birthday, she herself was neglected and
ignored as she sat in the quiet house alone in the twilight--for she
had no heart to light the gas--just homesick for the personal love
which had characterized all her birthdays and all her home life
heretofore, there came a timid knock on the door, and as Marcia opened
it, there stood little crippled Joe, one of her scholars in the
Mission Sunday school. As he saw her, he gave a little exclamation of
surprise and delight, and said: "O Miss Marshay! I hearn last night
'twas yer berthday today, an' I wanted to guv yer suthin' white, like
Mr. Robinson he told us 'bout, don't yer know?--an' 'caus yer has
allers treated me so white--'n'--'n' I didn't hev nuthin', 'n so I
axed Him, ye know, what yer telled us 'bout in Sunday school--Jesus;
who died on the cross, and who's allers willin' to help a poor
feller--an' I axed Him to help me get suthin' real nice 'n' white fer
uer birthday; 'n I kep' me eyes peeled all day 'xpectin' it, 'n just
now a reel swell feller buyed a paper of me, 'n then he guv he this
here bunch uv white sweet smellin' posies, 'thout my sayin' a word.
Here they be, Miss Marshay fer yer. Giminy, teacher, ain't them purty?
An' O, teacher--He made 'm in the fust place 'n had the man guv them
to me, 'n so I reckon He 'n me's pardners in this here white gift
bizness." And he held up in his thin, grimy hand a bunch of white,
sweet-scented violets.
Marcia's first impulse was to catch up the little fellow and his gift
in her arms, and baptize them with a flood of tears from her own
overcharged heart! But she hadn't taught boys in a Mission Sunday
school class for nothing--Joe would have thought she had gone crazy,
or been struck silly, or was sick unto death; so she controlled
herself, and kneeling beside him took the violets reverently in both
her hands, saying in a choked voice: "Joe, they are just beautiful!
This is the only really truly white gift I have had today, and I don't
deserve it--but I thank Him and you."
The boy looked at her with shining face, drew his hand across his
eyes, and then answered brightly: "Oh, that's all right, Miss Marshay;
'tenny rate 'tis with me, 'n' I reckon 'tis with Him"--and seizing his
crutch, he hopped like a little sparrow through the door and onto the
street, and she heard his boyish voice calling out: "Evenin' papers,
last edishun--all 'bout the big graft 'sposure."
Just then the big white touring car discharged its merry load at the
door, and the house was filled with the chatter and laughter of the
children. In vain she tried to find a quiet corner where she could be
alone with her heart--it was impossible to escape from the hilarious
celebration of her birthday. She was so glad when the children said
good-night and went off to bed, and she could seek the quiet of her
own room.
As she bade her father good night, he said: "Well, daughter, I hope
you have enjoyed your birthday and all your gifts?"
At this all the honesty of her nature, all the hatred of sham, rose up
in one indignant outburst, and she exclaimed: "I have had no gifts,
neither has this been my birthday celebration."
"Why, Marcia!" said her father in an aggrieved tone, "this certainly
is your birthday, and we have been very happy in keeping it for love
of you."
"I have failed to see any manifestation of love to me," retorted
Marcia. "You may have had a happy time, but I have not been in it; you
have given gifts to one another, but I have had just one"--and she
held up the bunch of violets. "This is a gift of love from little lame
Joe, in answer to his prayer, and in pity for my hungry heart."
There was silence in the room for a moment, and then her father
answered: "It seems to me, daughter, that when you get right down to a
personal application, what you believe in after all is a 'white
birthday'."
The words went through her like an electric shock, and with a start
she awoke, and sat upright in her chair; and, lo, it was all a dream!
Marcia looked around the room, shook herself a little, stirred the
fire, and put on fresh coal. She laughed at the remembrance of her
dream, and its absurdity! How glad she was that it was only a dream!
But was it only a dream? Was it not a reality? Was not this the way
she had kept the Lord's birthday? When she had opened her Christmas
treasure, how much had been given Him and for love of Him? How large a
place had she given Him in the season's activity? Had she ever made
room for Him as the central figure of it all; or had he been crowded
out, and His rightful place given to Santa Claus and the world's
merry-making?
In the light of the Spirit she saw that the Star of Bethlehem always
leads to the cross of Calvary. She had never liked to think about the
cross before, but now it was all illumined with the glory of the love
which gave to us God's best, his only begotten Son. She remembered how
the Lord Jesus had said: "If I be lifted up, I will draw all men unto
Me." She saw that it is as we see Christ on the cross for us that we
are drawn to Him.
In that still hour, on her knees, at the foot of the cross, Marcia
with great gladness made her first "White Gift" unto her Lord--she
gave HERSELF to Him.
[*] By permission of the author and the publisher, Pittsburgh
Christian Advocate.
THE FIR TREE[*]
Adapted by J. H. Stickney
Far away in the forest, where the warm sun and the fresh air made a
sweet resting place, grew a pretty little fir tree. The situation was
all that could be desired; and yet it was not happy, it wished so
much to be like its tall companions, the pines and firs which grew
around it.
The sun shone, and the soft air fluttered its leaves, and the little
peasant children passed by, prattling merrily; but the fir tree did
not heed them.
Sometimes the children would bring a large basket of raspberries or
strawberries, wreathed in straws, and seat themselves near the fir
tree, and say, "Is it not a pretty little tree?" which made it feel
even more unhappy than before.
And yet all this while the tree grew a notch or joint taller every
year; for by the number of joints in the stem of a fir tree we can
discover its age.
Still, as it grew, it complained: "Oh! how I wish I were as tall as
the other trees; then I would spread out my branches on every side,
and my crown would overlook the wide world around. I should have the
birds building their nests on my boughs, and when the wind blew, I
should bow with stately dignity, like my tall companions."
So discontented was the tree, that it took no pleasure in the warm
sunshine, the birds, or the rosy clouds that floated over it morning
and evening.
Sometimes in winter, when the snow lay white and glittering on the
ground, there was a little hare that would come springing along,
and jump right over the little tree's head; then how mortified it
would feel.
Two winters passed; and when the third arrived, the tree had grown so
tall that the hare was obliged to run round it. Yet it remained
unsatisfied, and would exclaim, "Oh! to grow, to grow; if I could but
keep on growing tall and old! There is nothing else worth caring for
in the world."
In the autumn the woodcutters came, as usual, and cut down several of
the tallest trees; and the young fir, which was now grown to its full
height, shuddered as the noble trees fell to the earth with a crash.
After the branches were lopped off, the trunks looked so slender and
bare that they could scarcely be recognized. Then they were placed,
one upon another, upon wagons, and drawn by horses out of the forest.
"Where could they be going? What would become of them?" The young fir
tree wished very much to know.
So in the spring, when the swallows and the storks came, it asked, "Do
you know where those trees were taken? Did you meet them?"
The swallows knew nothing; but the stork, after a little reflection,
nodded his head, and said, "Yes, I think I do. As I flew from Egypt, I
saw several new ships, and they had fine masts that smelt like fir.
These must have been the trees; and I assure you they were stately;
they sailed right gloriously!"
"Oh, how I wish I were tall enough to go on the sea," said the fir
tree. "Tell me what is this sea, and what does it look like?"
"It would take too much time to explain, a great deal too much," said
the stork, flying quickly away.
"Rejoice in thy youth," said the sunbeam; "rejoice in thy fresh
growth, and in the young life that is in thee."
And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew watered it with tears; but
the fir tree regarded them not.
Christmas time drew near, and many young trees were cut down, some
that were even smaller and younger than the fir tree, who enjoyed
neither rest nor peace with longing to leave its forest home. These
young trees, which were chosen for their beauty, kept their branches,
and were also laid on wagons, and drawn by horses far away out of the
forest.
"Where are they going?" asked the fir tree. "They are not taller than
I am; indeed, one is not so tall. And why do they keep all their
branches? Where are they going?"
"We know, we know," sang the sparrows; "we have looked in at the
windows of the houses in the town, and we know what is done with them.
Oh! you cannot think what honor and glory they receive. They are
dressed up in the most splendid manner. We have seen them standing in
the middle of a warm room, and adorned with all sorts of beautiful
things;--honey cakes, gilded apples, playthings, and many hundreds of
wax tapers."
"And then," asked the fir tree, trembling in all its branches, "and
then what happens?"
"We did not see any more," said the sparrows; "but this was enough
for us."
"I wonder whether anything so brilliant will ever happen to me,"
thought the fir tree. "It would be better even than crossing the sea.
I long for it almost with pain. Oh, when will Christmas be here? I am
now as tall and well grown as those which were taken away last year.
Oh, that I were now laid on the wagon, or standing in the warm room,
with all that brightness and splendor around me! Something better and
more beautiful is to come after, or the trees would not be so decked
out. Yes, what follows will be grander and more splendid. What can it
be? I am weary with longing. I scarcely know what it is that I feel."
"Rejoice in our love," said the air and the sunlight. "Enjoy thine own
bright life in the fresh air."
But the tree would not rejoice, though it grew taller every day and,
winter and summer, its dark green foliage might be seen in the
forests, while passersby would say, "What a beautiful tree!"
A short time before Christmas the discontented fir tree was the first
to fall. As the axe cut sharply through the stem, and divided the
pith, the tree fell with a groan to the earth, conscious of pain and
faintness, and forgetting all its dreams of happiness, in sorrow at
leaving its home in the forest. It knew that it should never again see
its dear old companions, the trees, nor the little bushes and
many-colored flowers that had grown by its side; perhaps not even the
birds. Nor was the journey at all pleasant.
The tree first recovered itself while being unpacked in the courtyard
of a house, with several other trees; and it heard a man say, "We
only want one, and this is the prettiest. This is beautiful!"
Then came two servants in grand livery, and carried the fir tree into
a large and beautiful apartment. Pictures hung on the walls, and near
the great stove stood great china vases, with lions on the lids. There
were rocking chairs, silken sofas, large tables covered with pictures,
books, and playthings that had cost a hundred times a hundred dollars;
at least so said the children.
Then the fir tree was placed in a large tub, full of sand; but green
baize hung all around it, so that no one could know it was a tub; and
it stood on a very handsome carpet. Oh, how the fir tree trembled!
What was going to happen to him now? Some young ladies came in, and
the servants helped them to adorn the tree.
On one branch they hung little bags cut out of colored paper, and each
bag was filled with sweetmeats. From other branches hung gilded apples
and walnuts, and all around were hundreds of red, blue and white
tapers, which were fastened upon the branches. Dolls, exactly like
real men and women, were placed under the green leaves,--and the tree
had never seen such things before,--and at the top was fastened a
glittering star, made of gold tinsel. Oh, it was very beautiful. "This
evening," they all exclaimed, "how bright it will be!"
"Oh, that the evening were come," thought the tree, "and the tapers
lighted! Then I should know what else is going to happen. Will the
trees of the forest come to see me? Will the sparrows peep in at the
windows, I wonder, as they fly? Shall I grow faster here, and keep on
all these ornaments during summer and winter?" But guessing was of
very little use. His back ached with trying; and this pain is as bad
for a slender fir tree as headache is for us.
At last the tapers were lighted, and then what a glistening blaze of
splendor the tree presented! It trembled so with joy in all its
branches, that one of the candles fell among the green leaves and
burnt some of them. "Help! help!" exclaimed the young ladies; but
there was no danger, for they quickly extinguished the fire.
After this the tree tried not to tremble at all, though the fire
frightened him, he was so anxious not to hurt any of the beautiful
ornaments, even while their brilliancy dazzled him.
And now the folding doors were thrown open, and a troop of children
rushed in as if they intended to upset the tree, and were followed
more slowly by their elders. For a moment the little ones stood silent
with astonishment, and then they shouted for joy till the room rang;
and they danced merrily round the tree, while one present after
another was taken from it.
"What are they doing? What will happen next?" thought the tree. At
last the candles burned down to the branches, and were put out. Then
the children received permission to plunder the tree.
Oh, how they rushed upon it! There was such a riot that the branches
cracked, and had it not been fastened with the glistening star to the
ceiling, it must have been thrown down.
Then the children danced about with their pretty toys, and no one
noticed the tree, except the children's maid, who came and peeped
among the branches to see if an apple or a fig had been forgotten.
"A story, a story," cried the children, pulling a little fat man
toward the tree.
"Now we shall be in green shade," said the man, as he seated himself
under it, "and the tree will have the pleasure of hearing also; but I
shall only relate one story. What shall it be? Ivede-Avede, or
Humpty-Dumpty, who fell down stairs, but soon got up again, and at
last married a princess?"
"Ivede-Avede," cried some. "Humpty-Dumpty," cried others; and there
was a famous uproar. But the fir tree remained quite still, and
thought to himself, "Shall I have anything to do with all this? Ought
I to make a noise too?" but he had already amused them as much as they
wished.
Then the old man told them the story of Humpty-Dumpty;--how he fell
downstairs and was raised up again, and married a princess. And the
children clapped their hands and cried "Tell another, tell another,"
for they wanted to hear the story of Ivede-Avede; but this time they
had only Humpty-Dumpty. After this the fir tree became quite silent
and thoughtful. Never had the birds in the forest told such tales as
Humpty-Dumpty who fell down stairs, and yet married a princess.
"Ah, yes! so it happens in the world," thought the fir tree. He
believed it all, because it was related by such a pleasant man.
"Ah, well!" he thought, "who knows? Perhaps I may fall down too and
marry a princess;" and he looked forward joyfully to the next evening,
expecting to be again decked out with lights and playthings, gold and
fruit. "Tomorrow I will not tremble," thought he; "I will enjoy all my
splendor, and I shall hear the story of Humpty-Dumpty again, and
perhaps Ivede-Avede." And the tree remained quiet and thoughtful all
night.
In the morning the servants and the housemaid came in. "Now," thought
the fir tree, "all my splendor is going to begin again." But they
dragged him out of the room and upstairs to the garret and threw him
on the floor, in a dark corner where no daylight shone, and there they
left him. "What does this mean?" thought the tree. "What am I to do
here? I can hear nothing in a place like this;" and he leaned against
the wall and thought and thought.
And he had time enough to think, for days and nights passed, and no
one came near him; and when at last somebody did come, it was only to
push away some large boxes in a corner. So the tree was completely
hidden from sight as if it had never existed.
"It is winter now," thought the tree; "the ground is hard and covered
with snow, so that people cannot plant me. I shall be sheltered here,
I dare say, until spring comes. How thoughtful and kind everybody is
to me! Still, I wish this place were not so dark and so dreadfully
lonely, with not even a little hare to look at. How pleasant it was
out in the forest while the snow lay on the ground, when the hare
would run by, yes, and jump over me too, although I did not like it
then. Oh! it is terribly lonely here."
"Squeak, squeak," said a little mouse, creeping cautiously towards the
tree; then came another, and they both sniffed at the fir tree, and
crept in and out between the branches.
"Oh, it is very cold here," said the little mouse. "If it were not, we
would be very comfortable here, wouldn't we, old fir tree?"
"I am not old," said the fir tree. "There are many who are older than
I am."
"Where do you come from?" asked the mice, who were full of curiosity;
"and what do you know? Have you seen the most beautiful places in the
world, and can you tell us all about them? And have you been in the
storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelf and hams hang from the
ceiling? One can run about on tallow candles there; one can go in thin
and come out fat."
"I know nothing of that," said the fir tree; "but I know the wood
where the sun shines and the birds sing." And then the tree told the
little mice all about its youth. They had never heard such an account
in their lives; and after they had listened to it attentively, they
said, "What a number of things you have seen! You must have been very
happy."
"Happy!" exclaimed the fir tree; and then, as he reflected on what he
had been telling them, he said, "Ah, yes! after all, those were happy
days." But when he went on and related all about Christmas eve, and
how he had been dressed up with cakes and lights, the mice said, "How
happy you must have been, you old fir tree."
"I am not old at all," replied the tree; "I only came from the forest
this winter. I am now checked in my growth."
"What splendid stories you can tell," said the little mice. And the
next night four other mice came with them to hear what the tree had to
tell. The more he talked, the more he remembered, and then he thought
to himself, "Yes, those were happy days; but they may come again.
Humpty-Dumpty fell downstairs, and yet he married a princess. Perhaps
I may marry a princess too." And the fir tree thought of the pretty
little birch tree that grew in the forest; a real princess, a
beautiful princess, she was to him.
"Who is Humpty-Dumpty?" asked the little mice. And then the tree
related the whole story; he could remember every single word. And the
little mice were so delighted with it, that they were ready to jump to
the top of the tree. The next night a great many more mice made their
appearance, and on Sunday two rats came with them; but they said it
was not a pretty story at all, and the little mice were very sorry,
for it made them also think less of it.
"Do you know only that one story?" asked the rats.
"Only that one," replied the fir tree. "I heard it on the happiest
evening of my life; but I did not know I was so happy at the time."
"We think it is a very miserable story," said the rats. "Don't you
know any story about bacon or tallow in the storeroom?"
"No," replied the tree.
"Many thanks to you, then," replied the rats, and they went their
ways.
The little mice also kept away after this, and the tree sighed and
said, "It was very pleasant when the merry little mice sat around me
and listened while I talked. Now that is all past too. However, I
shall consider myself happy when someone comes to take me out of this
place."
But would this ever happen? Yes; one morning people came to clear up
the garret; the boxes were packed away, and the tree was pulled out of
the corner and thrown roughly on the floor; then the servants dragged
it out upon the staircase where the daylight shone.
"Now life is beginning again," said the tree, rejoicing in the
sunshine and fresh air. Then it was carried downstairs and taken into
the courtyard so quickly that it forgot to think of itself, and could
only look about, there was so much to be seen.
The court was close to a garden, where everything looked blooming.
Fresh and fragrant roses hung over the little palings. The linden
trees were in blossom; while the swallows flew here and there crying,
"Twit, twit, twit, my mate is coming;" but it was not the fir tree
they meant.
"Now I shall live," cried the tree joyfully, spreading out its
branches; but alas! they were all withered and yellow, and it lay in a
corner amongst weeds and nettles. The star of gold paper still stuck
in the top of the tree, and glittered in the sunshine.
In the same courtyard two of the merry children were playing who had
danced round the tree at Christmas time and had been so happy. The
youngest saw the gilded star and ran and pulled it off the tree. "Look
what is sticking to the ugly old fir tree," said the child, treading
on the branches till they crackled under his boots.
And the tree saw all the fresh, bright flowers in the garden, and
then looked at itself, and wished it had remained in the dark corner
of the garret. It thought of its fresh youth in the forest, of the
merry Christmas evening, and of the little mice who had listened to
the story of Humpty-Dumpty.
"Past! past!" said the poor tree. "Oh, had I but enjoyed myself while
I could have done so! but now it is too late."
Then a lad came and chopped the tree into small pieces, till a large
bundle lay in a heap on the ground. The pieces were placed in the
fire, and they blazed up brightly, while the tree sighed so deeply
that each sigh was like a little pistol shot. Then the children, who
were at play, came and seated themselves in front of the fire and
looked at it, and cried, "Pop, pop." But at each "pop," which was a
deep sigh, the tree was thinking of a summer day in the forest, or of
some winter night there when the stars shone brightly, and of
Christmas evening and of Humpty-Dumpty, the only story it had ever
heard, or knew how to relate,--till at last it was consumed.
The boys still played in the garden, and the youngest wore the golden
star on his breast with which the tree had been adorned during the
happiest evening of its existence. Now all was past; the tree's life
was past, and the story also past! for all stories must come to an end
some time or other.
[*] From "Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales," adapted by J. H. Stickney. By
permission of the publishers--Ginn and Company.
THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL[*]
Hans Andersen
It was dreadfully cold; it was snowing fast, and was almost dark, as
evening came on--the last evening of the year. In the cold and the
darkness, there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded
and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is
true; but they were much too large for her feet,--slippers that her
mother had used until then, and the poor little girl lost them in
running across the street when two carriages were passing terribly
fast. When she looked for them, one was not to be found, and a boy
seized the other and ran away with it, saying he would use it for a
cradle some day, when he had children of his own.
So on the little girl went with her bare feet, that were red and blue
with cold. In an old apron that she wore were bundles of matches, and
she carried a bundle also in her hand. No one had bought so much as a
bunch all the long day, and no one had given her even a penny.
Poor little girl! Shivering with cold and hunger she crept along, a
perfect picture of misery!
The snowflakes fell on her long flaxen hair, which hung in pretty
curls about her throat; but she thought not of her beauty nor of the
cold. Lights gleamed in every window, and there came to her the savory
smell of roast goose, for it was New Year's Eve. And it was of this
which she thought.
In a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected beyond the
other, she sat cowering down. She had drawn under her little feet, but
still she grew colder and colder; yet she dared not go home, for she
had sold no matches, and could not bring a penny of money. Her father
would certainly beat her; and, besides, it was cold enough at home,
for they had only the houseroof above them; and, though the largest
holes had been stopped with straw and rags, there were left many
through which the cold wind whistled.
And now her little hands were nearly frozen with cold. Alas! a single
match might do her good if she might only draw it from the bundle, rub
it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. So at last she drew
one out. Whischt! How it blazed and burned! It gave out a warm, bright
flame like a little candle, as she held her hands over it. A wonderful
little light it was. It really seemed to the little girl as if she sat
before a great iron stove, with polished brass feet and brass shovel
and tongs. So blessedly it burned that the little maiden stretched out
her feet to warm them also. How comfortable she was! But lo! the flame
went out, the stove vanished, and nothing remained but the little
burned match in her hand.
She rubbed another match against the wall. It burned brightly, and
where the light fell upon the wall it became transparent like a veil,
so that she could see through it into the room. A snow-white cloth was
spread upon the table, on which was a beautiful china dinner service,
while a roast goose, stuffed with apples and prunes, steamed famously,
and sent forth a most savory smell. And what was more delightful
still, and wonderful, the goose jumped from the dish, with knife and
fork still in its breast, and waddled along the floor straight to the
little girl.
But the match went out then, and nothing was left to her but the
thick, damp wall.
She lighted another match. And now she was under a most beautiful
Christmas tree, larger and far more prettily trimmed than the one she
had seen through the glass doors at the rich merchant's. Hundreds of
wax tapers were burning on the green branches, and gay figures, such
as she had seen in the shop windows, looked down upon her. The child
stretched out her hands to them; then the match went out.
Still the lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher. She saw
them as stars in heaven, and one of them fell, forming a long trail of
fire.
"Now some one is dying," murmured the child softly; for her
grandmother, the only person who had loved her and who was now dead,
had told her that whenever a star falls a soul mounts up to God.
She struck yet another match against the wall, and again it was light;
and in the brightness there appeared before her the dear old
grandmother, bright and radiant, yet sweet and mild, and happy as she
had never looked on earth.
"Oh, grandmother," cried the child, "take me with you. I know you will
go away when the match burns out. You, too, will vanish, like the warm
stove, the splendid New Year's feast, the beautiful Christmas Tree."
And lest her grandmother should disappear, she rubbed the whole bundle
of matches against the wall.
And the matches burned with such a brilliant light that it became
brighter than noonday. Her grandmother had never looked so grand and
beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and both flew
together, joyously and gloriously, mounting higher and higher, far
above the earth; and for them there was neither hunger, nor cold, nor
care;--they were with God.
But in the corner, at the dawn of day, sat the poor girl, leaning
against the wall, with red cheeks and smiling mouth,--frozen to death
on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and cold she sat, with the
matches, one bundle of which was burned.
"She wanted to warm herself, poor little thing," people said. No one
imagined what sweet visions she had had, or how gloriously she had
gone with her grandmother to enter upon the joys of a new year.
[*] From "Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales." By permission of
publishers--Ginn & Company.
LITTLE PICCOLA[*]
Suggested by One of Mrs. Celia Thaxter's Poems
"Story-telling is a real strengthening spirit-bath."--_Froebel._
Piccola lived in Italy, where the oranges grow, and where all the year
the sun shines warm and bright. I suppose you think Piccola a very
strange name for a little girl; but in her country it was not strange
at all, and her mother thought it the sweetest name a little girl ever
had.
Piccola had no kind father, no big brother or sister, and no sweet
baby to play with and love. She and her mother lived all alone in an
old stone house that looked on a dark, narrow street. They were very
poor, and the mother was away from home almost every day, washing
clothes and scrubbing floors, and working hard to earn money for her
little girl and herself. So you see Piccola was alone a great deal of
the time; and if she had not been a very happy, contented little
child, I hardly know what she would have done. She had no playthings
except a heap of stones in the back yard that she used for building
houses and a very old, very ragged doll that her mother had found in
the street one day.
But there was a small round hole in the stone wall at the back of her
yard, and her greatest pleasure was to look through that into her
neighbor's garden. When she stood on a stone, and put her eyes close
to the hole, she could see the green grass in the garden, and smell
the sweet flowers, and even hear the water splashing into the
fountain. She had never seen anyone walking in the garden, for it
belonged to an old gentleman who did not care about grass and flowers.