repeated, as he scrambled out of bed. "The spirits of all three shall
strive within me. Oh, Jacob Marley! Heaven and the Christmas time be
praised for this! I say it on my knees, old Jacob, on my knees!"
He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions that his
broken voice would scarcely answer to his call. He had been sobbing
violently in his conflict with the Spirit, and his face was wet with
tears.
"They are not torn down," cried Scrooge, folding one of his
bed-curtains in his arms, "they are not torn down, rings and all. They
are here--I am here--the shadows of the things that would have been may
be dispelled. They will be! I know they will!"
His hands were busy with his garments all this time, turning them
inside out, putting them on upside down, tearing them, mislaying them,
making them parties to every kind of extravagance.
"I don't know what to do!" cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in the
same breath, and making a perfect Laocoön of himself with his
stockings. "I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am
as merry as a school-boy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A Merry
Christmas to everybody! A Happy New Year to all the world. Hallo here!
Whoop! Hallo!"
He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there,
perfectly winded.
"There's the saucepan that the gruel was in!" cried Scrooge, starting
off again, and going round the fireplace. "There's the door by which
the Ghost of Jacob Marley entered! There's the corner where the Ghost
of Christmas Present sat! There's the window where I saw the wandering
Spirits! It's all right, it's all true, it all happened. Ha, ha, ha!"
Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it
was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long,
long line of brilliant laughs!
"I don't know what day of the month it is!" said Scrooge. "I don't know
how long I've been among the spirits. I don't know anything. I'm quite
a baby. Never mind. I don't care. I'd rather be a baby. Hallo! Whoop!
Hallo here!"
He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the
lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong,
bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious!
Running to the window, he opened it and put out his head. No fog, no
mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood
to dance to--golden sunlight; heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry
bells. Oh, glorious! Glorious!
"What's to-day?" cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday
clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.
"Eh?" returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.
"What's to-day, my fine fellow?" said Scrooge.
"To-day!" replied the boy. "Why, Christmas Day."
"It's Christmas Day!" said Scrooge to himself. "I haven't missed it.
The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they
like. Of course they can. Of course they can. Hallo, my fine fellow!"
"Hallo!" returned the boy.
"Do you know the poulterer's, in the next street but one, at the
corner?" Scrooge inquired.
"I should hope I did," replied the lad.
"An intelligent boy!" said Scrooge. "A remarkable boy! Do you know
whether they've sold the prize turkey that was hanging up there?--not
the little prize turkey--the big one?"
"What, the one as big as me?" returned the boy.
"What a delightful boy!" said Scrooge. "It's a pleasure to talk to him.
Yes, my buck!"
"It's hanging there now," replied the boy.
"Is it?" said Scrooge. "Go and buy it."
"Walk-er!" exclaimed the boy.
"No, no," said Scrooge, "I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell 'em
to bring it here, that I may give them the direction where to take it.
Come back with the man and I'll give you a shilling. Come back with him
in less than five minutes and I'll give you half-a-crown!"
The boy was off like a shot. He must have had a steady hand at a
trigger who could have got a shot off half so fast.
"I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's!" whispered Scrooge, rubbing his hands
and splitting with a laugh. "He sha'n't know who sends it. It's twice
the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller never made such a joke as sending it
to Bob's will be!"
The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one, but write
it he did, somehow, and went downstairs to open the street door, ready
for the coming of the poulterer's man. As he stood there waiting his
arrival, the knocker caught his eye.
"I shall love it as long as I live!" cried Scrooge, patting it with his
hand. "I scarcely ever looked at it before. What an honest expression
it has in its face! It's a wonderful knocker! Here's the turkey. Hallo!
Whoop! How are you! Merry Christmas!"
It _was_ a turkey! He never could have stood upon his legs, that bird.
He would have snapped 'em short off in a minute, like sticks of sealing
wax.
"Why, it's impossible to carry that to Camden Town," said Scrooge. "You
must have a cab."
The chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle with which he paid
for the turkey, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and the
chuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by
the chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and
chuckled till he cried.
Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to shake very
much, and shaving requires attention, even when you don't dance while
you are at it. But if he had cut the end of his nose off, he would have
put a piece of sticking-plaster over it, and been quite satisfied.
He dressed himself "all in his best," and at last got out into the
streets. The people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen
them with the Ghost of Christmas Present, and walking with his hands
behind him, Scrooge regarded every one with a delighted smile. He
looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four
good-humored fellows said, "Good morning, sir! A merry Christmas to
you!" And Scrooge said often afterwards, that of all the blithe sounds
he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears.
He had not gone far, when coming on towards him he beheld a portly
gentleman who had walked into his counting-house the day before and
said, "Scrooge and Marley's I believe?" It sent a pang across his heart
to think how this old gentleman would look upon him when they met, but
he knew what path lay straight before him, and he took it.
"My dear sir," said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and taking the old
gentleman by both his hands, "how do you do? I hope you succeeded
yesterday. It was very kind of you. A merry Christmas to you, sir!"
"Mr. Scrooge?"
"Yes," said Scrooge, "that is my name, and I fear it may not be
pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the
goodness"--here Scrooge whispered in his ear.
"Lord bless me!" cried the gentleman, as if his breath was taken away.
"My dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?"
"If you please," said Scrooge. "Not a farthing less. A great many back
payments are included in it, I assure you. Will you do me that favor?"
"My dear sir," said the other, shaking hands with him, "I don't know
what to say to such munifi--"
"Don't say anything, please," retorted Scrooge. "Come and see me. Will
you come and see me?"
"I will!" cried the old gentleman. And it was clear that he meant to do
it.
"Thank'ee," said Scrooge. "I am much obliged to you. I thank you fifty
times. Bless you!"
He went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people
hurrying to and fro, and patted children on the head, and questioned
beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the
windows, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. He had
never dreamed that any walk--that anything--could give him so much
happiness. In the afternoon he turned his steps towards his nephew's
house.
He passed the door a dozen times before he had the courage to go up and
knock; but he made a dash, and did it.
"Is your master at home, my dear?" said Scrooge to the girl. Nice girl!
Very.
"Yes, sir."
"Where is he, my love?" said Scrooge.
"He's in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I'll show you
upstairs, if you please."
"Thank'ee. He knows me," said Scrooge, with his hand already on the
dining-room lock. "I'll go in here, my dear."
He turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the door. They were
looking at the table (which was spread out in great array), for these
young housekeepers are always nervous on such points, and like to see
that everything is right.
"Fred!" said Scrooge.
Dear heart alive, how his niece by marriage started! Scrooge had
forgotten, for the moment, about her sitting in the corner with the
footstool, or he wouldn't have done it on any account.
"Why, bless my soul!" cried Fred, "who's that?"
"It's I. Your Uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you let me in,
Fred?"
Let him in! It is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. He was at home
in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked just the
same. So did Topper when _he_ came. So did the plump sister when _she_
came. So did every one when _they_ came. Wonderful party, wonderful
games, wonderful unanimity, wonderful happiness!
But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early there. If
he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That
was the thing he had set his heart upon.
And he did it; yes, he did! The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter
past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time.
Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into
the tank.
His hat was off before he opened the door; his comforter, too. He was
on his stool in a jiffy, driving away with his pen, as if he were
trying to overtake nine o'clock.
"Hallo!" growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as near as he could
feign it. "What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?"
"I'm very sorry, sir," said Bob. "I _am_ behind my time."
"You are?" repeated Scrooge. "Yes, I think you are. Step this way, sir,
if you please."
"It's only once a year, sir," pleaded Bob, appearing from the tank. "It
shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir."
"Now, I'll tell you what, my friend," said Scrooge, "I am not going to
stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore," he continued,
leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that
he staggered back into the tank again, "and therefore I am about to
raise your salary!"
Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He had a momentary
idea of knocking Scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to the
people in the court for help and a straight-waistcoat.
"A Merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could
not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. "A merrier Christmas,
Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year! I'll raise
your salary, and endeavor to assist your struggling family, and we will
discuss your affairs this very afternoon over a Christmas bowl of
smoking bishop, Bob! Make up the fires and buy another coal-scuttle
before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!"
Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more;
and to Tiny Tim, who did _not_ die, he was a second father. He
became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the
good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough in the
good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but
he let them laugh, and little heeded them, for he was wise enough to
know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some
people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset, and knowing
that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well
that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in
less attractive forms. His own heart laughed, and that was quite enough
for him.
He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total
Abstinence Principle ever afterwards, and it was always said of him,
that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the
knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny
Tim observed, God bless us, every one!
VII.
LITTLE GRETCHEN AND THE WOODEN SHOE.
A CHRISTMAS STORY FOR LITTLE CHILDREN.
The following story is one of many which has drifted down to us from
the story-loving nurseries and hearthstones of Germany. I cannot recall
when I first had it told to me as a child, varied of course by
different tellers, but always leaving that sweet, tender impression of
God's loving care for the least of his children. I have since read
different versions of it in at least a half-dozen story books for
children.
Once upon a time, a long time ago, far away across the great ocean, in
a country called Germany, there could be seen a small log hut on the
edge of a great forest, whose fir-trees extended for miles and miles to
the north. This little house, made of heavy hewn logs, had but one room
in it. A rough pine door gave entrance to this room, and a small square
window admitted the light. At the back of the house was built an
old-fashioned stone chimney, out of which in winter usually curled a
thin blue smoke, showing that there was not very much fire within.
Small as the house was, it was large enough for the two people who
lived in it. I want to tell you a story to-day about these two people.
One was an old, gray-haired woman, so old that the little children of
the village, nearly half a mile away, often wondered whether she had
come into the world with the huge mountains and the great fir-trees,
which stood like giants back of her small hut. Her face was wrinkled
all over with deep lines, which if the children could only have read
aright, would have told them of many years of cheerful, happy,
self-sacrifice, of loving, anxious watching beside sick-beds, of quiet
endurance of pain, of many a day of hunger and cold, and of a thousand
deeds of unselfish love for other people; but, of course, they could
not read this strange handwriting. They only knew that she was old and
wrinkled, and that she stooped as she walked. None of them seemed to
fear her, for her smile was always cheerful, and she had a kindly word
for each of them if they chanced to meet her on her way to and from the
village. With this old, old woman lived a very little girl. So bright
and happy was she that the travelers who passed by the lonesome little
house on the edge of the forest often thought of a sunbeam as they saw
her. These two people were known in the village as Granny Goodyear and
Little Gretchen.
The winter had come and the frost had snapped off many of the smaller
branches from the pine-trees in the forest. Gretchen and her Granny
were up by daybreak each morning. After their simple breakfast of
oatmeal, Gretchen would run to the little closet and fetch Granny's old
woolen shawl, which seemed almost as old as Granny herself. Gretchen
always claimed the right to put the shawl over her Granny's head, even
though she had to climb onto the wooden bench to do it. After carefully
pinning it under Granny's chin, she gave her a good by kiss, and Granny
started out for her morning's work in the forest. This work was nothing
more nor less than the gathering up of the twigs and branches which the
autumn winds and winter frosts had thrown upon the ground. These were
carefully gathered into a large bundle which Granny tied together with
a strong linen band. She then managed to lift the bundle to her
shoulder and trudged off to the village with it. Here she sold the
fagots for kindling wood to the people of the village. Sometimes she
would get only a few pence each day, and sometimes a dozen or more, but
on this money little Gretchen and she managed to live; they had their
home, and the forest kindly furnished the wood for the fire which kept
them warm in cold weather.
In the summer-time Granny had a little garden at the back of the hut
where she raised, with little Gretchen's help, a few potatoes and
turnips and onions. These she carefully stored away for winter use. To
this meager supply, the pennies, gained by selling the twigs from the
forest, added the oatmeal for Gretchen and a little black coffee for
Granny. Meat was a thing they never thought of having. It cost too much
money. Still, Granny and Gretchen were very happy, because they loved
each other dearly. Sometimes Gretchen would be left alone all day long
in the hut because Granny would have some work to do in the village
after selling her bundle of sticks and twigs. It was during these long
days that little Gretchen had taught herself to sing the song which the
wind sang to the pine branches. In the summer-time she learned the
chirp and twitter of the birds, until her voice might almost be
mistaken for a bird's voice; she learned to dance as the swaying
shadows did, and even to talk to the stars which shone through the
little square window when Granny came home too late or too tired to
talk.
Sometimes when the weather was fine, or her Granny had an extra bundle
of newly knitted stockings to take to the village, she would let little
Gretchen go along with her. It chanced that one of these trips to the
town came just the week before Christmas, and Gretchen's eyes were
delighted by the sight of the lovely Christmas trees which stood in the
window of the village store. It seemed to her that she would never tire
of looking at the knit dolls, the woolly lambs, the little wooden shops
with their queer, painted men and women in them, and all the other fine
things. She had never owned a play-thing in her whole life; therefore,
toys which you and I would not think much of, seemed to her to be very
beautiful.
That night, after their supper of baked potatoes was over, and little
Gretchen had cleared away the dishes and swept up the hearth because
Granny dear was so tired, she brought her own small wooden stool and
placed it very near Granny's feet and sat down upon it, folding her
hands on her lap. Granny knew that this meant she wanted to talk about
something, so she smilingly laid away the large Bible which she had
been reading, and took up her knitting, which was as much as to say:
"Well, Gretchen, dear, Granny is ready to listen."
"Granny," said Gretchen slowly, "it's almost Christmas time, isn't it?"
"Yes, dearie," said Granny, "only five more days now," and then she
sighed, but little Gretchen was so happy that she did not notice
Granny's sigh.
"What do you think, Granny, I'll get this Christmas?" said she, looking
up eagerly into Granny's face.
"Ah, child, child," said Granny, shaking her head, "you'll have no
Christmas this year. We are too poor for that."
"Oh, but Granny," interrupted little Gretchen, "think of all the
beautiful toys we saw in the village to-day. Surely Santa Claus has
sent enough for every little child."
"Ah, dearie," said Granny, "those toys are for people who can pay money
for them, and we have no money to spend for Christmas toys."
"Well, Granny," said Gretchen, "perhaps some of the little children who
live in the great house on the hill at the other end of the village
will be willing to share some of their toys with me. They will be so
glad to give some to a little girl who has none."
"Dear child, dear child," said Granny, leaning forward and stroking the
soft, shiny hair of the little girl, "your heart is full of love. You
would be glad to bring a Christmas to every child; but their heads are
so full of what they are going to get that they forget all about
anybody else but themselves." Then she sighed and shook her head.
"Well, Granny," said Gretchen, her bright, happy tone of voice growing
a little less joyous, "perhaps the dear Santa Claus will show some of
the village children how to make presents that do not cost money, and
some of them may surprise me Christmas morning with a present. And,
Granny, dear," added she, springing up from her low stool, "can't I
gather some of the pine branches and take them to the old sick man who
lives in the house by the mill, so that he can have the sweet smell of
our pine forest in his room all Christmas day?"
"Yes, dearie," said Granny, "you may do what you can to make the
Christmas bright and happy, but you must not expect any present
yourself."
"Oh, but Granny," said little Gretchen, her face brightening, "you
forget all about the shining Christmas angels, who came down to earth
and sang their wonderful song the night the beautiful Christ Child was
born! They are so loving and good that _they_ will not forget any
little child. I shall ask my dear stars to-night to tell them of us.
You know," she added, with a look of relief, "the stars are so very
high that they must know the angels quite well, as they come and go
with their messages from the loving God."
Granny sighed, as she half whispered, "Poor child, poor child!" but
Gretchen threw her arm around Granny's neck and gave her a hearty kiss,
saying as she did so: "Oh, Granny, Granny, you don't talk to the stars
often enough, else you wouldn't be sad at Christmas time." Then she
danced all around the room, whirling her little skirts about her to
show Granny how the wind had made the snow dance that day. She looked
so droll and funny that Granny forgot her cares and worries and laughed
with little Gretchen over her new snow-dance. The days passed on, and
the morning before Christmas Eve came. Gretchen having tidied up the
little room--for Granny had taught her to be a careful housewife--was
off to the forest, singing a bird-like song, almost as happy and free
as the birds themselves. She was very busy that day, preparing a
surprise for Granny. First, however, she gathered the most beautiful of
the fir branches within her reach to take the next morning to the old
sick man who lived by the mill.
The day was all too short for the happy little girl. When Granny came
trudging wearily home that night, she found the frame of the doorway
covered with green pine branches.
"It's to welcome you, Granny! It's to welcome you!" cried Gretchen;
"our dear old home wanted to give you a Christmas welcome. Don't you
see, the branches of evergreen make it look as if it were smiling all
over, and it is trying to say, 'A happy Christmas' to you, Granny!"
Granny laughed and kissed the little girl, as they opened the door and
went in together. Here was a new surprise for Granny. The four posts of
the wooden bed, which stood in one corner of the room, had been trimmed
by the busy little fingers with smaller and more flexible branches of
the pine-trees. A small bouquet of red mountain-ash berries stood at
each side of the fireplace, and these, together with the trimmed posts
of the bed, gave the plain old room quite a festival look. Gretchen
laughed and clapped her hands and danced about until the house seemed
full of music to poor, tired Granny, whose heart had been sad as she
turned towards their home that night, thinking of the disappointment
which must come to loving little Gretchen the next morning.
After supper was over little Gretchen drew her stool up to Granny's
side, and laying her soft, little hands on Granny's knee, asked to be
told once again the story of the coming of the Christ Child; how the
night that he was born the beautiful angels had sung their wonderful
song, and how the whole sky had become bright with a strange and
glorious light, never seen by the people of earth before. Gretchen had
heard the story many, many times before, but she never grew tired of
it, and now that Christmas Eve had come again, the happy little child
wanted to hear it once more.
When Granny had finished telling it the two sat quiet and silent for a
little while thinking it over; then Granny rose and said that it was
time for them to go to bed. She slowly took off her heavy wooden shoes,
such as are worn in that country, and placed them beside the hearth.
Gretchen looked thoughtfully at them for a minute or two, and then she
said, "Granny, don't you think that _somebody_ in all this wide world
will think of us to-night?"
"Nay, Gretchen," said Granny, "I don't think any one will."
"Well, then, Granny," said Gretchen, "the Christmas angels will, I
know; so I am going to take one of your wooden shoes, and put it on the
window sill outside, so that they may see it as they pass by. I am sure
the stars will tell the Christmas angels where the shoe is."
"Ah, you foolish, foolish child," said Granny; "you are only getting
ready for a disappointment. To-morrow morning there will be nothing
whatever in the shoe. I can tell you that now."