the wood until it can heal over. It will soon be all right again, but
it is too bad. Such a picture as it was, and the apples are most all
gone!’
“The apples!—Jack suddenly remembered. ‘The apple party was to be
to-day! What can we do?’
“‘Well, my boy, don’t you worry. The apple party will be to-day just
the same. We’ll take this basket and I’ll show you something I’ve kept
as a surprise.
“‘I planted the seeds that were left over in the far corner lot, and
those trees are as pretty a sight as you want to see. I have been
watching them as we have this. Come along.’
“The two trudged on, Jack wiping away his tears and beginning to wear
a rainbow smile after the shower.
“‘It’s a joke, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘That cow had an apple party all by
herself. I s’pose she didn’t like it because I didn’t invite her.
“‘Oh!’ he exclaimed suddenly, ‘there they are. How beautiful!’
“And indeed they were beautiful. A number of trees exactly like his
own, all looking so thrifty, and the branches dotted with rosy fruit.
“‘We’ll pick the apples and tie the stems to the branches of your own
little tree, because that is where you planned to have your party,’
said Johnny.
“Together they picked the apples, and with green string tied the stems
to the branches of the little tree.
“‘You’d hardly know it happened!’ cried the boy in joyous tones as the
work was finished, and both stood back to admire; and true it was, for
the apples really seemed to be growing, and so the apple party was a
success after all.
“The children had their lunch under the little tree, then each picked
his own apple and ate it before you could say, ‘Jack Robinson.’
“‘I know a great thing to do,’ cried Jack, as they were about to throw
away the core; ‘save the seeds and plant them, and we’ll all be Johnny
Appleseeds. You’ll each have a grand orchard started on your farm.’
“‘Splendid!’ laughed the old man. ‘If every seed brings forth a tree
there will be great rejoicing when you take the apples to market, for
they are certainly the best apples I ever tasted and should bring a
good price.’
“Wild with excitement, the children trooped home, and before long the
glossy seeds were covered up in the ground, waiting for the wonderful
thing that was to happen to them.
“In time there were many trees bearing the rosy fruit. All through one
little boy having such a fine birthday party.
“A tree is the dearest of treasures. I mean any kind of tree. It does
so many things. It gives fruit and shade. It gives the birds a place
to build their homes, and in return you have their beautiful music all
through the summer. It gives the squirrels a place to hide their nuts.
From the trunk many insects find their food.
“If it were not for the trees there would be no mince pies. From the
trees are built the ships which bring from foreign countries these many
goodies. How could we have any houses, or any furniture to put in them,
if there were no trees? See that splendid back log. It has kept us warm
all the long night. It came from a grand old tree that furnished fuel
for many a winter fire.
“And now I must stop, for I fear my tale has been too long. If it has,
please excuse me.”
“How splendid!” chorused the audience. And little Allspice begged for
another.
THE TALE OF THE STOLEN DOLL CLOTHES
Nutmeg cried: “I know a grand one! It happened right in a forest near
where I grew.
“You know those woods are full of monkeys, and they have great times.
One of their traits is to mimic. They usually do what they see others
do, and a good thing it was for the boy I’m going to tell you about.
“The boy’s name was Enrico. He lived with his widowed mother at the
edge of the forest. They were very poor and had tried in many ways to
earn money without success.
“The mother was handy with her needle, and one day a neighbour child
came in with her naked doll.
“‘I’ll dress it,’ said the mother, and from her scrap bag produced
cloth which she soon fashioned into a quaint gown for the doll.
“‘Mother!’ cried Enrico, much excited, ‘there are many dolls in the
town, without clothes. Could you not make them and I will sell them? I
know I can.’
“‘We’ll try,’ said Mother. She emptied her purse, ran to the store,
and soon returned heavily laden with gay materials, from which she
fashioned coats, gowns, petticoats, bonnets, hats and all sorts of
things for dolls.
“Enrico could scarcely wait for the time to come when he could go and
try his luck at selling them. One morning he started with his basket
well filled.
“His eyes shone, and his heart beat fast as he hurried along. He had to
pass through the forest to reach the town. It was a long walk, and a
hot day.
“‘I think it is time to eat my lunch,’ he presently said to himself as
he sat down under the trees. He was obliged to empty the basket as the
lunch was underneath the garments.
“He laid them in a neat pile and found the sandwiches and fruit which
his mother had carefully prepared. He had barely finished when his head
toppled over against a tree and he was fast asleep.
“And now comes the best part of the story. What do you think happened
to those lovely doll clothes?”
“Don’t stop!” cried Allspice. “Do tell us!”
“As the lad slept, there came a chattering and whisking about. In a
moment dozens of monkeys came down from the trees. They gobbled up the
crumbs, and then turned to the doll clothes. Almost before you could
say ‘Jack Robinson,’ they were robed in the tiny garments, and such
a sight you never saw. They looked like a lot of gnomes dressed for a
party. They played all sorts of games and raced wildly about in the
greatest glee. Suddenly Enrico opened his eyes on the scene.
“‘The doll clothes. The doll clothes,’ he wailed. ‘Give them back!’
“The monkeys saucily nodded their heads and quickly climbed into the
trees. Swinging from the branches with their tails curled about the
limbs, they chattered as though crying, ‘Get them if you can! Get them
if you can!’
“This was serious, and Enrico sat watching and wondering what he could
do, for he must have the clothes at once.
“Suddenly he remembered the monkey’s desire to imitate. In the long ago
his father had told him how they did just what they saw people do.
“It was worth trying, and the boy arose and threw off his cap.
“At once hats and bonnets were snowed down upon him. Enrico gathered
them up and placed them in his basket.
“Then off came his coat. Coats of all sorts now dropped about him.
“Chuckling to himself, Enrico now removed his other garments, and
immediately tumbled down the gay-coloured gowns and snowy underwear.
“Enrico gathered them up as fast as he could, fearing the monkeys might
descend upon him and once more rob him of his treasures.
“He then dressed himself and hurried on. He found a ready sale for
his wares in the market, and with a purse full of money, and requests
for many more garments of the same sort, he hastened home to tell his
mother of his good fortune.
“There was great rejoicing in the little home, and the day came when
Enrico was selling doll clothes in his own little shop in the heart of
the city.
“A dear little shop it was with a home in the back where his mother
cooked and sewed on the dainty garments.
“Enrico never tired of telling the children who came to buy, how he
almost lost the first lot of doll clothes he ever started out to sell.”
General applause followed this interesting story, while the chairman
cried, “Splendid! Splendid! It was most entertaining, and now I think
the hour has arrived when we should hear from Beef and her creamy
companion, both of whom remind me of Mary and her lamb, because where
one goes the other follows.”
TALE OF THE BROWNIE DOLL
The odd Brownie now came forward, with the creamy toddler holding fast
to her hand. They both bowed, and the Brownie began:
“I am commonly known as Beef, and I come not from the sheep or hog,
but from the cow.
[Illustration: “She loved her home”]
“As to where I come from, it would be hard to tell where I am not to be
found, for I believe cows roam about over the whole world.
“You may ride on trains anywhere and everywhere; you may sail on boats;
you may go up in flying machines, you will always see cows.
“I do not know of anything that seems quite as necessary as the cow,
both for meat and for milk.
“I came from a certain cow that spent most of its time in a green
meadow where birds sang above her head, and a near-by brook gurgled
over the stones, making the sweetest music.
“Night and morning a maid came with a shiny pail on her arm; as she
milked the Bossy she sang to the accompaniment of the brook.
“Often two little children came, each with a silver cup, for a drink of
the warm foaming milk.
“That cow was proud indeed to know that she furnished food for the
little ones.
“She loved her home. She could hear the chickens clucking, the geese
cackling, the lambs baaing, and the ponies neighing.
“She stood for hours looking off at the peaceful scene before her and
seemed always content.
“Suddenly she found herself no more in the meadow but hanging in juicy
quarters from a hook in a butcher shop. These quarters were cut up into
various parts to be used for steaks, roasts, soup bones, beef tea, and
all sorts of good things.
“At this time the store was trimmed up with bunches of green leaves and
bright red berries. Scarlet Christmas bells nodded on all sides.
“It seemed to be a gay and festive scene. Sleigh bells jingled,
telephones rang constantly, and finally I was placed in a basket with
other goodies, and the next thing I knew I was flying over the snow in
a bob sled.
“My basket was presently left on a kitchen table. Thereupon I was taken
from the package. A fat lady gave me a poke with her finger, and nodded
her head as she said:
“‘Fine cut. Just right for my mince meat.’ What that was I did not
know, but I was placed in a kettle and bubbled around in hot water for
some time, then I found myself in something else that was fastened to a
table. A handle twirled and twirled, and I turned into a fine bunch of
stuff, waiting for I knew not what.
“I’ll have to tell you about my little brother Suet, because he never
could, he is so shy.
“I always noticed that when people bought beef, they chose the parts
that had creamy fat clinging to them. They said they were sweeter and
more tender, and that fat is this little brother of mine, and that’s
why he clings so closely to me. That’s where he belongs.
“In a moment as I lay in the dish, all ground up, I felt coming down
all over me wee bits of creamy fat, so you see he still followed me.
“I was much interested to know what mince meat was, and I kept my eyes
and ears open to see what would happen next.
“It was a busy scene I looked out upon. One person was stoning raisins.
Another was peeling apples. All sorts of spices were being ground.
Citron was being cut up very fine, also orange and lemon peel. The
vinegar, molasses, and cider jugs were brought forth.
“Then everything was put into a wooden bowl, and as they were chopped
they all seemed to be singing the merriest of tunes. By and by the
mixture was tumbled into a crock with me, and I found I was beginning
to swell and to be quite important. I was stirred and stirred, and then
various people came and tasted and smacked their lips and tasted again.
One said, ‘A little more sugar, don’t you think so?’ Another looking
very wise said, ‘Needs more spice,’ and so I was doctored and fussed
with till finally I was pronounced just right, and I knew _the_ time
had arrived.
“I felt as one does at a circus when they have the grand entrée and I
fairly held my breath as I waited for the next act. I was mince meat at
last.
“Suddenly I was poured into what seemed to be a round white blanket.
It was so soft and cushiony I rejoiced over such a fate, but alas,
another blanket was placed over me. There were no sheets on this bed,
and it was as dark as a pocket. In a moment tiny eyelet holes appeared,
from which I could peep through up into the eyes of the busy cook. Then
a black door swung open. I was placed within a dark cavern, the door
swung back, and all was still.
“I felt myself growing warmer and warmer. My bed turned from soft
blankets to crispy covers. I bubbled and boiled, and presently when the
cover was a golden brown the door flew open, and once more I came out
into the light of day.
“I was placed in a window to cool, and the whole family came out to
admire me. I felt so proud I could hardly keep still.
“I knew I was intended for some wonderful event. Mr. Cinnamon Stick,
you said this pie was for the Christmas dinner to-morrow. Is it for an
ornament or a decoration of some sort?”
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” sang the chorus, “you will soon learn when to-morrow
comes what you will decorate.”
“Why?” asked the Brownie, in alarm. “What will happen? What will they
do with this pie?”
“Oh!” laughed Cinnamon Stick, “it’s hard to tell; they _might_ do any
one of a number of things.
“It _might_ be suspended on chains from the chandelier, and swing to
the tune of an orchestra.
“They _might_ start it rolling across the hardwood floor down that
large hall, and wager whether it would fall upside down or downside up.
“There are many things that _might_ be done with it, but what’s the use
of worrying about to-morrow. We still have much of the night to pass
away.
“Here! what’s this rolling across the floor?”
TALE OF THE PIE CRUST
They all looked to see the pie itself rolling along mysteriously and
silently. When it reached the hearth it spun round and round for a
moment, then paused and began to speak.
“If you please, Mr. Chairman, and Ladies and Gentlemen, you are
forgetting me, the most important part of the pie.
“I am the crust, and whoever heard of a pie of any kind without a
crust? No one, of course, and so since I am really the most important
member of the large family, I think I should have my turn.”
“You certainly should!” cried Cinnamon Stick. “I am sorry I neglected
to call you. We are glad, indeed, to hear your story. What are you made
of?”
“I am composed of flour, lard, and water—”
“You’d be ruined if you didn’t put a pinch of me in,” cried Little Salt
eagerly.
“Certainly I would. Thank you for not allowing me to be spoiled.
“Of course you all know flour is made from wheat. The wheat plant is a
grass which looks much like barley and rye.
“The varieties are called, bearded, and beardless or bald.
“Some are planted in spring, for spring or summer wheat. Other kinds
in the fall to be ready the next season, that is winter wheat. The
latter was at one time thought to be the best, but lately with improved
methods of manufacture the spring wheat is equally as good.
“There are two kinds, white and red. Of the winter wheat the white is
best.
“Wheat is chiefly used for flour. The finest, but not the most
wholesome, is nearest pure starch. The richer parts are found nearest
the skin and are secured in the graham flour.
“Wheat has been known always, is mentioned in the Bible, and is found
almost everywhere.
“China wheat is a spring wheat, and this is where it came from. Once
upon a time some one had a chest of tea sent to him. It was a wonderful
gift to have, and was highly prized. In that tea was found a curious
grain. No one knew what it was, but they decided to plant it. From that
came wheat, and was called spring wheat.
“If you have been in the country you know how the wheat is cut with big
machines, and taken to the barn.
“Then many men appear and they thresh it. That means to get the chaff,
the outer husk, off. Then the grain is taken to the mill and ground
into flour.
“The flour is used for bread, cake, pies, and almost all of the baked
stuff we have.
“Lard is made from pork fat. The fat is boiled or rendered.
“Water is composed of two parts of hydrogen and one of oxygen, commonly
called H_2O. Pure water can be obtained by distillation from the ocean,
as is often done at sea. Some towns on the South American Coast have
been supplied in this way.
“The chief source of supply for water which falls on the earth is from
the ocean. The heat of the sun raises a vapour from its surface. This
vapour condenses and falls as rain or snow, either on sea or land.
Rain after falling for some time is almost pure and for that reason is
called soft. Hard water contains various minerals.
“That’s all about the crust. It isn’t very interesting, nor funny, but
it is good and everybody loves it.”
“Indeed, it is good, and most necessary to every pie,” declared the
Cinnamon Doll.
“And now suppose we wish for the Story Sprite. She is a dear and we
have time for just one more story.”
This wish was hardly expressed when the sound of bells was heard and
there before them stood the Story Lady, bringing with her a joyous
shower of bells.
“Oh, my dearies, this is the last time I can come!
“It is Christmas, as you know, and many Christmas parties are awaiting
me, but I just had to keep my promise to you.
“This time I want to tell you a Christmas tale I am sure you will enjoy
and love.
It is called:
HOW JACK FILLED THE STOCKINGS.
“It was Christmas Eve. The younger children were snugly tucked in bed,
while Jack sat staring at the empty stockings swinging from the mantel
shelf in the gleaming fire-light.
“Jack was only twelve, and the man of the house. His face was very
grave as he gazed alternately at the stockings, then at his mother
bustling about tidying up the room.
“She finally sat down, declaring sadly: ‘It’s no use, Jack. I haven’t a
penny to spare; the stockings will have to go empty.’
“The boy spoke not a word, but watched the fire sputter and crackle as
though perhaps it might solve the problem.
“Of one thing he was certain: the stockings should not go empty if he
could help it.
“The fire _did_ show him the way, for suddenly the logs began to send
out tiny sparks and snap for all the world like popcorn.
“‘Mother!’ he cried suddenly, ‘I have an idea. I’m going out.’
“‘Dress warm then, dear, and good luck to you.’
“The boy hurried out into the night, and _such_ a night!
“Snowflakes were flying thick and fast, and above his head the
ice-coated trees spread their friendly branches. He loved the crisp,
sharp air, and raised his face that the flakes might lodge and sting.
“Soon he reached the busy street and watched keenly for a chance to
earn a dime.
“Suddenly he saw a woman carrying a suitcase, running for the car,
while at her side toddled a child trying in vain to keep up with her.
“‘Let me help, may I?’ asked Jack wistfully.
[Illustration: “He chose the busiest corner where there was a wonderful
toy store”]
“‘Oh, if you only would,’ replied the woman, grateful indeed for the
aid.
“As they reached the corner she slipped a silver piece into his hand.
The car stopped, then whizzed on, leaving Jack staring at the quarter,
hardly able to believe it.
“‘A good beginning,’ he murmured, and ran into a near-by store, where
he purchased a few ears of popcorn and a small jar of molasses.
“Mother, much surprised, welcomed the gifts and boy with open arms.
“‘I earned them, Mother! Make some corn balls and candy while I try
again,’ and away he went.
“This time he was not so successful. Every one seemed busy and hurried
past him, not even glancing at the eager, earnest face.
“On one corner a hand-organ man was grinding out his music. Jack
watched to see the people stop and drop pennies into his little cup.
“Suddenly the boy had an inspiration. He could sing like a bird. In
fact he had been soloist of a boy choir in the town where they had
lived before coming to the city.
“That work he loved, and was never so happy as, when clothed in his
robes, walking up the aisle, singing while the great splendid organ
pealed out its glorious music.
“One song, the Christmas Lullaby, was his special favourite. He always
sang it at Christmas time. Why not sing it here on the street?
“It was sweeter than hand-organ music, and surely people ought to be
willing to give a few pennies to hear it.
“No sooner thought than done, and Jack darted down the street a few
blocks away from the hand-organ man.
“He chose the busiest corner where there was a wonderful toy store.
In the window was a tree covered with gifts. The lights twinkled and
danced as though cheering him on, and so there he paused and sang.
“He was a beautiful child. Indeed, in the fashionable church at home
he had been called the Christ child, and now as he sang, many were
attracted by his face and the clear sweet tones.
“They listened and passed on, leaving in the shabby cap many bits of
silver.
“After a time the boy walked on, halting at various corners to sing,
and presently found himself in front of a church.
“The music of the great organ pierced the air and as the door swung
to and fro, he saw a large audience with many children gaily dressed,
waiting expectantly.
“Jack was tired and cold. He longed to be enfolded in the light and
warmth within and listen to the music, and he quietly crept inside
up a stairway, then down to the front. No one was there and he leaned
forward to see a wonderful tree. It sparkled with tinsel, while
coloured lights gleamed here and there like shining jewels breathing
a halo about the head of the Christmas Angel standing on the topmost
branch.
“The outstretched arms seemed to pronounce a blessing on the fruit of
this tree waiting to be showered on the many little ones, who stood
admiring and exclaiming over this vision of beauty.
“It was an enormous tree. The top branches were fastened securely
to a heavy pole which was thrown across the chancel and rested in
the grooves on the hand-carved posts which stood either side of the
entrance to this sacred place.
“Jack, fascinated by the scene, watched hungrily every detail, and as
a thirsty flower holds up its dainty head for the first raindrops, so
the boy eagerly drank in every note of the music which he knew so well.
“He longed to be a choir boy once more, but he was timid and bashful
and feared to make any effort in this direction in a strange city.
“As he pondered on how to gain the coveted position, he watched the
tree being stripped of its fruit and placed in many outstretched hands.
“He gazed wistfully on the joyous scene, but was suddenly startled by a
flash of light, which, from his position, he saw was a thread of flame
leaping upwards toward the Christmas Angel.
“There was but one thing to do, and he was the one to do it. Without a
thought for himself he sprang for the pole, hung by his toes, and in an
instant the flaming branch was broken from the tree and crushed in his
hands.
“Below a quick cry of ‘Fire!’ rang out, then was heard the shriek of a
child.
“Jack knew the impending panic must be averted instantly, and as he
swung up on to the pole, he wound his limbs about it, and there perched
in the topmost branches, a veritable Christ Child, he sang, as he never
sang before, the Christmas Lullaby.
“The cries below ceased. The audience stared in amazement. Had he
fallen from the blue skies painted on the ceiling by a master hand or
had one of the Murillo angels, hovering amongst the billowy clouds,
come to life?
“Those who heard never forgot the pathos of the plaintive melody.
“The choirmaster listened breathlessly, for here was the soloist he had
for months been vainly seeking.
“The organist, wild with delight over the heavenly music, coming from
he knew not where, followed gently with the organ accompaniment, the
flute-like tones blending with the bird notes of the boy.
“Higher and higher soared the voice of the Christmas Angel, while the
people gazed entranced. Such tender sweetness it had never been their
privilege to hear.
“Surely the Baby Jesus was being lulled to sleep by the angelic music,
which at last slowly and gently died away.
“A moment of tense silence was followed by a rustle; the tension was
broken and Jack swung himself back to the gallery, to be greeted by
many outstretched hands.
“He had many questions to answer and before the child realised it, he
had told the story of limp stockings hanging by the chimneyside at
home, and how hard he had tried to fill them.
“His pathetic tale, together with his daring efforts to quench the fire
and avert a panic, moved many to tears.
“You all know what followed. How he was driven home in state in a
grand sleigh drawn by a pair of prancing horses, and how his new-found
friends not only filled the stockings, but then and there engaged him
as soloist of the boy choir at such a salary that his mother need work
no more, and they were all comfortable and happy for many a day.
“And now good-bye, and I wish you a very Merry Christmas.”
With that the Story Elf vanished, and her audience chorused:
“Wasn’t that lovely?”