It was Christmas-time, as all the world knew;
It stormed without, and the cold wind blew,
But within all was cheerful, snug, and bright,
With glowing fires and many a light.
Budd B. was sent quite early to bed,
His stocking was hung up close to his head,
And he said to himself "When all grows still
I will find a big stocking for Santy to fill."
Now, good, honest Hans, who worked at the house,
Had gone to his bed as still as a mouse;
The room where he slept was one story higher
Than Budd's little room, with gaslight and fire.
Now, Hans loved "the poy," and petted him too,
And often at night, when his task was all through,
He would tell him strange stories of over the sea,
While Budd listened gravely or laughed out in glee.
This night Hans had promised to wake Budd at four;
He would softly come down and open his door;
But suddenly Budd bounded out of his bed,
And stole softly up to the room overhead.
On his hands and his knees he crept softly in,
"I'll borrow Han's stocking," he said, with a grin;
Old Santy will fill it up to the top,
And Hans--oh, such fun! will be mad as a hop."
He moved very slowly, and felt near the bed;
No stocking was there, but down on his head
Came a deluge of water, well sprinkled with ice,
While honest Hans held him as if in a vice.
"Vat is dat?" he cried out; "von robber I find,
Den I pound him, and shake him, so much as I mind"
"It's me," called out Budd; "Stop, Hans! oh, please do;
I'm only a boy; I could not rob you."
But Hans did not pause--his temper was hot--
And he dragged the young robber at once from the spot,
When he reached the hall light great was his surprise
To find his young master with tears in his eyes.
"I wanted your stocking," muttered Budd B.;
It is bigger than mine; boo hoo! I can't see,
And I'm all wet and cold." thus cried Budd aloud,
Until guests and his parents ran up in a crowd.
He was wrapped up with care and taken to bed,
But, strangest of all, not a harsh word was said.
He flattered himself as he fell asleep
That Hans and his friends the secret would keep.
Next morning, when Christmas songs filled all the air,
Budd found, to his grief and boyish despair,
That his neck was so stiff that he could not turn his head,
And must spend the whole day alone in his bed.
What was worse, his own stocking hung limp on a chair,
And on it these words were written most fair:
"To him who is greedy I leave less than all;
The world is so large and my reindeer so small.
"My pack is elastic when children are kind,
But it shuts with a snap and leaves nothing behind,
When a boy or girl is selfish or mean.
Good-bye, little Budd, I am off with my team.
(Signed) Santa Claus."