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SEVEN LITTLE PEOPLE AND THEIR FRIENDS
by
HORACE E. SCUDDER
Boston and New York
Houghton Mifflin Company
The Riverside Press Cambridge
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862,
by Horace E. Scudder
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.
[Illustration: Shahtah gets the coat on with difficulty.--_See p.
178._]
The Seven Little People who have lived with me for the last two or three
years, and with whom I have been wont to entertain my friends among the
children, are now about to leave their quiet home and make their
appearance in society. The experience which they severally have enjoyed,
whether under the sea or in Percanian palaces, or on desert islands, or
upon birth-nights, has perhaps hardly fitted them for associating with
the world's people; and yet, I trust, they will find some glad to
receive them, and hear them tell of the friends whom they found in their
various wanderings. It is true that two of these Little People have no
friends at all, but then it was their own choice, for did they not
deliberately cast themselves away, and abjure all society but that of
their mute companion? It will be found also that in one of these Stories
there are no Little People, but it is no more than just that the Friends
should for once be allowed their drama to themselves. All of these Seven
are the children of my brain, and I am somewhat loth to let them go so
far from me; but if they find no hospitable fireside to receive them,
they will at least always be welcome at mine.
CONTENTS
THE THREE WISHES
WISH THE FIRST--Under the Sea 11
WISH THE SECOND--On the Mountain 37
WISH THE THIRD AND LAST--In the Cottage 49
A CHRISTMAS STOCKING WITH A HOLE IN IT
I. The Stocking is Hung 57
II. Midnight 71
III. Kleiner Traum Visits Peter Mit 79
IV. Kleiner Traum Visits David Morgridge 88
V. Morgridge Klaus 92
THE LITTLE CASTAWAYS 99
A FAERY SURPRISE PARTY 133
THE ROCK ELEPHANT 149
THE OLD BROWN COAT
I. The Gift 175
II. The Sacrifice 199
NEW YEAR'S DAY IN THE GARDEN 219
THE THREE WISHES
BESSIE'S STORY
Wish the First.--Under the Sea.
[Illustration]
Little Effie Gilder's porridge did taste good! and so it ought; for
beside that Mother Gilder made it, and Mother Gilder's porridge was
always just right, Effie was eating it on her seat upon the sea-shore in
front of her father's house. The sun was just going down and the tide
was rising, so that the little waves came tumbling up on the beach, as
if they were racing, each one falling headlong on the sand in the
scramble to get there first; and then slipping back again, there would
be left a long streak of white foam just out of reach of Effie. She was
sitting on what she called her chair, but it was a chair without legs or
back or arms--only a great flat stone, where she used to come every
sunshiny afternoon and eat her bowl of porridge.
It was smoking-hot--that porridge! and she was eating away with a great
relish, holding the bowl in her lap and drumming upon it with her
drumstick of a spoon. I wish you could have seen her as she sat there,
with her hat falling off and the sun touching her hair and turning the
rich auburn into a golden colour. But somebody did see her; for just
before the sun went down, Effie spied an old man coming along the beach
to the place where she sat. "That must be Uncle Ralph," thought she,
"coming home from fishing." "No," she said; as he came nearer, "it
isn't, it's Granther Allen." "Why no! it isn't Granther; who can it be?
what a queer old man!"
[Illustration: "Effie spied an old man coming along the beach."]
By this time the old man had come quite near. He was a very old man.
His hair was long and as white as snow; he was so bent over that as he
leaned upon his smooth stout cane, his head almost touched the knob on
the top of it; and it kept wagging sidewise, as if he were saying "No"
all the time. He had on a long grey coat almost the colour of his hair,
and it reached down to his feet on which was a pair of shoes so covered
with dust that they were of the same colour as his coat; and his hat was
the oddest of all! it was very high and peaked, and looked as if it had
been rubbed in the flour barrel before he put it on.
This old man came up toward Effie very slowly, his head shaking all the
time and his feet dragging one after the other as if he could hardly
reach her. Effie began to be frightened, but when he spoke to her it was
with such a sweet musical voice that she thought she had never heard
anything half so beautiful.
"My little child," said he, "I am very tired; I have come a long way
to-day and have had nothing to eat since morning. Will you give me some
of your porridge that looks so nice?"
"Oh yes! sir," said Effie, jumping up and giving him the bowl. "But
there isn't much left. Won t you come into the house and mother will
give you some bread."
"Oh, no! my little girl," said the old man. "I do not need anything more
than this porridge to make me strong again;" and as he spoke, he raised
himself up and stood as straight as his own smooth stick that his hand
hardly rested on; and his head stopped wagging, and he stood there a
tall old man with a beautiful face and such a beautiful voice as he
asked again:
"What is your name, my little girl?"
"Effie Gilder, sir. And this is my birth-day; I'm six years old to-day."
"Six years old to-day! and what shall I give you, little Effie, on this
your birth-day? I love all good little children, and you were good to me
to give me your porridge. Little Effie, I am going to let you wish three
things, but you may only wish one thing at a time. One thing to-day, and
another when your next birth-day comes, and the last when the birth-day
after that comes. Now tell me what you wish most of all."
Effie looked at him in wonder. "What! really? have any thing she wanted
for the asking?"
"Yes," said the old man; "but you must ask it before the sun goes down."
Effie looked at the sun; it had nearly touched the water and looked like
a great red ball, and she thought it would go down, clear, into the
water, as she had so often seen it, without any clouds around it.
"I wish,--" said she, "let me see what I wish! oh, I wish that I might go
down to the bottom of the ocean and see all the beautiful shells and the
fishes, and every thing that's going on down there!" When she said it,
the little waves laughed as they came scampering up to her, as if they
said--"What a droll idea!"
"You shall go," said the old man, "before many more suns have set. And
next year when your birth-day comes round, I will come again for your
second wish. Farewell, my little child."
Effie looked at him, and lo! he was quite bent over again, and his head
was shaking harder than ever, as if he said "No, no, no," all the while;
then she looked at the sun to see it go down, clear, into the water, but
about it were clouds of gold and crimson, and the sun just peeped out
behind them, as behind bars, for a moment, and then went down covered by
the clouds into the black waters; and in a moment or two, as she stood
watching, the beautiful clouds were grey and sombre and spread in a
long, low line along the horizon.
"Effie! Effie! come into the house!" she heard her mother calling; and
there was Mrs. Gilder, standing in the door-way with her gown tucked up
around her, and an apron on, which was the most wonderful apron for
pockets you ever saw! I should not dare to say how many pockets it had,
for fear you would not believe me, but if you had seen how many things
she kept in them, you would think with me, that there never was such a
wonderful apron.
"Come here, Effie," said she, and diving into one of her apron pockets
she pulled out a little parcel. "See what I've brought you from the
village for a birth-day present;" and she unrolled the paper and showed
her a little candy dog; his body was white, striped blue and red, and
his short tail stood straight up, which was more than the little dog
could do, for when he was put on the table, instead of standing on his
four legs like respectable dogs, he fell over on his side. Effie took
the dog, but did not seem half so glad to get it as her mother thought
she would, and even forgot to thank her for it.
"Oh, mother!" said she, "did you see that real old man just now, with
such long white hair, and a white coat that came way down to his heels,
and his head went just so"--shaking her own, "and oh! he told me I might
have any thing I wanted, and I said I wanted to go down to the bottom of
the ocean, and he said I should, and he's coming again on my next
birth-day, and I am to wish for something again. Do you think he really
can take me to the bottom of the sea?"
"Nonsense! child. It's some old crazy man. I wonder you didn't run away
from him. Come into the house, it's time for you to go to bed. And bring
your dog along with you. You mustn't eat it. It's only to play with."
"I hate that nasty little dog!" said Effie, and her pretty face became
twisted into a pucker, "and I don't want to go to bed."
"Tut, tut! Puss," said Father Gilder, who was smoking his pipe by the
fire. "What! naughty on your birth-day? I thought you were going to be
good always after this. I guess she's tired, mother."
Effie's pouting was crying by this time, and Mother Gilder brought a
handkerchief out of another of her pockets, and wiping the child's face,
led her to her little cot and put her to bed with the little dog where
she could see it when she woke up, lying stiff on his side with his tail
straight up in the air.
Father Gilder shook his head. "'T won't do, mother," said he, "we can't
have little Effie a cross child. Bless me! why, my pipe's out! where's
some tobacco?"
"Here," said Mrs. Gilder, plunging her hand into another of her
wonderful apron's pockets and fishing out some tobacco, and then diving
into another for matches, filling and lighting her old man's pipe. They
looked at the little child lying in her crib, and thought now they would
do any thing in the world to make her happy and good. She was fast
asleep now, and her little face had become untied--for you know it was
in a knot when she lay down--and now she was smiling in her sleep.
Perhaps she was dreaming about the old man with the beautiful voice, and
thinking she saw him again.
The next day, Effie was playing on the beach, picking up the shells and
making little holes in the sand, watching to see the water come up and
fill them, when she remembered the old man she had seen the day before,
and she said to herself, "I wish he would come and take me down to the
bottom of the ocean!" when, lo! just as she had wished it, the queerest
little man came walking out of the water to where she stood. He was the
funniest looking little man, I'll be bound, you ever saw. He was not
more than three feet high, and he had a hump-back--so humped that it
looked almost like a wide horn coming out of his back. And he was
dressed entirely in green; just as green as sea-weed, and to tell the
truth, his clothes were made of sea-weed when you came to look at them
closely; all woven of green sea-weed, and on the hump, his coat, which
was made to fit it, was stuffed with soft sea grass so that it looked
like a cushion. His feet were great flat feet, and his hands were
almost as large as his feet; and as for his legs, they were so crooked
and so covered with barnacles, that you never would have known them for
legs anywhere else. He had on a cap made of seal-skin with two ends
bobbing behind.
He came right out of the water and stood before Effie, dripping with
wet, and bowing, and smiling, and scraping and twitching his cap, as
much as to say, "Your most obedient servant, Miss, and what can I do for
you this morning?" and he did say out aloud, "It's all right! Get up
there"--pointing to his hump--"and I will carry you down safely, little
maiden!"
"But I shall get wet!" laughed Effie.
"Oh, no!" said he, "I'll cover you up." So he stooped down, but he
didn't have very far to stoop, he was so short; and she got on top of
the hump and held on by the ends of the seal-skin cap that were dangling
behind. The little man put his hands in his pockets and pulled out
bunches of sea-weed and covered her up with it, and tied her on with
long string of sea-grass, until she was quite safe, and then waded
straight into the water.
The beach sloped quickly and the little man was short, so that in a few
strides the water was up to the hump on which Effie was sitting. Then
the little girl began to be frightened and shut her eyes tight, and when
she heard the water splashing about them, she wanted to cry out, but she
couldn't and held on tight to the bobs of the seal-skin cap. Then she
felt the water rushing over their heads, but still the little sea-green
man went striding over the ground, putting out his flat hands at his
side, as if they were oars, and seeming to push the water away as he
went swiftly forward. At first Effie could hear the water overhead,
tumbling and rolling about and rising up and down; then it became
quieter, and finally it was perfectly still, except when some fish would
dart by them, just grazing the hump and disturbing the water a little.
Now, when every thing was so quiet, she began slowly to raise her
eyelids a little, until she had her eyes wide open and was staring about
her. She seemed to be looking through green glass, and could not see
very distinctly, but every once in a while some dim fish would move
beside her; and as her eyes got more used to the place, all things
became clearer, and soon she saw that on both sides of her and behind,
there was a multitude of fishes of all sizes. They swam beside her, the
older and bigger ones moving very sedately, and keeping the same order;
but the little frisky fishes would tumble around in great glee, and come
darting up to Effie, putting their cold noses up to her face and then go
racing back, giggling and whipping their tails about in a fine frolic;
and the awkward, bungling, good-natured dolphins, would come tumbling in
among the steady fishes and make the greatest commotion, almost
upsetting little Effie two or three times, and then go bouncing off,
shaking their fat sides with laughter. There was an old sword-fish, that
seemed to be a kind of special constable, who kept going round and
round, pricking the dolphins whenever he got a chance and frightening
the little fishes almost out of their senses; as often as he made his
appearance, with that long sword of his sticking out, such a scampering
as there would be! and how the wee fishes would try to hide behind the
dolphins, and how the dolphins would slap them with their fins, and go
rolling in among the steady fishes, as if they were the most quiet,
well-disposed, respectable fishes that ever were. Oh! how they frolicked
and tumbled about the little sea-green man with Effie on his back! Effie
shouted and clapped her hands in great glee, and tried to hop up and
down on the little man's hump, but she was so tied down that she
couldn't, so she kept digging her toes into his back, and twitching the
bobs of the seal-skin cap, till he got going at a terrible pace, so fast
that it was as much as the fishes and dolphins could do to keep up with
him, without playing by the way!
Now, after they had gone what seemed to Effie a great way, every thing
became clearer, and the little man shortened his pace and began
arranging his cap, which Effie had pulled out of shape, and smoothing
down his sea-weed clothes; the fishes all went slowly along in their
regular places, only the little fishes behind would teaze the dolphins,
and the sword-fish looked as stately as the old fellow could, and gave
some serious digs at the dolphins whenever they showed signs of being
unruly; and lastly, two or three flying-fish shot off in advance of the
rest, and the procession moved slowly on.
"What is coming, I wonder!" thought Effie. Then she looked all about her
and over the little man's shoulder to see what was in front; and away
off in the distance she saw the dim outline of something that looked
like a gate-way. And as they came nearer, sure enough it was a gate-way,
and when they came up to it she saw the pillars, made of beautiful white
coral, and the gate itself made of a whale's skin, polished and studded
with shark's teeth as white as ivory. The little man stopped before the
gate, which was shut, and the sword-fish came forward in the most
pompous manner, and knocked with his sword upon the coral posts.
"Who comes here?" asked a voice within. "I demand it in the name of the
Queen of the Ocean Deeps."
"I come," said the little sea-green man, "I, the servant of the Queen of
the Ocean Deeps bearing with me the earth-born child. I crave
admittance in the name of the Queen."
At that the gates swung open and the procession moved in. Once through
the gate-way, where sat the porter--a hermit crab--the road, paved with
lovely shells, wound about, and Effie held her breath to see how
beautiful it was. They moved along the shining floor, and by-and-by they
came to another gate, more beautiful than the first, where they went
through the same form, only the porter within, just before he swung open
the doors, said:
"Enter, servant of the Queen of the Ocean Deeps, bearing the earth-born
child, and ye his attendants, but let no one enter who does not the
bidding of our good-loving Queen." As each one passed in, the porter
said:
"When thou comest through this gate,
Leave behind thee sinful hate.
He that can not--let him wait."
And each one answered, else the porter would not have let him in,
"There is no thing in all the sea,
That I or hate or hateth me.
I only hate the sin I flee."
When it came to the little fishes' turn, the old constable sword-fish
looked sharply at them, but they answered like the rest in a demure way,
with a side wink at the dolphins; those lubberly fellows blundered
through somehow, and looked sheepish enough at saying it so poorly. Last
of all came the sword-fish, who seemed to feel hurt that he should be
asked the same question, and gruffly answered, whereupon the gate was
shut and they all passed along.
Then they came in sight of the palace of the Queen. What a sight that
was! The walls were of pure coral, and all about the doors and windows
were shells of every variety of colour and form. There were arches and
pillars set around with shells, and in the corners grew graceful
sea-weed, that clung to the palace and waved to and fro its long, soft
leaves. Little Effie looked up and saw that the building was not
finished, and that all around her there was a continual hum of movement.
Then they entered the door of the palace and passed through long
galleries, until they came to a great and beautiful door and heard
within voices singing. A porter sat behind this door also, and asked the
same questions, and they all answered as before, in one voice, only they
spoke more softly. Now they stood in the great hall of the palace, and
lo! there was the Queen herself, sitting on her throne, and about her
were her maids of honour. It was they who had been singing, but who
stopped when the procession came in. They were sitting at wheels and
long stone looms, spinning and weaving wondrous robes of purple and
scarlet and green; the Queen herself was weaving a gorgeous garment of
all the most beautiful colours.
The little man stopped in front of the Queen and made three of his
comical little bows, and all the attendant fishes bobbed their heads up
and down; the dolphins gave some awkward, bungling shakes of the whole
body that made the little fishes almost burst into laughing, and the old
fellow with a sword looked exceedingly serious and made the most
dignified bow imaginable. Then the Queen spoke:
"My faithful servant, hast thou obeyed my commands and brought the child
of earth?"
"She is here, my good-loving Queen," said he. "What is thy will with
her?" When little Effie heard this, she began to be frightened and to
think--"Oh, dear! what is she going to do with me?" but the Queen looked
so good that she felt at ease again and listened for what she would say.
"Take the child," said she, "and show her the beauties of my palace, and
let her see the wonderful works that are done here; answer all her
questions and bring her back to me again." Then they all bowed again.
And as they moved away, Effie heard the song that the maidens at the
wheels and looms sang.
The Song of the Sea-Maidens.
I.
Spin, maidens, spin! let the wheel go round!
Hours that once are lost can never more be found.
(_Chorus_) Work, hands! Love, heart!
Every one here has his part,----
Has his work to do,--has his love to give,
Thus we work, thus we love ever while we live.
II.
Weave, maidens, weave! let the shuttle fly!
Time and we are racing; faster, faster ply!
(_Chorus_) Work, hands! Love, heart! etc.
III.
Sing, maidens, sing! as ye spin and weave,
Work was never meant our joyous hearts to grieve,
(_Chorus_) Work, hands! Love, heart! etc.
IV.
As the wheel goes round--as the shuttle flies,
Let your songs and hearts upward, upward rise!
(_Chorus_) Work, hands! Love, heart!
Every one here has his part, etc.
They passed out of the hall, and the little sea green man said, "To the
Top!" So they came to the top of the house, and there they saw hundreds
and thousands of little coral insects, working to make the house more
beautiful, and each, when he had done all that he could, lay down and
died. And the little man told Effie how all this beautiful palace had
been made by these insects and how it never would stop growing, but
always some coral insect would be doing his tiny work, and when he had
done all he could, would die.
"What is that humming?" asked Effie.
"That is the song they sing as they work," said he. "Listen! do you not
hear it?" Effie listened hard and just caught a few words of the chorus.
"Every one here has his part----
Has his work to do, has his love to give,----
Thus we work, thus we love ever while we live."
"Why, that is what the maidens who were spinning sang," said she.
"Yes," said he, "they all sing the same song to different music." Then
she began to hear the words all about her, and she found that the little
sea green man, and the fishes, small and great, and the dolphins and the
old constable sword fish were all singing the same song, each in his own
way. So they went down again and through the whole palace and saw the
shells, some of them indeed making pearls, but all singing the same
song, and the sponges that were growing and the branches of coraline
that one by one loosened themselves and floated upward, singing as they
rose all about her, from corals and shells and grasses and sponges and
fishes, came this one song, each singing it to his own air, yet the
whole melody rising and sinking in a single harmonious strain.
Effie looked on at every thing in wonder, and at last they came back to
the Queen's presence. She, too, was singing with her maidens; but when
the procession came in again, and went through their bows once more, she
said to the little sea-green man--and their voices were all hushed:
"My faithful servant, have you shown the little maiden all the wonders
of the palace?"
"Yea, my good-loving Queen."
"And do they all spend their lives in good-working, singing as they
work?"
"Yea, my good-loving Queen, all;" and the hum of the song rose all about
her.
"Then back again lead the little child, and carry her to her home on
earth, that she too may live and work and sing. For
Every one _there_ has his part:
Has his work to do, has his love to give,"--
And all the voices sang with her
"Thus we work, thus we love ever while we live."
Then the procession moved out again, and Effie clung still to the little
man's seal-skin cap, as she sat on her cushion of sea-weed, upon the
hump on his back; and he marched along, using his flat hands like oars,
while the gruff old constable with his sword, and the dolphins and the
fishes, great and small, moved beside the pair, and they all went
swiftly up from the light to the darker green, the voices growing
fainter to Effie, and their forms more indistinct.
The little sea-green man brought Effie out of the water, and set her
down on the beach, and then, making his profoundest bow, he walked off
to the water again, the ends of his seal-skin cap dangling and bobbing
behind. Effie watched him go under the water, and then walked up into
the house. There was her mother frying some fish which Father Gilder had
just brought home for supper, while he was chopping wood at the side of
the house. It was not a bit like the beautiful palace she had seen, with
the Queen of the Ocean Deeps, and her maidens about her, weaving and
singing songs. Effie wished the little sea-green man had never brought
her up again, but had let her always live in such a beautiful place.
"What's the matter, Effie?" asked her mother, looking up from the
frying-pan, and seeing Effie stand there, staring into the fire.
"Oh, mother!" said she, "I have seen such beautiful things!"
"Whereabouts, child!"
"Oh, way down under the water! Such a funny little man, all dressed in
sea-weed, took me down on his back, and--"
"Nonsense, Effie! don't come to me with such stories. Go and wash your
face and hands, and get yourself ready for supper."
"But really! mother,--"
"Sh! child; do as I tell you, and don't talk to _me_ about your going
down underneath the water; you'd ha' been wet through if you had."
"But he covered me all up with sea-weed."
"Poh! you've been asleep on the rock, and dreaming about it; it's a
wonder you didn't fall off into the water. Come! run and wash yourself.
Supper's most ready."
Effie went off pouting; and Mother Gilder took the frying-pan off the
fire with the fish sizzling and smoking hot. "Come, father!" said she,
"and Effie, hurry up! supper's on the table."
"Where's your little dog, Effie?" said her father. Effie didn't speak.
"Have you eat him up, eh?" Never a word from Effie.
"The child is naughty!" said her mother, "Effie, speak to your father!"
But Effie looked crosser than ever.
"Well, you shall go to bed without your supper," said Mrs. Gilder,
getting up, "if you're going to behave so. The little thing's been
telling some ridiculous story about a man's taking her down under the
water on his back!"
"He _did_ take me down!" cried Effie, "and I wish I'd stayed there!
erhn! erhn! erhn!" and she cried and cried.
"Soh, soh, little one," said Father Gilder, "you wouldn't want to leave
your old father and mother, would you, Effie?"
"N-n-n-no, b-b-but m-m-mother said I didn't go."
"Ah, well! eat your supper, Effie, and then come and tell me all about
it." So Effie ate her supper and then sat in her father's lap, and began
to tell him all that I have told you; but before she had gone a great
way, she was so sleepy that she couldn't tell any thing more, but kept
saying, "And--and--and--a-n-d--a-n-d," till she fell fast asleep, and
Mother Gilder put her to bed, and she did not wake up once more till the
next morning.
"Well, what d'ye think, old man, about this stuff?" asked Mrs. Gilder,
when Effie was snug in bed.
"Well, I don't know," said Mr. Gilder. "Its queer! its queer! I guess
the child's been dreaming. Light my pipe, old woman."
So, when Mrs. Gilder had foraged in the pockets of her wonderful apron
and brought out the tobacco and matches, and had filled the pipe and
lighted it, the fisherman tilted his chair back against the chimney and
smoked his pipe, and thought about it; but could not come to any
conclusion, till at last his pipe went out, and he nodded, and nodded.
Mother Gilder who sat on the other side of the fire-place, knitting a
stocking that she brought out of one of her pockets, began to nod, too,
waking up every once in a while to find she had dropped her stitches,
and so making the needles go fast again for a few moments and then
slower, till she nodded again, and at last she was fast asleep on one
side of the fire-place, and Father Gilder on the other side, and little
Effie in her crib. And we'll steal out on tip-toe, so as not to wake
them, and come back again in just a year wanting one day.
Wish the Second.--On the Mountain.
[Illustration]
Well, we have been gone a year lacking one day, and here we are back
again on the beach, and there is the cottage, and Mrs. Gilder by her
table sewing on a frock for Effie, who is sitting on her seat--the great
flat rock, you know--down by the water. Effie is a year older now, and
this is her seventh birth-day. She has been a pretty good girl; but then
she wished a great many times that she could have stayed at the bottom
of the sea, and whenever she thought of it, she seemed to hear the song
that they sang there. Now she was sitting on her seat, looking out for
the old man, who you remember, had promised to come for her Second
Wish. She had thought about him a good many times and had made up her
mind what she would ask for. It was growing late and she began to be
afraid he would not come. She thought she would walk down the beach and
meet him; so she walked along looking for him all the while, when she
spied a boat coming toward the shore; but she did not look at it much,
she was so anxious to see her old man, and she thought she could make
him out, just coming along in the distance. Pretty soon, the boat came
up to the beach where she was, and a rough-looking sailor jumped out.
"Little girl," said he, "where does Simon Gilder live?"
"In that house, sir," pointing to the red cottage. "He is my father."
"So you're his little girl, are you? Is your father in the house?"
"No, sir, he is in the patch in the woods back there, hoeing potatoes."
"Will you go with me and show me where it is?" Effie looked along the
beach and saw the old man, as she thought, slowly coming toward them;
"Oh, dear!" thought she, "if the old man should come while I am gone!"
"What's the matter, little girl?" said the sailor-man when he saw she
did not answer. "Are you afraid to go with me?"
"No," faltered Effie looking down. "But mother said I wasn't to go away
from the beach."
"Oh, Effie, Effie!" said a voice close to her. She started. Why! that
was the old man's voice; and when she looked up, there was no sailor-man
and no boat, and no one coming down the beach; but the same old man that
she saw last year, in the same grey clothes, with the same beautiful
long white hair, and his head shaking the same way as he bent down over
his old smooth stick--the same old man stood by her.
"Oh, Effie!" said he in his beautiful voice, "you have deceived me. You
weren't willing to do me a kindness; you cared too much about your own
happiness. And this is your birth-day. I have come for your Second Wish.
Remember, you have only one more wish after this. You must tell me this
one before the sun goes down. Look!"
Effie looked as he pointed, and the sun stood just on the water's edge;
and there were clouds above it and around it, but she thought it would
go down clear. She had her wish all ready, though. "I wish," said she,
"that I might go on to the great mountain off there," pointing back from
the sea, "and see the birds and the trees and the flowers."
When she had said it, the clouds gathered before the sun, so that it
could not be seen, and spread over the whole heavens, and she had hardly
time to run to the cottage, before the rain began to pour down in
torrents. Out at sea it was all black, except where the white caps of
foam lighted up the waters; the waves rushed roaring on the beach, and
the wind drove the sharp rain against the house. Effie put her face
against the window-glass and peered out into the darkness, but she could
see nothing of the old man.
"A bad ending to your birth-day, little Effie," said her father, coming
in just then, all dripping wet. "Never mind. A bad beginning makes a
good ending so your birth-day must have begun well, and this day is the
beginning of the year for you, so the year'll end well. So it's good all
round, ha! It's a bad night, wife! I hope nobody's out in the storm; it
came up sudden."
Effie thought of the old man and shivered to think how wet and cold he
would get. But she only thought of it a moment, and then began to wonder
how the wish would come to pass, and whether another little sea-green
man would come for her.
So she went to bed and to sleep. But, lo! before morning came she was
waked by a tapping outside on the window-pane, close by her bed. At
first she was frightened and put her head under the bed-clothes; then
she thought, "Perhaps that is for me to go up on the mountain!" No
sooner did she think of that than she heard the tapping again, and then
a voice that said, "Come Effie! come with me to the mountain!"
Effie jumped out of bed and opened the window. The storm was over and
the stars were shining brightly, while in the East was a patch of grey
light, that showed the sun would rise before a great while. "Hurry!
hurry!" said a voice near her, but she could not see anything. "Where
are you?" said she. "Here," said the voice over her head. She looked up
and there was a very indistinct white figure, that looked as if it might
be a shadow. All she could see was something white like a robe, and two
arms stretching out toward her; one of the hands came close to her; she
caught hold of it, and in a moment was drawn up to the figure and
wrapped in the white robe. Then a wind, blowing from the sea, bore them
along and they flew off toward the mountains.
Now the mountains were a great way from the seashore, and Effie had
never been there. She could see their tops from the house where she
lived, and once in a while, somebody would come who had been there, and
he would tell her about the trees and the brooks and the birds. Now she
was to go there herself! She was held closely in the folds of the robe,
only she could look out as she went and see the ground over which they
were flying but they went so swiftly that she did not dare look down, so
she looked up to the sky. The stars were growing fainter, and the long
grey streak of dawn was growing brighter. They were nearing the
mountain, too, and Effie could hear, once in a while, the tinkling of
the brook as it rippled along below. At last they were close to the top
of the mountain. There was a wide plain upon the top, covered with
trees, while the springs of the brooks bubbled up there and flowed down
the sides, and on the ground were flowers nestled among the leaves and
the blades of grass.
"Look! and listen!" said the voice of the Figure that carried Effie, at
the same time wheeling about, so that they faced the East. Effie looked.
The stars were all gone now, save one in the distance--the morning-star.
Everywhere overhead the sky was blue and clear--not a cloud to be seen;
while away off before them in the East, the sky was tinged with deep,
rich colours. Perfect quiet was everywhere. The wind was still;
motionless the trees stood; on their boughs the birds sat, hardly
rustling their feathers. She could just hear the tinkling of the brook.
The flowers on the ground had their leaves folded, and near by a great
eagle stood perched on a rock. The Figure holding Effie moved not at
all, only as Effie sat breathless looking down to the ground, its hand
pointed to the East and Effie again looked up there.
The sky was a fiery colour now, and far up toward the zenith, the
crimson light shot its feathery rays; just above the horizon came a bit
of gold; then higher it rose, till like a golden ball leaving the earth,
it floated calmly up, up, soaring to heaven. The sun had risen! and the
instant it lifted itself above the line, the voice of the figure said:
"Listen!" and Effie listened. First she heard a low murmuring, and she
saw the tops of the trees swaying back and forth, lifting their branches
and bending them again toward the East; and as they murmured, the brooks
struck in with their sparkling notes, and the trees and the brooks sang
together; then the little birds on the branches opened their mouths, and
their throats swelled, and out burst their pure sweet notes, chiming
with the music of the trees and the brooks. Then the great, deep-mouthed
wind came, first trembling and quavering, then with rich full breath,
and the trees and the brooks, the birds and the wind, all sang the same
glad song. The flowers opened their leaves and lifted their heads, the
bright colours sparkling and shining; from the bushes sprang,
fluttering, the gay butterflies and insects, and the large eagle spread
its wings and sailed majestically in great circles toward the sun. Oh!
it was a wonderful sight, and it was a wonderful song they sang! The
whole mountain seemed to sing as the great golden sun rose higher and
higher.
Only Effie was silent. Then the Figure wrapped her closer, and turning,
flew back toward the seashore. "What was the song they sang?" asked
Effie. "I could not tell the words." "You could not tell the words,"
said the voice of the Figure, "because you did not sing with them. If
you had sung with them, you would have heard the words. I can only tell
you a little of it, but if you sing these words, the rest will some time
come to you. They all sang at the first--
"Praise to Thee! Praise to Thee!
Thou art all Purity.
Thou art the Source of Light--
Scatter Thou the dark night.
Shine on us! shine on us!"
Effie said the words over, and the voice said again "If you sing them
with the song of the sea-maidens you will understand them better." Then
Effie fell asleep, just as they came again to the open window and she
knew nothing more till she was waked by her mother calling out--
"Effie, child! wake up! the sun was up long ago! come! come!"
Effie started up. It was broad daylight. Her father was out-doors,
looking after his nets, and her mother was getting the table ready for
breakfast. She dressed herself quickly, saying over in mind the words
just taught her. Then she recollected that she could understand them
better if she sang the song of the sea. So she said that to herself
also.
"Do you go and get some water to put in the kettle, Effie," said her
mother.
"Yes, mother," said she, and as she went she sang to herself--
"Work, hands! Love, heart!
Every one here has his part."
"Good-morning, little one," said her father, meeting her in the
door-way; "here's a bright day for your new year!"
"Isn't it!" said Effie, giving him a kiss and then singing--
"Praise to thee! Praise to thee;
Thou art all Purity.
Thou art the Source of Light."
"I believe the child's going to be a good girl, wife," said Father
Gilder, coming into the house.
"Well, I hope she is, for she's been sulky enough before this," said
Mother Gilder.
"True, true," replied he, "but sulky birds don't sing."
The year went slowly by. Effie sang the two songs as she worked, and
helped her mother and was a comfort to her father. Every morning when
she got up, she sang the Song of the Mountain, and through the day she
kept singing, too, the Song of the Sea. Very often she thought of the
old man, and wondered what she should ask for the third and last time he
came. She thought she ought to ask for the best thing she could think
of, but for a long time she could not make up her mind, until a few days
before her birth-day, as she was singing the two songs. Then was she
impatient for the day to come, that she might ask her last and great
wish.
Wish the Third.--In the Cottage.
[Illustration]
The eighth birth-day came at last, but before the sun was to set, Mrs.
Gilder called her. "Here, Effie," said she, "I want you to go down cellar
before it is dark, and sweep it clean. It's dreadfully dirty."
"Must I go now, mother?"
"Yes, right off; it'll be too dark if you don't make haste," and Mrs.
Gilder drew a bunch of keys out of one of her apron pockets and unlocked
the closet door and brought out a broom for Effie. Effie took the broom
and went down cellar. "Well," thought she, "I must do my work at any
rate, and the old man may not come by till I get it done." So she set to
work, sweeping out the cellar. She had just finished and stooped to
pick up a perverse chip. As she lifted herself up, there stood that same
old man again!
"Why! how _did_ you get in, sir?" said she.
"The sun is most down, Effie," said he without answering her question,
"what is your Last Wish?" As he said it his head shook harder than ever
before, and he leaned on his cane so that he was almost bent double.
"Oh, sir! I wish," said Effie, "that I might do some great work that
should make others happy, and that I might be able to sing the whole of
the Song of the Mountain." As she said this the old man raised his head
slowly from his staff, and when she finished, lo! he was changed into a
great beam of light that cast its rays all about the cellar. Effie flew
up stairs with her broom, and ran to the cottage door. The sea was
sparkling with light, and the sun went down clear and beautiful.
"Aye! there's a sunset for you, chicky," said Father Gilder, coming up
from the shore. "There'll be no storm after that! Do you remember your
last birth day, little one, when there was such a sudden storm came
up?" Yes, indeed, Effie remembered it and wondered whether the sky would
always be clear now.
The next day Effie looked for somebody to come and give her some great
thing to do, and teach her the Song of the Mountain, as she had wished
for her last wish. But no one came--no, nor the next day, nor the day
after; and then every thing went wrong. Her mother became sick and
cross, and finally died; and Effie had to wear the wonderful apron with
so many pockets, and work hard every day. How could she do any great
work? All she could do was to take care of the house and do little
things--ever so many of them there were, too, so that when the evening
came she was quite tired out. But her father said she was a comfort to
him, and he loved to have her sit by him and sing to him. She sang the
two songs over and over, as she did every day at her work, and never
tired of singing them, nor did he tire of hearing them.
So she lived on. She had a great many more birthdays, but no old man
came to see her, and nobody came to give her a great work to do, or to
teach her the rest of the song. By and by her father died too, but Effie
lived still in the little red cottage by the sea-shore. And if any were
sick or in trouble, they were sure to come to her. For every body loved
her, and wherever she went she seemed to carry the sunlight with her,
and to make everybody better and happier. Still no one came, though
every birth-day she sat at the door, looking for the old man.
But he did come at last. It was her birth-day. She was an old woman, but
she sat in the door-way as she used to, watching for somebody to come to
her with a great work to do, and the rest of the song. She sat in her
great arm-chair, and her eyes were very dim so that she could not see
very well, and her ears were very dull, so that she could hardly hear at
all. There was the sun that had so often gone down without any one's
appearing. But before it touched the water she heard a voice--that old
sweet voice that she had never forgotten, saying, "Effie!" She looked,
and there she saw the same face that the old man used to have, but that
was all she could see. Then it said again, "Effie!" and she said:
"Oh, sir! have you come at last to give me my wish? I have looked for
you year after year, and now I am an old woman, and have not many more
days to live."
"Your wish has been granted, Effie. You asked for some great work to do
to make others happy. All your life since you have been doing the great
work. There is nothing right or holy done for others that is not great.
The little daily duties that you did so faithfully; the little
kindnesses you showed to others; the little pleasant words you
spoke--these are all great things."
"But the Song of the Mountain?" asked Effie.
"Dear child," said he, "you have sung the song all your life. If you
have thanked God for his goodness to you--if you have loved him for his
love to you--if you have prayed to him to make you good and holy--you
have sung the Song of the Mountain."
"Praise to thee! Praise to thee!" murmured the old woman. Then she
thought she heard the whole mountain singing as it did the morning she
listened to it; and the great song was sung, and she sang also, and the
voice beside her sang.
* * * * *
----The people who lived about there say, that when they came in the
morning to see Old Effie, she was sitting in her arm-chair, with her
hands folded, and her lips half parted as if she had sung herself to
sleep; and when they touched her she did not move--for Old Effie was
dead.
[Illustration]
A Christmas Stocking
With a Hole in it
BEN'S STORY
I.
The Stocking is Hung.
[Illustration]
At Christmas-tide in New York, the people who live in the upper part of
the city cannot hear the chimes that ring from Trinity steeple; but in
the dwelling streets which run in and out among the warehouse streets,
and in the courts which stand stock still and refuse to go a step
further,--there the Trinity music is heard and the "merry Christmas" of
the bells is flung out to all however poor. Beside Trinity there are
but few chimes of bells in the city, neither do poor children there sing
Christmas carols in the streets and thus unlatch the doors of even
crabbed hearts.
But the merriest chimes of bells are played and the sweetest carols sung
even in New York. For when at Christmas one walks in the crowded streets
he may hear on all sides the merry Christmas! merry Christmas to you! to
you! rung out on every key and the chiming makes perfect music; the poor
children sing carols too, for are they not each little songs as they
stand in their rags before well-to-do folk--songs without
words--reminding us of the poor child Jesus and the blessings which He
brought? Yes, the bells ring in our hearts and we hear carols then at
least if not at other times; and in some old cobwebbed heart does
Christmas fancy or Christmas memory enter and ring disused bells that
sound but a hoarse blessing, so rusty has their metal become, but a
blessing at least well-meant. Blessed be Christmas that it knocks so at
the door of our hearts.
Now it was on a certain Christmas that some very pleasant chimes were
rung, and that too within hearing of Trinity bells. In the street on
Christmas eve were Bundles of great coats and furs tied together with
tippets, who hurried along like locomotives, puffing and snorting and
leaving behind a line of smoke. But all the people in the streets were
not Bundles, by any means. Some scarcely had any wrappings, let alone
such heavy coverings as great coats and furs. Little boys may be Bundles
if they are properly wrapped up and tied with a tippet or scarf, but not
all little boys are Bundles. On this eve one might see many who were
not. They kept their hands in their pockets or breathed upon their red
fingers, and drew their shoulders together and screwed their faces as if
they were trying to hide behind themselves, while the wind blew through
every crevice of their bodies and rattled the teeth in their mouths.
One of these little boys upon this very Christmas eve hung up his
stocking, and what became of it is now to be told. His name was Peter
Mit. He had been out all day selling cigars, and was on his way home to
supper. But hungry and cold as he was, he could not help stopping to
look through the shop-windows at the beautiful things spread out so
temptingly behind them. Such toys and games and picture books! "Now,"
said he, "I must run;" but just as he started, he came to a window so
much finer than any he had seen that he stopped before this also. There
was a string fastened across the inside of the window with picture and
story papers hung upon it; the glass was not very clear, for the frost
made it almost like crown-glass, but it was clear enough in the corner
to shew one of the pictures, which was a double one; in one part there
was a little boy in his night-gown hanging a stocking upon the door of
his bed-chamber; in the other part the little boy is shown snugly asleep
in his bed, while a most odd little man hung over with toys and picture
books of all kinds stands on tip-toe before the stocking, filling it
with playthings. There was some printing underneath that explained the
picture; as well as Peter could make out, this little boy like a great
many others hung up his stocking before he went to bed on Christmas eve,
and some time during the night, Santa Klaus, a queer old man, very fond
of little folk, came down the chimney and filled the stocking with
presents. This was all new to little Peter, and astonished him
exceedingly; but it was really too cold to stand there looking at even
the most wonderful picture, so he blew into his red fist, and ran off
home, taking long slides on the ice wherever he could.