Fountain Court. That is a fine-sounding name, but the houses are very
wretched and low, though quite grand people lived there in olden times;
where the fountain was no one could say, unless the wheezy pump that
stands at the head of the court were meant for it; of this the Pump
itself had no doubt. It was very large and had a long heavy handle that
always stood out stiffly; there was a knob on the top of the pump that
had once been gilded but that was a long time ago, when the Pump was
aristocratic and presumed itself to be a Fountain. It was dingy and
broken now, but the Pump was none the less proud and dignified; it took
pleasure in holding out its handle stiffly and never letting it down
though people stumbled against it every day. "It had been there the
longest," the Pump said, "it had a right to the way; people must learn
to turn out for it."
It was down this Fountain Court--though people now generally called it
Pump Court--that little Peter Mit ran as fast as his legs could carry
him. He stopped at the fourth house on the right-hand side; it was a low
building, only a story and a half high, yet a respectable merchant had
lived there formerly. Before the door stood a battered wooden image of a
savage Indian, holding out a bunch of cigars in his hand, and looking as
if he meant to tomahawk you if you didn't take one. The Indian was quite
stuck over with snow-balls, for he was a fine mark for the boys in the
court, who divided their attention between his head and the knob on top
of the Pump. If it were not so dark, one might spell out on the dingy
sign over the door, the names "MORGRIDGE AND MIT DEALERS IN TOBACCO."
The only window was adorned with half a dozen boxes of cigars, a few
pipes, a bottle of snuff, and a melancholy plaister sailor, who had been
smoking one pipe, with his hands in his pockets, as long as the oldest
inhabitant in the court could remember.
Peter Mit opened the door from the street and entered the shop; one
solitary oil lamp stood upon the counter, behind which sat David
Morgridge, the surviving partner of the firm of Morgridge and Mit
Dealers in Tobacco. Solomon Mit, the uncle of little Peter had been dead
five years, and on dying had bequeathed his orphan-nephew to his
partner, and so as Mr. Morgridge had no children, and Peter had no
father, the two lived together alone in the old house.
Mr. Morgridge was not a talkative man--one would see that at a glance;
his mouth looked as if it shut with a spring. Mr. Mit, when living had
been even more silent, but when he did speak--then one would look for
golden words; for so small a man he was surely very wise. Mr. Morgridge
used to say that it was because his name was Solomon, and that was the
only thing Mr. Morgridge had ever said that came near being witty. All
the court knew it, and the saying almost turned the corner at the head
of the court. They divided the business between them Mr. Morgridge
attending to the snuff department, Mr. Mit to the cigar and pipe branch.
It was the intention of Mr. Mit, expressed soon after the adoption of
little Peter, to bring him up to take charge of the chewing tobacco
branch. In consequence of this division of the business, David Morgridge
took snuff incessantly, but never smoked. Solomon Mit smoked all the
while but never took snuff. They did this to recommend their wares.
Besides, it served to explain the duty of each partner. If a customer
came in for pipes or cigars he invariably went directly to Mr. Mit; if
he came for snuff, he as surely turned to Mr. Morgridge.
When Peter entered the shop, Mr. Morgridge was just wiping his face
after a pinch of snuff; the whole air of the shop was snuffy, and no one
came in without instantly being tempted to sneeze. Peter sneezed as a
matter of course, and Mr. Morgridge, after his usual fashion, replied
with a "God bless you!" He seldom got the compliment in return, however,
as in his case the blessing would have become so common as to be quite
worthless. Mr. Morgridge then inquired into Peter's sales, and with
that his regular conversation ended. His mouth shut so closely, with the
corners turned down to cover any possible opening, that one would know
immediately that no accidental words could escape. But to-night Peter
did not mean to let his guardian keep his usual silence; he was too much
concerned about the picture he had seen in the shop-window. He waited
however till after tea. Then, as they returned to the shop, Mr.
Morgridge taking his customary seat upon his bench, with a pot of snuff
beside him, set about his work of putting up tobacco in divers shapes.
Peter took his customary seat also, much above Mr. Morgridge. It was a
seat which he had inherited from his uncle. Solomon Mit, being a
contemplative man, was desirous of being lifted above ordinary things
when he pursued his meditations, and had accordingly built a sort of
watch-tower out of several boxes, placed one upon another, and topped by
an arm-chair, deprived of its legs. Into this chair Solomon used to
climb, and when there, his head was not far from the ceiling. Here he
would sit in his lofty station, and wrapped in the smoke from his own
pipe, would revolve in his mind various questions, occasionally dropping
from the clouds a remark to his partner, who sat snuffing below on the
bench. Customers, when they entered the shop, had become used to the
sight of the little man's legs as they appeared below the cloud, and a
classical scholar chancing in one day to fill his pipe, had likened him
to Zeus upon the top of Olympus.
Peter valued this watch-tower above all his possessions, and here every
night he sat perched, and counted the fly-specks on the ceiling, or
fished up things from the floor by means of a hook and line which he
kept by him. To-night, however, after he had climbed into the chair, he
broke the usual silence by putting the following question to Mr.
Morgridge:
"Mr. Morgridge, is this Christmas Eve?" to which David Morgridge, after
taking a pinch of snuff cautiously replied:
"It may be;" and then added, as if to explain his uncertainty of
mind--"I don't keep the run o' Christmas."
[Illustration: "Mr. Morgridge, is this Christmas Eve?"]
"Does Santa Klaus really come down a chimney Christmas night and fill
the stocking with presents?" proceeded Peter. And then, getting no
answer, he gave an account of what he had seen in the window, and being
very much interested, he told also what he thought of it all, and the
resolution that he had finally come to, namely, to hang up his own
stocking that very night. Mr. Morgridge having listened to what Peter
had to say, took more snuff and seemed disposed to let that end the
matter, but Peter persisted in getting his opinion.
"Mr. Morgridge," said he, "do you think Santa Klaus will come and fill
my stocking?" Being pressed for an answer, Mr. Morgridge made shift to
say--
"May be, but should say not; used to believe in Santa Klaus when I was a
boy; don't now; 'taint no use."
This was rather discouraging, but Peter upon thinking it over on his
watch-tower, reflected that Mr. Morgridge used to believe in Santa
Klaus, and that the queer fellow only visited boys: besides, he thought
it might be owing to the snuff that he disbelieved in him now; for it
was by that Peter usually explained Mr. Morgridge's eccentricities.
But Peter was tired and drowsy, and clambering down from his perch, set
out for his bed, groping his way up the steep staircase that led to the
half-story above, where he had his cot. He never went up that staircase
in the dark--and a light was a luxury not to be thought of--without
imagining all manner of horrors which he might see at the top. In one
place, there were two small holes in the floor close together; the place
was over the shop, and whenever there was a light burning below, he
could see these two holes blinking and shining like two eyes. It was the
last thing he saw when he got into bed, and he would say to himself in a
bold way, as if to show any ghosts or goblins that might possibly be
about, how undaunted he was, "Two Eyes! come here and swallow me up!"
and then he would draw the bed-clothes over his head for a minute or
two, and peep out to reassure himself that Two Eyes had not taken him at
his word and come to swallow him up. But Two Eyes never came, and this
gave him fresh courage, so that of late he had become quite bold in the
dark.
As he climbed up the staircase this night, his little head was full of
the idea of Santa Klaus. The chimney was convenient, he thought to
himself, for it passed through the loft and there was a large open
fire-place in it never used. But then, suppose he should come down
before the fire in the room below was fairly out! he would get scorched.
But it was too cold to sit long guessing about such matters, so he
undressed himself quickly. Last of all, he drew off his right stocking.
This he held in his hand--"Oh!" said he, "it has got a hole in it; the
things will all come out!" Indeed, it was almost all hole, for beside
the proper hole which every stocking has or it isn't a stocking, there
was a hole in the heel and another very large one in the toes. He looked
at it in despair, and then took up the other one; but that was even
worse. He consoled himself, finally, as well as he could, by the
reflection that Santa Klaus would probably put all the large things in
first, and thus they would stop the holes up and nothing would be lost.
He cast about now for a place to hang it. The little boy in the picture
hung his on the door, but that was out of the question, for there was no
nail there. He remembered finally a hook in the wall not far from the
chimney. It was a dreadful place to go to, so near Two Eyes! but he
mustered courage, especially when he considered how very convenient it
would be for Santa Klaus. His heart went pit-a-pat as he stole over the
floor; the boards under his feet creaked and every bone in his body
seemed to be going off like a firecracker. It seemed to him as if Two
Eyes and all his friends were starting from every corner of the room.
Going back was not so bad as all the ghosts were now behind him. He
shivered into his cold bed, and drew his knees up to his chin. So
excited was he about Santa Klaus, that when he looked presently toward
the other end of the room and saw Two Eyes blinking at him, he forgot
for the instant that he had ever seen them before, and fancied Santa
Klaus must have made his appearance already. He was just ready to
scream, when he recollected what the Eyes were, and boldly saying:--
"Two Eyes! come here and swallow me up!" he rolled himself up in the bed
clothes and was soon fast asleep.
II.
Midnight.
[Illustration]
The clock of Trinity struck twelve. One would have thought from the long
pause after each stroke, that it had great difficulty in making out the
complete number. Really it was so long about it because it wished to
give plenty of time for starting to the various persons and things in
the neighborhood, who are wont to be agog at that hour only. The Man on
St. Paul's, however, was so long getting ready that the twelfth stroke
came before he was fairly off,--so he lost his chance for this time. It
is so with him every night. When the first stroke comes it startles him
and he rubs his eyes and wonders where he is; he continues to rub his
eyes and wonder till the sixth stroke has sounded. Then he collects his
thoughts a little, and by the ninth stroke remembers that if he is quick
enough, he can shut up his book, get down from his high and
uncomfortable perch, and stretch his legs a little in a ramble through
the church-yard or round the Park. Having to be in a hurry, for it must
be done during the three following strokes, he gets confused, and before
he can muster sufficient presence of mind, the clock has struck twelve,
and he must wait another day.
The Grocer on the City Hall was in a difficult predicament. It has long
been his intention to get down with his scales and weigh the City
Corporation. He tries to do it when the clock strikes twelve, as that is
his only chance. He heard the first stroke, and was on the alert. He
indeed succeeded in reaching the ground, but he could not find the
Corporation, though he searched the Hall and the Park. All that he could
discover was a sleepy alderman. He returned to his place in disgust. He
could not see, for his part, why the Corporation did not sit in the
night-time; it would seem to be the proper hour. This he said to the
Eagle perched on a pole near by, and who had just returned from a visit
to his grand-uncle who has been all his life on the point of dropping an
umbrella, point downward, on the greatest rogue in the city. The Eagle
found his grand-uncle had not yet dropped the umbrella, because he was
not sure that he had found the greatest rogue.
But other people and things are not so stupid as the Man on St. Paul's,
nor so unsuccessful as the Grocer. They are brisker and seize the
opportunity to enjoy themselves. The Pump, for instance, that stands at
the head of Fountain Court, generally indulges himself in a soliloquy.
He talks through his nose, to be sure, which sounds disagreeably, but
the nearest listeners do not mind it. For the Man on St. Paul's is too
stupid or it may be asleep. The Grocer is running round with his scales,
looking for the Corporation. Sir Walter Raleigh has taken so much snuff
that his own voice is even more disagreeable, and so he has no right to
complain. The nearest listener of all would be the Indian in front of
Morgridge and Mit, dealers in tobacco, but he has gone to have a talk
with Sir Walter Raleigh; so the Pump has it all its own way. Let us hear
what the Pump said this night:--
"Well, so it's Christmas again, is it? how the years do go by! and how
things change! To think of the difference between this court now and
what it used to be! Why, I can remember very well when fine ladies and
gentlemen gathered here on Christmas eve. The watchman would go along
with them with a lantern in his hand. I was of importance then--I am
now, to be sure, but then people recognized me and considered me. I gave
the name to the court--that was something! But those days went by; and
then there was that time when a noisy fellow got up on my head, where he
kept his place with difficulty, and spouted ever so much eloquence about
rights and liberty and constitution. No good ever came of that! for it
was he who broke off a piece of the gilt knob on my head, and it has
never been mended since. That was the beginning of my troubles, and now
to what a pass have things come. Why, a ragged, drunken man leaned up
against me--ugh! this very night, and I see the poorest kind of people
go down the court. I was used to have nothing but fine pitchers and
pails brought to me to fill, but now I have to look into dirty broken
pitchers and old tubs. They have even begun to call the place Pump
Court, as if I were no better than a common every-day pump! What is
worst, there is an upstart just the other side of the way,--it lets out
water to be sure, but it has nothing to say about it; it has no handle,
and the water comes out by just turning a screw; altogether it is a very
plebeian thing; it can know nothing of the pleasure of feeling a box go
rumbling down your inside, and fetching up water from the depths of the
earth.
"There go the Christmas bells! Many a time I've heard them before and
seen Santa Klaus hurrying along to visit every house in the court. He
never goes near them now, and no wonder, for he can't care to associate
with such low people. When he does come, he looks soberer, and not so
jolly as he used to; nor does he bring so many and such fine things. I
am in fact the only respectable thing in the neighborhood. But bless my
boxes! what a shock that was! somebody must have struck my handle;
served him right; he ought to turn out. I've been here the longest."
It was the sleepy alderman who was hastening by. "Confound that
pump-handle!" said he. "That's the second time to-day I've stumbled
against it. I'll have the pump taken up and carted off to-morrow. It's a
nuisance; nobody wants it here."
It was difficult to make out what the Pump said to this; it was so
choked with rage at the indignity, that only a confused gurgling could
be distinguished in its throat. But that was the end of its soliloquy.
The Pump was partly right. Santa Klaus did not visit the court as often
as he used, nor did he bring such fine presents with him. But it was not
because he disliked the society that he did not come, it was because
they did not hang stockings up. The stocking must be hung or he will
not go--that is the rule. He is wonderfully keen in scent; he will go
straight to a stocking even if it be hidden in the darkest corner. He
cares nothing about time or place either. He can be where he chooses at
any moment. So, just as the twelfth stroke of Trinity sounded, Santa
Klaus was in Fountain Court. The Indian was scurrying down the place
with his cigars in his hand, and taking his stand before Morgridge and
Mit, put on his face its fiercest expression as the sound of the stroke
died away. At the same moment Santa Klaus was in the house, in the loft
where little Peter Mit had hung his stocking. Whether he entered by the
chimney or not, it is impossible to say, but I suspect he did, for the
door was locked and there was no other entrance.
At any rate there he was, and standing on tip-toe by Peter's stocking.
He began to fill it and emptied one of his pockets. "Really," said he,
"this is a very capacious stocking." It was not full yet, and he emptied
into it another pocketful. "This is remarkable!" said he, stopping in
amazement, "it is as roomy as a meal-bag. What an extraordinary foot
that little boy must have!"
Santa Klaus' clothes are all pocket pretty much, and he emptied the
contents of a third into the stocking, which was still not full. Then he
stopped to examine it. "Oh! oh!" said he, "this is very bad! there is a
hole in the stocking!" It would never do to keep pouring things in at
one end while they passed out at the other, and his presents could only
be placed in stockings. So Santa Klaus sorrowfully gathered up the
presents, and leaving the stocking as empty as he found it, was off in a
twinkling.
III.
Kleiner Traum visits Peter Mit.
[Illustration]
The moment Santa Klaus whisked out of the room, Kleiner Traum whisked
in. It is impossible to say how he got into the room either; it is
enough that he was there. Kleiner Traum is a very remarkable personage.
He is like Santa Klaus in this, that he moves very quickly and can make
visits in one night all over the world. But more than that, he has the
power of making people see just what he chooses. Some persons think that
they have seen two Kleiner Traums, a good and a bad, but the fault is
in their eyes. He carries a kaleidoscope with him and shakes it before
people; just how he shakes it, so are the things they see. These things
are very apt to be like what has happened to them at different times,
only much more grotesque.
Kleiner Traum had come to make Peter Mit a visit, and show him his
kaleidoscope. Little Peter was fast asleep--that is the only time when
Kleiner Traum visits people,--and snugly curled up in bed. He was not
thinking or dreaming about anything, when now Kleiner Traum held the
kaleidoscope before him, and gave it a twist. What now did he see?
He saw an exceedingly queer-looking man squeeze out of the fire-place;
he was hung over with toys, and his pockets bulged out with the things
inside; in fact, he was quite the image of the little man he had seen in
the picture in the shop-window, and Peter made up his mind instantly
that it was Santa Klaus. As soon as he got on his legs in the middle of
the room, Two Eyes, whom Peter had so often called upon to swallow him
up, began moving about, apparently trying to mislead Santa Klaus. Peter
was ready to scream out, but for the life of him he couldn't make a
sound. He watched Two Eyes, who seemed to think he would draw Santa
Klaus to the head of the staircase, and then dance about so as to make
him tumble headlong down the steps. But Santa Klaus was too knowing for
Two Eyes. Peter saw him go to the door as if expecting to find the
stocking there, and then not finding it, turn about and walk around the
room till he came to where it hung upon the hook.
Peter was now terribly excited, and Kleiner Traum gave the kaleidoscope
another twist. During the process of twisting, Peter's mind was in a
queer jumble, and he thought he saw Two Eyes peeping out of the
stocking, and Santa Klaus sitting on the Pump at the head of the court;
but as soon as the kaleidoscope was still, it was clear again, and he
could see Santa Klaus standing on tip-toe before the stocking and
emptying into it the contents of his pockets.
The first thing he took out was a tin trumpet; just such a one as Peter
had himself seen in a shop-window the day before. This he put into the
stocking, giving a chuckle and trying it to see if it were good; it
sounded splendidly. Then came a sled. It was astonishing how it ever
came out of Santa Klaus' pocket and still more astonishing how it could
get into the stocking. Yet surely Peter saw it enter, and that very
easily. After the sled came a monkey-jack. Before he put it in Santa
Klaus twitched the monkey, and made it turn summersaults over the stick,
till he was nearly ready to fall down with laughing at it. A mask came
next--a leering mask with a long nose, and eyes, frightful enough to
scare all the people in the court. Then followed a warm muffler for the
head; it was a very comfortable looking thing. No sooner was the muffler
safely in than a pint of peanuts rolled into the stocking, and after the
peanuts came some marbles, and after the marbles, a dozen red apples,
and after the apples a pair of skates, and after the skates a bundle of
candy.
It certainly was astonishing to see how much the stocking would hold.
Peter could hardly believe his eyes, yet there it was, and he saw
everything that went into it. But the candy was the last thing; the
stocking was now full and the candy peeped out at the top. Peter saw
Santa Klaus look approvingly at the stocking, give it a pat and
disappear through the fire-place again, looking just as full of presents
as when he came down.
At this point Kleiner Traum turned the kaleidoscope, and Peter was all
in a jumble again. Apparently the stocking was going up the chimney and
Santa Klaus was riding on the toe, while Two Eyes was coming toward
Peter to swallow him up. Peter was just on the point of giving himself
up for lost, expecting the next moment to be swallowed up by Two Eyes,
when it was clear again, and Two Eyes was in his old place, and the
stocking was hanging on its hook; only Santa Klaus had disappeared up
the chimney. For you see, Kleiner Traum's kaleidoscope was quiet again.
Now what did Peter see? The stocking was swollen to an enormous bulk,
and what was more, Peter could see everything that was going on inside.
He saw that they were quarrelling about the places they should occupy;
for in the heel and in the toe of the stocking, were the two holes which
were now of an alarming size. The Sled commenced the trouble. It felt
itself slowly but surely slipping toward the hole in the toe, with the
weight of all the other things on him. "Don't crowd so!" Peter heard the
Sled say to the Tin Trumpet.
"I'm not pushing," said the Tin Trumpet; "I'd give anything if I weren't
sliding so toward that dreadful hole!" "Monkey-Jack, I'll thank you to
keep that stick of yours out of my mouth." Just then, an apple losing
its footing, dropped through the hole in the heel of the stocking, and
Peter heard it go rolling over the floor; another quickly followed, and
another.
"Oh!" said the Mask, "this is getting dangerous; there is a dreadful
cavity under me; but I'll put a bold face on it. There goes another
apple." Peter heard apple follow apple out of the hole in the heel, till
the whole dozen were on the floor, where they still went rolling off
after each other toward the staircase when they hopped thumpty-thump
down the steps, till the last one had gone. Meanwhile the Sled, the Tin
Trumpet and the Monkey-Jack were having a sad time in the foot of the
stocking. "I cannot hold on much longer," said the Sled, and it had
hardly spoken the words, before it slid out through the toe, and Peter
heard it go sliding over the floor and follow the apples down the
staircase.