weak voice was heard in the corner. It was a Peanut complaining bitterly
of the Marbles. "If ye had not come in here among us," it said, "we
should have done very well, but now ye are pushing us all toward the
hole." The Marbles could not reply, they were too frightened themselves;
they had crowded in among the Peanuts for safety, and now there was
danger of both going. One large Marble alone held them all back; it was
wedged in by the Monkey-Jack, and the Monkey-Jack had its stick in the
Tin Trumpet's mouth. But the Tin Trumpet had only caught by a single
thread of the stocking; that gave way, and down came the Trumpet
followed by the Monkey-Jack. The Trumpet rolled off toward the door like
the rest, and the Monkey-Jack went head-over-heels after it. Of course
the large Marble had no help for it now; he dropped out of the heel,
and the rest of the Marbles came tumbling after with the Peanuts in the
midst of them. The Marbles and Peanuts, unlike the rest, rolled off
toward Two Eyes; the Marbles disappeared through one eye, the Peanuts
through the other.
It seemed of no avail now for the rest to keep their place. "It is no
use to keep up appearances longer," said the Mask, and he dropped out
and walked off on his nose. The Skates who had not spoken before, now
turned to the Muffler and said: "We shall cut a pretty figure going
through the hole like the rest, we may not go after all; there's many a
slip--" but before they had finished the sentence they had followed the
rest, and were striking out for the door.
Nothing now remained but the Muffler and the Candy. The Muffler spoke in
a thick voice, "I am a sort of relation to the stocking and intend to
remain by it, if it is a poor relation. It won't turn me out of doors,
surely." The Candy, replied in a sweet voice, "As for me, I shall stick
to the stocking. My dear Muffler, you quite melt me, you are so warm
and affectionate."
After this point, Peter could see or hear nothing further, and for a
very good reason--Kleiner Traum had vanished with his kaleidoscope.
IV.
Kleiner Traum Visits David Morgridge.
[Illustration]
It is no secret whither Kleiner Traum vanished. The moment he had left
little Peter Mit, he was sitting on David Morgridge's breast,
kaleidoscope in hand.
One shake of the kaleidoscope. Really, Mr. Morgridge sees strange
things. He sees a little boy no bigger than Peter Mit, in a snug little
room, hanging up on the door a red and white plaid stocking. The
strangest thing is that he remembers the place and surroundings
perfectly. He knows the cozy room, the white dimity curtains, the
little cot bed, the sixteen-paned window looking out on the church-spire
and the meadow; it was as if he had skipped sixty years of his life
backward, for the little boy was a diminutive David Morgridge.
But the kaleidoscope makes quick shifts. Here is another turn, and Mr.
Morgridge, as if he were a picture on the wall, is looking at a room
which he knows well enough. It is the tobacco shop. There are two men in
it; one sits on the bench and takes snuff, and does up little paper
pellets; the other is just discoverable under a cloud of tobacco smoke,
perched upon the top of a small observatory. This, too, is Christmas
Eve, for so the little man on the watch-tower announces, as if he kept
the calendar of the seasons, and piped an "All's Well" to his comrade
below.
"David," he says, "David Morgridge! This is Christmas Eve. 'On earth
peace, good will toward men.' That's what the Bible says, and that's
what Trinity chimes say. How many Christmases have we kept together?
eighteen, David; then that's eighteen turkeys for the poor folk, though
bless us we're not much richer." This is a long speech for Solomon Mit,
yet the man snuffing on the bench says nothing, but scowls. Then does
Solomon Mit clamber down from his watch-tower, and with his cheery,
piping voice sing a Christmas hymn, and though David Morgridge never
lends his voice, the little man is no whit disheartened, but ends with
laying his hand on David's shoulder and heartily wishing--"God bless
you, David Morgridge, old friend--God bless us all!" and climbs once
more to the top of his tower.
Quickly turns the kaleidoscope again, and now Mr. Morgridge, like a
shadow in the dark that can see but not be seen, is in the room where he
is now sleeping. But he is not on the bed, he is standing by the side of
it, and the old cheery voice, though weaker now, of Solomon Mit comes
from the pillow. The little man has come down from his tower for the
last time, and has puffed his last pipeful of tobacco smoke. This, too,
is Christmas Eve, and Solomon Mit has not forgotten it. Listen, he is
speaking now.
"David Morgridge, old friend, twenty years we've lived together. You've
been a true friend to me. We haven't said much, but we've trusted each
other. I'm the first to go, and I'm glad to go on Christmas Eve. I'd
like to go when the bells are ringing and Trinity is chiming, 'Peace on
earth, good will toward men;' that's it David. Don't forget the turkeys;
twenty you know; and don't make 'em chickens. You haven't always liked
to give them, but you will now. And you'll be good to little Peter. I
bequeath him to you, David, to hold and to keep in trust; and all that's
mine in the shop; it's all yours. There are the bells--
"'All glory be to God on high,
And to the Earth be peace'"--
But Solomon Mit has sung without finishing his last hymn.
What more Mr. Morgridge might have seen, we shall never know, for at
this point Kleiner Traum and his kaleidoscope vanished, and did not come
back that night at any rate.
V.
Morgridge Klaus.
[Illustration]
When does Christmas Day begin? It can never be determined, but most
people think it begins when they wake, though all do not wake at once;
the children generally have the longest Christmas Day. Now, in Fountain
Court, almost before daylight, there was some one astir. He came out of
the door of Morgridge & Mit, dealers in tobacco, and toddled up the
court at an astonishing gait. Where did he go to? he certainly passed
the pump and turned the corner, and in a quarter of an hour more was
trotting down the court with a parcel in his hand. The door of Morgridge
& Mit closes behind him, but not before we have seen his face. Verily,
it is Mr. Morgridge, but so extraordinarily like Santa Klaus is he, that
we are puzzled to know which of the two it is; the form and shoulders
are those of Mr. Morgridge, but the face at least is borrowed from Santa
Klaus; Mr. Morgridge never in his life looked so jolly. Not to confound
this person with the sour-faced man who sat glumpy, upon the bench
taking snuff, the night before, let us call him Morgridge Klaus.
Morgridge Klaus stole slily up stairs to Peter Mit's loft. He went up
stairs because there was so much of the Morgridge about him; if there
had been more of the Klaus he would undoubtedly have come down the
chimney. At the top of the stairs, where it was still quite dark, he
could see Peter curled up in bed. But it was not he that he had come to
see. He began groping about on the floor in search of something. "Ah!
here it is!" he said with a chuckle, bringing to light a stocking most
woefully riddled with holes. Morgridge Klaus stuffed a paper parcel into
the stocking, and laying it carefully on the floor, stumbled down
stairs, chuckling to himself and taking snuff immoderately.
Mr. Morgridge's Christmas Day had in fact commenced, but it was an hour
yet before Peter Mit began his Christmas Day. The little fellow rubbed
his eyes and drew his knees nearer his chin when he awoke. Then he
remembered the day and looked eagerly toward the chimney. There hung his
stocking, as small, as full of holes, and as empty as when he hung it.
"So it was a dream only after all," he said sorrowfully. Still he went
over to it in hopes that the dream might have come true, and that the
candy and muffler had remained by the stocking, but they too were gone.
Peter shiveringly dressed himself. He had now only one stocking and a
shoe to put on. How heavy the stocking was! there was something in it!
Peter grew greatly excited--"Santa Klaus must have taken this stocking
after all!" said he. Yes, there was a bundle, and the paper stuck to
the inside. It was candy without a doubt; but where was the muffler?
Peter turned the stocking inside out, but the muffler had gone after the
rest of the things. The candy alone was faithful.
Peter hastened down stairs. Mr. Morgridge was there getting breakfast
ready. Peter eagerly told him of his good fortune. What a chuckle did
the old fellow give! it was amazing to Peter. He had never before heard
Mr. Morgridge make such a noise. He had never seen his face so broken up
into smiles and grins. He could hardly believe it was Mr. Morgridge. Nor
was it--it was Morgridge Klaus.
While breakfast was in preparation, Peter climbed up into his
watch-tower. Well done! there was a muffler in the chair! precisely like
the one which he had seen enter the stocking the night before. How could
it have found its way to his seat? As he was looking at it in
wonderment, there was another undoubted chuckle from Morgridge Klaus.
Peter was astonished beyond measure. Could Mr. Morgridge be Santa Klaus?
impossible! yet he began to believe it, for was it any harder of belief
than that it was Mr. Morgridge who then spoke in a voice that had in it
the cheeriness of Solomon Mit:--
"Come down, little Peter! To-day is Christmas Day. We must hurry through
breakfast; for we've got twenty-five turkeys to carry to twenty-five
honest poor folk. It will go hard with us, but we'll make shift to buy
'em. God bless you Peter Mit!" and may the Indian in front of the door
tomahawk me if David Morgridge did not then and there, in his old,
wheezy, snuff-choked voice, sing--
"All glory be to God on high,
And to the Earth be peace,
Good will, henceforth, from Heaven to men,
Begin and never cease!"
[Illustration]
The Little Castaways
JULIA'S STORY.
The Little Castaways.
[Illustration]
It was a June afternoon, long and gentle; the sun did not scorch as it
does in August, and the wind was from the South, just strong enough to
stir the trees a little, and to carry the fragrance of the flowers
through the air. It was such an afternoon as old people like to spend
listlessly watching the bees and the butterflies, and thinking of old
times; nor are they the only people who like June afternoons; their
children and their grandchildren in different fashion, make the most of
these long hours and never think them too long.
Old Benjy Robin was humming a psalm-tune as he sat in his chair upon the
front stoop of his son's house, where he always lived; he had moved away
a little from the open passage which led to the back of the house, to
avoid the draught of wind that passed gently through. It was a very
pleasant wind to younger folk, but Old Benjy was turned of eighty, and
not so warm in his blood as to like such cool currents. His cane stood
between his knees, over which was spread a large red silk handkerchief,
and his hands were folded before him; while his two thumbs slowly turned
round each other, sometimes one way, sometimes the other. Before him he
could see down the garden walk, with its trim rows of shrubbery, and
beyond farther on, the very lovely hills that closed in the lake of
Clearwater, the shore of which was but a little way off. John Robin,
his son, who owned the house and farm, owned also part of the lake, and
there was a path, leading from the other side of the road in front of
the house, down to the shore where the horses were taken to water and
where the farmer kept his boats. It was a beautiful view from the stoop,
especially when as now the white clouds were floating over the tops of
the hills.
It was so quiet and the air was so mild that old Benjy soon began to
feel sleepy; he took the red bandanna from his knees and threw it over
his head to keep the flies away from his face, and then settled himself
to sleep, while his thumbs continued to go slowly round and round as if
they were trying in vain to overtake one another. Old Juniper too, the
great Newfoundland dog that lay at his feet, gave up trying to catch the
flies that plagued him, and stretching himself out as much as he could,
drew in his tongue over his red gums, and also fell sound asleep
breathing very hard.
The only persons in the house this June afternoon were the old man,
Juniper the dog, and Yulee, and Bo, Robin, Benjy's grandchildren. Their
father and mother had gone out for the afternoon and would not be back
until after tea; the boys were at work at the other end of the farm, and
so the children had been left in care of their grandfather and the
servant-maids. But Benjy had gone to sleep, and the servants had taken
the time to pay a visit to the next farmhouse. The children however did
not notice this; they were sitting on the door-step at the back of the
house, at the opposite end of the passage to where their grandfather
was. They enjoyed the wind that was blowing through so pleasantly, and
Yulee was reading aloud from a book to her brother Bo. Yulee was eight
years old; her real name was Julia, but no one but the school mistress
ever called her so. Bo, short for Robert, was two years younger and
wanted to do everything that Yulee did. Wherever Yulee was, there you
would be sure to find Bo. He followed her about as faithfully as a
chicken does her mother, and Yulee treated him very much as a hen does
its only chicken.
The book they were reading was called "_The Castaways_," and Bo was
listening to Yulee with the greatest attention. At last, just as the
great clock in the hall struck three, Yulee finished; she had skipped
some of the parts, especially the hard names and Miss Keenmark's
science, but she had read the book through and Bo had heard most of it.
"Bo!" said she, as she shut the book, "I'd like to be a castaway,
wouldn't you? It would be so fine to live on the top of a rock and have
to go up a rope ladder, and keep goats, and save the lives of Africans,
and sleep in an ox-cart!"
"Oh, but the lions!" said Bo, "and the--and the--what are those big
things that live in the water, and most swallowed the canoe?--you know."
"I know what you mean," said Yulee. "The hippopotamuses. I said the word
all the way going to school yesterday, so as to remember it."
"I shouldn't like them," said Bo.
"Oh, but one of the men would fire right into his mouth, just as Albert
did. I'll find the place;" and turning over the leaves of the book, she
came to the story, and read:--"But they had not been long seated when a
tremendous shock was felt; the light canoe was thrown above the water,
and capsized in a moment; and Albert, who was standing at the stern of
the raft, watching the boat, saw, to his great horror, the huge head of
a hippopotamus raised above the water, preparing to seize the canoe with
its red open mouth. Calling for aid, he seized his gun and fired in the
face of the ferocious beast, which with terrific roars, dived down and
disappeared."
"But who'd you have to shoot the--pippi--what is it?" asked Bo.
"The hippopotamus," said Yulee, who liked to pronounce the word; "why,
of course, there must be some men wrecked with me: there's the captain,
and the doctor, and carpenter, and the passengers--"
"A'n't girls ever wrecked alone?" asked Bo; Yulee thought a minute; she
tried to recollect the different stories she had read about people who
were cast away. "No;" she said finally, "there is always the captain,
and the doctor, and the carpenter, and some of the passengers at least;
and the carpenter finds his chest."
Bo had nothing to say against such a mode of shipwrecking, and Yulee
continued: "But I think I'd rather be cast away on an island like
Robinson Crusoe or The Little Robinson, where there was water all
around, and canoes and pearls, just as it is in 'The Swiss Family.'"
"Bo!" she said suddenly, "I do declare! let's be cast away on the island
in the lake! We can get into the boat, you know, and be wrecked on the
shore, and you can take your bow and arrows, and I'll take my tea-set
and my range, and we'll build a little house, and perhaps there are some
goats on the island! Wouldn't it be grand!"
Bo opened his brown eyes wide at the idea. "Well let's do it!" said he;
it was enough for him that Yulee had proposed it; "I'll go right off and
get my bow and arrows."
"And I'll get my tea-set and the range, and I'll take Miss Phely," said
Yulee. They jumped up from the flat door-step, and ran into the house,
and up stairs to the play-room. There they began collecting what they
thought they should need, and Yulee very soon pounced on Miss Phely who
was in the corner of the room, sitting very stiffly upon a small willow
rocking chair. Miss Phely's face originally was black, but rather
streaked with a doubtful colour now, as it had been washed somewhat
vigorously at different times; her eyes were blue and very wide open,
and her dress, which wanted a pin behind, was of spotted pink calico.
Her arms she held rather stiffly away from her clothes, and her fingers
were stretched as far apart as they well could be. Yulee was in a hurry,
and took her up unceremoniously by the waist, but Miss Phely did not
seem at all disturbed, and did not even wink or shut her fingers
together.
They hurried down stairs and out by the front door, passing on tip-toe
by their grandfather, Old Benjy Robin, who slept soundly in his chair,
with his cane between his knees and the bandanna thrown over his head to
keep away the flies. Even Juniper, the dog, never woke up, though Yulee
was strongly tempted to add him to the party of castaways. They passed
through the garden gate, and crossing the road walked through the
pasture, down the path that led to the shore of Clearwater. There, tied
to a stake, was their father's flat-bottomed boat, with keel-boats near
by. Yulee chose the flat-bottomed boat, and they proceeded to put on
board their various stores.
First, and head foremost, Miss Phely was deposited upon one of the
seats; if her head had been less hard it must have disliked the wooden
pillow that it was knocked down upon. After her came the box of cups and
saucers, tea-pot, sugar-bowl and creamer; then some of Miss Phely's
clothes, in case a change were desirable; a little Shaker basket, never
before used, which Yulee said was for berries; the bow and arrows; a
pail for the goats' milk; a tin pump with a trough attached to it;
little Bo carrying a pop-gun which was too valuable to be suffered out
of his hands; and lastly, Yulee holding in one hand "The Castaways," to
refer to in case of need, and in the other the most precious thing of
all to her--a little complete leaden range with places for every thing,
which had been given her for a present on her last birth-day, and in
which it had ever since been her secret but firm determination to build
a real fire. The range was altogether too valuable to be laid on the
seat like Miss Phely, so Yulee kept it in her hands; and she had not
forgotten either--prudent Yulee! to bring some matches wrapped up in a
piece of newspaper, and which she kept her eyes on constantly, as they
lay in the range, expecting every moment to see them start a-fire;
indeed, they kept her very uneasy. However, everything was now aboard.
"Here, Bo," said she, "you sit down there, side of Miss Phely, and don't
let her tumble overboard, and I'll go and untie the rope." Bo began to
be a little frightened, but he had faith in Yulee, and Yulee had great
faith in herself. When she had untied the end of the rope that was in
the boat--and very hard work she found it--she said:
"Now we're off, Bo! are you all ready?"
"Yes," said Bo.
"No; you must say, 'aye aye, sir!'" said Yulee.
"But you a'n't _sir_," said Bo.
"Yes I am," said Yulee, "I'm the Captain;" and she took her seat in the
middle of the boat, where she said the Captain always sat. "This ship is
the _Little Madras_, Bo," said she. "Where's 'The Castaways'? I'll read
about it." So she read how all the party, after their first shipwreck in
the _Madras_, had embarked again in the ship's long boat, which the
Captain called the _Little Madras_.
"Are there any of those big animals here? you know that long name,"
asked Bo.
"Hippopotamuses?" said Yulee, promptly, delighted at the opportunity of
using the word. "Oh, no! there are no hippopotamuses in Clearwater; the
hippopotamuses only live in Africa."
"You never saw one, did you?" said Bo, who didn't like to use the word.
"No," said Yulee. "I never saw a hippopotamus, but I've seen an elephant
in the menagerie and I guess it's something like it. There's a picture
of one in the Castaways," and she showed it to Bo.
While they were talking, the wind and the current had been gently
drifting the boat away from the shore; they were quite a distance from
the stake now, and really going toward the island, which lay in the lake
not very far off. They had never been there for their father said there
was nothing to see on it; but Yulee was very certain in her own mind
that there was something on the island very wonderful. She had made up a
great many stories about it, which she had told over to herself so often
that she believed them as much as if some one else had told them to her.
She was sure that there were goats there at any rate and possibly a
parrot; and she was ready to believe in a cave, and perhaps even a small
mountain with a rope ladder up to the top like the one in "the
Castaways," though she rather thought she would have seen that if there
had been one, from the shore. The island could not be seen from the
house, nor from the boat-landing; it was round a curve in the lake.
The boat followed the current which led it slowly toward the island, and
Yulee was in ecstacies as they neared the shore. She sat in the bows of
the boat looking eagerly toward the island and trying to make out a good
place for a cave. But the land looked rather unpromising; it was low,
rising but little above the water, and covered with grass, a few low
bushes and one clump of trees. The boat did not seem able to get much
nearer the island, after it was within a few yards of it, and even
appeared to be drifting away. Yulee noticed this and began to be alarmed
lest they should not be cast away after all.
"Why don't we get wrecked?" asked Bo at this juncture, leaning over the
boat side and looking into the water which was hardly a foot deep here.
"There ought to be a great wind," explained Yulee, "and a storm, and the
ship ought to go to pieces, and then we should be thrown on shore, and
in the morning we should go out to the wreck and get the carpenter's
chest and all sorts of things; at least that's the way it usually
happens, but we're in a boat you see, and that makes a difference. I
think, Bo," she added, "you'd better take off your shoes and stockings,
and get out and pull the boat ashore, or we never shall get there."
So Bo rolled up his trousers, and with some difficulty got over the side
of the boat into the water. The boat moved easily, and Bo in great glee
pulled it to the island, to a place where there was a little beach, till
the bottom of the boat grated on the gravel.
"Here we are!" said Yulee. "Now, Bo, we must get the things ashore
before the _Little Madras_ goes to pieces." Bo stood on the beach by the
boat while Yulee handed to him the various stores and provisions, not
forgetting Miss Phely, who was still as wide awake as ever, staring
before her without winking and keeping her fingers stiffly apart in the
same uncomfortable fashion. Bo took her by the arm and tossed her upon
the ground in a very unfeeling manner. Last of all came Yulee, holding
fast her precious range and dividing her attention between the dangerous
matches and the disembarking from the boat.
"Now, is the _Little Madras_ going to pieces?" asked Bo.
"It ought to," said Yulee, "or else it will drift away in the night
time. We'll tie it here, though, because you know we may want to sail
round our island, and I don't see any log of wood here to make a boat
out of as Robinson Crusoe did. Where's the rope, Bo?" she said, as she
looked round in vain for it in order to tie the boat to the shore.
"You untied it," said he.
"So I did," said she, "but I must have untied the wrong end. Well, I
guess the boat will stay here." Secretly Yulee hoped the boat wouldn't
stay; it would be so much more like a real wreck.
"Now, the first thing we must do," said Yulee, "is to explore our island
and see if there are any savages on it. You give me the bow and arrows
and take your gun, and if you see a savage you mustn't fire at him, but
must wait a moment to see if he won't come and kneel down and be your
slave."