A VISION OF CHRISTMAS TREES.
'The angels are abroad to-night.'
_At Christmas-tide._
It was early summer when _we_ saw them last. It is
mid-winter--December--now. And winter comes in good earnest in the
country where I have shown you the white castle, and told you of the
doings and adventures of its two little guests. Many more could I tell
you of--many a joyous summer day had they spent with their forest
friends, many a wonderful dance had godmother led them, till they had
got to know nearly as much as Waldo and Silva themselves of the strange
happy creatures that lived in this marvellous Christmas-tree Land, and
in other lands too. For as the days shortened again, and grew too cold
for air-journeys and cave explorings and visits to many other denizens
of the forest than I have space to tell you about, then began the
season of godmother's story-tellings, which I think the children found
as delightful as any other of her treats. Oh, the wonderful tales that
were told round the bright little fire in Silva's dainty kitchen! Oh,
the wood-fairies, and water-sprites, and dwarfs, and gnomes that they
learnt about! Oh, the lovely songs that godmother sang in that witching
voice of hers--that voice like none other that the children had ever
heard! It was a true fairyland into which she led them--a fairyland
where entered nothing ugly or cruel or mean or false, though the
dwellers in it were of strange and fantastic shape and speech, children
of the rainbow and the mist, unreal and yet real, like the cloud-castles
that build themselves for us in the sky, or the music that weaves itself
in the voice of the murmuring stream.
But even to these happy times there came an end--and the beginning of
this end began to be felt when the first snow fell and Christmas-tree
Land was covered with the thick white mantle it always wore till the
spring's soft breath blew it off again.
'A storm is coming--a heavy storm is on its way, my darlings,' said
godmother one afternoon, when she had been spinning some lovely stories
for them with her invisible wheel. She had left the fireside and was
standing by the open doorway, looking out at the white landscape, and as
she turned round, it seemed to the children that her own face was whiter
than usual--her _hair_ certainly was so. It had lost the golden tinge it
sometimes took, which seemed to make a gleam all over her features--so
that at such times it was impossible to believe that godmother was
old--and now she seemed a very tiny little old woman, as small and
fragile as if she herself was made out of a snowflake, and her face
looked anxious and almost sad. 'A storm is on its way,' she repeated;
'you must hasten home.'
'But why do you look so sad, godmother dear?' said Maia. 'We can get
home quite safely. _You_ can see to that. Nothing will ever hurt us when
_you_ are taking care of us.'
'But there are some things I cannot do,' said godmother, smiling, 'or
rather that I would not do if I could. Times and seasons pass away and
come to an end, and it is best so. Still, it may make even me sad
sometimes.'
All the four pairs of eyes looked up in quick alarm. They felt that
there was something--though what, they did not know--that godmother was
thinking of in particular, and the first idea that came into their
minds was not far from the truth.
'Godmother! oh, godmother!' exclaimed all the voices together, so that
they sounded like one, 'you don't mean that we're not to see each other
any more?'
'Not yet, dears, not yet,' said godmother. 'But happy times pass and sad
times pass. It must be so. And, after all, why should one fret? Those
who love each other meet again as surely as the bees fly to the
flowers.'
'In Heaven, godmother? Do you mean in Heaven?' asked Maia, in a low
voice and with a look in her eyes telling that the tears were not far
off.
Godmother smiled again.
'Sooner than that sometimes. Do not look so distressed, my pretty Maia.
But come now. I must get you home before the storm breaks. Kiss each
other, my darlings, but it is not good-bye yet. You will soon be
together again--sooner than you think.'
No one ever thought of not doing--and at once--what godmother told them.
Rollo and Maia said good-bye even more lovingly than usual to their dear
Waldo and Silva, and then godmother, holding a hand of each, set out on
their homeward journey.
It was as she had said--the storm-spirits were in the air. Above the
wind and the cracking of the branches, brittle with the frost, and the
far-off cries of birds and other creatures on their way to shelter in
their nests or lairs, came another sound which the children had heard of
but never before caught with their own ears--a strange, indescribable
sound, neither like the murmuring of the distant sea nor the growl of
thunder nor the shriek of the hurricane, yet recalling all of these.
''Tis the voice of the storm,' said godmother softly. 'Pray to the good
God, my darlings, for those that travel by land or sea. And now,
farewell!--that beaten path between the trees will bring you out at the
castle gate, and no harm will come to you. Good-bye!'
She lingered a little over the last word, and this encouraged Maia to
ask a question.
'When shall we see you again, dear godmother? And will you not tell us
more about why you are sad?'
'It will pass with the storm, for all is for the best,' said godmother
dreamily. 'When one joy passes, another comes. Remember that. And no
true joy is ever past. Keep well within shelter, my children, till the
storm has had its way, and then----' she stopped again.
'Then? What then? Oh, _do_ tell us,' persisted Maia. 'You know, dear
godmother, it is _very_ dull in the white castle when we mayn't go out.
Lady Venelda makes them give us many more lessons to keep us out of
mischief, she says, and we really don't much mind. It's better to do
lessons than nothing. Oh, godmother, we would have been _so_ miserable
here if we hadn't had you and Waldo and Silva!'
Godmother stroked Maia's sunny head and smiled down into her eyes. And
something just then--was it a last ray of the setting sun hurrying off
to calmer skies till the storm should have passed?--lighted up
godmother's own face and hair with a wonderful glow. She looked like a
beautiful young girl.
'Oh, how pretty you are!' said the children under their breath. But they
were too used to these strange changes in godmother's appearance to be
as astonished as many would have been.
'Three nights from now will be the day before Christmas Eve,' said
godmother. 'When you go to bed look out in the snow and you will see my
messenger. And remember, remember, if one joy goes, another comes. And
no true joys are ever lost.'
And as they listened to her words, she was gone! So hand-in-hand,
wondering what it all might mean, the children turned to the path in the
snow she had shown them, which in a few minutes brought them safely
home.
Though none too soon--scarcely were they within shelter when the tempest
began. The wind howled, the sleet and hail dashed down, even the
growling of distant thunder, or what sounded like it, was heard--the
storm-spirits had it all their own way for that night and the day
following; and when the second night came, and the turmoil seemed to
have ceased, it had but changed its form, for the snow again began to
fall, ever more and more heavily, till it lay so deep that one could
hardly believe the world would ever again burst forth from its silent
cold embrace.
And the white castle looked white no longer. Amid the surrounding purity
it seemed gray and soiled and grimly ashamed of itself.
Three days had passed; the third night was coming.
'The snow has left off falling, and seems hardening,' Lady Venelda had
said that afternoon. 'If it continues so, the children can go out
to-morrow. It is not good for young people to be so long deprived of
fresh air and exercise. But it is a hard winter. I only hope we shall
have no more of these terrible storms before----,' but then she stopped
suddenly, for she was speaking to the old doctor, and had not noticed
that Rollo and Maia were standing near.
The children had seen with satisfaction that the snow had left off
falling, for, though they had faith in godmother's being able to do what
no one else could, they did not quite see how she was to send them a
message if the fearful weather had continued.
'We might have looked out the whole of last night without seeing
anything,' said Maia, 'the snow was driving so. And if godmother means
to take us anywhere, Rollo, it _is_ a good thing it's so fine to-night.
She was afraid of our being out in the storm the other day, you
remember.'
'Because there was no need for it,' said Rollo. 'It was already time for
us to be home. I'm sure she could prevent any storm hurting us if she
really wanted to take us anywhere. There's Nanni coming, Maia--as soon
as she's gone call me, and we'll look out together.'
Maia managed to persuade Nanni that she--Nanni, not Maia--was extra
sleepy that evening, and had better go to bed without waiting to
undress her. I am not quite sure that Nanni _did_ go at once to bed, for
the servants were already amusing themselves with Christmas games and
merriment down in the great kitchen, where the fireplace itself was as
large as a small room, and she naturally liked to join the fun. But all
Maia cared about was to be left alone with Rollo. She called to him, and
then in great excitement the two children drew back the window-curtains,
and extinguishing their candles, stood hand-in-hand looking out to see
what was going to happen. There was no moon visible, but it must have
been shining all the same, faintly veiled perhaps behind a thin cloud,
for a soft light, increased by the reflection of the spotless snow,
gleamed over all. But there was nothing to be seen save the smooth white
expanse, bounded at a little distance from the house by the trees which
clothed the castle hill, whose forms looked strangely fantastic, half
shrouded as they were by their white garment.
'There is no one--nothing there,' said Maia in a tone of disappointment.
'She must have forgotten.'
'_Forgotten_--never!' said Rollo reproachfully. 'When has godmother ever
forgotten us? Wait a little, Maia; you are so impatient.'
They stood for some minutes in perfect silence. Suddenly a slight, very
slight crackling was heard among the branches--so slight was it, that,
had everything been less absolutely silent, it could not have been
heard--and the children looked at each other in eager expectation.
'Is it Silva--or Waldo?' said Maia in a whisper. 'She said her
_messenger_.'
'Hush!' said Rollo, warningly.
A dainty little figure hopped into view from the shade of some low
bushes skirting the lawn. It was a robin-redbreast. He stood still in
the middle of the snow-covered lawn, his head on one side, as if in deep
consideration. Suddenly a soft, low, but very peculiar whistle was
heard, and the little fellow seemed to start, as if it were a signal he
had been listening for, and then hopped forward unhesitatingly in the
children's direction.
'Did _you_ whistle, Rollo?' said Maia in a whisper.
'No, certainly not. I was just going to ask if _you_ did,' answered
Rollo.
But now the robin attracted all their attention. He came to a stand just
in front of their window, and then looked up at them with the most
unmistakable air of invitation.
'We're to go with him, I'm sure we are,' said Maia, beginning to dance
with excitement; 'but _how_ can we get to him? All the doors downstairs
will be closed, and it's far too high to jump.'
Rollo, who had been leaning out of the window the better to see the
robin, suddenly drew his head in again with a puzzled expression.
'It's _very_ strange,' he said. 'I'm _sure_ it wasn't there this
morning. Look, Maia, do you see the top of a ladder just a tiny bit at
this side of the window? I could get on to it quite easily.'
'So could I,' said Maia, after peeping out. 'It's all right, Rollo.
_She's_ had it put there for us. Look at the robin--he knows all about
it. You go first, and when you get down call to me and tell me how to
manage.'
Two minutes after, Rollo's voice called up that it was all right. Maia
would find it quite easy if she came rather slowly, which she did, and
to her great delight soon found herself beside her brother.
'Dear me, we've forgotten our hats and jackets,' she exclaimed. 'But
it's not cold--how is that?'
'_You_ haven't forgotten your--what is it you've got on?' said Rollo,
looking at her.
'And you--what have you got on?' said Maia in turn. 'Why, we've _both_
got cloaks on, something like the shawl we had for the air-journey, only
they're quite, _quite_ white.'
'Like the snow--we can't be seen. They're as good as invisible cloaks,'
said Rollo, laughing in glee.
'And they fit so neatly--they seem to have grown on to us,' said Maia,
stroking herself. But in another moment, 'Oh, Rollo!' she exclaimed,
half delighted and half frightened, 'they _are_ growing, or we're
growing, or something's growing. Up on your shoulders there are little
_wings_ coming, real little white wings--they're getting bigger and
bigger every minute.'
'And they're growing on you too,' exclaimed Rollo. 'Why, in a minute or
two we'll be able to fly. Indeed, I think I can fly a little already,'
and Rollo began flopping about his white wings like a newly-fledged and
rather awkward cygnet. But in a minute or two Maia and he found--thanks
perhaps to the example of the robin, who all this time was hovering just
overhead, backwards and forwards, as if to say, 'do like me'--to their
great joy that they could manage quite well; never, I am sure, did two
little birds ever learn to fly so quickly!
All was plain-sailing now--no difficulty in following their faithful
little guide, who flew on before, now and then cocking back his dear
little head to see if the two queer white birds under his charge were
coming on satisfactorily. I wonder in what tribe or genus the learned
men of that country, had there been any to see the two strange creatures
careering through the cold wintry air, would have classed them!
But little would they have cared. Never--oh, never, if I talked about it
for a hundred years--could I give you an idea of the delightfulness of
being able to fly! All the children's former pleasures seemed as nothing
to it. The drive in godmother's pony-carriage, the gymnastics with the
squirrels, the sail in the air--all seemed nothing in comparison with
it. It was so perfectly enchanting that Maia did not even feel inclined
to talk about it. And on, and on, and on they flew, till the robin
stopped, wheeled round, and looking at them, began slowly to fly
downwards. Rollo and Maia followed him. They touched the ground almost
before they knew it; it seemed as if for a moment they melted into the
snow which was surrounding them here, too, on all sides, and then as if
they woke up again to find themselves wingless, but still with their
warm white garments, standing at the foot of an immensely high
tree--for they were, it was evident, at the borders of a great forest.
The robin had disappeared. For an instant or two they remained standing
still in bewilderment; perhaps, to tell the truth, a _very_ little
frightened, for it was much darker down here than it had been up in the
air; indeed, it appeared to them that but for the gleaming snow, which
seemed to have a light of its own, it would have been quite, _quite_
dark.
'Rollo,' said Maia tremulously, 'hold my hand tight; don't let it go.
What----' 'Are we to do?' she would have added, but a sound breaking on
the silence made her stop short.
A soft, far-away sound it was at first, though gradually growing clearer
and nearer. It was that of children's voices singing a sweet and
well-known Christmas carol, and somehow in the refrain at the end of
each verse it seemed to Rollo and Maia that they heard their own names.
'Come, come,' were the words that sounded the most distinctly. They
hesitated no longer; off they ran, diving into the dark forest
fearlessly, and though it was so dark they found no difficulty. As if by
magic, they avoided every trunk and stump which might have hurt them,
till, half out of breath, but with a strange brightness in their hearts,
they felt themselves caught round the necks and heartily kissed, while a
burst of merry laughter replaced the singing, which had gradually melted
away. It was Waldo and Silva of course!
'Keep your eyes shut,' they cried. 'Still a moment, and then you may
open them.'
'But they're _not_ shut,' objected the children.
'Ah, aren't they? Feel them,' said Waldo; and Rollo and Maia, lifting
their hands to feel, found it was true. Their eyes were not only shut,
but a slight, very fine gossamer thread seemed drawn across them.
'We could not open them if we would,' they said; but I don't think they
minded, and they let Waldo and Silva draw them on still a little
farther, till--
'Now,' they cried, and snap went the gossamer thread, and the two
children stood with eyes well open, gazing on the wonderful scene around
them.
They seemed to be standing in the centre of a round valley, from which
the ground on every side sloped gradually upwards. And all about them,
arranged in the most orderly manner, were rows and rows--tiers, perhaps,
I should say--of Christmas trees--real, genuine Christmas trees of every
kind and size. Some loaded with toys of the most magnificent kind, some
simpler, some with but a few gifts, and those of little value. But one
and all brilliantly lighted up with their many-coloured tapers--one and
all with its Christmas angel at the top. And nothing in fairy-doll shape
that Rollo and Maia had ever seen was so beautiful as these angels with
their gleaming wings and sweet, joyous loving faces. I think, when they
had a little recovered from their first astonishment, that the beauty of
the tree-angels was what struck them most.
'Yes,' said a voice beside them, in answer to their unspoken thought;
'yes, each tree has _always_ its angel. Not always to be seen in its
true beauty--sometimes you might think it only a poor, coarsely-painted
little doll. But _the_ angel is there all the same. Though it is only in
Santa Claus' own garden that they are to be seen to perfection.'
'Are we in Santa Claus' garden now, dear godmother?' asked Maia softly.
'Yes, dears. He is a very old friend of mine--one of my oldest friends,
I may say. And he allowed me to show you this sight. No other children
have ever been so favoured. By this time to-morrow night--long before
then, indeed--these thousands of trees will be scattered far and wide,
and round each will be a group of the happy little faces my old friend
loves so well.'
'But, godmother,' said Maia practically, 'won't the tapers be burning
down? Isn't it a pity to keep them lighted just for us? And, oh, dear
me! however can Santa Claus get them packed and sent off in time? I
_hope_ he hasn't kept them too late to please us?'
Godmother smiled.
'Don't trouble your little head about that,' she said. 'But come, have
you no curiosity to know which is your own Christmas-tree? Among all
these innumerable ones, is there not one for you too?'
Maia and Rollo looked up in godmother's eyes--they were smiling, but
something in their expression they could not quite understand. Suddenly
a kind of darkness fell over everything--darkness almost complete in
comparison with the intense light of the million tapers that had gleamed
but an instant before--though gradually, as their eyes grew used to it,
there gleamed out the same soft faint light as of veiled moonbeams, that
they had remarked before.
'You can see now,' said godmother. 'Go straight on--quite straight
through the trees'--for they were still in the midst of the
forest--'till you come to what is waiting for you. But first kiss me, my
darlings--a long kiss, for it is good-bye--and kiss, too, your little
friends, Waldo and Silva, for in this world one may _hope_, but one can
never be as _sure_ as one would fain be, that good-byes are not for
long.'
Too overawed by her tone to burst into tears, as they were yet ready to
do, the children threw themselves into each other's arms.
'We _must_ see each other again, we must; oh, godmother, say we shall!'
cried all the four voices. And godmother, as she held them all together
in her arms seemed to whisper--
'I hope it. Yes, I hope and think you will.' And then, almost without
having felt that Waldo and Silva were gently but irresistibly drawn from
them, Rollo and Maia found themselves again alone, hand-in-hand in the
midst of the forest, as they had so often stood before. Without giving
themselves time to realise that they had said good-bye to their dear
little friends, off they set, as godmother had told them, running
straight on through the trees, where it almost seemed by the clear
though soft light that a little path opened before them as they went.
Till, suddenly, for a moment the light seemed to fade and disappear,
leaving them almost in darkness, which again was as unexpectedly
dispersed by a wonderful brilliance, spreading and increasing, so that
at first they were too dazzled to distinguish whence it came. But not
for long.
'See, Rollo,' cried Maia; 'see, there is _our_ Christmas tree.'
[Illustration: 'See, Rollo,' cried Maia; 'see, there is _our_ Christmas
tree.']
And there it was--the most beautiful they had yet seen--all radiant with
light and glistening with every pretty present child-heart could desire.
'We are only to _look_ at it, you know,' said Maia; 'it has to be packed
up and sent us, of course, like the others. But,' she stopped short,
'who is that, Rollo,' she went on, 'standing just by the tree? Can it be
Santa Claus himself come to see if it is all right?'
'Santa Claus,' exclaimed a well-known voice, 'Santa Claus, indeed! Is
that your new name for me, my Maia?'
Then came a cry of joy--a cry from two little loving hearts--a cry which
rang merry echoes through the forest, and at which, though it woke up
lots of little birds snugly hidden away in the warmest corners they
could find, no one thought of grumbling, except, I think, an old owl,
who greatly objected to any disturbance of his nightly promenades and
meditations.
'Papa, papa, dear papa!' was the cry. 'Papa, you have come back to us.
_That_ was what godmother meant,' they said together. And their father,
well pleased, held them in his arms as if he would never again let them
go.
'So you have learnt to know what godmother means--that is well,' he
said. 'But kiss me once more only, just now, my darlings, and then you
must go home and sleep till the morning. And keep it a secret that you
have seen me to-night.'
He kissed them again, and before their soft childish lips had left his
face, a strange dreamy feeling overpowered them. Neither Rollo nor Maia
knew or thought anything more of where they were or how they had come
there for many hours.
And then they were awakened--Rollo first, then Maia--by the sound of
Nanni's delighted voice at their bedside.
'Wake up, wake up,' she said, 'for the most beautiful surprise has come
to you for this happy Christmas Eve.'
And even without her telling them, they knew what it was--they knew who
was waiting for them downstairs, nor could all their awe of Lady Venelda
prevent them rushing at their father and hugging him till he was nearly
choked. But Lady Venelda, I must confess, was too happy herself to see
her kinsman again to be at all vexed with them. And her pleasure, as
well as that of the kind old doctor, was increased by the thanks they
received for all their care of the children, whom their father declared
he had never seen so bright or blooming.
And, a few days afterwards, they went back with him to their own happy
home; and what then?--did they ever see godmother and Waldo and Silva
again? I can only answer, like godmother herself, 'I hope so; yes, I
hope so, and think so.' But as to how or where--ah, that I cannot say!
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's Christmas Tree Land, by Mary Louisa Molesworth