peering down into that wonderful water, something happened that made
them think of Blossom-blossom in rather a different sort of way. For
just as Doris had made up her mind to take off her shoes and stockings,
they heard a little sound, and the next moment a spear was quivering in
the sand between them. They sprang to their feet just in time to avoid
another one and to see a man crouching at the edge of the jungle; and
then they were snatched up, and there they were on the rock again, with
Gannet Head towering above them. The moon-boy was laughing, but Fat Bill
looked serious.
"Narrow squeak," he said. "That was Blossom-blossom's father. I thought
he was asleep in his hut."
Then he shook hands with them and said good-bye, and they climbed up the
path again and went home to bed; and when Uncle Joe came up to look at
them, they confessed to him what they had been doing. He was rather
angry, of course, but he didn't laugh at them, and as for Fat Bill, he
said that he had heard of him; and as for the old clown, he promised to
see what he could do for him before they left the town next morning.
"But don't you think it was rough," said Cuthbert, "after I had helped
to save Blossom-blossom, to have her father throwing spears at me?"
But that was just the sort of thing, said Uncle Joe, that saviours had
to be prepared for.
The candle's finger shakes.
My story's done.
"No more," says Father Time, "or shall we say
Just one?"
THE CHRISTMAS TREE
[Illustration: Still Talking]
XIV
THE CHRISTMAS TREE
The worst of discovering anybody like Fat Bill at the very beginning of
the summer holidays is that it makes the rest of the holidays seem a
little dull; and that was just what Cuthbert and Doris felt. So they
were really rather glad when the winter term at school began; and so
were Gwendolen and Marian, who hadn't been to school since the spring.
It was an important term, too, for they were all moved up; and Marian
had to buy her first hockey-stick; and Doris and Gwendolen began to
learn Latin; and Cuthbert's homework became really unbearable. But he
managed to survive, and they were all so busy that the term was over
almost before it had begun; and here was Christmas close at hand again,
and everybody rushing about buying presents.
As for Cuthbert and Marian, they had so much to do in the three or four
days before Christmas that they were half afraid they would never be
able to do it, because on Christmas Eve they were going to have a party.
It was to be rather a special party, because neither Cuthbert nor Marian
had been able that year to have a birthday party; and all the people
that they had invited had sent replies saying that they were coming.
Old Miss Hubbard was coming, and so was Uncle Joe, and Mr Parker was
coming with him; and Doris's mummy was coming with Doris and her five
brothers; and Beardy Ned was bringing little Liz. Then there was
Gwendolen, of course, who was coming too, with her aunt and Captain
Jeremy; and Lancelot and Mrs Robertson were bringing Pepita; and Percy
the gamekeeper's son was bringing Agnes. Just at the last minute, too,
they had a letter from the blind painter saying that he was bringing
Lord Barrington. And Mr and Mrs Williams were coming, and so was Mummy's
nurney, and so was Edward Goldsmith.
"Goodness knows," said Mummy, "where we shall put them all. I hope they
won't mind sitting on the floor."
But Cuthbert and Marian said that it would be all right, and that they
would have the Christmas tree in the hall.
"Then we can have the doors open," said Cuthbert, "and people can sit on
the stairs; and Marian and I will make the paper festoons."
So Mummy and Mummy's nurney and the cook spent hours and hours making
cakes and pastries; and just as it seemed as if they would never be
ready, they suddenly found that there was nothing to do except to keep a
lookout for old Jacob Parsley, who came every year selling Christmas
trees.
That was on the morning of the 23rd of December, with a fine rain
falling outside; and as they sat at the window both Cuthbert and Marian
felt a little stale and out of temper. In spite of all the excitements
of the term and the preparations for the party, it suddenly seemed to
them a very long time since they had had a real proper adventure.
"I shouldn't be surprised," said Marian, "if we never have another."
"Perhaps we shan't," said Cuthbert, "but it'll be an awful bore," and
then, at that very moment, they heard a familiar voice; and there was
Jacob Parsley in the street below.
Where he came from nobody knew; but every year on the 23rd of December
he limped into the town with his old white horse and a ramshackle cart
full of Christmas trees. There they were, year after year, shining and
crisp and neatly potted; and people used to say that he had dug them up
at night from rich men's plantations in other parts of the country. As
for himself, he was a red-faced old man, with a stubbly grey beard and a
scar on his chin, and a pair of bright eyes that used to work
separately, so that nobody could tell which he was looking with.
"Ker-rismus trees," he would shout, "all in per-hots. All in per-hots,
Ker-rismus-trees," and whenever he sold one he would spit in the road,
and wish the buyer the compliments of the season. Also, if there were
any change he would generally try to keep it, to buy some cough mixture,
he would explain, for his bronchial tubes; and most people let him,
because they were afraid that he would slue one of his eyes round and
pierce their hearts with a reproachful glance.
But to-day for the first time his cart seemed empty, though he was
still shouting; and when they ran downstairs and opened the front door
they saw that he had only one tree left. It was a queer little tree with
silvery-grey leaves; and that was the reason, he said, why nobody had
bought it. All the others he had sold at once--almost as soon as he had
entered the town.
"Wish I'd 'ad more," he said, "but this here tree, it ain't folk's
notion of a Ker-rismus tree. Not but what it ain't a good tree, though
it's a little 'un, and the feller I bought it off a queer sort of
feller."
He stood looking at it, or as nearly looking at it as he ever seemed to
look at anything; and then he coughed for rather a long time and hit
himself on the chest and wished them a happy Christmas.
"It's this here rain," he said. "It gets into the bronchial tubes. Five
shillings--that's all I'll ask you for it. And it's a good tree. You can
take my word for it. And them as buys it won't regret it."
Cuthbert and Marian touched its leaves. Just behind them stood their
guardian angels. Even more intently than Cuthbert and Marian they bent
their gaze on the little tree.
"But what kind of a tree is it?" asked Cuthbert.
Jacob spat in the road.
"Well, they tell me," he said, "as it's a olive. And they tell me as
it's the seedling of the great-great-grandson of the first Ker-rismus
tree of all."
He spat in the road again.
"Aye, of the very tree," he said, "as held Love's Innocence atween two
thieves."
"I like the leaves of it," said Marian. "It's got wonderful leaves."
The two angels drew a little closer. The old horse began to shake his
blinkers. So they bought the tree and carried it indoors.
Round the pot they bound some scarlet paper, and round the paper they
twined a wreath of holly; and they placed the tree on a little table
near the foot of the stairs in the front hall.
Said Cuthbert's angel, "This is a queer go."
Marian's angel smiled as he lit his evening pipe.
"And they were just grumbling," he said, "because they never had any
adventures. What do you suppose will happen when the guests have
assembled?"
But Cuthbert's angel shook his head.
"That's hard to tell," he said. "There's no precedent. Not since the
Great Day has a tree of that line ever been used as a children's
Christmas tree."
The rain had stopped by then and the moon was shining, and soon after
midnight the thermometer fell. A hoar frost crept over the roof-tops.
The sun's rim rose out of a well of vapour. At eleven o'clock Cuthbert
went to play football, and Marian and Doris went to see Gwendolen.
The sun had climbed free by then, but the wind was in the north, and as
the day went on the frost deepened. During the afternoon the children
went to some friends' houses to borrow chairs for the party. When they
came back Mummy was stooping over the Christmas-tree, fixing candles to
its slender twigs. In her eyes there was a curious look. Cuthbert
kissed her and asked her what was the matter.
"Nothing," said Mummy, "but wouldn't it be wonderful if what Jacob said
about this tree were true?"
Marian bent her lips to one of the leaves.
"I believe it is," she said. "It makes me feel funny."
Old Mother Hubbard was the first guest to come, and she brought a hamper
with her full of presents. Some of them were new, but some of them were
trinkets that she had kept ever since she was a girl.
"And now I want to give them away," she said, "because for fifty years I
have never known what giving was like."
Soon after that came Uncle Joe, driving in his little pony-cart with Mr
Parker; and Mr Parker took the pony-cart to the stables at the end of
the street. Uncle Joe was wearing an overcoat, with poacher's pockets in
its lining; and the pockets were bulging with middling-sized parcels to
be placed on the floor round the Christmas tree. Then came Captain
Jeremy and Gwendolen and Gwendolen's aunt, with the frosty air still in
their faces; and Lancelot and Mrs Robertson brought Pepita, well wrapped
up and a little shy.
Then a great car hummed down the street bringing Lord Barrington and the
blind painter, with Mr and Mrs Williams in their Sunday clothes, and a
big round cheese that they had brought for a present. Percy, their son,
and his sweetheart Agnes were the next to knock at the front door; and
they had hardly stepped inside before Doris and her mummy arrived with
the five boys. Then came Edward, looking very smart, with a hot-house
flower in his button-hole; and the last to appear was Beardy Ned, as
shabby as usual, with Liz on his shoulder.
Most of the others were having tea by now round the dining-room table,
or in the drawing-room, or sitting on the stairs, or standing in the
hall, or leaning against the banisters. And there, in the middle of
them, still unlit and waiting till the feasting should be over, stood
the little olive tree, hushed and inconspicuous, with the scarlet paper
round its pot.
Mr Parker came back from the stables.
"Rough weather," he said, "in the Baltic. That's a rum-looking tree
you've got for a Christmas tree," and the blind painter heard him and
turned round.
"Where is it?" he asked. "Will you take me to it?" And Marian led him to
the little table. He bent his head for a moment, and there crept into
his eyes the same odd look that Marian had seen in Mummy's.
Said Cuthbert's angel, "He's beginning to hear something. What do you
suppose will happen when they have lit the candles?"
But Marian's angel shook his head.
"The others will hear nothing," he said. "But will they see?"
Said Doris's angel, "Can they see and live?"
"Look," said Gwendolen's angel. "They're lighting the candles." And it
was just at that moment that a young man, shabbier even than Beardy Ned,
turned into Peter Street. But for his presence the street was empty.
Doris's angel was the first to see him. He lifted his head and spoke a
Name, and slowly the others filed out after him. Down the front steps
and along the pavement they made a lane of angels. But the door was
shut, and deep in their hearts was the dreadful fear that it mightn't be
opened.
Then Uncle Joe struck another match and lit the last candle on the tree,
and Marian's daddy picked up one of the parcels and turned it over to
find the name on it. Smiling in her chair, old Miss Hubbard envied the
luckier women who had had children. Half in shadow, between Marian and
Gwendolen, stood Lord Barrington with his hawk-like face. There came a
knock at the front door. Cuthbert, who was nearest to it, turned and
opened it. He saw a young man in shabby clothes, and there was no beauty
in him that he should desire him. He stood there smiling in the outside
darkness.
"May I come in?" he asked, and Cuthbert changed his mind. Everything
beautiful that he had ever seen shone into his heart from the young
man's eyes.
"Yes, rather," said Cuthbert. "We're having a party."
His eyes sought his mother's.
"Mummy, here's somebody else."
Everybody turned round as the young man entered. The candles on the
olive tree shed their light upon him. All but the blind painter looked
into his eyes. Each saw the thing in them that he wanted most. Marian
and Gwendolen and Cuthbert and Doris, not wanting anything in
particular, only saw vaguely all that they hoped to be when they should
have become grown-up men and women. So did Edward and so did Pepita;
but Christopher Mark saw a celestial rabbit; and Percy and Agnes,
holding each other's hand, saw the darlingest of babies. What Beardy Ned
saw you can guess, and what Lord Barrington saw was Truth; and the blind
painter heard the angels singing the song that explains every other
song.
Then the young man stooped for a moment over the little olive-tree.
"Make them happy," he said, and then he was gone; and though nobody saw
them, of course, the guardian angels came and stood again in their
accustomed places. Marian turned impulsively to Lord Barrington.
"Oh, who was he?" she said. "Tell me his name."
Lord Barrington kissed her.
"The loveliest present," he said, "that ever hung upon a tree."