STORIES CHILDREN CAN READ
LITTLE FOLKS’ CHRISTMAS STORIES AND PLAYS
CHRISTMAS AT THE HOLLOW TREE INN[1]
ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE
Once upon a time, when the Robin, and Turtle, and Squirrel, and Jack
Rabbit had all gone home for the winter, nobody was left in the Hollow
Tree except the ’Coon and the ’Possum and the old black Crow. Of course
the others used to come back and visit them pretty often, and Mr. Dog,
too, now that he had got to be good friends with all the Deep Woods
people, and they thought a great deal of him when they got to know him
better. Mr. Dog told them a lot of things they had never heard of
before, things that he’d learned at Mr. Man’s house, and maybe that’s
one reason why they got to liking him so well.
He told them about Santa Claus, for one thing, and how the old fellow
came down the chimney on Christmas Eve to bring presents to Mr. Man and
his children, who always hung up their stockings for them, and Mr. Dog
said that once he had hung up his stocking, too, and got a nice bone in
it, that was so good he had buried and dug it up again as much as six
times before spring. He said that Santa Claus always came to Mr. Man’s
house, and that whenever the children hung up their stockings they were
always sure to get something in them.
Well, the Hollow Tree people had never heard of Santa Claus. They knew
about Christmas, of course, because everybody, even the cows and sheep,
knows about that; but they had never heard of Santa Claus. You see,
Santa Claus only comes to Mr. Man’s house, but they didn’t know that,
either, so they thought if they just hung up their stockings he’d come
there, too, and that’s what they made up their minds to do. They talked
about it a great deal together, and Mr. ’Possum looked over all his
stockings to pick out the biggest one he had, and Mr. Crow he made
himself a new pair on purpose. Mr. ’Coon said he never knew Mr. Crow to
make himself such big stockings before, but Mr. Crow said he was getting
old and needed things bigger, and when he loaned one of his new
stockings to Mr. ’Coon, Mr. ’Coon said, “That’s so,” and that he
guessed they were about right after all. They didn’t tell anybody about
it at first, but by and by they told Mr. Dog what they were going to do,
and when Mr. Dog heard it he wanted to laugh right out. You see, he knew
Santa Claus never went anywhere except to Mr. Man’s house, and he
thought it would be a great joke on the Hollow Tree people when they
hung up their stockings and didn’t get anything.
But by and by Mr. Dog thought about something else. He thought it would
be too bad, too, for them to be disappointed that way. You see, Mr. Dog
liked them all now, and when he had thought about that a minute he made
up his mind to do something. And this is what it was--he made up his
mind to play Santa Claus!
He knew just how Santa Claus looked, ’cause he’d seen lots of his
pictures at Mr. Man’s house, and he thought it would be great fun to
dress up that way and take a bag of presents to the Hollow Tree while
they were all asleep and fill up the stockings of the ’Coon and ’Possum
and the old black Crow. But first he had to be sure of some way of
getting in, so he said to them he didn’t see how they could expect
Santa Claus, their chimneys were so small, and Mr. Crow said they could
leave their latchstring out downstairs, which was just what Mr. Dog
wanted. Then they said they were going to have all the folks that had
spent the summer with them over for Christmas dinner and to see the
presents they had got in their stockings. They told Mr. Dog to drop
over, too, if he could get away, and Mr. Dog said he would, and went off
laughing to himself, and ran all the way home because he felt so pleased
at what he was going to do.
Well, he had to work pretty hard, I tell you, to get things ready. It
wasn’t so hard to get the presents as it was to rig up his Santa Claus
dress. He found some long wool out in Mr. Man’s barn for his white
whiskers, and he put some that wasn’t so long on the edges of his
overcoat and boot tops and around an old hat he had. Then he borrowed a
big sack he found out there, too, and fixed it up to swing over his
back, just as he had seen Santa Claus do in the picture. He had a lot of
nice things to take along. Three tender young chickens he’d borrowed
from Mr. Man, for one thing, and then he bought some new neckties for
the Hollow Tree folks all around, and a big striped candy cane for each
one, because candy canes always looked well sticking out of a stocking.
Besides all that, he had a new pipe for each, and a package of tobacco.
You see, Mr. Dog lived with Mr. Man, and didn’t ever have to buy much
for himself, so he had always saved his money. He had even more things
than that, but I can’t remember just now what they were; and when he
started out, all dressed up like Santa Claus, I tell you his bag was
pretty heavy, and he almost wished before he got there that he hadn’t
started with quite so much.
It got heavier and heavier all the way, and he was glad enough to get
there and find the latchstring out. He set his bag down to rest a minute
before climbing the stairs, and then opened the doors softly and
listened. He didn’t hear a thing except Mr. Crow and Mr. ’Coon and Mr.
’Possum breathing pretty low, and he knew they might wake up any minute,
and he wouldn’t have been caught there in the midst of things for a good
deal. So he slipped up just as easy as anything, and when he got up in
the big parlor room he almost had to laugh right out loud, for there
were the stockings sure enough, all hung up in a row, and a card with a
name on it over each one telling whom it belonged to.
Then he listened again, and all at once he jumped and held his breath,
for he heard Mr. ’Possum say something. But Mr. ’Possum was only talking
in his sleep, and saying, “I’ll take another piece, please,” and Mr. Dog
knew he was dreaming about the mince pie he’d had for supper.
So, then he opened his bag and filled the stockings. He put in mixed
candy and nuts and little things first, and then the pipes and tobacco
and candy canes, so they’d show at the top, and hung a nice dressed
chicken outside. I tell you, they looked fine! It almost made Mr. Dog
wish he had a stocking of his own there to fill, and he forgot all about
them waking up, and sat down in a chair to look at the stockings. It was
a nice rocking chair, and over in a dark corner where they wouldn’t be
apt to see him, even if one of them did wake up and stick his head out
of his room, so Mr. Dog felt pretty safe now, anyway. He rocked softly,
and looked and looked at the nice stockings, and thought how pleased
they’d be in the morning, and how tired he was. You’ve heard about
people being as tired as a dog; and that’s just how Mr. Dog felt. He was
so tired he didn’t feel a bit like starting home, and by and by--he
never did know how it happened--but by and by Mr. Dog went sound asleep
right there in his chair, with all his Santa Claus clothes on.
And there he sat, with his empty bag in his hand and the nice full
stockings in front of him all night long. Even when it came morning and
began to get light Mr. Dog didn’t know it; he just slept right on, he
was that tired. Then pretty soon the door of Mr. ’Possum’s room opened
and he poked out his head. And just then the door of Mr. ’Coon’s room
opened and he poked out his head. Then the door of the old black Crow
opened and out poked his head. They all looked toward the stockings, and
they didn’t see Mr. Dog, or even each other, at all. They saw their
stockings, though, and Mr. ’Coon said all at once:
“Oh, there’s something in my stocking!”
And then Mr. Crow says: “Oh, there’s something in my stocking, too!”
And Mr. ’Possum says: “Oh, there’s something in all our stockings!”
And with that they gave a great hurrah all together, and rushed out and
grabbed their stockings and turned around just in time to see Mr. Dog
jump right straight up out of his chair, for he did not know where he
was the least bit in the world.
“Oh, there’s Santa Claus himself!” they all shouted together, and made
a rush for their rooms, for they were scared almost to death. But it all
dawned on Mr. Dog in a second, and he commenced to laugh and hurrah to
think what a joke it was on everybody. And when they heard Mr. Dog laugh
they knew him right away, and they all came up and looked at him, and he
had to tell just what he’d done and everything; so they emptied out
their stockings on the floor and ate some of the presents and looked at
the others, until they almost forgot about breakfast, just as children
do on Christmas morning.
Then Mr. Crow said, all at once, that he’d make a little coffee, and
that Mr. Dog must stay and have some, and by and by they made him
promise to spend the day with them and be there when the Robin and the
Squirrel and Mr. Turtle and Jack Rabbit came, which he did.
And it was snowing hard outside, which made it a nicer Christmas than if
it hadn’t been, and when all the others came they brought presents, too.
And when they saw Mr. Dog dressed up as Santa Claus and heard how he’d
gone to sleep and been caught, they laughed and laughed. And it snowed
so hard that they had to stay all night, and after dinner they sat
around the fire and told stories. And they had to stay the next night,
too, and all that Christmas week. And I wish I could tell you all that
happened that week, but I can’t, because I haven’t time. But it was the
very nicest Christmas that ever was in the Hollow Tree, or in the Big
Deep Woods anywhere.
THE PROMISE[2]
MAUD LINDSAY
There was once a harper who played such beautiful music and sang such
beautiful songs that his fame spread throughout the whole land; and at
last the king heard of him and sent messengers to bring him to the
palace.
“I will neither eat nor sleep till I have seen your face and heard the
sound of your harp.” This was the message the king sent to the harper.
The messengers said it over and over until they knew it by heart, and
when they reached the harper’s house they called:
“Hail, harper! Come out and listen, for we have something to tell you
that will make you glad.”
But when the harper heard the king’s message he was sad, for he had a
wife and a child and a little brown dog; and he was sorry to leave them
and they were sorry to have him go.
“Stay with us,” they begged; but the harper said:
“I _must_ go, for it would be discourtesy to disappoint the king; but as
sure as holly berries are red and pine is green, I will come back by
Christmas Day to eat my share of the Christmas pudding, and sing the
Christmas songs by my own fireside.”
And when he had promised this he hung his harp upon his back and went
away with the messengers to the king’s palace.
When he got there the king welcomed him with joy, and many things were
done in his honor. He slept on a bed of softest down and ate from a
plate of gold at the king’s own table; and when he sang everybody and
everything, from the king himself to the mouse in the palace pantry,
stood still to listen.
No matter what he was doing, however, feasting or resting, singing or
listening to praises, he never forgot the promise that he had made to
his wife and his child and his little brown dog, and when the day before
Christmas came, he took his harp in his hand and went to tell the king
good-by.
Now the king was loath to have the harper leave him, and he said to him:
“I will give you a horse as white as milk, as glossy as satin, and as
fleet as a deer, if you will stay to play and sing before my throne on
Christmas Day.”
But the harper answered, “I cannot stay, for I have a wife and a child
and a little brown dog; and I have promised them to be at home by
Christmas Day to eat my share of the Christmas pudding and sing the
Christmas songs by my own fireside.”
Then the king said, “If you will stay to play and sing before my throne
on Christmas Day, I will give to you a wonderful tree that summer or
winter is never bare; and silver and gold will fall for you whenever you
shake this little tree.”
But the harper said, “I must not stay, for my wife and my child and my
little brown dog are waiting for me, and I have promised them to be at
home by Christmas Day to eat my share of the Christmas pudding and sing
the Christmas songs by my own fireside.”
Then the king said, “If you will stay on Christmas Day one tune to play
and one song to sing, I will give you a velvet robe to wear, and you may
sit beside me here with a ring on your finger and a crown on your head.”
But the harper answered, “I will not stay, for my wife and my child and
my little brown dog are watching for me; and I have promised them to be
at home by Christmas Day to eat my share of the Christmas pudding, and
sing the Christmas songs by my own fireside.” And he wrapped his old
cloak about him, and hung his harp upon his back, and went out from the
king’s palace without another word.
He had not gone far when the little white snowflakes came fluttering
down from the skies.
“Harper, stay,” they seemed to say,
“Do not venture out to-day.”
But the harper said, “The snow may fall, but I must go, for I have a
wife and a child and a little brown dog; and I have promised them to be
at home by Christmas Day to eat my share of the Christmas pudding and
sing the Christmas songs by my own fireside.”
Then the snow fell thick and the snow fell fast. The hills and the
valleys, the hedges and hollows were white. The paths were all hidden,
and there were drifts like mountains on the king’s highway. The harper
stumbled and the harper fell, but he would not turn back; and as he
traveled he met the wind.
“Brother Harper, turn, I pray;
Do not journey on to-day,”
sang the wind, but the harper would not heed.
“Snows may fall and winds may blow, but I must go on,” he said, “for I
have a wife and a child and a little brown dog; and I have promised them
to be at home by Christmas Day to eat my share of the Christmas pudding
and sing the Christmas songs by my own fireside.”
Then the wind blew an icy blast. The snow froze on the ground and the
water froze in the rivers. The harper’s breath froze in the air, and
icicles as long as the king’s sword hung from the rocks by the king’s
highway. The harper shivered and the harper shook, but he would not turn
back; and by and by he came to the forest that lay between him and his
home.
The trees of the forest were creaking and bending in the wind, and every
one of them seemed to say:
“Darkness gathers, night is near;
Harper, stop! Don’t venture here.”
But the harper would not stop. “Snows may fall, winds may blow, and
night may come, but I have promised to be at home by Christmas Day to
eat my share of the Christmas pudding and sing the Christmas songs by my
own fireside. I must go on.”
And on he went till the last glimmer of daylight faded, and there was
darkness everywhere. But the harper was not afraid of the dark.
“If I cannot see I can sing,” said he, and he sang in the forest
joyously:
“Sing glory, glory, glory!
And bless God’s holy name;
For’t was on Christmas morning
The little Jesus came.
“He wore no robes. No crown of gold
Was on His head that morn;
But herald angels sang for joy
To tell a King was born.”
The snow ceased its falling, the wind ceased
its blowing, the trees of the forest bowed down
to listen, and lo! dear children, as he sang the
darkness turned to wondrous light, and close
at hand the harper saw the open doorway of
his home.
The wife and the child and the little brown
dog were watching and waiting, and they welcomed
the harper with great joy. The holly
berries were red in the Christmas wreaths; their
Christmas tree was a young green pine; the
Christmas pudding was full of plums; and the
harper was happier than a king as he sat by
his own fireside to sing:
“O glory, glory, glory!
We bless God’s holy name;
For’t was to bring His wondrous love
The little Jesus came.
“And in His praise our songs we sing,
And in His name we pray:
God bless us all for Jesus’ sake,
This happy Christmas Day.”
A BOY’S VISIT TO SANTA CLAUS[3]
RICHARD THOMAS WYCHE
Once upon a time there was a little boy who talked a great deal about
Santa Claus. He talked to his father, his mother, his brother and
sisters, until it was Santa Claus at the breakfast table, Santa Claus at
dinner, and Santa Claus at supper. This little boy had been told that
far away in the Northland lived Santa Claus. He was sitting by the fire
one day, watching the embers glow, and seeing castles in the glowing
embers. “There is Santa Claus’s house,” he said, “the great building
covered with snow. Why can’t I go to see him?”
The little boy had worked and had saved some money. He took the money
and went down to the depot, bought a ticket, and before his father or
mother knew about it was gone to see Santa Claus. He traveled a long
time on the train, and by and by reached the end of the railroad. He
could go no farther on the train, for there was a great wide ocean, but
people crossed the ocean and so must the little boy, or at least a part
of it, in order to reach Santa Claus’s land. There was a great ship
lying in port soon to sail over the seas, and along with many people who
went aboard the ship, went the little boy. Soon every sail was spread
and out from the port went the ship, leaving far behind them the town.
The ship sailed and sailed a long time, and finally land came in sight.
They had reached an island lying somewhere far out in the Mid seas. Some
of the people went ashore, and so did the little boy. But what a funny
land it was to the little boy! All the people were little people. The
grown men were not taller than the little boy, and they rode little
ponies that were not larger than dogs. Then the little boy asked, “What
land is this? Does Santa Claus live here?” And they said, “No.
“This is the land that lies east of the sun
And west of the moon.
You have not come too soon.
Northward you must go,
To the land of ice and snow.”
And so one day the little boy found a ship that was going to sail to the
Northland, and in this ship he went. The ship sailed and sailed a long
time until it finally came to where the sea was all frozen over, to the
land of icebergs and snow fields. The ship could go no farther, so what
do you suppose the little boy did then? He was in the land of the
reindeer, and over the snow fields he went in search of Santa Claus.
One day, as he was traveling over the snow fields to find Santa Claus’s
house, he saw not far away what at first seemed to be a hill, but soon
he saw that it was not a hill, but a house covered with ice and snow.
“That must be Santa Claus’s house,” he said. Soon the little boy was
standing in front of the great building whose towers seemed to reach the
sky. Up the shining steps he went and soon he was standing in front of
the door. The little boy saw no doorbell and so he knocked on the door.
No one answered, and then louder he knocked again. Still no one
answered. He began to feel afraid; perhaps this was the house of a
giant. If Santa Claus lived there, he might be angry with him for
coming, but once more he knocked. And then he heard a noise far down at
the other end of the hall. Some one was coming. Then suddenly the latch
went “click,” and the door stood wide open, and who do you suppose was
there? Santa Claus? No; a little boy with blue eyes and a bright, sweet
face. Then the little boy said, “Good morning. Does Santa Claus live
here?” And the other little boy said, “Yes. Come in, come in. I am
Santa Claus’s little boy.” He took him by the hand and said, “I am very
glad to see you.”
Then the two little boys walked down the long hallway, doors on this
side and doors on that, until they came to the last door on the
left-hand side. On this door Santa Claus’s little boy knocked, and a
great voice said, “Come in.” He opened the door and walked in, and who
do you suppose was there? Santa Claus? Yes, there was Santa Claus
himself; a great, big, fat man sitting by the fire, with long, white
beard, blue eyes, and the merriest, cheeriest face you ever saw. Then
Santa Claus’s little boy said, “Father, here is a little boy who has
come to see you.” Santa Claus looked down over his spectacles and said,
“Well, how are you? I am mighty glad to see you. Yes, yes, I know him. I
have been to his house on many a night and filled up his stocking. How
are Elizabeth and Louise and Katherine?” Over on the other side of the
fireplace sat Mrs. Santa Claus. She was a grandmother-looking woman,
with white hair and gold-rimmed spectacles. She was sitting by the fire
knitting; she put her arms around the little boy and kissed him.
Then the two little boys sat down in front of the fire and talked
together. By and by, Santa Claus’s little boy said to the other little
boy, “Don’t you want to go over the building and see what we have in the
different rooms? This building has a thousand rooms.” And the little boy
said, “Who-o-o-oe.” And Santa Claus’s little boy said, “Yes, and
something different in every room.”
Then they went into a large room, and what do you suppose was in there?
Nothing but doll babies; some with long dresses and some with short;
some with black eyes and some with blue. Then into another room they
went, and it was full of toys, wagons and horses; another room was full
of story books; another room was a candy kitchen where Santa Claus made
candy; another room was a workshop where Santa Claus made toys for the
children. Then they went into a long, large room, the largest of them
all, and in this room were a great many tables. On these tables were
suits, cloaks and hats, and shoes and stockings for the children.
The little boy wanted to know what they did with so many clothes, and
Santa Claus’s little boy said, “We take these to the little children who
have no father or mother to make them clothes.” And so they went through
all the rooms of the great building, except one, which was away
upstairs in the corner. What was in this room no one would tell the
little boy, nor would they take him into the room. And the little boy
wondered what was in the room.
The little boy stayed at Santa Claus’s house several days, and he had a
splendid time. Some days the two little boys would slide down the hill
on a sled, some days they would hitch up the reindeer and go sleighing,
some days they would go into the candy kitchen and help Santa Claus make
candy, or into the workshop and help him make toys.
But one day something happened. Santa Claus came to the little boy and
said, “I am going away to-day for a little while; my wife and my little
boy are going with me. Now,” he said, “you can go with us or you can
stay here and keep house for us while we are gone.” The little boy
thought to himself that Santa Claus had been so good to him that he
would stay and keep house while Santa Claus was away. So he said he
would stay, and then Santa Claus gave him a great bunch of keys and
said, “Now you can go into all the rooms and play, but you must not go
into that room upstairs in the corner.” The little boy said, “All
right,” and with that Santa Claus, his wife, and his little boy went
down the steps, got into the sleigh, wrapped themselves up in furs,
popped the whip, and away they went! The little boy stood and watched
them until they disappeared behind the snow hills.
Then he turned and went back into the house. He felt like a little man
in that great house all by himself. From room to room he went. He went
into the game room and rolled the balls. Some of the balls were so large
that they were as high as the little boy’s head. They were of rubber,
and if you would drop one from the top of the house it would bounce
clear back to the top. The little boy went into the candy kitchen and
ate some of the candy. He went into the workshop and worked on some
toys, then into the library and read some of the books, then into the
parlor and banged on the piano.
But after a while, the little boy was tired, and he said, “I wish Santa
Claus would hurry and come back.” He was lonely. And so he thought he
would go up on the housetop and look out to see if he could see Santa
Claus coming home. Up the steps he went. When he reached the top, there
was another flight. Up these he went and still another flight; up, up,
he went until it seemed he had gone a thousand steps. But, finally, he
came out on top.
The little boy stood there with his hand on the railing and looked out,
but all he could see were the snow fields, white and glistening. Santa
Claus was not in sight. He could see the track over the snow that the
sleigh had made, but that was all.
Then down the steps he came, and it just happened that he came by the
room that Santa Claus told him he must not go into. As he passed, he
stopped in front of the door and said to himself, “I wonder what they
have in that room, and why they did not want me to go in?” He took hold
of the knob and gave it a turn, but the door was locked. Then he shut
one eye and peeped through the keyhole, but he could see nothing; it was
all dark. Then he put his mouth at the keyhole and blew through it, but
he could hear nothing. Then he put his nose there and smelled, but he
could smell nothing. “I wonder what they have in the room!” he said. “I
believe I will see just for fun which one of these keys will fit in the
lock.”
The little boy had in his hand the great bunch of keys. He tried one key
and that would not fit, then he tried another and another and another,
and kept on until he came to the last key. “Now,” he said to himself,
“if this key does not fit I am going.” He tried it, and it was the only
key on the bunch that would fit. “Now,” he said, “I shall not go into
the room, but I will just turn the key and see if it will unlock the
lock. It may fit in the lock and then not unlock the lock.” He turned
the key slowly and the latch went “click, click,” and the door flew wide
open. What do you suppose was in the room? It was all dark; the little
boy could see nothing. He had his hand on the knob and it seemed to him
that his hand was caught between the knob and key, and somehow, as the
door opened, it pulled him in. When he stepped into the room, he felt a
breeze blowing and, more than that, as he stepped down he found the room
did not have any bottom; just a dark hole.
Well, as the little boy stepped over into the room, he felt himself
falling, away down, down, down yonder. He shut his eyes, expecting every
moment to strike something and be killed. But, before he did, some one
caught him by the shoulders and shook him and said, “Wake up! Wake up!”
He opened his eyes, and where do you suppose the little boy was? At
home. It was Christmas morning, and his father was calling him to get
up. The sun was shining across his little bed. He looked toward the
fireplace, and there all the stockings were hanging full. The little boy
had been to see Santa Claus, but he went by that wonderful way we call
“Dreamland.”
THE CHRISTMAS KINGS
RUTH SAWYER
When the Christ Child was born in Bethlehem of Judea, long years ago,
three kings rode out of the East on their camels bearing gifts to him.
They followed the Star, until at last they came to the manger where he
lay--a little, newborn baby. Kneeling down, they put their gifts beside
him: gold, frankincense, and myrrh; they kissed the hem of the little,
white mantle that he wore, and blessed him. Then the kings rode away to
the East again; but before ever they went they whispered a promise to
the Christ Child.
And the promise? You shall hear it as the kings gave it to the Christ
Child, long years ago.
“As long as there be children on the earth, on every Christmas Eve we
three kings shall ride on camels--even as we rode to thee this night;
and even as we bore thee gifts so shall we bear gifts to every child in
memory of thee, thou holy Babe of Bethlehem.”
In Spain they have remembered what the Christmas kings promised; and
when Christmas Eve comes, each child puts his _sapatico_--his little
shoe--between the gratings of the window that they may know a child is
in that house, and leave a gift.
Often the shoe is filled with grass for the camels; and a plate of dates
and figs is left beside it; for the children know the kings have far to
go and may be hungry.
At day’s end bands of children march out of the city gates--going to
meet the kings. But always it grows dark before they come. The children
are afraid upon the lonely road and hurry back to their homes; where the
good _madres_ hear them say one prayer to the Nene Jesu, as they call
the Christ Child, and then put them to bed to dream of the Christmas
kings.
* * * * *
Long, long ago, there lived in Spain, in the crowded part of a great
city, an old woman called Doña Josefa. The street in which she lived was
little and narrow; so narrow that if you leaned out of the window of
Doña Josefa’s house you could touch with your fingertips the house
across the way; and when you looked above your head the sky seemed but a
string of blue--tying the houses all together. The sun never found its
way into this little street.
The people who lived here were very poor, as you may guess; Doña Josefa
was poor, likewise. But in one thing she was very rich; she knew more
stories than there were feast days in the year--and that is a great
many. Whenever there came a moment free from work; when Doña Josefa had
no water to fetch from the public well, nor gold to stitch upon the
altar cloth for the Church of Santa Maria del Rosario; then she would
run out of her house into the street and call:
“_Niños_, _niñas_, come quickly! Here is a story waiting for you.”
And the children would come flying--like the gray _palomas_ when corn is
thrown for them in the Plaza. Ah, how many children there were in that
little street! There were José and Miguel, and the _niños_ of Enrique,
the cobbler,--Alfredito and Juana and Esperanza,--and the little twin
sisters of Pancho, the peddler; and Angela, Maria Teresa, Pedro, Edita,
and many more. Last of all there were Manuel and Rosita. They had no
father; and their mother was a _lavandera_ who stood all day on the
banks of the river outside the city, washing clothes.
When Doña Josefa had called the children from all the doorways and the
dark corners, she would sit down in the middle of the street and gather
them about her. This was safe, because the street was far too narrow to
allow a horse or wagon to pass through. Sometimes a donkey would slowly
pick its way along, or a stupid goat come searching for things to eat;
but that was all.
It happened on the day before Christmas that Doña Josefa had finished
her work, and sat as usual with the children about her.
“To-day you shall have a Christmas story,” she said; and then she told
them of the three kings and the promise they had made the Christ Child.
“And is it so--do the kings bring presents to the children now?” Miguel
asked.
Doña Josefa nodded her head: “Yes.”
“Then why have they never left us one? The three kings never pass this
street on Christmas Eve; why is it, Doña?”
“Perhaps it is because we have no shoes to hold their gifts,” said
Angela.
And this is true. The poor children of Spain go barefooted; and often
never have a pair of shoes till they grow up.
Manuel had listened silently to the others; but now he pulled the sleeve
of Doña Josefa’s gown with coaxing fingers: “I know why it is the kings
bring no gifts to us. See--the street--it is too small, their camels
could not pass between the doorsteps here. The kings must ride where
the streets are broad and smooth and clean; where their long mantles
will not be soiled and torn, and the camels will not stumble. It is the
children in the great streets--the children of the rich--who find
presents in their _sapaticos_ on Christmas morning. Is it not so, Doña
Josefa?”
And Miguel cried: “Does Manuel speak true; is it only the children of
the rich?”
“Ah, _chiquito mio_, it should not be so! When the promise was given to
the Nene Jesu, there in Bethlehem, they said, ‘to every child,’--yes,
every little child.”
“But it is not strange they should forget us here,” Manuel insisted.
“The little street is hidden in the shadow of the great ones.”
Then Rosita spoke, clasping her hands together with great eagerness: “I
know; it is because we have no shoes, that is why the kings never stop.
Perhaps Enrique would lend us the shoes he is mending--just for one
night. If we had shoes the kings would surely see that there are little
children in the street, and leave a gift for each of us. Come, let us
ask Enrique!”
“Madre de Dios, it is a blessed thought!” cried all; and like the flock
of gray _palomas_ they swept down the street to the farthest end, where
Enrique hammered and stitched away all day on the shoes of the rich
children.
Manuel stayed behind with Doña Josefa. When the last pair of little
brown feet had disappeared inside the _sapateria_ he said softly:
“If some one could go out and meet the kings--to tell them of this
little street, and how the _niños_ here have never had a Christmas gift,
do you not think they might ride hither to-night?”
Doña Josefa shook her head doubtfully. “If that were possible,--but
never have I heard of any one who met the kings on Christmas Eve.”
All day in the city people hurried to and fro. In the great streets
flags waved from the housetops; and wreaths of laurel, or garlands of
heliotrope and mariposa hung above the open doorways and in the windows.
Sweetmeat sellers were crying their wares; and the Keeper-of-the-City
lighted flaming torches to hang upon the gates and city walls.
Everywhere was merrymaking and gladness; for not only was this Christmas
Eve, but the King of Spain was coming to keep his holiday within the
city. Some whispered that he was riding from the north, and with him
rode his cousins, the kings of France and Lombardy; and with them were
a great following of nobles, knights, and minstrels. Others said, the
kings rode all alone--it was their wish.
As the sun was turning the cathedral spires to shafts of gold, bands of
children, hand in hand, marched out of the city. They took the road that
led toward the setting sun, thinking it was the East; and said among
themselves: “See, yonder is the way the kings will ride.”
“I have brought a basket of figs,” cried one.
“I have dates in a new _panuela_,” cried another.
“And I,” cried a third, “I have brought a sack of sweet limes, they are
so cooling.”
Thus each in turn showed some small gift that he was bringing for the
kings. And while they chatted together, one child began to sing the
sweet Nativity Hymn. In a moment others joined until the still night air
rang with their happy voices.
“Unto us a Child is born,
Unto us a Gift is given.
Hail with holiness the morn,
Kneel before the Prince of Heaven.
Blessed be this Day of Birth,
God hath given his Son to earth.
Jesu, Jesu, Nene Jesu,
Hallelujah!”
Behind the little hills the sun went down leaving a million sparks of
light upon the road.
“Yonder come the kings!” the children cried. “See, the splendor of their
shining crowns and how the jewels sparkle on their mantles! They may be
angry if they find us out so late; come, let us run home before they see
us.”
The children turned. Back to the city gates they ran; back to their
homes, to the good _madres_ watching for them and their own white beds
ready for them.
But one they left behind them on the road: a little, bare-limbed boy
whose name was Manuel. He watched until the children had disappeared
within the gates, and then he turned again toward the setting sun.
“I have no gift for the kings,” he thought, “but there is fresh, green
grass beside the way, that I can gather for the camels.”
He stopped; pulled his hands full, and stuffed it in the front of the
little blue _vestido_ that he wore. He followed the road for a long way
until heavy sleep came to his eyes.
“How still it is upon the road! God has blown out his light and soon it
will be dark. I wish I were with the others, safe within the city; for
the dark is full of fearsome things when one is all alone.... Mamita
will be coming home soon and bringing supper for Rosita and me.
Perhaps, to-night, there will be an almond _dulce_ or _pan de
gloria_,--perhaps.... I wonder will Rosita not forget the little prayer
I told her to be always saying. My feet hurt with the many stones; the
night wind blows cold; I am weary, and my feet stumble with me.... Oh,
Nene Jesu, listen! I also make the prayer: ‘Send the three kings before
Manuel is too weary and afraid!’”
A few more steps he took upon the road; and then, as a reed is blown
down by the wind, Manuel swayed, unknowingly for a moment, and slowly
sank upon the ground, fast asleep.
How long he slept, I cannot tell you; but a hand on his shoulder wakened
him. Quickly he opened his eyes, wondering, and saw--yes, he saw the
three kings! Tall and splendid they looked in the starlight; their
mantles shimmered with myriad gems. One stood above Manuel, asking what
he did upon the road at that late hour.
He rose to his feet--thrusting his hand inside the shirt for the grass
he had gathered: “It is for the camels, _señor_; I have no other gift.
But you--you ride horses this Christmas Eve!”
“Yes, we ride horses; what is that to you?”
“Pardon, _señores_, nothing. The three kings can ride horses if they
wish; only--we were told you rode on camels from the East.”
“What does the child want?” The voice was kind but it sounded impatient;
as though the one who spoke had work waiting to be done, and was anxious
to be about it.
Manuel heard and felt all this, wondering, “What if there is not time
for them to come, or gifts enough!” He laid an eager, pleading hand upon
one king’s mantle. “I can hold the horses for you if you will come this
once. It is a little street and hard to find, _señores_; I thought,
perhaps, you would leave a present--just one little present--for the
children there. You told the Christ Child you would give to every child,
don’t you remember? There are many of us, _señores_, who have never had
a gift--a Christmas gift.”
“Do you know who we are?”
Manuel answered joyfully: “Oh, yes, _Excelencias_, you are the Three
Christmas Kings, riding from Bethlehem. Will you come with me?”
The kings spoke with one accord: “Verily, we will.”
One lifted Manuel on his horse; and silently they rode into the city.
The Keeper slumbered at the gates; the streets were empty. On, past the
houses that were garlanded they went unseen, and on through the great
streets; until they came to the little street at last. The kings
dismounted. They gave their bridles into Manuel’s hand; and then,
gathering up their precious mantles of silk and rich brocade, they
passed down the little street. With eyes that scarce believed what they
saw, Manuel watched them go from house to house; saw them stop and feel
for the shoes between the gratings--the shoes loaned by Enrique the
cobbler; and saw them fill each one with shining goldpieces.
In the morning Manuel told the story to the children as they went to
spend one golden _doblón_ for toys and candy and sugared cakes. And a
gift they bought for Doña Josefa, too: a little figure of the Holy
Mother with the Christ Child in her arms.
And so, the promise made in Bethlehem was made again, and to a little
child; and it was kept. For many, many years--long after Manuel was
grown and had _niños_ of his own--the kings remembered the little
street, and brought their gifts there every Christmas Eve.
THE CHRISTMAS CAKE[4]
MAUD LINDSAY
It was a joyful day for the McMulligan children when Mrs. McMulligan
made the Christmas cake. There were raisins to seed and eggs to beat,
and pans to scrape, and every one of the children, from the oldest to
the youngest, helped to stir the batter when the good things were mixed
together.
“Oh, mix it, and stir it, and stir it and taste;
For ev’rything’s in it, and nothing to waste;
And ev’ry one’s helped--even Baby--to make
The nice, brown, sugary Christmas cake,”
said Mrs. McMulligan, as she poured the batter into the cake pan.
The Baker who lived at the corner was to bake the Christmas cake, so
Joseph, the oldest boy, made haste to carry it to him. All the other
children followed him, and together they went, oh, so carefully, out of
the front door, down the sidewalk, straight to the shop where the Baker
was waiting for them.
The Baker’s face was so round and so jolly that the McMulligan children
thought he must look like Santa Claus. He could bake the whitest bread
and the lightest cake, and as soon as the children spied him they began
to call:
“The cake is all ready! ’T is here in the pan;
Now bake it, good Baker, as fast as you can”;
“No, no,” said the Baker, “‘T would be a mistake
To hurry in baking the Christmas cake.
I’ll not bake it fast, and I’ll not bake it slow;
My little round clock on the wall there will show
How long I must watch and how long I must bake
The nice, brown, sugary Christmas cake.”
The little round clock hung on the wall above the oven. Its face was so
bright, and its tick was so merry, and it was busy night and day telling
the Baker when to sleep and when to eat and when to do his baking. When
the McMulligan children looked at it, it was just striking ten, and it
seemed to them very plainly to say:
“‘T is just the right time for the Baker to bake
The nice, brown, sugary Christmas cake.”
The oven was ready, and the Baker made haste to put the cake in.
“Ho, ho,” he cried gayly, “now isn’t this fun?
’T is ten o’ the clock, and the baking’s begun,
And ‘tickity, tickity,’ when it strikes one,
If nothing should hinder the cake will be done.”
Then the McMulligan children ran home to tell their mother what he had
said, and the Baker went on with his work. It was the day before
Christmas, and a great many people came to his shop to buy pies and
cakes, but no matter how busy he was waiting on them, he never forgot
the McMulligans’ cake, and every time he looked at the clock, it
reminded him to peep into the oven.
So well did he watch it, and so carefully did he bake it, that the cake
was done on the stroke of one, just as he had promised, and he had
scarcely taken it out of the oven when the shop door flew open; and in
came the McMulligan children, every one of them saying:
“The clock has struck one. The clock has struck one.
We waited to hear it--and is the cake done?”
When they saw it they thought it was the nicest, brownest, spiciest cake
that was ever baked in a Baker’s oven. The Baker himself said it was a
beautiful cake, and if you had been at the McMulligans’ on Christmas
Day, I am sure you would have thought so too.
Joseph carried it home, walking very slowly and carefully, and all the
other children followed him, out of the Baker’s shop, down the sidewalk,
straight home where Mrs. McMulligan was waiting for them. She was
smiling at them from the window, and when they spied her they all began
to call:
“Hurrah for our Mamma! She surely can make
The nicest and spiciest Christmas cake!
“Hurrah for the Baker! Hurrah for the fun!
Hurrah for our Christmas cake! Now it is done!”
THE DOLL’S WISH
ANNA E. SKINNER
The children liked the tiny shop around the corner better than any of
the stores on the main street of the town. It was a doll shop! No wonder
the little boys and girls loved to look in the show window. There they
saw all kinds of dolls,--rubber babies, fat kewpies with roguish eyes,
doll soldiers, tiny Japanese ladies dressed in flowered silk kimonos,
little Eskimo boys in pointed hoods and woolly coats, Dutch dolls in
wooden shoes and snow-white caps, brown-eyed dolls with rich dark hair,
blue-eyed dolls with golden curls.
Nothing could look lovelier than the little shop at Christmas time when
the ground was white with snow. Then many of the dolls wore their gayest
dresses, and when the lights were turned on, the little show window
sparkled like fairyland.
One night, at about twelve o’clock, a brown-haired doll with bright dark
eyes said, “Oh! how glad I am the lights are turned out at last! I’m
sure at least five hundred people stopped in front of this window
to-day.”
“It has been a long day,” said the soldier boy who stood near her. “Even
a soldier gets tired once in a while.”
“It is only a few days now until Christmas. I do wonder where we shall
all be this time next week,” whispered a wide-eyed kewpie.
“Well, I hope I shall be in a pleasant, beautiful home,” said a lovely
doll, smoothing out her pale blue silk dress. “A lady who wore a rich
fur coat looked at me a long while this morning.”
“Some of us are sure to go to rich homes. You and I are worth a good
deal of money. Indeed, there is only one doll in the show window more
expensive than we are,” answered the golden-haired maiden in white lace.
“I suppose you mean the large doll dressed in pink satin?”
“Yes; I heard several children call her the most beautiful doll of all.”
“Did you notice the shabby looking little girl who stood before the
window a long time this morning?” asked the doll in blue.
“I did!” answered the soldier boy. “She carried a cunning looking little
dog in her arms. If I should go where that silky-haired dog lives my
soldier clothes would be ruined in about ten minutes.”
“Well, I should be very unhappy, I’m sure, in that little girl’s home.
She must be very poor.”
“I liked her sweet face very much,” said the most beautiful doll, who
was dressed in pink satin. “She was very kind to the little dog.”
“A cozy place is my choice,” said the lass who wore wooden shoes. “I
hope I shall live where everything is kept warm and cheerful.”
“Yes, that is really where you belong, I suppose,” said the Eskimo boy.
“These clothes will be too warm if I am taken to one of those houses
where the rooms are all as hot as a summer’s day.”
“Where should you like to go?” asked the little Dutch maiden.
The Eskimo boy thought for a moment, and then said, “I hope I shall live
with some romping boy who will take me with him when he makes a snow
man. That would be jolly!”
“Oh, do you think so?” asked the tiny doll dressed in green gauze.
“That I do,” he answered. “I’m from the north, where there is nothing
but ice and snow.”
“I would rather stand here in the show window than on a parlor mantel,”
pouted little Kewpie.
“Never mind, dear,” said the Japanese doll, “I think you are to go to a
lovely little girl. I saw one looking at you this afternoon, and she
clapped her hands with delight when she saw you.”
“Where do you think you will go?” asked Kewpie.
“I’m afraid that I shall be chosen for some queer little person. You see
my style is quite different from that of other dolls. I hope I shall be
allowed to wear kimonos. They are very comfortable.”
“Perhaps you will be added to some one’s collection of dolls from all
nations,” said the soldier boy.
“Oh, I hope not,” spoke up the most beautiful doll of all. “If you were
one of a large collection I’m sure you wouldn’t be loved very much,
because collections are kept chiefly for show.”
“You haven’t told us yet where you would like to go,” said the doll in
white lace. “No doubt some very rich person will buy you. I heard the
shopkeeper say that you are the costliest doll of all. We are all
wondering where you would like to go.”
“I am longing to go to some little girl who will love me with all her
heart,” said the most beautiful doll. “I don’t care how humble the home
is where I live, but I want to be loved.”
“How strange!” was the answer.
“I hope we shall all be satisfied,” said Kewpie, yawning.
“We shall soon know,” sighed the soldier boy. “Good night to all!”
“Good night! Good night!”
A hard snowstorm did not keep the people away from the doll shop the
next morning.
Among those that crowded the store was an old gentleman with a fine,
generous face.
“Show me a pretty doll,” he said.
“There are some beauties in the window, sir,” answered the shopkeeper.
“Come and look at them.”
“I’ll take the large one dressed in pink,” said the gentleman. “I’m
going to send it to a dear little girl who did me a great kindness. My
little dog strayed a long distance from home. She found him, and carried
him to me. I’m sure her kind heart will love a doll.”
In the afternoon an old gentleman knocked at the door of a very humble
home and said, “I have brought a gift to the little girl who took the
trouble to carry my lost dog home to me. Please give it to her on
Christmas Day.”
And so the most beautiful doll’s wish came true.
THE CHRISTMAS SPRUCE TREE
(Norwegian Legend)
ANNA VON RYDINGSVÄRD
Among the tall trees in the forest grew a little spruce tree. It was no
taller than a man, and that is very short for a tree.
The other trees near it grew so tall and had such large branches that
the poor little tree could not grow at all.
She liked to listen when the other trees were talking, but it often made
her sad.
“I am king of the forest,” said the oak. “Look at my huge trunk and my
branches. How they reach up toward heaven! I furnish planks for men from
which they build their ships. Then I defy the storm on the ocean as I do
the thunder in the forest.”
“And I go with you over the foaming waves,” said the tall straight pine.
“I hold up the flapping sails when the ships fly over the ocean.”
“And we warm the houses when winter comes and the cold north wind drives
the snow before him,” said the birches.
“We have the same work to do,” said a tall fir tree, and she bowed
gracefully, drooping her branches toward the ground.
The little spruce tree heard the other trees talking about their work in
the world. This made her sad, and she thought, “What work can I do? What
will become of me?”
But she could not think of any way in which she could be useful. She
decided to ask the other trees in the forest.
So she asked the oak, the pine, and the fir, but they were so proud and
stately they did not even hear her.
Then she asked the beautiful white birch that stood near by. “You have
no work to do,” said the birch, “because you can never grow large
enough. Perhaps you might be a Christmas tree, but that is all.”
“What is a Christmas tree?” asked the little spruce.
“I do not know exactly,” replied the birch. “Sometimes when the days are
short and cold, and the ground is covered with snow, men come out here
into the forest. They look at all the little spruce trees and choose the
prettiest, saying, ‘This will do for a Christmas tree.’ Then they chop
it down and carry it away. What they do with it I cannot tell.”
The little spruce asked the rabbit that hopped over the snow, and the
owls that slept in the pines, and the squirrels that came to find nuts
and acorns.
But no one knew more than the birch tree. No one could tell what men did
with the Christmas trees.
Then the little spruce tree wept because she had no work to do and could
not be of any use in the world.
The tears hardened into clear, round drops, which we call gum.
At last a boy came into the forest with an ax in his hand. He looked the
little tree all over. “Perhaps this will do for a Christmas tree,” he
said. So he chopped it down, laid it on a sled, and dragged it home.
The next day the boy sold the tree, and it was taken into a large room
and dressed up with popcorn and gilded nuts and candles. Packages of all
sizes and shapes, and tiny bags filled with candy, were tied on its
branches.
The tree was trembling with the excitement, but she stood as still as
she could. “What if I should drop some of this fruit,” she thought.
When it began to grow dark, every one left the room and the tree was
alone. It began to feel lonely and to think sad thoughts.
Soon the door opened and a lady came in. She lighted all the candles.
How light and glowing it was then!
The tree had never even dreamed of anything so beautiful!
Then the children came and danced about the tree, singing a Christmas
song. The father played on his violin, and the baby sat in her mother’s
arms, smiling and cooing.
“Now I know what I was made for,” thought the spruce tree; “I was
intended to give joy to the little ones, because I, myself, am so small
and humble.”
A LITTLE ROMAN SHEPHERD[5]
CAROLINE SHERWIN BAILEY
His name was Bruno and he lived a long, long way from here on the Roman
Campagna. His house was a pointed hut thatched with straw, and back of
it was the fold where the sheep lived, and then, for miles and miles,
there was no other living thing for a little boy to see. There was no
one to play with; there was nothing for a little boy to do but tend the
sheep and milk the goats and wish, oh, so hard, that he might go on that
long Appian Way to the gate of St. Sebastian and to Rome, on the other
side.
Piccola had told him about Rome. Piccola’s father bought wool and sold
it to the traders at Rome. Twice a year Piccola and her father came out
to the Campagna at shearing time. The father haggled over the _lira_ he
must pay Bruno’s father. Piccola and Bruno sat under an olive tree,
their hands tightly clasped, as Piccola told Bruno of Rome.
“You should see it at the _festa_ of Christmas,” she exclaimed. “Every
shop is full of lights in the evening and the flower carts stand at all
the corners. There is a manger and Babe in the chapel and,” Piccola’s
voice was rich with wonder, “there is a _box that talks_ in a shop on
the Corso.”
“I don’t believe you; how could it talk? What makes it talk?” Bruno
asked; but this Piccola could not tell.
“It _talks_--that is all I know,” she said, “and it _sings_,” and she
might have told more but her father came and she must say good-by to
Bruno. In a moment he could see nothing of Piccola but the flash of her
little scarlet and green skirt and the blue cornflower she wore in her
black braids. Then there was only a cloud of dust to hide the yellow
cart wheels, and Piccola was gone--to Rome where there was a box that
would talk and sing.
There came long, sweet, all-alike days for Bruno and the sheep. The
wheat grew yellow and heavy to breaking with sweetness and Bruno watched
the harvesters. The olives ripened, and the grapes, and the figs. Then
the sun set earlier, and the nights were chilly with frost, and Bruno
and his father put warm cloaks made of skin over their blue smocks.
“It is near the _festa_ of Christmas,” said Bruno one day. “I have never
been to Rome. Will you take me there to hear the talking box on the
Corso, father? It both speaks and sings.”
“No,” Bruno’s father was quick in his reply, being a hard man after many
lonely years. “The ewe lambs are ailing, and I cannot leave them. And
there are no singing boxes in Rome.”
So Bruno followed the old sheep and the lambs to their grassy hill and
helped to drive them home at night until it was the eve of the Christmas
_festa_. On this eve, he locked the gate of the fold and turned to go
into the hut. His father would be dozing, perhaps, for the cold dusk had
crept over the great Campagna and one star shone out in the purple sky.
It hung, pointing, over Rome. As Bruno looked up at it, he heard a sound
of far-away bells. They might be the bells of Rome. Oh, beautiful Rome,
with its gay, bright streets, and its flower carts, and its magic box
that could sing and turn loneliness into music!
Bruno pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. His bare feet flashed
over the fields of dry grass and wheat stubble. He found the old Appian
Road and raced along it in the path of starlight. He was running away.
He was going to Rome. For an hour he ran.
He had gone so far and so fast, and his ears rang so with the singing
Christmas bells that, at first, he did not hear it--the bleating of a
foolish little ewe lamb. Then it came again, and Bruno stopped. The lamb
lay under a bunch of dried brown stalks, its flesh torn by thistles and
its eyes dull with fear because it had lost its mother.
“Stupid! Why did you run away? I can’t take you home!” Bruno stamped one
little brown foot, “I’m going to Rome for Christmas, do you hear? I
won’t take you home--” but as he spoke, he stooped down and lifted the
trembling, fearful little creature in his arms and turned back toward
the fold.
The star path stretched at Bruno’s back now. Ahead were black shadows,
and a biting wind whirled small stones that cut his face and made
mocking sounds as it scurried through the ruined arches of the aqueduct.
He lost the road, and stiff cactus thorns cut his slim ankles. The lamb
was heavier with each step. He wouldn’t cry; no Roman lad cries, his
father had told him; but he couldn’t find his way. The little shepherd
boy dropped to the ground. He could hear the Christmas bells; no, it was
a clear, sweet voice coming from a polished wood box that sang him to
sleep.
When he opened his heavy eyelids, Piccola’s dancing eyes met his. What
a gay little Christmas sprite she looked in her warm crimson hood and
cloak! Bruno, himself, lay in his father’s arms and Piccola’s father was
lifting the strayed lamb into the two-wheeled yellow cart, a lantern in
one hand.
“We had to go to Albano with wool, and on the way back I begged father
to stop for you, Bruno, to go back to Rome for Christmas. We couldn’t
find you. Your father came with us to look for you, and the lamb told us
where you were.”
“My brave little Roman lad!” It was Bruno’s father who stroked his head
with long, thin fingers. “We will return with the lamb to the fold and
find warm milk for you. Then you may go to Rome for the _festa_ with the
little _signorina_.”
“And we’re going to _buy_ a box that talks,” added Piccola, happily.
“And sings!” smiled back Bruno as he looked toward the Christmas star
and the gate of St. Sebastian.
THE CHRISTMAS TREE IN THE NURSERY[6]
RICHARD WATSON GILDER
With wild surprise
Four great eyes
In two small heads
From neighboring beds
Looked out--and winkt
And glittered and blinkt
At a very queer sight
In the dim dawn-light.
As plain as can be
A fairy tree
Flashes and glimmers
And shakes and shimmers.
Red, green, and blue
Meet their view;
Silver and gold
Sharp eyes behold;
Small moons, big stars;
And jams in jars,
And cakes and honey
And thimbles and money;
Pink dogs, blue cats,
Little squeaking rats,
And candles and dolls
And crackers and polls,
A real bird that sings,
And tokens and favors,
And all sorts of things,
For the little shavers.
Four black eyes
Grow big with surprise,
And then grow bigger,
When a tiny little figure,
Jaunty and airy,
A fairy, a fairy!
From the treetop cries,
“Open wide, Black Eyes!
Come, children, wake now!
Your joys you may take now.”
Quick as you can think
Twenty small toes
In four pretty rows,
Like little piggies pink,
All kick in the air--
And before you can wink
The tree stands bare!
THE STARS AND THE CHILD
ANDREA HOFER PROUDFOOT
Long, long ago--so long that even the old gray hills have forgotten--the
beautiful stars in the sky used to sing together very early every
morning, before any of the little people of the world were up. Their
songs were made of light, and were so clear and strong that the whole
heaven would shine when they sang.
One morning, as the stars sang and listened to each other, they heard
beautiful music coming swiftly toward them. It was so much louder and
sweeter than their own that they all stopped and listened and wondered.
It came from far above them, from out the very deepest blue of the sky.
It was a new star, and it sang an entirely new song that no one had ever
heard before.
“Hark, hark!” the stars cried. “Let us hear what it is saying.”
And the beautiful star sang it over and over again, and its song told of
a lovely Babe that had come on earth--a Babe so beautiful that it was
the joy of the whole world. Yes, so beautiful that when you looked at
it you saw real light streaming from its face.
Every little child in the world has light in its face if we but know how
to see it; but this little one had so very much that its mother wondered
as she looked down upon her lap and saw it there. And there were
shepherds there to look at the Babe, and many other people saw it and
could not understand.
But the one beautiful star knew--yes, it knew all about it; and what do
you think it knew? Why, that this Child was God’s own Child, and was so
good and loving that the whole world when it heard of it would want to
know how to be so, too.
This one beautiful star traveled on and on, telling all the way what it
knew of the Child, and its light fairly danced through the sky, and hung
over the very place where the little one lay.
THE STRANGER CHILD[7]
FRIEDRICH RÜCKERT
(Translated from the German by Frances Jenkins Olcott)
’Twas Christmas Eve and, birdlike over the snow, flew a little stranger
child. It ran along the sparkling ground. Its face beamed with gladness.
It listened to the merry chimes of the Christmas bells and clapped its
hands for joy.
It frolicked in the bright beams of light that fell from a cottage
window, and, peeping in, saw the Christmas tree hung full of shining
light and glittering gifts, and it watched the little children play
about the tree.
“Oh, where,” cried the little stranger child, “where is my candles’
light? And why is there no tree for me, nor pretty toys? Once in my
house my dear mother decked my tree! Oh, little children, may I not come
in to see your tree and play with you?”
Then with frail hand the stranger child knocked on the window and the
door, but no one heard the sound. Then down in the cold, white snow the
little one sat, and wept.
“O Christ Child, the children’s Friend, I have no one to love me! Oh,
why hast thou forgotten to send me a little tree with lights on every
bough?”
And the little stranger child, with cold hands, drew its white cloak
closer around its silken hair and pretty eyes so clear and blue.
Then came another pilgrim child. He held in His hand a shining light,
and in a sweet, mild voice, like gentle music, he soothed the little
stranger child.
“I am the Christmas Friend. Once I was a little child. Just now I heard
your pleadings, and have come to deck a tree for you more beautiful than
any tree ever before seen. Here in the open air is your Christmas tree,
my little flower.” And the little stranger child looked up--far up--into
the deep, deep sky, and saw there a glorious tree. Stars hung among its
branches, and angels sang songs of joy around it.
And the little child smiled with joy, and troops of radiant beings
descended and lifted the little one in their arms. They bore him to the
Christ Child’s house, which is sweeter far than any home that earth can
give.
THE STAR SONG
ROBERT HERRICK
I
Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue,
Where is the Babe that lately sprung?
Lies he the lily banks among?
II
Or say, if this new Birth of ours
Sleeps, laid within some ark of flowers,
Spangled with dew-light, thou can’st clear
All doubts, and manifest the where.
III
Declare to us, bright star, if we shall seek
Him in the morning’s blushing cheek,
Or search the beds of spices through,
To find Him out?
STAR
No, this ye need not do;
But only come and see Him rest,
A Princely Babe, in’s mother’s breast.