What was coming down was the snow. It had been falling, thicker and

faster, since a little after daylight, and now it was nearly dark.

Stumps of trees and gate posts were capped with great white masses of

it; here and there a path, cleared up to the back door of a farmhouse,

showed on either hand a high bank of it fluted with broom or shovel.

The boy, whose observation about its coming down I have just recorded,

was Master Winfield Scott Burnham. He was a slender boy, with a pale

face, dark eyes and brown hair, and he sat pressing his face against the

pane of a car window, looking with rather a rueful countenance upon the

fast-falling snow. The young gentleman sitting opposite to him, whom he

made bold to address as Bill, was his big brother, a junior in college,

who had long been Win’s hero; and he was worthy to be the hero of any

small boy, for he was not only strong and swift and expert in all kinds

of muscular sports, but he was too much of a man ever to treat small

boys, even though they might be his own brothers, roughly or

contemptuously.

Just across the aisle, on the other side of the car, sat Win’s eldest

sister, Grace, who was a sophomore at Smith College; and fronting her on

the reversed seat was Win’s younger brother, Philip Sheridan.

The reason why these Burnhams happened to be traveling together was

this: The Christmas vacation had come, and William and Grace were on

their way to their home in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. The two small

boys, whose school at home had closed a week earlier than the colleges,

had been visiting their cousins in Hartford for a few days; and it was

arranged that William should come over from Amherst and join Grace at

Northampton, and that the two should wait at Springfield for the little

boys, who were to be put on the northern train at Hartford by their

uncle. But the trains on all the roads had been greatly delayed by the

snow, and it was four o’clock before the noon express, with the Burnhams

on board, left Springfield for the west. The darkness was closing in,

and the wind was rising, and William had already expressed some fear of

a snow-blockade upon the mountain. This remark had made Win rather

sober, and he had been watching the snow and listening to the wind with

an anxious face.

“How long shall we be going to Pittsfield?” he asked his brother.

“There’s no telling,” answered Will. “We ought to get there in two

hours, but at this rate it will be four, at the shortest.”

“That will make it eight o’clock,” sighed Win. “I’m afraid the Christmas

tree will all be unloaded before that time.”

“Yes, my boy; I’m sorry, but you might as well make up your mind to

that.”

Win started across the car. This disappointment was too big for one. He

must share it with Phil.

“Hold on, General!” said William in a low tone. “What’s the good of

telling him? Let him be easy in his mind as long as he can.”

Win sat down in silence. Phil was telling his sister great stories of

the Hartford visit, and his gleeful tones resounded through the car.

Grace was laughing at his big talk, and they seemed to be making a merry

time of it. But the train had just stopped at Westfield, and there was

difficulty in starting. The wind howled ominously, and great gusts of

snow came flying down from the roof of the passenger house against the

windows of the car. Presently, the two engines that were drawing the

train backed up a little to get a good start, and then plunged into the

snow.

“Ch--h! Ch--h! ch--ch! Ch-h-h-h-h-!”

The wheels were slipping upon the track, and the train suddenly came to

a halt.

Back again they went, a little farther, for another start; and this time

the two engines, like “two hearts that beat as one,” cleared the course,

and the train went slowly on up the grade. Grace and Phil had stopped

talking, and they now came across, and joined their brothers.

“Aren’t you afraid there may be trouble on the mountain, Will?” asked

Grace.

“Shouldn’t wonder,” said that gentleman, shortly.

“But, Will, what in the world should we do if we should happen to be

blockaded?”

“Sit still and wait till we were shoveled out, I suppose. You see, we

couldn’t go on afoot very well.”

“Going to be snowed up! That’s tiptop!” cried Phil. The boy’s love of

adventure had crowded out all thoughts of the festival to which they

were hastening. “I read in the paper about a train that was snowed up

three or four days on the Pacific road, and the passengers had jolly

times; the station wasn’t very far off, and they got enough to eat and

drink, and they had all sorts of shows on the train.”

“But I’d rather see the show at the Christmas tree to-night,” said Win,

“than any show we’ll see on this old train. Wouldn’t you, Bill?”

“Perhaps so,” answered Bill. It was evident that he had reasons of his

own for not wishing to be absent from the festival.

Meantime, the train was plowing along. Now and then it came to a halt in

a cut which the snow had filled, but a small party of shovelers that had

come on board at Westfield usually succeeded, after a short delay, in

clearing the track. Still the progress was very slow. A full hour and a

half was consumed between Springfield and Russell, and it was almost

seven o’clock when the train stopped at Chester.

The boys were pretty hungry by this time, and the prospect of spending

the night in a snowbank was much less attractive, even to Phil, than it

had been two hours before. At Chester, where there was a long halt, the

passengers--of whom there were not many--nearly all got out and

refreshed themselves. A couple of sandwiches, a piece of custard pie, a

big, round doughnut, and a glass of good milk considerably increased

Phil’s courage and greatly comforted Win, so that they returned to the

car ready to encounter with equal mind the perils of the night.

The snow had ceased to fall, but the wind was still blowing. Two or

three more shovelers came on board, and, thus reënforced, the train

pushed on. But it was slow work; the grade was getting heavier and the

drifts were deeper every mile. But Middlefield was passed and Becket was

left behind, and at nine o’clock the train was slowly toiling up toward

the summit at Washington, when, suddenly, it came to a halt, and a long

blast was blown by the whistles of both engines. Shortly, a brakeman

came through the train, and, taking one of the red lanterns from the

rear of the last car, hurried down the track with it.

“Where is he going with that lantern?” asked Phil.

“He is going back a little way,” said Will. “The lantern is a signal to

keep other trains from running into us. That means that we are to stay

here for some time. I’ll go out and see what’s up.”

Presently he returned with a sober face, and looking very cold.

“Well, what is it?” they all asked.

“Oh, nothing; there’s a freight train in the cut just ahead of us, with

two of its cars off the track, and the cut’s about half full of snow. If

our Christmas goose isn’t cooked already, there’ll be plenty of time to

have it cooked before we get out of this.”

“Is it that deep cut just below the Washington station?” asked Grace.

“The same,” answered Will; “and it’s as likely a place to spend

Christmas in as you could find anywhere in western Massachusetts.”

“Can’t they dig out the snow?” cried Win.

“Oh, yes,” said the big brother; “but it’s not an easy thing to do; it’s

got to be done with shovels, and it will take a long time.”

“How long?” asked Grace, ruefully.

“Nobody knows. But we shall be obliged to wait for more shovelers and

wreckers to come up from Springfield, and I shouldn’t wonder at all if

we stayed here twenty-four hours.”

“Can’t you telegraph to father?”

“I’m sorry to say I cannot. I asked about that, but the station man says

the lines are down. No; there’s nothing to do but bunk down for the

night as well as we can, and wait till deliverance comes. We’re in a

regular fix and no mistake, and we’ve just got to make the best of it,”

replied Will.

Just then the rear door of the car opened and a figure appeared that had

not been seen hitherto upon the train. It was that of a stalwart man,

perhaps fifty-five years old, with long white hair and beard, ruddy

cheeks, and bright gray eyes. He wore a gray fur cap and a long gray

overcoat, and looked enough like--Somebody that we are all thinking of

about Christmas time to have been that Somebody’s twin brother.

“Good evenin’, friends!” he said, in a very jolly tone, as he shut the

car door behind him. “Pleased to receive a call from so many on ye.

Merry Christmas to ye all! ’T ain’t often that I kin welcome such a big

Christmas party as this to my place!”

The good nature of the farmer was irresistible. The passengers all

laughed.

“I believe you,” said a traveling salesman in a sealskin cap; “and the

sooner you bid us good riddance the better we shall like it.”

“And you needn’t mind about wishing us many happy returns either,” said

a black-whiskered man in a plaid ulster. “If we ever get away from

here, you won’t see us again soon!”

“What place is this?” inquired a gray-haired lady, who sat just in front

of the Burnhams.

“Washin’ton’s what they call it,” said the jolly farmer. “Pop’lar name

enough; but the place don’t seem to be over pop’lar jest now with some

on ye.” And he laughed a big, jolly laugh.

“Is it, like our capital, a ‘city of magnificent distances’?” inquired

the man in the ulster.

“I reckon it is. It’s consid’able of a distance from everywhere else on

airth. But it’s nigher to heaven ’n any other place hereabouts.”

“What is raised on this hill?” inquired the traveling salesman.

“Wind, mostly. Is that article in your line?”

The laugh was on the salesman, but he enjoyed it as well as any of them.

A bit of a girl about three years old, tugging a flaxen-haired doll

under one arm, here came sidling down the aisle of the car.

“Ith oo Thanty Kauth?” she said, lifting her great, solemn black eyes to

the farmer’s face. The laugh was on him now; and he joined in it

uproariously.

“Not jest exackly, my little gal,” he said, as he lifted her up in his

arms; “but you’ve come purty nigh it. Sandy Ross is what they call me.”

“Has oo dot a thleigh and a waindeer?” persisted the little maiden.

“No; but I’ve got a first-rate wood sled,--pair o’ bobs, with a wood

rack on ’t--’n’ ez slick a span o’ Canadian ponies ez ever you see!”

The farmer stroked the dark hair of the little girl with his great, hard

hand, and she snuggled down on his shoulder as if he had been her

grandfather.

The Burnhams had been joining in the merriment, though they had taken no

part in the conversation. But when the little girl climbed down from the

arms of Sandy Ross, Will arose and beckoned him to a vacant seat.

“How far from here do you live, Mr. Ross?”

“Right up the bank thar. That’s my house, with a light in the winder.”

It was a comfortable looking white farmhouse, with a sloping roof in the

rear and a big chimney in the middle.

“Now, Mr. Ross, I live in Pittsfield, and I want mightily to get there

before noon to-morrow. I don’t believe this train will get there before

to-morrow night. Could you take my sister and those two little chaps and

me, and carry us all home early to-morrow morning on your wood sled,

providing it isn’t too cold to undertake the journey?”

“Let’s see. Well, yes; I calc’late I could. I was a-thinkin’ ’bout goin’

over to Pittsfield t’morrer with a little jag o’ wood, ’n’ I reckon live

critters like you won’t be no more trouble, ho! ho! The snow ain’t no

gret depth; ’t ain’t nigh’s deep on t’ other side o’ the mountain ez ’t

is on this side. There’ll be drifts now ’n’ then, but the fences is

down, so that we kin turn inter the fields ’n’ go round ’em.”

“How long will it take you to drive over?”

“Let’s see. ’T ain’t over fifteen or sixteen mile. I reckon I can make

it in three to four hours.”

“Well, sir, if you’ll get us over there safely before noon, I’ll give

you five dollars.”

“All right; that’s enough; tew much, I guess. But see here, my friends;

jest bring the young lady ’n’ the little chaps up to my house ’n’ spend

the night there, all on ye. Then we can hev an airly breakfast, ’n’

start fair when we get good ’n’ ready.”

In less than five minutes the Burnhams, with bags and bundles, were

following Sandy Ross to the door of the car.

This was the last that our travelers saw of their fellow passengers on

the Western Express. Late the next afternoon the train rolled into

Pittsfield station, but the Burnhams were busy elsewhere about that

time.

It was but a few steps from the train to Sandy Ross’s house. William

carried his sister through the deepest snow, and the boys trudged along

with the bundles, highly pleased with the prospect of an adventure in a

farmhouse. Good Mrs. Ross was as blithe and hearty as her husband, and

she soon made the young folks feel quite at home.

To Miss Grace “the spar’ room,” as Mrs. Ross called it, was assigned,

while Will and the two boys found a sleeping place in the attic. The dim

tallow candle that lighted them to bed disclosed all sorts of curious

things. In one comer, facing each other, were two old, tall clocks that

had long ceased ticking, and now stood with folded hands and silent

pendulums, resting from their labors. An old chest of drawers, that

would have been a prize for hunters of the antique, was near the clocks;

braids of yellow seed-corn hung from the rafters, and at one end of the

great room stood the handloom on which the mother of Mrs. Ross had been

wont to weave cloth for the garments of her household. It was an

heirloom, in the literal sense. The boys thought that this garret would

have been a grand place to ransack; but they were too well bred to go

prying about, and contented themselves with admiring what was before

their eyes. It was not long before they were sound asleep in their snug

nest of feathers; and when they waked the next morning breakfast was

ready, and Farmer Ross and brother Will had made all the preparations

for the journey. To the excellent farmer’s breakfast of juicy ham and

eggs, genuine country sausages, and delicious buckwheat cakes with maple

sirup, they all did full justice.

“It does me good to see boys eat,” said the kind farmer’s wife; “they do

enjoy it so”; and tears were in her eyes as she thought of the hungry

boys that used to sit around this table. Farmer Ross and his wife were

alone in the world. Two of their sons were sleeping in unmarked graves

at Chancellorsville; the other had died when he was a baby. But they

were not selfish people; they had learned to bear sorrow, and therefore

their sorrow had not made them morose and miserable; it had only made

them more kind and tender hearted.

Breakfast over, the wood sled came round to the door, and Mr. Ross

looked in a moment to say a last word to his wife.

“You’d better make two or three pailfuls o’ strong coffee, mother, ’n’

bile three or four dozen aigs, ’n’ heat up a big batch o’ them air mince

pies. The folks down here on the train ’ll be mighty hungry this

mornin’, ’n’ I’ve been down ’n’ told ’em to come up here in ’bout half

an hour, ’n’ git what they want. Don’t charge ’em nothin’; let ’em pay

what they’ve a min’ ter. P’raps some on ’em hain’t nothin’ to pay with,

’n’ they’ll need it jest as much as the rest. We mustn’t let folks

starve that git storm-stayed right at our front door. And now, all

aboard for Pittsfield!”

The hearty thanks and farewells to good Mrs. Ross were soon said, and

the Burnhams bundled out of the kitchen into the wood sled. It was a

long rack with upright stakes from a frame and held together by side

rails, through which the ends of the stakes projected a few inches. A

side board, about a foot in width, had been placed within the stakes on

either side, and the space so inclosed had been filled with clean oat

straw. Miss Grace wrapped Mrs. Ross’s heavy blanket shawl round her

sealskin sack, each of the two little boys did himself up in a blanket,

William robed himself in his traveling rug, and they all sat down in

the straw, two fronting forward and two backward, and placed their feet

against four hot flatirons, wound in thick woolen cloth, and laid

together in a nest between them. Over their laps a big buffalo robe was

thrown, and Farmer Ross heaped the straw against their backs.

Away they went, shouting a merry good-by to the farmer’s wife, secure

against discomfort, and happy in the hope of reaching home in time for

their Christmas dinner. Down in the railroad cut they saw the shovelers

and the wreckers toiling at the disabled freight cars, but not much stir

was visible about the express train that lay a little farther down the

track. The snow did not appear to be very deep, and the ponies skipped

briskly along with their light load. Here and there was a bare spot from

which the snow had been blown, but not many drifts were found, and these

were easily avoided, as Mr. Ross had said, by turning into the open

fields.

Farmer Ross was as blithe as the morning. From his perch on a crossboard

of the wood rack he kept up a brisk talk with the group in the straw

behind him.

“Fire ’nough in the stove?” he asked. “‘T ain’t often that ye hev a

stove like that to set ’round when ye go sleigh ridin’.”

“All right, sir; it’s warm as toast,” said Win. “Genuine base-burner,

isn’t it?”

“I should think your feet would be cold, sitting up there,” said Grace.

“Oh, no; not in this weather. ‘Sides, if they do git cold I knock ’em

together a little, or else git off ’n’ run afoot a spell, ’n’ they’re

soon warm again.”

“Do you often go to Pittsfield?” asked William.

“Yes, every month or so. Gin’rally du my tradin’ thar. Tek along a

little suthin’ to sell commonly,--a little jag o’ wood, or a little

butter, or a quarter o’ beef, or suthin’. I meant to hev gone down last

week, ’n’ I had a big pile o’ Christmas greens ’t I meant to tek along

to sell, but I was hendered, ’n’ could n’t go. There’s the greens

now--all piled up in the aidge o’ the wood; I’d got ’em all ready.

’Fraid they won’t be worth much next Christmas.”

“Oh, Mr. Ross,” cried Grace, “would it be very much trouble for you to

put that nearest pile of them on the back part of the sled? I can find

use for them at home, I know, and I should like to take them with me

ever so much!”

“Sartainly; no trouble at all”; and in two or three great armfuls the

pile of beautiful coral pine was heaped upon the sleigh.

The morning wore on toward nine o’clock, and as the sun rose higher the

air grew warmer. The roads were steadily improving, and the ponies

trotted along at a nimble pace. The boys began to be tired of sitting

still.

“I’m not going to burrow up in this straw any longer,” said Win; “I’m

going to get up and stir about a little.”

“So am I,” said Phil.

It was easy enough to stand on the sled while it was in motion. In rough

places the boys could take hold of the rail of the wood rack; and even

if they fell it did not hurt them. Pretty soon Win, who had an artist’s

eye, began to pull out long vines of the evergreen and wind them round

the stakes of the wood rack.

“I say, Phil,” he cried, “if we only had some string, we could fix this

old frame so that it would look nobby!”

“Well, here’s your string,” said Will, producing a ball of twine from

his overcoat pocket and tossing it to his brother. “I put that in my

pocket by mistake when I tied up my last package yesterday morning, and

have been wishing it in Amherst ever since.”

“Jolly!” shouted Win. “Now, Mr. Ross, you’ll see what we’ll make of your

wood sled.”

“Goin’ t’ make a kind o’ Cindereller coach on ’t, hey? Well, go ahead! I

shan’t be ashamed on ’t, no matter how fine ye fix it.”

The boys’ fingers flew. This was fun! Before long all the stakes were

trimmed, and a spiral wreath of the evergreen had been run all round the

side rail of the rack. It really began to look quite fairy-like. William

and Grace first laughed at the fancy of the boys, and then began to aid

them with suggestions; and presently William was up himself, helping

them in their work. Twine wound with the evergreen was run diagonally

across from the top of each stake to the bottom of the nearest one; and

the wood rack began to look very much like what the poets call a

“wild-wood bower.” All it needed was a roof, and this was soon supplied.

William borrowed Mr. Ross’s big jackknife, leaped from the sleigh, and

cut eight willow rods, and they were speedily wound with the evergreen.

Then the ends were made fast with twine to the railing of the rack on

either side, and, arching overhead, they completed the transformation of

the wood sled into a moving arbor of evergreens.

The boys danced with merriment.

“Isn’t it just gay?” cried Phil. “I never dreamed that we could make it

look so pretty!”

“We couldn’t have done it, either,” said Win, “if Bill and Grace hadn’t

helped us. But what will the fellows say when they see us ridin’ down

the street?”

“What I am most curious to see,” said Will, “is the faces of Mr. and

Mrs. Burnham and Baby Burnham when this gay chariot drives up to their

door! They’re worrying about us powerfully by this time, and I reckon

we’ve a jolly surprise in store for them.”

“I hope they will not be as badly frightened,” said Grace, “as Macbeth

was when he saw ‘Birnam wood’ coming.”

“Pretty good for sis,” laughed William.

“What’s the joke?” inquired Win.

“Too classic for small boys; you’ll have to get up your Shakespeare

before you can appreciate it,” answered the big brother.

“‘Pears to me,” now put in the charioteer from his perch, “that a rig ez

fine ez this oughter have a leetle finer coachman. I ain’t ’shamed o’

the sled, ez I said; but I dew think I oughter be fixed up a leetle mite

to match!”

“You shall be!” cried Grace. “Here, boys, help me wind a couple of

wreaths.”

Very soon, two light, twisted wreaths of evergreen were ready, and Mr.

Ross, with great laughter, threw them over each shoulder and under the

opposite arm, so that they crossed before and behind, like the straps

that support a soldier’s belt. Then his fur cap was quickly trimmed with

sprays of the evergreen, that rose in a bell-crown all round his head.

Their journey was almost done. How quickly the time had passed! Every

few rods they met sleigh loads of people, happy because Christmas and

the sleighing had come together, and bent on making the most of both.

These merry-makers all looked with wonder upon our travelers as they

drew near, and answered their loud shouts of “Merry Christmas!” with

laughter and cheers.

They had not gone far through the streets of the village before their

kite had considerable tail. Just what it meant the small boys did not

know; but if this driver was not Santa Claus, he was somebody equally

good natured, for he bowed and laughed right and left, in the jolliest

fashion, to the salutations of the boys, and as many of them as could

get near hitched their hand sleds to his triumphal car.

Miss Grace was hidden from sight by the evergreens, and she enjoyed the

sport of the boys almost as much as they did.

Meantime, the hours were passing slowly at Mr. Burnham’s. The father and

mother had been too anxious about their children to sleep much during

the night. They could get no word from the train after it left Chester,

and the delay and uncertainty greatly distressed them. Mr. Burnham had

just returned from the station with the news that the wires were up, and

that the train had been heard from in the cut just beyond the summit,

where it was likely to be kept the greater part of the day.

“Oh, dear!” cried the mother. “I cannot have it so! Can’t we get at them

in some way? I’m afraid they will suffer with hunger. Then we had

counted so much on this Christmas, and the children’s fun is all

spoiled. Think of them sitting all this blessed holiday, cooped up in

those dreadful cars, waiting to be shoveled out of a snowdrift! It seems

as if I should fly. I wish I could!”

“Well, my dear,” said Mr. Burnham, soberly, “I am sorry that the holiday

is spoiled, but I see nothing that we can do. We can trust William to

take good care of them and bring them all home safely; and we’ve got to

be patient, and wait.”

Just then the heads of the ponies were turning in at the gate of the

wide lawn in front of the house. The small boys who were following

unhitched their hand sleds, and the escort remained outside the gate.

“Drive slowly!” said William. “Give them a good chance to see us

coming!”

Baby Burnham was at the window. “Thanty Kauth!” she cried. “Look, papa!

Look!”

“What does the child see?” said Mr. Burnham, going to the window. “Sure

enough, baby. Do come here, my dear. What fantastical establishment is

this coming up our driveway? It’s a bower of evergreens on runners, and

an old man with a white beard and a white coat all trimmed up with

greens sits up there driving. He seems to be shaking with laughter, too.

What can it mean?”

Just then the wood sled came alongside the porch, and, suddenly, out

from between the garlanded sled stakes four heads were quickly thrust

and four voices shouted:

“Merry Christmas!”

“The children! Bless their hearts!”

In a minute more, father and mother and baby and the jolly travelers

were all very much mixed up on the porch, and there was a deal of

hugging and kissing and laughing and crying, while Farmer Ross on his

own hook, or rather on his own wood sled, was laughing softly, and

crying a little, too. What made him cry I wonder? Presently Mr. Burnham

said:

“But, Will, you haven’t made us acquainted yet with your charioteer.”

“It is Mr. Ross, father. He took us into his house on Washington

Mountain last night and treated us like princes, and this morning he has

brought us home, and helped us in the heartiest way to carry out our

fun.”

“Mr. Ross, we are greatly your debtors,” said Mr. Burnham. “You have

relieved us of a sore anxiety, and brought us a great pleasure.”

“Wall, I dunno,” said the farmer. “I didn’t like to think o’ these ’ere

children bein’ kep’ away from hum on Christmas Day; ’n’ ef I’ve helped

’em any way to hev a good time, why,--God bless ’em!--I don’t think

there’s any better thing an old man like me could be doin’ on sech a day

as this!”

Just here Mr. Burnham’s coachman came round the corner in great haste.

“Well, Patrick, what is it?” said his master.

“The shafts uv that sleigh--bad look to ’em!--is bruk, yer honor; ’n’ I

don’t see how I’ll iver get thim bashkits carried round at all!”

“Oh, those baskets!” cried Mr. Burnham in distress. “Our Christmas

baskets haven’t been delivered yet, and it’s almost eleven o’clock. The

storm and our worry about you kept us from delivering them last night,

and we have hardly thought of them this morning. I’m afraid those poor

people will have a late Christmas dinner.”

“Baskets o’ stuff for poor folks’s dinners?” said Farmer Ross. “Let me

take ’em round.”

“Oh, yes, father!” shouted Win. “Let Phil and me go with him! The

baskets are marked, aren’t they? It’ll be jolly fun to deliver them out

of this sled.”

In a minute the baskets--half a dozen of them--were loaded in, and

within half an hour they were all set down at the homes to which they

were addressed. Poor old Uncle Ned and Aunt Dinah hobbled to the door

and took in their basket with eyes full of wonder at the strange vehicle

that was just driving from their doors; the Widow Blanchard’s children,

playing outside, ran into the house when they saw the ponies coming, but

speedily came out after their basket and carried it in, firm in the

faith that they had had a sight of the veritable Santa Claus. To all the

rest of the needy families the gifts, though late, were welcome; and the

bright vision of the evergreen bower on runners brought gladness with it

into all those lowly homes.

Farmer Ross went back with the boys to their home; his ponies were taken

from the sled and given a good Christmas dinner in Mr. Burnham’s

stable; he himself was constrained to remain and partake of the feast

that would not have been eaten but for him, and that lost none of its

merriment because of him; and at length, about three o’clock in the

afternoon, the Christmas car, stripped of its bravery, but carrying some

goodly gifts to Mrs. Ross, started on its return to Washington Mountain.

My little friends who read this story will be glad to know that the

Christmas festival at the church had been deferred on account of the

storm from Christmas Eve to Christmas evening; so that the Burnhams had

a chance to assist at the unloading of the Christmas tree.

They will also guess that Farmer Ross’s house and his barn and his

orchard and his pasture and his woods and his trout brook and his

blackberry bushes and his dog and his ponies and his cows and his oxen

and his hens and pretty nearly everything that was his had a chance to

get very well acquainted with Win and Phil during the next summer

vacation. It will be a long time, I am sure, before the Rosses and the

Burnhams cease to be friends, and before any of them will forget The

Strange Adventures of a Wood Sled.

KIDNAPPING SANTA CLAUS

L. FRANK BAUM

Santa Claus lives in the Laughing Valley, where stands the big, rambling

castle in which his toys are manufactured. His workmen, selected from

the Ryls, Knooks, Pixies, and Fairies, live with him, and every one is

as busy as can be from one year’s end to another.

It is called the Laughing Valley because everything there is happy and

gay. The brook chuckles to itself as it leaps rollicking between its

green banks; the wind whistles merrily in the trees; the sunbeams dance

lightly over the soft grass, and the violets and wildflowers look

smilingly up from their green nests. To laugh, one needs to be happy; to

be happy, one needs to be content. And throughout the Laughing Valley of

Santa Claus contentment reigns supreme.

On one side is the mighty forest of Burzee. At the other side stands the

huge mountain that contains the caves of the Demons. And between them

the valley lies smiling and peaceful.

One would think that our good old Santa Claus, who devotes his days to

making children happy, would have no enemies on all the earth; and, as a

matter of fact, for a long period of time he encountered nothing but

love wherever he might go.

But the Demons who live in the mountain caves grew to hate Santa Claus

very much, and all for the simple reason that he made children happy.

The caves of the Demons are five in number. A broad pathway leads up to

the first cave, which is a finely arched cavern at the foot of the

mountain, the entrance being beautifully carved and decorated. In it

resides the Demon of Selfishness. Back of this is another cavern

inhabited by the Demon of Envy. The cave of the Demon of Hatred is next

in order, and through this one passes to the home of the Demon of

Malice--situated in a dark and fearful cave in the very heart of the

mountain. I do not know what lies beyond this. Some say there are

terrible pitfalls leading to death and destruction, and this may very

well be true. However, from each one of the four caves mentioned there

is a small, narrow tunnel leading to the fifth cave--a cozy little room

occupied by the Demon of Repentance. And as the rocky floors of these

passages are well worn by the track of passing feet, I judge that many

wanderers in the caves of the Demons have escaped through the tunnels to

the abode of the Demon of Repentance, who is said to be a pleasant sort

of fellow who gladly opens for one a little door admitting you into

fresh air and sunshine again.

Well, these Demons of the caves, thinking they had great cause to

dislike old Santa Claus, held a meeting one day to discuss the matter.

“I’m really getting lonesome,” said the Demon of Selfishness. “For Santa

Claus distributes so many pretty Christmas gifts to all the children

that they become happy and generous, through his example, and keep away

from my cave.”

“I am having the same trouble,” rejoined the Demon of Envy. “The little

ones seem quite content with Santa Claus, and there are few, indeed,

that I can coax to become envious.”

“And that makes it bad for me!” declared the Demon of Hatred. “For if no

children pass through the caves of Selfishness and Envy, none can get to

my cavern.”

“Or to mine,” added the Demon of Malice.

“For my part,” said the Demon of Repentance, “it is easily seen that if

children do not visit your caves they have no need to visit mine; so I

am quite as neglected as you are.”

“And all because of this person they call Santa Claus!” exclaimed the

Demon of Envy. “He is simply ruining our business, and something must be

done at once.”

To this they readily agreed; but what to do was another and more

difficult matter to settle. They knew that Santa Claus worked all

through the year at his castle in the Laughing Valley, preparing the

gifts he was to distribute on Christmas Eve; and at first they resolved

to try to tempt him into their caves, that they might lead him on to the

terrible pitfalls that ended in destruction.

So the very next day, while Santa Claus was busily at work, surrounded

by his little band of assistants, the Demon of Selfishness came to him

and said:

“These toys are wonderfully bright and pretty. Why do you not keep them

for yourself? It’s a pity to give them to those noisy boys and fretful

girls, who break and destroy them so quickly.”

“Nonsense!” cried the old graybeard, his bright eyes twinkling merrily

as he turned toward the tempting Demon; “the boys and girls are never so

noisy or fretful after receiving my presents, and if I can make them

happy for one day in the year I am quite content.”

So the Demon went back to the others, who awaited him in their caves,

and said:

“I have failed, for Santa Claus is not at all selfish.”

The following day the Demon of Envy visited Santa Claus. Said he: “The

toy shops are full of playthings quite as pretty as these you are

making. What a shame it is that they should interfere with your

business! They make toys by machinery much quicker than you can make

them by hand; and they sell them for money, while you get nothing at all

for your work.”

But Santa Claus refused to be envious of the toy shops.

“I can supply the little ones but once a year--on Christmas Eve,” he

answered; “for the children are many, and I am but one. And as my work

is one of love and kindness I would be ashamed to receive money for my

little gifts. But throughout all the year the children must be amused in

some way, and so the toy shops are able to bring much happiness to my

little friends. I like the toy shops, and am glad to see them prosper.”

In spite of this second rebuff, the Demon of Hatred thought he would try

to influence Santa Claus. So the next day he entered the busy workshop

and said:

“Good morning, Santa! I have bad news for you.”

“Then run away, like a good fellow,” answered Santa Claus. “Bad news is

something that should be kept secret and never told.”

“You cannot escape this, however,” declared the Demon, “for in the world

are a good many who do not believe in Santa Claus, and these you are

bound to hate bitterly, since they have so wronged you.”

“Stuff and rubbish!” cried Santa.

“And there are others who resent your making children happy, and who

sneer at you and call you a foolish old rattlepate! You are quite right

to hate such base slanderers, and you ought to be revenged upon them for

their evil words.”

“But I don’t hate ’em!” exclaimed Santa Claus, positively. “Such people

do me no real harm, but merely render themselves and their children

unhappy. Poor things! I’d much rather help them any day than injure

them.”

Indeed, the Demons could not tempt old Santa Claus in any way. On the

contrary, he was shrewd enough to see that their object in visiting him

was to make mischief and trouble, and his cheery laughter disconcerted

the evil ones and showed to them the folly of such an undertaking. So

they abandoned honeyed words and determined to use force.

It is well known that no harm can come to Santa Claus while he is in the

Laughing Valley, for the fairies, and ryls, and knooks all protect him.

But on Christmas Eve he drives his reindeer out into the big world,

carrying a sleigh load of toys and pretty gifts to the children; and

this was the time and the occasion when his enemies had the best chance

to injure him. So the Demons laid their plans and awaited the arrival of

Christmas Eve.

The moon shone big and white in the sky, and the snow lay crisp and

sparkling on the ground as Santa Claus cracked his whip and sped away

out of the valley into the great world beyond. The roomy sleigh was

packed full with huge sacks of toys, and as the reindeer dashed onward

our jolly old Santa laughed and whistled and sang for very joy. For in

all his merry life this was the one day in the year when he was

happiest--the day he lovingly bestowed the treasures of his workshop

upon the little children.

It would be a busy night for him, he well knew. As he whistled and

shouted and cracked his whip again, he reviewed in mind all the towns

and cities and farmhouses where he was expected, and figured that he had

just enough presents to go around and make every child happy. The

reindeer knew exactly what was expected of them, and dashed along so

swiftly that their feet scarcely seemed to touch the snow-covered

ground.

Suddenly a strange thing happened: a rope shot through the moonlight,

and a big noose that was in the end of it settled over the arms and body

of Santa Claus and drew tight. Before he could resist or even cry out he

was jerked from the seat of the sleigh and tumbled headforemost into a

snowbank, while the reindeer rushed onward with the load of toys and

carried it quickly out of sight and sound.

Such a surprising experience confused old Santa for a moment, and when

he had collected his senses he found that the wicked Demons had pulled

him from the snowdrift and bound him tightly with many coils of the

stout rope. And then they carried the kidnapped Santa Claus away to

their mountain, where they thrust the prisoner into a secret cave and

chained him to the rocky wall so that he could not escape.

“Ha, ha!” laughed the Demons, rubbing their hands together with cruel

glee. “What will the children do now? How they will cry and scold and

storm when they find there are no toys in their stockings and no gifts

on their Christmas trees! And what a lot of punishment they will receive

from their parents, and how they will flock to our caves of Selfishness,

and Envy, and Hatred, and Malice! We have done a mighty clever thing, we

Demons of the Caves.”

Now, it so chanced that on this Christmas Eve the good Santa Claus had

taken with him in his sleigh Nuter the Ryl, Peter the Knook, Kilter the

Pixie, and a small fairy named Wisk--his four favorite assistants. These

little people he had often found very useful in helping to distribute

his gifts to the children, and when their master was so suddenly dragged

from the sleigh they were all snugly tucked underneath the seat, where

the sharp wind could not reach them.

The tiny immortals knew nothing of the capture of Santa Claus until some

time after he had disappeared, but finally they missed his cheery voice,

and as their master always sang or whistled on his journeys, the silence

warned them that something was wrong.

Little Wisk stuck out his head from underneath the seat and found Santa

Claus gone and no one to direct the flight of the reindeer.

“Whoa!” he called out, and the deer obediently slackened speed and came

to a halt.

Peter and Nuter and Kilter all jumped upon the seat and looked back over

the track made by the sleigh. But Santa Claus had been left miles and

miles behind.

“What shall we do?” asked Wisk, anxiously, all the mirth and mischief

banished from his wee face by this great calamity.

“We must go back at once and find our master,” said Nuter the Ryl, who

thought and spoke with much deliberation.

“No, no!” exclaimed Peter the Knook, who, cross and crabbed though he

was, might always be depended upon in an emergency. “If we delay, or go

back, there will not be time to get the toys to the children before

morning; and that would grieve Santa Claus more than anything else.”

“It is certain that some wicked creatures have captured him,” added

Kilter, thoughtfully; “and their object must be to make the children

unhappy. So our first duty is to get the toys distributed as carefully

as if Santa Claus were himself present. Afterward we can search for our

master and easily secure his freedom.”

This seemed such good and sensible advice that the others at once

resolved to adopt it. So Peter the Knook called to the reindeer, and the

faithful animals again sprang forward and dashed over hill and valley,

through forest and plain, until they came to the houses wherein children

lay sleeping and dreaming of the pretty gifts they would find on

Christmas morning.

The little immortals had set themselves a difficult task; for although

they had assisted Santa Claus on many of his journeys, their master had

always directed and guided them and told them exactly what he wished

them to do. But now they had to distribute the toys according to their

own judgment, and they did not understand children as well as did old

Santa. So it is no wonder they made some laughable errors.

Mamie Brown, who wanted a doll, got a drum instead; and a drum is of no

use to a girl who loves dolls. And Charlie Smith, who delights to romp

and play out of doors, and who wanted some new rubber boots to keep his

feet dry, received a sewing box filled with colored worsted and threads

and needles, which made him so provoked that he thoughtlessly called

our dear Santa Claus a fraud.

Had there been many such mistakes the Demons would have accomplished

their evil purpose and made the children unhappy. But the little friends

of the absent Santa Claus labored faithfully and intelligently to carry

out their master’s ideas, and they made fewer errors than might be

expected under such unusual circumstances.

And, although they worked as swiftly as possible, day had begun to break

before the toys and other presents were all distributed; so for the

first time in many years the reindeer trotted into the Laughing Valley,

on their return, in broad daylight, with the brilliant sun peeping over

the edge of the forest to prove they were far behind their accustomed

hour.

Having put the deer in the stable, the little folk began to wonder how

they might rescue their master; and they realized they must discover,

first of all, what had happened to him, and where he was.

So Wisk, the fairy, transported himself to the bower of the Fairy Queen,

which was located deep in the heart of the forest of Burzee; and once

there, it did not take him long to find out all about the naughty Demons

and how they had kidnapped the good Santa Claus to prevent his making

children happy. The Fairy Queen also promised her assistance, and then,

fortified by this powerful support, Wisk flew back to where Nuter and

Peter and Kilter awaited him, and the four counseled together and laid

plans to rescue their master from his enemies.

It is possible that Santa Claus was not as merry as usual during the

night that succeeded his capture. For although he had faith in the

judgment of his little friends, he could not avoid a certain amount of

worry, and an anxious look would creep at times into his kind old eyes

as he thought of the disappointment that might await his dear little

children. And the Demons, who guarded him by turns, one after another,

did not neglect to taunt him with contemptuous words in his helpless

condition.

When Christmas Day dawned the Demon of Malice was guarding the prisoner,

and his tongue was sharper than that of any of the others.

“The children are waking up, Santa!” he cried. “They are waking up to

find their stockings empty! Ho, ho! How they will quarrel, and wail, and

stamp their feet in anger! Our caves will be full to-day, old Santa! Our

caves are sure to be full!”

But to this, as to other like taunts, Santa Claus answered nothing. He

was much grieved by his capture, it is true; but his courage did not

forsake him. And, finding that the prisoner would not reply to his

jeers, the Demon of Malice presently went away, and sent the Demon of

Repentance to take his place.

This last personage was not so disagreeable as the others. He had gentle

and refined features, and his voice was soft and pleasant in tone.

“My brother Demons do not trust me over-much,” said he, as he entered

the cavern; “but it is morning, now, and the mischief is done. You

cannot visit the children again for another year.”

“That is true,” answered Santa Claus, almost cheerfully; “Christmas Eve

is past, and for the first time in centuries I have not visited my

children.”

“The little ones will be greatly disappointed,” murmured the Demon of

Repentance, almost regretfully; “but that cannot be helped now. Their

grief is likely to make the children selfish and envious and hateful,

and if they come to the caves of the Demons to-day I shall get a chance

to lead some of them to my Cave of Repentance.”

“Do you never repent yourself?” asked Santa Claus, curiously.

“Oh, yes, indeed,” answered the Demon. “I am even now repenting that I

assisted in your capture. Of course it is too late to remedy the evil

that has been done; but repentance, you know, can come only after an

evil thought or deed, for in the beginning there is nothing to repent

of.”

“So I understand,” said Santa Claus. “Those who avoid evil need never

visit your cave.”

“As a rule, that is true,” replied the Demon; “yet you, who have done no

evil, are about to visit my cave at once; for to prove that I sincerely

regret my share in your capture, I am going to permit you to escape.”

This speech greatly surprised the prisoner, until he reflected that it

was just what might be expected of the Demon of Repentance. The fellow

at once busied himself untying the knots that bound Santa Claus and

unlocking the chains that fastened him to the wall. Then he led the way

through a long tunnel until they both emerged in the Cave of Repentance.

“I hope you will forgive me,” said the Demon, pleadingly. “I am not

really a bad person, you know; and I believe I accomplish a great deal

of good in the world.”

With this he opened a back door that let in a flood of sunshine, and

Santa Claus sniffed the fresh air gratefully.

“I bear no malice,” said he to the Demon in a gentle voice; “and I am

sure the world would be a dreary place without you. So, good morning,

and a Merry Christmas to you!”

With these words he stepped out to greet the bright morning, and a

moment later he was trudging along, whistling softly to himself, on his

way to his home in the Laughing Valley.

Marching over the snow toward the mountain was a vast army, made up of

the most curious creatures imaginable. There were numberless Knooks from

the forest, as rough and crooked in appearance as the gnarled branches

of the trees they ministered to. And there were dainty Ryls from the

fields, each one bearing the emblem of the flower or plant it guarded.

Behind these were many ranks of Pixies, Gnomes, and Nymphs, and in the

rear a thousand beautiful fairies floated along in gorgeous array.

This wonderful army was led by Wisk, Peter, Nuter, and Kilter, who had

assembled it to rescue Santa Claus from captivity and to punish the

Demons who had dared to take him away from his beloved children.

And, although they looked so bright and peaceful, the little immortals

were armed with powers that would be very terrible to those who had

incurred their anger. Woe to the Demons of the Caves if this army of

vengeance ever met them!

But lo! coming to meet his loyal friends appeared the imposing form of

Santa Claus, his white beard floating in the breeze and his bright eyes

sparkling with pleasure at this proof of the love and veneration he had

inspired in the hearts of the most powerful creatures in existence.

And while they clustered around him and danced with glee at his safe

return, he gave them earnest thanks for their support. But Wisk, and

Nuter, and Peter, and Kilter he embraced affectionately.

“It is useless to pursue the Demons,” said Santa Claus to the army.

“They have their place in the world, and can never be destroyed. But

that is a great pity, nevertheless,” he continued, musingly.

So the Fairies, and Knooks, and Pixies, and Ryls all escorted the good

man to his castle, and there left him to talk over the events of the

night with his little assistants.

Wisk had already rendered himself invisible and flown through the big

world to see how the children were getting along on this bright

Christmas morning; and by the time he returned Peter had finished

telling Santa Claus of how they had distributed the toys.

“We really did very well,” cried the Fairy, in a pleased voice; “for I

found little unhappiness among the children this morning. Still you must

not get captured again, my dear master; for we might not be so fortunate

another time in carrying out your ideas.”

He then related the mistakes that had been made, and which he had not

discovered until his tour of inspection. And Santa Claus at once sent

him with rubber boots for Charlie Smith, and a doll for Mamie Brown; so

that even those two disappointed ones became happy.

As for the wicked Demons of the Caves, they were filled with anger and

chagrin when they found that their clever capture of Santa Claus had

come to naught. Indeed, no one on that Christmas Day appeared to be at

all selfish, or envious, or hateful. And, realizing that while the

children’s saint had so many powerful friends it was folly to oppose

him, the Demons never again attempted to interfere with his journeys on

Christmas Eve.

CHRISTMASLAND

HEINRICH SEIDEL

(Translated by Emma A. Schaub)

I. WERNER AND ANNA

In the last house of the village, just where the big forest begins,

lived a poor widow with her two children, Werner and Anna. The little

that grew in her garden and on her single acre of ground, the milk of

the one goat she owned, and the small sum of money she was able to earn,

were just enough to support the small family. Nor were the children

allowed to be idle, but were obliged to help in every way possible. This

they were glad to do, enjoying their work, which led them in all

directions through the glorious forest. In early spring they gathered

the yellow cowslips and the blue anemones to sell in the city, and later

the fragrant lilies of the valley that grew in the beech wood. Then came

the strawberries glistening red under the leaves, the blueberries and

the coral-tinted bilberries growing in the moor, and beautiful mosses

and lichens--all these the children cheerily gathered and sent to the

city.

With the coming of the fall came new labor. Day after day the children

went to the woods, picking up dry wood thrown down by the wind. This

they carried home and stacked by the side of the hut. Nuts, too, were

gathered, put in a bag, and hung in the chimney against Christmas time.

Ah, Christmas! That was a magic word, and at its sound the eyes of the

children sparkled. And yet the great day brought them very little. A wee

little tree with a few candles, some apples and nuts, and two

gingerbread men; under the tree for each one a warm article of clothing

for the winter, and if times were very good, a cheap toy or a new

slate--that was all. And yet from those little candles and the golden

star at the top of the tree there came a glorious light that shed its

rays throughout the year, a light that shone in the eyes of the children

whenever the word Christmas was spoken.

Winter had now come, and one evening as they sat cozily about the stove,

their mother told them a beautiful Christmas story. When she had

finished, Werner, who had been looking very thoughtful, suddenly asked:

“Mother, where does the Christmasman live?”

The mother answered, letting the fine thread slip through her fingers

while her spinning wheel hummed a merry tune: “The Christmasman? Behind

the forest in the mountains. But no one can find him. Who seeks him

wanders about in vain, and the little birds in the trees hop from branch

to branch and laugh at him. In the mountains the Christmasman has his

gardens, his shops, and his mines. There his busy workmen labor day and

night, making lovely Christmas things. In the gardens grow the silver

and gold apples and nuts, and the most delicious fruits of marzipan, and

in the shops are heaped up thousands and thousands of the most wonderful

toys in the world. There are halls filled with beautiful dolls, clad in

calico, in wool, in silk, and in velvet”--“Ah!” said little Anna, and

her eyes shone--“and others again are filled with drums and swords and

guns, cannon and toy soldiers”--“Oh!” cried little Werner, and his eyes

sparkled.

This story impressed him greatly; he could not forget it, and he thought

how happy he would be could he but find the way to this wonderland. Once

he got as far as the mountains, and wandered about there a long time,

but could see nothing but valleys and hills and trees. The brooks that

ran by him murmured and babbled as brooks always do, but did not betray

their secret; the wood-peckers hammered and pecked just as they did

elsewhere in the woods and then flew away, and the squirrels that

climbed nimbly up the trees were just like other squirrels that he had

seen.

He longed for a glimpse of the wonderful Christmasland--if some one

would only tell him how to find it, he would surely go. The people of

whom he inquired the way laughed at him, and when he told his mother she

too laughed, and bade him think no more about it; the story she had told

him had been only a fairy tale.

But little Werner could not forget the story, though he did not speak of

it again. Only to his little sister Anna did he at times confide his

thoughts, and together they dreamed dreams and saw visions of that

wondrous country--Christmasland.

II. THE LITTLE BIRD

One morning shortly before Christmas, Werner, with his ax on his

shoulder, went alone into the forest, for the forester, who liked the

well-behaved boy, had this year again permitted him to cut down a little

pine tree for their Christmas Eve. The pretty, graceful little tree

which the children had already selected, stood in rather a lonely spot,

far out in the woods, sheltered by a kindly old beech. It was a

beautiful mild winter day, and when Werner at last reached the spot he

sat down on a tree-stump to rest.

Round about him all was still as in a lonely church; only a brooklet

murmured softly, and from afar came the shrill cry of a jay. Again he

dreamed of the wonderful Christmasland, and the longing to see its

glories grew so strong that he cried aloud: “Oh, if only some one could

show me the way to Christmasland!”

Then from the waves of the brook came clear sounds like rippling

laughter, a wood mouse peeped from her house and laughed a wee little

laugh, and from the top of the old beech tree came a stirring and a

waving, as though she were shaking her head at such folly. But from the

little pine tree which stood directly before him he suddenly heard a

sweet, clear chirping; it was a blue titmouse, hopping gayly from branch

to branch, incessantly crying: “I know! I know!”

“What do you know?” asked Werner.

The little bird threw herself backward from a branch, turning over in

the air in the drollest way, then alighting again, cried: “I know the

way! I know the way!”

“Then show me the way!” said Werner quickly.

Again the little bird began to chirp softly, but the boy understood

everything. “You were good to me!” said she. “You protected my little

children, my ten little children! I know the way! I’ll show you the way!

Quick! Quick!”

And the little thing flew to the nearest bush, then farther, and Werner

followed. At first he had comprehended but half of what the bird had

said, but at last he remembered that it was a titmouse whose frightened

cries had drawn him to the old beech tree last spring. There he saw a

jay sitting before the hollow of the tree where the little bird had

built her nest, about to seize the naked babies and devour them. The

poor little mother was hovering about, trying to defend them, crying

piteously. He picked up a stone and threw it so happily that the jay

fell to the ground dead.

So now the little titmouse wished to show her gratitude. She kept flying

before him from bush to bush toward the source of the brook, which came

from the mountains. Soon the ground began to rise, and the brook at

Werner’s feet babbled louder; then he came to an ascending valley which

grew narrower and narrower, while the walls on both sides grew steeper,

and at last, when the brook suddenly disappeared behind a projecting

rock, Werner saw before him a smooth wall of stone, towering high and

crowned with mighty pine trees. The little bird suddenly vanished, but

away up in the distance her voice could be faintly heard, crying: “Soon!

Soon!”

Werner sat down on a rock and examined the stone wall. It was smooth,

had no crevices, and was covered with mosses and gay lichens; he could

see nothing more. So he sat and waited. At last he heard a gentle

fluttering above him and a hazel nut fell at his feet. “Take! Take!”

cried the little bird. “Crack! Crack!”

Werner took the nut and looked at it. He could discover nothing peculiar

about it, but when he shook it, it rattled as though something hard were

inside. He cracked it and found a dainty golden key. In the meantime the

little bird had flown to the stone wall. Clinging to it with both

delicate little feet, she began pecking away so busily among the

lichens, that the pieces fairly flew. At last she cried: “Here! Here!”

Werner came near, and noticed a small, silver-bound keyhole. The golden

key fitted exactly into it, and when Werner turned it, a strange, fine,

ringing sound came from the stone wall, and a heavy door, that fitted

as exactly into its frame as though it had been cut into the rock, swung

slowly open. A warm bluish air came from the opening, and an odor of

burning pine needles and of wax candles just blown out, was wafted

toward him.

“Oh, how this smells of Christmas!” said little Werner.

But the little bird cried: “Go in! Go in! Quick! Quick!”

Scarcely had Werner, who was just a little frightened, taken a few steps

into the gloomy passage, when he felt a draft behind him, and suddenly

it grew quite dark, for the door had again silently closed. Now indeed

he began to lose courage, for to return was impossible, yet he saw that

a faint heart would avail him little--so on he went, groping his way

resolutely along the black passage.

III. CHRISTMASLAND

Soon his path grew brighter and he stepped out into the strangest

country he had ever seen. The air was warm, but not with the warmth of

summer, but as it is in heated rooms, and fragrant with many sweet

odors. No sun shone in the sky, yet everywhere was an even, tempered

brightness. Of the country itself he saw but little, for behind him was

the huge wall of rock through which he had entered, and round about him

tall bushes bearing the queerest fruits obstructed the view. As he

walked along, lost in wonder, he came to a broad avenue that led to a

distant building. Bordering this avenue on both sides were great apple

trees, on which grew golden and silver apples. Old men who looked like

gnomes, with their long gray beards, and pretty little children were

busily engaged picking these apples and heaping them up in large

baskets, many of which stood already filled to the brim with their

glittering load. No one paid any attention to little Werner, who, with

growing astonishment, directed his steps toward the building in the

background, which proved to be a large castle, with towering steeples

and gilded domes and roofs. On either side of the avenue lay large

fields on which grew low plants. Here, too, every one was busy gathering

and harvesting, and in the different fields, distinguished by different

colors according to the plants they bore, he could see gay, dainty

figures diligently loading little two-wheeled carts, drawn by

gold-colored, shaggy ponies.

As Werner approached the castle he noticed a fragrant odor of honey

cake, growing stronger and stronger, and on looking more closely, he

perceived that the entire castle was made of this delectable stuff. The

foundation consisted of large blocks, the walls of smooth cakes

ornamented in the most enticing way with citron and almonds. Everywhere

were exquisite reliefs of marzipan, the balustrades and galleries and

balconies of sugar, the beautiful statues of chocolate standing in

gilded niches, and the glittering, gay windows made of transparent

bon-bons--indeed, here was a castle good enough to eat! At the artistic

entrance the handle of the doorbell was of transparent sugar. Werner

took heart, and pulled with all his might. No bell rang, however, but a

voice from within cried, “Kikeriki!” so loud and shrill that the

frightened boy stepped hastily back. The cry was repeated again and

again, like an echo growing fainter and fainter, losing itself in the

interior of the building. Then there was silence. The door now opened

softly and before him stood so strange a creature that had it not lived

and moved, Werner would undoubtedly have taken it for a large

jumping-jack.

“By leaf gold and honey cake!” said this merry person. “A visitor? Why,

that is a most remarkable event!” And then, whether from pleasure or

astonishment, he threw his limbs repeatedly up over his head, so that

it was almost dreadful to see. Swinging his arms and legs back and

forth, he asked: “Well, my boy, and what do you want?”

“Does the Christmasman live here?” asked little Werner.

“Certainly,” said the jumping-jack, “and his Honor is at home, but very

busy, very busy.”

Then he asked the little fellow to follow him, moving along in a queer,

sidelong manner, swinging his arms and legs incessantly. He led the way

through an entrance hall whose walls were made of marzipan and whose

ceiling was supported by pillars of polished chocolate, to a door,

before which two gigantic nutcrackers in full uniform stood guard; told

him to wait here, and disappeared. In the meantime the nutcrackers

stared at Werner with their big eyes, then grinned at each other with an

indescribable wooden grin, at which there was a funny sound as though

they were laughing with their stomachs. Presently the jumping-jack

returned, made a most beautiful sidelong bow, and said: “My gracious

master begs you to enter.” Then the nutcrackers, drawing close together,

suddenly presented their swords and with their teeth beat a roll that

was most extraordinary.

When little Werner stepped into the room he was greatly astonished, for

the Christmasman did not look at all as he had imagined him, nor did he

resemble the pictures he had seen of him. True, he had a beautiful long

white beard, as was proper, but on his head was a blue, gold-embroidered

skullcap, and he wore a dressing gown of yellow silk, and sat before a

large book and wrote. But this dressing gown was covered with such

wonderful embroidery that it was like a picture book. On it you could

see soldiers and dolls and clowns, and all the animals of Noah’s ark,

drums and fifes, violins, trumpets, swords and guns, flowers and cakes,

and sun and moon and stars.

The Christmasman laid down his pen and said: “How did you get here, my

boy?”

Werner answered: “The little bird showed me the way.”

“‘T is a hundred years since any one has been here,” replied the

Christmasman, “and now this little fellow succeeds in coming. Well, your

reward shall be that you may see everything. I myself am too busy just

now, but my daughter shall be your guide. Come, little Goldflame,” he

cried, “we have a guest!”

Then in the next room there was a fluttering and a rustling, and in ran

a beautiful little girl. She wore a dress of leaf-gold and she

glittered and sparkled all over. On her head was a little crown of gold,

and on its topmost tip was a gleaming flamelet.

“Why, how nice!” she said, and took little Werner by the hand, crying,

“Come along, strange boy!” and ran with him from the room.

IV. THE CHRISTMAS WAREHOUSE

They came to a large corridor where long rows of wooden horses stood

tied--there were gray horses and brown horses, chestnut horses and black

horses.

“You may choose one,” said little Goldflame.

Werner selected a beautiful, shiny, dapple-gray and Goldflame mounted a

coal-black steed. “Hoy!” she cried, and with a whir away rolled the

little horses so fast that Werner’s hair flew, and the flame on the

girl’s crown was wafted like a streamer in the air. When they came to

the door at the end of the corridor, she cried, “Holla!” It opened and

they rushed through into a big hall in the middle of which they halted.

They dismounted and little Goldflame said: “This is the hall of lead.”

Lining the walls to the ceiling were open cupboards filled with shelves

on which stood, packed in boxes, countless armies of soldiers, hunters,

shepherds, sleighing parties, menageries, and everything possible that

could be made of lead. Little black-bearded dwarfs climbed busily up and

down ladders, placing the boxes into carts which they rolled outside,

where larger wagons waited to be loaded with the toys. As soon as the

dwarfs saw Werner and Goldflame they brought them two gold-brocaded

easy-chairs, and Goldflame said: “The big parade is coming very soon.”

They sat down, and had barely waited half a minute when from under one

of the cupboards came a strange ringing music and the Prussian guard

marched out, and filed by with martial strains. Here indeed were toy

soldiers that delighted one’s heart! How the little fellows strutted and

the dapper lieutenants saluted with their swords! Then came the white

cuirassiers with their glittering armor, the red hussars of Potsdam, the

lancers with their gleaming flags, the blue dragoons, and last of all

the cannon. When these had passed, “Trari, trara!” sounded from under

the cupboard, and deer, rabbits, and foxes burst forth, the yelping pack

behind, and the hunters on horseback with huzza, crack of whip, and

sounding of horns.

Then all at once something glistened in the air and fine snow began to

fall. When the ground was white a sleighing party with merry bells

ringing came out and rushed by. The fronts of the sleighs were in the

form of swans, lions, tigers, and dragons, and in the sleighs sat ladies

and gentlemen in beautiful furs. In passing, they threw snowballs at

Werner and at little Goldflame. But if you looked closely at one of

these snowballs, you found a tiny bonbon wrapped in tissue paper.

The snow disappeared, and now with sweet bells ringing came shepherds

and shepherdesses with their flocks, then pretty peasants with fruits

and flowers, then gypsies, musicians, tinkers, rope walkers, horseback

riders, and such vagrant folk. Last came Mr. Hagenbeck of Hamburg with

his African menagerie of giraffes, elephants, rhinoceroses,

hippopotamuses, zebras, and antelopes. The lions and panthers followed

in cages on little wagons, and roared mightily, as though insulted at

the indignities put upon them.

At the close of this jolly parade both children again mounted their

horses and rode on. What marvels were unfolded before little Werner’s

eyes! The large hall filled with dolls, for which he did not

particularly care and which he only wished Anna might see, the theater

magazine where at Goldflame’s request a thousand theaters opened at the

same time with a thousand different plays, making a terrible din, the

tool-chest warehouse, the storeroom for the musical instruments, the

wooden-animal magazine, the picture department, the paint-box warehouse,

the hall of the wax candles, and so on, until he was quite tired out

when at last they reached the great candy department.

“Now let us eat,” said little Goldflame. Immediately six little

confectioner’s apprentices brought a table, set it, and served them with

the most delicious dishes. Werner had never tasted such good things!

There were Leipzig larks of marzipan filled with nut cream, sausages of

quinces, ham made of rosy creamy sugar, pastry filled with strawberry

jam, and all sorts of candied fruits. They had pineapple lemonade with

vanilla cream to drink, and behind them stood the six little waiters,

eager to serve, running to fill every order. For dessert they were to

have, as Goldflame remarked, something quite superlatively fine--dry

black bread and cheese. Such ordinary dishes were so rare in this

country, and so difficult to obtain, that they were considered the

greatest delicacies. When they had finished eating, the wooden horses

were again brought out, and Goldflame said, “Now we will visit the

mines.” So mounting their excellent steeds, away they rode.

V. THE MINES

They rode over fields on which grew the most exquisite fruits and

vegetables, all of sugar or chocolate filled with cream; they galloped

along stately avenues bordered with fruit trees, toward the mountains

which lay before them. Some of these gleamed white as chalk; others

looked dull and dark, almost black. But the tops of even the black

mountains were as white as though snow-capped.

“Perhaps you think you see snow,” said little Goldflame. “But when it

snows here, it only snows powdered sugar.”

Werner now saw before him a high, shining white rock on which hundreds

of men were working. They rode quite close and dismounted. “This is the

great sugar quarry,” said Goldflame. “This entire rock consists of the

finest white colonial sugar.”

Quite near them they observed an entrance to a cave, and as they

approached it several miners hurried toward them with torches and led

the way. They penetrated deep into the mountain, whose walls shimmered

and shone in the reflected torchlight. Presently they stepped into a

magnificent chamber whose walls, covered with huge crystals of

transparent rock candy, glittered and sparkled in the light of the

torches.

“This is the large rock-candy cavern,” said little Goldflame. They went

on and came to a place where the miners were knocking and hammering, and

working new passages into the mountains.

“These men are looking for melted sugar, and when they find it, they

scoop it out with huge spoons,” she said.

Suddenly, as they proceeded, they beheld mountains, no longer white and

shining, but dull, dark brown, and smelling of vanilla. “We are now

approaching the chocolate mines,” explained little Goldflame.

Here many people were at work tunneling into the mountains, for it was

only in the interior that the best vanilla chocolate was found. They

passed through great chambers supported here and there by single pillars

left standing. When at last they again stepped into the open air, Werner

noticed a roaring brook that came from a ravine in the mountains and

rushed toward the valley, where it turned the mills that sawed the

chocolate blocks into cakes.

“Would you like to have a drink?” said little Goldflame. “It tastes

good; it is pure liqueur.” Little Werner was so very thirsty after all

the sweets he had eaten and seen, and from the brook came so fresh and

enticing an odor, that he seized the cup eagerly which an obliging miner

handed him, and emptied it at a single draft. But scarcely had he

finished when the world began to turn about him in the queerest way--he

saw two Goldflames, four Goldflames, a hundred Goldflames, glittering

and gleaming before him, then flowing together into a shining sea of

light, carrying away his senses--and he knew nothing more.

VI. CONCLUSION

The first sound that Werner heard on awakening was the chirping of a

titmouse. He was astonished to find himself sitting on a stump under the

old beech tree with the little pine tree in front of him. The titmouse

hopped from branch to branch and chirped, but Werner no longer

understood what she said. It suddenly occurred to him that it must be

very late, that his mother had surely been anxiously waiting for him.

But looking up at the sun he was astonished to find that scarcely a

quarter of an hour had passed since he had left this spot. He could not

account for this mystery, but eager to relate his wonderful experiences

to his mother and little Anna, he cut down the pine tree and hurried

home with his burden as fast as he could. When with shining eyes and

breathless haste he had told them his story, his mother grew quite angry

and told him not to dare fall asleep again in the woods in winter--had

the weather been colder it might have been his death. But afterwards she

shook her head, saying to herself, “Where does the boy get all his

strange fancies?”

Little Werner wept because his mother did not believe him, and went

away, but Anna followed, eager to hear more. She never tired of hearing

about Goldflame and the hall of dolls, and in the days that followed he

had to tell her about them over and over again, until he was quite

comforted. One day they went to the woods together to look for the

entrance to that wonderful country. But though they followed the

brooklet they never found a place resembling in the least the

description Werner had given, and he was so ashamed and embarrassed, he

knew not what to say.

And so Christmas drew near. A heavy snow had been falling for two whole

days, and the world was beautiful, wrapped in its glistening, white

Christmas robe. Night was falling, and the children sat in their dark

chamber, eagerly waiting, whispering together and listening to their

mother who was walking back and forth in the brightly lighted Christmas

room, arranging their poor little gifts. Suddenly from afar they heard

the jingling of sleighbells coming nearer and nearer, and a whip cracked

merrily. Now the sleigh was quite close, now it stopped before the

house; they could hear the horses stamping and the bells jingling softly

when the animals turned their heads.

“The Christmasman! The Christmasman!” cried Werner. They heard doors

opening and a man’s voice speaking--then their mother called to them,

“Come in, children; your uncle is here.”

Wemer and Anna ran into the room and there stood a man in a great fur

coat who held out his hands to them, saying, “Come to me, my dear

children.” He kissed each one and said, “You shall come with me to the

city and live with me in my large house. I will be a father to you and I

will care for you.” In the meantime a gigantic coachman with a fur cap,

a long white beard, and a cloak with seven collars was bringing many

large packages into the room. When these were afterwards opened they

contained so many beautiful gifts that the people in that little house

had a Christmas such as they had never had before! Later, when Werner

and Anna went to bed, he whispered to her very mysteriously, “Do you

know who the coachman was with the fur cap, the long white beard, and

the big cloak? That was the Christmasman. Indeed, I recognized him, and

he looked at me and winked.”

But what had happened to the rich old uncle who lived alone, an

unsociable miser, and who had never given his poor sister and her

children a thought--what had happened to him to change him so? In the

night following the day on which Werner had visited the Christmasman,

the uncle had had a strange dream. A man with a blue velvet cap and a

long white beard, wrapped in a golden robe, suddenly stood before him,

looked at him with great, blue, penetrating eyes, then spoke slowly and

impressively: “Konrad Borodin, have you a sister?” Thereupon fear

overcame him so that he could not answer. Then the apparition gradually

vanished, the eyes only gazing threateningly upon him. Three successive

nights he had the same dream. In the meantime a restlessness beyond

description drove him from room to room of his dreary, empty house, and

ever in his ear there sounded that deep, reproachful voice of his

dream, saying, “Have you a sister?” On the morning after the third night

he could endure it no longer, but hurried to the city, where to the

astonishment of all the people who had known him as a miser, he bought

the loveliest things, ordered a sleigh, filled it with his purchases,

and drove directly to his poor sister.

Little Werner received a good education, and grew to be a famous and

highly respected man. He himself told me this story.

A CHRISTMAS LEGEND

(A Florentine Legend of the Nativity)

VERNON LEE

Beyond Bethlehem, which is a big village, walled and moated, lies a

hilly country, exceeding wild and covered with dense woods of firs,

pines, larches, beeches, and similar trees. At times the people of

Bethlehem, going in bands, cut down these trees and burn them to

charcoal which they pack on mules and sell in the valley. Sometimes they

tie together whole tree trunks such as would serve for beams, rafters,

and masts, and float them down the rivers, which are many and very

rapid.

On these mountains in the thickest part of the forests a certain

woodcutter bethought him to build a house wherein to live with his

family, store the timber, and care for his beasts. For this purpose he

employed certain pillars and pieces of masonry that stood in the forest,

being remains of a temple of the heathen, which had long ceased to

exist. He cleared the wood round about, leaving only tree stumps and

bushes. Close by in a ravine between high fir trees ran a river of

greenish waters, exceedingly cold and rapid. It was always full to the

brim even in mid-summer, owing to the melting snows; and around up hill

and down dale stretched the woods of firs, larches, pines, and other

noble and useful trees, emitting a very pleasant and virtuous fragrance.

The man thought to enjoy his house and came with his family and

servants. Also he brought his horses and mules and oxen which he had

employed to carry down the timber and charcoal. But scarcely were they

settled when an earthquake rent the place, tearing wall from wall, and

pillar from pillar; and a voice was heard in the air crying, “Ecce domus

domini dei,”[16] whereupon they fled, astonished and in terror, and

returned to the town.

And no one of that man’s family ventured henceforth to return to that

house or to that wood save one called Hilarion, a poor lad and a

servant, but of upright heart and faith. He offered to go back and take

up his abode there and cut down the trees and burn the charcoal for his

master. So he went. He was but a poor lad clothed in leathern tunic and

coarse serge hood.

And Hilarion took with him an ox and an ass to load with charcoal and

drive down to Bethlehem to his master.

The first night on which Hilarion slept in that house, which had fallen

to ruin, he heard voices, as of children--both boys and maidens--singing

in the air. But he closed his eyes, repeated a Paternoster, turned over,

and slept. Another night he heard voices which made him tremble, but

being clean of heart he said two Aves and went to sleep. And once more

did he hear the voices, and they were passing sweet. And with them came

a fragrance as of crushed herbs and many kinds of flowers, frankincense,

and orris root. Hilarion feared the voices were those of heathen gods,

but he said his prayers and slept.

But at length one night as Hilarion heard these songs he opened his

eyes, and behold, the place was light, and a great staircase of light

like golden cobwebs stretched up to heaven and hosts of angels appeared,

coming and going, with locks like honeycomb and robes of rose and green,

azure and white, thickly embroidered with purest pearls. They had wings

as of butterflies and peacock’s tails and a golden glory shone about

their heads. They went to and fro carrying garlands and strewing

flowers, so that, although midwinter, it was like a garden in June,

sweet with roses and lilies and gilliflowers. And the angels sang and,

when they had finished their work they said, “It is well,” and they

departed, holding hands as they flew into the sky above the fir trees.

And Hilarion was astonished and prayed fervently.

And the next day when he was cutting a fir tree in the wood he met among

the rocks a man old and venerable with a long gray beard and a solemn

air. He was clad in crimson, and under his arm he carried written books

and a scourge. And Hilarion said, “Who art thou? The forest is haunted

by spirits, and I would know whether thou be of them or of men.”

And the old man made answer, “I am a wise man and a king. I have spent

all my days learning the secrets of things. I know how the trees grow,

how the waters run, and where treasures be. I can teach thee what the

stars sing, and in what manner the ruby and emerald gather their light

in the heart of the earth. I can chain the wind and stop the sun, for I

am wise above all men. But I seek one wiser than myself, and I go

through the woods in search of him, my master.”

And Hilarion said, “Tarry thou here, and thou shalt see, if I mistake

not, him whom thou seekest.”

So the old man tarried in the forest and built himself a hut of stones.

And the day after that as Hilarion went forth to catch fish in the river

he met on the bank a lady, beautiful beyond compare. And Hilarion asked,

“Who art thou? The forest is haunted by spirits; art thou one of them?”

And she answered, “I am a princess, the fairest of women. Kings and

princes have brought gifts to me. They have hung wreaths on my palace

and strewn flowers in my garden. I am beautiful beyond compare, but I

seek one more beautiful than myself. Day by day I go searching my master

by the lakes and rivers.”

And Hilarion made answer thus, “Tarry thou here and thou shalt see, if I

mistake not, him whom thou seekest.”

And the lady tarried by the river and built herself a cabin of reeds and

leaves.

That night was the coldest and longest winter night. Hilarion made for

himself a bed of fern and hay in the stable of the ox and the ass and he

lay close to them for warmth. And lo! in the middle of the night the ass

brayed and the ox bellowed and Hilarion started up. He saw the heavens

open with a great brightness as of beaten and fretted gold. Angels

wreathed in roses were coming and going, and as they held each other’s

hands they sang, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good

will toward men.” And Hilarion wondered again and prayed fervently.

And that day toward noon there came through the wood one bearing a staff

and leading a mule on which was seated a woman. They were poor folk,

travel stained. And the man said to Hilarion, “My name is Joseph. I am a

carpenter of the city of Nazareth. My wife is called Mary. Suffer thou

us to rest and my wife to lie on this straw of the stables.”

And Hilarion said, “You are welcome.”

Hilarion laid down more fern and hay and gave provender to the mule.

And Mary brought forth her first-born son and Hilarion took it and laid

it in the manger. And he went forth into the woods, where he found the

wise man and the beautiful woman.

“Come with me to my stable,” he said, “where the fir trees were cleared

above the river.”

And they went with him to the ruined house, and they saw the babe lying

in the manger.

Then the wise man and the beautiful woman knelt down before the child.

“He is exceeding fair,” said the princess.

“He is wiser than I am,” said the king. “Surely this is He that is our

Master.”

And the skies opened and there came forth angels such as Hilarion had

seen before with the glory of radiant gold about their heads and

garlands of roses around their necks. And they sang again, “Glory to God

in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”

THE STAR IN THE EAST

Three Shepherds

Three Kings: GASPAR, MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR

JOSEPH MARY