All children have wondered unceasingly from their very first Christmas
up to their very last Christmas, where the Christmas presents come
from. It is very easy to say that Santa Claus brought them. All well
regulated people know that, of course; but the reindeer, and the
sledge, and the pack crammed with toys, the chimney, and all the rest
of it--that is all true, of course, and everybody knows about it; but
that is not the question which puzzles. What children want to know is,
where do these Christmas presents come from in the first place? Where
does Santa Claus get them? Well the answer to that is, _In the garden
of the Christmas Monks_. This has not been known until very lately;
that is, it has not been known till very lately except in the
immediate vicinity of the Christmas Monks. There, of course, it has
been known for ages. It is rather an out-of-the-way place; and that
accounts for our never hearing of it before.
The Convent of the Christmas Monks is a most charmingly picturesque
pile of old buildings; there are towers and turrets, and peaked roofs
and arches, and everything which could possibly be thought of in the
architectural line, to make a convent picturesque. It is built of
graystone; but it is only once in a while that you can see the
graystone, for the walls are almost completely covered with mistletoe
and ivy and evergreen. There are the most delicious little arched
windows with diamond panes peeping out from the mistletoe and
evergreen, and always at all times of the year, a little Christmas
wreath of ivy and hollyberries is suspended in the center of every
window. Over all the doors, which are likewise arched, are Christmas
garlands, and over the main entrance _Merry Christmas_ in evergreen
letters.
The Christmas Monks are a jolly brethren; the robes of their order are
white, gilded with green garlands, and they never are seen out at
any time of the year without Christmas wreaths on their heads. Every
morning they file in a long procession into the chapel, to sing a
Christmas carol; and every evening they ring a Christmas chime on the
convent bells. They eat roast turkey and plum pudding and mince-pie
for dinner all the year round; and always carry what is left in
baskets trimmed with evergreen, to the poor people. There are always
wax candles lighted and set in every window of the convent at
nightfall; and when the people in the country about get uncommonly
blue and down-hearted, they always go for a cure to look at the
Convent of the Christmas Monks after the candles are lighted and the
chimes are ringing. It brings to mind things which never fail to cheer
them.
[Illustration: GOING INTO THE CHAPEL.]
But the principal thing about the Convent of the Christmas Monks is
the garden; for that is where the Christmas presents grow. This garden
extends over a large number of acres, and is divided into different
departments, just as we divide our flower and vegetable gardens; one
bed for onions, one for cabbages, and one for phlox, and one for
verbenas, etc.
Every spring the Christmas Monks go out to sow the Christmas-present
seeds after they have ploughed the ground and made it all ready.
There is one enormous bed devoted to rocking-horses. The rocking-horse
seed is curious enough; just little bits of rocking-horses so small
that they can only be seen through a very, very powerful microscope.
The Monks drop these at quite a distance from each other, so that they
will not interfere while growing; then they cover them up neatly with
earth, and put up a sign-post with "Rocking-horses" on it in evergreen
letters. Just so with the penny-trumpet seed, and the toy-furniture
seed, the skate-seed, the sled-seed, and all the others.
Perhaps the prettiest and most interesting part of the garden, is that
devoted to wax dolls. There are other beds for the commoner dolls--for
the rag dolls, and the china dolls, and the rubber dolls, but of
course wax dolls would look much handsomer growing. Wax dolls have
to be planted quite early in the season; for they need a good start
before the sun is very high. The seeds are the loveliest bits of
microscopic dolls imaginable. The Monks sow them pretty close
together, and they begin to come up by the middle of May. There is
first just a little glimmer of gold, or flaxen, or black, or brown as
the case may be, above the soil. Then the snowy foreheads appear, and
the blue eyes, and black eyes, and, later on, all those enchanting
little heads are out of the ground, and are nodding and winking and
smiling to each other the whole extent of the field; with their pinky
cheeks and sparkling eyes and curly hair there is nothing so pretty as
these little wax doll heads peeping out of the earth. Gradually, more
and more of them come to light, and finally by Christmas they are all
ready to gather. There they stand, swaying to and fro, and dancing
lightly on their slender feet which are connected with the ground,
each by a tiny green stem; their dresses of pink, or blue, or
white--for their dresses grow with them--flutter in the air. Just
about the prettiest sight in the world, is the bed of wax dolls in the
garden of the Christmas Monks at Christmas time.
Of course ever since this convent and garden were established (and
that was so long ago that the wisest man can find no books about it)
their glories have attracted a vast deal of admiration and curiosity
from the young people in the surrounding country; but as the garden is
enclosed on all sides by an immensely thick and high hedge, which no
boy could climb, or peep over, they could only judge of the garden by
the fruits which were parcelled out to them on Christmas-day.
You can judge, then, of the sensation among the young folks, and older
ones, for that matter, when one evening there appeared hung upon a
conspicuous place in the garden-hedge, a broad strip of white cloth
trimmed with evergreen and printed with the following notice in
evergreen letters:
"WANTED:--By the Christmas Monks, two _good_ boys to assist in
garden work. Applicants will be examined by Fathers Anselmus and
Ambrose, in the convent refectory, on April 10th."
This notice was hung out about five o'clock in the evening, some time
in the early part of February. By noon, the street was so full of boys
staring at it with their mouths wide open, so as to see better, that
the king was obliged to send his bodyguard before him to clear the way
with brooms, when he wanted to pass on his way from his chamber of
state to his palace.
There was not a boy in the country but looked upon this position as
the height of human felicity. To work all the year in that wonderful
garden, and see those wonderful things growing! and without doubt any
boy who worked there could have all the toys he wanted, just as a boy
who works in a candy-shop always has all the candy he wants!
But the great difficulty, of course, was about the degree of goodness
requisite to pass the examination. The boys in this country were no
worse than the boys in other countries, but there were not many of
them that would not have done a little differently if he had only
known beforehand of the advertisement of the Christmas Monks. However,
they made the most of the time remaining, and were so good all over
the kingdom that a very millennium seemed dawning. The school teachers
used their ferrules for fire wood, and the King ordered all the
birch-trees cut down and exported, as he thought there would be no
more call For them in his own realm.
When the time for the examination drew near, there were two boys whom
every one thought would obtain the situation, although some of the
other boys had lingering hopes for themselves; if only the Monks would
examine them on the last six weeks, they thought they might pass.
Still all the older people had decided in their minds that the Monks
would choose these two boys. One was the Prince, the King's oldest
son; and the other was a poor boy named Peter. The Prince was no
better than the other boys; indeed, to tell the truth, he was not so
good; in fact, was the biggest rogue in the whole country; but all the
lords and the ladies, and all the people who admired the lords and
ladies, said it was their solemn belief that the Prince was the best
boy in the whole kingdom; and they were prepared to give in their
testimony, one and all, to that effect to the Christmas Monks.
[Illustration: The Boys Read the Notice]
Peter was really and truly such a good boy that there was no excuse
for saying he was not. His father and mother were poor people; and
Peter worked every minute out of school hours, to help them along.
Then he had a sweet little crippled sister whom he was never tired of
caring for. Then, too, he contrived to find time to do lots of little
kindnesses for other people. He always studied his lessons faithfully,
and never ran away from school. Peter was such a good boy, and so
modest and unsuspicious that he was good, that everybody loved him. He
had not the least idea that he could get the place with the Christmas
Monks, but the Prince was sure of it.
When the examination day came all the boys from far and near, with
their hair neatly brushed and parted, and dressed in their best
clothes, flocked into the convent. Many of their relatives and friends
went with them to witness the examination.
The refectory of the convent where they assembled, was a very large
hall with a delicious smell of roast turkey and plum pudding in it.
All the little boys sniffed, and their mouths watered.
The two fathers who were to examine the boys were perched up in a
high pulpit so profusely trimmed with evergreen that it looked like a
bird's nest; they were remarkably pleasant-looking men, and their eyes
twinkled merrily under their Christmas wreaths. Father Anselmus was
a little the taller of the two, and Father Ambrose was a little the
broader; and that was about all the difference between them in looks.
The little boys all stood up in a row, their friends stationed
themselves in good places, and the examination began.
Then if one had been placed beside the entrance to the convent, he
would have seen one after another, a crestfallen little boy with his
arm lifted up and crooked, and his face hidden in it, come out and
walk forlornly away. He had failed to pass.
The two fathers found out that this boy had robbed birds' nests,
and this one stolen apples. And one after another they walked
disconsolately away till there were only two boys left: the Prince and
Peter.
"Now, your Highness," said Father Anselmus, who always took the lead
in the questions, "are you a good boy?"
"O holy Father!" exclaimed all the people--there were a good many fine
folks from the court present. "He is such a good boy! such a wonderful
boy! we never knew him to do a wrong thing."
"I don't suppose he ever robbed a bird's nest?" said Father Ambrose a
little doubtfully.
[Illustration: The Prince & Peter are examined by the monks.]
"No, no!" chorused the people.
"Nor tormented a kitten?"
"No, no, no!" cried they all.
At last everybody being so confident that there could be no reasonable
fault found with the Prince, he was pronounced competent to enter upon
the Monks' service. Peter they knew a great deal about before--indeed
a glance at his face was enough to satisfy any one of his goodness;
for he did look more like one of the boy angels in the altar-piece
than anything else. So after a few questions, they accepted him also;
and the people went home and left the two boys with the Christmas
Monks.
The next morning Peter was obliged to lay aside his homespun coat,
and the Prince his velvet tunic, and both were dressed in some little
white robes with evergreen girdles like the Monks. Then the Prince was
set to sewing Noah's Ark seed, and Peter picture-book seed. Up and
down they went scattering the seed. Peter sang a little psalm to
himself, but the Prince grumbled because they had not given him
gold-watch or gem seed to plant instead of the toy which he had
outgrown long ago. By noon Peter had planted all his picture-books,
and fastened up the card to mark them on the pole; but the Prince had
dawdled so his work was not half done.
"We are going to have a trial with this boy," said the Monks to each
other; "we shall have to set him a penance at once, or we cannot
manage him at all."
So the Prince had to go without his dinner, and kneel on dried peas in
the chapel all the afternoon. The next day he finished his Noah's Arks
meekly; but the next day he rebelled again and had to go the whole
length of the field where they planted jewsharps, on his knees. And so
it was about every other day for the whole year.
One of the brothers had to be set apart in a meditating cell to invent
new penances; for they had used up all on their list before the Prince
had been with them three months.
The Prince became dreadfully tired of his convent life, and if he
could have brought it about would have run away. Peter, on the
contrary, had never been so happy in his life. He worked like a bee,
and the pleasure he took in seeing the lovely things he had planted
come up, was unbounded, and the Christmas carols and chimes delighted
his soul. Then, too, he had never fared so well in his life. He could
never remember the time before when he had been a whole week without
being hungry. He sent his wages every month to his parents; and he
never ceased to wonder at the discontent of the Prince.
"They grow so slow," the Prince would say, wrinkling up his handsome
forehead. "I expected to have a bushelful of new toys every month; and
not one have I had yet. And these stingy old Monks say I can only have
my usual Christmas share anyway, nor can I pick them out myself. I
never saw such a stupid place to stay in in my life. I want to have my
velvet tunic on and go home to the palace and ride on my white pony
with the silver tail, and hear them all tell me how charming I am."
Then the Prince would crook his arm and put his head on it and cry.
Peter pitied him, and tried to comfort him, but it was not of much
use, for the Prince got angry because he was not discontented as well
as himself.
Two weeks before Christmas everything in the garden was nearly ready
to be picked. Some few things needed a little more December sun, but
everything looked perfect. Some of the Jack-in-the-boxes would not pop
out quite quick enough, and some of the jumping-Jacks were hardly
as limber as they might be as yet; that was all. As it was so near
Christmas the Monks were engaged in their holy exercises in the chapel
for the greater part of the time, and only went over the garden once a
day to see if everything was all right.
The Prince and Peter were obliged to be there all the time. There was
plenty of work for them to do; for once in a while something would
blow over, and then there were the penny-trumpets to keep in tune; and
that was a vast sight of work.
One morning the Prince was at one end of the garden straightening up
some wooden soldiers which had toppled over, and Peter was in the wax
doll bed dusting the dolls. All of a sudden he heard a sweet little
voice: "O, Peter!" He thought at first one of the dolls was talking,
but they could not say anything but papa and mamma; and had the merest
apologies for voices anyway. "Here I am, Peter!" and there was a
little pull at his sleeve. There was his little sister. She was not
any taller than the dolls around her, and looked uncommonly like the
prettiest, pinkest-cheeked, yellowest-haired ones; so it was no wonder
that Peter did not see her at first. She stood there poising herself
on her crutches, poor little thing, and smiling lovingly up at Peter.
"Oh, you darling!" cried Peter, catching her up in his arms. "How did
you get in here?"
"I stole in behind one of the Monks," said she. "I saw him going up
the street past our house, and I ran out and kept behind him all the
way. When he opened the gate I whisked in too, and then I followed him
into the garden. I've been here with the dollies ever since."
"Well," said poor Peter, "I don't see what I am going to do with you,
now you are here. I can't let you out again; and I don't know what the
Monks will say."
"Oh, I know!" cried the little girl gayly. "I'll stay out here in the
garden. I can sleep in one of those beautiful dolls' cradles over
there; and you can bring me something to eat."
[Illustration: THE BOYS AT WORK IN THE CONVENT GARDEN.]
"But the Monks come out every morning to look over the garden, and
they'll be sure to find you," said her brother, anxiously.
"No, I'll hide! O, Peter, here is a place where there isn't any doll!"
"Yes; that doll didn't come up."
"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do! I'll just stand here in this place
where the doll didn't come up, and nobody can tell the difference."
"Well, I don't know but you can do that," said Peter, although he was
still ill at ease. He was so good a boy he was very much afraid of
doing wrong, and offending his kind friends the Monks; at the same
time he could not help being glad to see his dear little sister.
He smuggled some food out to her, and she played merrily about him all
day; and at night he tucked her into one of the dolls' cradles with
lace pillows and quilt of rose-colored silk.
The next morning when the Monks were going the rounds, the father
who inspected the wax doll bed, was a bit nearsighted, and he never
noticed the difference between the dolls and Peter's little sister,
who swung herself on her crutches, and looked just as much like a wax
doll as she possibly could. So the two were delighted with the success
of their plan.
They went on thus for a few days, and Peter could not help being happy
with his darling little sister, although at the same time he could not
help worrying for fear he was doing wrong.
Something else happened now, which made him worry still more;
the Prince ran away. He had been watching for a long time for an
opportunity to possess himself of a certain long ladder made of
twisted evergreen ropes, which the Monks kept locked up in the
toolhouse. Lately, by some oversight, the toolhouse had been left
unlocked one day, and the Prince got the ladder. It was the latter
part of the afternoon, and the Christmas Monks were all in the chapel
practicing Christmas carols. The Prince found a very large hamper, and
picked as many Christmas presents for himself as he could stuff into
it; then he put the ladder against the high gate in front of the
convent, and climbed up, dragging the hamper after him. When he
reached the top of the gate, which was quite broad, he sat down to
rest for a moment before pulling the ladder up so as to drop it on the
other side.
He gave his feet a little triumphant kick as he looked back at his
prison, and down slid the evergreen ladder! The Prince lost his
balance, and would inevitably have broken his neck if he had not clung
desperately to the hamper which hung over on the convent side of the
fence; and as it was just the same weight as the Prince, it kept him
suspended on the other.
He screamed with all the force of his royal lungs; was heard by a
party of noblemen who were galloping up the street; was rescued, and
carried in state to the palace. But he was obliged to drop the hamper
of presents, for with it all the ingenuity of the noblemen could not
rescue him as speedily as it was necessary they should.
When the good Monks discovered the escape of the Prince they were
greatly grieved, for they had tried their best to do well by him; and
poor Peter could with difficulty be comforted. He had been very fond
of the Prince, although the latter had done little except torment him
for the whole year; but Peter had a way of being fond of folks.
A few days after the Prince ran away, and the day before the one on
which the Christmas presents were to be gathered, the nearsighted
father went out into the wax doll field again; but this time he had
his spectacles on, and could see just as well as any one, and even
a little better. Peter's little sister was swinging herself on her
crutches, in the place where the wax doll did not come up, tipping her
little face up, and smiling just like the dolls around her.
"Why, what is this!" said the father. "_Hoc credam!_ I thought that
wax doll did not come up. Can my eyes deceive me? _non verum est!_
There is a doll there--and what a doll! on crutches, and in poor,
homely gear!"
Then the nearsighted father put out his hand toward Peter's little
sister. She jumped--she could not help it, and the holy father jumped
too; the Christmas wreath actually tumbled off his head.
"It is a miracle!" exclaimed he when he could speak: "the little girl
is alive! _parra puella viva est._ I will pick her and take her to the
brethren, and we will pay her the honors she is entitled to."
Then the good father put on his Christmas wreath, for he dared not
venture before his abbot without it, picked up Peter's little sister,
who was trembling in all her little bones, and carried her into the
chapel, where the Monks were just assembling to sing another carol.
He went right up to the Christmas abbot, who was seated in a splendid
chair, and looked like a king.
"Most holy abbot," said the nearsighted father, holding out Peter's
little sister, "behold a miracle, _vide miraculum_! Thou wilt remember
that there was one wax doll planted which did not come up. Behold, in
her place I have found this doll on crutches, which is--alive!"
"Let me see her!" said the abbot; and all the other Monks crowded
around, opening their mouths just like the little boys around the
notice, in order to see better.
"_Verum est_," said the abbot. "It is verily a miracle."
"Rather a lame miracle," said the brother who had charge of the funny
picture-books and the toy monkeys; they rather threw his mind off
its level of sobriety, and he was apt to make frivolous speeches
unbecoming a monk.
[Illustration: THE PRINCE RUNS AWAY.]
The abbot gave him a reproving glance, and the brother, who was the
leach of the convent, came forward. "Let me look at the miracle, most
holy abbot," said he. He took up Peter's sister, and looked carefully
at the small, twisted ankle. "I think I can cure this with my herbs
and simples," said he.
"But I don't know," said the abbot doubtfully. "I never heard of
curing a miracle."
"If it is not lawful, my humble power will not suffice to cure it,"
said the father who was the leach.
"True," said the abbot; "take her, then, and exercise thy healing art
upon her, and we will go on with our Christmas devotions, for which we
should now feel all the more zeal." So the father took away Peter's
little sister, who was still too frightened to speak.
The Christmas Monk was a wonderful doctor, for by Christmas Eve the
little girl was completely cured of her lameness. This may seem
incredible, but it was owing in great part to the herbs and simples,
which are of a species that our doctors have no knowledge of; and also
to a wonderful lotion which has never been advertised on our fences.
Peter of course heard the talk about the miracle, and knew at once
what it meant. He was almost heartbroken to think he was deceiving the
Monks so, but at the same time he did not dare to confess the truth
for fear they would put a penance upon his sister, and he could not
bear to think of her having to kneel upon dried peas.
He worked hard picking Christmas presents, and hid his unhappiness as
best he could. On Christmas Eve he was called into the chapel. The
Christmas Monks were all assembled there. The walls were covered with
green garlands and boughs and sprays of hollyberries, and branches
of wax lights were gleaming brightly amongst them. The altar and the
picture of the Blessed Child behind it were so bright as to almost
dazzle one; and right up in the midst of it, in a lovely white dress,
all wreaths and jewels, in a little chair with a canopy woven of green
branches over it, sat Peter's little sister.
And there were all the Christmas Monks in their white robes and
wreaths, going up in a long procession, with their hands full of the
very showiest Christmas presents to offer them to her!
But when they reached her and held out the lovely presents--the
first was an enchanting wax doll, the biggest beauty in the whole
garden--instead of reaching out her hands for them, she just drew
back, and said in her little sweet, piping voice: "Please, I ain't a
millacle, I'm only Peter's little sister."
"Peter?" said the abbot; "the Peter who works in our garden?"
"Yes," said the little sister.
Now here was a fine opportunity for a whole convent full of monks to
look foolish--filing up in procession with their hands full of gifts
to offer to a miracle, and finding there was no miracle, but only
Peter's little sister.
But the abbot of the Christmas Monks had always maintained that there
were two ways of looking at all things; if any object was not what you
wanted it to be in one light, that there was another light in which it
would be sure to meet your views.
So now he brought this philosophy to bear.
"This little girl did not come up in the place of the wax doll, and
she is not a miracle in that light," said he; "but look at her in
another light and she is a miracle--do you not see?"
They all looked at her, the darling little girl, the very meaning and
sweetness of all Christmas in her loving, trusting, innocent face.
"Yes," said all the Christmas Monks, "she is a miracle." And they all
laid their beautiful Christmas presents down before her.
Peter was so delighted he hardly knew himself; and, oh! the joy there
was when he led his little sister home on Christmas-day, and showed
all the wonderful presents.
The Christmas Monks always retained Peter in their employ--in fact he
is in their employ to this day. And his parents, and his little
sister who was entirely cured of her lameness, have never wanted for
anything.
As for the Prince, the courtiers were never tired of discussing and
admiring his wonderful knowledge of physics which led to his adjusting
the weight of the hamper of Christmas presents to his own so nicely
that he could not fall. The Prince liked the talk and the admiration
well enough, but he could not help, also, being a little glum: for he
got no Christmas presents that year.