dwarfs came running to see what was the matter.
Minnie told them all about it; and when she had ended her story, the
dwarfs gathered lovingly round her and said:
"Dear child, the gold is all for you,
For faithful you have proved and true;
But had you left the rug unturned,
A groat was all you would have earned.
Our love goes with the gold we give,
And oh! forget not while you live,
That in the smallest duty done
Lies wealth of joy for everyone."
Minnie thanked the dwarfs for their kindness to her; and early next
morning she hastened home with her golden treasure, which bought many
things for the dear mother and little sister.
She never saw the dwarfs again; but she never forgot their lesson, to
do her work faithfully; and she always swept under the rug.
_A Night with Santa Claus_
ANNIE R. ANNAN
Not very long ago, and not far from here, lived a little boy named
Robby Morgan. Now I must tell at once how Robby looked, else how will
you know him if you meet him in the street? Blue-eyed was Rob, and
fair-haired, and pug-nosed,--just the sweetest trifle, his mother
said.
Well, the day before Christmas, Rob thought it would be a fine thing
to run down the High Street and see what was going on. After dinner
his mother put on his fur cap and bright scarf, and filled his pockets
with biscuits. She told him to be very polite to Santa Claus if he
should happen to meet him.
Off he trotted, merry as a cricket, with now a skip, and now a slide.
At every corner he held his breath, half expecting to run into Santa
himself. Nothing of the sort happened, however, and he soon found
himself before the gay windows of a toyshop.
There he saw a spring hobbyhorse, as large as a Shetland pony, all
saddled and bridled, too--lacking nothing but a rider. Rob pressed his
nose against the glass, and tried to imagine the feelings of a boy in
that saddle. He might have stood there all day, had not a ragged
little fellow pulled his coat. "Wouldn't you like that popgun?" he
piped.
"Catch me looking at popguns!" said Rob shortly. But when he saw how
tattered the boy's jacket was, he said more softly, "P'r'aps you'd
like a biscuit?"
"Only try me!" said the shrill little voice.
There was a queer lump in Rob's throat as he emptied one pocket of its
biscuits and thrust them into the dirty, eager hands. Then he marched
down the street without so much as glancing at that glorious steed
again.
Brighter and brighter grew the windows, more and more full of toys. At
last our boy stood, with open eyes and mouth, before a great shop
lighted from top to bottom, for it was growing dark. Rob came near
taking off his cap and saying, "How do you do, sir?"
To whom? you ask. Why, to an image of Santa Claus, the size of life,
holding a Christmas tree hung with wonderful fruit.
Soon a happy thought struck Rob. "Surely this must be Santa Claus's
own store, where he comes to fill his basket with toys! What if I were
to hide there and wait for him?"
As I said, he was a brave little chap, and he walked straight into the
shop with the stream of big people. Everybody was busy. No one had
time to look at our mite of a Rob. He tried in vain to find a quiet
corner, till he caught sight of some winding stairs that led up to the
next storey. He crept up, scarcely daring to breathe.
What a fairyland! Toys everywhere! Oceans of toys! Nothing but toys!
Excepting one happy little boy! Think of fifty great rocking-horses in
a pile; of whole flocks of woolly sheep and curly dogs, with the real
bark in them; stacks of drums; regiments of soldiers armed to the
teeth; companies of firemen drawing their hose-carts; no end of
wheel-barrows and bicycles!
Rob screwed his knuckles into his eyes, as a gentle hint, that they
had better not play him any tricks, and then stared with might and
main.
Suddenly Rob thought he heard a footstep on the stairs. Fearing to be
caught, he hid behind a go-cart. No one came, however, and as he felt
rather hungry, he took out the remaining biscuits and had a fine
supper.
Why didn't Santa Claus come?
Rob was really getting sleepy. He stretched out his tired legs, and,
turning one of the woolly sheep on its side, pillowed his curly head
upon it. It was so nice to lie there, looking up at the ceiling hung
with toys, and with the faint hum of voices in his ears. The blue
eyes grew more and more heavy. Rob was fast asleep.
Midnight! The bells rang loud and clear, as if they had great news to
tell the world. What noise is that besides the bells? And look, oh,
look! who is that striding up the room with a great basket on his
back? He has stolen his coat from a polar bear, and his cap, too, I
declare! His boots are of red leather and reach to his knees. His coat
and cap are trimmed with wreaths of holly, bright with scarlet
berries.
Good sir, let us see your face--why! that is the best part of him--so
round and so ruddy, such twinkling eyes, and such a merry look about
those dimples! But see his long white beard--can he be old?
Oh, very, very old! Over nineteen hundred years! Is that not a long
life, little ones? But he has a young heart--this dear old man,--and a
kind one. Can you guess his name? "Hurrah for Santa Claus!"
Right!--the very one.
He put his basket down near Robby, and with his back turned to him
shook the snow from his fur coat. Some of the flakes fell on Rob's
face and roused him from his sleep. Opening his eyes, he saw the white
figure, but did not stir nor cry out, lest the vision should vanish.
But bless his big heart! _he_ had no idea of vanishing till his
night's work was done. He took a large book from his pocket, opened at
the first page, and looked at it very closely.
"Tommy Turner" was written at the top, and just below was a little
map,--yes, there was Tommy's heart mapped out like a country. Part of
the land was marked _good_, part of it _bad_. Here and there were
little flags to point out places where battles had been fought during
the year. Some of them were black and some white; wherever a good
feeling had won the fight, there was a white one.
"Tommy Turner," said Santa Claus aloud,--"six white flags, three black
ones. That leaves only three presents for Tommy: but we must see what
can be done for him."
So he bustled among the toys, and soon had a ball, a horse, and a
Noah's ark tied up in a parcel, which he tossed into the basket.
Name after name was read off, some of them belonging to Rob's
playmates, and you may be sure that the little boy listened with his
heart in his mouth.
"Robby Morgan!" said Santa Claus.
In his excitement that small lad nearly upset the cart, but Santa did
not notice it.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven"--Rob's breath came very
short--"whites!"
He almost clapped his hands.
"One, two, three, _blacks_! Now I wonder what that little chap would
like--here's a drum, a box of tools, a knife, a menagerie. If he
hadn't played truant from school that day, and then told a fib about
it, I'd give him a rocking-horse."
Rob groaned in anguish of spirit.
"But, bless him! he's a fine little fellow, and perhaps he will do
better next year if I give him the horse."
That was too much for our boy. With a "hurrah" he jumped up and turned
a somersault right at Santa Claus's feet.
"Good gracious!" cried Santa, "what's this?"
"Come along, I'll show you the one," cried Rob.
Santa Claus allowed himself to be led off to the pile of horses. You
may believe that Rob's sharp eyes soon picked out the one with the
longest tail and thickest mane.
"Well, he beats all the boys that I ever saw! What shall I do with the
little spy?"
"O dear Santa Claus!" cried Robby, hugging the red boots, "do just
take me along with you; I'll stick tight when you slide down the
chimney."
"Yes, no doubt you will stick tight--in the chimney, my little man."
"I mean to your back," said Rob, with a quiver in his voice.
Santa Claus can't bear to see little folks in trouble, so he took the
boy into his arms, and asked him where he wanted to go.
"To Tommy Turner's, and oh, you know that boy in the awful old jacket
that likes popguns," was the breathless reply.
Of course he knew him, for he knows every boy and girl in Christendom;
so a popgun was added to the medley of toys. Santa Claus then strapped
Rob and the basket on his back. He next crept through an open window
to a ladder he had placed there, down which he ran as nimbly as a
squirrel. The reindeer before the sledge were in a hurry to be off,
and tinkled their silver bells right merrily. An instant more, and
they were snugly tucked up in the white robes--an instant more, and
they were flying like the wind over the snow.
Ah! Tommy's home. Santa Claus sprang out, placed the light ladder
against the house, and before Rob could wink--a good fair wink--they
were on the roof making for the chimney. Whether it swallowed him, or
he swallowed it, is still a puzzle to Robby.
Tommy lay sleeping in his little bed and dreaming of a merry
Christmas. His rosy mouth was puckered into something between a
whistle and a smile. Rob longed to give him a friendly punch, but
Santa Claus shook his head. They filled his stocking and hurried
away, for empty little stockings the world over were waiting for that
generous hand.
On they sped again, never stopping until they came to a wretched
little hovel. A black pipe instead of a chimney was sticking through
the roof.
Rob thought, "Now I guess he'll _have_ to give it up." But no, he
softly pushed the door open and stepped in.
On a ragged cot lay the urchin to whom Robby had given the biscuits.
One of them, half-eaten, was still clutched in his hand. Santa Claus
gently opened the other little fist and put the popgun into it.
"Give him my drum," whispered Rob, and Santa Claus, without a word,
placed it near the rumpled head.
How swiftly they flew under the bright stars! How sweetly rang the
bells!
When Santa Claus reined up at Robby's door, he found his little
comrade fast asleep. He laid him tenderly in his crib, and drew off a
stocking, which he filled with the smaller toys. The rocking-horse he
placed close to the crib, that Rob might mount him on Christmas
morning.
A kiss, and he was gone.
_P.S._ Rob's mother says it was all a dream, but he declares that
"it's true as true can be!" I prefer to take his word for it.
_The Story of Li'l' Hannibal_
CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY
Once on a time, 'way down South, there lived a little boy named
Hannibal, Li'l' Hannibal. He lived along with his gran'mammy and his
gran'daddy in a li'l' one-storey log cabin that was set right down in
a cotton field. Well, from morning until night, Li'l' Hannibal's
gran'mammy kept him doin' things. As soon as she woke up in the
morning it was:
"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal, fetch a pine knot and light the kitchen fire."
"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal, fetch the tea-kettle to the well and get some
water for the tea."
"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal, mix a li'l' hoecake for your gran'daddy's
brea'fus'."
"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal, take the bunch of turkeys' feathers and dust the
hearth."
And from morning until night Li'l' Hannibal's gran'daddy kept him
doin' things too.
"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal," his gran'daddy would say, "fetch the corn and
feed the turkeys."
"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal, take your li'l' axe and chop some wood for your
gran'mammy's fire."
"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal, run 'round to the store and buy a bag of flour."
"Oh, Li'l' Hannibal, fetch your basket and pick a li'l' cotton off the
edge of the field."
So they kept poor Li'l' Hannibal at work 'most all day long, and he
had only four or five hours to play.
Well, one morning Li'l' Hannibal woke up and he made up his mind to
something. Before they could ask him to light the kitchen fire, or
fill the tea-kettle, or mix the hoecake, or dust the hearth, or feed
the turkeys, or chop any wood, or go to the store, or pick any cotton,
he had made up his mind that he was not going to work for his
gran'mammy and his gran'daddy any longer. He was going to run away!
So Li'l' Hannibal got out of bed very quietly. He put on his li'l'
trousers, and his li'l' shirt and his li'l' suspenders and his li'l'
shoes--he never wore stockings. He pulled his li'l' straw hat down
tight over his ears and then Li'l' Hannibal ran away!
He went down the road past all the cabins. He went under the fence and
across the cotton fields. He went through the pine grove past the
schoolhouse, stooping down low so the schoolmistress wouldn't see him,
and then he went 'way, 'way off into the country.
When he was a long way from town, Li'l' Hannibal met a Possum loping
along by the edge of the road, and the Possum stopped and looked at
Li'l' Hannibal.
"How do? Where you goin', Li'l' Hannibal?" asked the Possum.
Li'l' Hannibal sat down by the side of the road and he took off his
straw hat to fan himself, for he felt quite warm, and he said:
"I done run away, Br'er Possum. My gran'mammy and my gran'daddy kep'
me totin', totin' for them all the time. I doesn't like to work, Br'er
Possum."
"Po' Li'l' Hannibal!" said the Possum, sitting up and scratching
himself. "Any special place you boun' for?"
"I don't reckon so," said Li'l' Hannibal, for he was getting tired and
he had come away without any breakfast.
"You come along of me, Li'l' Hannibal," said the Possum; "I reckon I
kin take you somewhere."
So the Possum and Li'l' Hannibal went along together, the Possum
loping along by the side of the road and Li'l' Hannibal going very
slowly in the middle of the road, for his shoes were full of sand and
it hurt his toes. They went on and on until they came, all at once, to
a sort of open space in the woods and then they stopped. There was a
big company there--Br'er Rabbit, and Br'er Partridge, and Br'er
Robin, and Ol' Miss Guinea Hen.
"Here's Po' Li'l' Hannibal come to see you," said the Possum. "Li'l'
Hannibal done run away from his gran'mammy and gran'daddy."
Li'l' Hannibal hung his head as if he was ashamed, but nobody noticed
him. They were all as busy as they could be, so he just sat down on a
pine stump and watched them.
Each one had his own special work and he was keeping at it. Br'er
Robin was gathering all the holly berries from the south side of the
holly-tree and singing as he worked:
"Cheer up, cheer-u-up!"
Br'er Partridge was building a new house down low in the bushes. As he
hurried to and fro with twigs, he would stop and drum a little, he
felt so happy to be busy.
Ol' Miss Guinea Hen was almost the busiest of the whole company, for
she was laying eggs. As soon as ever she had had one she would get up
on a low branch and screech, "Catch it! Catch it! Catch it!" like to
deafen everybody.
But Li'l' Hannibal was most interested to see what Br'er Rabbit was
doing. Br'er Rabbit had on a li'l' apron, and he kept bringing things
in his market-basket. Then he cooked the things over a fire in the
bushes, and when it got to be late in the afternoon, he spread a
tablecloth on a big stump and then he pounded on his stew-pan with his
soup-ladle. "Supper's ready," said Br'er Rabbit.
Then Br'er Robin and Br'er Partridge and Br'er Possum and Ol' Miss
Guinea Hen all scrambled to their places at the table and Li'l'
Hannibal tried to find a place to sit at, but there wasn't any for
him.
"Po' Li'l' Hannibal!" said Br'er Rabbit as he poured the soup.
"Doesn't like work! Cyant have no supper!"
"Catch him! Catch him!" said Ol' Miss Guinea Hen, but no one did it.
They were all too busy eating.
They had a grand supper. There was roast turkey and fried chicken, and
mutton and rice and potatoes and peas and beans and baked apples and
cabbage and hot biscuits and muffins and butter-cakes and golden
syrup.
When they had finished eating, it was quite dark, and they all went
home, even Br'er Possum, and they left Li'l' Hannibal sitting there
all by himself.
Well, after a while it began to get darker. Br'er Mocking Bird came
out, and he looked at Li'l' Hannibal and then he began to scream,
just like Ol' Miss Guinea Hen:
"Catch him! Catch him! Catch him!"
Br'er Screech Owl looked down from a tree and he said very hoarsely:
"Who! Who! Who-oo!"
Then all the frogs began to say, loud and shrill:
"Li'l' Hannibal! Li'l' Hannibal!"
So Li'l' Hannibal got up from his pine stump and he said, "I reckon I
better go home to my gran'mammy."
Well, Li'l' Hannibal started for home slowly, because his feet hurt
and he was hungry. When he came to the pine grove by the schoolhouse
the shadows came out from behind the trees and followed him, and that
was much worse than seeing the schoolmistress. But Li'l' Hannibal got
away from them all right. He crawled under the fence and ran across
the cotton field and there in the door of the cabin was his gran'daddy
with a lantern. His gran'daddy had been out looking for Li'l'
Hannibal.
"Why, Li'l' Hannibal, where you been all day?" asked his gran'daddy.
"Oh, Li'l' Han," said his gran'mammy, "here's your porridge, I kep'
it warm on the hearth, but afore you eat your supper, Li'l' Han, jus'
take your li'l' basket and run 'round to the chicken house for a
couple of eggs."
So Li'l' Hannibal took his li'l' basket and he started for those eggs,
singing all the way. You see, he reckoned he was mighty glad to be at
home, and working again.
_How Wry-Face played a Trick on One-Eye the Potato-Wife_[15]
AGNES GROZIER HERBERTSON
_The Overturned Cart_
One day, as Oh-I-Am the Wizard went over Three-Tree Common, his shoe
became unstringed, and he bent down to refasten it. Then he saw
Wry-Face, the gnome, hiding among the bracken and looking as
mischievous as anything. In one hand he held a white fluff-feather.
Now these feathers are as light as anything, and will blow in the
wind; and whatever they are placed under, whether light or heavy, they
are bound to topple over as soon as the wind blows.
[Footnote 15: From _Cap o' Yellow_.]
As Oh-I-Am tied his shoe he saw Wry-Face place his fluff-feather
carefully in the roadway; and at the same moment there came along
One-Eye, the potato-wife, with her cart full of potatoes. The cart
went rumble, crumble, crack, crack, crack, over the leaves and twigs,
and One-Eye sang to her donkey:
"Steady, steady,
We're always ready,"
in a most cheerful voice.
Then the cart came to the fluff-feather, and over it went--crash,
bang, splutter; and the potatoes flew everywhere, like rain.
Wry-Face, the gnome, laughed to himself so that he ached, and he
rolled over the ground with mirth. Then he flew away, laughing as he
went.
But One-Eye, the potato-wife, was not laughing. Her tears went
drip-drip as she started to gather her potatoes together. And as to
getting her cart straight again, she did not know how she was to do
it.
But when she turned round from gathering together the potatoes, she
found that the cart was all right again, since Oh-I-Am the Wizard had
straightened it for her, and the donkey was standing on his legs, none
the worse for his fall.
Oh-I-Am looked stern and straight in his brown robe which trailed
behind him. He said:
"One-Eye, have you got all your potatoes together?"
One-Eye still wept. She said, "No, I have not found all of them, for
some have wandered far. And I must not seek farther, for this is
market-day, and I must away to the town."
And she began to gather up the potatoes, and drop them into the cart,
thud, thud, thud.
Oh-I-Am stooped then, and he, too, gathered up the potatoes; and he
threw them into the cart splish-splash-splutter!
"Alas!" said One-Eye, "if you throw them into the cart,
splish-splash-splutter, you will bruise and break them. You must throw
them in gently, thud, thud, thud."
So Oh-I-Am held back his anger, and he threw the potatoes in gently,
thud, thud, thud. But when the potato-wife had gone on her way, he
flew off to his Brown House by the Brown Bramble; and he began to
weave a spell.
He put into it a potato, and a grain of earth, and a down from a
pillow, and a pearl, and an apple-pip from a pie. And when the spell
was ready, he lay down, and fell asleep.
Wry-Face had gone round to all the neighbours to tell them the grand
joke about One-Eye, the potato-wife. Sometimes he told it through the
window, and sometimes he stood at the door. Sometimes he told it to a
gnome who was fine and feathery, and sometimes to one who was making
bread. But all the time he laughed, laughed, laughed, till he was
scarcely fit to stand.
Now he did not call at Oh-I-Am's fine house to tell _him_, not he! And
it was quite unnecessary, since Oh-I-Am knew the joke already, every
bit.
Oh-I-Am had hidden the spell in his cupboard. When it was
evening-time, he stole out and laid it by Wry-Face's door. Then he
went home, and went to bed.
_The Magic Potato Plant_
Wry-Face was making a pie for his supper. Suddenly the room became
dark as dark. The darkness was not night coming on, for this was
summer-time and night never came on as quickly as all that.
"Dear me, what can be the matter?" thought Wry-Face; for he could
hardly see to finish making his pie.
Then he heard a little voice from his window, crying, "Here I am,
Wry-Face, here I am!" But he could not go out to see what it was yet
awhile.
Then the apple-pie was finished, and in the oven; and Wry-Face ran
outside as fast as he could. But he did not see the spell which
Oh-I-Am had placed by his door.
What he did see was a great potato-plant which had sprung up suddenly
close to his window, and was springing up farther still, high, high,
and higher.
"Good gracious me!" cried Wry-Face in a rage, "I never planted a
potato-plant there, not in my whole life! Now I should just like to
know what you are doing by my window?"
The potato-plant took no notice, but went on climbing high, high, and
higher; and ever so far above he heard a tiny faint voice crying:
"Here I am, Wry-Face, here I am!"
"Well, I never did!" cried Wry-Face, and he began to weep; for he saw
that the potato-plant would climb up to his roof and round his chimney
and he would never be able to get rid of it.
And he wept and wept.
At last he went in, and took his pie out of the oven, and set it in
the pantry, for it was quite done. And he found a spade, and went out,
and began to dig and dig at the root of the potato-plant. But his
digging did not seem to make any difference; and the evening began to
grow darker.
Wry-Face fetched his little lamp, which is named Bright-Beauty, and
which always burns without flickering. Then he went on digging, and he
dug, and dug, and dug.
And when he had dug for hours and hours, so that he was tired to
death, the potato-plant began suddenly to dwindle and dwindle. It
dwindled as fast as anything, the leaves disappeared, and the stem
disappeared and all the horrid stretching arms. They sank down, down,
and down, till at last there was nothing left at all but--a big brown
potato!
"Well, I do declare!" cried Wry-Face. "I should like to know what you
have to do with my fine garden!"
The potato replied, "I jumped here from the cart of One-Eye, the
potato-wife, and it is quite certain that, unless I am taken back to
her immediately, I shall start again, growing, and growing, and
growing!"
"Dear potato, you must not start growing again!" cried Wry-Face, in a
great way. "To-night I am so tired I cannot do anything, but if you
will but wait till to-morrow I will take you back to One-Eye, the
potato-wife--I will, indeed!"
At first the potato would not listen to this at all; but after a while
it said, "Well, well, I will wait till to-morrow. But remember, if
to-morrow you do not carry me home to One-Eye, the potato-wife, I
shall grow into a potato-_tree_, without a doubt!"
So Wry-Face carried the potato into his house, and stored it in his
bin. But he never noticed the spell which Oh-I-Am had placed by his
door.
_The Strange Apple Pie_
"I am so tired, I can hardly yawn," said Wry-Face. "It is quite time I
had my supper, and went to bed."
So he fetched the apple-pie from the pantry, and set it upon the
table; and presently he sat down to his meal.
And he forgot for a moment how tired he was, thinking how delightful
it was to sit down to a supper of apple-pie.
Then he lifted his knife and fork to cut off a large piece; but alas,
the fork stuck fast. As for the knife, it would not move either, not
an inch. Wry-Face began to weep.
"Alack, what has happened to my apple-pie?" cried he; and his tears
fell round as round.
Then he got upon his feet, and he caught hold of the knife and fork
and pulled, and pulled, and pulled. And with the last pull the top of
the apple-pie came off, sticking to the knife and fork, and Wry-Face
saw that within the pie there was not one piece of apple, but--a big
brown potato!
Wry-Face wept again with horror at the sight.