lighted by a low night-lamp. And everywhere ready and waiting for Santa
Claus, though not always ready in just the same way. Sometimes there
would be stockings hung by the chimney place, sometimes a little wooden
shoe placed outside the door, sometimes a candle burning in the window
to light Noel upon his way. But always Santa Claus knew what to do and
just what presents to leave in every house.
Into a big city dashed the sleigh, straight toward a great castle with
turrets and towers and many windows sparkling in the frosty starlight.
It was the castle where Princess Maud lived, and now Merrythought and
Lady Arabella were forced to say good-bye.
‘I know you will make Princess Maud happy,’ said Merrythought, kissing
Lady Arabella’s pretty pink cheek.
In return Lady Arabella threw both arms about Merrythought’s neck.
‘I’m so glad that you could come with us,’ whispered she, hugging him
close, ‘and do try to find Christmas again to-night if you can.’
Then down the chimney went Lady Arabella and Santa Claus and the great
pack of toys into the peaceful night nursery where slept the little
Princess Maud, dreaming of the big little-girl doll she hoped Santa
Claus would bring her that night.
On went the sleigh. Merrythought crept next to Santa Claus and cuddled
down close as the sleigh swept across the ocean with its dashing waves
and snow squalls and great ships ploughing silently along through the
black and icy water.
There were children on those ships. Do you think Santa Claus passed
them by? Not he! By special arrangement down on the decks he flung
great sacks of toys so that no child should wake on Christmas Morning
and find his stocking unfilled.
Over the land again, Santa Claus stopping so often now that
Merrythought grew quite used to holding the reins. Here were more
children fast asleep, here were mothers and fathers trimming Christmas
Trees, and people trudging through the snow carrying presents and
wreaths of holly and bunches of mistletoe.
‘Gay, isn’t it?’ asked Santa Claus, smiling with all his might. ‘There
is nothing in the world quite like Christmas and plenty of toys for
every one. Eh, Merrythought?’
And his face was so happy as he looked down at Merrythought that the
little Brownie was ashamed to tell him how he really felt.
So he buried his nose in the warm fur robe and only mumbled something
about ‘too many toys.’
But Santa Claus heard him and understood. He didn’t speak again to
Merrythought. He only looked at him when they reached a poor house
where all Santa Claus left for the little boy was a fire-engine, and
next door where the baby had only a monkey-on-a-stick.
‘Perhaps all children don’t have too many toys,’ thought Merrythought.
‘But they all have something. And I am tired to death of toys, just
tired to death of them.’
Now Santa Claus drove through the white countryside, on and on and on,
until there was not a house to be seen.
‘Where can we be going?’ Merrythought asked himself. ‘This looks like
the end of the world.’
On and on and on, until, half buried in the snow, Merrythought spied a
little brown house. There was a light in the window, though it was the
middle of the night.
‘Somebody trimming a Christmas Tree, I suppose,’ thought Merrythought.
‘More toys and tinsel and gold, no doubt.’
To his surprise Santa Claus did not stop. He slowed up a little and
gently, very gently, he lifted Merrythought out and dropped him in the
snow.
‘Go look in the window,’ said Santa Claus, ‘and if I am not mistaken
there will be something for you to see. I will be back for you by and
by.’
And off sped the sleigh and out of sight among the white drifts of snow.
* * * * *
Merrythought struggled up the path through the deep snow and peeped in
the window.
As we know, he had expected to see a Christmas Tree laden with gay
balls and chains and ornaments of every kind and hue. He thought he
might see stockings in a row. He was sure he would see bunches of
holly and sprays of mistletoe.
But the room into which he looked had not a sign of Christmas anywhere.
[Illustration]
It was a bare little room with a bed in one corner and an old
cook-stove that quite filled one side of the wall.
And in the room were seven children, all wide awake as could be, just
as if it were not Christmas Eve, when every wise little boy or girl
goes to sleep the moment his bed-time comes. The seven children were
in their night-gowns, all but one, the oldest, a girl, and they had
huddled round their shoulders bits of shawls and blankets to keep them
warm. But in spite of this and the fire in the stove their noses were
red with cold and they blew upon their fingers every now and then.
They were watching the stove, the oven of the stove, and all seven were
sniffing, sniffing the air. And first one and then the other would call
out, ‘I smell them! I smell them! I know I do!’
At this they would become so excited that they would jump up and down
and lose off their blankets and bits of shawls. Then the biggest girl
would have to go round among them and wrap them up again.
All this Merrythought could hear and see quite plainly, for his nose
was pressed flat against the window-pane.
‘They must have a Christmas Turkey in the oven,’ thought he. ‘But what
a strange time to cook it. And where are their toys and their Tree and
their father and mother, too?’
Merrythought looked and listened with all his might.
‘I must know what is in that oven,’ thought he again. ‘It doesn’t smell
like turkey to me.’
Here Merrythought sniffed vigorously all along the window-sill. He was
becoming almost as excited as the children themselves.
‘I will know their names soon,’ said he, smiling to see the seven
children sniff and clap their hands and jump about. ‘That oldest girl
is named Belinda, for the other children are always calling out, “Oh,
Belinda, wrap me up! Oh, Belinda, do sniff over here!” She seems to
take care of them. I wonder where their own mother is.’
Merrythought rubbed the steam of his breath off the window and peered
in again.
‘The littlest boy with freckles is called Tom, and the one with curls
and her thumb in her mouth is Matilda, and the baby is Polly, I know.
I think those two boys holding hands and giggling are called Danny and
Bill. And the one with the pigtails is named Ann Mary, for her two
grandmothers, I suppose. I wonder when they will open that oven door
and take out whatever is inside.’
The children were wondering this, too.
‘Oh, Belinda, do look in the oven! Oh, Belinda, do see if they are not
done! Oh, Belinda, we can’t wait a minute longer!’
[Illustration]
Belinda laughed at them and shook her head.
Stand back,’ said she, ‘and I will look in the oven.’
But they didn’t stand back, not they. They crowded round and peeked
and sniffed as Belinda gently opened the oven door. And when she said,
‘They are done!’ they clapped their hands and shouted and pranced about
the room.
‘What can it be?’ asked Merrythought, clinging to the window-sill, his
eyes as round as plates. ‘It must be something very rich and fine.’
But what do you think Belinda took from the oven and carefully set upon
the table in a row?
Seven little pies! Seven little saucer pies, in very small saucers, too!
Merrythought almost fell off the window-sill, he was so surprised. And
the very next moment he did something much worse. He sneezed! A loud
crashing sneeze that jerked his head forward and struck it against the
window-pane with a thump!
Well, of course the children rushed over to the window to see what
was there. And when they saw a little fellow, only Brownie size, they
opened the door, and Belinda called him to come in.
So in Merrythought went, and the room was so sweet with the odor of the
seven little pies that Merrythought couldn’t help sniffing and staring
at them, too.
‘They are our pies,’ spoke up little Tom proudly.
‘One apiece,’ announced Danny and Bill in a breath.
‘Belinda made them,’ said Ann Mary, twitching her pigtails into place.
‘For our Christmas,’ added Matilda, taking her thumb out of her mouth
to say so.
Baby Polly didn’t speak a word. Perhaps she couldn’t. I am not sure
about that. But she toddled straight over to Merrythought and slipped
her hand in his. She knew at a glance that here was a friend. And
she was right. For unless he were a good friend to little children
Merrythought could never have made such beautiful playthings for them,
in spite of the fact that this Christmas he had grown so tired of toys.
But, somehow, as he looked about the little room, bare of Christmas
on Christmas Eve, Merrythought didn’t so dislike the idea of toys.
Indeed, it seemed all wrong and strange not to see a shining Tree and
stockings, filled to overflowing, in a row, and little heads, brown and
black and yellow, snuggled down into a pillow and happy with Christmas
dreams.
This was a strange Christmas Eve, and perhaps Merrythought’s face
showed what he felt, for Belinda began at once to tell him how it had
come about.
‘You see, Father and Mother went to town almost a week ago. Father went
to help build a house. He is a carpenter, you know. And Mother went to
do sewing for the minister’s wife,’ said Belinda, standing straight and
tall. ‘And they left me to take care of the children. They meant to be
home for Christmas. They were coming to-night. Mother said she would
bring each of the children an orange, if she could. But the snow is
very deep, and they didn’t come. So I made the pies for the children.
They have apples and molasses and sugar in them. And the children will
like them just as well as toys.’
The children did like them. They were hopping round the table and
calling out, ‘Smell mine! Smell mine!’
But Merrythought did not like it at all. He thought of the many toys he
had made that year in Santa Claus’s Snow Palace on the very tip-top of
the North Pole, he thought of Santa Claus’s sleigh still well filled,
he thought of the stockings and Christmas Trees that other children
would enjoy on Christmas Day. And Merrythought wished with all his
generous little Brownie heart that he could give a beautiful toy to
each of these seven children who were made so happy on Christmas by a
little saucer pie.
‘Oh!’ groaned Merrythought to himself. ‘And I said there were too many
toys. I said children thought of nothing but toys and how many they
would get. I said I was tired of toys. And these children haven’t a
single one, not a single little toy. How could I have said such a
thing! Oh! Oh! Oh!’
But here Merrythought felt some one pulling at his hand.
It was Ann Mary, holding out her pie to Merrythought.
‘Here!’ said Ann Mary, her pigtails standing straight out with
excitement. ‘Take it. It’s yours. I want to give it to you for
Christmas because you haven’t any pie or anything. The other children
will give me bites of theirs. They said they would. Take it. It’s for
you.’
Merrythought took the pie. He almost wanted to cry, but he took a bite
of crust instead.
‘Delicious!’ said Merrythought. ‘It is the best pie I ever ate.’
But at that moment Merrythought’s face grew very bright.
‘Just a minute,’ said he. ‘Don’t stir.’
He opened the door and looked out. He listened and listened again.
Just as he thought. He did hear Santa Claus’s sleigh-bells, faint and
clear.
‘Wait! Wait for me!’ he shouted out into the snow. And there came an
answering tinkle that told him Santa Claus had heard.
Then he turned back into the room.
‘Think just as fast as you can,’ said Merrythought to the seven
astonished children standing before him in a row. ‘Think just as fast
as you can, and then tell me what toy you would like most of all for
Christmas.’
Why, it didn’t take them two minutes to think. They began to answer
before Merrythought had finished speaking to them.
‘A sled! A pair of skates!’ said Danny and Bill, holding tight to one
another and giggling as they spoke.
‘A Jack-in-the-Box,’ said Tom, all freckles and smiles.
‘A doll, a sleepy doll,’ said Ann Mary, twitching her pigtails into
place.
‘A Jumping Jack,’ said Matilda, taking her thumb out of her mouth and
putting it back again.
Polly hid her face in Belinda’s skirt, so Belinda answered for her.
‘She wants a woolly lamb on wheels,’ said Belinda. ‘I know that is
what she wants most of all.’
‘And what do you want?’ asked Merrythought. ‘Every one has told but
you.’
Belinda’s eyes grew bright.
‘I want a sewing-box,’ said Belinda--‘a sewing-box with a lock and key
so that the children can never touch what is inside.’
Merrythought nodded. He could go straight to work at once. He started
toward the door. Then suddenly he turned back again.
‘But you mustn’t look!’ exclaimed Merrythought. He had remembered how
dreadful it would be if any one peeped out of the window and caught
even a glimpse of Santa Claus and his sleigh. ‘You mustn’t look, you
know. Promise me that not one of you will look.’
‘We will hide our eyes,’ said Belinda. ‘Come, children. Let’s hide our
eyes on the side of the bed.’
So down by the side of the bed went the seven children, all in a row,
their blankets and bits of shawls huddled round their shoulders and
their pink toes and heels showing in the most comical way. They didn’t
know what it was all about, to be sure, but it was Christmasy and fun
and exciting, and they liked it, every one.
Then Merrythought, his pie in his hand, rushed out of the house to be
met by Santa Claus, with both arms full, down at the gate.
‘Yes, yes, I know all about it,’ said Santa Claus, ruddy and smiling,
with little icicles hanging from his beard. ‘Here, help me with these
toys. This is Danny’s sled, a red one. Put it on the doorstep and pile
these blankets on top. Don’t let them fall in the snow.’
‘Blankets?’ said Merrythought in surprise. ‘Nobody wants blankets here.’
‘Oh, yes, they do,’ answered Santa Claus firmly. ‘Their mother does.
Didn’t you see how thin their blankets were?’
Merrythought stared at Santa Claus. There was no one in the world quite
like him, after all.
‘Here are Bill’s skates and Belinda’s sewing-box with a lock and key,’
went on Santa Claus, reaching down first into one deep pocket and then
into the other. ‘Put them on top of the blankets. And here is Ann
Mary’s sleepy doll. You made her, Merrythought. She is one of your
prettiest. This is Tom’s Jack-in-the-Box. What’s this? Oh, Matilda’s
Jumping Jack. How he can jump! And here is Polly’s woolly lamb on green
wheels with a bell round his neck. Now, just a little candy,’ finished
Santa Claus, packing seven boxes neatly on the edge of the sled, ‘and
we are off.’
Into the sleigh, fairly empty now, climbed Merrythought and Santa Claus.
‘Wait! My pie!’ exclaimed Merrythought, pulling it from his pocket. ‘I
will break it in two and share with you.’
The pie was so small it could be eaten in two bites, but Santa Claus
and Merrythought did not speak of that. They only said how good it was
and how well Belinda baked for a girl of her years.
The little pie plate was made of tin, and as the sleigh moved off
Merrythought took aim and sent it flying straight at the little front
door.
Clatter! Clatter! Rush!
Out on the doorstep tumbled the seven children, head-first, pell-mell.
They spied the toys, they seized them, they screamed for joy.
Santa Claus and Merrythought laughed aloud, they were so happy too.
‘My sled! My skates!’
‘A sleepy doll! She really sleeps!’
‘See my Jumping Jack! He jumps so high!’
‘Look! Look! My Jack-in-the-Box!’
‘A real little key and it locks as tight as tight can be!’
‘Tinkle! Tinkle! Tinkle!’ from the woolly lamb.
Merrythought leaned from the sleigh and waved his hand, though of
course the children could not see him at all.
‘Too many toys, Merrythought?’ asked Santa Claus, looking down at the
Brownie at his side.
Merrythought laughed and shook his head.
‘No, not enough toys,’ answered he. ‘The moment I reach home I am going
to begin to make toys for those seven children for next year. But best
of all, Santa Claus, I have found Christmas,’ said Merrythought. ‘I
have found Christmas again.’
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.