The other day I was at Tom McGinnis's house, and he had some company. He
was a big boy, and something like a cousin of Tom's. Would you believe
it, that fellow said there wasn't any Santa Claus?
Now that boy distinctly did tell--but I won't mention it. We should
never reveal the wickedness of other people, and ought always to be
thankful that we are worse than anybody else. Otherwise we should be
like the Pharisee, and he was very bad. I knew for certain that it was a
fib Tom McGinnis's cousin told. But all the same, the more I thought
about it the more I got worried.
If there is a Santa Claus--and of course there is--how could he get up
on the top of the house, so he could come down the chimney, unless he
carried a big ladder with him; and if he did this, how could he carry
presents enough to fill mornahundred stockings? And then how could he
help getting the things all over soot from the chimney, and how does he
manage when the chimney is all full of smoke and fire, as it always is
at Christmas! But then, as the preacher says, he may be supernatural--I
had to look that word up in the dictionary.
The story Tom McGinnis's cousin told kept on worrying me, and finally I
began to think how perfectly awful it would be if there was any truth in
it. How the children would feel! There's going to be no end of children
at our house this Christmas, and Aunt Eliza and her two small boys are
here already. I heard mother and Aunt Eliza talking about Christmas the
other day, and they agreed that all the children should sleep on cot
bedsteads in the back parlor, so that they could open their stockings
together, and mother said, "You know, Eliza, there's a big fireplace in
that room, and the children can hang their stockings around the
chimney."
Now I know I did wrong, but it was only because I did not want the
children to be disappointed. We should always do to others and so on,
and I know I should have been grateful if anybody had tried to get up a
Santa Claus for me in case of the real one being out of repair. Neither
do I blame mother, though if she hadn't spoken about the fireplace in
the way she did, it would never have happened. But I do think that they
ought to have made a little allowance for me, since I was only trying to
help make the Christmas business successful.
It all happened yesterday. Tom McGinnis had come to see me, and all the
folks had gone out to ride except Aunt Eliza's little boy Harry. We were
talking about Christmas, and I was telling Tom how all the children were
to sleep in the back parlor, and how there was a chimney there that was
just the thing for Santa Claus. We went and looked at the chimney, and
then I said to Tom what fun it would be to dress up and come down the
chimney and pretend to be Santa Claus, and how it would amuse the
children, and how pleased the grown-up folks would be, for they are
always wanting us to amuse them.
Tom agreed with me that it would be splendid fun, and said we ought to
practise coming down the chimney, so that we could do it easily on
Christmas-eve. He said he thought I ought to do it, because it was our
house; but I said no, he was a visitor, and it would be mean and selfish
in me to deprive him of any pleasure. But Tom wouldn't do it. He said
that he wasn't feeling very well, and that he didn't like to take
liberties with our chimney, and, besides, he was afraid that he was so
big that he wouldn't fit the chimney. Then we thought of Harry, and
agreed that he was just the right size. Of course Harry said he'd do it
when we asked him, for he isn't afraid of anything, and is so proud to
be allowed to play with Tom and me that he would do anything we asked
him to do.
Well, Harry took off his coat and shoes, and we all went up to the roof,
and Tom and I boosted Harry till he got on the top of the chimney and
put his legs in it and slid down. He went down like a flash, for he
didn't know enough to brace himself the way the chimney-sweeps do. Tom
and I we hurried down to the back parlor to meet him; but he had not
arrived yet, though the fireplace was full of ashes and soot.
We supposed he had stopped on the way to rest; but after a while we
thought we heard a noise, like somebody calling, that was a great way
off. We went up on the roof, thinking Harry might have climbed back up
the chimney, but he wasn't there. When we got on the top of the chimney
we could hear him plain enough. He was crying and yelling for help, for
he was stuck about half-way down the chimney, and couldn't get either up
or down.
We talked it over for some time, and decided that the best thing to do
was to get a rope and let it down to him, and pull him out. So I got the
clothes-line and let it down, but Harry's arms were jammed close to his
sides, so he couldn't get hold of it. Tom said we ought to make a
slippernoose, catch it over Harry's head, and pull him out that way, but
I knew that Harry wasn't very strong, and I was afraid if we did that he
might come apart.
Then I proposed that we should get a long pole and push Harry down the
rest of the chimney, but after hunting all over the yard we couldn't
find a pole that was long enough, so we had to give that plan up. All
this time Harry was crying in the most discontented way, although we
were doing all we could for him. That's the way with little boys. They
never have any gratitude, and are always discontented.
As we couldn't poke Harry down, Tom said let's try to poke him up. So we
told Harry to be patient and considerate, and we went down-stairs again,
and took the longest pole we could find and pushed it up the chimney.
Bushels of soot came down, and flew over everything, but we couldn't
reach Harry with the pole. By this time we began to feel discouraged. We
were awfully sorry for Harry, because, if we couldn't get him out before
the folks came home, Tom and I would be in a dreadful scrape.
Then I thought that if we were to build a little fire the draught might
draw Harry out. Tom thought it was an excellent plan. So I started a
fire, but it didn't loosen Harry a bit, and when we went on the roof to
meet him we heard him crying louder than ever, and saying that something
was on fire in the chimney and was choking him. I knew what to do,
though Tom didn't, and, to tell the truth, he was terribly frightened.
We ran down and got two pails of water, and poured them down the
chimney. That put the fire out, but you would hardly believe that Harry
was more unreasonable than ever, and said we were trying to drown him.
There is no comfort in wearing yourself out in trying to please little
boys. You can't satisfy them, no matter how much trouble you take, and
for my part I am tired of trying to please Harry, and shall let him
amuse himself the rest of the time he is at our house.
[Illustration: THEY GOT HARRY OUT ALL SAFE.]
We had tried every plan we could think of to get Harry out of the
chimney, but none of them succeeded. Tom said that if we were to pour a
whole lot of oil down the chimney it would make it so slippery that
Harry would slide right down into the back parlor, but I wouldn't do it,
because I knew the oil would spoil Harry's clothes, and that would make
Aunt Eliza angry. All of a sudden I heard a carriage stop at our gate,
and there were the grown folks, who had come home earlier than I had
supposed they would. Tom said that he thought he would go home before
his own folks began to get uneasy about him, so he went out of the back
gate, and left me to explain things. They had to send for some men to
come and cut a hole through the wall. But they got Harry out all safe;
and after they found that he wasn't a bit hurt, instead of thanking me
for all Tom and I had done for him, they seemed to think that I
deserved the worst punishment I ever had, and I got it.