“Yes, children, I will come back to you. I have come back to you!” And
from beneath the sable funeral drapery, Kriss Kringle sprang, all
jingling with silver bells, and flashing with a thousand toys.
Then again there was great confusion, but this time no sound of
lamentation; and the solemn funeral march swept into a strain of joyful
music. And the children! Oh, the children, in wild delight, played in
circles about the queer, grotesque being, who set to work destroying the
snow-tomb. He threw it at them in small crystal showers that called up,
each time as they fell, a burst of gleeful laughter. He detached the
bright toys from his girdle, from his cap, from his elbows, from his
knees, and rained them down upon the little ones who raced round him in
their mad frolic. Then he took off the false face and threw it far away,
and the people, in surprise, cried, “It is the Professor!” and drew back
awe-struck, to think they had taken such liberties with so renowned a
scholar. But the children never paused in their romp; and he said, while
they scrambled about him in merry laughter,—
“I have come back to you, children. I have come back to you!”
And in his heart he cried, “I knew not what life was; then how should I
know of death?” O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school! Here are
those who teach a philosophy of which you know nothing—a philosophy
higher than the critics; a philosophy of life; a philosophy of love; a
philosophy of death that is no sleep!
The sun came out and spread a jeweled splendor on the snow, over which,
hand-in-hand, the happy children danced.
The Professor is an old man now, and the fame of his learning has become
great in the land. And all the people tell about his funeral; and how,
every Christmas since, in his scarlet clothes and furs, laden with
“pretty things,” he leads the children in their play, and scatters on
them a thousand toys, while they, in gleeful groups, join their hands
and dance.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]