you possess will you think of POVERTY? Of the thousands and thousands
of human beings made of the same flesh and blood as yourself, who
perish every year for lack of food? Of infants starving? Of patient
genius, toiling for mere pence? Of delicate women working their lives
away in order to provide sustenance for their children? Will you
think of all these, and help them when you can?--not grudgingly, nor
patronisingly,--but with a full heart and a generous spirit?”
Faintly as a bride at the altar, McNason murmured “I will!”
“You are a Man of Luxury,”--went on the Goblin--“Will you think of
CRIME? Of the woeful sins which wretched men are driven to commit
through want and misery? Of the prisons, crowded with branded human
creatures, who in nine cases out of ten owe their guilt to the evil
persuasions of others more cunning, more treacherous and powerful
than themselves! Of unhappy mothers, gone mad with despair, who
have murdered their children rather than see them die of hunger! Of
girls, once innocent,--betrayed, ruined and deserted by the villainy
and cruelty of such devils in the shape of men that even Hell might
close its doors against them! Will you think of CRIME?--and, thinking
of it, will you remember that it is often the sight of a man like
YOU,--over-prosperous, over-proud,--that helps to drive the poor into
the labyrinths of envy, hatred, drink, murder and suicide! Will you
think of CRIME?--and do your best to fight against it with all your
influence, all your power and all your MONEY?”
And at this juncture the Goblin looked positively terrific. McNason
quailed before its Gorgon eyes, and shivered.
“I--I will try!” he murmured.
The Goblin rose on its skeleton toes and lifted its skeleton arms. Its
voice grew loud and shrill.
“You are a Man of Commerce and Calculation,”--it said--“Will you think
of WAR! Think of nation rising against nation and kingdom against
kingdom! The beginning of sorrows! Think of widows and orphans!--think
of thousands of dying and dead men! Of human blood springing hot to
heaven and clamouring for vengeance! Of burning cities and wrecked
ships! Hark! Listen to the rush of waters and the roll of guns!”
And now, as the Goblin spoke, there came a distant booming sound upon
the air, mingled with the measured tramp of many marching feet, and
hundreds of male voices strongly uplifted in defiant chorus:
“WE sweep the seas!
Our glorious flag unfurl’d
From North to South, from East to West
Shines o’er the world!
Our cannon’s bellowing thunder
Roars with the roaring waves--
For Britain’s foes wild ocean holds
Nothing but graves!
“WE sweep the seas!--
On waters far and near
Our signals flash, and write in fire
OUR meanings clear!
No other land, no other race
Can match our British men!--
They’ve won a thousand fights before,
They’ll win again!
“WE sweep the seas!--
We rule the restless foam!
We struggle not for place or pelf,
We fight for Home!
Loud let the shout of ‘Victory!’
Ring on the fav’ring breeze,--
Down with the foe ten fathoms deep!
WE sweep the seas!”
“War!” said the Goblin, tossing its arms wildly as the sounds died
away,--“War! Accursed, yet triumphant War! Think of it, YOU, with your
millions! _Can_ you, _will_ you think of it without SPECULATING in
the wide-spread misery it involves? Without making more MONEY on the
traffic in blood? Without lending yourself and your wealth to wicked
Contracts by which you steal from your Country’s government and line
your own pockets? _Can_ you be true to the land in which you live?
_Can_ you,--_will_ you boldly refuse to sell material assistance for
your own personal advantage to your Country’s foes?”
Lashed into a fit of nervous desperation McNason almost shouted:
“I can! I can! And I will!”
Whereupon the Goblin put on its conical cap.
“You are coming round, McNason!” it observed encouragingly--“You
are really coming round! I think you are better! Your temperature
is lower--nearer the normal Principle! Principle is an excellent
pulse--it’s firm and steady, and keeps the whole body going
wholesomely! Very few have it nowadays, and as a natural consequence
the statistics of insane and diseased persons show an alarming
increase! Now,”--this with an oblique but not unfriendly leer--“Are you
sure you feel well enough to go home?”
“Sure--sure!”--and Josiah began to scramble out of bed in his
excitement--“I’ll get my clothes on in a minute----”
“Won’t you wait for Nurse Drat-Em-All?” suggested the Goblin with a
chuckle, “She’ll be back directly!”
“No--no--NO!” Here his voice faltered and died away as he discovered to
his terror that he had no power to put his feet to the floor, nor could
he reach his clothes. “Oh, I am so helpless!” he wailed--“So feeble and
helpless! Oh dear, oh dear! What shall I do!”
“Have a split soda!” said the Goblin--“In this dear sweet ‘Home’ it’s
only sixpence! But if you put a B in it, it’s two shillings!”
Half mad with impatience, Josiah wriggled about in the bed, turning his
imploring eyes on the relentless Goblin, who, perched on the quilt, was
beginning to elongate itself in the most leisurely manner.
“I suppose you want to keep Christmas now!” it remarked presently--“And
you’re in a hurry to begin. Is that it?”
“Yes--yes, that’s it!” stuttered Josiah, “You’ll take me, won’t
you--you’ll take me----”
The Goblin waved its claw. And in another instant Josiah McNason stood
erect, fully clothed, gazing fearfully up--up, ever so high at the
indescribable face and form which now loomed like a monstrous bat above
him. So tall had it suddenly grown and so thin,--so terrible were its
goggle eyes,--so enigmatical its wide grin, that anxious as he was to
depart from his present place of torture, he shook like a leaf in a
stiff breeze at the prospect of another “airship” voyage with such a
fearsome skipper of the winds.
“One Timothy Two!” said the Goblin,--and its voice seemed to fall
from some magic pinnacle reared miles above the clouds--“One Timothy
Two! Grace, Mercy, Peace! Time to keep Christmas! Christmas Day and
Christmas Bells! Come along! Come along! Home for the holidays! Off we
go!”
Stooping forward like a giant Cloud from the sky, the Goblin whisked
off the shrinking, shuddering millionaire as easily as a gust of wind
whisks off the broken branch of a tree, and spreading its great wings,
whirled with a wild “Hoo-roo-oo-oo!” out into the starry spaces of the
night.
* * * * *
Now came soft pauses of silence,--flashing gleams of colour like
broken rainbows floating at will through the pure ether,--glimpses
of clear sky wherein the greater planets shone gloriously, resembling
revolving lights set in the watch-towers of Heaven,--straying films of
pearly vapour through which the moon peered fitfully with a doubtful
brilliancy--then lo! the dear familiar Earth, lifting its dark rim
against the pale blue reaches of the morning--and then the Sun! Warm
with its golden heart’s effulgence, the splendid Orb of life and health
and beauty rose in a flood of glory over the mountain-tops and over
the seas,--spreading radiance on the wintry fields,--illumining the
leafless trees,--and deepening to a more vivid scarlet the berries of
the thick green holly, and the dainty feathers on the breasts of the
robins. And the Bells!--oh, the Bells! How they rang!--how they sang in
all the turrets and steeples of every church that lifted its shining
spire to the sunshine! “Peace--Good--will--! Peace--Good--will!”
they seemed to say over and over again with such a gladness and a
thankfulness in their soft chiming as made the heart grow full of
tenderness and tears! And now, all suddenly, a tremulous little chorus
of small fresh voices began to mingle with the Bells’ sweet tune--
“God rest you, merry gentlemen!
Let nothing you dismay!
Remember Christ our Saviour
Was born on Christmas Day!”
Then came a pause,--a murmur--and again the quaint old melody began--
“God rest you, merry gentlemen!
Let nothing you dismay!----”
Uttering a smothered cry, Josiah McNason started to his feet.
What--what was this? Where was he? Wildly he stared about him--and then
with a kind of hysterical shout, recognised his surroundings.
“I’m at home!” he cried--“At home! In my own house! In my own room!
Thank God!”
Pressing his hands to his forehead he gazed bewilderedly at every
familiar object. There was his desk--his armchair,--(he seemed to have
just sprung out of that chair)--the fireplace, where now there was no
fire but only a heap of white ashes in the grate--the telephone--ah,
that telephone!--his papers, books, letters, ink, pens--ledgers--and a
cheque-book,... On this last object his eyes rested meditatively.
“It was a dream!” he muttered--“A horrible, horrible dream! Nothing
else! It was a Dream!”
“It WASN’T!”
The answer came sharply and with remarkable emphasis.
Josiah trembled violently. He was not yet alone then? A sudden thought
struck him, and a light came into his eyes--a light new and strange,
that gave them quite a youthful sparkle.
“At any rate,”--he said--“I’ll be before Pitt this time! I’ll--I’ll cut
him out!”
And sitting down at his desk, he drew pen and paper to his aid, and
wrote the following--
“My dear Sir,--I am exceedingly sorry to hear of your precarious
condition of health, especially when I recall the strength and
activity which used to distinguish you so greatly at one time when
you did such excellent work for the firm. I understand from my
overseer, Mr. Pitt, that a couple of hundred pounds will be useful
to you at this particular juncture, and I have much pleasure in
enclosing you a cheque for that amount as a slight testimony of
my great appreciation of your former faithful services. Trusting
you will pull through your illness, and assuring you of the great
satisfaction it gives me to be of assistance to you in a time of
need, believe me, with best wishes for a pleasant Christmas,
“Yours obliged and sincerely.
“JOSIAH MCNASON.”
Taking his cheque-book, he wrote the required formula, that Two Hundred
Pounds (200_l._) should be paid to William Dove “or order,” and signed
his name “Josiah McNason” with a free proud dash under the signature
that made it even more characteristic than usual. Putting letter and
cheque in an envelope, he sealed and addressed it to “William Dove,
Esq.,” and enclosed the whole packet in another envelope with a few
words addressed to Mr. Pitt.
“I think,”--he said then, with a bland, almost smiling air--“that will
do for Mr. Pitt! Mr. Pitt will find himself out of court this time!”
He got up from his desk and stood irresolute. Then he rang his bell.
“This must be taken by special messenger,”--he said--“There’s no late
post on Christmas Day!”
He smiled, and rubbed his hands. At that instant the door opened, and
his servant Towler appeared, with a pale, rather scared face.
“Good-morning, Towler!”
“Good-morning, sir! Glad to see you well, sir!”
“Glad to see me well! Have I been ill, then?”
“No, sir I--at least I hope not, sir! But I went to call you at seven
o’clock, as you told me, sir, and you weren’t in your room, and your
bed hadn’t been slept in--and--I--er--didn’t know what to think, sir! I
didn’t dare to come in here!”
“I was busy,”--said Josiah, calmly--“Very busy!--tremendously busy all
night! What time is it now?”
“Nine o’clock, sir!”
“And it’s Christmas Day, isn’t it?”
“Yessir!”
“Here’s a sovereign for you,”--and McNason handed that coin to his
astonished retainer--“And just get someone to take this letter to Mr.
Pitt’s house at once. It’s important.”
“Yessir! Certainly, sir! Thank-you, sir! A Merry Christmas to you, sir!”
“Thank-you! Same to you!”
Backing deferentially out of his master’s presence, Towler ran
downstairs as fast as he could into the servants’ hall, there
announcing that “Something’s happened to the Governor! He’s too
pleasant to last!”
And McNason, still standing thoughtfully by his desk, repeated again in
an undertone:
“It was a Dream! It must have been a Dream!”
“It WASN’T!” And a shrill falsetto voice rang clear on the silence.
“Hoo-roo--oo--oo! Don’t you dare to call ME a Dream!”
And with a violent shock of renewed terror McNason saw, poised between
him and the sunlight which poured through the windows, the Goblin,
shrunk in size to the smallest quaintest creature possible, holding
over its strangely shaped head a sprig of holly, exactly as a man holds
an open umbrella.
“I’m going!” it said--“But don’t you be such a fool as to think
yourself a Something and me a Nothing! You’ll make an awful mistake if
you do!”
“I’m sorry!” said McNason, humbly--“I don’t want to make any more
mistakes----”
“You’d better not!” said the Goblin, and its form began to grow more
vague and indistinct--“You’ve got the chance you asked for--but if you
lose it now----”
“I won’t!”
“What you would like to think was only a Dream, is a Supernatural
Reality!” went on the Goblin; “It has all happened, or it _will_ happen
if you don’t take care! If your mind breeds disease, so will your
body,--and Sir Slasher will have to be called in! And if he’s once
called in, YOU will be called OUT!”
McNason shuddered,--but was silent.
“You’ve begun to keep Christmas in the proper way for the first time in
your life,”--and the Goblin’s voice grew fainter and fainter--“But if
you don’t go on keeping it!----”
“I will!” cried Josiah, eagerly--“I will!”
“In the spirit of One Timothy Two?”
“I will!”
“Grace--mercy--peace!”
The words floated on the air like a breath--and then, the Goblin turned
its back and began to trot slowly away under its holly sunshade.
Smaller and smaller it grew, till it looked no bigger than a tiny
Christmas doll on a Christmas tree. And then all at once a shining
tangle of golden curls and a glitter of sparkling eyes flashed against
the window--a semi-circle of children pressed their round rosy faces
close to the panes, and again began to sing:
“God rest you, merry Gentlemen!
Let nothing you dismay!
Remember Christ our Saviour
Was born on Christmas Day!”
Whereat the great Josiah McNason, multi-millionaire, laughed,--actually
laughed! Going to the window he threw it open, and putting a hand into
his pocket, he took out a bunch of silver.
“Hullo, youngsters!” he cried--“Christmas morning, eh? Here you are!”
Out flew threepences, sixpences and shillings in a shower.
“Fair play!” he exclaimed--“Equal profits! Don’t trample one on
the other! Girls first, boys next! The strong must help the weak!
That’s right!--all good friends together--all happy! No envy, no
jealousy,--all peace and goodwill! A Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” shouted the astonished children,
as, jumping for joy, they gathered up their gifts.
“Merry Christmas!” lisped a small boy with a flaxen head, sturdily
clambering up to the window from the lawn a couple of feet below, and
looking boldly in the face of the world’s celebrated Rich Man;--“God
Bless You!”
And the Rich Man answered gently:
“God bless you, little man!”
Then the whole group of young folks, determined to do the best they
could for what they had received, burst out again in lusty chorus:
“God rest you, merry Gentle Man!
Let nothing you dismay!
Remember Christ our Saviour
Was born on Christmas Day!”
And Josiah McNason, listening quietly, while the old carol was
sung through, saw, as he gazed beyond the children’s faces into
the Christmas morning sunshine, a tiny Shape slowly disappearing
into space--a Shape so delicate as to seem no more than one of the
sunbeams,--while a voice, fine and far, yet clear as a flute said:
“Remember!”
“I will!” he answered, under his breath.
“In the spirit of One Timothy Two, good-bye!” whispered the
Goblin--“Grace--Mercy--Peace!”
“And Christmas Day!” said Josiah--“I shall remember!”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.