_Harrison Cady_
“No, sir-ree, you don’t catch me giving anything to Christmas charity.
No, sir-ree! It’s all nonsense anyway,” said old Mr. Long-Tail as he
slammed his door shut with a great bang right in the face of a startled
snowbird who had called to solicit a contribution for the Christmas
fund for the poor and needy.
Then with a frown he turned, drawing his old padded dressing gown more
closely about him, and hobbled over to his large easy-chair before the
blazing fire. Seating himself among its cushions he proceeded to pour
out a steaming bowl of broth from a copper pot and to help himself to a
bit of toast from a trivet before the fire.
“Ha, ha!” he squeaked. “This is pretty snug,” and his lips curled into
a satisfied smile as he glanced over to where the boisterous snowflakes
were dashing against the window pane.
“Who-o-o! Who-o-o!” whistled the cold North Wind as it rattled the
shutters.
“Crackety-crackety,” answered back the leaping flames in the grate with
a merry shower of sparks.
Yes, Mr. Long-Tail was snug--very, very snug. His comfortable little
house fairly glowed with warmth, and its pantry shelves sagged under
their weight of good things. So, on this cold winter’s day, the
Day-Before-Christmas, he of all the many forest folk could afford to
scoff and shoo away unwelcome callers. For why should he worry about
the needy and the cold? His shelves were full and his fire was warm.
Besides, did he not have many storehouses filled to overflowing?
But many there were in the great world who were not as free from worry
as Mr. Long-Tail. Many days of heavy storms and cruel winds had drifted
the snow and covered fields and forests alike with a thick white
mantle which, freezing, had made it almost impossible for many little
creatures to reach their hidden stores or to find a stray berry.
For weeks past they had been watching and waiting in the hope of better
weather. Christmas was drawing near, and they had planned a grand
celebration around a great fir tree which grew on a lofty knoll at the
very edge of the forest. They had planned to trim it from top to bottom
with long garlands of holly, while myriads of blazing candles would
glisten and sparkle as they shed their light upon boughs heavily laden
with presents.
Then one day came Bad Weather, and with him a great blizzard which
howled and shrieked and added huge drifts of snow. The little forest
people looked out from their windows to see the blizzard imps dancing
in glee, and as days went by they slowly gave up hope of the great
Christmas celebration. Many tiny creatures watched their storehouses
of provisions gradually disappear under the snow, and each day saw the
list of the needy increase.
So the Day-Before-Christmas found every little eye carrying a look of
worry and every little voice sobbed: “We can do but little for this
Christmas, and that only for the very poor,” all but old Mr. Long-Tail.
His eyes held no look of worry. He was in a class by himself, for, as
sometimes happens, not any of his storehouses were buried and every
snowflake that fell before his door seemed to be instantly whisked away
by the North Wind.
And so he sat before his fire and drank his broth and wheezed in his
most disagreeable voice: “Christmas! Bah! I’ll have none of it!”
For to explain: Old Mr. Long-Tail was a rat, and a very miserly one at
that. In fact, he traced his pedigree directly back to the great family
of Miser Rats, who had a habit of gathering hoards of curious things
and tucking them away in funny little storehouses where one could find
everything from an old button to a bit of brightly colored glass, along
with queer dried roots and vegetables. Old Mr. Long-Tail had lived a
long time and, as he had likewise inherited the family traits, his
storehouses were many.
So he sat all alone the Day-Before-Christmas, buried in his great
armchair, and thought only of how very comfortable he was--he, the very
richest creature in the great forest. But old Mr. Long-Tail was not
happy, for with all his great riches there was one thing more he longed
for--that was a certain kind of yellow corn, and that corn was hidden
away in a certain corn bin in a certain old barn a goodly distance away.
“Ah! If I only had a little of that fine corn for my Christmas dinner,”
sighed old Mr. Long-Tail, for secretly he did intend to celebrate
Christmas Day, but all by himself.
Finally he went to the window and peered out. “Whew! It’s a pretty
rough day, but I believe I might make it,” he exclaimed as he drew on
his big coat and wound his woolen scarf about his neck. Then he threw
an empty sack over his shoulder and, buckling on a pair of snowshoes,
headed straight for that distant barn.
Reaching it after a very long and difficult trip, he removed his
snowshoes and crawled under the old building until he came to a
convenient crack in the floor, and raising himself carefully he crept
noiselessly within. Everything was silent and deserted except for the
groaning of the wind about the eaves. Mr. Long-Tail lost no time in
getting across the floor to a large wooden bin beside the wall, and he
sped quickly along its side until he came to an opening, and then, with
a hurried look over his shoulder, he stepped inside--not inside the
bin, but right into a large box trap, the cover of which dropped with a
thunderous clap, and old Mr. Long-Tail found himself a prisoner.
It was all so sudden and unexpected that it quite took his breath away.
He tried to find a way of escape, but there was no escape for old Mr.
Long-Tail. Exhausted, he crouched down and moaned, “Oh, dear! Oh, dear!
I’m caught! I’m caught!” and his falling tears went splash as they fell
on the floor of his prison.
Yes, he was caught, and caught so well that unless something unforeseen
happened he was doomed to spend his Christmas Day in that box trap.
Poor old Mr. Long-Tail, who had planned to celebrate all alone with a
delicious feast!
One hour passed; then another; then many more followed, and Mr.
Long-Tail commenced to feel cold and hungry--yes, hungry right in that
terrible trap in that well-filled corn bin. He shivered and shivered
until the old box trap fairly made the corn rattle.
“Hush! Hush! What’s that?” whispered one little snowbird to another as
they huddled under the eaves of the old barn. “I hear sumfin.”
Just then old Mr. Long-Tail gave a low moan.
“Whew!--Someone is in distress,” cried the little snowbirds together as
they cocked their heads to one side and listened.
Again came a moan.
“Whew! Some poor soul is in distress and we must help him.”
And those two little snowbirds spread their wings and went whirling
down to a window sill, and finding a broken pane they poked their heads
in and listened until they heard the sob again.
Then they both peeped loudly: “Who’s there?”
Faintly from the bin came a plaintive cry: “Help! Help! It’s me, poor
Mr. Long-Tail.”
The two little snowbirds without hesitation flew right into the old
barn and commenced to investigate.
“It’s old Mr. Long-Tail all right,” said one as he spied the tip of
the rat’s tail protruding from the end of the box. “Oh! So you are the
crabbed old fellow who shooed us away from your door this morning,”
said the other upon recognizing Mr. Long-Tail’s voice.
Mr. Long-Tail sobbed: “Set me free, and anything I own is yours.”
“We are going to set you free all right,” cried the little birds, “but
we don’t want anything of yours. No, sir. We only accept presents from
willing givers, and just to show you, we are going to return good for
evil.” And straightway they began to dig those yellow ears of corn from
under the old box trap. Suddenly it fell on its side and the cover
opened enough for Mr. Long-Tail to slip out. He didn’t stop, and he
didn’t even thank those little snowbirds for saving his life. No. He
only ran just as fast as his legs would carry him straight for his home.
“My! That was a narrow escape,” he puffed as he bolted his heavy door.
“You don’t catch me leaving this snug little house again”; and he
stirred the fire and dropped down into his big easy-chair.
For a long, long time he sat and looked into the crackling flames
as they danced and leaped up the chimney. Then gradually old
Mr. Long-Tail commenced to see strange shapes. Curious visions
appeared--visions new and strange; and along with them came troubling
thoughts, and, do all he could, he couldn’t shut them out.
As the flames danced they shaped themselves into weird pictures of
huddled creatures bent with cold and hunger, as they drew their cloaks
about them. He could hear the roar of the winter tempest; he saw lines
of empty stockings and heard plaintive calls for food. Then he saw a
score of rich storehouses filled to overflowing, with doors heavily
barred, while before them walked a grotesque figure, and that figure
was turning away groups of starving forest folk. And, last of all,
he saw two tiny snowbirds helping someone out of a trap, someone
who whined and whimpered and cried: “Help! Help! It’s me, poor Mr.
Long-Tail.”
This was too much for him. He jumped suddenly to his feet and cried:
“That’s me, a mean old miser, who does nothing for anyone but himself.
The poor and needy I turn away, and I don’t even thank those who save
my life--me, poor old Miser Long-Tail.”
Ashamed and humbled he sat down again and remained motionless for a
long, long time. Then, with a sudden cry of joy, he jumped to his feet
and looked at the clock.
“Hurrah! There’s yet time. There are still a few hours left,” he cried
as he drew on his coat and, gathering a pile of empty bags together, he
disappeared into the night.
The Night-Before-Christmas! That magic hour of all the year when Santa
Claus, behind his team of reindeer steeds, rides hither and thither
from one chimney top to another. But on this particular night the
little creatures of the great forest had given up all hope of any
Christmas visitor and were huddled in their beds for warmth. They
were fast asleep, dreaming their troubled dreams of empty shelves and
stockings. Outside the great world lay covered with ice and snow, for
the blizzard had gone on its way and a cold winter moon shone on the
hanging icicles.
Then suddenly there came, at the exact hour of twelve, the ringing of a
bell. The little people awoke with a start and in excited voices cried:
“It’s a Christmas bell! It’s a Christmas bell!”
In a flash they were out of their beds, and, hurriedly dressing, they
scampered toward the echoing bell.
And what do you suppose they saw?
A smiling old rat, who, with the aid of his long tail, was ringing the
bell! While before him on the ground was spread a wonderful collection
of Christmas gifts, and above all was the sign:
PEACE ON EARTH
AND GOOD WILL TOWARD MEN
A MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!
FROM MR. LONG-TAIL.
[5] Reprinted by permission of the author and the “Ladies’ Home
Journal.”