_Gertrude A. Kay_
He was such a very little boy and everything about him was pale--hair,
eyes, ears, everything. But even though his face was so peaked, his big
ears were what you noticed first, and we soon discovered that he could
move them most surprisingly--backward and forward. This was something
that none of the rest of us could do. It was for this reason probably
that we began calling him Bunny Face.
He didn’t have a family, like other children. I don’t know to this day
where he came from, but he lived with a woman that he called aunt,
whenever he called her anything. But she played very little part in
his life, and some folks said that she wasn’t his aunt at all. But our
mothers said that this was being inquisitive and told us never, never
to say such a thing to Bunny Face. But the grown-ups always stopped
talking about it when we were around, so of course we knew there was
some more which they never would tell us. Anyway, the aunt’s name
was Katie Duckworth, and she had it painted in big letters over her
dry-goods store downtown. It was a tiny little store and crowded and
dark inside. She was sort of blind and never could find the things that
your mother sent you there to buy. There were some folks who said she
wasn’t very bright. But to this day, whenever I smell gingham it makes
me think of Katie Duckworth and her little dry-goods store.
Although they seemed to get along all right, Bunny Face and his aunt
never fixed up in their best clothes and went off together a-hold of
hands, as the rest of us did with our mothers or our aunts. But then
poor Bunny Face didn’t have any other clothes; though, goodness knows,
that didn’t worry him at all. His aunt never sent him to Sunday school
and didn’t bother at all when the teacher told her that he played
truant. But Bunny Face was good-natured; and if you had ever seen a
smile start on his face and spread all over it till it made his ears
wiggle, you would have smiled, too, no matter what.
“Why is a goblin, or why isn’t a goblin?” He was fond of asking the
rest of us questions like that, and then he would laugh and laugh, just
as if he knew the answer himself. He often told us long stories about
places he’d been and queer things he’d done, and though we knew that
they had never really happened, we didn’t care.
In school he wasn’t any good at all; just sat and looked out of the
window and scratched things with his jackknife. He spoiled his books
and spilled ink on the floor, but he loved big dictionary words and
knew lots of them, so sometimes we didn’t know just what he was talking
about. He played truant oftener than any of the big boys; maybe it was
because it was so easy for him to get away, being so small he could
slip out before teacher noticed.
But the school house janitor--Old Crab, we called him--was always on
the lookout for Bunny Face. He was really a terrible person, evil and
hateful. He hobbled on one crutch and lived in a battered old shanty by
the dump. You see, he didn’t have a wife--dead or something; but the
shanty was just full of children. They were all sizes and all starved
looking--and bad too.
Bunny Face knew the woods all about as most children knew their own
back lot, and he used to walk miles and miles through any kind of
weather, for, as he said, things happened in the woods and there were
water spirits down in the creek. He kept track of all the little
animals, and he knew what trees had squirrels living in them and
where certain birds had their nests. But when he told about them the
creatures that lived in the woods seemed exactly like folks. Well, late
one afternoon on his way home, when he’d been prowling around all day,
he heard a most awful racket, then barking. And suddenly a Maltese cat
flattened itself and wiggled under the fence and shot up a tree. Bunny
Face looked over the fence into the garden. Yes, there was the very
dog, only he was tied. Right that minute an old man came out and said
“Well, well,” and “What, what,” the way old people do.
“Is she yours?” Bunny Face pointed up in the branches.
“No, sonny,” answered the old man.
“Guess I’ll get her then,” said Bunny Face; and he began to coax “Nice
kitty, nice kitty” till the cat came down within reach. She was a poor,
thin thing with eager eyes and shabby ears. But he thought that she had
a fine coat.
“Let’s give her some supper,” said the old man.
So that is the way it came about that Bunny Face and the Parson started
being friends.
Right away they began to get acquainted there in the kitchen while the
cat lapped milk, and the Parson invited Bunny Face to stay to supper.
He said that he could, all right; so that was settled and they went
into the other room to sit by the fire till suppertime.
“Think I’ll take my cat,” said Bunny Face.
“Why not call her Agnes, after my old horse?” said the Parson.
And so the Maltese cat was named Agnes.
It was nice and warm in the Parson’s house, and there were lots of
things to ask questions about. There were two big creaking chairs in
front of the fire, and the old man sat in one and Bunny Face sat in the
other and held Agnes on his lap. Finally the cat went to sleep, and
they talked. Bunny Face told his new friend about a lot of things. And
the Parson told about his horse that he had had once and about the dog
that had barked at Agnes.
Just then a little bell rang, and the Parson said that supper was
ready. They went out and washed their hands under the pump, then sat
down to the table in the kitchen, where there was an old lady. The
Parson said that she was his sister and then he told her who Bunny Face
was. After that the old man said a grace and they ate little biscuits
with honey and different things and Bunny Face enjoyed himself very
much indeed. But the old lady wasn’t a bit like anyone he had ever seen
before, because her face was different. And when Bunny Face started
home she tied his muffler and asked if he was warm enough. He took
Agnes with him and said, yes, he’d come again. And the Parson stood in
the door and held the lamp up over his head till Bunny Face got ’way
down the road.
The next morning there was snow on the ground, and the children at
school began to talk about Christmas. And very soon all the shops fixed
up their show windows with Christmas things. But Hampton’s Toy Shop
was the finest. Everyone thought so, and each day we were nearly late
at school because we stood and looked in so long. Old Mrs. Hampton
always clerked with a black satin apron on and a scoopy black hat, and
she wore thick glasses to look at the price with. Though the children
didn’t buy, they always asked how much everything was.
One day Bunny Face followed some of the other children in, and there
hanging up on the wall he saw a picture. It showed Santa Claus himself,
pack and all, coming out of a little house with a bright green door and
a red chimney. But there was something about that picture that made
him feel very queer. Finally he knew what it was. It was the trees.
You see, he knew exactly where those big, tall pine trees were, out on
Clark’s road. He was sure of it. But he’d find out for himself. Anyway
there wouldn’t be a picture of Santa Claus’ house if he really didn’t
have one, and why wouldn’t it be out on Clark’s road anyway? He kept on
thinking about it all the morning.
So that afternoon he played truant again. It was a cold day, and the
snowflakes nipped you on the cheeks as they flew past, but Bunny Face
pulled down his cap and hurried on. He scrambled over fences and took
all the short cuts across the snowy fields that led off toward Clark’s
road. It was a long way to go on such a cold day, but he kept saying
to himself what fun it would be when he got there to knock on Santa
Claus’ door. Then he’d wait and Santa Claus would say “Come in”--just
like that, and open would pop the door and there he, Bunny Face, would
be standing. Of course he’d tell Santa Claus right away who he was, and
Santa Claus would probably say, “Stay to supper, won’t you?” Then he’d
see all the toys that were ready for Christmas, and may be Santa Claus
would say, “Help yourself, Bunny Face; pick out something nice.”
Now the road curves just before you come to those tall pines, and Bunny
Face decided to close his eyes and take five hundred steps, then open
them quick, for there he’d be exactly in front of Santa Claus’ house.
It kept him busy counting steps, and he got mixed up and maybe he
cheated a little to make five hundred come sooner, but finally it was
four hundred and ninety-eight, then four hundred and ninety-nine. Then
he opened his eyes.
The wind was whistling through the branches and blowing the snow in
cloudy rings under the tall black trees. But no little Santa Claus’
house with a green door and red chimney was standing there. Bunny Face
couldn’t see a house anywhere. Then he knew how cold he was, and his
feet didn’t _feel_ at all. He rubbed his eyes, for this was the place.
Those were the very trees surely. Then he tried to think of all the
other tall pine trees that he knew. Of course, maybe he had made a
mistake; he would look at Mrs. Hampton’s picture again tomorrow. There
was nothing to do now but to go back across the cold, white fields. He
tried not to think about eating supper with Santa Claus and choosing a
present for himself.
It seemed a thousand times farther going back than it had coming;
indeed he thought that he never, _never_ would get there. But at last,
just as the street lights were coming on, he opened the door of Katie
Duckworth’s store and dragged himself over to the stove.
But my, how his heart jumped! For there, stretching out and looking
very long, was Agnes fast asleep under the stove. He’d somehow
forgotten about Agnes today, but he pulled her out and held her tight.
How soft and warm and gentle she was!
Katie Duckworth was selling red mittens to a woman who said they were
for Christmas, and she bought hair ribbons and handkerchiefs and a lot
more presents before she left. Bunny Face saw that his aunt had been
putting Christmas trimmings around the store while he was away. It
looked quite fine. But it seemed queer, too, that she’d never talked
about Christmas.
It seemed to Bunny Face that every single child had money to spend--for
presents for other folks, mind you. This was all new to Bunny Face, for
he had supposed that Santa Claus brought all the presents to everybody.
So Bunny Face concluded that he must have some Christmas secrets too.
He’d give presents to people himself and have surprises and whisper
like other folks. But how about the presents--what were they to be?
That puzzled him. He sat by the stove and thought and thought. The next
day he went for a walk. And after a while he found himself on the last
street of the town just where the fields began. Ahead were the snowy
woods and the frozen creek.
“Guess I’ll look for the pine trees,” said Bunny Face. This had been in
his head all the time, and he only said that to surprise himself. If he
could only really find Santa Claus he’d be all right. Then he’d explain
that all he had was Agnes, and she wasn’t a Christmas present to be
given away. And he knew that there was no other way out of it; he must
find him. So that day he visited all the pine trees that were anywhere
about. But not under one of them did he find a house, let alone Santa
Claus’ house.
He knew that it must be getting late, for the sun was big and red and
low down behind things. He was coming to the dump, which was mostly
covered with snow, but the janitor’s shanty looked black and gloomy and
only a little thin blue smoke was coming out of the chimney.
Suddenly a snowball whizzed past his head, and he saw the biggest dump
child duck behind the corner; then snowballs began coming from every
way, for the other dump children had come out. After a while they got
tired and began to talk. Bunny Face started it by asking if they knew
where Santa Claus’ house was. The real little dump children stared, but
the big ones looked ugly.
“Santy Claus your granny!” they said. “Who put that in your head?
Anyway if there was one, our old man would take his shotgun to him.”
As Bunny Face trudged on, it came to him that there would be other
folks beside himself who would not get presents on Christmas. It made
him feel a little better to count them.
“First,” he said, “there’s me; second, Agnes; next, the dump children.
Let’s see--fourth, the janitor, of course. And fifth?” He might as well
use up all his fingers. “Fifth--Madam Iceberg. Yes, that was a good
one, for she wouldn’t get presents or give them.”
But you don’t know who Madam Iceberg was. She was the
most-wondered-about person anywhere around. Long ago she used to go
traveling, and have visitors from away off come to see her. At those
times the big house would be lighted from top to bottom, with all sorts
of things going on. Then she was really beautiful to look at. But mercy
me, how she’d gone off these last years! Now her hair was far too
yellow and her cheeks far too pink and her eyes were--uneasy.
There were No Trespassing signs all over her place; and rather than buy
at any of our stores, she used to drive every day in her high carriage
over to the next town and do all of her shopping there. So you can see
that she wasn’t at all friendly with any of us thereabout.
Of course little Bunny Face had never talked to her, but he felt sure
Santa Claus wouldn’t risk bothering much around her chimneys.
So with his head filled with these thoughts he went on till he came to
the Parson’s little white house. Bunny Face decided to knock on the
door and ask how the dog was. And the door was quickly opened by the
Parson himself, who invited him right in.
And the Parson’s sister got him some supper, and he sat on a little
stool by the fire and ate it while he told them about hunting for
Santa Claus’ house. Then Bunny Face said that he knew five folks that
wouldn’t have any Christmas, yes, sir. “Me,” he said, “Agnes, the dump
children, the janitor, and Madam Iceberg.”
“Well, maybe not,” said the Parson.
Then he talked about something else, and asked Bunny Face if he had
ever heard the Christmas Story. As Bunny Face didn’t know that there
was one, he shook his head. So the Parson opened a book and turned
pages, then read: “‘And there were in the same country shepherds
abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night.’”
When it was finished the Parson closed the book, saying: “It’s the
Spirit of Christmas, sonny--the Spirit of Christmas that the world
needs.”
Bunny Face liked the idea. Spirits were a sort of ghosts or goblins;
he knew that much. Not like Santa Claus at all--fat and pink, but
different. He’d rather think that the Spirit was like a beautiful lady,
a sort of fairy. So that’s what he was thinking about one day coming
home from school, when he heard the sound of sleigh bells behind him.
He turned around and waited, for hopping bobs in those days was a great
sport with the children. But it wasn’t a bobsled at all, but Madam
Iceberg’s fine green sleigh, fur rugs and all.
“Who’s afraid?” said Bunny Face to himself as the sleigh glided past
him, and he hopped lightly on behind, to the surprise of all the people
in the street.
On they went, Bunny Face, holding on for dear life, and Madam Iceberg
in all her furs sitting there as grim as an image. They went very fast
and soon all the shops were left behind, and the houses, and they
started to climb the hill toward the big gate.
Then something made her look around suddenly and their eyes met.
“Well,” she said, surprised, “who are you?”
“Bunny Face,” he answered promptly.
For a minute she looked as if she might laugh; but she didn’t. Then she
said, “Do you know who I am?”
“Yes,” said Bunny Face; “they all call you Madam Iceberg.”
“Possibly,” was all she said.
Bunny Face was about to let go when she turned around again and said,
“Now hold on tight.” They were turning in through the big iron gates
which stood open.
Then the sleigh stopped in front of the house, and Madam Iceberg handed
Bunny Face one of her bundles to carry, saying, “Here, boy, take this.”
The driver looked surprised, and so did the maid who opened the door;
but nobody said a word--just followed her inside.
It was big and dark and quiet in the house. Then suddenly Bunny Face
saw something that made him stop short and drop the bundle.
“_There’s_ the Spirit of Christmas,” he shouted as loud as he could
shout.
“Where--what?” asked the lady, ever so surprised.
“There on the wall,” cried Bunny Face, running quickly past the amazed
group and stopping in front of the portrait of a beautiful person in
white with flowers in her hair.
“You silly boy!” said Madam Iceberg. “That’s only my portrait--when I
was married.”
“Oh, it’s not you,” said Bunny Face, giving her a long look and
shaking his head. “It’s the Spirit of Christmas. I’ve found her, I’ve
found her!” he cried, jumping about and clapping his hands.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about at all, Mr. Bunny Face, but
come over here and sit down, and we’ll hear all about it.”
“Well, there’s lots about it,” said Bunny Face; “and you’re in it,
too, for you aren’t going to have any Christmas--you, and the school
janitor, and the dump children, and Agnes, and me--none of us are going
to get presents.”
Then Bunny Face told her about Agnes, and the Parson, and the dump
children who didn’t believe in Santa Claus or anything. “That’s about
all,” he said, “except Santa Claus’ house, and I couldn’t find that.”
So Bunny Face stood up and said he must go, and when he looked back
Madam Iceberg had sunk down deep in her chair, so that he could hardly
see her. But the Spirit of Christmas on the wall looked like a white
angel.
Something exciting and most surprising happened the next day. The
school janitor, Old Crab, was in jail. Yes, sir; and the big boys were
down there trying to see him through the bars. He had been caught in
Madam Iceberg’s house the night before, stealing. The servants found
him as he was getting away with a big roast under his arm.
Everybody was wondering what she would do about it. Would she have him
let off maybe, because it was so near Christmas? But nobody really
expected her to do that. And just then the Parson came walking along
with his sister, and this one and that one told him that he was the
very person to go up and talk to the madam about letting the janitor
go. It was his duty. But he shook his head and said that “it wouldn’t
do a bit of good, not a bit!” But his sister said, “Oh, Archibald, do!”
So he went, the poor man.
When he rang the bell he told himself that he was a fool for coming;
but the door opened just then, so he couldn’t run; and the maid was
saying, “Come in, please.” And after a while Madam Iceberg came walking
in.
“Oh, you’ve come to talk about little Bunny Face, I know,” she
said, smiling and holding out her hand. “He has the most fantastic
ideas,” she said, “and he calls my portrait in the hall the Spirit of
Christmas, though I can’t see why.”
You can guess how surprised the Parson was; but he asked to see the
picture, and said he quite agreed with Bunny Face. And Madam Iceberg
looked pleased. Then they talked on and on, but not a word was said
about the janitor until the Parson was about to leave. Then he told
her. But he didn’t seem at all astonished when she said to let him
go--by all means. Yes, certainly, considering the season and all that
sort of thing.
A few minutes later the Reverend Mr. Brisbane was seen walking out
through the big gates quite smartly and smiling most pleasantly.
Then one day Madam Iceberg’s big green sleigh stopped right in front
of Katie Duckworth’s store, which was the first time that that had ever
happened. And she got out herself and walked in. All the customers in
the store turned around and stared.
“Ah, here you are, Mr. Bunny Face. I’ve been looking for you
everywhere. I want you to help me--that is, I want you to join me in
some secrets and surprises.”
Just then Katie Duckworth came over to see what was wanted, and Madam
Iceberg explained very politely that she would like to borrow her
nephew for a little while to help with some Christmas plans.
Katie Duckworth said, “All right, ma’am.”
So Bunny Face got his cap and muffler and followed Madam Iceberg out to
the big green sleigh. Then she told the driver to drive around a bit,
because she and the young man must have a talk.
“Now, Mr. Bunny Face, please begin and name over that list of folks who
won’t have any Christmas this year,” said the lady.
“Well,” said Bunny Face, “there’s me, of course, and Agnes, then the
dump children, and the janitor and--and you.”
“All right,” said Madam Iceberg; “and I want you to help me make plans.
Will you?”
“Sure,” chirped Bunny Face. “Toys?”
“Yes, indeed, toys,” she said. “But where do we get them?”
“Why, old Mrs. Hampton’s Toy Shop, of course,” said Bunny Face.
So the lady bent forward and said, “Mrs. Hampton’s Toy Shop, driver.”
When old Mrs. Hampton saw them and knew who it was, she took off her
thick glasses, then put them back on again quickly. But she didn’t say
“Run along,” today, but “What can I do for you?”
And before Madam Iceberg could answer Mrs. Hampton, Bunny Face grabbed
her skirt and, pulling her along, pointed to a picture of Santa Claus
coming out of a funny little house under some tall pine trees.
“That’s it,” he said; “Santa Claus’ house.”
“So it is,” said Madam Iceberg; “Sure enough; that’s the house that you
were hunting, isn’t it?”
But Bunny Face didn’t answer. He had his head on one side and was
staring with all his eyes.
The lady puckered her lips and pointed and sort of blinked; so old Mrs.
Hampton wrote in her order book: “1 framed picture, entitled The House
of Santa Claus.”
“Now,” said Madam Iceberg in a business-like tone, “let’s begin to buy
toys.”
“Who for?” asked Bunny Face.
“For your dump children,” answered Madam Iceberg.
So Bunny Face began. “That and that and that,” he said, pointing at
fire engines and kites and hobbyhorses. And they bought dolls and
dishes and sewing baskets for girls.
Then Madam Iceberg paid for the things out of her purse, and told Mrs.
Hampton to send them up to her house, and said “Good-day.”
The other customers looked too surprised to speak when the lady and the
little boy closed the door behind them.
When they were back in the sleigh and all covered up, she said, “Now
how about Agnes’ present?”
“She hasn’t any place to sleep,” said Bunny Face, “but under the stove.”
“All right,” said Madam Iceberg; “then probably a basket with a red
cushion in it would please her; don’t you think it might?”
Yes, Bunny Face thought that it might.
So the lady said that she would make the red cushion herself; then she
told the driver to go to the hardware store, and they went in and she
bought several baskets.
“But,” said Bunny Face, “Agnes only needs one.”
“I’m thinking of the janitor and some others on your list,” said Madam
Iceberg.
“Are we going to give him a present?” asked Bunny Face.
“Certainly,” said Madam Iceberg, “for he’s on your list.” So at the
next store she bought good things to fill baskets. Bunny Face thought
she’d never stop.
“And now,” she said, “we’re finished.”
“There are two more names yet,” said Bunny Face.
“What?” said Madam Iceberg, with the twinkle look. “Two more?”
“Sure,” said Bunny Face. “Yours and mine.”
“Oh, that is so,” she said; “but I’ll have to talk to Santa Claus about
your present, so that you’ll be surprised. That’s one of my secrets,
you know.”
Of course that sounded pretty pleasant to Bunny Face--talking to Santa
Claus about secrets and surprises. But something worried him at the
same time: What was Madam Iceberg to get? And he grew so quiet that
finally she bent over and looked at him.
“I don’t know what you are going to get for Christmas,” said Bunny Face
slowly.
“Well, I know what I want,” said the lady gayly.
“Oh, what?” asked Bunny Face, sitting up straight.
“Why, a little guest on Christmas day,” she answered.
“A little what?” asked Bunny Face, for that wasn’t a present at all.
“Yes, a little guest, one Mr. Bunny Face, to come early on Christmas
morning and stay all day. And to go around with me and help with all
the secrets and surprises.”
When Bunny Face got out of the sleigh in front of Katie Duckworth’s
store he not only felt that he had found Santa Claus’ house on Clark’s
road, but that he had been talking with the Spirit of Christmas as
well. But it was true, all of it, and the driver was to come for him
early on Christmas morning; and Agnes could go too.
Now, Bunny Face had never had a secret before in his whole life, and he
found that keeping one was not as easy as he had expected. But he did
enjoy sing-songing to the rest of us children “I have a secret I won’t
tell,” as we all walked to school. But nobody really believed it, for
who could have a secret with Katie Duckworth?
As you might know, Bunny Face was up pretty early on Christmas morning,
all ready, holding Agnes and watching out the front window. You could
hear sleigh bells everywhere and people’s voices calling, “Same to
you,” and “Merry Christmas.”
Then came a sleigh, around the corner, and stopped in front of Katie
Duckworth’s store. The driver jumped out and ran in with a basket with
red ribbons flying and a letter tied to the handle. The letter said “A
happy Christmas to Miss Duckworth,” and please to allow her nephew to
come and spend the day.
Katie untied the ribbons and looked inside, and there were oranges and
nuts that they could see; and so she said “All right” to Bunny Face,
who picked up Agnes and said good-by. As they went through the gate,
Bunny Face saw wreaths in all the windows and over the big door, and
Madam Iceberg was standing there, waving her hand.
“Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas!” she said.
And then it really began. First there were all the wreaths, and pine
branches over the fireplace, and candles, and right under the Spirit
of Christmas there was a trimmed Christmas tree. My, my, such a tree!
You never saw the like. But under the tree--toys, toys! toys! Beginning
with a velocipede--there was a sled, games, books, skates, a dark
lantern. Oh, goodness me! I can’t tell you all the things that there
were. And if you’ll believe it, there was the picture of Santa Claus’
house--the very one!
For a minute Bunny Face just couldn’t talk; then he jumped up and
down and ran back and forth, pulling Madam Iceberg around by the
hand, showing her this one and that one, and how it worked. My, how
they laughed at everything. “For Miss Agnes from Bunny Face and Madam
Iceberg” was what it said on the letter tied to one Christmas present.
And beside the basket and the red cushion was a ball for her to play
with. Bunny Face put her in and held her down with both hands till she
went to sleep.
“And now, Mr. Bunny Face,” said the lady, “we must go and take care of
those other surprises.”
“To the dump?” asked Bunny Face.
“Yes, and on the way back we’ll stop at your Parson’s,” said Madam
Iceberg.
Well, right then the sleigh came jingling around the house and stopped
at the door, and what do you suppose? Well, all those toys from Mrs.
Hampton’s Toy Shop were packed in that sleigh, which made it look
exactly like Santa Claus’. It was a strange sight, that sleigh full of
toys stopping in front of the janitor’s shanty. The dump children heard
the bells and came tumbling out pellmell to see what there was to see.
“Merry Christmas, everybody!” said Madam Iceberg, beginning to hand
them toys. Then came the big basket with the Christmas dinner for the
janitor and all the children.
“Next to the Parson’s; then home again, Mr. Bunny Face, and you will
please hand him this?” said Madam Iceberg as she put a letter into his
pocket.
But the Parson and his sister heard the sleigh bells coming, and the
door was open before they got there, and everyone was saying “Merry
Christmas!” and “The same to you!” as fast and loud as he could.
Then Bunny Face said to the Parson, taking out the letter, “I am to
hand you this.”
And the Parson took it and read, “With every good wish from your
friends, Bunny Face and Madam Iceberg.” And he seemed greatly pleased,
and said: “Well, I guess we all know something about the Spirit of
Christmas now.”
“It’s her, it’s her,” shouted Bunny Face, pointing at Madam Iceberg,
and he flew over and shook her by the coat, saying, “Now I know what
those words mean.”
And she looked very happy as they started toward home.
“Fe, fi, fo, fum! I smell a turkey,” said the lady as the door was
opened, and they went into the hall. “Let’s be quick.”
So taking off their things--and a-hold of hands--they went out where a
table was set with two chairs, one for Bunny Face and one for her. And
in the center there were red candles burning, and a Santa Claus with a
pack on his back. Then they sat down and Madam Iceberg leaned over and
said, “Merry Christmas, _Sunny_ Face--for that is what I am going to
call you.”
And he said, “Same to you!” and a big smile started and ran clear
across his face and both ears wiggled pleasantly.
Then the dinner began to come in. First a turkey on a big platter,
all trimmed up and so brown and shiny that it looked varnished. Next
were all sorts of dishes of different things with covers over them to
keep them hot, and you couldn’t begin to guess what was in them all.
“A little more gravy over everything” or “Do have another drumstick,”
Madam Iceberg would say.
Then finally they both leaned back in their chairs and didn’t eat
any more. They talked about all sorts of things and asked each other
questions, back and forth--and he asked her if she knew any stories!
She said: “You’re right I do, Mr. Sunny Face. Come, let’s go in by the
fire and tell them there.”
So they took hold of hands and went.
[9] By special permission of Gertrude A. Kay and the “Ladies’ Home
Journal.”