help them choose things that all the others were not to see,” said
Polly; “and Grandmamma and Grandpapa couldn’t go in seven places at
once; so at last one of them, it was Tom, thought of a plan. It was to
rush off himself and choose something, and then come running back down
the shop-length; and when the others all saw him coming, they were to
hurry away from Grandmamma and Grandpapa, and let him whisper what it
was into their ears so nobody else heard, and ‘Would you?’ and then
if Grandmamma and Grandpapa said ‘Yes,’ away Tom would rush and buy
it, whatever it was. So all the other children tried the very same
plan; and don’t you believe when they asked ‘Would you?’ Grandmamma and
Grandpapa always said ‘Yes, my dear.’ They did every single time.
“Well, and finally they came out of the last shop, and the lamps in
the street were being lighted, and the snow under their feet shone
and creaked as they stepped, and every one of the children would have
slidden, if their arms had not been full of bundles clear up to their
chins. And Grandpapa laughed, and said they ought to have brought an
express wagon; and Grandmamma said, ‘Oh, no! she wouldn’t have them
sent home if she could, it was so nice to carry bundles.’ And everybody
they met had big and little white paper parcels; and people knocked
into each other, the streets were so crowded and the bundles stuck out
so; and so finally they got home, and all the bundles were put in one
big room where the tree was; and the door was locked, and Grandmamma
put the key in her black silk pocket.
“Well, in the middle of the night when that big house was still as
could be, all the children were asleep in their beds, something came
softly over the roof, and stopped right by the chimney. There was just
a little tinkle-tinkle, like the noise Mrs. Henderson’s cow makes when
she shakes her bell; and then a paw-paw, just like one of Mr. Tisbett’s
horses when he puts his foot down quietly, the gray one, I mean; and
somebody said, ‘Hush, there, you’ll wake up the folks;’ and before
anybody could think, up springs something, with a big pack on his back,
and down he goes right through the chimney.”
“I know, I know!” screamed Joel and David together; “it’s Santy Claus!”
“It’s Santy!” hummed Phronsie dreadfully excited. “Oh! I want to see
him, Polly, I do.”
“Perhaps you will sometime, Phronsie, if you are a good girl,” Polly
made haste to answer. “But never mind now, Pet, I must go on with the
story.”
“Well, it was Santa Claus who hopped down the chimney with his pack on
his back, and Mrs. Santa Claus sat in the sleigh and held the reins.
And he went into every room, and looked at each sleeping child; and he
could tell by its face whether he had been good or bad.”
“And had they?” cried Joel eagerly. “Say, Polly, oh, make them be good!
and did Santa Claus give them a lot of presents?”
“Most of the children had been good,” said Polly; “but there was one,
and he had been bad, very bad indeed. He had eaten up his brother’s
piece of cake; and then he had cried and screamed for more, and made
everybody unhappy. And Santa Claus stood over his bed and said, ‘Poor
child.’”
“And didn’t he get any presents from Santa Claus?” cried Joel. “Do let
him have a little bit of a present, Polly;” and he stuck his fingers in
his eyes, trying not to cry.
“Why, how could he?” cried Polly, “when he had been bad, Joey?”
“P’raps he--he won’t--won’t eat up his brother’s cake any more?”
mumbled Joel, in great distress. Then he broke down, and laid his head
in Polly’s lap, and burst out crying.
[Illustration: Joel laid his head in Polly’s lap and burst out crying.]
“Joel--Joel!” cried Polly, shaking his arm, “it’s only a story. Stop,
Joey, you’ll make Phronsie cry.”
“But I want--want that boy to get a present from Santa Claus,” sobbed
Joel, unable to be comforted.
“Do fix it some way,” whispered Ben over Polly’s shoulder. “Phronsie
is beginning now.” And so she was. She had gravely insisted on getting
into Polly’s lap; and now she hid her face on Polly’s arm, while soft
little sobs shook her figure.
“Dear me!” cried Polly aghast, “was there ever such a time! Children,
now stop, both of you. I’ll tell you what Santa Claus did. He looked
at Teddy sleeping there; and he said to himself, ‘Now, I’ll give this
boy something to make him good, even if he is bad now. And then, if he
keeps on being bad, why, he must give it back to me next Christmas;
and besides, I’ll have a rod for him.’ So he slipped a toy in Teddy’s
stocking and”--
“And was he good?” cried Joel, thrusting his head up quickly, and
wiping his wet face on Polly’s gown.
“Yes; oh, you can’t think how good Teddy was all through that year!”
said Polly happily. “His mother called him ‘Little Comfort,’ and his
father said he was a little man.”
“That’s nice,” said Joel, smiling through his tears.
Phronsie, when she saw that Joel was all right, and that no one else
was crying, lifted up her head from Polly’s arm, and laughed gleefully.
So on Polly ran with the story.
“Well, and after Santa Claus had gone, for you know he had so many
other children to go to see, and it was pink all over the sky, and the
children were out of bed; why, it was the hardest thing to keep them
out of that room where the tree was. And that day, oh, it was the very
longest in all the days of the year! But at last it was night; and then
the candles on the tree were all lighted, oh! I guess there were two
hundred of them; and they gleamed out such a sparkling brightness, just
like little stars, and”--
“Two hundred candles, Polly!” cried every one.
“Yes,” said Polly; “I surely believe there were two hundred candles,
all lighted and winking away on that beautiful tree; and somebody,
the children’s mother I believe, played on the piano, and everybody
marched in line, and the big door was thrown open, and there, with its
tip almost to the top of the room, was the most beautiful tree; and
every branch was crowded with presents, and everybody got what was
most wanted, and there were flowers everywhere. Oh! and a little bird
sang--they’d put the cage at the bottom of the tree, because it was too
heavy for the branches; and there sat Dicky-bird, his black eyes as big
as could be, and he was stretching his throat and singing at the top of
his voice. And then everybody took hold of hands, and danced around and
around that most beautiful tree a whole hour I guess, and Santa Claus
all the while was peeking in at the window. You see, he goes around the
next night as soon as it gets dark, to see how the children like his
presents. O children,” and Polly glanced out of the window, “if here
doesn’t come Mrs. Beebe!”
VI.
MR. FATHER KANGAROO AND THE FAT LITTLE BIRD.
Phronsie was wailing dismally, sitting up in the middle of the old bed.
Her face pricked, she said; and she was rubbing it vigorously with both
fat little hands, and then crying worse than ever.
“O me--O my!”--cried Polly; “how you look, Phronsie!”
“I want my Mamsie!” cried poor Phronsie.
[Illustration: “I want my Mamsie!” cried poor Phronsie.]
But Mamsie couldn’t come. She was sewing away for dear life, to keep
the wolf from the door. So Polly curled up on the bed beside Phronsie,
and fed her mouthfuls of the toast, with its unwonted richness--the
sweet butter that Mrs. Henderson, the parson’s wife, sent over--while
she told the doings of all the chickens in the Hendersons’ hen-coop;
then gayly launched off into other stories. And this is one of the
stories she told:--
“You must know,” began Polly briskly, as Phronsie leaned back against
the pillow, the last morsel of toast despatched, “that the children had
never seen a kangaroo, and--keep your toes in bed Phronsie;” and Polly
jumped off the bed, and gave a quick pull at the bed-clothes, “oh, dear
me! or the dreadful old measles will catch ’em.”
Phronsie pulled in her fat little toes where she had stuck them out
from the edge of the patched bed-quilt, and huddled them under her
in terror. “They’re so hot, Polly,” she wailed. “Oh, dear! will the
dreadful things catch ’em? Will they, Polly?” hugging Polly around the
neck.
“Not if you keep ’em in bed, child,” said Polly, patting the little
bunch under the bed-quilt reassuringly; “there, stretch ’em out,
Phronsie; there won’t anything hurt ’em if you keep ’em in bed.”
“Won’t they, Polly?” asked Phronsie fearfully, still huddling up in a
heap.
“No, no! Come on, Mister Toes,” sang Polly gayly, pulling at them.
“Doctor said you mustn’t get cold, or the measles would run in.
There, that’s all right,” as Phronsie’s toes came down again; “now
everything’s just splendid, and I’ll go on about my lovely kangaroo.
He”--
“They’re so hot,” sighed Phronsie, wriggling all her toes; “and they
prick, Polly--they do”--
“Well, we can’t help that,” said Polly; “you see, that’s the measles.
And I suppose the kangaroo had prickly toes too, sometimes, Phronsie.
Now I’m going to get up on the bed again, and hold your hand, and then
we’ll hear all about him.” So Polly hopped up beside Phronsie, and took
her hot little hand in both of her bigger ones, and began again. “You
see he”--
“Please don’t let him have the--the”--broke in Phronsie, turning her
flushed face eagerly toward Polly’s on the pillow, “don’t Polly,” she
begged.
“Have the what?” cried Polly, racking her brains to think what she
could do with her kangaroo. She must tell Phronsie a good story about
him. “Well, I’ve seen the picture of him in the minister’s book, and I
guess I can make up something about him that she’ll like.
“What is it that you want me not to do to him, Phronsie?” she asked.
“Don’t let him have--th--these--things--like mine?” pleaded Phronsie,
the tears coming into the brown eyes. And despite all her efforts, she
wriggled her toes, and cried, “Oh, it pricks so, Polly,” burrowing down
deep in the old bed, and rubbing her chubby face.
“Oh, he sha’n’t have the measles!” cried Polly; “and you mustn’t do
so, Phronsie,” all in one breath. And pulling Phronsie up against the
pillow again, Polly seized both of the little fat hands and held them
close. “There, there, just hear all about my lovely kangaroo, Phronsie;
why, he ran into the forest, and he carried all the little bits of
kangarooses in a bag with him.”
“Did he have a bag?” asked Phronsie. And she let her hands stay quite
still in Polly’s clasp, and the two tears on her round cheeks ran down
on the old quilt unheeded.
“Yes, indeed; a big bag that hung down in front of him, and whenever he
called, all his little children kangarooses would run and hop, and jump
into that bag.”
“Oh!” screamed Phronsie delightedly.
“Yes, and then the old father kangaroo would peek over the edge of the
bag and say, ‘Lie still, my children, and don’t kick each other;’ and
then he”--
“Did he tie it?” asked Phronsie anxiously, and poking up her head to
peer into Polly’s face. “Please don’t let him tie it tight, Polly.”
“No; he couldn’t tie it,” said Polly, “because you see there were no
strings to his bag.”
“Oh!” said Phronsie, sinking back very much relieved.
“He gripped the edges together fast, and--but the little kangarooses
had cunning little places they could stick their noses out,” she
hastened to add, as she caught sight of Phronsie’s face. “Oh! they
liked it ever so much. And then the old father kangaroo would run--oh,
such dreadful big steps he would take, Phronsie, you can’t think, as
big as all across this bed in one hop!”
Phronsie’s eyes widened delightedly, and she gave a long sigh of
content.
“Tell me some more,” she begged.
“Well, one day Mr. Father Kangaroo was out in the forest getting
dinner. He had short little wee feet in front, and he couldn’t walk
very fast you see. And”--
“Where was the mother kan--what was it, Polly?” interrupted Phronsie.
“Tell me, Polly, do.”
“Kangaroo? Oh, she was in the house, working away. You see, with so
many children-kangarooses, Phronsie, there was lots and lots to do,”
said Polly, growing quite desperate at the thought of Mother Pepper
sewing out there in the old kitchen, and all the dishes not yet washed,
and everything else at a standstill. “Now, you lie still, and perhaps
you’ll go to sleep while I tell the rest.”
“I can’t go to sleep,” said Phronsie, putting up her lip sorrowfully.
“Never mind,” said Polly merrily; “don’t try.--Oh, where was I?”
“You said Father Kangaroo went off to get some dinner,” said Phronsie,
concluding not to cry.
“Oh, yes,--well, you see, they hadn’t any of them had any breakfast.
Just think of that, Phronsie, and you’ve had toast and elegant butter;”
and Polly’s mouth watered, for she hadn’t tasted any of the little pat
that Mrs. Henderson sent.
“Hadn’t they?” asked Phronsie sadly.
“No, not a single bite. Well, Father Kangaroo just stalked off, that
is, he hopped with great big hops, for he knew he had to get some
dinner, else the little bits of kangarooses would starve to death.
And pretty soon he came right into the very middle of the forest; and
there under the trees, in the midst of a bramble-bush, lay a little
bird,--Oh, such a cunning little bird, you can’t think, Phronsie, so
fat and juicy!”
“Oh, don’t let Mr. Father Kangaroo catch the little bird, Polly!”
screamed Phronsie in terror; and springing up she seized Polly’s neck
with both hands, and burst into tears.
“Oh, dear me, what shall I do?” cried Polly in despair, and cuddling her
up. “No, he sha’n’t eat the bird, Phronsie; now stop crying this minute,
the kangaroo sha’n’t eat him, I say. I’ll make the little bird go home
with him, and sing to the children kangarooses--there--there--now,
says I, we’ll lie down again.”
So she patted and tucked Phronsie in again under the clothes, and wiped
her face dry with the old soft handkerchief Mamsie had left under the
pillow, and then she began once more.
“Deary me, where was I?--Oh, I know, I was going to have the little
bird go home with Mr. Father Kangaroo.”
“Yes,” said Phronsie happily; “you were going to, Polly.”
“So Mr. Father Kangaroo looked sharply at the fat little bird lying
there in the middle of the bramble-bush; and he asked, ‘What’s the
matter down there, little bird?’
[Illustration: “What’s the matter down there?” asked Mr. Kangaroo.]
“And the little bird cocked up one eye at him just like this,” said
Polly, suiting the action to the word.
Phronsie poked up her yellow head to see, and smiled gleefully.
“And the little bird piped out, ‘Oh Mr. big Kangaroo-man, I can’t get
out.’”
“Oh, make him help him, Polly,” cried Phronsie very much excited, and
pulling her hands out of Polly’s to clasp them together tightly. “Do,
Polly, quick!”
“Yes; indeed I will, Pet. So Mr. Father Kangaroo leaned over the
bramble-bush, and roared in a big voice, ‘Here, I’ll hold the brambles
away with my paws, and you can jump into my bag.’”
“Oh, oh!” screamed Phronsie in delight. “And he did, and up jumped
the little fat bird,” said Polly, tossing her hands out with a whir;
“and in he came flopping oh, so quickly, into the big bag of Mr. Father
Kangaroo. ’Twas just as nice, Phronsie, oh, you can’t think!”
“’Twas just as nice,” cooed Phronsie happily; “the little bird in the
big bag. Tell some more, Polly, do.”
“Well then, you see, the big Mr. Father Kangaroo didn’t know what to do
with the little fat bird; so he said, ‘Now, my dear, don’t you want to
fly out of my bag and go home?’ And the little fat bird huddled down
into the darkest corner of the bag and he piped out, ‘Oh, I haven’t any
home, Mr. Kangaroo. A great cross old squirrel came up to my nest this
morning, and ate up all my brothers and sisters, and I flew away and
tumbled into the bramble-bush.’”
“Oh, dear!” cried Phronsie in dismay.
“But wasn’t it good that Mr. Father Kangaroo found the fat little
bird?” cried Polly in her cheeriest fashion.
“Yes,” said Phronsie, “it was good, Polly.”
“Well, so Mr. Father Kangaroo said, ‘I’ll take you to my home.’ He
didn’t know what in all the world he should do; for he had six--no,
seven hungry little kangarooses, and not a bit to give them for dinner.
But he couldn’t leave the poor little fat bird to starve, you know.”
“He was a good Mr. Father Kan--what is it, Polly?” declared Phronsie,
clasping her hands.
“Kangaroo. Yes, wasn’t he Phronsie? So he looked down into the bag, and
he said, ‘Now don’t you cry, little bird, and you shall go home with
me where the cross old squirrels cannot catch you;’ for he thought he
heard the little fat bird sobbing down in the dark corner.”
“And was he?” cried Phronsie.
“Perhaps so--a little wee bit. But he didn’t cry any more; for as soon
as he heard Mr. Father Kangaroo say that, he chirped out, ‘Thank you,
Mr. Kangaroo-man, and I’ll sing for you all the day long.’”
“That was nice in the little bird, wasn’t it, Polly?” cried Phronsie,
wiggling her toes in a satisfied way.
“Yes, indeed. Well, so away they trudged--I mean Mr. Father Kangaroo
trudged, and hopped, and skipped, with great long steps, and pretty
soon he came to his home. And the little kangarooses saw him coming;
and they all ran and hopped out to meet him, screaming, ‘O pappy! have
you brought us our dinner?’”
“Oh, dear!” said Phronsie, very much troubled; “he hadn’t any dinner.”
“But just think what a dear sweet little fat bird he had brought them,
who was going to sing all day long, Phronsie!”
“Yes,” said Phronsie, but she sighed. “Tell me some more, Polly, do.”
“Well, so Mr. Father Kangaroo didn’t say anything about dinner; for he
thought if they saw the little bird first, and heard him sing, they
would forget all about that they were hungry.”
“And did they?” asked Phronsie.
“Yes, indeed; they never thought of it again. And they hopped and
danced all around the fat little bird; and he told them of good Father
Kangaroo, who had saved him when he got caught in the bramble-bush,
where he fell when he flew away from the cruel squirrel; and then he
sang--oh, it was just lovely to hear him sing, Phronsie.” Polly lay
back upon the pillow and folded her hands, lost in thought.
“Tell me some more, Polly,” cried Phronsie, pulling her sleeve.
“Oh, yes--well, then, you see, all that noise brought Mother Kangaroo
in; and she just held up her paws in astonishment. And she didn’t like
it very well; and she said, ‘What! bring another hungry mouth to feed,
and you haven’t any dinner for us?’ and Father Kangaroo sat down in the
corner, and his big head went down on his breast, and he sat still to
think.”
“Don’t let Mother Kangaroo send the poor little bird away, Polly. Don’t
let her do it!” protested Phronsie in distress.
“No, I won’t,” promised Polly. “Well, when Mother Kangaroo saw Father
Kangaroo sitting so sad and still over in the corner, she hopped over
to him, and put both her paws around his neck, and she kissed his furry
cheek, ‘The little bird shall stay,’ she said, ‘and I’ll go out and
get some dinner.’ And all the little children-Kangarooses took hold of
paws, and danced around the fat little bird in delight.”
“Oh--oh!” cried Phronsie in delight.
“Mercy me!” exclaimed Mrs. Pepper, putting her head in the doorway, “I
thought Phronsie was worse. Now, that’s cosey;” and she beamed at Polly
in a way that made the little sunbeams sink right down into Polly’s
heart.
VII.
THE MINCE-PIE BOY AND THE BEASTS.
“’Tisn’t time to go to bed,” grumbled Joel; “and you and Ben are going
to whisper and wink your eyes as soon as I go.”
“We sha’n’t have to whisper when you are out of the way, Joe,” said
Ben; “come, hurry up and start.” “Now, Joey, you promised,” said Polly
reproachfully. She was aching to talk over all the splendid plans
with Ben; and there were the bright bits of paper left after they had
covered the nuts; and just this very night she was to set about making
Phronsie’s paper doll, and Ben was to begin on a windmill for Davie,
and Mamsie was to sit down at the big table drawn out from against the
wall, and make Seraphina’s bonnet. And Christmas was getting _so_ near!
“O Joe!” exclaimed Polly suddenly, in such a tone of despair that Ben
said sharply, “Go along, or she’ll stop telling you stories. You won’t
get another one to-morrow--sir!”
“I’ll go,--I’ll go,” cried Joel, clattering over the stairs in a
trice--“I’m going, Polly--you’ll tell me another to-morrow, won’t
you--won’t you, Polly?” he screamed at the top.
“Yes indeed,” cried Polly merrily, running along to the foot of the
stairs leading to the loft. “That’s a good boy, Joey; I’ll tell you a
good one to-morrow.”
“It’s got to be a long one,” said Joel; “not such a little squinchy one
as ’twas to-day. Hoh! that was no good.”
“Hush up there,” shouted Ben at him, from the kitchen, “or you’ll wake
Dave up. Come on, now, Polly.”
So Polly ran back again; and the two pulled out the kitchen table; and
Mamsie brought her big basket, and Seraphina’s bonnet was snipped out
of the piece of ribbon so long waiting for it; and Polly whisked out
the bits of bright paper from the bureau-drawer in the bedroom; and
Ben got out his big jack-knife, and commenced to whittle bravely; and
everything was as brisk as a bee and as cheery,--and the tongues flew
just as fast as the fingers, till the little old kitchen was alive
with the work of getting ready for Christmas.
[Illustration: The two pulled out the kitchen table.]
But on the next morning, all the signs of the coming festivity tucked
carefully away, and the every-day work done up, then didn’t Polly just
have to spin off a story when in marched Joel with a “Come on, Dave,
Polly’s sewing; now for the story!” he whooped, and threw himself on
the floor at her feet.
“O Joel”--Polly was just ready to cry out, “I can’t think of a thing.”
And then she remembered that she had promised. “Dear me, Joe, what do
you want?” she asked, and making her needle fly faster than ever.
“Oh, something nice--about having mince-pie,”--Joel smacked his lips,
“and bears and wolves and crocodiles. Tell a good one, Polly; and it’s
got to be long”--he waved his arms as far as he could--“long as that;
now begin.”
“I’ll tell about a mince-pie,” said Polly, wrinkling her brows; “that’s
the first thing you asked for; and”--
“And bears and wolves and crocodiles,” said Joel hastily; “I want all
those; you’ve got to, Polly, ’cause I go to bed every night, and you
said you would.”
“I can’t get all those things into one story,” said Polly.
“Hoh! yes you can,” contradicted Joel; “that’s just as easy. Now begin,
Polly.”
“Well, once there was a boy,” said Polly, with a flourish of her needle
as she put in a new thread; “and his mother had to hide the mince-pies
whenever she baked any, ’cause she was afraid to leave ’em round, and”--
“Don’t tell such a story,” howled Joel in disgust; “tell something
nice, Polly.” He winked his black eyes fast, and Polly thought she saw
something shine in them; and then he dug his fists in them, and hid his
stubby head on her lap in among her sewing.
“So I will, Joey,” she cried, dropping her work to lean over and drop
a kiss on his black hair. And then it all came to her what to say; and
before she knew it, she had begun again on “The Wonderful Mince-Pie Boy
and the Beasts.”
“You see, it was long, long ago,” ran on Polly in her gayest fashion;
“and almost anything could have happened then--why, Adolphus lived
ages before this time when we are living in Badgertown; so he had all
sorts of funny people as his neighbors, and they did all kinds of
queer things. And the animals all talked just like boys and girls, and
everybody understood them. And it was just the strangest world, you
can’t think! And that’s the reason that the story is just as it is.”
“Go on,” said Joel quite himself again, and his mouth opened in an
expansive smile. “Come on, Dave. Gee-whickety! Polly’s going to tell an
elegant buster of a story.”
“Joel, I sha’n’t tell a single thing if you say such dreadful words,”
declared Polly sternly, as little David came in, and sat down on the
floor by Joel’s side.
“I won’t,” cried Joel in alarm, “say it again ever, Polly.”
“Think how badly Mamsie would feel to hear it,” said Polly reprovingly.
“O Joe! how can you?” Down went Joel’s head on her lap,--
“I--won’t again--Polly,” he burst out, trying not to cry. “O Polly! I
won’t--I don’t--want--Mamsie to feel bad”--and he burrowed deep in her
lap.
“He won’t, Polly,” said little David anxiously, patting Joel’s stubby
head with one hand, and with the other pulling Polly’s gown--“I most
know he won’t say any more dreadful words.”
“See that you don’t then, Joe,” said Polly; “and both of you boys
must remember that it would make Mamsie sick to hear you say any such
things. Well, now for the story,--‘The Wonderful Mince-Pie Boy and the
Beasts.’”
“Oh, oh!” cried Davie in a transport, and clasping his hands. Joel sat
up quite straight, and held his breath.